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diff --git a/17667-h/17667-h.htm b/17667-h/17667-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a9ffa08 --- /dev/null +++ b/17667-h/17667-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6255 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Dialogues of the Dead</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: gray;} + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Dialogues of the Dead, by Lord Lyttelton</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Dialogues of the Dead, by Lord Lyttelton, +Edited by Henry Morley + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Dialogues of the Dead + + +Author: Lord Lyttelton + +Editor: Henry Morley + +Release Date: February 3, 2006 [eBook #17667] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1889 Cassell & Company edition by David +Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<h1>DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD.</h1> +<p><span class="smcap">by</span><br /> +LORD LYTTELTON.</p> +<p>CASSELL & COMPANY, <span class="smcap">Limited</span>:<br /> +<span class="smcap"><i>london</i></span><span class="smcap">, </span><span class="smcap"><i>paris</i></span><span class="smcap">, +</span><span class="smcap"><i>new york & melbourne</i></span>.<br /> +1889.</p> +<h2><!-- page 5--><a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 5</span>INTRODUCTION.</h2> +<p>George, Lord Lyttelton, was born in 1709, at Hagley, in Worcestershire. +He was educated at Eton and at Christchurch, Oxford, entered Parliament, +became a Lord of the Treasury and Chancellor of the Exchequer. +In 1757 he withdrew from politics, was raised to the peerage, and spent +the last eighteen years of his life in lettered ease. In 1760 +Lord Lyttelton first published these “Dialogues of the Dead,” +which were revised for a fourth edition in 1765, and in 1767 he published +in four volumes a “History of the Life of King Henry the Second +and of the Age in which he Lived,” a work upon which he had been +busy for thirty years. He began it not long after he had published, +at the age of twenty-six, his “Letters from a Persian in England +to his Friend at Ispahan.” If we go farther back we find +George Lyttelton, aged twenty-three, beginning his life in literature +as a poet, with four eclogues on “The Progress of Love.”</p> +<p>To the last Lord Lyttelton was poet enough to feel true fellowship +with poets of his day. He <!-- page 6--><a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 6</span>loved +good literature, and his own works show that he knew it. He counted +Henry Fielding among his friends; he was a friend and helper to James +Thomson, the author of “The Seasons;” and when acting as +secretary to the king’s son, Frederick, Prince of Wales (who held +a little court of his own, in which there was much said about liberty), +his friendship brought Thomson and Mallet together in work on a masque +for the Prince and Princess, which included the song of “Rule +Britannia.”</p> +<p>Before Lord Lyttelton followed their example, “Dialogues of +the Dead” had been written by Lucian, and by Fenelon, and by Fontenelle; +and in our time they have been written by Walter Savage Landor. +This half-dramatic plan of presenting a man’s own thoughts upon +the life of man and characters of men, and on the issues of men’s +characters in shaping life, is a way of essay writing pleasant alike +to the writer and the reader. Lord Lyttelton was at his best in +it. The form of writing obliged him to work with a lighter touch +than he used when he sought to maintain the dignity of history by the +style of his “History of Henry II.” His calm liberality +of mind enters into the discussion of many <!-- page 7--><a name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 7</span>topics. +His truths are old, but there are no real truths of human life and conduct, +worth anything at all, that are of yesterday. Human love itself +is called “the old, old story;” but do we therefore cease +from loving, or from finding such ways as we can of saying that we love. +Dr. Johnson was not at his wisest when he found fault with Lord Lyttelton +because, in his “Dialogues of the Dead,” “that man +sat down to write a book, to tell the world what the world had all his +life been telling him.” This was exactly what he wished +to do. In the Preface to his revised edition Lord Lyttelton said, +“Sometimes a new dress may render an old truth more pleasing to +those whom the mere love of novelty betrays into error, as it frequently +does not only the wits, but the sages of these days. Indeed, one +of the best services that could now be done to mankind by any good writer +would be the bringing them back to common sense, from which the desire +of shining by extraordinary notions has seduced great numbers, to the +no small detriment of morality and of all real knowledge.”</p> +<p>At any rate, we now find it worth while to know what the world had +been telling all his life to an enlightened, highly-educated man, who +was an active politician in the days of Walpole and of <!-- page 8--><a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 8</span>the +elder Pitt, who was a friend of Pope’s and of the best writers +of the day, and who in his occasional verse added at least one line +to the household words of English literature when in his warm-hearted +Prologue to Thomson’s play of <i>Coriolanus</i>, produced after +its writer’s death, he said of that poet what we may say of Lord +Lyttelton himself, that he gave to the world</p> +<blockquote><p>“Not one immoral, one corrupted thought,<br /> +One line which, dying, he could wish to blot.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>H. M.</p> +<h2><!-- page 9--><a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 9</span>DIALOGUES +OF THE DEAD.</h2> +<h3>DIALOGUE I.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Lord Falkland</span>—<span class="smcap">Mr. +Hampden</span>.</p> +<p><i>Lord Falkland</i>.—Are not you surprised to see me in Elysium, +Mr. Hampden?</p> +<p><i>Mr. Hampden</i>.—I was going to put the same question to +your lordship, for doubtless you thought me a rebel.</p> +<p><i>Lord Falkland</i>.—And certainly you thought me an apostate +from the Commonwealth, and a supporter of tyranny.</p> +<p><i>Mr. Hampden</i>.—I own I did, and I don’t wonder at +the severity of your thoughts about me. The heat of the times +deprived us both of our natural candour. Yet I will confess to +you here, that, before I died, I began to see in our party enough to +justify your apprehensions that the civil war, which we had entered +into from generous motives, from a laudable desire to preserve our free +constitution, would end very unhappily, and perhaps, in the issue, destroy +that constitution, even by the arms of those who pretended to be most +zealous for it.</p> +<p><i>Lord Falkland</i>.—And I will as frankly own to you that +I saw, in the court and camp of the king, so much to alarm me for the +liberty of my country, if our arms were successful, that I dreaded a +victory little less than I did a defeat, and had nothing in my mouth +but the word peace, which I constantly repeated with passionate fondness, +in every council at which I was called to assist.</p> +<p><i>Mr. Hampden</i>.—I wished for peace too, as ardently as +your lordship, but I saw no hopes of it. The insincerity of the +king and the influence of the queen made it impossible <!-- page 10--><a name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 10</span>to +trust to his promises and declarations. Nay, what reliance could +we reasonably have upon laws designed to limit and restrain the power +of the Crown, after he had violated the Bill of Rights, obtained with +such difficulty, and containing so clear an assertion of the privileges +which had been in dispute? If his conscience would allow him to +break an Act of Parliament, made to determine the bounds of the royal +prerogative, because he thought that the royal prerogative could have +no bounds, what legal ties could bind a conscience so prejudiced? or +what effectual security could his people obtain against the obstinate +malignity of such an opinion, but entirely taking from him the power +of the sword, and enabling themselves to defend the laws he had passed?</p> +<p><i>Lord Falkland</i>.—There is evidently too much truth in +what you have said. But by taking from the king the power of the +sword, you in reality took all power. It was converting the government +into a democracy; and if he had submitted to it, he would only have +preserved the name of a king. The sceptre would have been held +by those who had the sword; or we must have lived in a state of perpetual +anarchy, without any force or balance in the government; a state which +could not have lasted long, but would have ended in a republic or in +absolute dominion.</p> +<p><i>Mr. Hampden</i>.—Your reasoning seems unanswerable. +But what could we do? Let Dr. Laud and those other court divines, +who directed the king’s conscience, and fixed in it such principles +as made him unfit to govern a limited monarchy—though with many +good qualities, and some great ones—let them, I say, answer for +all the mischiefs they brought upon him and the nation.</p> +<p><i>Lord Falkland</i>.—They were indeed much to blame; but those +principles had gained ground before their times, and seemed the principles +of our Church, in opposition to the Jesuits, who had certainly gone +too far in the other extreme.</p> +<p><!-- page 11--><a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 11</span><i>Mr. +Hampden</i>.—It is a disgrace to our Church to have taken up such +opinions; and I will venture to prophesy that our clergy in future times +must renounce them, or they will be turned against them by those who +mean their destruction. Suppose a Popish king on the throne, will +the clergy adhere to passive obedience and non-resistance? If +they do, they deliver up their religion to Rome; if they do not, their +practice will confute their own doctrines.</p> +<p><i>Lord Falkland</i>.—Nature, sir, will in the end be sure +to set right whatever opinion contradicts her great laws, let who will +be the teacher. But, indeed, the more I reflect on those miserable +times in which we both lived, the more I esteem it a favour of Providence +to us that we were cut off so soon. The most grievous misfortune +that can befall a virtuous man is to be in such a state that he can +hardly so act as to approve his own conduct. In such a state we +both were. We could not easily make a step, either forward or +backward, without great hazard of guilt, or at least of dishonour. +We were unhappily entangled in connections with men who did not mean +so well as ourselves, or did not judge so rightly. If we endeavoured +to stop them, they thought us false to the cause; if we went on with +them, we ran directly upon rocks, which we saw, but could not avoid. +Nor could we take shelter in a philosophical retreat from business. +Inaction would in us have been cowardice and desertion. To complete +the public calamities, a religious fury, on both sides, mingled itself +with the rage of our civil dissensions, more frantic than that, more +implacable, more averse to all healing measures. The most intemperate +counsels were thought the most pious, and a regard to the laws, if they +opposed the suggestions of these fiery zealots, was accounted irreligion. +This added new difficulties to what was before but too difficult in +itself, the settling of a nation which no longer could put any confidence +in its sovereign, nor lay more restraints on the royal authority without +destroying the balance of the whole constitution. <!-- page 12--><a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 12</span>In +those circumstances, the balls that pierced our hearts were directed +thither by the hands of our guardian angels, to deliver us from horrors +we could not support, and perhaps from a guilt our souls abhorred.</p> +<p><i>Mr. Hampden</i>.—Indeed, things were brought to so deplorable +a state, that if either of us had seen his party triumphant, he must +have lamented that triumph as the ruin of his country. Were I +to return into life, the experience I have had would make me very cautious +how I kindled the sparks of civil war in England; for I have seen that, +when once that devouring fire is lighted, it is not in the power of +the head of a party to say to the conflagration, “Thus far shalt +thou go, and here shall thy violence stop.”</p> +<p><i>Lord Falkland</i>.—The conversation we have had, as well +as the reflections of my own mind on past events, would, if I were condemned +to my body again, teach me great moderation in my judgments of persons +who might happen to differ from me in difficult scenes of public action; +they would entirely cure me of the spirit of party, and make me think +that as in the Church, so also in the State, no evil is more to be feared +than a rancorous and enthusiastical zeal.</p> +<h3>DIALOGUE II.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Louis le Grand</span>—<span class="smcap">Peter +the Great</span>.</p> +<p><i>Louis</i>.—Who, sir, could have thought, when you were learning +the trade of a shipwright in the dockyards of England and Holland, that +you would ever acquire, as I had done, the surname of “Great.”</p> +<p><i>Peter</i>.—Which of us best deserved that title posterity +will decide. But my greatness appeared sufficiently in that very +act which seemed to you a debasement.</p> +<p><i>Louis</i>.—The dignity of a king does not stoop to such +mean employments. For my own part, I was careful never <!-- page 13--><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 13</span>to +appear to the eyes of my subjects or foreigners but in all the splendour +and majesty of royal power.</p> +<p><i>Peter</i>.—Had I remained on the throne of Russia, as my +ancestors did, environed with all the pomp of barbarous greatness, I +should have been idolised by my people—as much, at least, as you +ever were by the French. My despotism was more absolute, their +servitude was more humble. But then I could not have reformed +their evil customs; have taught them arts, civility, navigation, and +war; have exalted them from brutes in human shapes into men. In +this was seen the extraordinary force of my genius beyond any comparison +with all other kings, that I thought it no degradation or diminution +of my greatness to descend from my throne, and go and work in the dockyards +of a foreign republic; to serve as a private sailor in my own fleets, +and as a common soldier in my own army, till I had raised myself by +my merit in all the several steps and degrees of promotion up to the +highest command, and had thus induced my nobility to submit to a regular +subordination in the sea and land service by a lesson hard to their +pride, and which they would not have learnt from any other master or +by any other method of instruction.</p> +<p><i>Louis</i>.—I am forced to acknowledge that it was a great +act. When I thought it a mean one, my judgment was perverted by +the prejudices arising from my own education and the ridicule thrown +upon it by some of my courtiers, whose minds were too narrow to be able +to comprehend the greatness of yours in that situation.</p> +<p><i>Peter</i>.—It was an act of more heroism than any ever done +by Alexander or Cæsar. Nor would I consent to exchange my +glory with theirs. They both did great things; but they were at +the head of great nations, far superior in valour and military skill +to those with whom they contended. I was the king of an ignorant, +undisciplined, barbarous people. My enemies were at first so superior +to my subjects that ten thousand of them could beat a <!-- page 14--><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 14</span>hundred +thousand Russians. They had formidable navies; I had not a ship. +The King of Sweden was a prince of the most intrepid courage, assisted +by generals of consummate knowledge in war, and served by soldiers so +disciplined that they were become the admiration and terror of Europe. +Yet I vanquished these soldiers; I drove that prince to take refuge +in Turkey; I won battles at sea as well as land; I new-created my people; +I gave them arts, science, policy; I enabled them to keep all the powers +of the North in awe and dependence, to give kings to Poland, to check +and intimidate the Ottoman emperors, to mix with great weight in the +affairs of all Europe. What other man has ever done such wonders +as these? Read all the records of ancient and modern times, and +find, if you can, one fit to be put in comparison with me!</p> +<p><i>Louis</i>.—Your glory would indeed have been supreme and +unequalled if, in civilising your subjects, you had reformed the brutality +of your own manners and the barbarous vices of your nature. But, +alas! the legislator and reformer of the Muscovites was drunken and +cruel.</p> +<p><i>Peter</i>.—My drunkenness I confess; nor will I plead, to +excuse it, the example of Alexander. It inflamed the tempers of +both, which were by nature too fiery, into furious passions of anger, +and produced actions of which our reason, when sober, was ashamed. +But the cruelty you upbraid me with may in some degree be excused, as +necessary to the work I had to perform. Fear of punishment was +in the hearts of my barbarous subjects the only principle of obedience. +To make them respect the royal authority I was obliged to arm it with +all the terrors of rage. You had a more pliant people to govern—a +people whose minds could be ruled, like a fine-managed horse, with an +easy and gentle rein. The fear of shame did more with them than +the fear of the knout could do with the Russians. The humanity +of your character and the ferocity of mine were equally suitable to +the nations over which we reigned. <!-- page 15--><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 15</span>But +what excuse can you find for the cruel violence you employed against +your Protestant subjects? They desired nothing but to live under +the protection of laws you yourself had confirmed; and they repaid that +protection by the most hearty zeal for your service. Yet these +did you force, by the most inhuman severities, either to quit the religion +in which they were bred, and which their consciences still retained, +or to leave their native land, and endure all the woes of a perpetual +exile. If the rules of policy could not hinder you from thus depopulating +your kingdom, and transferring to foreign countries its manufactures +and commerce, I am surprised that your heart itself did not stop you. +It makes one shudder to think that such orders should be sent from the +most polished court in Europe, as the most savage Tartars could hardly +have executed without remorse and compassion.</p> +<p><i>Louis</i>.—It was not my heart, but my religion, that dictated +these severities. My confessor told me they alone would atone +for all my sins.</p> +<p><i>Peter</i>.—Had I believed in my patriarch as you believed +in your priest, I should not have been the great monarch that I was. +But I mean not to detract from the merit of a prince whose memory is +dear to his subjects. They are proud of having obeyed you, which +is certainly the highest praise to a king. My people also date +their glory from the era of my reign. But there is this capital +distinction between us. The pomp and pageantry of state were necessary +to your greatness; I was great in myself, great in the energy and powers +of my mind, great in the superiority and sovereignty of my soul over +all other men.</p> +<h3><!-- page 16--><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 16</span>DIALOGUE +III.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Plato</span>—<span class="smcap">Fenelon</span>.</p> +<p><i>Plato</i>.—Welcome to Elysium, O thou, the most pure, the +most gentle, the most refined disciple of philosophy that the world +in modern times has produced! Sage Fenelon, welcome!—I need +not name myself to you. Our souls by sympathy must know one another.</p> +<p><i>Fenelon</i>.—I know you to be Plato, the most amiable of +all the disciples of Socrates, and the philosopher of all antiquity +whom I most desired to resemble.</p> +<p><i>Plato</i>.—Homer and Orpheus are impatient to see you in +that region of these happy fields which their shades inhabit. +They both acknowledge you to be a great poet, though you have written +no verses. And they are now busy in composing for you unfading +wreaths of all the finest and sweetest Elysian flowers. But I +will lead you from them to the sacred grove of philosophy, on the highest +hill of Elysium, where the air is most pure and most serene. I +will conduct you to the fountain of wisdom, in which you will see, as +in your own writings, the fair image of virtue perpetually reflected. +It will raise in you more love than was felt by Narcissus, when he contemplated +the beauty of his own face in the unruffled spring. But you shall +not pine, as he did, for a shadow. The goddess herself will affectionately +meet your embraces and mingle with your soul.</p> +<p><i>Fenelon</i>.—I find you retain the allegorical and poetical +style, of which you were so fond in many of your writings. Mine +also run sometimes into poetry, particularly in my “Telemachus,” +which I meant to make a kind of epic composition. But I dare not +rank myself among the great poets, nor pretend to any equality in oratory +with you, the most eloquent of philosophers, on whose lips the Attic +bees distilled all their honey.</p> +<p><i>Plato</i>.—The French language is not so harmonious as the +<!-- page 17--><a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 17</span>Greek, +yet you have given a sweetness to it which equally charms the ear and +heart. When one reads your compositions, one thinks that one hears +Apollo’s lyre, strung by the hands of the Graces, and tuned by +the Muses. The idea of a perfect king, which you have exhibited +in your “Telemachus,” far excels, in my own judgment, my +imaginary “Republic.” Your “Dialogues” +breathe the pure spirit of virtue, of unaffected good sense, of just +criticism, of fine taste. They are in general as superior to your +countryman Fontenelle’s as reason is to false wit, or truth to +affectation. The greatest fault of them, I think, is, that some +are too short.</p> +<p><i>Fenelon</i>.—It has been objected to them—and I am +sensible of it myself—that most of them are too full of commonplace +morals. But I wrote them for the instruction of a young prince, +and one cannot too forcibly imprint on the minds of those who are born +to empire the most simple truths; because, as they grow up, the flattery +of a court will try to disguise and conceal from them those truths, +and to eradicate from their hearts the love of their duty, if it has +not taken there a very deep root.</p> +<p><i>Plato</i>.—It is, indeed, the peculiar misfortune of princes, +that they are often instructed with great care in the refinements of +policy, and not taught the first principles of moral obligations, or +taught so superficially that the virtuous man is soon lost in the corrupt +politician. But the lessons of virtue you gave your royal pupil +are so graced by the charms of your eloquence that the oldest and wisest +men may attend to them with pleasure. All your writings are embellished +with a sublime and agreeable imagination, which gives elegance to simplicity, +and dignity to the most vulgar and obvious truths. I have heard, +indeed, that your countrymen are less sensible of the beauty of your +genius and style than any of their neighbours. What has so much +depraved their taste?</p> +<p><i>Fenelon</i>.—That which depraved the taste of the Romans +<!-- page 18--><a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 18</span>after +the ago of Augustus—an immoderate love of wit, of paradox, of +refinement. The works of their writers, like the faces of their +women, must be painted and adorned with artificial embellishments to +attract their regards. And thus the natural beauty of both is +lost. But it is no wonder if few of them esteem my “Telemachus,” +as the maxims I have principally inculcated there are thought by many +inconsistent with the grandeur of their monarchy, and with the splendour +of a refined and opulent nation. They seem generally to be falling +into opinions that the chief end of society is to procure the pleasures +of luxury; that a nice and elegant taste of voluptuous enjoyments is +the perfection of merit; and that a king, who is gallant, magnificent, +liberal, who builds a fine palace, who furnishes it well with good statues +and pictures, who encourages the fine arts, and makes them subservient +to every modish vice, who has a restless ambition, a perfidious policy, +and a spirit of conquest, is better for them than a Numa or a Marcus +Aurelius. Whereas to check the excesses of luxury—those +excesses, I mean, which enfeeble the spirit of a nation—to ease +the people, as much as is possible, of the burden of taxes; to give +them the blessings of peace and tranquillity, when they can he obtained +without injury or dishonour; to make them frugal, and hardy, and masculine +in the temper of their bodies and minds, that they may be the fitter +for war whenever it does come upon them; but, above all, to watch diligently +over their morals, and discourage whatever may defile or corrupt them—is +the great business of government, and ought to be in all circumstances +the principal object of a wise legislature. Unquestionably that +is the happiest country which has most virtue in it; and to the eye +of sober reason the poorest Swiss canton is a much nobler state than +the kingdom of France, if it has more liberty, better morals, a more +settled tranquillity, more moderation in prosperity, and more firmness +in danger.</p> +<p><i>Plato</i>.—Your notions are just, and if your country rejects +<!-- page 19--><a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 19</span>them +she will not long hold the rank of the first nation in Europe. +Her declension is begun, her ruin approaches; for, omitting all other +arguments, can a state be well served when the raising of an opulent +fortune in its service, and making a splendid use of that fortune, is +a distinction more envied than any which arises from integrity in office +or public spirit in government? Can that spirit, which is the +parent of national greatness, continue vigorous and diffusive where +the desire of wealth, for the sake of a luxury which wealth alone can +support, and an ambition aspiring, not to glory, but to profit, are +the predominant passions? If it exists in a king or a minister +of state, how will either of them find among a people so disposed the +necessary instruments to execute his great designs; or, rather, what +obstruction will he not find from the continual opposition of private +interest to public? But if, on the contrary, a court inclines +to tyranny, what a facility will be given by these dispositions to that +evil purpose? How will men with minds relaxed by the enervating +ease and softness of luxury have vigour to oppose it? Will not +most of them lean to servitude, as their natural state, as that in which +the extravagant and insatiable cravings of their artificial wants may +best be gratified at the charge of a bountiful master or by the spoils +of an enslaved and ruined people? When all sense of public virtue +is thus destroyed, will not fraud, corruption, and avarice, or the opposite +workings of court factions to bring disgrace on each other, ruin armies +and fleets without the help of an enemy, and give up the independence +of the nation to foreigners, after having betrayed its liberties to +a king? All these mischiefs you saw attendant on that luxury, +which some modern philosophers account (as I am informed) the highest +good to a state! Time will show that their doctrines are pernicious +to society, pernicious to government; and that yours, tempered and moderated +so as to render them more practicable in the present circumstances of +your country, are wise, salutary, and deserving <!-- page 20--><a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 20</span>of +the general thanks of mankind. But lest you should think, from +the praise I have given you, that flattery can find a place in Elysium, +allow me to lament, with the tender sorrow of a friend, that a man so +superior to all other follies could give into the reveries of a Madame +Guyon, a distracted enthusiast. How strange was it to see the +two great lights of France, you and the Bishop of Meaux, engaged in +a controversy whether a madwoman was a heretic or a saint!</p> +<p><i>Fenelon</i>.—I confess my own weakness, and the ridiculousness +of the dispute; but did not your warm imagination carry you also into +some reveries about divine love, in which you talked unintelligibly, +even to yourself?</p> +<p><i>Plato</i>.—I felt something more than I was able to express.</p> +<p><i>Fenelon</i>.—I had my feelings too, as fine and as lively +as yours; but we should both have done better to have avoided those +subjects in which sentiment took the place of reason.</p> +<h3>DIALOGUE IV.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Addison</span>—<span class="smcap">Dr. +Swift</span>.</p> +<p><i>Dr. Swift</i>.—Surely, Addison, Fortune was exceedingly +inclined to play the fool (a humour her ladyship, as well as most other +ladies of very great quality, is frequently in) when she made you a +minister of state and me a divine!</p> +<p><i>Addison</i>.—I must confess we were both of us out of our +elements; but you don’t mean to insinuate that all would have +been right if our destinies had been reversed?</p> +<p><i>Swift</i>.—Yes, I do. You would have made an excellent +bishop, and I should have governed Great Britain, as I did Ireland, +with an absolute sway, while I talked of nothing but liberty, property, +and so forth.</p> +<p><i>Addison</i>.—You governed the mob of Ireland; but I never +understood that you governed the kingdom. A nation and a mob are +very different things.</p> +<p><!-- page 21--><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 21</span><i>Swift</i>.—Ay, +so you fellows that have no genius for politics may suppose; but there +are times when, by seasonably putting himself at the head of the mob, +an able man may get to the head of the nation. Nay, there are +times when the nation itself is a mob, and ought to be treated as such +by a skilful observer.</p> +<p><i>Addison</i>.—I don’t deny the truth of your proposition; +but is there no danger that, from the natural vicissitudes of human +affairs, the favourite of the mob should be mobbed in his turn?</p> +<p><i>Swift</i>.—Sometimes there may, but I risked it, and it +answered my purpose. Ask the lord-lieutenants, who were forced +to pay court to me instead of my courting them, whether they did not +feel my superiority. And if I could make myself so considerable +when I was only a dirty Dean of St. Patrick’s, without a seat +in either House of Parliament, what should I have done if Fortune had +placed me in England, unencumbered with a gown, and in a situation that +would have enabled me to make myself heard in the House of Lords or +of Commons?</p> +<p><i>Addison</i>.—You would undoubtedly have done very marvellous +acts! Perhaps you might then have been as zealous a Whig as my +Lord Wharton himself; or, if the Whigs had unhappily offended the statesman +as they did the doctor, who knows whether you might not have brought +in the Pretender? Pray let me ask you one question between you +and me: If your great talents had raised you to the office of first +minister under that prince, would you have tolerated the Protestant +religion or not?</p> +<p><i>Swift</i>.—Ha! Mr. Secretary, are you witty upon me? +Do you think, because Sunderland took a fancy to make you a great man +in the state, that he, or his master, could make you as great in wit +as Nature made me? No, no; wit is like grace, it must be given +from above. You can no more get that from the king than my lords +the bishops can the other. And, though I will own you had some, +yet believe <!-- page 22--><a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 22</span>me, +my good friend, it was no match for mine. I think you have not +vanity enough in your nature to pretend to a competition in that point +with me.</p> +<p><i>Addison</i>.—I have been told by my friends that I was rather +too modest, so I will not determine this dispute for myself, but refer +it to Mercury, the god of wit, who fortunately happens to be coming +this way with a soul he has brought to the Shades.</p> +<p>Hail, divine Hermes! A question of precedence in the class +of wit and humour, over which you preside, having arisen between me +and my countryman, Dr. Swift, we beg leave—</p> +<p><i>Mercury</i>.—Dr. Swift, I rejoice to see you. How +does my old lad? How does honest Lemuel Gulliver? Have you +been in Lilliput lately, or in the Flying Island, or with your good +nurse Glumdalclitch? Pray when did you eat a crust with Lord Peter? +Is Jack as mad still as ever? I hear that since you published +the history of his case the poor fellow, by more gentle usage, is almost +got well. If he had but more food he would be as much in his senses +as Brother Martin himself; but Martin, they tell me, has lately spawned +a strange brood of Methodists, Moravians, Hutchinsonians, who are madder +than ever Jack was in his worst days. It is a great pity you are +not alive again to make a new edition of your “Tale of the Tub” +for the use of these fellows. Mr. Addison, I beg your pardon; +I should have spoken to you sooner, but I was so struck with the sight +of my old friend the doctor, that I forgot for a time the respects due +to you.</p> +<p><i>Swift</i>.—Addison, I think our dispute is decided before +the judge has heard the cause.</p> +<p><i>Addison</i>.—I own it is in your favour, but—</p> +<p><i>Mercury</i>.—Don’t be discouraged, friend Addison. +Apollo perhaps would have given a different judgment. I am a wit, +and a rogue, and a foe to all dignity. Swift and I naturally like +one another. He worships me more than <!-- page 23--><a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 23</span>Jupiter, +and I honour him more than Homer; but yet, I assure you, I have a great +value for you. Sir Roger de Coverley, Will Honeycomb, Will Wimble, +the Country Gentleman in the Freeholder, and twenty more characters, +drawn with the finest strokes of unaffected wit and humour in your admirable +writings, have obtained for you a high place in the class of my authors, +though not quite so high a one as the Dean of St. Patrick’s. +Perhaps you might have got before him if the decency of your nature +and the cautiousness of your judgment would have given you leave. +But, allowing that in the force and spirit of his wit he has really +the advantage, how much does he yield to you in all the elegant graces, +in the fine touches of delicate sentiment, in developing the secret +springs of the soul, in showing the mild lights and shades of a character, +in distinctly marking each line, and every soft gradation of tints, +which would escape the common eye? Who ever painted like you the +beautiful parts of human nature, and brought them out from under the +shade even of the greatest simplicity, or the most ridiculous weaknesses; +so that we are forced to admire and feel that we venerate, even while +we are laughing? Swift was able to do nothing that approaches +to this. He could draw an ill face, or caricature a good one, +with a masterly hand; but there was all his power, and, if I am to speak +as a god, a worthless power it is. Yours is divine. It tends +to exalt human nature.</p> +<p><i>Swift</i>.—Pray, good Mercury (if I may have liberty to +say a word for myself) do you think that my talent was not highly beneficial +to correct human nature? Is whipping of no use to mend naughty +boys?</p> +<p><i>Mercury</i>.—Men are generally not so patient of whipping +as boys, and a rough satirist is seldom known to mend them. Satire, +like antimony, if it be used as a medicine, must be rendered less corrosive. +Yours is often rank poison. But I will allow that you have done +some good in your way, though not half so much as Addison did in his.</p> +<p><!-- page 24--><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 24</span><i>Addison</i>.—Mercury, +I am satisfied. It matters little what rank you assign me as a +wit, if you give me the precedence as a friend and benefactor to mankind.</p> +<p><i>Mercury</i>.—I pass sentence on the writers, not the men, +and my decree is this:—When any hero is brought hither who wants +to be humbled, let the talk of lowering his arrogance be assigned to +Swift. The same good office may be done to a philosopher vain +of his wisdom and virtue, or to a bigot puffed up with spiritual pride. +The doctor’s discipline will soon convince the first, that with +all his boasted morality, he is but a Yahoo; and the latter, that to +be holy he must necessarily be humble. I would also have him apply +his anticosmetic wash to the painted face of female vanity, and his +rod, which draws blood at every stroke, to the hard back of insolent +folly or petulant wit. But Addison should be employed to comfort +those whose delicate minds are dejected with too painful a sense of +some infirmities in their nature. To them he should hold his fair +and charitable mirror, which would bring to their sight their hidden +excellences, and put them in a temper fit for Elysium.—Adieu. +Continue to esteem and love each other, as you did in the other world, +though you were of opposite parties, and, what is still more wonderful, +rival wits. This alone is sufficient to entitle you both to Elysium.</p> +<h3>DIALOGUE V.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Ulysses</span>—<span class="smcap">Circe</span>.—<span class="smcap">In +Circe’s Island</span>.</p> +<p><i>Circe</i>.—You will go then, Ulysses, but tell me, without +reserve, what carries you from me?</p> +<p><i>Ulysses</i>.—Pardon, goddess, the weakness of human nature. +My heart will sigh for my country. It is an attachment which all +my admiration of you cannot entirely overcome.</p> +<p><i>Circe</i>.—This is not all. I perceive you are afraid +to declare your whole mind. But what, Ulysses, do you fear? +<!-- page 25--><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 25</span>My +terrors are gone. The proudest goddess on earth, when she has +favoured a mortal as I have favoured you, has laid her divinity and +power at his feet.</p> +<p><i>Ulysses</i>.—It may be so while there still remains in her +heart the tenderness of love, or in her mind the fear of shame. +But you, Circe, are above those vulgar sensations.</p> +<p><i>Circe</i>.—I understand your caution; it belongs to your +character, and therefore, to remove all diffidence from you, I swear +by Styx I will do no manner of harm, either to you or your friends, +for anything which you say, however offensive it may be to my love or +my pride, but will send you away from my island with all marks of my +friendship. Tell me now, truly, what pleasures you hope to enjoy +in the barren rock of Ithaca, which can compensate for those you leave +in this paradise, exempt from all cares and overflowing with all delights?</p> +<p><i>Ulysses</i>.—The pleasures of virtue; the supreme happiness +of doing good. Here I do nothing. My mind is in a palsy; +all its faculties are benumbed. I long to return into action, +that I may worthily employ those talents which I have cultivated from +the earliest days of my youth. Toils and cares fright not me; +they are the exercise of my soul; they keep it in health and in vigour. +Give me again the fields of Troy, rather than these vacant groves. +There I could reap the bright harvest of glory; here I am hid like a +coward from the eyes of mankind, and begin to appear comtemptible in +my own. The image of my former self haunts and seems to upbraid +me wheresoever I go. I meet it under the gloom of every shade; +it even intrudes itself into your presence and chides me from your arms. +O goddess, unless you have power to lay that spirit, unless you can +make me forget myself, I cannot be happy here, I shall every day be +more wretched.</p> +<p><i>Circe</i>.—May not a wise and good man, who has spent all +his youth in active life and honourable danger, when he <!-- page 26--><a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>begins +to decline, be permitted to retire and enjoy the rest of his days in +quiet and pleasure?</p> +<p><i>Ulysses</i>.—No retreat can be honourable to a wise and +good man but in company with the muses. Here I am deprived of +that sacred society. The muses will not inhabit the abodes of +voluptuousness and sensual pleasure. How can I study or think +while such a number of beasts—and the worst beasts are men turned +into beasts—are howling or roaring or grunting all about me?</p> +<p><i>Circe</i>.—There may be something in this, but this I know +is not all. You suppress the strongest reason that draws you to +Ithaca. There is another image besides that of your former self, +which appears to you in this island, which follows you in your walks, +which more particularly interposes itself between you and me, and chides +you from my arms. It is Penelope, Ulysses, I know it is. +Don’t pretend to deny it. You sigh for Penelope in my bosom +itself. And yet she is not an immortal. She is not, as I +am, endowed by Nature with the gift of unfading youth. Several +years have passed since hers has been faded. I might say, without +vanity, that in her best days she was never so handsome as I. +But what is she now?</p> +<p><i>Ulysses</i>.—You have told me yourself, in a former conversation, +when I inquired of you about her, that she is faithful to my bed, and +as fond of me now, after twenty years’ absence, as at the time +when I left her to go to Troy. I left her in the bloom of youth +and beauty. How much must her constancy have been tried since +that time! How meritorious is her fidelity! Shall I reward +her with falsehood? Shall I forget my Penelope, who can’t +forget me, who has no pleasure so dear to her as my remembrance?</p> +<p><i>Circe</i>.—Her love is preserved by the continual hope of +your speedy return. Take that hope from her. Let your companions +return, and let her know that you have fixed your abode with me, that +you have fixed it for ever. Let her know that she is free to dispose +as she pleases of her <!-- page 27--><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 27</span>heart +and her hand. Send my picture to her, bid her compare it with +her own face. If all this does not cure her of the remains of +her passion, if you don’t hear of her marrying Eurymachus in a +twelvemonth, I understand nothing of womankind.</p> +<p><i>Ulysses</i>.—O cruel goddess! why will you force me to tell +you truths I desire to conceal? If by such unmerited, such barbarous +usage I could lose her heart it would break mine. How should I +be able to endure the torment of thinking that I had wronged such a +wife? What could make me amends for her being no longer mine, +for her being another’s? Don’t frown, Circe, I must +own—since you will have me speak—I must own you could not. +With all your pride of immortal beauty, with all your magical charms +to assist those of Nature, you are not so powerful a charmer as she. +You feel desire, and you give it, but you have never felt love, nor +can you inspire it. How can I love one who would have degraded +me into a beast? Penelope raised me into a hero. Her love +ennobled, invigorated, exalted my mind. She bid me go to the siege +of Troy, though the parting with me was worse than death to herself. +She bid me expose myself there to all the perils of war among the foremost +heroes of Greece, though her poor heart sunk and trembled at every thought +of those perils, and would have given all its own blood to save a drop +of mine. Then there was such a conformity in all our inclinations! +When Minerva was teaching me the lessons of wisdom she delighted to +be present. She heard, she retained, she gave them back to me +softened and sweetened with the peculiar graces of her own mind. +When we unbent our thoughts with the charms of poetry, when we read +together the poems of Orpheus, Musæus, and Linus, with what taste +did she discern every excellence in them! My feelings were dull +compared to hers. She seemed herself to be the muse who had inspired +those verses, and had tuned their lyres to infuse into the hearts of +mankind the love of wisdom and virtue and the <!-- page 28--><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 28</span>fear +of the gods. How beneficent was she, how tender to my people! +What care did she take to instruct them in all the finer arts, to relieve +the necessities of the sick and aged, to superintend the education of +children, to do my subjects every good office of kind intercession, +to lay before me their wants, to mediate for those who were objects +of mercy, to sue for those who deserved the favours of the Crown. +And shall I banish myself for ever from such a consort? Shall +I give up her society for the brutal joys of a sensual life, keeping +indeed the exterior form of a man, but having lost the human soul, or +at least all its noble and godlike powers? Oh, Circe, it is impossible, +I can’t bear the thought.</p> +<p><i>Circe</i>.—Begone; don’t imagine that I ask you to +stay a moment longer. The daughter of the sun is not so mean-spirited +as to solicit a mortal to share her happiness with her. It is +a happiness which I find you cannot enjoy. I pity and despise +you. All you have said seems to me a jargon of sentiments fitter +for a silly woman than a great man. Go read, and spin too, if +you please, with your wife. I forbid you to remain another day +in my island. You shall have a fair wind to carry you from it. +After that may every storm that Neptune can raise pursue and overwhelm +you. Begone, I say, quit my sight.</p> +<p><i>Ulysses</i>.—Great goddess, I obey, but remember your oath.</p> +<h3>DIALOGUE VI.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Mercury</span>—<span class="smcap">An English +Duellist</span>—<span class="smcap">A North American Savage</span>.</p> +<p><i>The Duellist</i>.—Mercury, Charon’s boat is on the +other side of the water. Allow me, before it returns, to have +some conversation with the North American savage whom you brought hither +with me. I never before saw one of that species. He looks +very grim. Pray, sir, what is your name? I understand you +speak English.</p> +<p><!-- page 29--><a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 29</span><i>Savage</i>.—Yes, +I learnt it in my childhood, having been bred for some years among the +English of New York. But before I was a man I returned to my valiant +countrymen, the Mohawks; and having been villainously cheated by one +of yours in the sale of some rum, I never cared to have anything to +do with them afterwards. Yet I took up the hatchet for them with +the rest of my tribe in the late war against France, and was killed +while I was out upon a scalping party. But I died very well satisfied, +for my brethren were victorious, and before I was shot I had gloriously +scalped seven men and five women and children. In a former war +I had performed still greater exploits. My name is the Bloody +Bear; it was given me to express my fierceness and valour.</p> +<p><i>Duellist</i>.—Bloody Bear, I respect you, and am much your +humble servant. My name is Tom Pushwell, very well known at Arthur’s. +I am a gentleman by my birth, and by profession a gamester and man of +honour. I have killed men in fair fighting, in honourable single +combat, but don’t understand cutting the throats of women and +children.</p> +<p><i>Savage</i>.—Sir, that is our way of making war. Every +nation has its customs. But, by the grimness of your countenance, +and that hole in your breast, I presume you were killed, as I was, in +some scalping party. How happened it that your enemy did not take +off your scalp?</p> +<p><i>Duellist</i>.—Sir, I was killed in a duel. A friend +of mine had lent me a sum of money. After two or three years, +being in great want himself, he asked me to pay him. I thought +his demand, which was somewhat peremptory, an affront to my honour, +and sent him a challenge. We met in Hyde Park. The fellow +could not fence: I was absolutely the adroitest swordsman in England, +so I gave him three or four wounds; but at last he ran upon me with +such impetuosity, that he put me out of my play, and I could not prevent +him from whipping me through the lungs. I died the next day, as +a man of honour should, without any <!