Chapter III: Part 3

XII. This is viewing things according to what they are in their own nature. To estimate the felicity of any man, you should not consider the goods he possesses, but the enjoyment he receives from the possession of them. Although the rich man always sits down to a splendid banquet, a poor man regales himself better than him, if, as is most commonly the case, he knows better what he eats. No man will say, that the existence of riches without their use is of any value. It is necessary, in order to relish their sweets, that you should expend them. They are a good of such a nature, that they can only be enjoyed when you part with them. He who keeps his gold in a chest may receive some satisfaction in contemplating, that he has it at his command, but that is much inferior to the inevitable chagrin, which attends his continual care and anxiety. Horace sung wisely, who held, that convenience consisted more in the want, than in the possession of such goods, as their concern for the preservation of kept people in constant alarms and terrors night and day, for fear a thief should break in and steal them, an unfaithful servant purloin them, or a fire consume them.

_An vigilare metu exanimem, noctesque diesque_
_Formidare malos fures, incendia, servos_
_Ne te compilent fugientes, hoc juvat? Horum_
_Semper ego optarim pauperimus esse bonorum._

Lib. 1. Sat. 1.

XIII. Quicksilver occasions continual tremors to him who works it in the mines; gold and silver, to him who keeps and turns them over in a chest. There is no doubt, but the pleasure of finding himself rich is greatest in a covetous man, but his care and anxiety are excessive in proportion to it. Besides this, he is not so much gratified by the goods he enjoys, as he is made uneasy by the desire of possessing those he is not master of. There is always in his heart an immense vacuum, as obnoxious to his avarice, as a vacuum in all bodies is to nature, and his thirst is of the dropsical kind, so that the more he drinks, the more he craves.

XIV. Upon a supposition then, that instead of convenience, there is evil and vexation in the mere possession of riches, let us proceed to take a view of the benefits that may result from their use. And first, riches to a very large amount, are exceedingly superfluous for furnishing the accommodations of life. If a man, possessed of a few thousands of crowns, can find sufficient to purchase all that can be reasonably desired, of what use are millions? To what purpose should he who finds water sufficient for all his occasions in a little fountain, bring a river into his house? He would acquire nothing by such an act, but the hatred and indignation of those, who see, that without utility to himself, a man monopolizes a stock of water, sufficient to accommodate a whole town; by doing which, he exposes himself to the malicious designs that a wicked and perverse person may form to take away his life, in hopes that by perpetrating the fatal deed, he might become master of his property; and it is certain, that many persons from such a motive only, have fallen victims to the knife or to poison; so that an excess of doubloons to the owner, are rather things of weight, than things of worth. I mean, that instead of a convenience, they are dangerous, and an evil of life.

XV. But though they are not necessary to furnish the reasonable accommodations of life, they may be serviceable to purchase the pleasures of it. Upon this head much may be said. The natural desires of the greatest part of mankind, are fixed upon such objects, that with a moderate income, they are able to satisfy all their real wants. Meat and drink that might be stiled regaling, the diversion of hunting, and frequent amusement at play, may be all attained with a moderate portion of thousands. Of what advantage are immense riches to him, whose whole delight is centered in the cup and the dish, if he cannot eat or drink more than the proportion of a single man; and if, urged by his gluttony, he strives to cram down as much as would serve two, he would soon destroy his health, and not be able to eat a sufficient quantity to satisfy half a man. A person spending his substance, in diversions that are not suited to his genius or inclination, is throwing it away intirely. The sweetness or soothing of music, is allowed to be the greatest enchantment existing in the world, but what charms has it to him who wants an ear, or cannot relish it? The vassals of Antæus, an ancient King of Scythia, having taken Ysmenias, the famous Theban musician, a prisoner in war, presented him to their master as a prize of great value. Anteus after hearing him awhile, declared, that the neighing of his horse sounded better to him than all the fine tones of Ysmenias. Nor should we understand, that the want of musical feeling is confined to one single barbarous genius, for not only the tigers fly from the lyre, but many cultivated spirits are deaf as adders to the charms of music. It is told of Justus Lipsius, that he abhorred music, and that his whole delight was in flowers and dogs. Many men are insensible of the recreation afforded by harmony; and those who are not, for the most part content themselves with a coarse sort of music, which may be had at a cheap rate, and often for nothing. The remarks we have made on music, may be applied generally to all other kinds of amusement. How many are there, who cannot endure so much as to be in company with, or to converse with women! Flowers, which are the most beautiful production of nature, and with which the fields are cloathed with more splendor and gaiety than Solomon in all his glory, to some people are not only ungrateful, but noxious also. There have been those, who the fragrancy of a rose has caused to fall into a fainting fit. Cardinal Esfrondati, in his Curso Philosophica, relates of another Cardinal, that during the whole time of the spring, he kept a watch at the door, to prevent a rose being brought into his house. Spacious gardens afford but a slender delight to abundance of men, and to many, not even that slender one; besides this, in time, it becomes a sickening amusement, which with regard to the gardens of others may be removed, but not with regard to a man’s own; for that being always in his view, he comes at last to loath the sight of it.