-- page 30--><a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>snivelling +signs of contrition or repentance; and he will follow me soon, for his +surgeon has declared his wounds to be mortal. It is said that +his wife is dead of grief, and that his family of seven children will +be undone by his death. So I am well revenged, and that is a comfort. +For my part, I had no wife. I always hated marriage.</p> +<p><i>Savage</i>.—Mercury, I won’t go in a boat with that +fellow. He has murdered his countryman—he has murdered his +friend: I say, positively, I won’t go in a boat with that fellow. +I will swim over the River, I can swim like a duck.</p> +<p><i>Mercury</i>.—Swim over the Styx! it must not be done; it +is against the laws of Pluto’s Empire. You must go in the +boat, and be quiet.</p> +<p><i>Savage</i>.—Don’t tell me of laws, I am a savage. +I value no laws. Talk of laws to the Englishman. There are +laws in his country, and yet you see he did not regard them, for they +could never allow him to kill his fellow-subject, in time of peace, +because he asked him to pay a debt. I know indeed, that the English +are a barbarous nation, but they can’t possibly be so brutal as +to make such things lawful.</p> +<p><i>Mercury</i>.—You reason well against him. But how +comes it that you are so offended with murder; you, who have frequently +massacred women in their sleep, and children in the cradle?</p> +<p><i>Savage</i>.—I killed none but my enemies. I never +killed my own countrymen. I never killed my friend. Here, +take my blanket, and let it come over in the boat, but see that the +murderer does not sit upon it, or touch it. If he does, I will +burn it instantly in the fire I see yonder. Farewell! I +am determined to swim over the water.</p> +<p><i>Mercury</i>.—By this touch of my wand I deprive thee of +all thy strength. Swim now if thou canst.</p> +<p><i>Savage</i>.—This is a potent enchanter. Restore me +my strength, and I promise to obey thee.</p> +<p><!-- page 31--><a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 31</span><i>Mercury</i>.—I +restore it: but be orderly, and do as I bid you; otherwise worse will +befall you.</p> +<p><i>Duellist</i>.—Mercury, leave him to me. I’ll +tutor him for you. Sirrah, savage, dost thou pretend to be ashamed +of my company? Dost thou know I have kept the best company in +England?</p> +<p><i>Savage</i>.—I know thou art a scoundrel! Not pay thy +debts! kill thy friend who lent thee money for asking thee for it! +Get out of my sight! I will drive thee into Styx!</p> +<p><i>Mercury</i>.—Stop! I command thee. No violence! +Talk to him calmly.</p> +<p><i>Savage</i>.—I must obey thee. Well, sir, let me know +what merit you had to introduce you into good company? What could +you do?</p> +<p><i>Duellist</i>.—Sir, I gamed, as I told you. Besides, +I kept a good table. I eat as well as any man either in England +or France.</p> +<p><i>Savage</i>.—Eat! Did you ever eat the liver of a Frenchman, +or his leg, or his shoulder! There is fine eating! I have +eat twenty. My table was always well served. My wife was +esteemed the best cook for the dressing of man’s flesh in all +North America. You will not pretend to compare your eating with +mine?</p> +<p><i>Duellist</i>.—I danced very finely.</p> +<p><i>Savage</i>.—I’ll dance with thee for thy ears: I can +dance all day long. I can dance the war-dance with more spirit +than any man of my nation. Let us see thee begin it. How +thou standest like a post! Has Mercury struck thee with his enfeebling +rod? or art thou ashamed to let us see how awkward thou art? If +he would permit me, I would teach thee to dance in a way that thou hast +never yet learnt. But what else canst thou do, thou bragging rascal?</p> +<p><i>Duellist</i>.—O heavens! must I bear this? What can +I do with this fellow? I have neither sword nor pistol. +And his shade seems to be twice as strong as mine.</p> +<p><i>Mercury</i>.—You must answer his questions. It was +your <!-- page 32--><a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 32</span>own +desire to have a conversation with him. He is not well bred; but +he will tell you some truths which you must necessarily hear, when you +come before Rhadamanthus. He asked you what you could do besides +eating and dancing.</p> +<p><i>Duellist</i>.—I sang very agreeably.</p> +<p><i>Savage</i>.—Let me hear you sing your “Death Song” +or the “War Whoop.” I challenge you to sing. +Come, begin. The fellow is mute. Mercury, this is a liar; +he has told us nothing but lies. Let me pull out his tongue.</p> +<p><i>Duellist</i>.—The lie given me! and, alas, I dare not resent +it. What an indelible disgrace to the family of the Pushwells! +This indeed is damnation.</p> +<p><i>Mercury</i>.—Here, Charon, take these two savages to your +care. How far the barbarism of the Mohawk will excuse his horrid +acts I leave Minos to judge. But what can be said for the other, +for the Englishman? The custom of duelling? A bad excuse +at the best! but here it cannot avail. The spirit that urged him +to draw his sword against his friend is not that of honour; it is the +spirit of the furies, and to them he must go.</p> +<p><i>Savage</i>.—If he is to be punished for his wickedness, +turn him over to me; I perfectly understand the art of tormenting. +Sirrah, I begin my work with this kick on your breech.</p> +<p><i>Duellist</i>.—Oh my honour, my honour, to what infamy art +thou fallen!</p> +<h3>DIALOGUE VII.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Pliny The Elder</span>—<span class="smcap">Pliny +The Younger</span>.</p> +<p><i>Pliny the Elder</i>.—The account that you give me, nephew, +of your behaviour amidst the tenors and perils that accompanied the +first eruption of Vesuvius does not please me much. There was +more of vanity in it than of true magnanimity. Nothing is great +that is unnatural and affected. When the earth was shaking beneath +you, when <!-- page 33--><a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 33</span>the +whole heaven was darkened with sulphurous clouds, when all Nature seemed +falling into its final destruction, to be reading Livy and making extracts +was an absurd affectation. To meet danger with courage is manly, +but to be insensible of it is brutal stupidity; and to pretend insensibility +where it cannot be supposed is ridiculous falseness. When you +afterwards refused to leave your aged mother and save yourself without +her, you indeed acted nobly. It was also becoming a Roman to keep +up her spirits amidst all the horrors of that tremendous scene by showing +yourself undismayed; but the real merit and glory of this part of your +behaviour is sunk by the other, which gives an air of ostentation and +vanity to the whole.</p> +<p><i>Pliny the Younger</i>.—That vulgar minds should consider +my attention to my studies in such a conjuncture as unnatural and affected, +I should not much wonder; but that you would blame it as such I did +not apprehend—you, whom no business could separate from the muses; +you, who approached nearer to the fiery storm, and died by the suffocating +heat of the vapour.</p> +<p><i>Pliny the Elder</i>.—I died in doing my duty. Let +me recall to your remembrance all the particulars, and then you shall +judge yourself on the difference of your behaviour and mine. I +was the Prefect of the Roman fleet, which then lay at Misenum. +On the first account I received of the very unusual cloud that appeared +in the air I ordered a vessel to carry me out to some distance from +the shore that I might the better observe the phenomenon, and endeavour +to discover its nature and cause. This I did as a philosopher, +and it was a curiosity proper and natural to an inquisitive mind. +I offered to take you with me, and surely you should have gone; for +Livy might have been read at any other time, and such spectacles are +not frequent. When I came out from my house, I found all the inhabitants +of Misenum flying to the sea. That I might assist them, and all +others who dwelt on the coast, I immediately commanded the <!-- page 34--><a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 34</span>whole +fleet to put out, and sailed with it all round the Bay of Naples, steering +particularly to those parts of the shore where the danger was greatest, +and from whence the affrighted people were endeavouring to escape with +the most trepidation. Thus I happily preserved some thousands +of lives, noting at the same time, with an unshaken composure and freedom +of mind, the several phenomena of the eruption. Towards night, +as we approached to the foot of Mount Vesuvius, our galleys were covered +with ashes, the showers of which grew continually hotter and hotter; +then pumice stones and burnt and broken pyrites began to fall on our +heads, and we were stopped by the obstacles which the ruins of the volcano +had suddenly formed, by falling into the sea and almost filling it up, +on that part of the coast. I then commanded my pilot to steer +to the villa of my friend Pomponianus, which, you know, was situated +in the inmost recess of the bay. The wind was very favourable +to carry me thither, but would not allow him to put off from the shore, +as he was desirous to have done. We were, therefore, constrained +to pass the night in his house. The family watched, and I slept +till the heaps of pumice stones, which incessantly fell from the clouds +that had by this time been impelled to that side of the bay, rose so +high in the area of the apartment I lay in, that if I had stayed any +longer I could not have got out; and the earthquakes were so violent +as to threaten every moment the fall of the house. We, therefore, +thought it more safe to go into the open air, guarding our heads as +well as we were able with pillows tied upon them. The wind continuing +contrary, and the sea very rough, we all remained on the shore, till +the descent of a sulphurous and fiery vapour suddenly oppressed my weak +lungs and put an end to my life. In all this I hope that I acted +as the duty of my station required, and with true magnanimity. +But on this occasion, and in many other parts of your conduct, I must +say, my dear nephew, there was a mixture of vanity blended with <!-- page 35--><a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 35</span>your +virtue which impaired and disgraced it. Without that you would +have been one of the worthiest men whom Rome has over produced, for +none excelled you in sincere integrity of heart and greatness of sentiments. +Why would you lose the substance of glory by seeking the shadow? +Your eloquence had, I think, the same fault as your manners; it was +generally too affected. You professed to make Cicero your guide +and pattern; but when one reads his Panegyric upon Julius Cæsar, +in his Oration for Marcellus, and yours upon Trajan, the first seems +the genuine language of truth and Nature, raised and dignified with +all the majesty of the most sublime oratory; the latter appears the +harangue of a florid rhetorician, more desirous to shine and to set +off his own wit than to extol the great man whose virtues he was praising.</p> +<p><i>Pliny the Younger</i>.—I will not question your judgment +either of my life or my writings; they might both have been better if +I had not been too solicitous to render them perfect. It is, perhaps, +some excuse for the affectation of my style that it was the fashion +of the age in which I wrote. Even the eloquence of Tacitus, however +nervous and sublime, was not unaffected. Mine, indeed, was more +diffuse, and the ornaments of it were more tawdry; but his laboured +conciseness, the constant glow of his diction, and pointed brilliancy +of his sentences, were no less unnatural. One principal cause +of this I suppose to have been that, as we despaired of excelling the +two great masters of oratory, Cicero and Livy, in their own manner, +we took up another, which to many appeared more shining, and gave our +compositions a more original air; but it is mortifying to me to say +much on this subject. Permit me, therefore, to resume the contemplation +of that on which our conversation turned before. What a direful +calamity was the eruption of Vesuvius, which you have been describing? +Don’t you remember the beauty of that fine coast, and of the mountain +itself, before it was torn with the violence of those internal <!-- page 36--><a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 36</span>fires, +that forced their way through its surface. The foot of it was +covered with cornfields and rich meadows, interspersed with splendid +villas and magnificent towns; the sides of it were clothed with the +best vines in Italy. How quick, how unexpected, how terrible was +the change! All was at once overwhelmed with ashes, cinders, broken +rocks, and fiery torrents, presenting to the eye the most dismal scene +of horror and desolation!</p> +<p><i>Pliny the Elder</i>.—You paint it very truly. But +has it never occurred to your philosophical mind that this change is +a striking emblem of that which must happen, by the natural course of +things, to every rich, luxurious state? While the inhabitants +of it are sunk in voluptuousness—while all is smiling around them, +and they imagine that no evil, no danger is nigh—the latent seeds +of destruction are fermenting within; till, breaking out on a sudden, +they lay waste all their opulence, all their boasted delights, and leave +them a sad monument of the fatal effects of internal tempests and convulsions.</p> +<h3>DIALOGUE VIII.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Fernando Cortez</span>—<span class="smcap">William +Penn</span>.</p> +<p><i>Cortez</i>.—Is it possible, William Penn, that you should +seriously compare your glory with mine? The planter of a small +colony in North America presume to vie with the conqueror of the great +Mexican Empire?</p> +<p><i>Penn</i>.—Friend, I pretend to no glory—the Lord preserve +me from it. All glory is His; but this I say, that I was His instrument +in a more glorious work than that performed by thee—incomparably +more glorious.</p> +<p><i>Cortez</i>.—Dost thou not know, William Penn, that with +less than six hundred Spanish foot, eighteen horse, and a few small +pieces of cannon, I fought and defeated innumerable armies of very brave +men; dethroned an emperor who had been raised to the throne by his valour, +<!-- page 37--><a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>and +excelled all his countrymen in the science of war, as much as they excelled +all the rest of the West Indian nations? That I made him my prisoner +in his own capital; and, after he had been deposed and slain by his +subjects, vanquished and took Guatimozin, his successor, and accomplished +my conquest of the whole empire of Mexico, which I loyally annexed to +the Spanish Crown? Dost thou not know that, in doing these wonderful +acts, I showed as much courage as Alexander the Great, as much prudence +as Cæsar? That by my policy I ranged under my banners the +powerful commonwealth of Tlascala, and brought them to assist me in +subduing the Mexicans, though with the loss of their own beloved independence? +and that, to consummate my glory, when the Governor of Cuba, Velasquez, +would have taken my command from me and sacrificed me to his envy and +jealousy, I drew from him all his forces and joined them to my own, +showing myself as superior to all other Spaniards as I was to the Indians?</p> +<p><i>Penn</i>.—I know very well that thou wast as fierce as a +lion and as subtle as a serpent. The devil perhaps may place thee +as high in his black list of heroes as Alexander or Cæsar. +It is not my business to interfere with him in settling thy rank. +But hark thee, friend Cortez. What right hadst thou, or had the +King of Spain himself, to the Mexican Empire? Answer me that, +if thou canst.</p> +<p><i>Cortez</i>.—The Pope gave it to my master.</p> +<p><i>Penn</i>.—The devil offered to give our Lord all the kingdoms +of the earth, and I suppose the Pope, as his vicar, gave thy master +this; in return for which he fell down and worshipped him, like an idolater +as he was. But suppose the high priest of Mexico had taken it +into his head to give Spain to Montezuma, would his grant have been +good?</p> +<p><i>Cortez</i>.—These are questions of casuistry which it is +not the business of a soldier to decide. We leave that to gownsmen. +But pray, Mr. Penn, what right had you to the province you settled?</p> +<p><!-- page 38--><a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 38</span><i>Penn</i>.—An +honest right of fair purchase. We gave the native savages some +things they wanted, and they in return gave us lands they did not want. +All was amicably agreed on, not a drop of blood shed to stain our acquisition.</p> +<p><i>Cortez</i>.—I am afraid there was a little fraud in the +purchase. Thy followers, William Penn, are said to think cheating +in a quiet and sober way no mortal sin.</p> +<p><i>Penn</i>.—The saints are always calumniated by the ungodly. +But it was a sight which an angel might contemplate with delight to +behold the colony I settled! To see us living with the Indians +like innocent lambs, and taming the ferocity of their barbarous manners +by the gentleness of ours! To see the whole country, which before +was an uncultivated wilderness, rendered as fertile and fair as the +garden of God! O Fernando Cortez, Fernando Cortez! didst thou +leave the great empire of Mexico in that state? No, thou hadst +turned those delightful and populous regions into a desert—a desert +flooded with blood. Dost thou not remember that most infernal +scene when the noble Emperor Guatimozin was stretched out by thy soldiers +upon hot burning coals to make him discover into what part of the lake +of Mexico he had thrown the royal treasures? Are not his groans +ever sounding in the ears of thy conscience? Do not they rend +thy hard heart, and strike thee with more horror than the yells of the +furies?</p> +<p><i>Cortez</i>.—Alas! I was not present when that dire +act was done. Had I been there I would have forbidden it. +My nature was mild.</p> +<p><i>Penn</i>.—Thou wast the captain of that band of robbers +who did this horrid deed. The advantage they had drawn from thy +counsels and conduct enabled them to commit it; and thy skill saved +them afterwards from the vengeance that was due to so enormous a crime. +The enraged Mexicans would have properly punished them for it, if they +had not had thee for their general, thou lieutenant of Satan.</p> +<p><!-- page 39--><a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span><i>Cortez</i>.—The +saints I find can rail, William Penn. But how do you hope to preserve +this admirable colony which you have settled? Your people, you +tell me, live like innocent lambs. Are there no wolves in North +America to devour those lambs? But if the Americans should continue +in perpetual peace with all your successors there, the French will not. +Are the inhabitants of Pennsylvania to make war against them with prayers +and preaching? If so, that garden of God which you say you have +planted will undoubtedly be their prey, and they will take from you +your property, your laws, and your religion.</p> +<p><i>Penn</i>.—The Lord’s will be done. The Lord +will defend us against the rage of our enemies if it be His good pleasure.</p> +<p><i>Cortez</i>.—Is this the wisdom of a great legislator? +I have heard some of your countrymen compare you to Solon. Did +Solon, think you, give laws to a people, and leave those laws and that +people at the mercy of every invader? The first business of legislature +is to provide a military strength that may defend the whole system. +If a house is built in a land of robbers, without a gate to shut or +a bolt or bar to secure it, what avails it how well-proportioned or +how commodious the architecture of it may be? Is it richly furnished +within? the more it will tempt the hands of violence and of rapine to +seize its wealth. The world, William Penn, is all a land of robbers. +Any state or commonwealth erected therein must be well fenced and secured +by good military institutions; or, the happier it is in all other respects, +the greater will be its danger, the more speedy its destruction. +Perhaps the neighbouring English colonies may for a while protect yours; +but that precarious security cannot always preserve you. Your +plan of government must be changed, or your colony will be lost. +What I have said is also applicable to Great Britain itself. If +an increase of its wealth be not accompanied with an increase of its +force that wealth will become <!-- page 40--><a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 40</span>the +prey of some of the neighbouring nations, in which the martial spirit +is more prevalent than the commercial. And whatever praise may +be due to its civil institutions, if they are not guarded by a wise +system of military policy, they will be found of no value, being unable +to prevent their own dissolution.</p> +<p><i>Penn</i>.—These are suggestions of human wisdom. The +doctrines I held were inspired; they came from above.</p> +<p><i>Cortez</i>.—It is blasphemy to say that any folly could +come from the Fountain of Wisdom. Whatever is inconsistent with +the great laws of Nature and with the necessary state of human society +cannot possibly have been inspired by God. Self-defence is as +necessary to nations as to men. And shall particulars have a right +which nations have not? True religion, William Penn, is the perfection +of reason; fanaticism is the disgrace, the destruction of reason.</p> +<p><i>Penn</i>.—Though what thou sayest should be true, it does +not come well from thy mouth. A Papist talk of reason! Go +to the Inquisition and tell them of reason and the great laws of Nature. +They will broil thee, as thy soldiers broiled the unhappy Guatimozin. +Why dost thou turn pale? Is it the name of the Inquisition, or +the name of Guatimozin, that troubles and affrights thee? O wretched +man! who madest thyself a voluntary instrument to carry into a new-discovered +world that hellish tribunal? Tremble and shake when thou thinkest +that every murder the Inquisitors have committed, every torture they +have inflicted on the innocent Indians, is originally owing to thee. +Thou must answer to God for all their inhumanity, for all their injustice. +What wouldst thou give to part with the renown of thy conquests, and +to have a conscience as pure and undisturbed as mine?</p> +<p><i>Cortez</i>.—I feel the force of thy words; they pierce me +like daggers. I can never, never be happy, while I retain any +memory of the ills I have caused. Yet I thought I did right. +I thought I laboured to advance the glory of God <!-- page 41--><a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 41</span>and +propagate, in the remotest parts of the earth, His holy religion. +He will be merciful to well designing and pious error. Thou also +wilt have need of that gracious indulgence, though not, I own, so much +as I.</p> +<p><i>Penn</i>.—Ask thy heart whether ambition was not thy real +motive and zeal the pretence?</p> +<p><i>Cortez</i>.—Ask thine whether thy zeal had no worldly views +and whether thou didst believe all the nonsense of the sect, at the +head of which thou wast pleased to become a legislator.—Adieu. +Self-examination requires retirement.</p> +<h3>DIALOGUE IX.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Marcus Portius Cato</span>—<span class="smcap">Messalla +Corvinus</span>.</p> +<p><i>Cato</i>.—Oh, Messalla! is it then possible that what some +of our countrymen tell me should be true? Is it possible that +you could live the courtier of Octavius; that you could accept of employments +and honours from him, from the tyrant of your country; you, the brave, +the noble-minded, the virtuous Messalla; you, whom I remember, my son-in-law +Brutus has frequently extolled as the most promising youth in Rome, +tutored by philosophy, trained up in arms, scorning all those soft, +effeminate pleasures that reconcile men to an easy and indolent servitude, +fit for all the roughest tasks of honour and virtue, fit to live or +to die a free man?</p> +<p><i>Messalla</i>.—Marcus Cato, I revere both your life and your +death; but the last, permit me to tell you, did no good to your country, +and the former would have done more if you could have mitigated a little +the sternness of your virtue, I will not say of your pride. For +my own part, I adhered with constant integrity and unwearied zeal to +the Republic, while the Republic existed. I fought for her at +Philippi under the only commander, who, if he had conquered, would have +conquered for her, not for himself. When he <!-- page 42--><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 42</span>was +dead I saw that nothing remained to my country but the choice of a master. +I chose the best.</p> +<p><i>Cato</i>.—The best! What! a man who had broken all +laws, who had violated all trusts, who had led the armies of the Commonwealth +against Antony, and then joined with him and that sottish traitor Lepidus, +to set up a triumvirate more execrable by far than either of the former; +who shed the best blood in Rome by an inhuman proscription, murdered +even his own guardian, murdered Cicero, to whose confidence, too improvidently +given, he owed all his power? Was this the master you chose? +Could you bring your tongue to give him the name of Augustus? +Could you stoop to beg consulships and triumphs from him? Oh, +shame to virtue! Oh, degeneracy of Rome! To what infamy +are her sons, her noblest sons, fallen. The thought of it pains +me more than the wound that I died of; it stabs my soul.</p> +<p><i>Messalla</i>.—Moderate, Cato, the vehemence of your indignation. +There has always been too much passion mixed with your virtue. +The enthusiasm you are possessed with is a noble one, but it disturbs +your judgment. Hear me with patience, and with the tranquillity +that becomes a philosopher. It is true that Octavius had done +all you have said; but it is no less true that, in our circumstances, +he was the best master Rome could choose. His mind was fitted +by nature for empire. His understanding was clear and strong. +His passions were cool, and under the absolute command of his reason. +His name gave him an authority over the troops and the people which +no other Roman could possess in an equal degree. He used that +authority to restrain the excesses of both, which it was no longer in +the power of the Senate to repress, nor of any other general or magistrate +in the state. He restored discipline in our armies, the first +means of salvation, without which no legal government could have been +formed or supported. He avoided all odious and invidious names. +He maintained <!-- page 43--><a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 43</span>and +respected those which time and long habits had endeared to the Roman +people. He permitted a generous liberty of speech. He treated +the nobles of Pompey’s party as well as those of his father’s, +if they did not themselves, for factious purposes, keep up the distinction. +He formed a plan of government, moderate, decent, respectable, which +left the senate its majesty, and some of its power. He restored +vigour and spirit to the laws; he made new and good ones for the reformation +of manners; he enforced their execution; he governed the empire with +lenity, justice, and glory; he humbled the pride of the Parthians; he +broke the fierceness of the barbarous nations; he gave to his country, +exhausted and languishing with the great loss of blood which she had +sustained in the course of so many civil wars, the blessing of peace—a +blessing which was become so necessary for her, that without it she +could enjoy no other. In doing these things I acknowledge he had +my assistance. I am prouder of it, and I think I can justify myself +more effectually to my country, than if I had died by my own hand at +Philippi. Believe me, Cato, it is better to do some good than +to project a great deal. A little practical virtue is of more +use to society than the most sublime theory, or the best principles +of government ill applied.</p> +<p><i>Cato</i>.—Yet I must think it was beneath the character +of Messalla to join in supporting a government which, though coloured +and mitigated, was still a tyranny. Had you not better have gone +into a voluntary exile, where you would not have seen the face of the +tyrant, and where you might have quietly practised those private virtues +which are all that the gods require from good men in certain situations?</p> +<p><i>Messalla</i>.—No; I did much more good by continuing at +Rome. Had Augustus required of me anything base, anything servile, +I would have gone into exile, I would have died, rather than do it. +But he respected my virtue, he respected my dignity; he treated me as +well as Agrippa, or as Mæcenas, with this distinction alone, that +he never <!-- page 44--><a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 44</span>employed +my sword but against foreign nations, or the old enemies of the republic.</p> +<p><i>Cato</i>.—It must, I own, have been a pleasure to be employed +against Antony, that monster of vice, who plotted the ruin of liberty, +and the raising of himself to sovereign power, amidst the riot of bacchanals, +and in the embraces of harlots, who, when he had attained to that power, +delivered it up to a lascivious queen, and would have made an Egyptian +strumpet the mistress of Rome, if the Battle of Actium had not saved +us from that last of misfortunes.</p> +<p><i>Messalla</i>.—In that battle I had a considerable share. +So I had in encouraging the liberal arts and sciences, which Augustus +protected. Under his judicious patronage the muses made Rome their +capital seat. It would have pleased you to have known Virgil, +Horace, Tibullus, Ovid, Livy, and many more, whose names will be illustrious +to all generations.</p> +<p><i>Cato</i>.—I understand you, Messalla. Your Augustus +and you, after the ruin of our liberty, made Rome a Greek city, an academy +of fine wits, another Athens under the government of Demetrius Phalareus. +I had much rather have seen her under Fabricius and Curius, and her +other honest old consuls, who could not read.</p> +<p><i>Messalla</i>.—Yet to these writers she will owe as much +of her glory as she did to those heroes. I could say more, a great +deal more, on the happiness of the mild dominion of Augustus. +I might even add, that the vast extent of the empire, the factions of +the nobility, and the corruption of the people, which no laws under +the ordinary magistrates of the state were able to restrain, seemed +necessarily to require some change in the government; that Cato himself, +had he remained upon earth, could have done us no good, unless he would +have yielded to become our prince. But I see you consider me as +a deserter from the republic, and an apologist for a tyrant. I, +therefore, leave you to the company of those ancient Romans, for whose +society <!-- page 45--><a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 45</span>you +were always much fitter than for that of your contemporaries. +Cato should have lived with Fabricius and Curius, not with Pompey and +Cæsar.</p> +<h3>DIALOGUE X.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Christina, </span>Queen Of Sweden—Chancellor +<span class="smcap">Oxenstiern</span>.</p> +<p><i>Christina</i>.—You seem to avoid me, Oxenstiern; and, now +we are met, you don’t pay me the reverence that is due to your +queen! Have you forgotten that I was your sovereign?</p> +<p><i>Oxenstiern</i>.—I am not your subject here, madam; but you +have forgotten that you yourself broke that bond, and freed me from +my allegiance, many years before you died, by abdicating the crown, +against my advice and the inclination of your people. Reverence +here is paid only to virtue.</p> +<p><i>Christina</i>.—I see you would mortify me if it were in +your power for acting against your advice. But my fame does not +depend upon your judgment. All Europe admired the greatness of +my mind in resigning a crown to dedicate myself entirely to the love +of the sciences and the fine arts; things of which you had no taste +in barbarous Sweden, the realm of Goths and Vandals.</p> +<p><i>Oxenstiern</i>.—There is hardly any mind too great for a +crown, but there are many too little. Are you sure, madam, it +was magnanimity that caused you to fly from the government of a kingdom +which your ancestors, and particularly your heroic father Gustavus, +had ruled with so much glory?</p> +<p><i>Christina</i>.—Am I sure of it? Yes; and to confirm +my own judgment, I have that of many learned men and <i>beaux esprits</i> +of all countries, who have celebrated my action as the perfection of +heroism.</p> +<p><i>Oxenstiern</i>.—Those <i>beaux esprits</i> judged according +to their predominant passion. I have heard young ladies express +their admiration of Mark Antony for heroically leaving his <!-- page 46--><a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 46</span>fleet +at the Battle of Actium to follow his mistress. Your passion for +literature had the same effect upon you. But why did not you indulge +it in a manner more becoming your birth and rank? Why did not +you bring the muses to Sweden, instead of deserting that kingdom to +seek them in Rome? For a prince to encourage and protect arts +and sciences, and more especially to instruct an illiterate people and +inspire them with knowledge, politeness, and fine taste is indeed an +act of true greatness.</p> +<p><i>Christina</i>.—The Swedes were too gross to be refined by +any culture which I could have given to their dull, their half-frozen +souls. Wit and genius require the influence of a more southern +climate.</p> +<p><i>Oxenstiern</i>.—The Swedes too gross! No, madam, not +even the Russians are too gross to be refined if they had a prince to +instruct them.</p> +<p><i>Christina</i>.—It was too tedious a work for the vivacity +of my temper to polish bears into men. I should have died of the +spleen before I had made any proficiency in it. My desire was +to shine among those who were qualified to judge of my talents. +At Paris, at Rome I had the glory of showing the French and Italian +wits that the North could produce one not inferior to them. They +beheld me with wonder. The homage I had received in my palace +at Stockholm was paid to my dignity. That which I drew from the +French and Roman academies was paid to my talents. How much more +glorious, how much more delightful to an elegant and rational mind was +the latter than the former! Could you once have felt the joy, +the transport of my heart, when I saw the greatest authors and all the +celebrated artists in the most learned and civilised countries of Europe +bringing their works to me and submitting the merit of them to my decisions; +when I saw the philosophers, the rhetoricians, the poets making my judgment +the standard of their reputation, you would not wonder that I preferred +the empire of wit to any other empire.</p> +<p><!-- page 47--><a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 47</span><i>Oxenstiern</i>.—O +great Gustavus! my ever-honoured, my adored master! O greatest +of kings, greatest in valour, in virtue, in wisdom, with what indignation +must thy soul, enthroned in heaven, have looked down on thy unworthy, +thy degenerate daughter! With what shame must thou have seen her +rambling about from court to court deprived of her royal dignity, debased +into a pedant, a witling, a smatterer in sculpture and painting, reduced +to beg or buy flattery from each needy rhetorician or hireling poet! +I weep to think on this stain, this dishonourable stain, to thy illustrious +blood! And yet, would to God! would to God! this was all the pollution +it has suffered!</p> +<p><i>Christina</i>.—Darest thou, Oxenstiern, impute any blemish +to my honour?</p> +<p><i>Oxenstiern</i>.—Madam, the world will scarce respect the +frailties of queens when they are on their thrones, much less when they +have voluntarily degraded themselves to the level of the vulgar. +And if scandalous tongues have unjustly aspersed their fame, the way +to clear it is not by an assassination.</p> +<p><i>Christina</i>.—Oh! that I were alive again, and restored +to my throne, that I might punish the insolence of this hoary traitor! +But, see! he leaves me, he turns his back upon me with cool contempt! +Alas! do I not deserve this scorn? In spite of myself I must confess +that I do. O vanity, how short-lived are the pleasures thou bestowest! +I was thy votary. Thou wast the god for whom I changed my religion. +For thee I forsook my country and my throne. What compensation +have I gained for all these sacrifices so lavishly, so imprudently made? +Some puffs of incense from authors who thought their flattery due to +the rank I had held, or hoped to advance themselves by my recommendation, +or, at best, over-rated my passion for literature, and praised me to +raise the value of those talents with which they were endowed. +But in the esteem of wise men I stand very low, and their esteem alone +is the true measure of <!-- page 48--><a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 48</span>glory. +Nothing, I perceive, can give the mind a lasting joy but the consciousness +of having performed our duty in that station which it has pleased the +Divine Providence to assign to us. The glory of virtue is solid +and eternal. All other will fade away like a thin vapoury cloud, +on which the casual glance of some faint beams of light has superficially +imprinted their weak and transient colours.</p> +<h3>DIALOGUE XI.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Titus Vespasianus</span>—<span class="smcap">Publius +Cornelius Scipio Africanus</span>.</p> +<p><i>Titus</i>.—No, Scipio, I can’t give place to you in +this. In other respects I acknowledge myself your inferior, though +I was Emperor of Rome and you only her consul. I think your triumph +over Carthage more glorious than mine over Judæa. But in +that I gained over love I must esteem myself superior to you, though +your generosity with regard to the fair Celtiberian, your captive, has +been celebrated so highly.</p> +<p><i>Scipio</i>.—Fame has been, then, unjust to your merit, for +little is said of the continence of Titus, but mine has been the favourite +topic of eloquence in every age and country.</p> +<p><i>Titus</i>.—It has; and in particular your great historian +Livy has poured forth all the ornaments of his admirable rhetoric to +embellish and dignify that part of your story. I had a great historian +too—Cornelius Tacitus; but either from the brevity which he affected +in writing, or from the severity of his nature, which never having felt +the passion of love, thought the subduing of it too easy a victory to +deserve great encomiums, he has bestowed but three lines upon my parting +with Berenicé, which cost me more pain and greater efforts of +mind than the conquest of Jerusalem.</p> +<p><i>Scipio</i>.—I wish to hear from yourself the history of +that parting, and what could make it so hard and painful to you.</p> +<p><!-- page 49--><a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 49</span><i>Titus</i>.—While +I served in Palestine under the auspices of my father, Vespasian, I +became acquainted with Berenicé, sister to King Agrippa, and +who was herself a queen in one of those Eastern countries. She +was the most beautiful woman in Asia, but she had graces more irresistible +still than her beauty. She had all the insinuation and wit of +Cleopatra, without her coquetry. I loved her, and was beloved; +she loved my person, not my greatness. Her tenderness, her fidelity +so inflamed my passion for her that I gave her a promise of marriage.</p> +<p><i>Scipio</i>.—What do I hear? A Roman senator promise +to marry a queen!</p> +<p><i>Titus</i>.—I expected, Scipio, that your ears would be offended +with the sound of such a match. But consider that Rome was very +different in my time from Rome in yours. The ferocious pride of +our ancient republican senators had bent itself to the obsequious complaisance +of a court. Berenicé made no doubt, and I flattered myself +that it would not be inflexible in this point alone. But we thought +it necessary to defer the completion of our wishes till the death of +my father. On that event the Roman Empire and (what I knew she +valued more) my hand became due to her, according to my engagements.</p> +<p><i>Scipio</i>.—The Roman Empire due to a Syrian queen! +Oh, Rome, how art thou fallen! Accursed be the memory of Octavius +Cæsar, who by oppressing its liberty so lowered the majesty of +the republic, that a brave and virtuous Roman, in whom was vested all +the power of that mighty state, could entertain such a thought! +But did you find the senate and people so servile, so lost to all sense +of their honour and dignity, as to affront the great genius of imperial +Rome and the eyes of her tutelary gods, the eyes of Jupiter Capitolinus, +with the sight of a queen—an Asiatic queen—on the throne +of the Cæsars?</p> +<p><i>Titus</i>.—I did not. They judged of it as you, Scipio, +judge; they detested, they disdained it. In vain did I <!-- page 50--><a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 50</span>urge +to some particular friends, who represented to me the sense of the Senate +and people, that a Messalina, a Poppæa, were a much greater dishonour +to the throne of the Cæsars than a virtuous foreign princess. +Their prejudices were unconquerable; I saw it would be impossible for +me to remove them. But I might have used my authority to silence +their murmurs. A liberal donative to the soldiers, by whom I was +fondly beloved, would have secured their fidelity, and consequently +would have forced the Senate and people to yield to my inclination. +Berenicé knew this, and with tears implored me not to sacrifice +her happiness and my own to an unjust prepossession. Shall I own +it to you, Publius? My heart not only pitied her, but acknowledged +the truth and solidity of her reasons. Yet so much did I abhor +the idea of tyranny, so much respect did I pay to the sentiments of +my subjects, that I determined to separate myself from her for ever, +rather than force either the laws or the prejudices of Rome to submit +to my will.</p> +<p><i>Scipio</i>.—Give me thy hand, noble Titus. Thou wast +worthy of the empire, and Scipio Africanus honours thy virtue.</p> +<p><i>Titus</i>.—My virtue can have no greater reward from the +approbation of man. But, O Scipio, think what anguish my heart +must have felt when I took that resolution, and when I communicated +it to my dear, my unhappy Berenicé. You saw the struggle +of Masinissa, when you forced him to give up his beloved Sophonisba. +Mine was a harder conflict. She had abandoned him to marry the +King of Numidia. He knew that her ruling passion was ambition, +not love. He could not rationally esteem her when she quitted +a husband whom she had ruined, who had lost his crown and his liberty +in the cause of her country and for her sake, to give her person to +him, the capital foe of that unfortunate husband. He must, in +spite of his passion, have thought her a perfidious, a detestable woman. +But I <!-- page 51--><a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 51</span>esteemed +Berenicé; she deserved my esteem. I was certain she would +not have accepted the empire from any other hand; and had I been a private +man she would have raised me to her throne. Yet I had the fortitude—I +ought, perhaps, to say the hardness of heart—to bid her depart +from my sight; depart for ever! What, O Publius, was your conquest +over yourself, in giving back to her betrothed lover the Celtiberian +captive compared to this? Indeed, that was no conquest. +I will not so dishonour the virtue of Scipio as to think he could feel +any struggle with himself on that account. A woman engaged to +another—engaged by affection as well as vows, let her have been +ever so beautiful—could raise in your heart no sentiments but +compassion and friendship. To have violated her would have been +an act of brutality, which none but another Tarquin could have committed. +To have detained her from her husband would have been cruel. But +where love is mutual, where the object beloved suffers more in the separation +than you do yourself, to part with her is indeed a struggle. It +is the hardest sacrifice a good heart can make to its duty.</p> +<p><i>Scipio</i>.—I acknowledge that it is, and yield you the +palm. But I will own to you, Titus, I never knew much of the tenderness +you describe. Hannibal, Carthage, Rome, the saving of my country, +the subduing of its rival, these filled my thoughts, and left no room +there for those effeminate passions. I do not blame your sensibility; +but when I went to the capitol to talk with Jove, I never consulted +him about love affairs.</p> +<p><i>Titus</i>.—If my soul had been possessed by ambition alone, +I might possibly have been a greater man than I was; but I should not +have been more virtuous, nor have gained the title I preferred to that +of conqueror of Judæa and Emperor of Rome, in being called the +delight of humankind.</p> +<h3><!-- page 52--><a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 52</span>DIALOGUE +XII</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Henry Duke of Guise</span>—<span class="smcap">Machiavel</span>.</p> +<p><i>Guise</i>.—Avaunt! thou fiend. I abhor thy sight. +I look upon thee as the original cause of my death, and of all the calamities +brought upon the French nation, in my father’s time and my own.</p> +<p><i>Machiavel</i>.—I the cause of your death! You surprise +me!</p> +<p><i>Guise</i>.—Yes. Your pernicious maxims of policy, +imported from Florence with Catherine of Medicis, your wicked disciple, +produced in France such a government, such dissimulation, such perfidy, +such violent, ruthless counsels, as threw that whole kingdom into the +utmost confusion, and ended my life, even in the palace of my sovereign, +by the swords of assassins.</p> +<p><i>Machiavel</i>.—Whoever may have a right to complain of my +policy, you, sir, have not. You owed your greatness to it, and +your deviating from it was the real cause of your death. If it +had not been for the assassination of Admiral Coligni and the massacre +of the Huguenots, the strength and power which the conduct of so able +a chief would have given to that party, after the death of your father, +its most dangerous enemy, would have been fatal to your house; nor could +you, even with all the advantage you drew from that great stroke of +royal policy, have acquired the authority you afterwards rose to in +the kingdom of France; but by pursuing my maxims, by availing yourself +of the specious name of religion to serve the secret purposes of your +ambition, and by suffering no restraint of fear or conscience, not even +the guilt of exciting a civil war, to check the necessary progress of +your well-concerted designs. But on the day of the barricades +you most imprudently let the king escape out of Paris, when you might +have slain or deposed him. This was directly against the great +rule of my politics, not to stop short in rebellion or treason till +the work is fully completed. And you were justly censured <!-- page 53--><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 53</span>for +it by Pope Sixtus Quintus, a more consummate politician, who said, “You +ought to have known that when a subject draws his sword against his +king he should throw away the scabbard.” You likewise deviated +from my counsels, by putting yourself in the power of a sovereign you +had so much offended. Why would you, against all the cautions +I had given, expose your life in a loyal castle to the mercy of that +prince? You trusted to his fear, but fear, insulted and desperate, +is often cruel. Impute therefore your death not to any fault in +my maxims, but to your own folly in not having sufficiently observed +them.</p> +<p><i>Guise</i>.—If neither I nor that prince had ever practised +your maxims in any part of our conduct, he would have reigned many years +with honour and peace, and I should have risen by my courage and talents +to as high a pitch of greatness as it consisted with the duty of a subject +to desire. But your instructions led us on into those crooked +paths, out of which there was no retreat without great danger, nor a +possibility of advancing without being detested by all mankind, and +whoever is so has everything to fear from that detestation. I +will give you a proof of this in the fate of a prince, who ought to +have been your hero instead of Cæsar Borgia, because he was incomparably +a greater man, and, of all who ever lived, seems to have acted most +steadily according to the rules laid down by you; I mean Richard III., +King of England. He stopped at no crime that could be profitable +to him; he was a dissembler, a hypocrite, a murderer in cool blood. +After the death of his brother he gained the crown by cutting off, without +pity, all who stood in his way. He trusted no man any further +than helped his own purposes and consisted with his own safety. +He liberally rewarded all services done him, but would not let the remembrance +of them atone for offences or save any man from destruction who obstructed +his views. Nevertheless, though his nature shrunk from no wickedness +which could serve his <!-- page 54--><a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 54</span>ambition, +he possessed and exercised all those virtues which you recommend to +the practice of your prince. He was bold and prudent in war, just +and strict in the general administration of his government, and particularly +careful, by a vigorous execution of the laws, to protect the people +against injuries or oppressions from the great. In all his actions +and words there constantly appeared the highest concern for the honour +of the nation. He was neither greedy of wealth that belonged to +other men nor profuse of his own, but knew how to give and where to +save. He professed a most edifying sense of religion, pretended +great zeal for the reformation of manners, and was really an example +of sobriety, chastity, and temperance in the whole course of his life. +Nor did he shed any blood, but of those who were such obstacles in his +way to dominion as could not possibly be removed by any other means. +This was a prince after your heart, yet mark his end. The horror +his crimes had excited in the minds of his subjects, and the detestation +it produced, were so pernicious to him, that they enabled an exile, +who had no right to the crown, and whose abilities were much inferior +to his, to invade his realm and destroy him.</p> +<p><i>Machiavel</i>.—This example, I own, may seem to be of some +weight against the truth of my system. But at the same time it +demonstrates that there was nothing so new in the doctrines I published +as to make it reasonable to charge me with the disorders and mischiefs +which, since my time, any kingdom may have happened to suffer from the +ambition of a subject or the tyranny of a prince. Human nature +wants no teaching to render it wicked. In courts more especially +there has been, from the first institution of monarchies, a policy practised, +not less repugnant than mine to the narrow and vulgar laws of humanity +and religion. Why should I be singled out as worse than other +statesmen?</p> +<p><i>Guise</i>.—There have been, it must be owned, in all ages +and all states, many wicked politicians; but thou art the <!-- page 55--><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 55</span>first +that ever taught the science of tyranny, reduced it to rules, and instructed +his disciples how to acquire and secure it by treachery, perjuries, +assassinations, proscriptions, and with a particular caution, not to +be stopped in the progress of their crimes by any check of the conscience +or feeling of the heart, but to push them as far as they shall judge +to be necessary to their greatness and safety. It is this which +has given thee a pre-eminence in guilt over all other statesmen.</p> +<p><i>Machiavel</i>.—If you had read my book with candour you +would have perceived that I did not desire to render men either tyrants +or rebels, but only showed, if they were so, what conduct, in such circumstances, +it would be rational and expedient for them to observe.</p> +<p><i>Guise</i>.—When you were a minister of state in Florence, +if any chemist or physician had published a treatise, to instruct his +countrymen in the art of poisoning, and how to do it with the most certain +destruction to others and security to themselves, would you have allowed +him to plead in his justification that he did not desire men to poison +their neighbours? But, if they would use such evil means of mending +their fortunes, there could surely be no harm in letting them know what +were the most effectual poisons, and by what methods they might give +them without being discovered. Would you have thought it a sufficient +apology for him that he had dropped in his preface, or here and there +in his book, a sober exhortation against the committing of murder? +Without all doubt, as a magistrate concerned for the safety of the people +of Florence, you would have punished the wretch with the utmost severity, +and taken great care to destroy every copy of so pernicious a book. +Yet your own admired work contains a more baneful and more infernal +art. It poisons states and kingdoms, and spreads its malignity, +like a general pestilence, over the whole world.</p> +<p><i>Machiavel</i>.—You must acknowledge at least that my <!-- page 56--><a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 56</span>discourses +on Livy are full of wise and virtuous maxims and precepts of government.</p> +<p><i>Guise</i>.—This, I think, rather aggravates than alleviates +your guilt. How could you study and comment upon Livy with so +acute and profound an understanding, and afterwards write a book so +absolutely repugnant to all the lessons of policy taught by that sage +and moral historian? How could you, who had seen the picture of +virtue so amiably drawn by his hand, and who seemed yourself to be sensible +of all its charms, fall in love with a fury, and set up her dreadful +image as an object of worship to princes?</p> +<p><i>Machiavel</i>.—I was seduced by vanity. My heart was +formed to love virtue. But I wanted to be thought a greater genius +in politics than Aristotle or Plato. Vanity, sir, is a passion +as strong in authors as ambition in princes, or rather it is the same +passion exerting itself differently. I was a Duke of Guise in +the republic of letters.</p> +<p><i>Guise</i>.—The bad influences of your guilt have reached +further than mine, and been more lasting. But, Heaven be praised, +your credit is at present much declining in Europe. I have been +told by some shades who are lately arrived here, that the ablest statesman +of his time, a king, with whose fame the world is filled, has answered +your book, and confuted all the principles of it, with a noble scorn +and abhorrence. I am also assured, that in England there is a +great and good king, whose whole life has been a continued opposition +to your evil system; who has hated all cruelty, all fraud, all falseness; +whose word has been sacred, whose honour inviolate; who has made the +laws of his kingdom the rules of his government, and good faith and +a regard for the liberty of mankind the principles of his conduct with +respect to foreign powers; who reigns more absolutely now in the hearts +of his people, and does greater things by the confidence they place +in him, and by the efforts they make from the generous zeal of affection, +than any monarch ever did, or ever will do, by all the arts of iniquity +which you recommended.</p> +<h3><!-- page 57--><a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 57</span>DIALOGUE +XIII.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Virgil—Horace</span>—<span class="smcap">Mercury</span>—<span class="smcap">Scaliger +the Elder</span>.</p> +<p><i>Virgil</i>.—My dear Horace, your company is my greatest +delight, even in the Elysian Fields. No wonder it was so when +we lived together in Rome. Never had man so genteel, so agreeable, +so easy a wit, or a temper so pliant to the inclinations of others in +the intercourse of society. And then such integrity, such fidelity, +such generosity in your nature! A soul so free from all envy, +so benevolent, so sincere, so placable in its anger, so warm and constant +in its affections! You were as necessary to Mæcenas as he +to Augustus. Your conversation sweetened to him all the cares +of his ministry; your gaiety cheered his drooping spirits; and your +counsels assisted him when he wanted advice. For you were capable, +my dear Horace, of counselling statesmen. Your sagacity, your +discretion, your secrecy, your clear judgment in all affairs, recommended +you to the confidence, not of Mæcenas alone, but of Augustus himself; +which you nobly made use of to serve your old friends of the republican +party, and to confirm both the minister and the prince in their love +of mild and moderate measures, yet with a severe restraint of licentiousness, +the most dangerous enemy to the whole commonwealth under any form of +government.</p> +<p><i>Horace</i>.—To be so praised by Virgil would have put me +in Elysium while I was alive. But I know your modesty will not +suffer me, in return for these encomiums, to speak of your character. +Supposing it as perfect as your poems, you would think, as you did of +them, that it wanted correction.</p> +<p><i>Virgil</i>.—Don’t talk of my modesty. How much +greater was yours, when you disclaimed the name of a poet, you whose +odes are so noble, so harmonious, so sublime!</p> +<p><i>Horace</i>.—I felt myself too inferior to the dignity of +that name.</p> +<p><!-- page 58--><a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 58</span><i>Virgil</i>.—I +think you did like Augustus, when he refused to accept the title of +king, but kept all the power with which it was ever attended. +Even in your Epistles and Satires, where the poet was concealed, as +much as he could be, you may properly be compared to a prince in disguise, +or in his hours of familiarity with his intimate friends: the pomp and +majesty were let drop, but the greatness remained.</p> +<p><i>Horace</i>.—Well, I will not contradict you; and, to say +the truth, I should do it with no very good grace, because in some of +my Odes I have not spoken so modestly of my own poetry as in my Epistles. +But to make you know your pre-eminence over me and all writers of Latin +verse, I will carry you to Quintilian, the best of all Roman critics, +who will tell you in what rank you ought to be placed.</p> +<p><i>Virgil</i>.—I fear his judgment of me was biassed by your +commendation. But who is this shade that Mercury is conducting? +I never saw one that stalked with so much pride, or had such ridiculous +arrogance expressed in his looks!</p> +<p><i>Horace</i>.—They come towards us. Hail, Mercury! +What is this stranger with you?</p> +<p><i>Mercury</i>.—His name is Julius Cæsar Scaliger, and +he is by profession a critic.</p> +<p><i>Horace</i>.—Julius Cæsar Scaliger! He was, I +presume, a dictator in criticism.</p> +<p><i>Mercury</i>.—Yes, and he has exercised his sovereign power +over you.</p> +<p><i>Horace</i>.—I will not presume to oppose it. I had +enough of following Brutus at Philippi.</p> +<p><i>Mercury</i>.—Talk to him a little. He’ll amuse +you. I brought him to you on purpose.</p> +<p><i>Horace</i>.—Virgil, do you accost him. I can’t +do it with proper gravity. I shall laugh in his face.</p> +<p><i>Virgil</i>.—Sir, may I ask for what reason you cast your +eyes so superciliously upon Horace and me? I don’t remember +that Augustus ever looked down upon us with such an air of superiority +when we were his subjects.</p> +<p><!-- page 59--><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 59</span><i>Scaliger</i>.—He +was only a sovereign over your bodies, and owed his power to violence +and usurpation. But I have from Nature an absolute dominion over +the wit of all authors, who are subjected to me as the greatest of critics +or hypercritics.</p> +<p><i>Virgil</i>.—Your jurisdiction, great sir, is very extensive. +And what judgments have you been pleased to pass upon us?</p> +<p><i>Scaliger</i>.—Is it possible you should be ignorant of my +decrees? I have placed you, Virgil, above Homer, whom I have shown +to be—</p> +<p><i>Virgil</i>.—Hold, sir. No blasphemy against my master.</p> +<p><i>Horace</i>.—But what have you said of me?</p> +<p><i>Scaliger</i>.—I have said that I had rather have written +the little dialogue between you and Lydia than have been made king of +Arragon.</p> +<p><i>Horace</i>.—If we were in the other world you should give +me the kingdom, and take both the ode and the lady in return. +But did you always pronounce so favourably for us?</p> +<p><i>Scaliger</i>.—Send for my works and read them. Mercury +will bring them to you with the first learned ghost that arrives here +from Europe. There is instruction for you in them. I tell +you of your faults. But it was my whim to commend that little +ode, and I never do things by halves. When I give praise, I give +it liberally, to show my royal bounty. But I generally blame, +to exert all the vigour of my censorian power, and keep my subjects +in awe.</p> +<p><i>Horace</i>.—You did not confine your sovereignty to poets; +you exercised it, no doubt, over all other writers.</p> +<p><i>Scaliger</i>.—I was a poet, a philosopher, a statesman, +an orator, an historian, a divine without doing the drudgery of any +of these, but only censuring those who did, and showing thereby the +superiority of my genius over them all.</p> +<p><i>Horace</i>.—A short way, indeed, to universal fame! +And I suppose you were very peremptory in your decisions?</p> +<p><!-- page 60--><a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 60</span><i>Scaliger</i>.—Peremptory! +ay. If any man dared to contradict my opinions I called him a +dunce, a rascal, a villain, and frightened him out of his wits.</p> +<p><i>Virgil</i>.—But what said others to this method of disputation?</p> +<p><i>Scaliger</i>.—They generally believed me because of the +confidence of my assertions, and thought I could not be so insolent +or so angry if I was not absolutely sure of being in the right. +Besides, in my controversies, I had a great help from the language in +which I wrote. For one can scold and call names with a much better +grace in Latin than in French or any tame modern tongue.</p> +<p><i>Horace</i>.—Have not I heard that you pretended to derive +your descent from the princes of Verona?</p> +<p><i>Scaliger</i>.—Pretended! Do you presume to deny it?</p> +<p><i>Horace</i>.—Not I, indeed. Genealogy is not my science. +If you should claim to descend in a direct line from King Midas I would +not dispute it.</p> +<p><i>Virgil</i>.—I wonder, Scaliger, that you stooped to so low +an ambition. Was it not greater to reign over all Mount Parnassus +than over a petty state in Italy?</p> +<p><i>Scaliger</i>.—You say well. I was too condescending +to the prejudices of vulgar opinion. The ignorant multitude imagine +that a prince is a greater man than a critic. Their folly made +me desire to claim kindred with the Scalas of Verona.</p> +<p><i>Horace</i>.—Pray, Mercury, how do you intend to dispose +of this august person? You can’t think it proper to let +him remain with us. He must be placed with the demigods; he must +go to Olympus.</p> +<p><i>Mercury</i>.—Be not afraid. He shall not trouble you +long. I brought him hither to divert you with the sight of an +animal you never had seen, and myself with your surprise. He is +the chief of all the modern critics, the most renowned captain of that +numerous and dreadful band. Whatever you may think of him, I can +seriously assure you that <!-- page 61--><a name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 61</span>before +he went mad he had good parts and great learning. But I will now +explain to you the original cause of the absurdities he has uttered. +His mind was formed in such a manner that, like some perspective glasses, +it either diminished or magnified all objects too much; but, above all +others, it magnified the good man to himself. This made him so +proud that it turned his brain. Now I have had my sport with him, +I think it will be charity to restore him to his senses, or rather to +bestow what Nature denied him—a sound judgment. Come hither, +Scaliger. By this touch of my Caduceus I give thee power to see +things as they are, and, among others, thyself. Look, gentlemen, +how his countenance is fallen in a moment! Hear what he says. +He is talking to himself.</p> +<p><i>Scaliger</i>.—Bless me! with what persons have I been discoursing? +With Virgil and Horace! How could I venture to open my lips in +their presence? Good Mercury, I beseech you let me retire from +a company for which I am very unfit. Let me go and hide my head +in the deepest shade of that grove which I see in the valley. +After I have performed a penance there, I will crawl on my knees to +the feet of those illustrious shades, and beg them to see me burn my +impertinent books of criticism in the fiery billows of Phlegethon with +my own hands.</p> +<p><i>Mercury</i>.—They will both receive thee into favour. +This mortification of truly knowing thyself is a sufficient atonement +for thy former presumption.</p> +<h3>DIALOGUE XIV.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Boileau</span>—<span class="smcap">Pope</span>.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—Mr. Pope, you have done me great honour. +I am told that you made me your model in poetry, and walked on Parnassus +in the same paths which I had trod.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—We both followed Horace, but in our manner of +<!-- page 62--><a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 62</span>imitation, +and in the turn of our natural genius, there was, I believe, much resemblance. +We both were too irritable and too easily hurt by offences, even from +the lowest of men. The keen edge of our wit was frequently turned +against those whom it was more a shame to contend with than an honour +to vanquish.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—Yes. But in general we were the champions +of good morals, good sense, and good learning. If our love of +these was sometimes heated into anger against those who offended them +no less than us, is that anger to be blamed?</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—It would have been nobler if we had not been parties +in the quarrel. Our enemies observe that neither our censure nor +our praise was always impartial.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—It might perhaps have been better if in some +instances we had not praised or blamed so much. But in panegyric +and satire moderation is insipid.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—Moderation is a cold unpoetical virtue. +Mere historical truth is better written in prose. And, therefore, +I think you did judiciously when you threw into the fire your history +of Louis le Grand, and trusted his fame to your poems.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—When those poems were published that monarch +was the idol of the French nation. If you and I had not known, +in our occasional compositions, how to speak to the passions, as well +as to the sober reason of mankind, we should not have acquired that +despotic authority in the empire of wit which made us so formidable +to all the inferior tribe of poets in England and France. Besides, +sharp satirists want great patrons.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—All the praise which my friends received from +me was unbought. In this, at least, I may boast a superiority +over the pensioned Boileau.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—A pension in France was an honourable distinction. +Had you been a Frenchman you would have ambitiously sought it; had I +been an Englishman I should have proudly declined it. If our merit +in other respects be <!-- page 63--><a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 63</span>not +unequal, this difference will not set me much below you in the temple +of virtue or of fame.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—It is not for me to draw a comparison between +our works. But, if I may believe the best critics who have talked +to me on the subject, my “Rape of the Lock” is not inferior +to your “Lutrin;” and my “Art of Criticism” +may well be compared with your “Art of Poetry;” my “Ethic +Epistles” are esteemed at least equal to yours; and my “Satires” +much better.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—Hold, Mr. Pope. If there is really such +a sympathy in our natures as you have supposed, there may be reason +to fear that, if we go on in this manner comparing our works, we shall +not part in good friendship.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—No, no; the mild air of the Elysian Fields has +mitigated my temper, as I presume it has yours. But, in truth, +our reputations are nearly on a level. Our writings are admired, +almost equally (as I hear) for energy and justness of thought. +We both of us carried the beauty of our diction, and the harmony of +our numbers, to the highest perfection that our languages would admit. +Our poems were polished to the utmost degree of correctness, yet without +losing their fire, or the agreeable appearance of freedom and ease. +We borrowed much from the ancients, though you, I believe, more than +I; but our imitations (to use an expression of your own) had still an +original air.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—I will confess, sir (to show you that the Elysian +climate has had its effects upon me), I will fairly confess, without +the least ill humour, that in your “Eloisa to Abelard,” +your “Verses to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady,” and +some others you wrote in your youth, there is more fire of poetry than +in any of mine. You excelled in the pathetic, which I never approached. +I will also allow that you hit the manner of Horace and the sly delicacy +of his wit more exactly than I, or than any other man who has written +since his time. Nor could I, nor did even Lucretius himself, make +philosophy so poetical, and embellish it with <!-- page 64--><a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 64</span>such +charms as you have given to that of Plato, or (to speak more properly) +of some of his modern disciples, in your celebrated “Essay on +Man.”</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—What do you think of my “Homer?”</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—Your “Homer” is the most spirited, +the most poetical, the most elegant, and the most pleasing translation +that ever was made of any ancient poem, though not so much in the manner +of the original, or so exactly agreeable to the sense in all places, +as might perhaps be desired. But when I consider the years you +spent in this work, and how many excellent original poems you might, +with less difficulty, have produced in that time, I can’t but +regret that your talents were thus employed. A great poet so tied +down to a tedious translation is a Columbus chained to an oar. +What new regions of fancy, full of treasures yet untouched, might you +have explored, if you had been at liberty to have boldly expanded your +sails, and steered your own course, under the conduct and direction +of your own genius! But I am still more angry with you for your +edition of Shakespeare. The office of an editor was below you, +and your mind was unfit for the drudgery it requires. Would anybody +think of employing a Raphael to clean an old picture?</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—The principal cause of my undertaking that task +was zeal for the honour of Shakespeare; and, if you knew all his beauties +as well as I, you would not wonder at this zeal. No other author +had ever so copious, so bold, so creative an imagination, with so perfect +a knowledge of the passions, the humours, and sentiments of mankind. +He painted all characters, from kings down to peasants, with equal truth +and equal force. If human nature were destroyed, and no monument +were left of it except his works, other beings might know what man was +from those writings.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—You say he painted all characters, from kings +down to peasants, with equal truth and equal force. I can’t +deny that he did so; but I wish he had not jumbled <!-- page 65--><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 65</span>those +characters together in the composition of his pictures as he has frequently +done.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—The strange mixture of tragedy, comedy, and farce +in the same play, nay, sometimes in the same scene, I acknowledge to +be quite inexcusable. But this was the taste of the times when +Shakespeare wrote.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—A great genius ought to guide, not servilely +follow, the taste of his contemporaries.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—Consider from how thick a darkness of barbarism +the genius of Shakespeare broke forth! What were the English, +and what, let me ask you, were the French dramatic performances, in +the age when he nourished? The advances he made towards the highest +perfection, both of tragedy and comedy, are amazing! In the principal +points, in the power of exciting terror and pity, or raising laughter +in an audience, none yet has excelled him, and very few have equalled.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—Do you think that he was equal in comedy to +Molière?</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—In comic force I do; but in the fine and delicate +strokes of satire, and what is called genteel comedy, he was greatly +inferior to that admirable writer. There is nothing in him to +compare with the <i>Misanthrope</i>, the <i>École des Femmes</i>, +or <i>Tartuffe</i>.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—This, Mr. Pope, is a great deal for an Englishman +to acknowledge. A veneration for Shakespeare seems to be a part +of your national religion, and the only part in which even your men +of sense are fanatics.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—He who can read Shakespeare, and be cool enough +for all the accuracy of sober criticism, has more of reason than taste.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—I join with you in admiring him as a prodigy +of genius, though I find the most shocking absurdities in his plays—absurdities +which no critic of my nation can pardon.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—We will be satisfied with your feeling the excellence +<!-- page 66--><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 66</span>of +his beauties. But you would admire him still more if you could +see the chief characters in all his test tragedies represented by an +actor who appeared on the stage a little before I left the world. +He has shown the English nation more excellencies in Shakespeare than +the quickest wits could discern, and has imprinted them on the heart +with a livelier feeling than the most sensible natures had ever experienced +without his help.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—The variety, spirit, and force of Mr. Garrick’s +action have been much praised to me by many of his countrymen, whose +shades I converse with, and who agree in speaking of him as we do of +Baron, our most natural and most admired actor. I have also heard +of another, who has now quitted the stage, but who had filled, with +great dignity, force, and elevation, some tragic parts, and excelled +so much in the comic, that none ever has deserved a higher applause.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—Mr. Quin was, indeed, a most perfect comedian. +In the part of Falstaff particularly, wherein the utmost force of Shakespeare’s +humour appears, he attained to such perfection that he was not an actor; +he was the man described by Shakespeare; he was Falstaff himself! +When I saw him do it the pleasantry of the fat knight appeared to me +so bewitching, all his vices were so mirthful, that I could not much +wonder at his having seduced a young prince even to rob in his company.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—That character is not well understood by the +French; they suppose it belongs, not to comedy, but to farce, whereas +the English see in it the finest and highest strokes of wit and humour. +Perhaps these different judgments may be accounted for in some measure +by the diversity of manners in different countries. But don’t +you allow, Mr. Pope, that our writers, both of tragedy and comedy, are, +upon the whole, more perfect masters of their art than yours? +If you deny it, I will appeal to the Athenians, the only judges qualified +to decide <!-- page 67--><a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 67</span>the +dispute. I will refer it to Euripides, Sophocles, and Menander.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—I am afraid of those judges, for I see them continually +walking hand-in-hand, and engaged in the most friendly conversation +with Corneille, Racine, and Molière. Our dramatic writers +seem, in general, not so fond of their company; they sometimes shove +rudely by them, and give themselves airs of superiority. They +slight their reprimands, and laugh at their precepts—in short, +they will be tried by their country alone; and that judicature is partial.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—I will press this question no further. +But let me ask you to which of our rival tragedians, Racine and Corneille, +do you give the preference?</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—The sublimest plays of Corneille are, in my judgment, +equalled by the <i>Athalia</i> of Racine, and the tender passions are +certainly touched by that elegant and most pathetic writer with a much +finer hand. I need not add that he is infinitely more correct +than Corneille, and more harmonious and noble in his versification. +Corneille formed himself entirely upon Lucan, but the master of Racine +was Virgil. How much better a taste had the former than the latter +in choosing his model!</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—My friendship with Racine, and my partiality +for his writings, make me hear with great pleasure the preference given +to him above Corneille by so judicious a critic.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—That he excelled his competitor in the particulars +I have mentioned, can’t, I think, be denied. But yet the +spirit and the majesty of ancient Rome were never so well expressed +as by Corneille. Nor has any other French dramatic writer, in +the general character of his works, shown such a masculine strength +and greatness of thought. Racine is the swan described by ancient +poets, which rises to the clouds on downy wings and sings a sweet but +a gentle and plaintive note. Corneille is the eagle, which soars +to the skies on bold and sounding pinions, and fears not to perch <!-- page 68--><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 68</span>on +the sceptre of Jupiter, or to bear in his pounces the lightning of the +god.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—I am glad to find, Mr. Pope, that in praising +Corneille you run into poetry, which is not the language of sober criticism, +though sometimes used by Longinus.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—I caught the fire from the idea of Corneille.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—He has bright flashes, yet I think that in +his thunder there is often more noise than fire. Don’t you +find him too declamatory, too turgid, too unnatural, even in his best +tragedies?</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—I own I do; yet the greatness and elevation of +his sentiments, and the nervous vigour of his sense, atone, in my opinion, +for all his faults. But let me now, in my turn, desire your opinion +of our epic poet, Milton.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—Longinus perhaps would prefer him to all other +writers, for he surpasses even Homer in the sublime; but other critics +who require variety, and agreeableness, and a correct regularity of +thought and judgment in an epic poem, who can endure no absurdities, +no extravagant fictions, would place him far below Virgil.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—His genius was indeed so vast and sublime, that +his poem seems beyond the limits of criticism, as his subject is beyond +the limits of nature. The bright and excessive blaze of poetical +fire, which shines in so many parts of the “Paradise Lost,” +will hardly permit the dazzled eye to see its faults.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—The taste of your countrymen is much changed +since the days of Charles II., when Dryden was thought a greater poet +than Milton!</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—The politics of Milton at that time brought his +poetry into disgrace, for it is a rule with the English, they see no +good in a man whose politics they dislike; but, as their notions of +government are apt to change, men of parts whom they have slighted become +their favourite authors, and others who have possessed their warmest +admiration are in their turn undervalued. This revolution of favour +was <!-- page 69--><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 69</span>experienced +by Dryden as well as Milton; he lived to see his writings, together +with his politics, quite out of fashion. But even in the days +of his highest prosperity, when the generality of the people admired +his <i>Almanzor</i>, and thought his <i>Indian Emperor</i> the perfection +of tragedy, the Duke of Buckingham and Lord Rochester, the two wittiest +noblemen our country has produced, attacked his fame, and turned the +rants of his heroes, the jargon of his spirits, and the absurdity of +his plots into just ridicule.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—You have made him good amends by the praise +you have given him in some of your writings.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—I owed him that praise as my master in the art +of versification, yet I subscribe to the censures which have been passed +by other writers on many of his works. They are good critics, +but he is still a great poet. You, sir, I am sure, must particularly +admire him as an excellent satirist; his “Absalom and Achitophel” +is a masterpiece in that way of writing, and his “Mac Flecno” +is, I think, inferior to it in nothing but the meanness of the subject.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—Did not you take the model of your “Dunciad” +from the latter of those very ingenious satires?</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—I did; but my work is more extensive than his, +and my imagination has taken in it a greater scope.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—Some critics may doubt whether the length of +your poem was so properly suited to the meanness of the subject as the +brevity of his. Three cantos to expose a dunce crowned with laurel! +I have not given above three lines to the author of the “Pucelle.”</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—My intention was to expose, not one author alone, +but all the dulness and false taste of the English nation in my times. +Could such a design be contracted into a narrower compass?</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—We will not dispute on this point, nor whether +the hero of your “Dunciad” was really a dunce. But +has not Dryden been accused of immorality and profaneness in some of +his writings?</p> +<p><!-- page 70--><a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 70</span><i>Pope</i>.—He +has, with too much reason: and I am sorry to say that all our best comic +writers after Shakespeare and Johnson, except Addison and Steele, are +as liable as he to that heavy charge. Fletcher is shocking. +Etheridge, Wycherley, Congreve, Vanbrugh, and Farquhar have painted +the manners of the times in which they wrote with a masterly hand; but +they are too often such manners that a virtuous man, and much more a +virtuous woman, must be greatly offended at the representation.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—In this respect our stage is far preferable +to yours. It is a school of morality. Vice is exposed to +contempt and to hatred. No false colours are laid on to conceal +its deformity, but those with which it paints itself are there taken +off.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—It is a wonderful thing that in France the comic +Muse should be the gravest lady in the nation. Of late she is +so grave, that one might almost mistake her for her sister Melpomene. +Molière made her indeed a good moral philosopher; but then she +philosophised, like Democritus, with a merry, laughing face. Now +she weeps over vice instead of showing it to mankind, as I think she +generally ought to do, in ridiculous lights.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—Her business is more with folly than with vice, +and when she attacks the latter, it should be rather with ridicule than +invective. But sometimes she may be allowed to raise her voice, +and change her usual smile into a frown of just indignation.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—I like her best when she smiles. But did +you never reprove your witty friend, La Fontaine, for the vicious levity +that appears in many of his tales? He was as guilty of the crime +of debauching the Muses as any of our comic poets.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—I own he was, and bewail the prostitution of +his genius, as I should that of an innocent and beautiful country girl. +He was all nature, all simplicity! yet in that simplicity there was +a grace, and unaffected vivacity, <!-- page 71--><a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 71</span>with +a justness of thought and easy elegance of expression that can hardly +be found in any other writer. His manner is quite original, and +peculiar to himself, though all the matter of his writings is borrowed +from others.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—In that manner he has been imitated by my friend +Mr. Prior.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—He has, very successfully. Some of Prior’s +tales have the spirit of La Fontaine’s with more judgment, but +not, I think, with such an amiable and graceful simplicity.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—Prior’s harp had more strings than La Fontaine’s. +He was a fine poet in many different ways: La Fontaine but in one. +And, though in some of his tales he imitated that author, his “Alma” +was an original, and of singular beauty.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—There is a writer of heroic poetry, who lived +before Milton, and whom some of your countrymen place in the highest +class of your poets, though he is little known in France. I see +him sometimes in company with Homer and Virgil, but oftener with Tasso, +Ariosto, and Dante.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—I understand you mean Spenser. There is +a force and beauty in some of his images and descriptions, equal to +any in those writers you have seen him converse with. But he had +not the art of properly shading his pictures. He brings the minute +and disagreeable parts too much into sight; and mingles too frequently +vulgar and mean ideas with noble and sublime. Had he chosen a +subject proper for epic poetry, he seems to have had a sufficient elevation +and strength in his genius to make him a great epic poet: but the allegory, +which is continued throughout the whole work, fatigues the mind, and +cannot interest the heart so much as those poems, the chief actors in +which are supposed to have really existed. The Syrens and Circe +in the “Odyssey” are allegorical persons; but Ulysses, the +hero of the poem, was a man renowned in Greece, which makes the account +of his adventures affecting and delightful. To be <!-- page 72--><a name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 72</span>now +and then in Fairyland, among imaginary beings, is a pleasing variety, +and helps to distinguish the poet from the orator or historian, but +to be always there is irksome.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—Is not Spenser likewise blamable for confounding +the Christian with the Pagan theology in some parts of his poem?</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—Yes; he had that fault in common with Dante, with +Ariosto, and with Camoëns.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—Who is the poet that arrived soon after you +in Elysium, whom I saw Spenser lead in and present to Virgil, as the +author of a poem resembling the “Georgics”? On his +head was a garland of the several kinds of flowers that blow in each +season, with evergreens intermixed.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—Your description points out Thomson. He +painted nature exactly, and with great strength of pencil. His +imagination was rich, extensive, and sublime: his diction bold and glowing, +but sometimes obscure and affected. Nor did he always know when +to stop, or what to reject.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—I should suppose that he wrote tragedies upon +the Greek model. For he is often admitted into the grove of Euripides.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—He enjoys that distinction both as a tragedian +and as a moralist. For not only in his plays, but all his other +works, there is the purest morality, animated by piety, and rendered +more touching by the fine and delicate sentiments of a most tender and +benevolent heart.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—St. Evremond has brought me acquainted with +Waller. I was surprised to find in his writings a politeness and +gallantry which the French suppose to be appropriated only to theirs. +His genius was a composition which is seldom to be met with, of the +sublime and the agreeable. In his comparison between himself and +Apollo, as the lover of Daphne, and in that between Amoret and Sacharissa, +there is a <i>finesse</i> and delicacy of wit which the most elegant +of our writers have never exceeded. Nor had Sarrazin or Voiture +the art of praising more genteelly the <!-- page 73--><a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 73</span>ladies +they admired. But his epistle to Cromwell, and his poem on the +death of that extraordinary man, are written with a force and greatness +of manner which give him a rank among the poets of the first class.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—Mr. Waller was unquestionably a very fine writer. +His Muse was as well qualified as the Graces themselves to dress out +a Venus; and he could even adorn the brows of a conqueror with fragrant +and beautiful wreaths. But he had some puerile and low thoughts, +which unaccountably mixed with the elegant and the noble, like schoolboys +or a mob admitted into a palace. There was also an intemperance +and a luxuriancy in his wit which he did not enough restrain. +He wrote little to the understanding, and less to the heart; but he +frequently delights the imagination, and sometimes strikes it with flashes +of the highest sublime. We had another poet of the age of Charles +I., extremely admired by all his contemporaries, in whose works there +is still more affectation of wit, a greater redundancy of imagination, +a worse taste, and less judgment; but he touched the heart more, and +had finer feelings than Waller. I mean Cowley.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—I have been often solicited to admire his writings +by his learned friend, Dr. Spratt. He seems to me a great wit, +and a very amiable man, but not a good poet.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—The spirit of poetry is strong in some of his +odes, but in the art of poetry he is always extremely deficient.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—I hear that of late his reputation is much +lowered in the opinion of the English. Yet I cannot but think +that, if a moderate portion of the superfluities of his wit were given +by Apollo to some of their modern bards, who write commonplace morals +in very smooth verse, without any absurdity, but without a single new +thought, or one enlivening spark of imagination, it would be a great +favour to them, and do them more service than all the rules laid down +in my “Art of Poetry” and yours of “Criticism.”</p> +<p><!-- page 74--><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 74</span><i>Pope</i>.—I +am much of your mind. But I left in England some poets whom you, +I know, will admire, not only for the harmony and correctness of style, +but the spirit and genius you will find in their writings.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—France, too, has produced some very excellent +writers since the time of my death. Of one particularly I hear +wonders. Fame to him is as kind as if he had been dead a thousand +years. She brings his praises to me from all parts of Europe. +You know I speak of Voltaire.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—I do; the English nation yields to none in admiration +of his extensive genius. Other writers excel in some one particular +branch of wit or science; but when the King of Prussia drew Voltaire +from Paris to Berlin, he had a whole academy of <i>belles lettres</i> +in him alone.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—That prince himself has such talents for poetry +as no other monarch in any age or country has ever possessed. +What an astonishing compass must there be in his mind, what an heroic +tranquillity and firmness in his heart, that he can, in the evening, +compose an ode or epistle in the most elegant verse, and the next morning +fight a battle with the conduct of Cæsar or Gustavus Adolphus!</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—I envy Voltaire so noble a subject both for his +verse and his prose. But if that prince will write his own commentaries, +he will want no historian. I hope that, in writing them, he will +not restrain his pen, as Cæsar has done, to a mere account of +his wars, but let us see the politician, and the benignant protector +of arts and sciences, as well as the warrior, in that picture of himself. +Voltaire has shown us that the events of battles and sieges are not +the most interesting parts of good history, but that all the improvements +and embellishments of human society ought to be carefully and particularly +recorded there.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—The progress of arts and knowledge, and the +great changes that have happened in the manners of mankind, are objects +far more worthy of a leader’s attention <!-- page 75--><a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 75</span>than +the revolutions of fortune. And it is chiefly to Voltaire that +we owe this instructive species of history.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—He has not only been the father of it among the +moderns, but has carried it himself to its utmost perfection.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—Is he not too universal? Can any writer +be exact who is so comprehensive?</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—A traveller round the world cannot inspect every +region with such an accurate care as exactly to describe each single +part. If the outlines are well marked, and the observations on +the principal points are judicious, it is all that can be required.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—I would, however, advise and exhort the French +and English youth to take a fuller survey of some particular provinces, +and to remember that although, in travels of this sort, a lively imagination +is a very agreeable companion, it is not the best guide. To speak +without a metaphor, the study of history, both sacred and profane, requires +a critical and laborious investigation. The composer of a set +of lively and witty remarks on facts ill-examined, or incorrectly delivered, +is not an historian.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—We cannot, I think, deny that name to the author +of the “Life of Charles XII., King of Sweden.”</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—No, certainly. I esteem it the very best +history that this age has produced. As full of spirit as the hero +whose actions it relates, it is nevertheless most exact in all matters +of importance. The style of it is elegant, perspicuous, unaffected; +the disposition and method are excellent; the judgments given by the +writer acute and just.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—Are you not pleased with that philosophical freedom +of thought which discovers itself in all the works of Voltaire, but +more particularly in those of an historical nature?</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—If it were properly regulated, I should reckon +it among their highest perfections. Superstition, and bigotry, +and party spirit are as great enemies to the truth and candour of history +as malice or adulation. To <!-- page 76--><a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 76</span>think +freely is therefore a most necessary quality in a perfect historian. +But all liberty has its bounds, which, in some of his writings, Voltaire, +I fear, has not observed. Would to Heaven he would reflect, while +it is yet in his power to correct what is faulty, that all his works +will outlive him; that many nations will read them; and that the judgment +pronounced here upon the writer himself will be according to the scope +and tendency of them, and to the extent of their good or evil effects +on the great society of mankind.