SECT. V.

XVI. Thus with respect to many individuals, all that is attracting is comprehended in objects of little value. It is true however, that if you could collect all these into one heap, they would amount to something considerable. But to what end should people endeavour this? I am sure I don’t know, nor many times they themselves neither. What passed between Pyrrhus, King of Albania, and his wise friend and counsellor Cineus, is pleasant, and applicable to this matter. Cineus said to that prince in a conversation between them, the subject of which was Pyrrhus’s intended invasion of the Romans; “Truly, Sir, the undertaking is difficult, for we shall have to do with a martial, and a powerful people; but supposing the success of our arms to be so great, as that we should subdue the Romans, what fruit shall we reap by the conquest?” “Are you at a loss to find out that, answered Pyrrhus? Shall not we make ourselves masters of all Italy?” And what shall we do afterwards, replied Cineus? Pyrrhus answered, “We will conquer Sicily, which is in the neighbourhood, and may be easily subdued.” “That will be a great thing, said Cineus; but when that’s done, shall we put an end to the war?” Pyrrhus, who had not yet penetrated the drift of Cineus in asking all these questions, answered, “By no means; after conquering Sicily, we will proceed to Africa, and possess ourselves of Carthage, and the adjacent kingdoms.” “You are clear, said Cineus, that the Gods will indulge you with all this good fortune; but when this is done, what are we to employ ourselves about next?” “We will return, said Pyrrhus; to our own country, cloathed with immense power, and we will conquer all the Empire of Greece.” “Having conquered Greece, replied Cineus, what are we to do then?” “When this is compleated, answered Pyrrhus, we will pass the remainder of our lives in soft and sublime indolence, without thinking of any thing but banquets, and festive society.” Here Cineus, who had without the King’s being aware of him, entangled him in the net, said laughingly; “But pray Sir, what should hinder us from beginning to enjoy all this happiness at this instant of time? Is not the kingdom you are possessed of sufficient to furnish you banquets, and every other kind of regale? To what end then, should you conquer provinces and cross seas, wasting your health, and exposing your life to the rage of waves, and fury of battles?”

XVII. This reasoning, which is taken almost literally from Plutarch, is well adapted, not only to that ambitious Prince, but may be also properly applied to an infinite number of other men; who accumulate riches upon riches, at the expence of dangers and fatigues, and who, without knowing what they are in pursuit of, run a vicious and an erroneous course, in search of the very thing they possess. The pride of Philip King of Macedon, was mortified with great address by Archidamus the IIId, King of Sparta, whom Philip had overcome in a battle; and the day after wrote Archidamus a letter, full of arrogance and insult; to which Archidamus answered, That if he would place himself in the sun, he would find that his shadow was not a jot bigger after, than it was the day before the battle. Thus it is, that fortune aggrandizes, but adds nothing to the stature.

SECT. VI.

XVIII. Those, who are under the dominion of ambition and avarice, invert the order and nature of things; placing the end in the means of attaining it. They desire more, only to hoard more, and to have more power, merely for the sake of domineering more. But how does it fare with such people? why that they are always unhappy; because the hunger and thirst of their desires is never appeased, but either remains constantly in the same state, or else proceeds to acquire fresh augmentations. The weight of honour and riches has the same effect on the human heart, which weights have upon a clock; the greater they are, they cause the machine to be more violently agitated, and to move with greater impetuosity. The passions go on to display a succession of cavities, as the first openings are continued to be filled up. At first, the thirst can be satisfied with a fountain; after having grown into a dropsy, it requires a river to satisfy it, and after having swallowed the river, it craves the ocean: _Ecce absorbebit fluvium, & non mirabitur._ Alexander in his first schemes of ambition, had nothing further in view, than the destruction of Thebes, and the conquest of Thrace and Illyricum; having compleated this, he took it into his head to subdue the Asiatic Empire, and when he was in quiet possession of that, upon hearing a philosopher say, there were more worlds, he wept with grief, because that being the case, his ambition could not be satiated with the conquest of one only; which caused Juvenal to sing as follows:

_Unus Pellæo juveni non sufficit orbis._

XIX. Those who endeavour to acquire riches to make use of them, and to employ them in pleasures, seem to have the advantage with respect to temporal convenience. For who can dispute the happiness of him, who being master of great riches, makes them the tributaries of his appetites? so the world judges, and the world deceives itself. The most able man that the world ever produced, and the best qualified to give an opinion in this matter from his own experience, was Solomon, as there was not upon earth, a man who was richer, or even so rich, as him, nor did any man expend his riches with more prodigality to procure enjoyments; in the doing of which, he had this advantageous circumstance in his favour, to wit, his great wisdom and knowledge of nature; which taught him the means that were the best adapted, and the most likely to furnish delight, and which was the best method, of applying objects to enchant the senses: I say, hear this man’s sentiments on the subject, who himself confesses, that he had given a loose to his pleasures, and gratified them with every thing their voracity craved: _Omnia, quæ desideraverunt oculi mei, non negavi eis: nec prohibui cor meum, quin omni voluptate frueretur._ And what did he meet with in this sea of delights? nothing but bitter waters: he found that all was vanity and vexation of spirit: _Vidi in omnibus vanitatem, & afflictionem animi_; and he found it so to such an extreme degree, as to make his life a burthen to him: _Idcirco tæduit me vitæ meæ._