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—It would be well for all Europe if some other +wits of your country, who give the tone to this age in all polite literature, +had the same serious thoughts you recommend to Voltaire. Witty +writings, when directed to serve the good ends of virtue and religion, +are like the lights hung out in a <i>pharos</i>, to guide the mariners +safe through dangerous seas; but the brightness of those that are impious +or immoral shines only to betray and lead men to destruction.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—Has England been free from all seductions of +this nature?</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—No. But the French have the art of rendering +vice and impiety more agreeable than the English.</p> +<p><i>Boileau</i>.—I am not very proud of this superiority in +the talents of my countrymen. But as I am told that the good sense +of the English is now admired in France, I hope it will soon convince +both nations that true wisdom is virtue, and true virtue is religion.</p> +<p><i>Pope</i>.—I think it also to be wished that a taste for +the frivolous may not continue too prevalent among the French. +There is a great difference between gathering flowers at the foot of +Parnassus and ascending the arduous heights of the mountain. The +palms and laurels grow there, and if any of your countrymen aspire to +gain them, they must no longer enervate all the vigour of their minds +by this habit of trifling. I would have them be perpetual competitors +<!-- page 77--><a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 77</span>with +the English in manly wit and substantial learning. But let the +competition be friendly. There is nothing which so contracts and +debases the mind as national envy. True wit, like true virtue, +naturally loves its own image in whatever place it is found.</p> +<h3>DIALOGUE XV.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Octavia</span>—<span class="smcap">Portia</span>—<span class="smcap">Arria</span>.</p> +<p><i>Portia</i>.—How has it happened, Octavia, that Arria and +I, who have a higher rank than you in the Temple of Fame, should have +a lower here in Elysium? We are told that the virtues you exerted +as a wife were greater than ours. Be so good as to explain to +us what were those virtues. It is the privilege of this place +that one can bear superiority without mortification. The jealousy +of precedence died with the rest of our mortal frailties. Tell +us, then, your own story. We will sit down under the shade of +this myrtle grove and listen to it with pleasure.</p> +<p><i>Octavia</i>.—Noble ladies, the glory of our sex and of Rome, +I will not refuse to comply with your desire, though it recalls to my +mind some scenes my heart would wish to forget. There can be only +one reason why Minos should have given to my conjugal virtues a preference +above yours, which is that the trial assigned to them was harder.</p> +<p><i>Arria</i>.—How, madam! harder than to die for your husband! +We died for ours.</p> +<p><i>Octavia</i>.—You did for husbands who loved yon, and were +the most virtuous men of the ages they lived in—who trusted you +with their lives, their fame, their honour. To outlive such husbands +is, in my judgment, a harder effort of virtue than to die for them or +with them. But Mark Antony, to whom my brother Octavius, for reasons +of state, gave my hand, was indifferent to me, and loved another. +Yet he has told me himself I was handsomer than his mistress <!-- page 78--><a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 78</span>Cleopatra. +Younger I certainly was, and to men that is generally a charm sufficient +to turn the scale in one’s favour. I had been loved by Marcellus. +Antony said he loved me when he pledged to me his faith. Perhaps +he did for a time; a new handsome woman might, from his natural inconstancy, +make him forget an old attachment. He was but too amiable. +His very vices had charms beyond other men’s virtues. Such +vivacity! such fire! such a towering pride! He seemed made by +nature to command, to govern the world; to govern it with such ease +that the business of it did not rob him of an hour of pleasure. +Nevertheless, while his inclination for me continued, this haughty lord +of mankind who could hardly bring his high spirit to treat my brother, +his partner in empire, with the necessary respect, was to me as submissive, +as obedient to every wish of my heart, as the humblest lover that ever +sighed in the vales of Arcadia. Thus he seduced my affection from +the manes of Marcellus and fixed it on himself. He fixed it, ladies +(I own it with some confusion), more fondly than it had ever been fixed +on Marcellus. And when he had done so he scorned me, he forsook +me, he returned to Cleopatra. Think who I was—the sister +of Cæsar, sacrificed to a vile Egyptian queen, the harlot of Julius, +the disgrace of her sex! Every outrage was added that could incense +me still more. He gave her at sundry times, as public marks of +his love, many provinces of the Empire of Rome in the East. He +read her love-letters openly in his tribunal itself—even while +he was hearing and judging the causes of kings. Nay, he left his +tribunal, and one of the best Roman orators pleading before him, to +follow her litter, in which she happened to be passing by at that time. +But, what was more grievous to me than all these demonstrations of his +extravagant passion for that infamous woman, he had the assurance, in +a letter to my brother, to call her his wife. Which of you, ladies, +could have patiently borne this treatment?</p> +<p><!-- page 79--><a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 79</span><i>Arria</i>.—Not +I, madam, in truth. Had I been in your place, the dagger with +which I pierced my own bosom to show my dear Pætus how easy it +was to die, that dagger should I have plunged into Antony’s heart, +if piety to the gods and a due respect to the purity of my own soul +had not stopped my hand. But I verily believe I should have killed +myself; not, as I did, out of affection to my husband, but out of shame +and indignation at the wrongs I endured.</p> +<p><i>Portia</i>.—I must own, Octavia, that to bear such usage +was harder to a woman than to swallow fire.</p> +<p><i>Octavia</i>.—Yet I did bear it, madam, without even a complaint +which could hurt or offend my husband. Nay, more, at his return +from his Parthian expedition, which his impatience to bear a long absence +from Cleopatra had made unfortunate and inglorious, I went to meet him +in Syria, and carried with me rich presents of clothes and money for +his troops, a great number of horses, and two thousand chosen soldiers, +equipped and armed like my brother’s Prætorian bands. +He sent to stop me at Athens because his mistress was then with him. +I obeyed his orders; but I wrote to him, by one of his most faithful +friends, a letter full of resignation, and such a tenderness for him +as I imagined might have power to touch his heart. My envoy served +me so well, he set my fidelity in so fair a light, and gave such reasons +to Antony why he ought to see and receive me with kindness, that Cleopatra +was alarmed. All her arts were employed to prevent him from seeing +me, and to draw him again into Egypt. Those arts prevailed. +He sent me back into Italy, and gave himself up more absolutely than +ever to the witchcraft of that Circe. He added Africa to the States +he had bestowed on her before, and declared Cæsario, her spurious +son by Julius Cæsar, heir to all her dominions, except Phœnicia +and Cilicia, which with the Upper Syria he gave to Ptolemy, his second +son by her; and at the same time declared his eldest son by her, whom +he had espoused to the Princess of Media, heir to that <!-- page 80--><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 80</span>kingdom +and King of Armenia; nay, and of the whole Parthian Empire which he +meant to conquer for him. The children I had brought him he entirely +neglected as if they had been bastards. I wept. I lamented +the wretched captivity he was in; but I never reproached him. +My brother, exasperated at so many indignities, commanded me to quit +the house of my husband at Rome and come into his. I refused to +obey him. I remained in Antony’s house; I persisted to take +care of his children by Fulvia, the same tender care as of my own. +I gave my protection to all his friends at Rome. I implored my +brother not to make my jealousy or my wrongs the cause of a civil war. +But the injuries done to Rome by Antony’s conduct could not possibly +be forgiven. When he found he should draw the Roman arms on himself, +he sent orders to me to leave his house. I did so, but carried +with me all his children by Fulvia, except Antyllus, the eldest, who +was then with him in Egypt. After his death and Cleopatra’s, +I took her children by him, and bred them up with my own.</p> +<p><i>Arria</i>.—Is it possible, madam? the children of Cleopatra?</p> +<p><i>Octavia</i>.—Yes, the children of my rival. I married +her daughter to Juba, King of Mauritania, the most accomplished and +the handsomest prince in the world.</p> +<p><i>Arria</i>.—Tell me, Octavia, did not your pride and resentment +entirely cure you of your passion for Antony, as soon as you saw him +go back to Cleopatra? And was not your whole conduct afterwards +the effect of cool reason, undisturbed by the agitations of jealous +and tortured love?</p> +<p><i>Octavia</i>.—You probe my heart very deeply. That +I had some help from resentment and the natural pride of my sex, I will +not deny. But I was not become indifferent to my husband. +I loved the Antony who had been my lover, more than I was angry with +the Antony who forsook me and loved another woman. Had he left +Cleopatra and returned to me again with all his former affection, I +really believe I should have loved him as well as before.</p> +<p><!-- page 81--><a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 81</span><i>Arria</i>.—If +the merit of a wife is to be measured by her sufferings, your heart +was unquestionably the most perfect model of conjugal virtue. +The wound I gave mine was but a scratch in comparison to many you felt. +Yet I don’t know whether it would be any benefit to the world +that there should be in it many Octavias. Too good subjects are +apt to make bad kings.</p> +<p><i>Portia</i>.—True, Arria; the wives of Brutus and Cecinna +Pætus may be allowed to have spirits a little rebellious. +Octavia was educated in the Court of her brother. Subjection and +patience were much better taught there than in our houses, where the +Roman liberty made its last abode. And though I will not dispute +the judgment of Minos, I can’t help thinking that the affection +of a wife to her husband is more or less respectable in proportion to +the character of that husband. If I could have had for Antony +the same friendship as I had for Brutus, I should have despised myself.</p> +<p><i>Octavia</i>.—My fondness for Antony was ill-placed; but +my perseverance in the performance of all the duties of a wife, notwithstanding +his ill-usage, a perseverance made more difficult by the very excess +of my love, appeared to Minos the highest and most meritorious effort +of female resolution against the seductions of the most dangerous enemy +to our virtue, offended pride.</p> +<h3>DIALOGUE XVI.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Louise de Coligni, Princess of Orange</span>—<span class="smcap">Frances +Walsingham, Countess of Essex and of Clanricarde; before, Lady Sidney</span>.</p> +<p><i>Princess of Orange</i>.—Our destinies, madam, had a great +and surprising conformity. I was the daughter of Admiral Coligni, +you of Secretary Walsingham, two persons who were the most consummate +statesmen and ablest supports of <!-- page 82--><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 82</span>the +Protestant religion in France, and in England. I was married to +Teligni, the finest gentleman of our party, the most admired for his +valour, his virtue, and his learning: you to Sir Philip Sidney, who +enjoyed the same pre-eminence among the English. Both these husbands +were cut off, in the flower of youth and of glory, by violent deaths, +and we both married again with still greater men; I with William Prince +of Orange, the founder of the Dutch Commonwealth; you with Devereux +Earl of Essex, the favourite of Elizabeth and of the whole English nation. +But, alas! to complete the resemblance of our fates, we both saw those +second husbands, who had raised us so high, destroyed in the full meridian +of their glory and greatness: mine by the pistol of an assassin; yours +still more unhappily, by the axe, as a traitor.</p> +<p><i>Countess of Clanricarde</i>.—There was indeed in some principal +events of our lives the conformity you observe. But your destiny, +though it raised you higher than me, was more unhappy than mine. +For my father lived honourably, and died in peace: yours was assassinated +in his old age. How, madam, did you support or recover your spirits +under so rainy misfortunes?</p> +<p><i>Princess of Orange</i>.—The Prince of Orange left an infant +son to my care. The educating of him to be worthy of so illustrious +a father, to be the heir of his virtue as well as of his greatness, +and the affairs of the commonwealth, in which I interested myself for +his sake, so filled my mind, that they in some measure took from me +the sense of my grief, which nothing but such a great and important +scene of business, such a necessary talk of private and public duty, +could have ever relieved. But let me inquire in my turn, how did +your heart find a balm to alleviate the anguish of the wounds it had +suffered? What employed your widowed hours after the death of +your Essex?</p> +<p><i>Countess of Clanricarde</i>.—Madam, I did not long continue +a widow: I married again.</p> +<p><!-- page 83--><a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 83</span><i>Princess +of Orange</i>.—Married again! With what prince, what king +did you marry? The widow of Sir Philip Sidney and of my Lord Essex +could not descend from them to a subject of less illustrious fame; and +where could you find one that was comparable to either?</p> +<p><i>Countess of Clanricarde</i>.—I did not seek for one, madam: +the heroism of the former, and the ambition of the latter, had made +me very unhappy. I desired a quiet life and the joys of wedded +love, with an agreeable, virtuous, well-born, unambitious, unenterprising +husband. All this I found in the Earl of Clanricarde: and believe +me, madam, I enjoyed more solid felicity in Ireland with him, than I +ever had possessed with my two former husbands, in the pride of their +glory, when England and all Europe resounded with their praise.</p> +<p><i>Princess of Orange</i>.—Can it be possible that the daughter +of Walsingham, and the wife of Sidney and Essex, should have sentiments +so inferior to the minds from which she sprang, and to which she was +matched? Believe me, madam, there was no hour of the many years +I lived after the death of the Prince of Orange, in which I would have +exchanged the pride and joy I continually had in hearing his praise, +and seeing the monuments of his glory in the free commonwealth his wisdom +had founded, for any other delights the world could give. The +cares that I shared with him, while he remained upon earth, were a happiness +to my mind, because they exalted its powers. The remembrance of +them was dear to me after I had lost him. I thought his great +soul, though removed to a higher sphere, would look down upon mine with +some tenderness of affection, as its fellow-labourer in the heroic and +divine work of delivering and freeing his country. But to be divorced +from that soul! to be no longer his wife! to be the comfort of an inferior, +inglorious husband! I had much rather have died a thousand deaths, +than that my heart should one moment have conceived such a thought.</p> +<p><!-- page 84--><a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span><i>Countess +of Clanricarde</i>.—Your Highness must not judge of all hearts +by your own. The ruling passion of that was apparently ambition. +My inclinations were not so noble as yours, but better suited, perhaps, +to the nature of woman. I loved Sir Philip Sidney, I loved the +Earl of Essex, rather as amiable men than as heroes and statesmen. +They were so taken up with their wars and state-affairs, that my tenderness +for them was too often neglected. The Earl of Clanricarde was +constantly and wholly mine. He was brave, but had not that spirit +of chivalry with which Sir Philip Sidney was absolutely possessed. +He had, in a high degree, the esteem of Elizabeth, but did not aspire +to her love; nor did he wish to be the rival of Carr or of Villiers +in the affection of James. Such, madam, was the man on whom my +last choice bestowed my hand, and whose kindness compensated for all +my misfortunes. Providence has assigned to different tempers different +comforts. To you it gave the education of a prince, the government +of a state, the pride of being called the wife of a hero; to me a good-living +husband, quiet, opulence, nobility, and a fair reputation, though not +in a degree so exalted as yours. If our whole sex were to choose +between your consolations and mine, your Highness, I think, would find +very few of your taste. But I respect the sublimity of your ideas. +Now that we have no bodies they appear less unnatural than I should +have thought them in the other world.</p> +<p><i>Princess of Orange</i>.—Adieu, madam. Our souls are +of a different order, and were not made to sympathise or converse with +each other.</p> +<h3>DIALOGUE XVII.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Marcus Brutus</span>—<span class="smcap">Pomponius +Atticus</span>.</p> +<p><i>Brutus</i>.—Well, Atticus, I find that, notwithstanding +your friendship for Cicero and for me, you survived us both many years, +with the same cheerful spirit you had <!-- page 85--><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 85</span>always +possessed, and, by prudently wedding your daughter to Agrippa, secured +the favour of Octavius Cæsar, and even contracted a close alliance +with him by your granddaughter’s marriage with Tiberius Nero.</p> +<p><i>Atticus</i>.—You know, Brutus, my philosophy was the Epicurean. +I loved my friends, and I served them in their wants and distresses +with great generosity; but I did not think myself obliged to die when +they died, or not to make others as occasions should offer.</p> +<p><i>Brutus</i>.—You did, I acknowledge, serve your friends, +as far as you could, without bringing yourself, on their account, into +any great danger or disturbance of mind: but that you loved them I much +doubt. If you loved Cicero, how could you love Antony? If +you loved me, how could you love Octavius? If you loved Octavius, +how could you avoid taking part against Antony in their last civil war? +Affection cannot be so strangely divided, and with so much equality, +among men of such opposite characters, and who were such irreconcilable +enemies to each other.</p> +<p><i>Atticus</i>.—From my earliest youth I possessed the singular +talent of ingratiating myself with the heads of different parties, and +yet not engaging with any of them so far as to disturb my own quiet. +My family was connected with the Marian party; and, though I retired +to Athens that I might not be unwillingly involved in the troubles which +that turbulent faction had begun to excite, yet when young Marius was +declared an enemy by the Senate, I sent him a sum of money to support +him in his exile. Nor did this hinder me from making my court +so well to Sylla, upon his coming to Athens, that I obtained from him +the highest marks of his favour. Nevertheless, when he pressed +me to go with him to Rome, I declined it, being as unwilling to fight +for him against the Marian party, as for them against him. He +admired my conduct; and at his departure from Athens, ordered all the +presents made to him during his abode in that city to be carried to +me. I remind you of <!-- page 86--><a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 86</span>this +only to show that moderation in all contentions of this kind had been +always my principle; and that in the instances you mentioned I did not +act from any levity or inconstancy in my nature, but from a regular +consistent plan of conduct, which my reason convinced me was the wisest +I could follow.</p> +<p><i>Brutus</i>.—I remember indeed that you observed the same +neutrality between Pompey and Julius Cæsar.</p> +<p><i>Atticus</i>.—I did so—and that I might be able to +do it with dignity, and without the reproach of ingratitude, I never +would accept any office or honour from either of those great men; nor +from Cicero, though my sister had married his brother; nor from you, +Marcus Brutus, whose friendship I thought the greatest honour of my +life.</p> +<p><i>Brutus</i>.—Are there no obligations to a good heart, Pomponius, +but honours and offices? Or could you, by refusing to encumber +yourself with these, dissolve all other ties? But, setting aside +any considerations of private affection or esteem, how was you able +to reconcile your conduct with that which is the ruling principle in +the heart of every virtuous man, and more especially a virtuous Roman, +the love of the public?</p> +<p><i>Atticus</i>.—The times I lived in were so bad, and the conflict +of parties had so little to do in reality with the love of the public, +that I thought my virtue much safer and purer by avoiding than mixing +in the fray.</p> +<p><i>Brutus</i>.—Possibly, in the dispute between Marius and +Sylla, and even in that between Pompey and Cæsar, a virtuous man +might see so much to blame on both sides, and so much to fear, whichever +faction should overcome the other, as to be justified in not engaging +with either. But let me say, without vanity, in the war which +I waged against Antony and Octavius you could have nothing to blame, +for I know you approved the principle upon which I killed Julius Cæsar. +Nor had you anything to fear if our arms had succeeded, for you know +that my intentions were upright <!-- page 87--><a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 87</span>and +pure; nor was it doubtful that Cassius was as much determined as I to +restore the Republic. How could you, then, with any sense of virtue +in your heart, maintain an indifference and neutrality between the deliverers +and the tyrants of your country?</p> +<p><i>Atticus</i>.—My answer to this will necessarily require +explanations, which my respect to the manes of Brutus makes me wish +to avoid.</p> +<p><i>Brutus</i>.—In the other world I loved truth, and was desirous +that all might speak it with freedom; but here even the tender ears +of a tyrant are compelled to endure it. If I committed any faults, +or erred in my judgment, the calamities I have suffered are a punishment +for it. Tell me then, truly, and without fear of offending, what +you think were my failings.</p> +<p><i>Atticus</i>.—You said that the principle upon which you +killed Julius Cæsar had my approbation. This I do not deny; +but did I ever declare, or give you reason to believe, that I thought +it a prudent or well-timed act? I had quite other thoughts. +Nothing ever seemed to me worse judged or worse timed; and these, Brutus, +were my reasons. Cæsar was just setting out to make war +on the Parthians. This was an enterprise of no little difficulty +and no little danger; but his unbounded ambition, and that restless +spirit which never would suffer him to take any repose, did not intend +to stop there. You know very well (for he hid nothing from you) +that he had formed a vast plan of marching, after he had conquered the +whole Parthian Empire, along the coast of the Caspian Sea and the sides +of Mount Caucasus into Scythia, in order to subdue all the countries +that border on Germany, and Germany itself; from whence he proposed +to return to Rome by Gaul. Consider now, I beseech you, how much +time the execution of this project required. In some of his battles +with so many fierce and warlike nations, the bravest of all the barbarians, +he might have been slain; but, if he had not, disease, or age itself, +<!-- page 88--><a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 88</span>might +have ended his life before he could have completed such an immense undertaking. +He was, when you killed him, in his fifty-sixth year, and of an infirm +constitution. Except his bastard by Cleopatra, he had no son; +nor was his power so absolute or so quietly settled that he could have +a thought of bequeathing the Empire, like a private inheritance, to +his sister’s grandson, Octavius. While he was absent there +was no reason to fear any violence or maladministration in Italy or +in Rome. Cicero would have had the chief authority in the Senate. +The prætorship of the city had been conferred upon you by the +favour of Cæsar, and your known credit with him, added to the +high reputation of your virtues and abilities, gave you a weight in +all business which none of his party left behind him in Italy would +have been able to oppose. What a fair prospect was here of good +order, peace, and liberty at home, while abroad the Roman name would +have been rendered more glorious, the disgrace of Crassus revenged, +and the Empire extended beyond the utmost ambition of our forefathers +by the greatest general that ever led the armies of Rome, or, perhaps, +of any other nation! What did it signify whether in Asia, and +among the barbarians, that general bore the name of King or Dictator? +Nothing could be more puerile in you and your friends than to start +so much at the proposition of his taking that name in Italy itself, +when you had suffered him to enjoy all the power of royalty, and much +more than any King of Rome had possessed from Romulus down to Tarquin.</p> +<p><i>Brutus</i>.—We considered that name as the last insult offered +to our liberty and our laws; it was an ensign of tyranny, hung out with +a vain and arrogant purpose of rendering the servitude of Rome more +apparent. We, therefore, determined to punish the tyrant, and +restore our country to freedom.</p> +<p><i>Atticus</i>.—You punished the tyrant, but you did not restore +your country to freedom. By sparing Antony, <!-- page 89--><a name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 89</span>against +the opinion of Cassius, you suffered the tyranny to remain. He +was Consul, and, from the moment that Cæsar was dead, the chief +power of the State was in his hands. The soldiers adored him for +his liberality, valour, and military frankness. His eloquence +was more persuasive from appearing unstudied. The nobility of +his house, which descended from Hercules, would naturally inflame his +heart with ambition. The whole course of his life had evidently +shown that his thoughts were high and aspiring, and that he had little +respect for the liberty of his country. He had been the second +man in Cæsar’s party; by saving him you gave a new head +to that party, which could no longer subsist without your ruin. +Many who would have wished the restoration of liberty, if Cæsar +had died a natural death, were so incensed at his murder that, merely +for the sake of punishing that, they were willing to confer all power +upon Antony and make him absolute master of the Republic. This +was particularly true with respect to the veterans who had served under +Cæsar, and he saw it so plainly that he presently availed himself +of their dispositions. You and Cassius were obliged to fly out +of Italy, and Cicero, who was unwilling to take the same part, could +find no expedient to save himself and the Senate but the wretched one +of supporting and raising very high another Cæsar, the adopted +son and heir of him you had slain, to oppose Antony and to divide the +Cæsarean party. But even while he did this he perpetually +offended that party and made them his enemies by harangues in the Senate, +which breathed the very spirit of the old Pompeian faction, and made +him appear to Octavius and all the friends of the dead Dictator no less +guilty of his death than those who had killed him. What could +this end in but that which you and your friends had most to fear, a +reunion of the whole Cæsarean party and of their principal leaders, +however discordant the one with the other, to destroy the Pompeians? +For my own part, I foresaw it long before the <!-- page 90--><a name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 90</span>event, +and therefore kept myself wholly clear of those proceedings. You +think I ought to have joined you and Cassius at Philippi, because I +knew your good intentions, and that, if you succeeded, you designed +to restore the commonwealth. I am persuaded you did both agree +in that point, but you differed in so many others, there was such a +dissimilitude in your tempers and characters, that the union between +you could not have lasted long, and your dissension would have had most +fatal effects with regard both to the settlement and to the administration +of the Republic. Besides, the whole mass of it was in such a fermentation, +and so corrupted, that I am convinced new disorders would soon have +arisen. If you had applied gentle remedies, to which your nature +inclined, those remedies would have failed; if Cassius had induced you +to act with severity, your government would have been stigmatised with +the name of a tyranny more detestable than that against which you conspired, +and Cæsar’s clemency would have been the perpetual topic +of every factious oration to the people, and of every seditious discourse +to the soldiers. Thus you would have soon been plunged in the +miseries of another civil war, or perhaps assassinated in the Senate, +as Julius was by you. Nothing could give the Roman Empire a lasting +tranquillity but such a prudent plan of a mitigated imperial power as +was afterwards formed by Octavius, when he had ably and happily delivered +himself from all opposition and partnership in the government. +Those quiet times I lived to see, and I must say they were the best +I ever had seen, far better than those under the turbulent aristocracy +for which you contended. And let me boast a little of my own prudence, +which, through so many storms, could steer me safe into that port. +Had it only given me safety, without reputation, I should not think +that I ought to value myself upon it. But in all these revolutions +my honour remained as unimpaired as my fortune. I so conducted +myself that I lost no esteem in <!-- page 91--><a name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 91</span>being +Antony’s friend after having been Cicero’s, or in my alliance +with Agrippa and Augustus Cæsar after my friendship with you. +Nor did either Cæsar or Antony blame my inaction in the quarrels +between them; but, on the contrary, they both seemed to respect me the +more for the neutrality I observed. My obligations to the one +and alliance with the other made it improper for me to act against either, +and my constant tenor of life had procured me an exemption from all +civil wars by a kind of prescription.</p> +<p><i>Brutus</i>.—If man were born to no higher purpose than to +wear out a long life in ease and prosperity, with the general esteem +of the world, your wisdom was evidently as much superior to mine as +my life was shorter and more unhappy than yours. Nay, I verily +believe it exceeded the prudence of any other man that ever existed, +considering in what difficult circumstances you were placed, and with +how many violent shocks and sudden changes of fortune you were obliged +to contend. But here the most virtuous and public-spirited conduct +is found to have been the most prudent. The motives of our actions, +not the success, give us here renown. And could I return to that +life from whence I am escaped, I would not change my character to imitate +yours; I would again be Brutus rather than Atticus. Even without +the sweet hope of an eternal reward in a more perfect state, which is +the strongest and most immovable support to the good under every misfortune, +I swear by the gods I would not give up the noble feelings of my heart, +that elevation of mind which accompanies active and suffering virtue, +for your seventy-seven years of constant tranquillity, with all the +praise you obtained from the learned men whom you patronised or the +great men whom you courted.</p> +<h3><!-- page 92--><a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 92</span>DIALOGUE +XVIII.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">William iii., King of England</span>—<span class="smcap">John +de Witt, Pensioner, of Holland</span>.</p> +<p><i>William</i>.—Though I had no cause to love you, yet, believe +me, I sincerely lament your fate. Who could have thought that +De Witt, the most popular Minister that ever served a commonwealth, +should fall a sacrifice to popular fury! Such admirable talents, +such virtues as you were endowed with, so clear, so cool, so comprehensive +a head, a heart so untainted with any kind of vice, despising money, +despising pleasure, despising the vain ostentation of greatness, such +application to business, such ability in it, such courage, such firmness, +and so perfect a knowledge of the nation you governed, seemed to assure +you of a fixed and stable support in the public affection. But +nothing can be durable that depends on the passions of the people.</p> +<p><i>De Witt</i>.—It is very generous in your Majesty, not only +to compassionate the fate of a man whose political principles made him +an enemy to your greatness, but to ascribe it to the caprice and inconstancy +of the people, as if there had been nothing very blamable in his conduct. +I feel the magnanimity of this discourse from your Majesty, and it confirms +what I have heard of all your behaviour after my death. But I +must frankly confess that, although the rage of the populace was carried +much too far when they tore me and my unfortunate brother to pieces, +yet I certainly had deserved to lose their affection by relying too +much on the uncertain and dangerous friendship of France, and by weakening +the military strength of the State, to serve little purposes of my own +power, and secure to myself the interested affection of the burgomasters +or others who had credit and weight in the faction the favour of which +I courted. This had almost subjected my country to France, if +you, great prince, had not been set at the head of the falling Republic, +and had not exerted such extraordinary <!-- page 93--><a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 93</span>virtues +and abilities to raise and support it, as surpassed even the heroism +and prudence of William, our first Stadtholder, and equalled yon to +the most illustrious patriots of Greece or Rome.</p> +<p><i>William</i>.—This praise from your mouth is glorious to +me indeed! What can so much exalt the character of a prince as +to have his actions approved by a zealous Republican and the enemy of +his house?</p> +<p><i>De Witt</i>.—If I did not approve them I should show myself +the enemy of the Republic. You never sought to tyrannise over +it; you loved, you defended, you preserved its freedom. Thebes +was not more indebted to Epaminondas or Pelopidas for its independence +and glory than the United Provinces were to you. How wonderful +was it to see a youth, who had scarce attained to the twenty-second +year of his age, whose spirit had been depressed and kept down by a +jealous and hostile faction, rising at once to the conduct of a most +arduous and perilous war, stopping an enemy victorious, triumphant, +who had penetrated into the heart of his country, driving him back and +recovering from him all he had conquered: to see this done with an army +in which a little before there was neither discipline, courage, nor +sense of honour! Ancient history has no exploit superior to it; +and it will ennoble the modern whenever a Livy or a Plutarch shall arise +to do justice to it, and set the hero who performed it in a true light.</p> +<p><i>William</i>.—Say, rather, when time shall have worn out +that malignity and rancour of party which in free States is so apt to +oppose itself to the sentiments of gratitude and esteem for their servants +and benefactors.</p> +<p><i>De Witt</i>.—How magnanimous was your reply, how much in +the spirit of true ancient virtue, when being asked, in the greatest +extremity of our danger, “How you intended to live after Holland +was lost?” you said, “You would live on the lands you had +left in Germany, and had rather pass your life in hunting there than +sell your country or <!-- page 94--><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 94</span>liberty +to France at any rate!” How nobly did you think when, being +offered your patrimonial lordships and lands in the county of Burgundy, +or the full value of them from France, by the mediation of England in +the treaty of peace, your answer was, “That to gain one good town +more for the Spaniards in Flanders you would be content to lose them +all!” No wonder, after this, that you were able to combine +all Europe in a league against the power of France; that you were the +centre of union, and the directing soul of that wise, that generous +confederacy formed by your labours; that you could steadily support +and keep it together, in spite of repeated misfortunes; that even after +defeats you were as formidable to Louis as other generals after victories; +and that in the end you became the deliverer of Europe, as you had before +been of Holland.</p> +<p><i>William</i>.—I had, in truth, no other object, no other +passion at heart throughout my whole life but to maintain the independence +and freedom of Europe against the ambition of France. It was this +desire which formed the whole plan of my policy, which animated all +my counsels, both as Prince of Orange and King of England.</p> +<p><i>De Witt</i>.—This desire was the most noble (I speak it +with shame) that could warm the heart of a prince whose ancestors had +opposed and in a great measure destroyed the power of Spain when that +nation aspired to the monarchy of Europe. France, sir, in your +days had an equal ambition and more strength to support her vast designs +than Spain under the government of Philip II. That ambition you +restrained, that strength you resisted. I, alas! was seduced by +her perfidious Court, and by the necessity of affairs in that system +of policy which I had adopted, to ask her assistance, to rely on her +favour, and to make the commonwealth, whose counsels I directed, subservient +to her greatness. Permit me, sir, to explain to you the motives +of my conduct. If all the Princes of Orange had acted like you, +I should never have been the enemy of your house. <!-- page 95--><a name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 95</span>But +Prince Maurice of Nassau desired to oppress the liberty of that State +which his virtuous father had freed at the expense of his life, and +which he himself had defended against the arms of the House of Austria +with the highest reputation of military abilities. Under a pretence +of religion (the most execrable cover of a wicked design) he put to +death, as a criminal, that upright Minister, Barneveldt, his father’s +best friend, because, he refused to concur with him in treason against +the State. He likewise imprisoned several other good men and lovers +of their country, confiscated their estates, and ruined their families. +Yet, after he had done these cruel acts of injustice with a view to +make himself sovereign of the Dutch Commonwealth, he found they had +drawn such a general odium upon him that, not daring to accomplish his +iniquitous purpose, he stopped short of the tyranny to which he had +sacrificed his honour and virtue; a disappointment so mortifying and +so painful to his mind that it probably hastened his death.</p> +<p><i>William</i>.—Would to Heaven he had died before the meeting +of that infamous Synod of Dort, by which he not only dishonoured himself +and his family, but the Protestant religion itself! Forgive this +interruption—my grief forced me to it—I desire you to proceed.</p> +<p><i>De Witt</i>.—The brother of Maurice, Prince Henry, who succeeded +to his dignities in the Republic, acted with more moderation. +But the son of that good prince, your Majesty’s father (I am sorry +to speak what I know you hear with pain), resumed, in the pride and +fire of his youth, the ambitious designs of his uncle. He failed +in his undertaking, and soon afterwards died, but left in the hearts +of the whole Republican party an incurable jealousy and dread of his +family. Full of these prejudices, and zealous for liberty, I thought +it my duty as Pensionary of Holland to prevent for ever, if I could, +your restoration to the power your ancestors had enjoyed, which I sincerely +believed would be inconsistent with the safety and freedom of my country.</p> +<p><!-- page 96--><a name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 96</span><i>William</i>.—Let +me stop you a moment here. When my great-grandfather formed the +plan of the Dutch Commonwealth, he made the power of a Stadtholder one +of the principal springs in his system of government. How could +you imagine that it would ever go well when deprived of this spring, +so necessary to adjust and balance its motions? A constitution +originally formed with no mixture of regal power may long be maintained +in all its vigour and energy without such a power; but if any degree +of monarchy was mixed from the beginning in the principles of it, the +forcing that out must necessarily disorder and weaken the whole fabric. +This was particularly the case in our Republic. The negative voice +of every small town in the provincial States, the tedious slowness of +our forms and deliberations, the facility with which foreign Ministers +may seduce or purchase the opinions of so many persons as have a right +to concur in all our resolutions, make it impossible for the Government, +even in the quietest times, to be well carried on without the authority +and influence of a Stadtholder, which are the only remedy our constitution +has provided for those evils.</p> +<p><i>De Witt</i>.—I acknowledge they are; but I and my party +thought no evil so great as that remedy, and therefore we sought for +other more pleasing resources. One of these, upon which we most +confidently depended, was the friendship of France. I flattered +myself that the interest of the French would secure to me their favour, +as your relation to the Crown of England might naturally raise in them +a jealousy of your power. I hoped they would encourage the trade +and commerce of the Dutch in opposition to the English, the ancient +enemies of their Crown, and let us enjoy all the benefits of a perpetual +peace, unless we made war upon England, or England upon us, in either +of which cases it was reasonable to presume we should have their assistance. +The French Minister at the Hague, who served his Court but too well, +so confirmed me in these notions, <!-- page 97--><a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 97</span>that +I had no apprehensions of the mine which was forming under my feet.</p> +<p><i>William</i>.—You found your authority strengthened by a +plan so agreeable to your party, and this contributed more to deceive +your sagacity than all the art of D’Estrades.</p> +<p><i>De Witt</i>.—My policy seemed to me entirely suitable to +the lasting security of my own power, of the liberty of my country, +and of its maritime greatness; for I made it my care to keep up a very +powerful navy, well commanded and officered, for the defence of all +these against the English; but, as I feared nothing from France, or +any Power on the Continent, I neglected the army, or rather I destroyed +it, by enervating all its strength, by disbanding old troops and veteran +officers attached to the House of Orange, and putting in their place +a trading militia, commanded by officers who had neither experience +nor courage, and who owed their promotions to no other merit but their +relation to or interest with some leading men in the several oligarchies +of which the Government in all the Dutch towns is composed. Nevertheless, +on the invasion of Flanders by the French, I was forced to depart from +my close connection with France, and to concur with England and Sweden +in the Triple Alliance, which Sir William Temple proposed, in order +to check her ambition; but as I entered into that measure from necessity, +not from choice, I did not pursue it. I neglected to improve our +union with England, or to secure that with Sweden; I avoided any conjunction +of counsels with Spain; I formed no alliance with the Emperor or the +Germans; I corrupted our army more and more; till a sudden, unnatural +confederacy, struck up, against all the maxims of policy, by the Court +of England with France, for the conquest of the Seven Provinces, brought +these at once to the very brink of destruction, and made me a victim +to the fury of a populace too justly provoked.</p> +<p><i>William</i>.—I must say that your plan was in reality nothing +more than to procure for the Dutch a licence to <!-- page 98--><a name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 98</span>trade +under the good pleasure and gracious protection of France. But +any State that so entirely depends on another is only a province, and +its liberty is a servitude graced with a sweet but empty name. +You should have reflected that to a monarch so ambitious and so vain +as Louis le Grand the idea of a conquest which seemed almost certain, +and the desire of humbling a haughty Republic, were temptations irresistible. +His bigotry likewise would concur in recommending to him an enterprise +which he might think would put heresy under his feet. And if you +knew either the character of Charles II. or the principles of his government, +you ought not to have supposed his union with France for the ruin of +Holland an impossible or even improbable event. It is hardly excusable +in a statesman to be greatly surprised that the inclinations of princes +should prevail upon them to act, in many particulars, without any regard +to the political maxims and interests of their kingdoms.</p> +<p><i>De Witt</i>.—I am ashamed of my error; but the chief cause +of it was that, though I thought very ill, I did not think quite so +ill of Charles II. and his Ministry as they deserved. I imagined, +too, that his Parliament would restrain him from engaging in such a +war, or compel him to engage in our defence if France should attack +us. These, I acknowledge, are excuses, not justifications. +When the French marched into Holland and found it in a condition so +unable to resist them, my fame as a Minister irrecoverably sank; for, +not to appear a traitor, I was obliged to confess myself a dupe. +But what praise is sufficient for the wisdom and virtue you showed in +so firmly rejecting the offers which, I have been informed, were made +to you, both by England and France, when first you appeared in arms +at the head of your country, to give you the sovereignty of the Seven +Provinces by the assistance and under the protection of the two Crowns! +Believe me, great prince, had I been living in those times, and had +known the generous answers you made to those offers (which were repeated +more than once <!-- page 99--><a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 99</span>during +the course of the war), not the most ancient and devoted servant to +your family would have been more your friend than I. But who could +reasonably hope for such moderation, and such a right sense of glory, +in the mind of a young man descended from kings, whose mother was daughter +to Charles I., and whose father had left him the seducing example of +a very different conduct? Happy, indeed, was the English nation +to have such a prince, so nearly allied to their Crown both in blood +and by marriage, whom they might call to be their deliverer when bigotry +and despotism, the two greatest enemies to human society, had almost +overthrown their whole constitution in Church and State!</p> +<p><i>William</i>.—They might have been happy, but were not. +As soon as I had accomplished their deliverance for them, many of them +became my most implacable enemies, and even wished to restore the unforgiving +prince whom they had so unanimously and so justly expelled from his +kingdom. Such levity seems incredible. I could not myself +have imagined it possible, in a nation famed for good sense, if I had +not had proofs of it beyond contradiction. They seemed as much +to forget what they called me over for as that they had called me over. +The security of their religion, the maintenance of their liberty, were +no longer their care. All was to yield to the incomprehensible +doctrine of right divine and passive obedience. Thus the Tories +grew Jacobites, after having renounced both that doctrine and King James, +by their opposition to him, by their invitation of me, and by every +Act of the Parliament which gave me the Crown. But the most troublesome +of my enemies were a set of Republicans, who violently opposed all my +measures, and joined with the Jacobites in disturbing my government, +only because it was not a commonwealth.</p> +<p><i>De Witt</i>.—They who were Republicans under your government +in the Kingdom of England did not love liberty, but aspired to dominion, +and wished to throw the <!-- page 100--><a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 100</span>nation +into a total confusion, that it might give them a chance of working +out from that anarchy a better state for themselves.</p> +<p><i>William</i>.—Your observation is just. A proud man +thinks himself a lover of liberty when he is only impatient of a power +in government above his own, and were he a king, or the first Minister +of a king, would be a tyrant. Nevertheless I will own to you, +with the candour which becomes a virtuous prince, that there were in +England some Whigs, and even some of the most sober and moderate Tories, +who, with very honest intentions, and sometimes with good judgments, +proposed new securities to the liberty of the nation, against the prerogative +or influence of the Crown and the corruption of Ministers in future +times. To some of these I gave way, being convinced they were +right, but others I resisted for fear of weakening too much the royal +authority, and breaking that balance in which consists the perfection +of a mixed form of government. I should not, perhaps, have resisted +so many if I had not seen in the House of Commons a disposition to rise +in their demands on the Crown had they found it more yielding. +The difficulties of my government, upon the whole, were so great that +I once had determined, from mere disgust and resentment, to give back +to the nation, assembled in Parliament, the crown they had placed on +my head, and retire to Holland, where I found more affection and gratitude +in the people. But I was stopped by the earnest supplications +of my friends and by an unwillingness to undo the great work I had done, +especially as I knew that, if England should return into the hands of +King James, it would be impossible in that crisis to preserve the rest +of Europe from the dominion of France.</p> +<p><i>De Witt</i>.—Heaven be praised that your Majesty did not +persevere in so fatal a resolution! The United Provinces would +have been ruined by it together with England. But I cannot enough +express my astonishment that you should <!-- page 101--><a name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 101</span>have +met with such treatment as could suggest such a thought. The English +must surely be a people incapable either of liberty or subjection.</p> +<p><i>William</i>.—There were, I must acknowledge, some faults +in my temper and some in my government, which are an excuse for my subjects +with regard to the uneasiness and disquiet they gave me. My taciturnity, +which suited the genius of the Dutch, offended theirs. They love +an affable prince; it was chiefly his affability that made them so fond +of Charles II. Their frankness and good-humour could not brook +the reserve and coldness of my nature. Then the excess of my favour +to some of the Dutch, whom I had brought over with me, excited a national +jealousy in the English and hurt their pride. My government also +appeared, at last, too unsteady, too fluctuating between the Whigs and +the Tories, which almost deprived me of the confidence and affection +of both parties. I trusted too much to the integrity and the purity +of my intentions, without using those arts that are necessary to allay +the ferment of factions and allure men to their duty by soothing their +passions. Upon the whole I am sensible that I better understood +how to govern the Dutch than the English or the Scotch, and should probably +have been thought a greater man if I had not been King of Great Britain.</p> +<p><i>De Witt</i>.—It is a shame to the English that gratitude +and affection for such merit as yours were not able to overcome any +little disgusts arising from your temper, and enthrone their deliverer +in the hearts of his people. But will your Majesty give me leave +to ask you one question? Is it true, as I have heard, that many +of them disliked your alliances on the Continent and spoke of your war +with France as a Dutch measure, in which you sacrificed England to Holland?</p> +<p><i>William</i>.—The cry of the nation at first was strong for +the war, but before the end of it the Tories began publicly to talk +the language you mention. And no wonder they <!-- page 102--><a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 102</span>did, +for, as they then had a desire to set up again the maxims of government +which had prevailed in the reign of their beloved Charles II., they +could not but represent opposition to France, and vigorous measures +taken to restrain her ambition, as unnecessary for England, because +they well knew that the counsels of that king had been utterly averse +to such measures; that his whole policy made him a friend to France; +that he was governed by a French mistress, and even bribed by French +money to give that Court his assistance, or at least his acquiescence, +in all their designs.</p> +<p><i>De Witt</i>.—A King of England whose Cabinet is governed +by France, and who becomes a vile pensioner to a French King, degrades +himself from his royalty, and ought to be considered as an enemy to +the nation. Indeed the whole policy of Charles II., when he was +not forced off from his natural bias by the necessity he lay under of +soothing his Parliament, was a constant, designed, systematical opposition +to the interest of his people. His brother, though more sensible +to the honour of England, was by his Popery and desire of arbitrary +power constrained to lean upon France, and do nothing to obstruct her +designs on the Continent or lessen her greatness. It was therefore +necessary to place the British Crown on your head, not only with a view +to preserve the religious and civil rights of the people from internal +oppressions, but to rescue the whole State from that servile dependence +on its natural enemy, which must unquestionably have ended in its destruction. +What folly was it to revile your measures abroad, as sacrificing the +interest of your British dominions to connections with the Continent, +and principally with Holland! Had Great Britain no interest to +hinder the French from being masters of all the Austrian Netherlands, +and forcing the Seven United Provinces, her strongest barrier on the +Continent against the power of that nation, to submit with the rest +to their yoke? Would her trade, would her coasts, would her <!-- page 103--><a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 103</span>capital +itself have been safe after so mighty an increase of shipping and sailors +as France would have gained by those conquests? And what could +have prevented them, but the war which you waged and the alliances which +you formed? Could the Dutch and the Germans, unaided by Great +Britain, have attempted to make head against a Power which, even with +her assistance, strong and spirited as it was, they could hardly resist? +And after the check which had been given to the encroachments of France +by the efforts of the first grand alliance, did not a new and greater +danger make it necessary to recur to another such league? Was +not the union of France and Spain under one monarch, or even under one +family, the most alarming contingency that ever had threatened the liberty +of Europe?</p> +<p><i>William</i>.—I thought so, and I am sure I did not err in +my judgment. But folly is blind, and faction wilfully shuts her +eyes against the most evident truths that cross her designs, as she +believes any lies, however palpable and absurd, that she thinks will +assist them.</p> +<p><i>De Witt</i>.—The only objection which seems to have any +real weight against your system of policy, with regard to the maintenance +of a balance of power in Europe, is the enormous expense that must necessarily +attend it; an expense which I am afraid neither England nor Holland +will be able to bear without extreme inconvenience.</p> +<p><i>William</i>.—I will answer that objection by asking a question. +If, when you were Pensionary of Holland, intelligence had been brought +that the dykes were ready to break and the sea was coming in to overwhelm +and to drown us, what would you have said to one of the deputies who, +when you were proposing the proper repairs to stop the inundation, should +have objected to the charge as too heavy on the Province? This +was the case in a political sense with both England and Holland. +The fences raised to keep out superstition and tyranny were all giving +way; those dreadful evils were threatening, with their whole accumulated +<!-- page 104--><a name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 104</span>force, +to break in upon us and overwhelm our ecclesiastical and civil constitutions. +In such circumstances to object to a necessary expense is folly and +madness.</p> +<p><i>De Witt</i>.—It is certain, sir, that the utmost abilities +of a nation can never be so well employed as in the unwearied, pertinacious +defence of their religion and freedom. When these are lost, there +remains nothing that is worth the concern of a good or wise man. +Nor do I think it consistent with the prudence of government not to +guard against future dangers, as well as present; which precaution must +be often in some degree expensive. I acknowledge, too, that the +resources of a commercial country, which supports its trade, even in +war, by invincible fleets, and takes care not to hurt it in the methods +of imposing or collecting its taxes, are immense, and inconceivable +till the trial is made; especially where the Government, which demands +the supplies, is agreeable to the people. But yet an unlimited +and continued expense will in the end be destructive. What matters +it whether a State is mortally wounded by the hand of a foreign enemy, +or dies by a consumption of its own vital strength? Such a consumption +will come upon Holland sooner than upon England, because the latter +has a greater radical force; but, great as it is, that force at last +will be so diminished and exhausted by perpetual drains, that it may +fail all at once, and those efforts, which may seem most surprisingly +vigorous, will be in reality the convulsions of death. I don’t +apply this to your Majesty’s government; but I speak with a view +to what may happen hereafter from the extensive ideas of negotiation +and war which you have established: they have been salutary to your +kingdom; but they will, I fear, be pernicious in future times, if in +pursuing great plans great Ministers do not act with a sobriety, prudence, +and attention to frugality, which very seldom are joined with an extraordinary +vigour and boldness of counsels.</p> +<h3><!-- page 105--><a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 105</span>DIALOGUE +XIX.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">M. Apicius</span>—<span class="smcap">Darteneuf</span>.</p> +<p><i>Darteneuf</i>.—Alas! poor Apicius, I pity thee from my heart +for not having lived in my age and in my country. How many good +dishes, unknown at Rome in thy days, have I feasted upon in England!</p> +<p><i>Apicius</i>.—Keep your pity for yourself. How many +good dishes have I feasted upon in Rome which England does not produce, +or of which the knowledge has been lost, with other treasures of antiquity, +in these degenerate days! The fat paps of a sow, the livers of +scari, the brains of phœnicopters, and the tripotanum, which consisted +of three excellent sorts of fish, for which you English have no names, +the lupus marinus, the myxo, and the muræna.</p> +<p><i>Darteneuf</i>.—I thought the muræna had been our lamprey. +We have delicate ones in the Severn.</p> +<p><i>Apicius</i>.—No; the muræna, so respected by the ancient +Roman senators, was a salt-water fish, and kept by our nobles in ponds, +into which the sea was admitted.</p> +<p><i>Darteneuf</i>.—Why, then, I dare say our Severn lampreys +are better. Did you ever eat any of them stewed or potted?</p> +<p><i>Apicius</i>.—I was never in Britain. Your country +then was too barbarous for me to go thither. I should have been +afraid that the Britons would have eaten me.</p> +<p><i>Darteneuf</i>.—I am sorry for you, very sorry; for if you +never were in Britain you never ate the best oysters.</p> +<p><i>Apicius</i>.—Pardon me, sir, your Sandwich oysters were +brought to Rome in my time.</p> +<p><i>Darteneuf</i>.—They could not be fresh; they were good for +nothing there. You should have come to Sandwich to eat them. +It is a shame for you that you did not. An epicure talk of danger +when he is in search of a dainty! Did not Leander swim over the +Hellespont in a tempest to get to his mistress? And what is a +wench to a barrel of exquisite oysters?</p> +<p><!-- page 106--><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 106</span><i>Apicius</i>.—Nay; +I am sure you can’t blame me for any want of alertness in seeking +fine fishes. I sailed to the coast of Africa, from Minturnæ +in Campania, only to taste of one species, which I heard was larger +there than it was on our coast; and finding that I had received a false +information, I returned immediately, without even deigning to land.</p> +<p><i>Darteneuf</i>.—There was some sense in that. But why +did not you also make a voyage to Sandwich? Had you once tasted +those oysters in their highest perfection, you would never have come +back; you would have eaten till you burst.</p> +<p><i>Apicius</i>.—I wish I had. It would have been better +than poisoning myself, as I did at Rome, because I found, upon the balance +of my accounts, I had only the pitiful sum of fourscore thousand pounds +left, which would not afford me a table to keep me from starving.</p> +<p><i>Darteneuf</i>.—A sum of fourscore thousand pounds not keep +you from starving! Would I had had it! I should have been +twenty years in spending it, with the best table in London.</p> +<p><i>Apicius</i>.—Alas, poor man! This shows that you English +have no idea of the luxury that reigned in our tables. Before +I died I had spent in my kitchen £807,291 13s. 4d.</p> +<p><i>Darteneuf</i>.—I don’t believe a word of it. +There is certainly an error in the account.</p> +<p><i>Apicius</i>.—Why, the establishment of Lucullus for his +suppers in the Apollo—I mean for every supper he sat down to in +the room which he called by that name—was 5,000 drachms, which +is in your money £1,614 11s. 8d.</p> +<p><i>Darteneuf</i>.—Would I had supped with him there! +But are you sure there is no blunder in these calculations?</p> +<p><i>Apicius</i>.—Ask your learned men that. I reckon as +they tell me. But you may think that these feasts were made only +by great men, by triumphant generals, like Lucullus, who had plundered +all Asia to help him in his housekeeping. What will you say when +I tell you that the player Æsopus <!-- page 107--><a name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 107</span>had +one dish that cost him 6,000 sestertia—that is, £4,843 10s. +English?</p> +<p><i>Darteneuf</i>.—What will I say? Why, that I pity my +worthy friend Mr. Gibber, and that, if I had known this when alive, +I should have hanged myself for vexation that I did not live in those +days.</p> +<p><i>Apicius</i>.—Well you might, well you might. You don’t +know what eating is. You never could know it. Nothing less +than the wealth of the Roman Empire is sufficient to enable a man of +taste to keep a good table. Our players were infinitely richer +than your princes.</p> +<p><i>Darteneuf</i>.—Oh that I had but lived in the blessed reign +of Caligula, or of Vitellius, or of Heliogabalus, and had been admitted +to the honour of dining with their slaves!</p> +<p><i>Apicius</i>.—Ay, there you touch me. I am miserable +that I died before their good times. They carried the glories +of their table much farther than the best eaters of the age in which +I lived. Vitellius spent in feasting, within the compass of one +year, what would amount in your money to above £7,200,000. +He told me so himself in a conversation I had with him not long ago. +And the two others you mentioned did not fall very short of his royal +magnificence.</p> +<p><i>Darteneuf</i>.—These, indeed, were great princes. +But what most affects me is the luxury of that upstart fellow Æsopus. +Pray, of what ingredients might the dish he paid so much for consist?</p> +<p><i>Apicius</i>.—Chiefly of singing birds. It was that +which so greatly enhanced the price.</p> +<p><i>Darteneuf</i>.—Of singing birds! Choke him! +I never ate but one, which I stole out of its cage from a lady of my +acquaintance, and all London was in an uproar, as if I had stolen and +roasted an only child. But, upon recollection, I doubt whether +I have really so much cause to envy Æsopus. For the singing +bird which I ate was not so good as a wheat-ear or becafigue. +And therefore I suspect that all the luxury you have bragged of was +nothing but vanity. It was like <!-- page 108--><a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 108</span>the +foolish extravagance of the son of Æsopus, who dissolved pearls +in vinegar and drank them at supper. I will stake my credit that +a haunch of good buck venison and my favourite ham pie were much better +dishes than any at the table of Vitellius himself. It does not +appear that you ancients ever had any good soups, without which a man +of taste cannot possibly dine. The rabbits in Italy are detestable. +But what is better than the wing of one of our English wild rabbits? +I have been told you had no turkeys. The mutton in Italy is ill-flavoured. +And as for your boars roasted whole, they were only fit to be served +up at a corporation feast or election dinner. A small barbecued +hog is worth a hundred of them. And a good collar of Canterbury +or Shrewsbury brawn is a much better dish.</p> +<p><i>Apicius</i>.—If you had some meats that we wanted, yet our +cookery must have been greatly superior to yours. Our cooks were +so excellent that they could give to hog’s flesh the taste of +all other meats.</p> +<p><i>Darteneuf</i>.—I should never have endured their imitations. +You might as easily have imposed on a good connoisseur in painting the +copy of a fine picture for the original. Our cooks, on the contrary, +give to all other meats, and even to some kinds of fish, a rich flavour +of bacon without destroying that which makes the distinction of one +from another. It does not appear to me that essence of hams was +ever known to the ancients. We have a hundred ragouts, the composition +of which surpasses all description. Had yours been as good, you +could not have lain indolently lolling upon couches while you were eating. +They would have made you sit up and mind your business. Then you +had a strange custom of hearing things read to you while you were at +supper. This demonstrates that you were not so well entertained +as we are with our meat. When I was at table, I neither heard, +nor saw, nor spoke; I only tasted. But the worst of all is that, +in the utmost perfection of your luxury, you had no wine to be named +with claret, Burgundy, <!-- page 109--><a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 109</span>champagne, +old hock, or Tokay. You boasted much of your Falernum, but I have +tasted the Lachrymæ Christi and other wines of that coast, not +one of which would I have drunk above a glass or two of if you would +have given me the Kingdom of Naples. I have read that you boiled +your wines and mixed water with them, which is sufficient evidence that +in themselves they were not fit to drink.</p> +<p><i>Apicius</i>.—I am afraid you do really excel us in wines; +not to mention your beer, your cider, and your perry, of all which I +have heard great fame from your countrymen, and their report has been +confirmed by the testimony of their neighbours who have travelled into +England. Wonderful things have been also said to me of an English +liquor called punch.</p> +<p><i>Darteneuf</i>.—Ay, to have died without tasting that is +miserable indeed! There is rum punch and arrack punch! It +is difficult to say which is best, but Jupiter would have given his +nectar for either of them, upon my word and honour.</p> +<p><i>Apicius</i>.—The thought of them puts me into a fever with +thirst.</p> +<p><i>Darteneuf</i>.—Those incomparable liquors are brought to +us from the East and West Indies, of the first of which you knew little, +and of the latter nothing. This alone is sufficient to determine +the dispute. What a new world of good things for eating and drinking +has Columbus opened to us! Think of that, and despair.</p> +<p><i>Apicius</i>.—I cannot indeed but exceedingly lament my ill +fate that America was not discovered before I was born. It tortures +me when I hear of chocolate, pineapples, and a number of other fine +fruits, or delicious meats, produced there which I have never tasted.</p> +<p><i>Darteneuf</i>.—The single advantage of having sugar to sweeten +everything with, instead of honey, which you, for want of the other, +were obliged to make use of, is inestimable.</p> +<p><!-- page 110--><a name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 110</span><i>Apicius</i>.—I +confess your superiority in that important article. But what grieves +me most is that I never ate a turtle. They tell me that it is +absolutely the best of all foods.</p> +<p><i>Darteneuf</i>.—Yes, I have heard the Americans say so, but +I never ate any; for in my time they were not brought over to England.</p> +<p><i>Apicius</i>.—Never ate any turtle! How couldst thou +dare to accuse me of not going to Sandwich to eat oysters, and didst +not thyself take a trip to America to riot on turtles? But know, +wretched man, I am credibly informed that they are now as plentiful +in England as sturgeons. There are turtle-boats that go regularly +to London and Bristol from the West Indies. I have just received +this information from a fat alderman, who died in London last week of +a surfeit he got at a turtle feast in that city.</p> +<p><i>Darteneuf</i>.—What does he say? Does he affirm to +you that turtle is better than venison?</p> +<p><i>Apicius</i>.—He says, there was a haunch of the fattest +venison untouched, while every mouth was employed on the turtle alone.</p> +<p><i>Darteneuf</i>.—Alas! how imperfect is human felicity! +I lived in an age when the noble science of eating was supposed to have +been carried to its highest perfection in England and France. +And yet a turtle feast is a novelty to me! Would it be impossible, +do you think, to obtain leave from Pluto of going back for one day to +my own table at London just to taste of that food? I would promise +to kill myself by the quantity of it I would eat before the next morning.</p> +<p><i>Apicius</i>.—You have forgot you have no body. That +which you had has long been rotten, and you can never return to the +earth with another, unless Pythagoras should send you thither to animate +a hog. But comfort yourself that, as you have eaten dainties which +I never tasted, so the next age will eat some unknown to this. +New discoveries <!-- page 111--><a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 111</span>will +be made, and new delicacies brought from other parts of the world. +But see; who comes hither? I think it is Mercury.</p> +<p><i>Mercury</i>.—Gentlemen, I must tell you that I have stood +near you invisible, and heard your discourse—a privilege which, +you know, we deities use as often as we please. Attend, therefore, +to what I shall communicate to you, relating to the subject upon which +you have been talking. I know two men, one of whom lived in ancient, +and the other in modern times, who had much more pleasure in eating +than either of you through the whole course of your lives.</p> +<p><i>Apicius</i>.—One of these happy epicures, I presume, was +a Sybarite, and the other a French gentleman settled in the West Indies.</p> +<p><i>Mercury</i>.—No; one was a Spartan soldier, and the other +an English farmer. I see you both look astonished. But what +I tell you is truth. Labour and hunger gave a relish to the black +broth of the former, and the salt beef of the latter, beyond what you +ever found in the tripotanums or ham pies, that vainly stimulated your +forced and languid appetites, which perpetual indolence weakened, and +constant luxury overcharged.</p> +<p><i>Darteneuf</i>.—This, Apicius, is more mortifying than not +to have shared a turtle feast.</p> +<p><i>Apicius</i>.—I wish, Mercury, you had taught me your art +of cookery in my lifetime; but it is a sad thing not to know what good +living is till after one is dead.</p> +<h3>DIALOGUE XX.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Alexander the Great</span>—<span class="smcap">Charles +XII., King of Sweden</span>.</p> +<p><i>Alexander</i>.—Your Majesty seems in great wrath! +Who has offended you?</p> +<p><i>Charles</i>.—The offence is to you as much as me. +Here is <!-- page 112--><a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 112</span>a +fellow admitted into Elysium who has affronted us both—an English +poet, one Pope. He has called us two madmen!</p> +<p><i>Alexander</i>.—I have been unlucky in poets. No prince +ever was fonder of the Muses than I, or has received from them a more +ungrateful return. When I was alive, I declared that I envied +Achilles because he had a Homer to celebrate his exploits; and I most +bountifully rewarded Chœrilus, a pretender to poetry, for writing +verses on mine. But my liberality, instead of doing me honour, +has since drawn upon me the ridicule of Horace, a witty Roman poet; +and Lucan, another versifier of the same nation, has loaded my memory +with the harshest invectives.</p> +<p><i>Charles</i>.—I know nothing of these; but I know that in +my time a pert French satirist, one Boileau, made so free with your +character, that I tore his book for having abused my favourite hero. +And now this saucy Englishman has libelled us both. But I have +a proposal to make to you for the reparation of our honour. If +you will join with me, we will turn all these insolent scribblers out +of Elysium, and throw them down headlong to the bottom of Tartarus, +in spite of Pluto and all his guards.</p> +<p><i>Alexander</i>.—This is just such a scheme as that you formed +at Bender, to maintain yourself there, with the aid of three hundred +Swedes, against the whole force of the Ottoman Empire. And I must +say that such follies gave the English poet too much cause to call you +a madman.</p> +<p><i>Charles</i>.—If my heroism was madness, yours, I presume, +was not wisdom.</p> +<p><i>Alexander</i>.—There was a vast difference between your +conduct and mine. Let poets or declaimers say what they will, +history shows that I was not only the bravest soldier, but one of the +ablest commanders the world has ever seen. Whereas you, by imprudently +leading your army into vast and barren deserts at the approach of the +winter, exposed it to perish in its march for want of subsistence, lost +your artillery, lost a great number of your soldiers, and was forced +<!-- page 113--><a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 113</span>to +fight with the Muscovites under such disadvantages as made it almost +impossible for you to conquer.</p> +<p><i>Charles</i>.—I will not dispute your superiority as a general. +It is not for me, a mere mortal, to contend with the son of Jupiter +Ammon.</p> +<p><i>Alexander</i>.—I suppose you think my pretending that Jupiter +was my father as much entitles me to the name of a madman as your extravagant +behaviour at Bender does you. But you are greatly mistaken. +It was not my vanity, but my policy, which set up that pretension. +When I proposed to undertake the conquest of Asia, it was necessary +for me to appear to the people something more than a man. They +had been used to the idea of demi-god heroes. I therefore claimed +an equal descent with Osiris and Sesostris, with Bacchus and Hercules, +the former conquerors of the East. The opinion of my divinity +assisted my arms and subdued all nations before me, from the Granicus +to the Ganges. But though I called myself the son of Jupiter, +and kept up the veneration that name inspired, by a courage which seemed +more than human, and by the sublime magnanimity of all my behaviour, +I did not forget that I was the son of Philip. I used the policy +of my father and the wise lessons of Aristotle, whom he had made my +preceptor, in the conduct of all my great designs. It was the +son of Philip who planted Greek colonies in Asia as far as the Indies; +who formed projects of trade more extensive than his empire itself; +who laid the foundations of them in the midst of his wars; who built +Alexandria, to be the centre and staple of commerce between Europe, +Asia, and Africa, who sent Nearchus to navigate the unknown Indian seas, +and intended to have gone himself from those seas to the Pillars of +Hercules—that is, to have explored the passage round Africa, the +discovery of which has since been so glorious to Vasco de Gama. +It was the son of Philip who, after subduing the Persians, governed +them with such lenity, such justice, and such wisdom, that they loved +him <!-- page 114--><a name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 114</span>even +more than ever they had loved their natural kings; and who, by intermarriages +and all methods that could best establish a coalition between the conquerors +and the conquered, united them into one people. But what, sir, +did you do to advance the trade of your subjects, to procure any benefit +to those you had vanquished, or to convert any enemy into a friend?</p> +<p><i>Charles</i>.—When I might easily have made myself King of +Poland, and was advised to do so by Count Piper, my favourite Minister, +I generously gave that kingdom to Stanislas, as you had given a great +part of you conquests in India to Porus, besides his own dominions, +which you restored to him entire after you had beaten his army and taken +him captive.</p> +<p><i>Alexander</i>.—I gave him the government of those countries +under me and as my lieutenant, which was the best method of preserving +my power in conquests where I could not leave garrisons sufficient to +maintain them. The same policy was afterwards practised by the +Romans, who of all conquerors, except me, were the greatest politicians. +But neither was I nor were they so extravagant as to conquer only for +others, or dethrone kings with no view but merely to have the pleasure +of bestowing their crowns on some of their subjects without any advantage +to ourselves. Nevertheless, I will own that my expedition to India +was an exploit of the son of Jupiter, not of the son of Philip. +I had done better if I had stayed to give more consistency to my Persian +and Grecian Empires, instead of attempting new conquests and at such +a distance so soon. Yet even this war was of use to hinder my +troops from being corrupted by the effeminacy of Asia, and to keep up +that universal awe of my name which in those countries was the great +support of my power.</p> +<p><i>Charles</i>.—In the unwearied activity with which I proceeded +from one enterprise to another, I dare call myself your equal. +Nay, I may pretend to a higher glory than <!-- page 115--><a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 115</span>you, +because you only went on from victory to victory; but the greatest losses +were not able to diminish my ardour or stop the efforts of my daring +and invincible spirit.</p> +<p><i>Alexander</i>.—You showed in adversity much more magnanimity +than you did in prosperity. How unworthy of a prince who imitated +me was your behaviour to the king your arms had vanquished! The +compelling Augustus to write himself a letter of congratulation to one +of his vassals whom you had placed in his throne, was the very reverse +of my treatment of Porus and Darius. It was an ungenerous insult +upon his ill-fortune. It was the triumph of a little and a low +mind. The visit you made him immediately after that insult was +a further contempt, offensive to him, and both useless and dangerous +to yourself.</p> +<p><i>Charles</i>.—I feared no danger from it. I knew he +durst not use the power I gave him to hurt me.</p> +<p><i>Alexander</i>.—If his resentment in that instant had prevailed +over his fear, as it was likely to do, you would have perished deservedly +by your insolence and presumption. For my part, intrepid as I +was in all dangers which I thought it was necessary or proper for me +to meet, I never put myself one moment in the power of an enemy whom +I had offended. But you had the rashness of folly as well as of +heroism. A false opinion conceived of your enemy’s weakness +proved at last your undoing. When, in answer to some reasonable +propositions of peace sent to you by the Czar, you said, “You +would come and treat with him at Moscow,” he replied very justly, +“That you affected to act like Alexander, but should not find +in him a Darius.” And, doubtless, you ought to have been +better acquainted with the character of that prince. Had Persia +been governed by a Peter Alexowitz when I made war against it, I should +have acted more cautiously, and not have counted so much on the superiority +of my troops in valour and discipline over an army commanded by a king +who was so capable of instructing them in all they wanted.</p> +<p><!-- page 116--><a name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 116</span><i>Charles</i>.—The +battle of Narva, won by eight thousand Swedes against fourscore thousand +Muscovites, seemed to authorise my contempt of the nation and their +prince.</p> +<p><i>Alexander</i>.—It happened that their prince was not present +in that battle. But he had not as yet had the time which was necessary +to instruct his barbarous soldiers. You gave him that time, and +he made so good a use of it that you found at Pultowa the Muscovites +become a different nation. If you had followed the blow you gave +them at Narva, and marched directly to Moscow, you might have destroyed +their Hercules in his cradle. But you suffered him to grow till +his strength was mature, and then acted as if he had been still in his +childhood.</p> +<p><i>Charles</i>.—I must confess you excelled me in conduct, +in policy, and in true magnanimity. But my liberality was not +inferior to yours; and neither you nor any mortal ever surpassed me +in the enthusiasm of courage. I was also free from those vices +which sullied your character. I never was drunk; I killed no friend +in the riot of a feast; I fired no palace at the instigation of a harlot.</p> +<p><i>Alexander</i>.—It may perhaps be admitted, as some excuse +for my drunkenness, that the Persians esteemed it an excellence in their +kings to be able to drink a great quantity of wine, and the Macedonians +were far from thinking it a dishonour. But you were as frantic +and as cruel when sober as I was when drunk. You were sober when +you resolved to continue in Turkey against the will of your host, the +Grand Signor. You were sober when you commanded the unfortunate +Patkull, whose only crime was his having maintained the liberties of +his country, and who bore the sacred character of an ambassador, to +be broken alive on the wheel, against the laws of nations, and those +of humanity, more inviolable still to a generous mind. You were +likewise sober when you wrote to the Senate of Sweden, who, upon a report +of your death, endeavoured to take some care of your kingdom, that you +would send them <!-- page 117--><a name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 117</span>one +of your boots, and from that they should receive their orders if they +pretended to meddle in government—an insult much worse than any +the Macedonians complained of from me when I was most heated with wine +and with adulation. As for my chastity, it was not so perfect +as yours, though on some occasions I obtained great praise for my continence; +but, perhaps, if you had been not quite so insensible to the charms +of the fair sex, it would have mitigated and softened the fierceness, +the pride, and the obstinacy of your nature.</p> +<p><i>Charles</i>.—It would have softened me into a woman, or, +what I think still more contemptible, the slave of a woman. But +you seem to insinuate that you never were cruel or frantic unless when +you were drunk. This I absolutely deny. You were not drunk +when you crucified Hephæstion’s physician for not curing +a man who killed himself by his intemperance in his sickness, nor when +you sacrificed to the manes of that favourite officer the whole nation +of the Cusseans—men, women, and children—who were entirely +innocent of his death—because you had read in Homer that Achilles +had immolated some Trojan captives on the tomb of Patroclus. I +could mention other proofs that your passions inflamed you as much as +wine, but these are sufficient.</p> +<p><i>Alexander</i>.—I can’t deny that my passions were +sometimes so violent as to deprive me for a while of the use of my reason; +especially when the pride of such amazing successes, the servitude of +the Persians, and barbarian flattery had intoxicated my mind. +To bear at my age, with continual moderation, such fortune as mine, +was hardly in human nature. As for you, there was an excess and +intemperance in your virtues which turned them all into vices. +And one virtue you wanted, which in a prince is very commendable and +beneficial to the public—I mean, the love of science and of the +elegant arts. Under my care and patronage they were carried in +Greece to their utmost perfection. Aristotle, Apelles, and Lysippus +were among the glories of my reign. <!-- page 118--><a name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 118</span>Yours +was illustrated only by battles. Upon the whole, though, from +some resemblance between us I should naturally be inclined to decide +in your favour, yet I must give the priority in renown to your enemy, +Peter Alexowitz. That great monarch raised his country; you ruined +yours. He was a legislator; you were a tyrant.</p> +<h3>DIALOGUE XXI.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Cardinal Ximenes</span>—<span class="smcap">Cardinal +Wolsey</span>.</p> +<p><i>Wolsey</i>.—You seem to look on me, Ximenes, with an air +of superiority, as if I was not your equal. Have you forgotten +that I was the favourite and first Minister of a great King of England? +that I was at once Lord High Chancellor, Bishop of Durham, Bishop of +Winchester, Archbishop of York, and Cardinal Legate? On what other +subject were ever accumulated so many dignities, such honours, such +power?</p> +<p><i>Ximenes</i>.—In order to prove yourself my equal, you are +pleased to tell me what you had, not what you did. But it is not +the having great offices, it is the doing great things, that makes a +great Minister. I know that for some years you governed the mind +of King Henry VIII., and consequently his kingdom, with the most absolute +sway. Let me ask you, then, What were the acts of your reign?</p> +<p><i>Wolsey</i>.—My acts were those of a very skilful courtier +and able politician. I managed a temper which nature had made +the most difficult to manage of any perhaps that ever existed, with +such consummate address that all its passions were rendered entirely +subservient to my inclinations. In foreign affairs I turned the +arms of my master or disposed of his friendship, whichever way my own +interest happened to direct. It was not with him, but with me, +that treaties were made by the Emperor or by France; and none were concluded +during my Ministry that did not <!-- page 119--><a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 119</span>contain +some Article in my favour, besides secret assurances of aiding my ambition +or resentment, which were the real springs of all my negotiations. +At home I brought the pride of the English nobility, which had resisted +the greatest of the Plantagenets, to bow submissively to the son of +a butcher of Ipswich. And, as my power was royal, my state and +magnificence were suitable to it; my buildings, my furniture, my household, +my equipage, my liberalities, and my charities were above the rank of +a subject.</p> +<p><i>Ximenes</i>.—From all you have said I understand that you +gained great advantages for yourself in the course of your Ministry—too +great, indeed, for a good man to desire, or a wise man to accept. +But what did you do for your sovereign and for the State? You +make me no answer. What I did is well known. I was not content +with forcing the arrogance of the Spanish nobility to stoop to my power, +but used that power to free the people from their oppressions. +In you they respected the royal authority; I made them respect the majesty +of the laws. I also relieved my countrymen, the commons of Castile, +from a most grievous burden, by an alteration in the method of collecting +their taxes. After the death of Isabella I preserved the tranquillity +of Aragon and Castile by procuring the regency of the latter for Ferdinand, +a wise and valiant prince, though he had not been my friend during the +life of the queen. And when after his decease I was raised to +the regency by the general esteem and affection of the Castilians, I +administered the government with great courage, firmness, and prudence; +with the most perfect disinterestedness in regard to myself, and most +zealous concern for the public. I suppressed all the factions +which threatened to disturb the peace of that kingdom in the minority +and the absence of the young king; and prevented the discontents of +the commons of Castile, too justly incensed against the Flemish Ministers, +who governed their prince and rapaciously pillaged their country, from +breaking out during my life into open <!-- page 120--><a name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 120</span>rebellion, +as they did, most unhappily, soon after my death. These were my +civil acts; but, to complete the renown of my administration, I added +to it the palm of military glory. At my own charges, and myself +commanding the army, I conquered Oran from the Moors, and annexed it, +with its territory, to the Spanish dominions.</p> +<p><i>Wolsey</i>.—My soul was as elevated and noble as yours, +my understanding as strong, and more refined; but the difference of +our conduct arose from the difference of our objects. To raise +your reputation and secure your power in Castile, by making that kingdom +as happy and as great as you could, was your object. Mine was +to procure the Triple Crown for myself by the assistance of my sovereign +and of the greatest foreign Powers. Each of us took the means +that were evidently most proper to the accomplishment of his ends.</p> +<p><i>Ximenes</i>.—Can you confess such a principle of your conduct +without a blush? But you will at least be ashamed that you failed +in your purpose, and were the dupe of the Powers with whom you negotiated, +after having dishonoured the character of your master in order to serve +your own ambition. I accomplished my desire with glory to my sovereign +and advantage to my country. Besides this difference, there was +a great one in the methods by which we acquired our power. We +both owed it, indeed, to the favour of princes; but I gained Isabella’s +by the opinion she had of my piety and integrity. You gained Henry’s +by a complaisance and course of life which were a reproach to your character +and sacred orders.</p> +<p><i>Wolsey</i>.—I did not, as you, Ximenes, did, carry with +me to Court the austerity of a monk; nor, if I had done so, could I +possibly have gained any influence there. Isabella and Henry were +different characters, and their favour was to be sought in different +ways. By making myself agreeable to the latter, I so governed +his passions, unruly as they were, that while I lived they did not produce +any of those <!-- page 121--><a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 121</span>dreadful +effects which after my death were caused by them in his family and kingdom.</p> +<p><i>Ximenes</i>.—If Henry VIII., your master, had been King +of Castile, I would never have been drawn by him out of my cloister. +A man of virtue and spirit will not be prevailed with to go into a Court +where he cannot rise without baseness.</p> +<p><i>Wolsey</i>.—The inflexibility of your mind had like to have +ruined you in some of your measures; and the bigotry which you had derived +from your long abode in a cloister, and retained when a Minister, was +very near depriving the Crown of Castile of the new-conquered kingdom +of Granada by the revolt of the Moors in that city, whom you had prematurely +forced to change their religion. Do you not remember how angry +King Ferdinand was with you on that account?</p> +<p><i>Ximenes</i>.—I do, and must acknowledge that my zeal was +too intemperate in all that proceeding.</p> +<p><i>Wolsey</i>.—My worst complaisances to King Henry VIII. were +far less hurtful to England than the unjust and inhuman Court of Inquisition, +which you established in Granada to watch over the faith of your unwilling +converts, has been to Spain.</p> +<p><i>Ximenes</i>.—I only revived and settled in Granada an ancient +tribunal, instituted first by one of our saints against the Albigenses, +and gave it greater powers. The mischiefs which have attended +it cannot be denied; but if any force may be used for the maintenance +of religion (and the Church of Rome has, you know, declared authoritatively +that it may) none could be so effectual to answer the purpose.</p> +<p><i>Wolsey</i>.—This is an argument rather against the opinion +of the Church than for the Inquisition. I will only say I think +myself very happy that my administration was stained with no action +of cruelty, not even cruelty sanctified by the name of religion. +My temper indeed, which influenced <!-- page 122--><a name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 122</span>my +conduct more than my principles, was much milder than yours. To +the proud I was proud, but to my friends and inferiors benevolent and +humane. Had I succeeded in the great object of my ambition, had +I acquired the Popedom, I should have governed the Church with more +moderation and better sense than probably you would have done if you +had exchanged the See of Toledo for that of Rome. My good-nature, +my policy, my taste for magnificence, my love of the fine arts, of wit, +and of learning, would have made me the delight of all the Italians, +and have given me a rank among the greatest princes. Whereas in +you the sour bigot and rigid monk would too much have prevailed over +the prince and the statesman.</p> +<p><i>Ximenes</i>.—What either of us would have been in that situation +does not appear; but, if you are compared to me as a Minister, you are +vastly inferior. The only circumstance in which you can justly +pretend to any equality is the encouragement you gave to learning and +your munificence in promoting it, which was indeed very great. +Your two colleges founded at Ipswich and Oxford may vie with my University +at Alcala de Henara. But in our generosity there was this difference—all +my revenues were spent in well-placed liberalities, in acts of charity, +piety, and virtue; whereas a great part of your enormous wealth was +squandered away in luxury and vain ostentation. With regard to +all other points, my superiority is apparent. You were only a +favourite; I was the friend and the father of the people. You +served yourself; I served the State. The conclusion of our lives +was also much more honourable to me than you.</p> +<p><i>Wolsey</i>.—Did not you die, as I did, in disgrace with +your master?</p> +<p><i>Ximenes</i>.—That disgrace was brought upon me by a faction +of foreigners, to whose power, as a good Spaniard, I would not submit. +A Minister who falls a victim to such an opposition rises by his fall. +Yours was not graced by <!-- page 123--><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 123</span>any +public cause, any merit to the nation. Your spirit, therefore, +sank under it; you bore it with meanness. Mine was unbroken, superior +to my enemies, superior to fortune, and I died, as I had lived, with +undiminished dignity and greatness of mind.</p> +<h3>DIALOGUE XXII.