XX. This is exalted and brilliant fortune; and so exalted, that the fortune of no man ever rose to a more sublime degree of altitude. I ask now, if the most miserable man in the world can find his heart placed in a state of greater anguish, than when he endures the irksome sensation, of loathing, or being tired of his existence? We know that Job used no other phrase, to express the profound agony which his singular calamity had brought upon him: _Tædet animam meam vitæ meæ._

XXI. What Solomon says is infallible, because the church has received that book as canonical. But though it should be confessed, that the truth of this matter is an article of faith, it also appears mysterious: for how could so much bitterness, be contained in the greatest delights? Solomon did not chuse to decipher this enigma, although his abilities would have permitted him to do it with the greatest ease. Let us see if I can hit upon its explanation, and I think I shall.

SECT. VII.

XXII. My first position is, that he who enjoys the most delights, is the man who enjoys the fewest; and I might even say, he enjoys none at all; but although this is another enigma more puzzling than the first, I shall easily extricate myself from the difficulty of solving both the one and the other. I ask in the first place, can meat or drink afford pleasure or gratification to a man, who eats without being hungry, and drinks without being thirsty? every one will readily acknowledge, little or none; but in this manner, do such opulent men as hold a loose rein on their appetites, enjoy delectable objects. The objects anticipate the desires. Hunger does not await the food, thirst the drink, nor lust the concupiscence. How then? do they make use of that for which they have no inclination? in the beginning, no; in the progress and the end, yes. The opulent man, who gives himself up to pleasure, begins very early in his course, to acquire a habit of gluttony in all his passions; by which means, in a very short time, the least glimpse of desire attracts him to the object. Even though his passion has been quite stifled by the antecedent enjoyment, new craving scarce begins to revive in embryo, when he gives himself up to fresh satiety; and as at such a crisis, concupiscence must be very languid, the enjoyment of course can be but insipid. This habit, by the immense repetition of acts, goes on every day, acquiring more and more force, till it excites men at last to drink of the forbidden liquor, when they are not the least stimulated by thirst. Here you see a man arrived at a state, in which, without tasting pleasure, or being able to experience gratification, he continues to destroy his health, and shorten his life.

XXIII. But I have not yet explained all the evil. The worst is, that hunger and satiety come to be joined together. If I say that the rich man who is filled, is as sensible of hunger as the poor man who is really hungry; it will be thought that I am propounding a new paradox, or at least a new riddle. But this shall not deter me from speaking the truth. The hungry poor man hungers after food, the hungry rich one hungers after hunger itself. He who is distressed, and in want of what is precisely necessary, craves for aliment. The glutton, who after having filled his belly, sees his table covered with dainties, craves for an appetite. The first is unhappy, because he wants what is needful for him, the other, because he can’t enjoy what he has. There is little difference in point of pain or uneasiness, between him who is really in want of water, and him who is oppressed with a dropsical thirst.

XXIV. This depraved craving, this flame, which raises itself upon the ashes of another fire, worst or last disease of concupiscence, or of the concupiscence of the superior part of the soul, oppresses those much, who, when they attain the pinnacle of power, arrive at the summit of perverseness; whose whole pursuit, has been seeking provocations for the appetite, dainties to feed their sensuality, and extravagant incentives to inflame desire. In looking for the exquisite, they found the monstrous. Heliogabalus went so far, as to make a banquet, all composed of the combs of cocks. Nero exercised his lust, cloathed in the skins of wild beasts, which was a habit, well suited to the character of that brute. So extravagant were the abominations of other Emperors, that neither the course of so many ages, nor the fragrance of such number of saints as have lived since, have dissipated at Rome, the stink of the Princes of those times. But with all their solicitude, what did they obtain? Nothing; they only augmented the violence of a bad habit, and caused it to exert itself in loathing. Pleasure in the mean while fled away, like the water of Tantalus, which, notwithstanding he seemed to have it always within his reach, his excessive anticipation of laying hold of it, was the occasion of his not being able to obtain it. These people, with all their toil, only acquired anxieties of mind, sickness, and bodily pain. And it is worthy of remarking, that those who gave themselves up to gluttony and lust, became melancholy, peevish, and disagreeable; and it may be from this cause, that we have rarely heard of a Prince, who was lascivious and a glutton, in whom cruelty was not joined to those vices. Some of them came to be tired of themselves, for instance, the second Apicius, who, after gorging two millions and a half, deprived himself of life with a halter. What was this, but finding vanity and vexation of spirit, among the greatest: endowments of fortune? Do even the miserably poor, think you, lead so unsavoury and tiresome lives?

SECT. VIII.