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Lucian</span>—<span class="smcap">Rabelais</span>.</p> +<p><i>Lucian</i>.—Friend Rabelais, well met—our souls are +very good company for one another; we both were great wits and most +audacious freethinkers. We laughed often at folly, and sometimes +at wisdom. I was, indeed, more correct and more elegant in my +style; but then, in return, you had a greater fertility of imagination. +My “True History” is much inferior, in fancy and invention, +in force of wit and keenness of satire, to your “History of the +Acts of Gargantua and Pantagruel.”</p> +<p><i>Rabelais</i>.—You do me great honour; but I may say, without +vanity, that both those compositions entitle the authors of them to +a very distinguished place among memoir-writers, travellers, and even +historians, ancient and modern.</p> +<p><i>Lucian</i>.—Doubtless they do; but will you pardon me if +I ask you one question? Why did you choose to write such absolute +nonsense as you have in some places of your illustrious work?</p> +<p><i>Rabelais</i>.—I was forced to compound my physic for the +mind with a large dose of nonsense in order to make it go down. +To own the truth to you, if I had not so frequently put on the fool’s-cap, +the freedoms I took in other places with cowls, with Red Hats, and the +Triple Crown itself, would have brought me into great danger. +Not only my book, but I myself, should, in all probability, have been +condemned to the flames; and martyrdom was an honour to which I never +aspired. I therefore counterfeited folly, like <!-- page 124--><a name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 124</span>Junius +Brutus, from the wisest of all principles—that of self-preservation. +You, Lucian, had no need to use so much caution. Your heathen +priests desired only a sacrifice now and then from an Epicurean as a +mark of conformity, and kindly allowed him to make as free as he pleased, +in conversation or writings, with the whole tribe of gods and goddesses—from +the thundering Jupiter and the scolding Juno, down to the dog Anubis +and the fragrant dame Cloacina.</p> +<p><i>Lucian</i>.—Say rather that our Government allowed us that +liberty; for I assure you our priests were by no means pleased with +it—at least, they were not in my time.</p> +<p><i>Rabelais</i>.—The wiser men they; for, in spite of the conformity +required by the laws and enforced by the magistrate, that ridicule brought +the system of pagan theology into contempt, not only with the philosophical +part of mankind, but even with the vulgar.</p> +<p><i>Lucian</i>.—It did so, and the ablest defenders of paganism +were forced to give up the poetical fables and allegorise the whole.</p> +<p><i>Rabelais</i>.—An excellent way of drawing sense out of absurdity, +and grave instructions from lewdness. There is a great modern +wit, Sir Francis Bacon, Lord Verulam, who in his treatise entitled “The +Wisdom of the Ancients” has done more for you that way than all +your own priests.</p> +<p><i>Lucian</i>.—He has indeed shown himself an admirable chemist, +and made a fine transmutation of folly into wisdom. But all the +later Platonists took the same method of defending our faith when it +was attacked by the Christians; and certainly a more judicious one could +not be found. Our fables say that in one of their wars with the +Titans the gods were defeated, and forced to turn themselves into beasts +in order to escape from the conquerors. Just the reverse happened +here, for by this happy art our beastly divinities were turned again +into rational beings.</p> +<p><i>Rabelais</i>.—Give me a good commentator, with a subtle, +<!-- page 125--><a name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 125</span>refining, +philosophical head, and you shall have the edification of seeing him +draw the most sublime allegories and the most venerable mystic truths +from my history of the noble Gargantua and Pantagruel. I don’t +despair of being proved, to the entire satisfaction of some future ape, +to have been, without exception, the profoundest divine and metaphysician +that ever yet held a pen.</p> +<p><i>Lucian</i>.—I shall rejoice to see you advanced to that +honour. But in the meantime I may take the liberty to consider +you as one of our class. There you sit very high.</p> +<p><i>Rabelais</i>.—I am afraid there is another, and a modern +author too, whom you would bid to sit above me, and but just below yourself—I +mean Dr. Swift.</p> +<p><i>Lucian</i>.—It was not necessary for him to throw so much +nonsense into his history of Lemuel Gulliver as you did into that of +your two illustrious heroes; and his style is far more correct than +yours. His wit never descended, as yours frequently did, into +the lowest of taverns, nor ever wore the meanest garb of the vulgar.</p> +<p><i>Rabelais</i>.—If the garb which it wore was not as mean, +I am certain it was sometimes as dirty as mine.</p> +<p><i>Lucian</i>.—It was not always nicely clean; yet, in comparison +with you, he was decent and elegant. But whether there was not +in your compositions more fire, and a more comic spirit, I will not +determine.</p> +<p><i>Rabelais</i>.—If you will not determine it, e’en let +it remain a matter in dispute, as I have left the great question, Whether +Panurge should marry or not? I would as soon undertake to measure +the difference between the height and bulk of the giant Gargantua and +his Brobdignagian Majesty, as the difference of merit between my writings +and Swift’s. If any man takes a fancy to like my book, let +him freely enjoy the entertainment it gives him, and drink to my memory +in a bumper. If another likes Gulliver, let him toast Dr. Swift. +Were I upon earth I would pledge <!-- page 126--><a name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 126</span>him +in a bumper, supposing the wine to be good. If a third likes neither +of us, let him silently pass the bottle and be quiet.</p> +<p><i>Lucian</i>.—But what if he will not be quiet? A critic +is an unquiet creature.</p> +<p><i>Rabelais</i>.—Why, then he will disturb himself, not me.</p> +<p><i>Lucian</i>.—You are a greater philosopher than I thought +you. I knew you paid no respect to Popes or kings, but to pay +none to critics is, in an author, a magnanimity beyond all example.</p> +<p><i>Rabelais</i>.—My life was a farce; my death was a farce; +and would you have me make my book a serious affair? As for you, +though in general you are only a joker, yet sometimes you must be ranked +among grave authors. You have written sage and learned dissertations +on history and other weighty matters. The critics have therefore +an undoubted right to maul you; they find you in their province. +But if any of them dare to come into mine, I will order Gargantua to +swallow them up, as he did the six pilgrims, in the next salad he eats.</p> +<p><i>Lucian</i>.—Have I not heard that you wrote a very good +serious book on the aphorisms of Hippocrates?</p> +<p><i>Rabelais</i>.—Upon my faith I had forgot it. I am +so used to my fool’s coat that I don’t know myself in my +solemn doctor’s gown. But your information was right; that +book was indeed a very respectable work. Yet nobody reads it; +and if I had writ nothing else, I should have been reckoned, at best, +a lackey to Hippocrates, whereas the historian of Panurge is an eminent +writer. Plain good sense, like a dish of solid beef or mutton, +is proper only for peasants; but a ragout of folly, well dressed with +a sharp sauce of wit, is fit to be served up at an emperor’s table.</p> +<p><i>Lucian</i>.—You are an admirable pleasant fellow. +Let me embrace you. How Apollo and the Muses may rank you on Parnassus +I am not very certain; but, if I were Master of the Ceremonies on Mount +Olympus, you should be <!-- page 127--><a name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>placed, +with a full bowl of nectar before you, at the right hand of Momus.</p> +<p><i>Rabelais</i>.—I wish you were; but I fear the inhabitants +of those sublime regions will like your company no better than mine. +Indeed, how Momus himself could get a seat at that table I can’t +well comprehend. It has been usual, I confess, in some of our +Courts upon earth, to have a privileged jester, called the king’s +fool. But in the Court of Heaven one should not have supposed +such an officer as Jupiter’s fool. Your allegorical theology +in this point is very abstruse.</p> +<p><i>Lucian</i>.—I think our priests admitted Momus into our +heaven, as the Indians are said to worship the devil, through fear. +They had a mind to keep fair with him. For we may talk of the +giants as much as we please, but to our gods there is no enemy so formidable +as he. Ridicule is the terror of all false religion. Nothing +but truth can stand its lash.</p> +<p><i>Rabelais</i>.—Truth, advantageously set in a good and fair +light, can stand any attacks; but those of Ridicule are so teasing and +so fallacious that I have seen them put her ladyship very much out of +humour.</p> +<p><i>Lucian</i>.—Ay, friend Rabelais, and sometimes out of countenance +too. But Truth and Wit in confederacy will strike Momus dumb. +United they are invincible, and such a union is necessary upon certain +occasions. False Reasoning is most effectually exposed by Plain +Sense; but Wit is the best opponent to False Ridicule, as Just Ridicule +is to all the absurdities which dare to assume the venerable names of +Philosophy or Religion. Had we made such a proper use of our agreeable +talents; had we employed our ridicule to strip the foolish faces of +Superstition, Fanaticism, and Dogmatical Pride of the serious and solemn +masks with which they are covered, at the same time exerting all the +sharpness of our wit to combat the flippancy and pertness of those who +argue only by jests against reason and evidence <!-- page 128--><a name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 128</span>in +points of the highest and most serious concern, we should have much +better merited the esteem of mankind.</p> +<h3>DIALOGUE XXIII.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Pericles</span>—<span class="smcap">Cosmo +de Medicis, The First of that Name</span>.</p> +<p><i>Pericles</i>.—In what I have heard of your character and +your fortune, illustrious Cosmo, I find a most remarkable resemblance +with mine. We both lived in republics where the sovereign power +was in the people; and by mere civil arts, but more especially by our +eloquence, attained, without any force, to such a degree of authority +that we ruled those tumultuous and stormy democracies with an absolute +sway, turned the tempests which agitated them upon the heads of our +enemies, and after having long and prosperously conducted the greatest +affairs in war and peace, died revered and lamented by all our fellow-citizens.</p> +<p><i>Cosmo</i>.—We have indeed an equal right to value ourselves +on that noblest of empires, the empire we gained over the minds of our +countrymen. Force or caprice may give power, but nothing can give +a lasting authority except wisdom and virtue. By these we obtained, +by these we preserved, in our respective countries, a dominion unstained +by usurpation or blood—a dominion conferred on us by the public +esteem and the public affection. We were in reality sovereigns, +while we lived with the simplicity of private men; and Athens and Florence +believed themselves to be free, though they obeyed all our dictates. +This is more than was done by Philip of Macedon, or Sylla, or Cæsar. +It is the perfection of policy to tame the fierce spirit of popular +liberty, not by blows or by chains, but by soothing it into a voluntary +obedience, and bringing it to lick the hand that restrains it.</p> +<p><i>Pericles</i>.—The task can never be easy, but the difficulty +was still greater to me than to you. For I had a lion to <!-- page 129--><a name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 129</span>tame, +from whose intractable fury the greatest men of my country, and of the +whole world, with all their wisdom and virtue, could not save themselves. +Themistocles and Aristides were examples of terror that might well have +deterred me from the administration of public affairs at Athens. +Another impediment in my way was the power of Cimon, who for his goodness, +his liberality, and the lustre of his victories over the Persians was +much beloved by the people, and at the same time, by being thought to +favour aristocracy, had all the noble and rich citizens devoted to his +party. It seemed impossible to shake so well established a greatness. +Yet by the charms and force of my eloquence, which exceeded that of +all orators contemporary with me; by the integrity of my life, my moderation, +and my prudence; but, above all, by my artful management of the people, +whose power I increased that I might render it the basis and support +of my own, I gained such an ascendant over all my opponents that, having +first procured the banishment of Cimon by ostracism, and then of Thucydides, +another formidable antagonist set up by the nobles against my authority, +I became the unrivalled chief, or rather the monarch, of the Athenian +Republic, without ever putting to death, in above forty years that my +administration continued, one of my fellow-citizens; a circumstance +which I declared, when I lay on my death-bed, to be, in my own judgment, +more honourable to me than all my prosperity in the government of the +State, or the nine trophies erected for so many victories obtained by +my conduct.</p> +<p><i>Cosmo</i>.—I had also the same happiness to boast of at +my death. And some additions were made to the territories of Florence +under my government; but I myself was no soldier, and the Commonwealth +I directed was never either so warlike or so powerful as Athens. +I must, therefore, not pretend to vie with you in the lustre of military +glory; and I will moreover acknowledge that, to govern a people whose +spirit and pride were exalted by the wonderful victories of <!-- page 130--><a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 130</span>Marathon, +Mycalé, Salamis, and Platæa, was much more difficult than +to rule the Florentines and the Tuscans. The liberty of the Athenians +was in your time more imperious, more haughty, more insolent, than the +despotism of the King of Persia. How great, then, must have been +your ability and address that could so absolutely reduce it under your +power! Yet the temper of my countrymen was not easy to govern, +for it was exceedingly factious. The history of Florence is little +else, for several ages, than an account of conspiracies against the +State. In my youth I myself suffered much by the dissensions which +then embroiled the Republic. I was imprisoned and banished, but +after the course of some years my enemies, in their turn, were driven +into exile. I was brought back in triumph, and from that time +till my death, which was above thirty years, I governed the Florentines, +not by arms or evil arts of tyrannical power, but with a legal authority, +which I exercised so discreetly as to gain the esteem of all the neighbouring +potentates, and such a constant affection of all my fellow-citizens +that an inscription, which gave me the title of Father of my Country, +was engraved on my monument by an unanimous decree of the whole Commonwealth.</p> +<p><i>Pericles</i>.—Your end was incomparably more happy than +mine. For you died rather of age than any violent illness, and +left the Florentines in a state of peace and prosperity procured for +them by your counsels. But I died of the plague, after having +seen it almost depopulate Athens, and left my country engaged in a most +dangerous war, to which my advice and the power of my eloquence had +excited the people. The misfortune of the pestilence, with the +inconveniences they suffered on account of the war, so irritated their +minds, that not long before my death they condemned me to a fine.</p> +<p><i>Cosmo</i>.—It is wonderful that, when once their anger was +raised, it went no further against you! A favourite of the people, +when disgraced, is in still greater danger than a favourite of a king.</p> +<p><!-- page 131--><a name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 131</span><i>Pericles</i>.—Your +surprise will increase at hearing that very soon afterwards they chose +me their general, and conferred on me again the principal direction +of all their affairs. Had I lived I should have so conducted the +war as to have ended it with advantage and honour to my country. +For, having secured to her the sovereignty of the sea by the defeat +of the Samians, before I let her engage with the power of Sparta, I +knew that our enemies would be at length wearied out and compelled to +sue for a peace, because the city, from the strength of its fortifications +and the great army within it, being on the land side impregnable to +the Spartans, and drawing continual supplies from the sea, suffered +not much by their ravages of the country about it, from whence I had +before removed all the inhabitants; whereas their allies were undone +by the descents we made on their coasts.</p> +<p><i>Cosmo</i>.—You seem to have understood beyond all other +men what advantages are to be drawn from a maritime power, and how to +make it the surest foundation of empire.</p> +<p><i>Pennies</i>.—I followed the plan, traced out by Themistocles, +the ablest politician that Greece had ever produced. Nor did I +begin the Peloponnesian War (as some have supposed) only to make myself +necessary, and stop an inquiry into my public accounts. I really +thought that the Republic of Athens could no longer defer a contest +with Sparta, without giving up to that State the precedence in the direction +of Greece and her own independence. To keep off for some time +even a necessary war, with a probable hope of making it more advantageously +at a favourable opportunity, is an act of true wisdom; but not to make +it, when you see that your enemy will be strengthened, and your own +advantages lost or considerably lessened, by the delay, is a most pernicious +imprudence. With relation to my accounts, I had nothing to fear. +I had not embezzled one drachma of public money, nor added one to my +own paternal estate; and the people had placed so entire a confidence +in me that they had allowed me, <!-- page 132--><a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 132</span>against +the usual forms of their government, to dispose of large sums for secret +service, without account. When, therefore, I advised the Peloponnesian +War, I neither acted from private views, nor with the inconsiderate +temerity of a restless ambition, but as became a wise statesman, who, +having weighed all the dangers that may attend a great enterprise, and +seeing a reasonable hope of good success, makes it his option to fight +for dominion and glory, rather than sacrifice both to the uncertain +possession of an insecure peace.</p> +<p><i>Cosmo</i>.—How were you sure of inducing so volatile a people +to persevere in so steady a system of conduct as that which you had +laid down—a system attended with much inconvenience and loss to +particulars, while it presented but little to strike or inflame the +imagination of the public? Bold and arduous enterprises, great +battles, much bloodshed, and a speedy decision, are what the multitude +desire in every war; but your plan of operation was the reverse of all +this, and the execution of it required the temper of the Thebans rather +than of the Athenians.</p> +<p><i>Pericles</i>.—I found, indeed, many symptoms of their impatience, +but I was able to restrain it by the authority I had gained; for during +my whole Ministry I never had stooped to court their favour by any unworthy +means, never flattered them in their follies, nor complied with their +passions against their true interests and my own better judgment; but +used the power of my eloquence to keep them in the bounds of a wise +moderation, to raise their spirits when too low, and show them their +danger when they grew too presumptuous, the good effects of which conduct +they had happily experienced in all their affairs. Whereas those +who succeeded to me in the government, by their incapacity, their corruption, +and their servile complaisance to the humour of the people, presently +lost all the fruits of my virtue and prudence. Xerxes himself, +I am convinced, did not suffer more by the flattery of his <!-- page 133--><a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 133</span>courtiers +than the Athenians, after my decease, by that of their orators and Ministers +of State.</p> +<p><i>Cosmo</i>.—Those orators could not gain the favour of the +people by any other methods. Your arts were more noble—they +were the arts of a statesman and of a prince. Your magnificent +buildings (which in beauty of architecture surpassed any the world had +ever seen), the statues of Phidias, the paintings of Zeuxis, the protection +you gave to knowledge, genius, and abilities of every kind, added as +much to the glory of Athens as to your popularity. And in this +I may boast of an equal merit to Florence. For I embellished that +city and the whole country about it with excellent buildings; I protected +all arts; and, though I was not myself so eloquent or so learned as +you, I no less encouraged those who were eminent in my time for their +eloquence or their learning. Marcilius Ficinus, the second father +of the Platonic philosophy, lived in my house, and conversed with me +as intimately as Anaxagoras with you. Nor did I ever forget and +suffer him so to want the necessaries of life as you did Anaxagoras, +who had like to have perished by that unfriendly neglect; but to secure +him at all times from any distress in his circumstances, and enable +him to pursue his sublime speculations unmolested by low cares, I gave +him an estate adjacent to one of my favourite villas. I also drew +to Florence Argiropolo, the most learned Greek of those times, that, +under my patronage, he might teach the Florentine youth the language +and sciences of his country. But with regard to our buildings, +there is this remarkable difference—yours were all raised at the +expense of the public, mine at my own.</p> +<p><i>Pericles</i>.—My estate would bear no profuseness, nor allow +me to exert the generosity of my nature. Your wealth exceeded +that of any particular, or indeed of any prince who lived in your days. +The vast commerce which, after the example of your ancestors, you continued +to carry on in all parts of the world, even while you presided at the +helm <!-- page 134--><a name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 134</span>of +the State, enabled you to do those splendid acts which rendered your +name so illustrious. But I was constrained to make the public +treasure the fund of my bounties; and I thought I could not possibly +dispose of it better in time of peace than in finding employment for +that part of the people which must else have been idle and useless to +the community, introducing into Greece all the elegant arts, and adorning +my country with works that are an honour to human nature; for, while +I attended the most to these civil and peaceful occupations, I did not +neglect to provide, with timely care, against war, nor suffer the nation +to sink into luxury and effeminate softness. I kept our fleets +in continual exercise, maintained a great number of seamen in constant +pay, and disciplined well our land forces. Nor did I ever cease +to recommend to all the Athenians, both by precepts and example, frugality, +temperance, magnanimity, fortitude, and whatever could most effectually +contribute to strengthen their bodies and minds.</p> +<p><i>Cosmo</i>.—Yet I have heard you condemned for rendering +the people less sober and modest, by giving them a share of the conquered +lands, and paying them wages for their necessary attendance in the public +assemblies and other civil functions; but more especially for the vast +and superfluous expense you entailed on the State in the theatrical +spectacles with which you entertained them at the cost of the public.</p> +<p><i>Pericles</i>.—Perhaps I may have been too lavish in some +of those bounties. Yet in a popular State it is necessary that +the people should be amused, and should so far partake of the opulence +of the public as not to suffer any want, which would render their minds +too low and sordid for their political duties. In my time the +revenues of Athens were sufficient to bear this charge; but afterwards, +when we had lost the greatest part of our empire, it became, I must +confess, too heavy a burden, and the continuance of it proved one cause +of our ruin.</p> +<p><!-- page 135--><a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 135</span><i>Cosmo</i>.—It +is a most dangerous thing to load the State with largesses of that nature, +or indeed with any unnecessary but popular charges, because to reduce +them is almost impossible, though the circumstances of the public should +necessarily demand a reduction. But did not you likewise, in order +to advance your own greatness, throw into the hands of the people of +Athens more power than the institutions of Solon had entrusted them +with, and more than was consistent with the good of the State?</p> +<p><i>Pericles</i>.—We are now in the regions where Truth presides, +and I dare not offend her by playing the orator in defence of my conduct. +I must therefore acknowledge that, by weakening the power of the court +of Areopagus, I tore up that anchor which Solon had wisely fixed to +keep his Republic firm against the storms and fluctuations of popular +factions. This alteration, which fundamentally injured the whole +State, I made with a view to serve my own ambition, the only passion +in my nature which I could not contain within the limits of virtue. +For I knew that my eloquence would subject the people to me, and make +them the willing instruments of all my desires; whereas the Areopagus +had in it an authority and a dignity which I could not control. +Thus by diminishing the counterpoise our Constitution had settled to +moderate the excess of popular power, I augmented my own. But +since my death I have been often reproached by the Shades of some of +the most virtuous and wisest Athenians, who have fallen victims to the +caprice or fury of the people, with having been the first cause of the +injustice they suffered, and of all the mischiefs perpetually brought +on my country by rash undertakings, bad conduct, and fluctuating councils. +They say, I delivered up the State to the government of indiscreet or +venal orators, and to the passions of a misguided, infatuated multitude, +who thought their freedom consisted in encouraging calumnies against +the best servants of the Commonwealth, and conferring power upon those +who had no other merit than falling <!-- page 136--><a name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 136</span>in +with and soothing a popular folly. It is useless for me to plead +that, during my life, none of these mischiefs were felt; that I employed +my rhetoric to promote none but good and wise measures; that I was as +free from any taint of avarice or corruption as Aristides himself. +They reply that I am answerable for all the great evils occasioned afterwards +by the want of that salutary restraint on the natural levity and extravagance +of a democracy, which I had taken away. Socrates calls me the +patron of Anytus, and Solon himself frowns upon me whenever we meet.</p> +<p><i>Cosmo</i>.—Solon has reason to do so; for tell me, Pericles, +what opinion would you have of the architect you employed in your buildings +if he had made them to last no longer than during the term of your life?</p> +<p><i>Pericles</i>.—The answer to your question will turn to your +own condemnation. Your excessive liberalities to the indigent +citizens, and the great sums you lent to all the noble families, did +in reality buy the Republic of Florence, and gave your family such a +power as enabled them to convert it from a popular State into an absolute +monarchy.</p> +<p><i>Cosmo</i>.—The Florentines were so infested with discord +and faction, and their commonwealth was so void of military virtue, +that they could not have long been exempt from a more ignominious subjection +to some foreign Power if those internal dissensions, with the confusion +and anarchy they produced, had continued. But the Athenians had +performed very glorious exploits, had obtained a great empire, and were +become one of the noblest States in the world, before you altered the +balance of their government. And after that alteration they declined +very fast, till they lost all their greatness.</p> +<p><i>Pericles</i>.—Their constitution had originally a foul blemish +in it—I mean, the ban of ostracism, which alone would have been +sufficient to undo any State. For there is nothing of such important +use to a nation as that men who most excel in wisdom and virtue should +be encouraged to undertake <!-- page 137--><a name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 137</span>the +business of government. But this detestable custom deterred such +men from serving the public, or, if they ventured to do so, turned even +their own wisdom and virtue against them; so that in Athens it was safer +to be infamous than renowned. We are told indeed, by the advocates +for this strange institution, that it was not a punishment, but meant +as a guard to the equality and liberty of the State; for which reason +they deem it an honour done to the persons against whom it was used; +as if words could change the real nature of things, and make a banishment +of ten years, inflicted on a good citizen by the suffrages of his countrymen, +no evil to him, or no offence against justice and the natural right +every freeman may claim—that he shall not be expelled from any +society of which he is a member without having first been proved guilty +of some criminal action.</p> +<p><i>Cosmo</i>.—The ostracism was indeed a most unpardonable +fault in the Athenian constitution. It placed envy in the seat +of justice, and gave to private malice and public ingratitude a legal +right to do wrong. Other nations are blamed for tolerating vice, +but the Athenians alone would not tolerate virtue.</p> +<p><i>Pericles</i>.—The friends to the ostracism say that too +eminent virtue destroys that equality which is the safeguard of freedom.</p> +<p><i>Cosmo</i>.—No State is well modelled if it cannot preserve +itself from the danger of tyranny without a grievous violation of natural +justice; nor would a friend to true freedom, which consists in being +governed not by men but by laws, desire to live in a country where a +Cleon bore rule, and where an Aristides was not suffered to remain. +But, instead of remedying this evil, you made it worse. You rendered +the people more intractable, more adverse to virtue, less subject to +the laws, and more to impressions from mischievous demagogues, than +they had been before your time.</p> +<p><i>Pericles</i>.—In truth, I did so; and therefore my place +in <!-- page 138--><a name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 138</span>Elysium, +notwithstanding the integrity of my whole public conduct, and the great +virtues I excited, is much below the rank of those who have governed +commonwealths or limited monarchies, not merely with a concern for their +present advantage, but also with a prudent regard to that balance of +power on which their permanent happiness must necessarily depend.</p> +<h3>DIALOGUE XXIV.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Locke</span>—<span class="smcap">Bayle</span>.</p> +<p><i>Bayle</i>.—Yes, we both were philosophers; but my philosophy +was the deepest. You dogmatised; I doubted.</p> +<p><i>Locke</i>.—Do you make doubting a proof of depth in philosophy? +It may be a good beginning of it, but it is a bad end.</p> +<p><i>Bayle</i>.—No; the more profound our searches are into the +nature of things, the more uncertainty we shall find; and the most subtle +minds see objections and difficulties in every system which are overlooked +or undiscoverable by ordinary understandings.</p> +<p><i>Locke</i>.—It would be better, then, to be no philosopher, +and to continue in the vulgar herd of mankind, that one may have the +convenience of thinking that one knows something. I find that +the eyes which Nature has given me see many things very clearly, though +some are out of their reach, or discerned but dimly. What opinion +ought I to have of a physician who should offer me an eye-water, the +use of which would at first so sharpen my sight as to carry it farther +than ordinary vision, but would in the end put them out? Your +philosophy, Monsieur Bayle, is to the eyes of the mind what I have supposed +the doctor’s nostrum to be to those of the body. It actually +brought your own excellent understanding, which was by nature quick-sighted, +and rendered more so by art and a subtlety of logic peculiar to yourself—it +brought, I say, your very acute <!-- page 139--><a name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 139</span>understanding +to see nothing clearly, and enveloped all the great truths of reason +and religion in mists of doubt.</p> +<p><i>Bayle</i>.—I own it did; but your comparison is not just. +I did not see well before I used my philosophic eye-water. I only +supposed I saw well; but I was in an error, with all the rest of mankind. +The blindness was real; the perceptions were imaginary. I cured +myself first of those false imaginations, and then I laudably endeavoured +to cure other men.</p> +<p><i>Locke</i>.—A great cure, indeed! and don’t you think +that, in return for the service you did them, they ought to erect you +a statue?</p> +<p><i>Bayle</i>.—Yes; it is good for human nature to know its +own weakness. When we arrogantly presume on a strength we have +not, we are always in great danger of hurting ourselves—or, at +least, of deserving ridicule and contempt by vain and idle efforts.</p> +<p><i>Locke</i>.—I agree with you that human nature should know +its own weakness; but it should also feel its strength, and try to improve +it. This was my employment as a philosopher. I endeavoured +to discover the real powers of the mind; to see what it could do, and +what it could not; to restrain it from efforts beyond its ability, but +to teach it how to advance as far as the faculties given to it by Nature, +with the utmost exertion and most proper culture of them, would allow +it to go. In the vast ocean of philosophy I had the line and the +plummet always in my hands. Many of its depths I found myself +unable to fathom; but by caution in sounding, and the careful observations +I made in the course of my voyage, I found out some truths of so much +use to mankind that they acknowledge me to have been their benefactor.</p> +<p><i>Bayle</i>.—Their ignorance makes them think so. Some +other philosopher will come hereafter, and show those truths to be falsehoods. +He will pretend to discover other truths of equal importance. +A later sage will arise, perhaps among men now barbarous and unlearned, +whose sagacious <!-- page 140--><a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 140</span>discoveries +will discredit the opinions of his admired predecessor. In philosophy, +as in Nature, all changes its form, and one thing exists by the destruction +of another.</p> +<p><i>Locke</i>.—Opinions taken up without a patient investigation, +depending on terms not accurately defined, and principles begged without +proof, like theories to explain the phenomena of Nature built on suppositions +instead of experiments, must perpetually change and destroy one another. +But some opinions there are, even in matters not obvious to the common +sense of mankind, which the mind has received on such rational grounds +of assent that they are as immovable as the pillars of heaven, or (to +speak philosophically) as the great laws of Nature, by which, under +God, the universe is sustained. Can you seriously think that because +the hypothesis of your countryman Descartes, which was nothing but an +ingenious, well-imagined romance, has been lately exploded, the system +of Newton, which is built on experiments and geometry—the two +most certain methods of discovering truth—will ever fail? +Or that, because the whims of fanatics and the divinity of the schoolmen +cannot now be supported, the doctrines of that religion which I, the +declared enemy of all enthusiasm and false reasoning, firmly believed +and maintained, will ever be shaken?</p> +<p><i>Bayle</i>.—If you had asked Descartes, while he was in the +height of his vogue, whether his system would be ever confuted by any +other philosopher’s, as that of Aristotle had been by his, what +answer do you suppose he would have returned?</p> +<p><i>Locke</i>.—Come, come, Monsieur Bayle, you yourself know +the difference between the foundations on which the credit of those +systems and that of Newton is placed. Your scepticism is more +affected than real. You found it a shorter way to a great reputation +(the only wish of your heart) to object than to defend, to pull down +than to set up. And your talents were admirable for that kind +of work. <!-- page 141--><a name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 141</span>Then +your huddling together in a critical dictionary a pleasant tale, or +obscene jest, and a grave argument against the Christian religion, a +witty confutation of some absurd author, and an artful sophism to impeach +some respectable truth, was particularly commodious to all our young +smarts and smatterers in freethinking. But what mischief have +you not done to human society! You have endeavoured, and with +some degree of success, to shake those foundations on which the whole +moral world and the great fabric of social happiness entirely rest. +How could you, as a philosopher, in the sober hours of reflection, answer +for this to your conscience, even supposing you had doubts of the truth +of a system which gives to virtue its sweetest hopes, to impenitent +vice its greatest fears, and to true penitence its best consolations; +which restrains even the least approaches to guilt, and yet makes those +allowances for the infirmities of our nature which the stoic pride denied +to it, but which its real imperfection and the goodness of its infinitely +benevolent Creator so evidently require?</p> +<p><i>Bayle</i>.—The mind is free, and it loves to exert its freedom. +Any restraint upon it is a violence done to its nature, and a tyranny +against which it has a right to rebel.</p> +<p><i>Locke</i>.—The mind, though free, has a governor within +itself, which may and ought to limit the exercise of its freedom. +That governor is reason.</p> +<p><i>Bayle</i>.—Yes; but reason, like other governors, has a +policy more dependent upon uncertain caprice than upon any fixed laws. +And if that reason which rules my mind or yours has happened to set +up a favourite notion, it not only submits implicitly to it, but desires +that the same respect should be paid to it by all the rest of mankind. +Now I hold that any man may lawfully oppose this desire in another; +and that if he is wise, he will do his utmost endeavours to check it +in himself.</p> +<p><i>Locke</i>.—Is there not also a weakness of a contrary nature +to this you are now ridiculing? Do we not often take a <!-- page 142--><a name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 142</span>pleasure +to show our own power and gratify our own pride by degrading notions +set up by other men and generally respected?</p> +<p><i>Bayle</i>.—I believe we do; and by this means it often happens +that if one man builds and consecrates a temple to folly, another pulls +it down.</p> +<p><i>Locke</i>.—Do you think it beneficial to human society to +have all temples pulled down?</p> +<p><i>Bayle</i>.—I cannot say that I do.</p> +<p><i>Locke</i>.—Yet I find not in your writings any mark of distinction +to show us which you mean to save.</p> +<p><i>Bayle</i>.—A true philosopher, like an impartial historian, +must be of no sect.</p> +<p><i>Locke</i>.—Is there no medium between the blind zeal of +a sectary and a total indifference to all religion?</p> +<p><i>Bayle</i>.—With regard to morality I was not indifferent.</p> +<p><i>Locke</i>.—How could you, then, be indifferent with regard +to the sanctions religion gives to morality? How could you publish +what tends so directly and apparently to weaken in mankind the belief +of those sanctions? Was not this sacrificing the great interests +of virtue to the little motives of vanity?</p> +<p><i>Bayle</i>.—A man may act indiscreetly, but he cannot do +wrong, by declaring that which, on a full discussion of the question, +he sincerely thinks to be true.</p> +<p><i>Locke</i>.—An enthusiast who advances doctrines prejudicial +to society, or opposes any that are useful to it, has the strength of +opinion and the heat of a disturbed imagination to plead in alleviation +of his fault; but your cool head and sound judgment can have no such +excuse. I know very well there are passages in all your works, +and those not a few, where you talk like a rigid moralist. I have +also heard that your character was irreproachably good; but when, in +the most laboured parts of your writings, you sap the surest foundations +of all moral duties, what avails it that in others, or in the conduct +of your life, you have appeared to respect <!-- page 143--><a name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 143</span>them? +How many who have stronger passions than you had, and are desirous to +get rid of the curb that restrains them, will lay hold of your scepticism +to set themselves loose from all obligations of virtue! What a +misfortune is it to have made such a use of such talents! It would +have been better for you and for mankind if you had been one of the +dullest of Dutch theologians, or the most credulous monk in a Portuguese +convent. The riches of the mind, like those of Fortune, may be +employed so perversely as to become a nuisance and pest instead of an +ornament and support to society.</p> +<p><i>Bayle</i>.—You are very severe upon me. But do you +count it no merit, no service to mankind, to deliver them from the frauds +and fetters of priestcraft, from the deliriums of fanaticism, and from +the terrors and follies of superstition? Consider how much mischief +these have done to the world! Even in the last age what massacres, +what civil wars, what convulsions of government, what confusion in society, +did they produce! Nay, in that we both lived in, though much more +enlightened than the former, did I not see them occasion a violent persecution +in my own country? And can you blame me for striking at the root +of these evils.</p> +<p><i>Locke</i>.—The root of these evils, you well know, was false +religion; but you struck at the true. Heaven and hell are not +more different than the system of faith I defended and that which produced +the horrors of which you speak. Why would you so fallaciously +confound them together in some of your writings, that it requires much +more judgment, and a more diligent attention than ordinary readers have, +to separate them again, and to make the proper distinctions? This, +indeed, is the great art of the most celebrated freethinkers. +They recommend themselves to warm and ingenuous minds by lively strokes +of wit, and by arguments really strong, against superstition, enthusiasm, +and priestcraft; but at the same time they insidiously throw the colours +of these upon the fair face of true religion, and <!-- page 144--><a name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 144</span>dress +her out in their garb, with a malignant intention to render her odious +or despicable to those who have not penetration enough to discern the +impious fraud. Some of them may have thus deceived themselves +as well as others. Yet it is certain no book that ever was written +by the most acute of these gentlemen is so repugnant to priestcraft, +to spiritual tyranny, to all absurd superstitions, to all that can tend +to disturb or injure society, as that Gospel they so much affect to +despise.</p> +<p><i>Bayle</i>.—Mankind is so made that, when they have been +over-heated, they cannot be brought to a proper temper again till they +have been over-cooled. My scepticism might be necessary to abate +the fever and frenzy of false religion.</p> +<p><i>Locke</i>.—A wise prescription, indeed, to bring on a paralytical +state of the mind (for such a scepticism as yours is a palsy which deprives +the mind of all vigour, and deadens its natural and vital powers) in +order to take off a fever which temperance and the milk of the Evangelical +doctrines would probably cure.</p> +<p><i>Bayle</i>.—I acknowledge that those medicines have a great +power. But few doctors apply them untainted with the mixture of +some harsher drugs or some unsafe and ridiculous nostrums of their own.</p> +<p><i>Locke</i>.—What you now say is too true. God has given +us a most excellent physic for the soul in all its diseases, but bad +and interested physicians, or ignorant and conceited quacks, administer +it so ill to the rest of mankind that much of the benefit of it is unhappily +lost.</p> +<h3>DIALOGUE XXV.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Archibald, Earl of Douglas, Duke of Touraine</span>—<span class="smcap">John, +Duke of Argyle and Greenwich, Field-Marshal of his Britannic Majesty’s +Forces</span>.</p> +<p><i>Argyle</i>.—Yes, noble Douglas, it grieves me that you and +your son, together with the brave Earl of Buchan, should <!-- page 145--><a name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 145</span>have +employed so much valour and have thrown away your lives in fighting +the battles of that State which, from its situation and interests, is +the perpetual and most dangerous enemy to Great Britain. A British +nobleman serving France appears to me as unfortunate and as much out +of his proper sphere as a Grecian commander engaged in the service of +Persia would have appeared to Aristides or Agesilaus.</p> +<p><i>Douglas</i>.—In serving France I served Scotland. +The French were the natural allies to the Scotch, and by supporting +their Crown I enabled my countrymen to maintain their independence against +the English.</p> +<p><i>Argyle</i>.—The French, indeed, from the unhappy state of +our country, were ancient allies to the Scotch, but that they ever were +our natural allies I deny. Their alliance was proper and necessary +for us, because we were then in an unnatural state, disunited from England. +While that disunion continued, our monarchy was compelled to lean upon +France for assistance and support. The French power and policy +kept us, I acknowledge, independent of the English, but dependent on +them; and this dependence exposed us to many grievous calamities by +drawing on our country the formidable arms of the English whenever it +happened that the French and they had a quarrel. The succours +they afforded us were distant and uncertain. Our enemy was at +hand, superior to us in strength, though not in valour. Our borders +were ravaged; our kings were slain or led captive; we lost all the advantage +of being the inhabitants of a great island; we had no commerce, no peace, +no security, no degree of maritime power. Scotland was a back-door +through which the French, with our help, made their inroads into England; +if they conquered, we obtained little benefit from it; but if they were +defeated, we were always the devoted victims on whom the conquerors +severely wreaked their resentment.</p> +<p><i>Douglas</i>.—The English suffered as much in those wars +as we. How terribly were their borders laid waste and <!-- page 146--><a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 146</span>depopulated +by our sharp incursions! How often have the swords of my ancestors +been stained with the best blood of that nation! Were not our +victories at Bannockburn and at Otterburn as glorious as any that, with +all the advantage of numbers, they have ever obtained over us?</p> +<p><i>Argyle</i>.—They were; but yet they did us no lasting good. +They left us still dependent on the protection of France. They +left us a poor, a feeble, a distressed, though a most valiant nation. +They irritated England, but could not subdue it, nor hinder our feeling +such effects of its enmity as gave us no reason to rejoice in our triumphs. +How much more happily, in the auspicious reign of that queen who formed +the Union, was my sword employed in humbling the foes of Great Britain! +With how superior a dignity did I appear in the combined British senate, +maintaining the interests of the whole united people of England and +Scotland against all foreign powers who attempted to disturb our general +happiness or to invade our common rights!</p> +<p><i>Douglas</i>.—Your eloquence and your valour had unquestionably +a much nobler and more spacious field to exercise themselves in than +any of those who defended the interests of only a part of the island.</p> +<p><i>Argyle</i>.—Whenever I read any account of the wars between +the Scotch and the English, I think I am reading a melancholy history +of civil dissensions. Whichever side is defeated, their loss appears +to me a loss to the whole and an advantage to some foreign enemy of +Great Britain. But the strength of that island is made complete +by the Union, and what a great English poet has justly said in one instance +is now true in all:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“The Hotspur and the Douglas, both together,<br /> +Are confident against the world in arms.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Who can resist the English and Scotch valour combined? When +separated and opposed, they balanced each other; united, they will hold +the balance of Europe. If all the Scotch blood that has been shed +for the French in unnatural <!-- page 147--><a name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 147</span>wars +against England had been poured out to oppose the ambition of France, +in conjunction with the English—if all the English blood that +has been spilt as unfortunately in useless wars against Scotland had +been preserved, France would long ago have been rendered incapable of +disturbing our peace, and Great Britain would have been the most powerful +of nations.</p> +<p><i>Douglas</i>.—There is truth in all you have said. +But yet when I reflect on the insidious ambition of King Edward I., +on the ungenerous arts he so treacherously employed to gain, or rather +to steal, the sovereignty of our kingdom, and the detestable cruelty +he showed to Wallace, our brave champion and martyr, my soul is up in +arms against the insolence of the English, and I adore the memory of +those patriots who died in asserting the independence of our Crown and +the liberty of our nation.</p> +<p><i>Argyle</i>.—Had I lived in those days I should have joined +with those patriots, and been the foremost to maintain so noble a cause. +The Scotch were not made to be subject to the English. Their souls +are too great for such a timid submission. But they may unite +and incorporate with a nation they would not obey. Their scorn +of a foreign yoke, their strong and generous love of independence and +freedom, make their union with England more natural and more proper. +Had the spirit of the Scotch been servile or base, it could never have +coalesced with that of the English.</p> +<p><i>Douglas</i>.—It is true that the minds of both nations are +congenial and filled with the same noble virtues, the same impatience +of servitude, the same magnanimity, courage, and prudence, the same +genius for policy, for navigation and commerce, for sciences and arts. +Yet, notwithstanding this happy conformity, when I consider how long +they were enemies to each other, what an hereditary hatred and jealousy +had subsisted for many ages between them, what private passions, what +prejudices, what contrary interests must have necessarily obstructed +every step of the treaty, <!-- page 148--><a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 148</span>and +how hard it was to overcome the strong opposition of national pride, +I stand astonished that it was possible to unite the two kingdoms upon +any conditions, and much more that it could be done with such equal +regard and amicable fairness to both.</p> +<p><i>Argyle</i>.—It was indeed a most arduous and difficult undertaking. +The success of it must, I think, be thankfully ascribed, not only to +the great firmness and prudence of those who had the management of it, +but to the gracious assistance of Providence for the preservation of +the reformed religion amongst us, which, in that conjuncture, if the +union had not been made, would have been ruined in Scotland and much +endangered in England. The same good Providence has watched over +and protected it since, in a most signal manner, against the attempts +of an infatuated party in Scotland and the arts of France, who by her +emissaries laboured to destroy it as soon as formed; because she justly +foresaw that the continuance of it would be destructive to all her vast +designs against the liberty of Europe. I myself had the honour +to have a principal share in subduing one rebellion designed to subvert +it, and since my death it has been, I hope, established for ever, not +only by the defeat of another rebellion, which came upon us in the midst +of a dangerous war with France, but by measures prudently taken in order +to prevent such disturbances for the future. The ministers of +the Crown have proposed and the British legislature has enacted a wise +system of laws, the object of which is to reform and to civilise the +Highlands of Scotland; to deliver the people there from the arbitrary +power and oppression of their chieftains; to carry the royal justice +and royal protection into the wildest parts of their mountains; to hinder +their natural valour from being abused and perverted to the detriment +of their country; and to introduce among them arts, agriculture, commerce, +tranquillity, with all the improvements of social and polished life.</p> +<p><!-- page 149--><a name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 149</span><i>Douglas</i>.—By +what you now tell me you give me the highest idea of the great prince, +your master, who, after having been provoked by such a wicked rebellion, +instead of enslaving the people of the Highlands, or laying the hand +of power more heavily upon them (which is the usual consequence of unsuccessful +revolts), has conferred on them the inestimable blessings of liberty, +justice, and good order. To act thus is indeed to perfect the +union and make all the inhabitants of Great Britain acknowledge, with +gratitude and with joy, that they are subjects of the same well-regulated +kingdom, and governed with the same impartial affection by the sovereign +and father of the whole commonwealth.</p> +<p><i>Argyle</i>.—The laws I have mentioned and the humane benevolent +policy of His Majesty’s Government have already produced very +salutary effects in that part of the kingdom, and, if steadily pursued, +will produce many more. But no words can recount to you the infinite +benefits which have attended the union in the northern counties of England +and the southern of Scotland.</p> +<p><i>Douglas</i>.—The fruits of it must be, doubtless, most sensible +there, where the perpetual enmity between the two nations had occasioned +the greatest disorder and desolation.</p> +<p><i>Argyle</i>.—Oh, Douglas, could you revive and return into +Scotland what a delightful alteration would you see in that country. +All those great tracts of land, which in your time lay untilled on account +of the inroads of the bordering English, or the feuds and discords that +raged with perpetual violence within our own distracted kingdom, you +would now behold cultivated and smiling with plenty. Instead of +the castles, which every baron was compelled to erect for the defence +of his family, and where he lived in the barbarism of Gothic pride, +among miserable vassals oppressed by the abuse of his feudal powers, +your eyes would be charmed with elegant country houses, adorned with +fine plantations and beautiful gardens, while happy villages or gay +towns are rising about them and enlivening the prospect <!-- page 150--><a name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 150</span>with +every image of rural wealth. On our coasts trading cities, full +of new manufactures, and continually increasing the extent of their +commerce. In our ports and harbours innumerable merchant ships, +richly loaded, and protected from all enemies by the matchless fleet +of Great Britain. But of all improvements the greatest is in the +minds of the Scotch. These have profited, even more than their +lands, by the culture which the settled peace and tranquillity produced +by the union have happily given to them, and they have discovered such +talents in all branches of literature as might render the English jealous +of being excelled by their genius, if there could remain a competition, +when there remains no distinction between the two nations.</p> +<p><i>Douglas</i>.—There may be emulation without jealousy, and +the efforts, which that emulation will excite, may render our island +superior in the fame of wit and good learning to Italy or to Greece; +a superiority, which I have learnt in the Elysian fields to prefer even +to that which is acquired by arms. But one doubt still remains +with me concerning the union. I have been informed that no more +than sixteen of our peers, except those who have English peerages (which +some of the noblest have not), now sit in the House of Lords as representatives +of the rest. Does not this in a great measure diminish those peers +who are not elected? And have you not found the election of the +sixteen too dependent on the favour of a court?</p> +<p><i>Argyle</i>.—It was impossible that the English could ever +consent in the Treaty of Union, to admit a greater number to have places +and votes in the Upper House of Parliament, but all the Scotch peerage +is virtually there by representation. And those who are not elected +have every dignity and right of the peerage, except the privilege of +sitting in the House of Lords and some others depending thereon.</p> +<p><i>Douglas</i>.—They have so; but when parliaments enjoy such +a share in the government of a country as ours do at <!-- page 151--><a name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 151</span>this +time, to be personally there is a privilege and a dignity of the highest +importance.</p> +<p><i>Argyle</i>.—I wish it had been possible to impart it to +all. But your reason will tell you it was not. And consider, +my lord, that, till the Revolution in 1688, the power vested by our +Government in the Lords of the Articles had made our parliaments much +more subject to the influence of the Crown than our elections are now. +As, by the manner in which they were constituted, those lords were no +less devoted to the king than his own privy council, and as no proposition +could then be presented in Parliament if rejected by them, they gave +him a negative before debate. This, indeed, was abolished upon +the accession of King William III., with many other oppressive and despotical +powers, which had rendered our nobles abject slaves to the Crown, while +they were allowed to be tyrants over the people. But if King James +or his son had been restored, the government he had exercised would +have been re-established, and nothing but the union of the two kingdoms +could have effectually prevented that restoration. We likewise +owe to the union the subsequent abolition of the Scotch privy council, +which had been the most grievous engine of tyranny, and that salutary +law which declared that no crimes should be high treason or misprision +of treason in Scotland but such as were so in England, and gave us the +English methods of trial in cases of that nature; whereas before there +were so many species of treasons, the construction of them was so uncertain, +and the trials were so arbitrary, that no man could be safe from suffering +as a traitor. By the same Act of Parliament we also received a +communication of that noble privilege of the English, exemption from +torture—a privilege which, though essential both to humanity and +to justice, no other nation in Europe, not even the freest republics, +can boast of possessing. Shall we, then, take offence at some +inevitable circumstances, which may be objected to, on our part, in +<!-- page 152--><a name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 152</span>the +Treaty of Union, when it has delivered us from slavery, and all the +worst evils that a state can suffer? It might be easily shown +that, in his political and civil condition, every baron in Scotland +is much happier now, and much more independent, than the highest was +under that constitution of government which continued in Scotland even +after the expulsion of King James II. The greatest enemies to +the union are the friends of that king in whose reign, and in his brother’s, +the kingdom of Scotland was subjected to a despotism as arbitrary as +that of France, and more tyrannically administered.</p> +<p><i>Douglas</i>.—All I have heard of those reigns makes me blush +with indignation at the servility of our nobles, who could endure them +so long. What, then, was become of that undaunted Scotch spirit, +which had dared to resist the Plantagenets in the height of their power +and pride? Could the descendants of those who had disdained to +be subjects of Edward I. submit to be slaves of Charles II. or James?</p> +<p><i>Argyle</i>.—They seemed in general to have lost every characteristic +of their natural temper, except a desire to abuse the royal authority +for the gratification of their private resentments in family quarrels.</p> +<p><i>Douglas</i>.—Your grandfather, my lord, has the glory of +not deserving this censure.</p> +<p><i>Argyle</i>.—I am proud that his spirit, and the principles +he professed, drew upon him the injustice and fury of those times. +But there needs no other proof than the nature and the manner of his +condemnation to show what a wretched state our nobility then were in, +and what an inestimable advantage it is to them that they are now to +be tried as peers of Great Britain, and have the benefit of those laws +which imparted to us the equity and the freedom of the English Constitution.</p> +<p>Upon the whole, as much as wealth is preferable to poverty, liberty +to oppression, and national strength to <!-- page 153--><a name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 153</span>national +weakness, so much has Scotland incontestably gained by the union. +England, too, has secured by it every public blessing which was before +enjoyed by her, and has greatly augmented her strength. The martial +spirit of the Scotch, their hardy bodies, their acute and vigorous minds, +their industry, their activity, are now employed to the benefit of the +whole island. He is now a bad Scotchman who is not a good Englishman, +and he is a bad Englishman who is not a good Scotchman. Mutual +intercourse, mutual interests, mutual benefits, must naturally be productive +of mutual affection. And when that is established, when our hearts +are sincerely united, many great things, which some remains of jealousy +and distrust, or narrow local partialities, may hitherto have obstructed, +will be done for the good of the whole United Kingdom. How much +may the revenues of Great Britain be increased by the further increase +of population, of industry, and of commerce in Scotland! What +a mighty addition to the stock of national wealth will arise from the +improvement of our most northern counties, which are infinitely capable +of being improved! The briars and thorns are in a great measure +grubbed up; the flowers and fruits may soon be planted. And what +more pleasing, or what more glorious employment can any government have, +than to attend to the cultivating of such a plantation?</p> +<p><i>Douglas</i>.—The prospect you open to me of happiness to +my country appears so fair, that it makes me amends for the pain with +which I reflect on the times wherein I lived, and indeed on our whole +history for several ages.</p> +<p><i>Argyle</i>.—That history does, in truth, present to the +mind a long series of the most direful objects, assassinations, rebellions, +anarchy, tyranny, and religion itself, either cruel, or gloomy and unsocial. +An historian who would paint it in its true colours must take the pencil +of Guercino or Salvator Rosa. But the most agreeable imagination +can hardly figure to itself a more pleasing scene of private and <!-- page 154--><a name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 154</span>public +felicity than will naturally result from the union, if all the prejudices +against it, and all distinctions that may tend on either side to keep +up an idea of separate interests, or to revive a sharp remembrance of +national animosities, can be removed.</p> +<p><i>Douglas</i>.—If they can be removed! I think it impossible +they can be retained. To resist the union is indeed to rebel against +Nature. She has joined the two countries, has fenced them both +with the sea against the invasion of all other nations, but has laid +them entirely open the one to the other. Accursed be he who endeavours +to divide them. What God has joined let no man put asunder.</p> +<h3>DIALOGUE XXVI.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Cadmus</span>—<span class="smcap">Hercules</span>.</p> +<p><i>Hercules</i>.—Do you pretend to sit as high on Olympus as +Hercules? Did you kill the Nemean lion, the Erymanthian boar, +the Lernean serpent, and Stymphalian birds? Did you destroy tyrants +and robbers? You value yourself greatly on subduing one serpent; +I did as much as that while I lay in my cradle.</p> +<p><i>Cadmus</i>.—It is not on account of the serpent I boast +myself a greater benefactor to Greece than you. Actions should +be valued by their utility rather than their éclat. I taught +Greece the art of writing, to which laws owe their precision and permanency. +You subdued monsters; I civilised men. It is from untamed passions, +not from wild beasts, that the greatest evils arise to human society. +By wisdom, by art, by the united strength of civil community, men have +been enabled to subdue the whole race of lions, bears, and serpents, +and what is more, to bind in laws and wholesome regulations the ferocious +violence and dangerous treachery of the human disposition. Had +lions been destroyed only in single combat, men had had but a bad time +of it; and what but laws could awe the men <!-- page 155--><a name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 155</span>who +killed the lions? The genuine glory, the proper distinction of +the rational species, arises from the perfection of the mental powers. +Courage is apt to be fierce, and strength is often exerted in acts of +oppression. But wisdom is the associate of justice. It assists +her to form equal laws, to pursue right measures, to correct power, +protect weakness, and to unite individuals in a common interest and +general welfare. Heroes may kill tyrants, but it is wisdom and +laws that prevent tyranny and oppression. The operations of policy +far surpass the labours of Hercules, preventing many evils which valour +and might cannot even redress. You heroes consider nothing but +glory, and hardly regard whether the conquests which raise your fame +are really beneficial to your country. Unhappy are the people +who are governed by valour not directed by prudence, and not mitigated +by the gentle arts!</p> +<p><i>Hercules</i>.—I do not expect to find an admirer of my strenuous +life in the man who taught his countrymen to sit still and read, and +to lose the hours of youth and action in idle speculation and the sport +of words.</p> +<p><i>Cadmus</i>.—An ambition to have a place in the registers +of fame is the Eurystheus which imposes heroic labours on mankind. +The muses incite to action as well as entertain the hours of repose; +and I think you should honour them for presenting to heroes such a noble +recreation as may prevent their taking up the distaff when they lay +down the club.</p> +<p><i>Hercules</i>.—Wits as well as heroes can take up the distaff. +What think you of their thin-spun systems of philosophy, or lascivious +poems, or Milesian fables? Nay, what is still worse, are there +not panegyrics on tyrants, and books that blaspheme the gods and perplex +the natural sense of right and wrong? I believe if Eurystheus +was to set me to work again he would find me a worse task than any he +imposed; he would make me read through a great library; and I would +serve it as I did the hydra, I would burn as <!-- page 156--><a name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 156</span>I +went on, that one chimera might not rise from another to plague mankind. +I should have valued myself more on clearing the library than on cleansing +the Augean stables.</p> +<p><i>Cadmus</i>.—It is in those libraries only that the memory +of your labours exists. The heroes of Marathon, the patriots of +Thermopylæ, owe their immortality to me. All the wise institutions +of lawgivers and all the doctrines of sages had perished in the ear, +like a dream related, if letters had not preserved them. Oh Hercules! +it is not for the man who preferred virtue to pleasure to be an enemy +to the muses. Let Sardanapalus and the silken sons of luxury, +who have wasted life in inglorious ease, despise the records of action +which bear no honourable testimony to their lives. But true merit, +heroic virtue, each genuine offspring of immortal Jove, should honour +the sacred source of lasting fame.</p> +<p><i>Hercules</i>.—Indeed, if writers employed themselves only +in recording the acts of great men, much might be said in their favour. +But why do they trouble people with their meditations? Can it +signify to the world what an idle man has been thinking?</p> +<p><i>Cadmus</i>.—Yes, it may. The most important and extensive +advantages mankind enjoy are greatly owing to men who have never quitted +their closets. To them mankind is obliged for the facility and +security of navigation. The invention of the compass has opened +to them new worlds. The knowledge of the mechanical powers has +enabled them to construct such wonderful machines as perform what the +united labour of millions by the severest drudgery could not accomplish. +Agriculture, too, the most useful of arts, has received its share of +improvement from the same source. Poetry likewise is of excellent +use to enable the memory to retain with more ease, and to imprint with +more energy upon the heart, precepts of virtue and virtuous actions. +Since we left the world, from the little root of a few letters, science +has spread its branches over all nature, and raised its head to <!-- page 157--><a name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 157</span>the +heavens. Some philosophers have entered so far into the counsels +of divine wisdom as to explain much of the great operations of nature. +The dimensions and distances of the planets, the causes of their revolutions, +the path of comets, and the ebbing and flowing of tides are understood +and explained. Can anything raise the glory of the human species +more than to see a little creature, inhabiting a small spot, amidst +innumerable worlds, taking a survey of the universe, comprehending its +arrangement, and entering into the scheme of that wonderful connection +and correspondence of things so remote, and which it seems the utmost +exertion of Omnipotence to have established? What a volume of +wisdom, what a noble theology do these discoveries open to us! +While some superior geniuses have soared to these sublime subjects, +other sagacious and diligent minds have been inquiring into the most +minute works of the Infinite Artificer; the same care, the same providence +is exerted through the whole, and we should learn from it that to true +wisdom utility and fitness appear perfection, and whatever is beneficial +is noble.</p> +<p><i>Hercules</i>.—I approve of science as far as it is assistant +to action. I like the improvement of navigation and the discovery +of the greater part of the globe, because it opens a wider field for +the master spirits of the world to bustle in.</p> +<p><i>Cadmus</i>.—There spoke the soul of Hercules. But +if learned men are to be esteemed for the assistance they give to active +minds in their schemes, they are not less to be valued for their endeavours +to give them a right direction and moderate their too great ardour. +The study of history will teach the warrior and the legislator by what +means armies have been victorious and states have become powerful; and +in the private citizen they will inculcate the love of liberty and order. +The writings of sages point out a private path of virtue, and show that +the best empire is self-government, and subduing our passions the noblest +of conquests.</p> +<p><!-- page 158--><a name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 158</span><i>Hercules</i>.—The +true spirit of heroism acts by a sort of inspiration, and wants neither +the experience of history nor the doctrines of philosophers to direct +it. But do not arts and sciences render men effeminate, luxurious, +and inactive? and can you deny that wit and learning are often made +subservient to very bad purposes?</p> +<p><i>Cadmus</i>.—I will own that there are some natures so happily +formed they hardly want the assistance of a master, and the rules of +art, to give them force or grace in everything they do. But these +heaven-inspired geniuses are few. As learning flourishes only +where ease, plenty, and mild government subsist, in so rich a soil, +and under so soft a climate, the weeds of luxury will spring up among +the flowers of art; but the spontaneous weeds would grow more rank, +if they were allowed the undisturbed possession of the field. +Letters keep a frugal, temperate nation from growing ferocious, a rich +one from becoming entirely sensual and debauched. Every gift of +the gods is sometimes abused; but wit and fine talents by a natural +law gravitate towards virtue; accidents may drive them out of their +proper direction; but such accidents are a sort of prodigies, and, like +other prodigies, it is an alarming omen, and of dire portent to the +times. For if virtue cannot keep to her allegiance those men, +who in their hearts confess her divine right, and know the value of +her laws, on whose fidelity and obedience can she depend? May +such geniuses never descend to flatter vice, encourage folly, or propagate +irreligion; but exert all their powers in the service of virtue, and +celebrate the noble choice of those, who, like you, preferred her to +pleasure.</p> +<h3>DIALOGUE XXVII.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Mercury</span>—<span class="smcap">And +a Modern Fine Lady</span>.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Modish</i>.—Indeed, Mr. Mercury, I cannot have the +pleasure of waiting upon you now. I am engaged, absolutely engaged.</p> +<p><!-- page 159--><a name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 159</span><i>Mercury</i>.—I +know you have an amiable, affectionate husband, and several fine children; +but you need not be told, that neither conjugal attachments, maternal +affections, nor even the care of a kingdom’s welfare or a nation’s +glory, can excuse a person who has received a summons to the realms +of death. If the grim messenger was not as peremptory as unwelcome, +Charon would not get a passenger (except now and then a hypochondriacal +Englishman) once in a century. You must be content to leave your +husband and family, and pass the Styx.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Modish</i>.—I did not mean to insist on any engagement +with my husband and children; I never thought myself engaged to them. +I had no engagements but such as were common to women of my rank. +Look on my chimney-piece, and you will see I was engaged to the play +on Mondays, balls on Tuesdays, the opera on Saturdays, and to card assemblies +the rest of the week, for two months to come; and it would be the rudest +thing in the world not to keep my appointments. If you will stay +for me till the summer season, I will wait on you with all my heart. +Perhaps the Elysian fields may be less detestable than the country in +our world. Pray have you a fine Vauxhall and Ranelagh? I +think I should not dislike drinking the Lethe waters when you have a +full season.</p> +<p><i>Mercury</i>.—Surely you could not like to drink the waters +of oblivion, who have made pleasure the business, end, and aim of your +life! It is good to drown cares, but who would wash away the remembrance +of a life of gaiety and pleasure.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Modish</i>.—Diversion was indeed the business of my +life, but as to pleasure, I have enjoyed none since the novelty of my +amusements was gone off. Can one be pleased with seeing the same +thing over and over again? Late hours and fatigue gave me the +vapours, spoiled the natural cheerfulness of my temper, and even in +youth wore away my youthful vivacity.</p> +<p><i>Mercury</i>.—If this way of life did not give you pleasure, +<!-- page 160--><a name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 160</span>why +did you continue in it? I suppose you did not think it was very +meritorious?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Modish</i>.—I was too much engaged to think at all: +so far indeed my manner of life was agreeable enough. My friends +always told me diversions were necessary, and my doctor assured me dissipation +was good for my spirits; my husband insisted that it was not, and you +know that one loves to oblige one’s friends, comply with one’s +doctor, and contradict one’s husband; and besides I was ambitious +to be thought <i>du bon ton</i>.</p> +<p><i>Mercury</i>.—<i>Bon ton</i>! what is that, madam? +Pray define it.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Modish</i>.—Oh sir, excuse me, it is one of the privileges +of the <i>bon ton</i> never to define, or be defined. It is the +child and the parent of jargon. It is—I can never tell you +what it is: but I will try to tell you what it is not. In conversation +it is not wit; in manners it is not politeness; in behaviour it is not +address; but it is a little like them all. It can only belong +to people of a certain rank, who live in a certain manner, with certain +persons, who have not certain virtues, and who have certain vices, and +who inhabit a certain part of the town. Like a place by courtesy, +it gets a higher rank than the person can claim, but which those who +have a legal title to precedency dare not dispute, for fear of being +thought not to understand the rules of politeness. Now, sir, I +have told you as much as I know of it, though I have admired and aimed +at it all my life.</p> +<p><i>Mercury</i>.—Then, madam, you have wasted your time, faded +your beauty, and destroyed your health, for the laudable purposes of +contradicting your husband, and being this something and this nothing +called the <i>bon ton</i>.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Modish</i>.—What would you have had me do?</p> +<p><i>Mercury</i>.—I will follow your mode of instructing. +I will tell you what I would not have had you do. I would not +have had you sacrifice your time, your reason, and your duties, to fashion +and folly. I would not have had you <!-- page 161--><a name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 161</span>neglect +your husband’s happiness and your children’s education.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Modish</i>.—As to the education of my daughters, I +spared no expense; they had a dancing-master, music-master, and drawing-mister, +and a French governess to teach them behaviour and the French language.</p> +<p><i>Mercury</i>.—So their religion, sentiments, and manners +were to be learnt from a dancing-master, music-master, and a chambermaid! +Perhaps they might prepare them to catch the <i>bon ton</i>. Your +daughters must have been so educated as to fit them to be wives without +conjugal affection, and mothers without maternal care. I am sorry +for the sort of life they are commencing, and for that which you have +just concluded. Minos is a sour old gentleman, without the least +smattering of the <i>bon ton</i>, and I am in a fright for you. +The best thing I can advise you is to do in this world as you did in +the other, keep happiness in your view, but never take the road that +leads to it. Remain on this side Styx, wander about without end +or aim, look into the Elysian fields, but never attempt to enter into +them, lest Minos should push you into Tartarus; for duties neglected +may bring on a sentence not much less severe than crimes committed.</p> +<h3>DIALOGUE XXVIII.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Plutarch</span>—<span class="smcap">Charon</span>—<span class="smcap">and +a Modern Bookseller</span>.</p> +<p><i>Charon</i>.—Here is a fellow who is very unwilling to land +in our territories. He says he is rich, has a great deal of business +in the other world, and must needs return to it; he is so troublesome +and obstreperous I know not what to do with him. Take him under +your care, therefore, good Plutarch; you will easily awe him into order +and decency by the superiority an author has over a bookseller.</p> +<p><i>Bookseller</i>.—Am I got into a world so absolutely the +reverse of that I left, that here authors domineer over <!-- page 162--><a name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 162</span>booksellers? +Dear Charon, let me go back, and I will pay any price for my passage; +but, if I must stay, leave me not with any of those who are styled classical +authors. As to you, Plutarch, I have a particular animosity against +you for having almost occasioned my ruin. When I first set up +shop, understanding but little of business, I unadvisedly bought an +edition of your “Lives,” a pack of old Greeks and Romans, +which cost me a great sum of money. I could never get off above +twenty sets of them. I sold a few to the Universities, and some +to Eton and Westminster, for it is reckoned a pretty book for boys and +undergraduates; but, unless a man has the luck to light on a pedant, +he shall not sell a set of them in twenty years.</p> +<p><i>Plutarch</i>.—From the merit of the subjects, I had hoped +another reception for my works. I will own, indeed, that I am +not always perfectly accurate in every circumstance, nor do I give so +exact and circumstantial a detail of the actions of my heroes as may +be expected from a biographer who has confined himself to one or two +characters. A zeal to preserve the memory of great men, and to +extend the influence of such noble examples, made me undertake more +than I could accomplish in the first degree of perfection; but surely +the characters of my illustrious men are not so imperfectly sketched +that they will not stand forth to all ages as patterns of virtue and +incitements to glory. My reflections are allowed to be deep and +sagacious; and what can be more useful to a reader than a wise man’s +judgment on a great man’s conduct? In my writings you will +find no rash censures, no undeserved encomiums, no mean compliance with +popular opinions, no vain ostentation of critical skill, nor any affected +finesse. In my “Parallels,” which used to be admired +as pieces of excellent judgment, I compare with perfect impartiality +one great man with another, and each with the rule of justice. +If, indeed, latter ages have produced greater men and better writers, +my heroes and my works ought to give place to them. As the world +<!-- page 163--><a name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 163</span>has +now the advantage of much better rules of morality than the unassisted +reason of poor Pagans could form, I do not wonder that those vices, +which appeared to us as mere blemishes in great characters, should seem +most horrid deformities in the purer eyes of the present age—a +delicacy I do not blame, but admire and commend. And I must censure +you for endeavouring, if you could publish better examples, to obtrude +on your countrymen such as were defective. I rejoice at the preference +which they give to perfect and unalloyed virtue; and as I shall ever +retain a high veneration for the illustrious men of every age, I should +be glad if you would give me some account of those persons who in wisdom, +justice, valour, patriotism, have eclipsed my Solon, Numa, Camillus, +and other boasts of Greece or Rome.</p> +<p><i>Bookseller</i>.—Why, Master Plutarch, you are talking Greek +indeed. That work which repaired the loss I sustained by the costly +edition of your books was “The Lives of the Highwaymen;” +but I should never have grown rich if it had not been by publishing +“The Lives of Men that Never Lived.” You must know +that, though in all times it was possible to have a great deal of learning +and very little wisdom, yet it is only by a modern improvement in the +art of writing that a man may read all his life and have no learning +or knowledge at all, which begins to be an advantage of the greatest +importance. There is as natural a war between your men of science +and fools as between the cranes and the pigmies of old. Most of +our young men having deserted to the fools, the party of the learned +is near being beaten out of the field; and I hope in a little while +they will not dare to peep out of their forts and fastnesses at Oxford +and Cambridge. There let them stay and study old musty moralists +till one falls in love with the Greek, another with the Roman virtue; +but our men of the world should read our new books, which teach them +to have no virtue at all. No book is fit for a gentleman’s +reading <!-- page 164--><a name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 164</span>which +is not void of facts and of doctrines, that he may not grow a pedant +in his morals or conversation. I look upon history (I mean real +history) to be one of the worst kinds of study. Whatever has happened +may happen again, and a well-bred man may unwarily mention a parallel +instance he had met with in history and be betrayed into the awkwardness +of introducing into his discourse a Greek, a Roman, or even a Gothic +name; but when a gentleman has spent his time in reading adventures +that never occurred, exploits that never were achieved, and events that +not only never did, but never can happen, it is impossible that in life +or in discourse he should ever apply them. A secret history, in +which there is no secret and no history, cannot tempt indiscretion to +blab or vanity to quote; and by this means modern conversation flows +gentle and easy, unencumbered with matter and unburdened of instruction. +As the present studies throw no weight or gravity into discourse and +manners, the women are not afraid to read our books, which not only +dispose to gallantry and coquetry, but give rules for them. Cæsar’s +“Commentaries,” and the “Account of Xenophon’s +Expedition,” are not more studied by military commanders than +our novels are by the fair—to a different purpose, indeed; for +their military maxims teach to conquer, ours to yield. Those inflame +the vain and idle love of glory: these inculcate a noble contempt of +reputation. The women have greater obligations to our writers +than the men. By the commerce of the world men might learn much +of what they get from books; but the poor women, who in their early +youth are confined and restrained, if it were not for the friendly assistance +of books, would remain long in an insipid purity of mind, with a discouraging +reserve of behaviour.</p> +<p><i>Plutarch</i>.—As to your men who have quitted the study +of virtue for the study of vice, useful truth for absurd fancy, and +real history for monstrous fiction, I have neither regard nor compassion +for them; but I am concerned for the <!-- page 165--><a name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 165</span>women +who are betrayed into these dangerous studies; and I wish for their +sakes I had expatiated more on the character of Lucretia and some other +heroines.</p> +<p><i>Bookseller</i>.—I tell you, our women do not read in order +to live or to die like Lucretia. If you would inform us that a +<i>billet-doux</i> was found in her cabinet after her death, or give +a hint as if Tarquin really saw her in the arms of a slave, and that +she killed herself not to suffer the shame of a discovery, such anecdotes +would sell very well. Or if, even by tradition, but better still, +if by papers in the Portian family, you could show some probability +that Portia died of dram drinking, you would oblige the world very much; +for you must know, that next to new-invented characters, we are fond +of new lights upon ancient characters; I mean such lights as show a +reputed honest man to have been a concealed knave, an illustrious hero +a pitiful coward, &c. Nay, we are so fond of these kinds of +information as to be pleased sometimes to see a character cleared from +a vice or crime it has been charged with, provided the person concerned +be actually dead. But in this case the evidence must be authentic, +and amount to a demonstration; in the other, a detection is not necessary; +a slight suspicion will do, if it concerns a really good and great character.</p> +<p><i>Plutarch</i>.—I am the more surprised at what you say of +the taste of your contemporaries, as I met with a Frenchman who assured +me that less than a century ago he had written a much admired “Life +of Cyrus,” under the name of Artamenes, in which he ascribed to +him far greater actions than those recorded of him by Xenophon and Herodotus; +and that many of the great heroes of history had been treated in the +same manner; that empires were gained and battles decided by the valour +of a single man, imagination bestowing what nature has denied, and the +system of human affairs rendered impossible.</p> +<p><i>Bookseller</i>.—I assure you those books were very useful +to the authors and their booksellers; and for whose benefit <!-- page 166--><a name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 166</span>besides +should a man write? These romances were very fashionable and had +a great sale: they fell in luckily with the humour of the age.</p> +<p><i>Plutarch</i>.—Monsieur Scuderi tells me they were written +in the times of vigour and spirit, in the evening of the gallant days +of chivalry, which, though then declining, had left in the hearts of +men a warm glow of courage and heroism; and they were to be called to +books as to battle, by the sound of the trumpet. He says, too, +that if writers had not accommodated themselves to the prejudices of +the age, and written of bloody battles and desperate encounters, their +works would have been esteemed too effeminate an amusement for gentlemen. +Histories of chivalry, instead of enervating, tend to invigorate the +mind, and endeavour to raise human nature above the condition which +is naturally prescribed to it; but as strict justice, patriotic motives, +prudent counsels, and a dispassionate choice of what upon the whole +is fittest and best, do not direct these heroes of romance, they cannot +serve for instruction and example, like the great characters of true +history. It has ever been my opinion, that only the clear and +steady light of truth can guide men to virtue, and that the lesson which +is impracticable must be unuseful. Whoever shall design to regulate +his conduct by these visionary characters will be in the condition of +superstitious people, who choose rather to act by intimations they receive +in the dreams of the night, than by the sober counsels of morning meditation. +Yet I confess it has been the practice of many nations to incite men +to virtue by relating the deeds of fabulous heroes: but surely it is +the custom only of yours to incite them to vice by the history of fabulous +scoundrels. Men of fine imagination have soared into the regions +of fancy to bring back Astrea; you go thither in search of Pandora. +Oh disgrace to letters! Oh shame to the muses!</p> +<p><i>Bookseller</i>.—You express great indignation at our present +race of writers; but believe me the fault lies chiefly on the <!-- page 167--><a name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 167</span>side +of the readers. As Monsieur Scuderi observed to you, authors must +comply with the manners and disposition of those who are to read them. +There must be a certain sympathy between the book and the reader to +create a good liking. Would you present a modern fine gentleman, +who is negligently lolling in an easy chair, with the labours of Hercules +for his recreation? or make him climb the Alps with Hannibal when he +is expiring with the fatigue of last night’s ball? Our readers +must be amused, flattered, soothed; such adventures must be offered +to them as they would like to have a share in.</p> +<p><i>Plutarch</i>.—It should be the first object of writers to +correct the vices and follies of the age. I will allow as much +compliance with the mode of the times as will make truth and good morals +agreeable. Your love of fictitious characters might be turned +to good purpose if those presented to the public were to be formed on +the rules of religion and morality. It must be confessed that +history, being employed only about illustrious persons, public events, +and celebrated actions, does not supply us with such instances of domestic +merit as one could wish. Our heroes are great in the field and +the senate, and act well in great scenes on the theatre of the world; +but the idea of a man, who in the silent retired path of life never +deviates into vice, who considers no spectator but the Omniscient Being, +and solicits no applause but His approbation, is the noblest model that +can be exhibited to mankind, and would be of the most general use. +Examples of domestic virtue would be more particularly useful to women +than those of great heroines. The virtues of women are blasted +by the breath of public fame, as flowers that grow on an eminence are +faded by the sun and wind which expand them. But true female praise, +like the music of the spheres, arises from a gentle, a constant, and +an equal progress in the path marked out for them by their great Creator; +and, like the heavenly harmony, it is not adapted to the gross ear of +mortals, but is <!-- page 168--><a name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 168</span>reserved +for the delight of higher beings, by whose wise laws they were ordained +to give a silent light and shed a mild, benignant influence on the world.</p> +<p><i>Bookseller</i>.—We have had some English and French writers +who aimed at what you suggest. In the supposed character of Clarissa +(said a clergyman to me a few days before I left the world) one finds +the dignity of heroism tempered by the meekness and humility of religion, +a perfect purity of mind, and sanctity of manners. In that of +Sir Charles Grandison, a noble pattern of every private virtue, with +sentiments so exalted as to render him equal to every public duty.</p> +<p><i>Plutarch</i>.—Are both these characters by the same author?</p> +<p><i>Bookseller</i>.—Ay, Master Plutarch, and what will surprise +you more, this author has printed for me.</p> +<p><i>Plutarch</i>.—By what you say, it is pity he should print +any work but his own. Are there no other authors who write in +this manner?</p> +<p><i>Bookseller</i>.—Yes, we have another writer of these imaginary +histories; one who has not long since descended to these regions. +His name is Fielding, and his works, as I have heard the best judges +say, have a true spirit of comedy and an exact representation of nature, +with fine moral touches. He has not, indeed, given lessons of +pure and consummate virtue, but he has exposed vice and meanness with +all the powers of ridicule; and we have some other good wits who have +exerted their talents to the purposes you approve. Monsieur de +Marivaux, and some other French writers, have also proceeded much upon +the same plan with a spirit and elegance which give their works no mean +rank among the <i>belles lettres</i>. I will own that, when there +is wit and entertainment enough in a book to make it sell, it is not +the worse for good morals.</p> +<p><i>Charon</i>.—I think, Plutarch, you have made this gentleman +a little more humble, and now I will carry him the rest of his journey. +But he is too frivolous an animal to present <!-- page 169--><a name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 169</span>to +wise Minos. I wish Mercury were here; he would damn him for his +dulness. I have a good mind to carry him to the Danaïdes, +and leave him to pour water into their vessels which, like his late +readers, are destined to eternal emptiness. Or shall I chain him +to the rock, side to side by Prometheus, not for having attempted to +steal celestial fire, in order to animate human forms, but for having +endeavoured to extinguish that which Jupiter had imparted? Or +shall we constitute him <i>friseur</i> to Tisiphone, and make him curl +up her locks with his satires and libels?</p> +<p><i>Plutarch</i>.—Minos does not esteem anything frivolous that +affects the morals of mankind. He punishes authors as guilty of +every fault they have countenanced and every crime they have encouraged, +and denounces heavy vengeance for the injuries which virtue or the virtuous +have suffered in consequence of their writings.</p> +<h3>DIALOGUE XXIX.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Publius Cornelius Scipio Africanus</span>—<span class="smcap">Caius +Julius Cæsar</span>.