XXV. Truly, I have now pursued the comparison of the one and the other fortune, through the most difficult part, having drawn into the parallel, the most elevated, and the most abased, the sovereign state, and that of beggary. I did not intend so much when I began to write this chapter, but the pen took a flight without my being aware of it, towards the extreme of both the extremities. So much was not necessary, but as it is done, let us suppose that we have conquered all the difficulty at the first onset; because, if he who is under the feet of fortune, is equal to him who treads the summit of her wheel; the reason is stronger, for supposing him who has no more than what is required to provide things that are precisely necessary, equal to the man, who is possessed of a princely fortune.

XXVI. The truth is, if we are to speak out, that he is not only equal, but superior. Upon a superficial view, the rich man appears to be better accommodated, and exposed to fewer inconveniencies than the poor one, but if you search to the bottom, you will find the reverse. The rich man has great abundance, and variety of delicious eatables; but do they taste more savoury to him, than his common coarse food to the poor one? no, nor so savoury, for the appetite with which the poor man sits down to table, more than compensates, for the advantage derived to the rich one by his excess. Of what consequence is it to the bees of Lithuania, a rude and unpleasant country, that they have not such beautiful and odoriferous flowers to gather from, as the bees of other countries; if from their own trifling and unpleasing ones, they extract the sweetest and best-flavoured honey that is to be found in all Europe? The rich man lays himself down on a feather-bed, but does he sleep more, or better than a poor one on a truss of straw? You see that the poor man, always rises chearful and pleasant, and that the other, often complains of having passed an uneasy night. How many people slept sweetly on the hard ground, the same night, that king Ahasuerus not being able to take rest, was constrained to amuse himself with reading the annals of his Kingdom! The rich defend themselves from the rigours of cold, with thick walls, tapestry hangings, and furred garments; but observe, and you will find, that they complain more of the intemperance of the season, shut up within the walls of their palaces, than the shepherd covered with skins, on the heights of the mountain. David, when he was grown old, found it difficult to defend himself from the cold, with all the covering he could put on, when at the same time, many antient labourers, with half the cloathing, made light of the frosts. You will see at every turn, an opulent man trembling, and expressing his extreme sensations of cold, whenever he is obliged to leave the fire-side, while at the same time, the common people are passing chearfully along the street. The same difference is observeable in summer. The rich man is low spirited and oppressed with lassitude, and scarce ventures to go up stairs or down; while the common people, with alacrity and chearfulness, apply themselves to whatever falls in their way. So that what Dionysius of Sicily, said of the golden cloak, which covered the statue of Jupiter, by way of furnishing a pretence to plunder it, may be applied to the riches of opulent people; which was, that a cloth cloak was better, because the golden one in winter, did not defend him from the cold, and in summer, it fatigued him with its weight. The opulent man, inhabits a capacious and commodious palace, and never contented, he is always thinking of enlarging or improving it, but the thought of his habitation being too confined, scarce ever occurs to a poor man in the whole course of a year.

XXVII. The rich man wears fine holland, the poor one coarse dowlas; but tell me, if you ever heard a poor man complain, that the roughness of the dowlas was unpleasant to, or gave him bodily uneasiness. The rich man is idle, and the poor one at work all the day; but you will not observe, that the poor man is more sad at his work, than the rich one in his state of indolence; on the contrary, and especially if he works in company, his time passes merrily, and he goes on singing and chanting through the whole course of his labour. When that is over, his relaxation is not like that of the rich, an insipid indolence, but sweet repose, and in the conclusion, soft and uninterrupted sleep recompences the labour of the day. The rich, on the contrary, (as sleep does not sit easy on members which have not been exercised,) restless and impatient, turns a thousand times in his bed; so that the poor man may be said to work by day, and the rich one by night. In case of going a journey, it is true, the rich man travels either on horseback or in a coach, and the poor one on foot. Notwithstanding which, the rich man is more sensible of the inclemency of the weather, and is much more affected by an incommodious lodging-room, a hard bed, and the want of refreshment than the poor one; to whom, by his being accustomed to them, such things are familiar, and consequently they do not make him uneasy. I, in my journies, have remarked, that the lad who attended me on foot, seemed much less sensible of the difficulties and inconveniencies of the road, than myself. You may add to this, the dread of thieves, from whom the poor have nothing to fear, when the rich, behind the trunk of every tree they come near, fancy they see a robber.

XXVIII. If we would weigh the pleasures of one and the other state, we should attend to the remark of Seneca before cited: _Inspice pauperum, & divitum vultus._ You will observe the poor, chearful in their conversation, laughing from their hearts at their rustic balls, and in all appearance truly happy: _Sæpius pauper, & fidelius ridet._ On the contrary, you will see the rich, even at their festive meetings, seem tired and surfeited. At least, happiness does not shine so brilliant in their countenances, as in those of the poor.