</p> +<p><i>Scipio</i>.—Alas, Cæsar! how unhappily did you end +a life made illustrious by the greatest exploits in war and most various +civil talents!</p> +<p><i>Cæsar</i>.—Can Scipio wonder at the ingratitude of +Rome to her generals? Did not he reproach her with it in the epitaph +he ordered to be inscribed upon his tomb at Liternum, that mean village +in Campania, to which she had driven the conqueror of Hannibal and of +Carthage? I also, after subduing her most dangerous enemies, the +Helvetians, the Gauls, and the Germans, after raising her name to the +highest pitch of glory, should have been deprived of my province, reduced +to live as a private man under the power of my enemies and the enviers +of my greatness; nay, brought to a trial and condemned by the judgment +of a <!-- page 170--><a name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 170</span>faction, +if I had not led my victorious troops to Rome, and by their assistance, +after all my offers of peace had been iniquitously rejected, made myself +master of a State which knew so ill how to recompense superior merit. +Resentment of this, together with the secret machinations of envy, produced +not long afterwards a conspiracy of senators, and even of some whom +I had most obliged and loved, against my life, which they basely took +away by assassination.</p> +<p><i>Scipio</i>.—You say you led your victorious troops to Rome. +How were they your troops? I thought the Roman armies had belonged +to the Republic, not to their generals.</p> +<p><i>Cæsar</i>.—They did so in your time. But before +I came to command them, Marius and Sylla had taught them that they belonged +to their generals. And I taught the senate that a veteran army, +affectionately attached to its leader, could give him all the treasures +and honours of the State without asking their leave.</p> +<p><i>Scipio</i>.—Just gods! did I then deliver my country from +the invading Carthaginian, did I exalt it by my victories above all +other nations, that it might become a richer prey to its own rebel soldiers +and their ambitious commanders?</p> +<p><i>Cæsar</i>.—How could it be otherwise? Was it +possible that the conquerors of Europe, Asia, and Africa could tamely +submit to descend from their triumphal chariots and become subject to +the authority of prætors and consuls elected by a populace corrupted +by bribes, or enslaved to a confederacy of factious nobles, who, without +regard to merit, considered all the offices and dignities of the State +as hereditary possessions belonging to their families?</p> +<p><i>Scipio</i>.—If I thought it no dishonour, after triumphing +over Hannibal, to lay down my fasces and obey, as all my ancestors had +done before me, the magistrates of the republic, such a conduct would +not have dishonoured either Marius, or Sylla, or Cæsar. +But you all dishonoured yourselves when, instead of virtuous Romans, +superior to your <!-- page 171--><a name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 171</span>fellow-citizens +in merit and glory, but equal to them in a due subjection to the laws, +you became the enemies, the invaders, and the tyrants of your country.</p> +<p><i>Cæsar</i>.—Was I the enemy of my country in giving +it a ruler fit to support all the majesty and weight of its empire? +Did I invade it when I marched to deliver the people from the usurped +dominion and insolence of a few senators? Was I a tyrant because +I would not crouch under Pompey, and let him be thought my superior +when I felt he was not my equal?</p> +<p><i>Scipio</i>.—Pompey had given you a noble example of moderation +in twice dismissing the armies, at the head of which he had performed +such illustrious actions, and returning a private citizen into the bosom +of his country.</p> +<p><i>Cæsar</i>.—His moderation was a cheat. He believed +that the authority his victories had gained him would make him effectually +master of the commonwealth without the help of those armies. But +finding it difficult to subdue the united opposition of Crassus and +me, he leagued himself with us, and in consequence of that league we +three governed the empire. But, after the death of Crassus, my +glorious achievements in subduing the Gauls raised such a jealousy in +him that he could no longer endure me as a partner in his power, nor +could I submit to degrade myself into his subject.</p> +<p><i>Scipio</i>.—Am I then to understand that the civil war you +engaged in was really a mere contest whether you or Pompey should remain +sole lord of Rome?</p> +<p><i>Cæsar</i>.—Not so, for I offered, in my letters to +the senate, to lay down my arms if Pompey at the same time would lay +down his, and leave the republic in freedom. Nor did I resolve +to draw the sword till not only the senate, overpowered by the fear +of Pompey and his troops, had rejected these offers, but two tribunes +of the people, for legally and justly interposing their authority in +my behalf, had been forced to fly from Rome disguised in the habit of +slaves, <!-- page 172--><a name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 172</span>and +take refuge in my camp for the safety of their persons. My camp +was therefore the asylum of persecuted liberty, and my army fought to +avenge the violation of the rights and majesty of the people as much +as to defend the dignity of their general unjustly oppressed.</p> +<p><i>Scipio</i>.—You would therefore have me think that you contended +for the equality and liberty of the Romans against the tyranny of Pompey +and his lawless adherents. In such a war I, myself, if I had lived +in your times, would have willingly been your lieutenant. Tell +me then, on the issue of this honourable enterprise, when you had subdued +all your foes and had no opposition remaining to obstruct your intentions, +did you establish that liberty for which you fought? Did you restore +the republic to what it was in my time?</p> +<p><i>Cæsar</i>.—I took the necessary measures to secure +to myself the fruits of my victories, and gave a head to the empire, +which could neither subsist without one nor find another so well suited +to the greatness of the body.</p> +<p><i>Scipio</i>.—There the true character of Cæsar was +seen unmasked. You had managed so skilfully in the measures which +preceded the civil war, your offers were so specious, and there appeared +so much violence in the conduct of your enemies that, if you had fallen +in that war, posterity might have doubted whether you were not a victim +to the interests of your country. But your success, and the despotism +you afterwards exorcised, took off those disguises and showed clearly +that the aim of all your actions was tyranny.</p> +<p><i>Cæsar</i>.—Let us not deceive ourselves with sounds +and names. That great minds should aspire to sovereign power is +a fixed law of Nature. It is an injury to mankind if the highest +abilities are not placed in the highest stations. Had you, Scipio, +been kept down by the republican jealousy of Cato, the censor Hannibal +would have never been recalled out of Italy nor defeated in Africa. +And if I had <!-- page 173--><a name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 173</span>not +been treacherously murdered by the daggers of Brutus and Cassius, my +sword would have avenged the defeat of Crassus and added the empire +of Parthia to that of Rome. Nor was my government tyrannical. +It was mild, humane, and bounteous. The world would have been +happy under it and wished its continuance, but my death broke the pillars +of the public tranquillity and brought upon the whole empire a direful +scene of calamity and confusion.</p> +<p><i>Scipio</i>.—You say that great minds will naturally aspire +to sovereign power. But, if they are good as well as great, they +will regulate their ambition by the laws of their country. The +laws of Rome permitted me to aspire to the conduct of the war against +Carthage; but they did not permit you to turn her arms against herself, +and subject her to your will. The breach of one law of liberty +is a greater evil to a nation than the loss of a province; and, in my +opinion, the conquest of the whole world would not be enough to compensate +for the total loss of their freedom.</p> +<p><i>Cæsar</i>.—You talk finely, Africanus; but ask yourself, +whether the height and dignity of your mind—that noble pride which +accompanies the magnanimity of a hero—could always stoop to a +nice conformity with the laws of your country? Is there a law +of liberty more essential, more sacred, than that which obliges every +member of a free community to submit himself to a trial, upon a legal +charge brought against him for a public misdemeanour? In what +manner did you answer a regular accusation from a tribune of the people, +who charged you with embezzling the money of the State? You told +your judges that on that day you had vanquished Hannibal and Carthage, +and bade them follow you to the temples to give thanks to the gods. +Nor could you ever be brought to stand a legal trial, or justify those +accounts, which you had torn in the senate when they were questioned +there by two magistrates in the name of the Roman people. Was +this acting like the subject of a free State? Had your victory +procured you an exemption <!-- page 174--><a name="page174"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 174</span>from +justice? Had it given into your hands the money of the republic +without account? If it had, you were king of Rome. Pharsalia, +Thapsus, and Munda could do no more for me.</p> +<p><i>Scipio</i>.—I did not question the right of bringing me +to a trial, but I disdained to plead in vindication of a character so +unspotted as mine. My whole life had been an answer to that infamous +charge.</p> +<p><i>Cæsar</i>.—It may be so; and, for my part, I admire +the magnanimity of your behaviour. But I should condemn it as +repugnant and destructive to liberty, if I did not pay more respect +to the dignity of a great general, than to the forms of a democracy +or the rights of a tribune.</p> +<p><i>Scipio</i>.—You are endeavouring to confound my cause with +yours; but they are exceedingly different. You apprehended a sentence +of condemnation against you for some part of your conduct, and, to prevent +it, made an impious war on your country, and reduced her to servitude. +I trusted the justification of my affronted innocence to the opinion +of my judges, scorning to plead for myself against a charge unsupported +by any other proof than bare suspicions and surmises. But I made +no resistance; I kindled no civil war; I left Rome undisturbed in the +enjoyment of her liberty. Had the malice of my accusers been ever +so violent, had it threatened my destruction, I should have chosen much +rather to turn my sword against my own bosom than against that of my +country.</p> +<p><i>Cæsar</i>.—You beg the question in supposing that +I really hurt my country by giving her a master. When Cato advised +the senate to make Pompey sole consul, he did it upon this principle, +that any kind of government is preferable to anarchy. The truth +of this, I presume, no man of sense will contest; and the anarchy, which +that zealous defender of liberty so much apprehended, would have continued +in Rome, if that power, which the urgent necessity of the State conferred +upon me, had not removed it.</p> +<p><!-- page 175--><a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 175</span><i>Scipio</i>.—Pompey +and you had brought that anarchy on the State in order to serve your +own ends. It was owing to the corruption, the factions, and the +violence which you had encouraged from an opinion that the senate would +be forced to submit to an absolute power in your hands, as a remedy +against those intolerable evils. But Cato judged well in thinking +it eligible to make Pompey sole consul rather than you dictator, because +experience had shown that Pompey respected the forms of the Roman constitution; +and though he sought, by bad means as well as good, to obtain the highest +magistracies and the most honourable commands, yet he laid them down +again, and contented himself with remaining superior in credit to any +other citizen.</p> +<p><i>Cæsar</i>.—If all the difference between my ambition +and Pompey’s was only, as you represent it, in a greater or less +respect for the forms of the constitution, I think it was hardly becoming +such a patriot as Cato to take part in our quarrel, much less to kill +himself rather than yield to my power.</p> +<p><i>Scipio</i>.—It is easier to revive the spirit of liberty +in a government where the forms of it remain unchanged, than where they +have been totally disregarded and abolished. But I readily own +that the balance of the Roman constitution had been destroyed by the +excessive and illegal authority which the people were induced to confer +upon Pompey, before any extraordinary honours or commands had been demanded +by you. And that is, I think, your best excuse.</p> +<p><i>Cæsar</i>.—Yes, surely. The favourers of the +Manilian law had an ill grace in desiring to limit the commissions I +obtained from the people, according to the rigour of certain absolute +republican laws, no more regarded in my time than the Sybilline oracles +or the pious institutions of Numa.</p> +<p><i>Scipio</i>.—It was the misfortune of your time that they +were not regarded. A virtuous man would not take from <!-- page 176--><a name="page176"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 176</span>a +deluded people such favours as they ought not to bestow. I have +a right to say this because I chid the Roman people, when, overheated +by gratitude for the services I had done them, they desired to make +me perpetual consul and dictator. Hear this, and blush. +What I refused to accept, you snatched by force.</p> +<p><i>Cæsar</i>.—Tiberius Gracchus reproached you with the +inconsistency of your conduct, when, after refusing these offers, you +so little respected the tribunitian authority. But thus it must +happen. We are naturally fond of the idea of liberty till we come +to suffer by it, or find it an impediment to some predominant passion; +and then we wish to control it, as you did most despotically, by refusing +to submit to the justice of the State.</p> +<p><i>Scipio</i>.—I have answered before to that charge. +Tiberius Gracchus himself, though my personal enemy, thought it became +him to stop the proceedings against me, not for my sake, but for the +honour of my country, whose dignity suffered with mine. Nevertheless +I acknowledge my conduct in that business was not absolutely blameless. +The generous pride of virtue was too strong in my mind. It made +me forget I was creating a dangerous precedent in declining to plead +to a legal accusation brought against me by a magistrate invested with +the majesty of the whole Roman people. It made me unjustly accuse +my country of ingratitude when she had shown herself grateful, even +beyond the true bounds of policy and justice, by not inflicting upon +me any penalty for so irregular a proceeding. But, at the same +time, what a proof did I give of moderation and respect for her liberty, +when my utmost resentment could impel me to nothing more violent than +a voluntary retreat and quiet banishment of myself from the city of +Rome! Scipio Africanus offended, and living a private man in a +country-house at Liternum, was an example of more use to secure the +equality of the Roman commonwealth than all the power of its tribunes.</p> +<p><!-- page 177--><a name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 177</span><i>Cæsar</i>.—I +had rather have been thrown down the Tarpeian Rock than have retired, +as you did, to the obscurity of a village, after acting the first part +on the greatest theatre of the world.</p> +<p><i>Scipio</i>.—A usurper exalted on the highest throne of the +universe is not so glorious as I was in that obscure retirement. +I hear, indeed, that you, Cæsar, have been deified by the flattery +of some of your successors. But the impartial judgment of history +has consecrated my name, and ranks me in the first class of heroes and +patriots; whereas, the highest praise her records, even under the dominion +usurped by your family, have given to you, is, that your courage and +talents were equal to the object your ambition aspired to, the empire +of the world; and that you exercised a sovereignty unjustly acquired +with a magnanimous clemency. But it would have been better for +your country, and better for mankind, if you had never existed.</p> +<h3>DIALOGUE XXX.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Plato</span>—<span class="smcap">Diogenes</span>.</p> +<p><i>Diogenes</i>.—Plato, stand off. A true philosopher +as I was, is no company for a courtier of the tyrant of Syracuse. +I would avoid you as one infected with the most noisome of plagues—the +plague of slavery.</p> +<p><i>Plato</i>.—He who can mistake a brutal pride and savage +indecency of manners for freedom may naturally think that the being +in a court (however virtuous one’s conduct, however free one’s +language there) is slavery. But I was taught by my great master, +the incomparable Socrates, that the business of true philosophy is to +consult and promote the happiness of society. She must not, therefore, +be confined to a tub or a cell. Her sphere is in senates or the +cabinets of kings. While your sect is employed in snarling at +the great or buffooning with the vulgar, she is counselling those who +<!-- page 178--><a name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 178</span>govern +nations, infusing into their minds humanity, justice, temperance, and +the love of true glory, resisting their passions when they transport +them beyond the bounds of virtue, and fortifying their reason by the +antidotes she administers against the poison of flattery.</p> +<p><i>Diogenes</i>.—You mean to have me understand that you went +to the court of the Younger Dionysius to give him antidotes against +the poison of flattery. But I say he sent for you only to sweeten +the cup, by mixing it more agreeably, and rendering the flavour more +delicate. His vanity was too nice for the nauseous common draught; +but your seasoning gave it a relish which made it go down most delightfully, +and intoxicated him more than ever. Oh, there is no flatterer +half so dangerous to a prince as a fawning philosopher!</p> +<p><i>Plato</i>.—If you call it fawning that I did not treat him +with such unmannerly rudeness as you did Alexander the Great when he +visited you at Athens, I have nothing to say. But, in truth, I +made my company agreeable to him, not for any mean ends which regarded +only myself, but that I might be useful both to him and to his people. +I endeavoured to give a right turn to his vanity; and know, Diogenes, +that whosoever will serve mankind, but more especially princes, must +compound with their weaknesses, and take as much pains to gain them +over to virtue, by an honest and prudent complaisance, as others do +to seduce them from it by a criminal adulation.</p> +<p><i>Diogenes</i>.—A little of my sagacity would have shown you +that if this was your purpose your labour was lost in that court. +Why did not you go and preach chastity to Lais? A philosopher +in a brothel, reading lectures on the beauty of continence and decency, +is not a more ridiculous animal than a philosopher in the cabinet, or +at the table of a tyrant, descanting on liberty and public spirit! +What effect had the lessons of your famous disciple Aristotle upon Alexander +the Great, a prince far more capable of receiving instruction <!-- page 179--><a name="page179"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 179</span>than +the Younger Dionysius? Did they hinder him from killing his best +friend, Clitus, for speaking to him with freedom, or from fancying himself +a god because he was adored by the wretched slaves he had vanquished? +When I desired him not to stand between me and the sun, I humbled his +pride more, and consequently did him more good, than Aristotle had done +by all his formal precepts.</p> +<p><i>Plato</i>.—Yet he owed to those precepts that, notwithstanding +his excesses, he appeared not unworthy of the empire of the world. +Had the tutor of his youth gone with him into Asia and continued always +at his ear, the authority of that wise and virtuous man might have been +able to stop him, even in the riot of conquest, from giving way to those +passions which dishonoured his character.</p> +<p><i>Diogenes</i>.—If he had gone into Asia, and had not flattered +the king as obsequiously as Hæphestion, he would, like Callisthenes, +whom he sent thither as his deputy, have been put to death for high +treason. The man who will not flatter must live independent, as +I did, and prefer a tub to a palace.</p> +<p><i>Plato</i>.—Do you pretend, Diogenes, that because you were +never in a court, you never flattered? How did you gain the affection +of the people of Athens but by soothing their ruling passion—the +desire of hearing their superiors abused? Your cynic railing was +to them the most acceptable flattery. This you well understood, +and made your court to the vulgar, always envious and malignant, by +trying to lower all dignity and confound all order. You made your +court, I say, as servilely, and with as much offence to virtue, as the +basest flatterer ever did to the most corrupted prince. But true +philosophy will disdain to act either of these parts. Neither +in the assemblies of the people, nor in the cabinets of kings, will +she obtain favour by fomenting any bad dispositions. If her endeavours +to do good prove unsuccessful, she will retire with honour, as an honest +physician departs from the house of a patient whose distemper he <!-- page 180--><a name="page180"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 180</span>finds +incurable, or who refuses to take the remedies he prescribes. +But if she succeeds—if, like the music of Orpheus, her sweet persuasions +can mitigate the ferocity of the multitude and tame their minds to a +due obedience of laws and reverence of magistrates; or if she can form +a Timoleon or a Numa Pompilius to the government of a state—how +meritorious is the work! One king—nay, one minister or counsellor +of state—imbued with her precepts is of more value than all the +speculative, retired philosophers or cynical revilers of princes and +magistrates that ever lived upon earth.</p> +<p><i>Diogenes</i>.—Don’t tell me of the music of Orpheus, +and of his taming wild beasts. A wild beast brought to crouch +and lick the hand of a master, is a much viler animal than he was in +his natural state of ferocity. You seem to think that the business +of philosophy is to polish men into slaves; but I say, it is to teach +them to assert, with an untamed and generous spirit, their independence +and freedom. You profess to instruct those who want to ride their +fellow-creatures, how to do it with an easy and gentle rein; but I would +have them thrown off, and trampled under the feet of all their deluded +or insulted equals, on whose backs they have mounted. Which of +us two is the truest friend to mankind?</p> +<p><i>Plato</i>.—According to your notions all government is destructive +to liberty; but I think that no liberty can subsist without government. +A state of society is the natural state of mankind. They are impelled +to it by their wants, their infirmities, their affections. The +laws of society are rules of life and action necessary to secure their +happiness in that state. Government is the due enforcing of those +laws. That government is the best which does this post effectually, +and most equally; and that people is the freest which is most submissively +obedient to such a government.</p> +<p><i>Diogenes</i>.—Show me the government which makes no <!-- page 181--><a name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 181</span>other +use of its power than duly to enforce the laws of society, and I will +own it is entitled to the most absolute submission from all its subjects.</p> +<p><i>Plato</i>.—I cannot show you perfection in human institutions. +It is far more easy to blame them than it is to amend them, much may +be wrong in the best: but a good man respects the laws and the magistrates +of his country.</p> +<p><i>Diogenes</i>.—As for the laws of my country, I did so far +respect them as not to philosophise to the prejudice of the first and +greatest principle of nature and of wisdom, self-preservation. +Though I loved to prate about high matters as well as Socrates, I did +not choose to drink hemlock after his example. But you might as +well have bid me love an ugly woman, because she was dressed up in the +gown of Lais, as respect a fool or a knave, because he was attired in +the robe of a magistrate.</p> +<p><i>Plato</i>.—All I desired of you was, not to amuse yourself +and the populace by throwing dirt upon the robe of a magistrate, merely +because he wore that robe, and you did not.</p> +<p><i>Diogenes</i>.—A philosopher cannot better display his wisdom +than by throwing contempt on that pageantry which the ignorant multitude +gaze at with a senseless veneration.</p> +<p><i>Plato</i>.—He who tries to make the multitude venerate nothing +is more senseless than they. Wise men have endeavoured to excite +an awful reverence in the minds of the vulgar for external ceremonies +and forms, in order to secure their obedience to religion and government, +of which these are the symbols. Can a philosopher desire to defeat +that good purpose?</p> +<p><i>Diogenes</i>.—Yes, if he sees it abused to support the evil +purposes of superstition and tyranny.</p> +<p><i>Plato</i>.—May not the abuse be corrected without losing +the benefit? Is there no difference between reformation and destruction.</p> +<p><i>Diogenes</i>.—Half-measures do nothing. He who desires +to reform must not be afraid to pull down.</p> +<p><!-- page 182--><a name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 182</span><i>Plato</i>.—I +know that you and your sect are for pulling down everything that is +above your own level. Pride and envy are the motives that set +you all to work. Nor can one wonder that passions, the influence +of which is so general, should give you many disciples and many admirers.</p> +<p><i>Diogenes</i>.—When you have established your Republic, if +you will admit me into it I promise you to be there a most respectful +subject.</p> +<p><i>Plato</i>.—I am conscious, Diogenes, that my Republic was +imaginary, and could never be established. But they show as little +knowledge of what is practicable in politics as I did in that book, +who suppose that the liberty of any civil society can be maintained +by the destruction of order and decency or promoted by the petulance +of unbridled defamation.</p> +<p><i>Diogenes</i>.—I never knew any government angry at defamation, +when it fell on those who disliked or obstructed its measures. +But I well remember that the thirty tyrants at Athens called opposition +to them the destruction of order and decency.</p> +<p><i>Plato</i>.—Things are not altered by names.</p> +<p><i>Diogenes</i>.—No, but names have a strange power to impose +on weak understandings. If, when you were in Egypt, you had laughed +at the worship of an onion, the priests would have called you an atheist, +and the people would have stoned you. But I presume that, to have +the honour of being initiated into the mysteries of that reverend hierarchy, +you bowed as low to it as any of their devout disciples. Unfortunately +my neck was not so pliant, and therefore I was never initiated into +the mysteries either of religion or government, but was feared or hated +by all who thought it their interest to make them be respected.</p> +<p><i>Plato</i>.—Your vanity found its account in that fear and +that hatred. The high priest of a deity or the ruler of a state +is much less distinguished from the vulgar herd of mankind than the +scoffer at all religion and the despiser of all dominion. But +let us end our dispute. I feel my folly <!-- page 183--><a name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 183</span>in +continuing to argue with one who in reasoning does not seek to come +at truth, but merely to show his wit. Adieu, Diogenes; I am going +to converse with the shades of Pythagoras, Solon, and Bias. You +may jest with Aristophanes or rail with Thersites.</p> +<h3>DIALOGUE XXXI.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Aristides</span>—<span class="smcap">Phocion</span>—<span class="smcap">Demosthenes</span>.</p> +<p><i>Aristides</i>.—How could it happen that Athens, after having +recovered an equality with Sparta, should be forced to submit to the +dominion of Macedon when she had two such great men as Phocion and Demosthenes +at the head of her State?</p> +<p><i>Phocion</i>.—It happened because our opinions of her interests +in foreign affairs were totally different; which made us act with a +constant and pernicious opposition the one to the other.</p> +<p><i>Aristides</i>.—I wish to hear from you both (if you will +indulge my curiosity) on what principles you could form such contrary +judgments concerning points of such moment to the safety of your country, +which you equally loved.</p> +<p><i>Demosthenes</i>.—My principles were the same with yours, +Aristides. I laboured to maintain the independence of Athens against +the encroaching ambition of Macedon, as you had maintained it against +that of Persia. I saw that our own strength was unequal to the +enterprise; but what we could not do alone I thought might be done by +a union of the principal states of Greece—such a union as had +been formed by you and Themistocles in opposition to the Persians. +To effect this was the great, the constant aim of my policy; and, though +traversed in it by many whom the gold of Macedon had corrupted, and +by Phocion, whom alone, of all the enemies to my system, I must acquit +of corruption, I so far succeeded, that I brought into the field <!-- page 184--><a name="page184"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 184</span>of +Chæronea an army equal to Philip’s. The event was +unfortunate; but Aristides will not judge of the merits of a statesman +by the accidents of war.</p> +<p><i>Phocion</i>.—Do not imagine, Aristides, that I was less +desirous than Demosthenes to preserve the independence and liberty of +my country. But, before I engaged the Athenians in a war not absolutely +necessary, I thought it proper to consider what the event of a battle +would probably be. That which I feared came to pass: the Macedonians +were victorious, and Athens was ruined.</p> +<p><i>Demosthenes</i>.—Would Athens not have been ruined if no +battle had been fought? Could you, Phocion, think it safety to +have our freedom depend on the moderation of Philip? And what +had we else to protect us, if no confederacy had been formed to resist +his ambition?</p> +<p><i>Phocion</i>.—I saw no wisdom in accelerating the downfall +of my country by a rash activity in provoking the resentment of an enemy, +whose arms, I foretold, would in the issue prove superior, not only +to ours, but to those of any confederacy we were able to form. +My maxim was, that a state which cannot make itself stronger than any +of its neighbours, should live in friendship with that power which is +the strongest. But the more apparent it was that our strength +was inferior to that of Macedon, the more you laboured to induce us, +by all the vehemence of your oratory, to take such measures as tended +to render Philip our enemy, and exasperate him more against us than +any other nation. This I thought a rash conduct. It was +not by orations that the dangerous war you had kindled could finally +be determined; nor did your triumphs over me in an assembly of the people +intimidate any Macedonian in the field of Chæronea, or stop you +yourself from flying out of that field.</p> +<p><i>Demosthenes</i>.—My flight from thence, I must own, was +ignominious to me; but it affects not the question we are agitating +now, whether the counsels I gave to the people of <!-- page 185--><a name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 185</span>Athens, +as a statesman and a public minister, were right or wrong. When +first I excited them to make war against Philip, the victories gained +by Chabrias, in which you, Phocion, had a share (particularly that of +Naxos, which completely restored to us the empire of the sea), had enabled +us to maintain, not only our own liberty, but that of all Greece, in +the defence of which we had formerly acquired so much glory, and which +our ancestors thought so important to the safety and independence of +Athens. Philip’s power was but beginning, and supported +itself more by craft than force. I saw, and I warned my countrymen +in due time, how impolitic it would be to suffer his machinations to +be carried on with success, and his strength to increase by continual +acquisitions, without resistance. I exposed the weakness of that +narrow, that short-sighted policy, which looked no farther than to our +own immediate borders, and imagined that whatsoever lay out of those +bounds was foreign to our interests, and unworthy of our care. +The force of my remonstrances roused the Athenians to a more vigilant +conduct. Then it was that the orators whom Philip had corrupted +loudly inveighed against me, as alarming the people with imaginary dangers, +and drawing them into quarrels in which they had really no concern. +This language, and the fair professions of Philip, who was perfectly +skilled in the royal art of dissembling, were often so prevalent, that +many favourable opportunities of defeating his designs were unhappily +lost. Yet sometimes, by the spirit with which I animated the Athenians +and other neighbouring states, I stopped the progress of his arms, and +opposed to him such obstacles as cost him much time and much labour +to remove. You yourself, Phocion, at the head of fleets and armies +sent against him by decrees which I had proposed, vanquished his troops +in Eubæa, and saved from him Byzantium, with other cities of our +allies on the coasts of the Hellespont, from which you drove him with +shame.</p> +<p><!-- page 186--><a name="page186"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 186</span><i>Phocion</i>.—The +proper use of those advantages was to secure a peace to Athens, which +they inclined him to keep. His ambition was checked, but his forces +were not so much diminished as to render it safe to provoke him to further +hostilities.</p> +<p><i>Demosthenes</i>.—His courage and policy were indeed so superior +to ours that, notwithstanding his defeats, he was soon in a condition +to pursue the great plan of conquest and dominion which he had formed +long before, and from which he never desisted. Thus, through indolence +on our side and activity on his, things were brought to such a crisis +that I saw no hope of delivering all Greece from his yoke, but by confederating +against him the Athenians and the Thebans, which league I effected. +Was it not better to fight for the independence of our country in conjunction +with Thebes than alone? Would a battle lost in Bœotia be +so fatal to Athens as one lost in our own territory and under our own +walls?</p> +<p><i>Phocion</i>.—You may remember that when you were eagerly +urging this argument I desired you to consider, not where we should +fight, but how we should be conquerors; for, if we were vanquished, +all sorts of evils and dangers would be instantly at our gates.</p> +<p><i>Aristides</i>.—Did not you tell me, Demosthenes, when you +began to speak upon this subject, that you brought into the field of +Chæronea an army equal to Philip’s?</p> +<p><i>Demosthenes</i>.—I did, and believe that Phocion will not +contradict me.</p> +<p><i>Aristides</i>.—But, though equal in number, it was, perhaps, +much inferior to the Macedonians in valour and military discipline.</p> +<p><i>Demosthenes</i>.—The courage shown by our army excited the +admiration of Philip himself, and their discipline was inferior to none +in Greece.</p> +<p><i>Aristides</i>.—What then occasioned their defeat?</p> +<p><i>Demosthenes</i>.—The bad conduct of their generals.</p> +<p><!-- page 187--><a name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 187</span><i>Aristides</i>.—Why +was the command not given to Phocion, whose abilities had been proved +on so many other occasions? Was it offered to him, and did he +refuse to accept it? You are silent, Demosthenes. I understand +your silence. You are unwilling to tell me that, having the power, +by your influence over the people, to confer the command on what Athenian +you pleased, you were induced, by the spirit of party, to lay aside +a great general who had been always successful, who had the chief confidence +of your troops and of your allies, in order to give it to men zealous +indeed for your measures and full of military ardour, but of little +capacity or experience in the conduct of a war. You cannot plead +that, if Phocion had led your troops against Philip, there was any danger +of his basely betraying his trust. Phocion could not be a traitor. +You had seen him serve the Republic and conquer for it in wars, the +undertaking of which he had strenuously opposed, in wars with Philip. +How could you then be so negligent of the safety of your country as +not to employ him in this, the most dangerous of all she ever had waged? +If Chares and Lysicles, the two generals you chose to conduct it, had +commanded the Grecian forces at Marathon and Platæa we should +have lost those battles. All the men whom you sent to fight the +Macedonians under such leaders were victims to the animosity between +you and Phocion, which made you deprive them of the necessary benefit +of his wise direction. This I think the worst blemish of your +administration. In other parts of your conduct I not only acquit +but greatly applaud and admire you. With the sagacity of a most +consummate statesman you penetrated the deepest designs of Philip, you +saw all the dangers which threatened Greece from that quarter while +they were yet at a distance, you exhorted your countrymen to make a +timely provision for their future security, you spread the alarm through +all the neighbouring states, you combined the most powerful in a confederacy +with Athens, you carried the war out of Attica, <!-- page 188--><a name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 188</span>which +(let Phocion say what he will) was safer than meeting it there, you +brought it, after all that had been done by the enemy to strengthen +himself and weaken us, after the loss of Amphipolis, Olynthus, and Potidæa, +the outguards of Athens, you brought it, I say, to the decision of a +battle with equal forces. When this could be effected there was +evidently nothing so desperate in our circumstances as to justify an +inaction which might probably make them worse, but could not make them +better. Phocion thinks that a state which cannot itself be the +strongest should live in friendship with that power which is the strongest. +But in my opinion such friendship is no better than servitude. +It is more advisable to endeavour to supply what is wanting in our own +strength by a conjunction with others who are equally in danger. +This method of preventing the ruin of our country was tried by Demosthenes. +Nor yet did he neglect, by all practicable means, to augment at the +same time our internal resources. I have heard that when he found +the Public Treasure exhausted he replenished it, with very great peril +to himself, by bringing into it money appropriated before to the entertainment +of the people, against the express prohibition of a popular law, which +made it death to propose the application thereof to any other use. +This was virtue, this was true and genuine patriotism. He owed +all his importance and power in the State to the favour of the people; +yet, in order to serve the State, he did not fear, at the evident hazard +of his life, to offend their darling passion and appeal against it to +their reason.</p> +<p><i>Phocion</i>.—For this action I praise him. It was, +indeed, far more dangerous for a minister at Athens to violate that +absurd and extravagant law than any of those of Solon. But though +he restored our finances, he could not restore our lost virtue; he could +not give that firm health, that vigour to the State, which is the result +of pure morals, of strict order and civil discipline, of integrity in +the old, and <!-- page 189--><a name="page189"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 189</span>obedience +in the young. I therefore dreaded a conflict with the solid strength +of Macedon, where corruption had yet made but a very small progress, +and was happy that Demosthenes did not oblige me, against my own inclination, +to be the general of such a people in such war.</p> +<p><i>Aristides</i>.—I fear that your just contempt of the greater +number of those who composed the democracy so disgusted you with this +mode and form of government, that you were as averse to serve under +it as others with less ability and virtue than you were desirous of +obtruding themselves into its service. But though such a reluctance +proceeds from a very noble cause, and seems agreeable to the dignity +of a great mind in bad times, yet it is a fault against the highest +of moral obligations—the love of our country. For, how unworthy +soever individuals may be, the public is always respectable, always +dear to the virtuous.</p> +<p><i>Phocion</i>.—True; but no obligation can lie upon a citizen +to seek a public charge when he foresees that his obtaining of it will +be useless to his country. Would you have had me solicit the command +of an army which I believed would be beaten?</p> +<p><i>Aristides</i>.—It is not permitted to a State to despair +of its safety till its utmost efforts have been made without success. +If you had commanded the army at Chæronea you might possibly have +changed the event of the day; but, if you had not, you would have died +more honourably there than in a prison at Athens, betrayed by a vain +confidence in the insecure friendship of a perfidious Macedonian.</p> +<h3>DIALOGUE XXXII.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Marcus Aurelius Philosophus</span>—<span class="smcap">Servius +Tullius</span>.</p> +<p><i>Servius Tullius</i>.—Yes, Marcus, though I own you to have +been the first of mankind in virtue and goodness—though, while +you governed, Philosophy sat on the throne and <!-- page 190--><a name="page190"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 190</span>diffused +the benign influences of her administration over the whole Roman Empire—yet +as a king I might, perhaps, pretend to a merit even superior to yours.</p> +<p><i>Marcus Aurelius</i>.—That philosophy you ascribe to me has +taught me to feel my own defects, and to venerate the virtues of other +men. Tell me, therefore, in what consisted the superiority of +your merit as a king.</p> +<p><i>Servius Tullius</i>.—It consisted in this—that I gave +my people freedom. I diminished, I limited the kingly power, when +it was placed in my hands. I need not tell you that the plan of +government instituted by me was adopted by the Romans when they had +driven out Tarquin, the destroyer of their liberty; and gave its form +to that republic, composed of a due mixture of the regal, aristocratical, +and democratical powers, the strength and wisdom of which subdued the +world. Thus all the glory of that great people, who for many ages +excelled the rest of mankind in the arts of war and of policy, belongs +originally to me.</p> +<p><i>Marcus Aurelius</i>.—There is much truth in what you say. +But would not the Romans have done better if, after the expulsion of +Tarquin, they had vested the regal power in a limited monarch, instead +of placing it in two annual elective magistrates with the title of consuls? +This was a great deviation from your plan of government, and, I think, +an unwise one. For a divided royalty is a solecism—an absurdity +in politics. Nor was the regal power committed to the administration +of consuls continued in their hands long enough to enable them to finish +any difficult war or other act of great moment. From hence arose +a necessity of prolonging their commands beyond the legal term; of shortening +the interval prescribed by the laws between the elections to those offices; +and of granting extraordinary commissions and powers, by all which the +Republic was in the end destroyed.</p> +<p><i>Servius Tullius</i>.—The revolution which ensued upon the +death of Lucretia was made with so much anger that it is <!-- page 191--><a name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 191</span>no +wonder the Romans abolished in their fury the name of king, and desired +to weaken a power the exercise of which had been so grievous, though +the doing this was attended with all the inconveniences you have justly +observed. But, if anger acted too violently in reforming abuses, +philosophy might have wisely corrected that error. Marcus Aurelius +might have new-modelled the constitution of Rome. He might have +made it a limited monarchy, leaving to the emperors all the power that +was necessary to govern a wide-extended empire, and to the Senate and +people all the liberty that could be consistent with order and obedience +to government—a liberty purged of faction and guarded against +anarchy.</p> +<p><i>Marcus Aurelius</i>.—I should have been happy indeed if +it had been in my power to do such good to my country. But the +gods themselves cannot force their blessings on men who by their vices +are become incapable to receive them. Liberty, like power, is +only good for those who possess it when it is under the constant direction +of virtue. No laws can have force enough to hinder it from degenerating +into faction and anarchy, where the morals of a nation are depraved; +and continued habits of vice will eradicate the very love of it out +of the hearts of a people. A Marcus Brutus in my time could not +have drawn to his standard a single legion of Romans. But, further, +it is certain that the spirit of liberty is absolutely incompatible +with the spirit of conquest. To keep great conquered nations in +subjection and obedience, great standing armies are necessary. +The generals of those armies will not long remain subjects; and whoever +acquires dominion by the sword must rule by the sword. If he does +not destroy liberty, liberty will destroy him.</p> +<p><i>Servius Tullius</i>.—Do you then justify Augustus for the +change he made in the Roman government?</p> +<p><i>Marcus Aurelius</i>.—I do not, for Augustus had no lawful +authority to make that change. His power was usurpation <!-- page 192--><a name="page192"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 192</span>and +breach of trust. But the government which he seized with a violent +hand came to me by a lawful and established rule of succession.</p> +<p><i>Servius Tullius</i>.—Can any length of establishment make +despotism lawful? Is not liberty an inherent, inalienable right +of mankind?</p> +<p><i>Marcus Aurelius</i>.—They have an inherent right to be governed +by laws, not by arbitrary will. But forms of government may, and +must, be occasionally changed, with the consent of the people. +When I reigned over them the Romans were governed by laws.</p> +<p><i>Servius Tullius</i>.—Yes, because your moderation and the +precepts of that philosophy in which your youth had been tutored inclined +you to make the laws the rules of your government and the bounds of +your power. But if you had desired to govern otherwise, had they +power to restrain you?</p> +<p><i>Marcus Aurelius</i>.—They had not. The imperial authority +in my time had no limitations.</p> +<p><i>Servius Tullius</i>.—Rome therefore was in reality as much +enslaved under you as under your son; and you left him the power of +tyrannising over it by hereditary right?</p> +<p><i>Marcus Aurelius</i>.—I did; and the conclusion of that tyranny +was his murder.</p> +<p><i>Servius Tullius</i>.—Unhappy father! unhappy king! what +a detestable thing is absolute monarchy when even the virtues of Marcus +Aurelius could not hinder it from being destructive to his family and +pernicious to his country any longer than the period of his own life. +But how happy is that kingdom in which a limited monarch presides over +a state so justly poised that it guards itself from such evils, and +has no need to take refuge in arbitrary power against the dangers of +anarchy, which is almost as bad a resource as it would be for a ship +to run itself on a rock in order to escape from the agitation of a tempest.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 17667-h.htm or 17667-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/7/6/6/17667 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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