XXIX. All these disproportions, spring from, or grow out of one general principle, which is this; nature left to herself, is contented with a little, but by attempting to polish her, you fashion her into a fantastical lady, who craves every thing, and despises every thing. A human heart with three ventricles, in the year 1699, was presented to the Royal Academy of Sciences at Paris, as the most monstrous production that had ever been seen; but morally and politically speaking, it is a monster we see every day. The human heart, naturally contains but two large cavities; but if you fill these with worldly goods, a succession of others will begin to open, and others still without end. Pleasure and delight, are nothing to a man who does not consider and feel them as such, and no man considers that as a regale, which he is used and accustomed to; or which is adapted and familiar to his own sphere of life. Therefore delicate food, is delicate to him only, who has been used to eat plain victuals; but dainties, are familiar and common things to the man who has been accustomed to feed on them, and therefore, he craves something more exquisite. Even variety itself, to him who is used to vary his objects every day, that they may tally with his inclinations, loses all the enchantment which it originally contained. A poor man tastes more pleasure in feeding on a common fish at his own homely board, than Caius Hirtius, in eating with great pomp, his most regaling Murenas; and he is more happy, when he adds to his inheritance a foot of land, than Alexander was, when he added to his conquests the City of Tyre.

SECT. IX.

XXX. If we were to compare the anxieties incident to the one and the other state, as we have done the pleasures, we should find, that by much the greatest load of the first, would rest on the shoulders of the rich; either from the greater sensibility of the subjects, or from the greater magnitude, or multitude of their cares. The rich are of a delicate texture, liable to be moved and disturbed with every blast, or made of sonorous metal, which complains loudly at the gentlest touch. They may be compared to a well at Chiapa, a Province in New Spain, from which, by throwing in a small stone, you raise a horrible tempest. Hence the furious perturbations which in the opulent, are produced by slight causes. The Sultan Mahomed the Second, was seized with such a barbarous rage upon missing a melon out of his garden, that he ordered the stomachs of fourteen pages to be opened, to discover who had eaten it. And Otho Antonio, Duke of Urbino, ordered one of his servants to be burnt alive, for having neglected to wake him at the time he had appointed.

XXXI. The toils of the great are also more in number, than those of the poor. The larger the bulk of a man, the fairer mark he is for his enemy to hit; and the greater the amplitude of his fortune, the larger the space is exposed to the wounds of adversity. The rich are high towers, the poor humble cottages, and the ray of lightning, oftner discharges its fury on the tower, than on the cottage. One of the greatest temporal evils that can befal a man, is a broken constitution, as the greatest temporal blessing, is a robust state of health. And there is no doubt, but that with equal stamina, a poor man is more healthy than a rich one, because the last injures his health by his excesses, and the other, preserves his by his sobriety. Of what avail are all a great man’s riches to him, when he is oppressed by a fit of the gout? (and the gout, by the way, is a distemper which seldom attacks the poor.) I say what is he the better for them, if they cannot procure him a remedy for the evil, nor even obtain him the least ease or relief? While the fit lasts, he suffers pain; and when it is over, he endures the terrors and apprehensions of fresh attacks. Solomon pronounced the following sentence, which is applicable to all the rich: _Quid prodest possessori, nisi quod cernat divitias oculis suis?_ Of what other use are riches to a man who possesses vast treasures, than to feast his eyes with the sight of them. But the sentence is more strongly applicable, to an opulent man of a bad constitution, who is constantly ailing.

XXXII. A great man has more cares, and consequently more to vex him, than an humble one. More people are envious of him, and consequently he has more enemies. He is desirous of aggrandizing his fortune still more, and grieves at every little obstacle he meets with; which he considers as a steep rock in the way of his pursuits. From those below him, he expects more homage; and one only, as in the case of Mordecai and Haman, refusing to bend the knee to him, is sufficient to make him unhappy. He is anxious to be upon an equality with his superiors, and when he sees any one, whom he looks upon as his equal, or his inferior, step before him, he can hardly contain himself. There was a famous painter, named Francis of France, rich, both in possessions and fame. When this man was at Bolognia, he saw a figure of Saint Cecilia, which had been painted by Raphael of Urbino, for a church in that city; and seeing, and being sensible, how much he was outdone in the use of the pencil, by that incomparable artist, it so affected him, that he fell sick and died in a few days. It cannot be said with truth, that ever a poor man died from such a cause, or of such an affection.

XXXIII. Fears and apprehensions, in which are contained the most severe martyrdom of life; because by means of them, people endure all future, and all possible evils, have their very nests in the hearts of the great. He who is oppressed with evils, is always grieving; he who is possessed of goods, is always fearing: and what is more afflicting than perpetual terror? The dangers which threaten a great man, are in proportion to the possible cases, of others enriching themselves by despoiling, or murdering him; and though these are many, in his imagination they are still more; so that riches are acquired by toil, and preserved by anxiety. The inhabitants of Macasar, an Island in the Indian Sea, have a custom of drawing some of their teeth, and putting gold or silver ones in the place of them, which practice, cannot fail to be troublesome and hurtful to them. Can any thing favour stronger of barbarism, than the suffering a voluntary pain, only to gain an inconvenience? Those fall into the same mistake, who pant for, and are anxious in their pursuit after riches. They draw their teeth, that is, they undergo great suffering in order to acquire more wealth; and in the room of those they have parted with, they get teeth of gold and silver, yes, but these are teeth, which in the end, will feed on, and gnaw their own hearts. It is very remarkable, that in the age of gold and silver, (according to the description given, and the division made of the four ages by the poets,) there was no gold or silver to be met with, but these metals made their appearance in the age of iron. Thus Ovid, speaking of this age:

-------- _Itum est in viscera terræ_
_Quasque recondiderat, Stygiisque admoverat umbris_
_Effodiuntur opes irritamenta malorum._
_Famque nocens ferrum, ferroque nocentius aurum_
_Prodierat, prodit bellum quod pugnat utroque._

XXXIV. The age of gold passed without gold, and was therefore the Golden Age, that is fortunate and happy. In the age of iron, there was gold, and on that account, it was called the Iron Age, that is, it was harsh and toilsome.

XXXV. Lucan, in his fifth Book of the Civil War, makes a fine digression upon the happiness of the poor boatman, Amiclas, when he paints Cæsar, in the silence of the night, tapping at the door of his cabbin to awake him, and make him rise, and carry him with all possible haste to Calabria. All the world was agitated, and trembling with the movements of the civil war; and within Greece itself, which is the theatre of the war, in the very neighbourhood of the armies, a poor boatman on dried sheep skins, sleeps without fear. The strokes of the generous leader at his door awake him, without producing the least surprize in his breast; for although he was not ignorant, that the whole face of the country was covered with troops, he knew very well, there was nothing in his cabbin to invite military insults. O life of the poor, exclaims the poet, in which is contained the felicity of being exempt from outrages. O poverty! thou greatest blessing of heaven, although not recognized or justly valued by men. What palaces or what temples were there, which enjoyed the privilege of Amiclas and his cabbin, neither of which, could be made to tremble at the strokes of the robust hand of Cæsar!

-------- _O vita tuta facultas_
_Pauperis, angustique lares! O munera nondum_
_Intellecta divûm. Quibus hoc contingere templis;_
_Aut potuit muris, nullo trepidare tumultu_
_Cæsarea pulsante manu!_

XXXVI. It is not to be wondered at, that temples and palaces should be shaken, when cottages remain secure; because in temples and palaces, riches are kept, therefore in them, there is no being free from alarms. If we compare the fortune of Amiclas, with the lives of Cæsar and Pompey, who were all contemporaries; how brilliant were theirs, how obscure was his; but if you consider them prudently, how much preferable was that of Amiclas. Those ambitious heroes, whose elevated splendor, made the world regard them as two suns, were in reality no more than parahelions, or suns in appearance only, false reflections, stamped in the inconstancy of flying clouds. How far were they from happy, each being constantly tormented with the jealousy of the other’s power.

_Et jam nemo ferre potest, Cæsar ve priorem_
_Pompeiusve parem._

XXXVII. They contend for the Empire, hazarding in the competition, life and liberty. How each is possessed, with the fear of his rival becoming victorious; what miserable forsaken man, did fortune ever place in such a strait, that in order to better his condition, he should be obliged like Cæsar, in the dead of the night, to commit himself to the rage of a tempestuous sea? Amiclas, at the same time, knows no other cares, than those of exploring the sea, and spreading his nets to dry in the sun. Others are agitated and tossed about on the plains, and in the fields, while he is secure amidst the waves. He catches fish in the sea, while others on land fish for tempests. At the expence of a little labour, the water affords him as much as is necessary to support life; when the great fatigues of Cæsar and Pompey, serve only to precipitate on them a violent death. The din of so much martial noise, disturbs not his rest; while each of the two chiefs, finds in his own heart, a continual alarm to awaken him. He fears nobody, because no one covets his fortune; but if any body should be so prudent as to covet it, he may enjoy the same thing, without despoiling Amiclas. Cæsar and Pompey for the present, mutually fear each other. The vanquished person in future, fears all the world, and the conqueror has to fear all those who envy him.

XXXVIII. The heathen poets, feigned poverty to be a divinity, on account of the mischiefs it preserved people from, and the goods it produced; but Lucan, calls it the mother of great men; and Horace says, that to this deity, the Romans owed the virtues of a Curius, and a Camillus. Aristophanes the Greek, erred much in his description, when he represented her as a savage fury, always ready to commit acts of desperation. These extraordinary furies, are much more common among the rich, than the poor, although it is true, that they rage with the greatest violence, in such poor people as have been formerly rich; at least, during the time they are in the noviciate state of their misfortunes.

SECT. X.

XXXIX. I would not have it be understood, that by the eulogium I have just ended on poverty, I mean to speak of absolute poverty, but of the relative; not of the state of beggary, where people are in want of what is precisely needful; but of that limited moderation, which administers to nature, no more than what is absolutely necessary, and what her wants demand; and that, at the expence of bodily labour. In truth, when I speak of beggars, I am at a loss what to say, or what decision to make concerning them. On the one hand, I see them suffer great inconveniences, and on the other, I see many people betake themselves to that way of life, who could earn their living by their labour, and who prefer going from door to door, to working in the field, or even to leading an idle life in an alms-house. Henricus Cornelius Agrippa, in his Book on the Vanity of the Sciences, says of those who go about pretending to occult science, that they would not change their condition, for that of nobility; and I believe he says right.

XL. All those voluntary poor, who are not so in the gospel sense, and for that reason, not comprehended in the benediction of Christ, are the pests of the states they inhabit, or where they strole about. They live well, not only without being of the least advantage, but are even an injury to the community. Like the ants, they are serviceable to themselves only, and a nuisance in the place where they make their nests, and where they run about. For which reason, they are not tolerated in any republic, that is governed by the maxims of good policy.

XLI. Disabled or impotent beggars, are legitimate creditors of our compassion. There is notwithstanding, great difference among those of this class. Those who are afflicted with habitual disorders, it cannot be denied, are very miserable, and especially if they do not sweeten their toil, with a due resignation to the divine will; but if they do, they will become the most happy, or those, who fall within our Saviour’s description of the most fortunate. The disabled by the loss of a limb, or by a defect in the organization of parts of their bodies, if they have a tolerable share of ingenuity, and have the art of begging with address, fare admirably; and not a few of them, have left behind at their deaths decent sums of money. Those who are ill-favoured, and ugly, find it difficult to subsist, especially, if nastiness in their persons, is joined to the deformity of their bodies. The error into which people fall, in the ordinary distribution of charity in this particular, is great, they being apt to deal out their bounty with an unequal hand. The beggar, who has a pleasing and moving way of painting his distress, is relieved by almost every one, and more especially if he has a good countenance, and looks clean in his shabby dress. There is scarce any body who does not shun and loath the ill-favoured and driveling poor: but we ought to remember, that Christ our Lord, is as much the representative of the one, as of the other; and as a Redeemer, is rather inclined to favour those of the most displeasing and despicable aspect: thus Isaias describes him in his most sacred passion, _Non est species ei, neque decor_: and a little lower, _Quasi absconditus vultus ejus, & despectus_. And that christian piety should not despise, or avoid those who are afflicted with loathsome diseases, the same Prophet compares our Saviour to the lepers, _Nos putavimus eum quasi leprosum_.

XLII. But without having recourse to so high a motive, natural reason will instruct us sufficiently, that we should not only distribute equally, but exceed in our donations, to those who are deformed and of an unhappy aspect, because these last experience the most sufferings, and are in the greatest necessity. The others, as I observed before, will never want any body to assist them with more than they stand in need of. The first require pity to be exerted in their favour with all its force, although their ungrateful appearance should strike us with horror. And I protest for myself, the alms which the narrowness of my fortune will permit me to bestow, is distributed, much more in favour of those of a disgusting and a forbidding aspect, than in favour of those who have a persuasive manner, and a winning outward appearance.

XLIII. But it is proper that I should repeat, that I did not intend to take into the comparison I have been making, the sort of poor I have just described; but those only, who procure themselves food, raiment, and shelter, by the sweat of their brow, proportioned to the necessities of nature, without advancing to any kind of exceeding. This is what I call humble fortune, and that which I judge to be at least equal to the exalted and brilliant, enjoyed by the opulent and great; and it seems to me, that I have sufficiently proved it so. But I judge also, that the condition of those who are placed in a middle station of life, is preferable to either of them. I mean such as possess a moderate income, and can go through life, without experiencing the pinchings of the one state, or the troubles incident to the want of accommodations of the other.

SECT. XI.

XLIV. I have hitherto treated of the happiness of men, by making an estimate of it, according to their situations or conditions of life; abstracted from any particular accidents, that may intervene or occur to individuals of both sorts, both high and low; there being no doubt but humble fortune, is also exposed to terrible reverses and mortifying disgusts, although not so frequently as the exalted.

XLV. But if I am asked, whom I repute absolutely happy or unhappy among mortals? With respect to the happy, I answer with a sentence of the great Chancellor Bacon, in his book entitled _Interiora Rerum_: where he says, I judge those to be happy, whose mode of living is proportioned to their genius or inclination: _Felices dixerim, quorum indoles naturalis cum vitæ suæ genere congruit_: a decision, worthy of the superior talents of that incomparable Englishman. I think, notwithstanding, there should be some limitation added to the sentence, which is, that the genius or inclination should not be a vicious one, for in that case the person would be always unhappy. The ambitious man, for example, although he finds himself in the occupation of high posts, is ever restless and anxious to rise to others still higher. The covetous man, even when he is overloaded with riches, labours and toils to add fresh treasures to his heap. The opulent glutton fills himself with meat and drink, but he also fills himself with diseases, which afterwards, turn all he has eaten and drunk to bitterness.

XLVI. With the limitation I have mentioned, I esteem the sentence a very true one. Temporal conveniences are all relative, and there is as much variance in the genius of men with respect to the application of them, as there is in their inclinations with respect to the food they fancy. What one esteems good, another thinks bad. God only is good, and savory to all men. This man disdains the lot, which that adores; and one grasps the thing, which another despises. Cæsar, when he was going to Spain, in his passage over the Alps, came to a very poor little village, where one of his companions, in a conversation which turned on the misery of the inhabitants, asked another sneeringly, if he thought these Barbarians also, had their questions and disputes, about who should command and govern. To which Cæsar replied quickly, saying, “I assure you, I had much rather be the first man in this village, than the second at Rome.” The learned Fleming Nicholas Clenard, went over to Africa, with an intention of learning Arabic, and remained two years in the kingdom of Fez, from whence he wrote often to his friends; and in his letters assured them, that he never was in a place, the customs of which suited so well with his genius, for this reason only, because in that kingdom, they had not such a multitude of laws, nor were their litigations so prolix, as in Europe; all disputes being instantly determined by the magistrate in a summary way. This method suited well with the disposition of Clenard, who abhorred extremely, the endless windings and turnings of processes in our tribunals. George Paschio, relates of him in his Book, _de Novis Inventis_, though what he says is not true, that on this account only, he left his own country and went to live in Fez. To this it may be replied, that it appears from the testimony of many authors, his return to Spain was voluntary; from whence, after teaching languages some time in the University of Salamanca, he went to the Court of Lisbon, where he was engaged as a tutor to the Prince of Portugal, brother of King John the Third.

XLVII. This great variety in the genius and dispositions of men, and not the platonic love of their country, is the true cause why many find themselves satisfied in miserable and unpleasant regions, and refuse to leave them for others more happily situated. Ovid having observed, that some Scythians, who were brought to Rome, never missed an opportunity of flying back to their own steril bleak country, which was the place of their nativity, attributes their doing so to an occult affection for home, (that he himself, with all his explanatory powers, could not hit upon the explanation of,) which, like a sympathetic faculty, or magnetic virtue, attracts every man to his own country, and at last leaves it undefined, with a sort of declaration, that he does not know what it is:

_Nescio qua natale solum dulcedine cunctos_
_Tangit, & immemores non sinit esse sui._
_Quid melius Roma? Scythico quid frigore pejus?_
_Huc tamen ex illa barbarus urbe fugit._

XLVIII. It is owing to none of all this, nor was it the effect of a mysterious magic, which charms and enchants men to be fond of their own country, which induced the Scythians to leave the soft habitations of Rome, for the frozen regions of Scythia; for we every day see men, who to improve their fortunes leave their native homes, sometimes never to return again; but it does not follow from thence, that they cease to love their country. The place where I write this abounds in such examples. The true reason of this political phænomenon is, that the mode of the Scythians living in their own country, was proportioned and suited to their natural genius and disposition. The same thing happens with respect to the Laplanders, a Northern nation, situated between Norway, Sweden, and Russia, on the coasts of the Frozen Sea. These Barbarians live in a continual state of war, with an immense number of bears and wolves, and in a country full of lakes, and almost always covered with snow. Many of them at various times have been brought to Germany; but notwithstanding they were well accommodated, and had a good maintenance assigned them, there never was one, who, when an opportunity offered, did not fly back to his own country.

XLIX. True temporal felicity, consists, in attaining that state or mode of life, which the genius or inclination of a man prompts him to wish or desire. Conveniences with respect to the soul, may be compared to clothes with respect to the body, it not being possible to bring those, which in appearance are best made, to suit well with, or to fit every shape.

L. There are however some of such flexible tempers, that they can accommodate themselves to every kind of fortune, and be content to live within the limits of its extension; some dispositions of soft wax, who at will, can conform themselves in such a manner, that every thing sits easy on them. Nothing inquiets them, because the softness of their texture gives way to every impulse. They enlarge and contract themselves, in proportion to the limits of the walk which is allowed them. They rise without fatigue, and they descend without violence. In their own docility, they find the honey, which edulcorates every sort of acid. They are of so happy a temperament, that provided they don’t want what is absolutely necessary, they are contented in every station. The wheel of their mind is concentrical with the wheel of their fortune, and let this last turn as it will, they with great facility turn themselves to correspond with it. They bear their fortune within themselves, let them move whichever way they will. It cannot be denied, that there are but few people of this sweet disposition; but it should be also confessed, that such are the truly happy, and that only the saints themselves can be more so, because they are either without the circle of the wheel, or placed in the center of it, so that its turnings can neither raise them to pride, nor precipitate them to contempt.

SECT. XII.

LI. We have said which are the absolutely happy: but who are the absolutely unhappy? Those, whose destiny have drawn them into a train of life, which is contrary to their genius or disposition. The violence done their inclination is constant, and therefore, their disgust is constant also. That which would be sweet to others, is bitter to them. Fortune could certainly, without adding fresh goods, make people more happy; it might be done at no more cost, than permitting them to change stations and employments, as from envying each other, when they have nothing to be envious of, springs the mischief. The bird from his cage, sees with envy, the stone mount and fly with freedom through the air, but the ascent is a greater violence to the stone, than the confinement to the bird. The poor man looks with envy on him he sees idolized on a throne. The Prince burns with impatience, because he cannot taste the liberty enjoyed by the poor person.