my tongue without forcing my will, yet am I bound to keep my word. For my part, when my tongue has sometimes inconsiderately said something that I did not think, I have made a conscience of disowning it: otherwise, by degrees, we shall abolish all the right another derives from our promises and oaths. "Quasi vero forti viro vis possit adhiberi." And 'tis only lawful, upon the account of private interest, to excuse breach of promise, when we have promised something that is unlawful and wicked in itself; for the right of virtue ought to take place of the right of any obligation of ours. 3 I have formerly 2 placed Epaminondas in the first rank of excellent men, and do not repent it. How high did he stretch the consideration of his own particular duty? he who never killed a man whom he had overcome; who, for the inestimable benefit of restoring the liberty of his country, made conscience of killing a tyrant or his accomplices, without due form of justice: and who concluded him to be a wicked man, how good a citizen soever otherwise, who amongst his enemies in battle spared not his friend and his guest. This was a soul of a rich composition: he married goodness and humanity, nay, even the tenderest and most delicate in the whole school of philosophy, to the roughest and most violent human actions. Was it nature or art that had intenerated that great courage of his, so full, so obstinate against pain and death and poverty, to such an extreme degree of sweetness and compassion? Dreadful in arms and blood, he overran and subdued a nation invincible by all others but by him alone; and yet, in the heat of an encounter, could turn aside from his friend and guest." 4 1 "As though a man of true courage could be compelled."-Cicero, De Offic., iii. 30. Book ii. c. 36. Plutarch, on the Demon of Socrates, c. 4 and 24. 2 Certainly he was fit to command in war, who could so rein. himself with the curb of good nature, in the height and heat of his fury, a fury inflamed and foaming with blood and slaughter. 'Tis a miracle to be able to mix any image of justice with such violent actions: and it was only possible for such a steadfastness of mind as that of Epaminondas, therein to mix sweetness, and the facility of the gentlest manners and purest innocence. And whereas one1 told the Mamertines, that statutes were of no resistance against armed men; and another told the tribune of the people, that the time of justice and of war were distinct things; and a third said, that the noise of arms deafened the voice of laws, this man in all such rattle was not deaf to that of civility and pure courtesy. Had he not borrowed from his enemies the custom of sacrificing to the Muses when he went to war, that they might, by their sweetness and gaiety, soften his martial and rigorous fury? Let us not fear, by the example of so great a master, to believe that there is something unlawful, even against an enemy: and that the common concern ought not to require all things of all men, against private interest: "Manente memoria, etiam in dissidio publicorum foederum, privati juris: 5 "Et nulla potentia vires Præstandi, ne quid peccet amicus, habet;"6 and that all things are not lawful to an honest man, for the service of his prince, the laws, or the general quarrel: "Non enim patria præstat omnibus officiis . . . et ipsi conducit 1 Plutarch, Life of Pompey, c. 3. Idem, Life of Marius, c. 10. 2 Idem, Life of Cæsar, c. II. 4 The Lacedæmonians. 5" The memory of private right still remains amid public dissensions."Livy, xxv. 18. 6 "No power on earth can sanction treachery against a friend."—Ovid, De Pont, i. 7, 37. for pios habere cives in parentes." 'Tis an instruction proper the time wherein we live: we need not harden our courage with these arms of steel; 'tis enough that our shoulders are inured to them: 'tis enough to dip our pens in ink, without dipping them in blood. If it be grandeur of courage, and the effect of a rare and singular virtue, to contemn friendship, private obligations, a man's word and relationship, for the common good and obedience to the magistrate, 'tis certainly sufficient to excuse us, that 'tis a grandeur that could have no place in the grandeur of Epaminondas' courage. I abominate those mad exhortations of this other discomposed soul,2 "Dum tela micant, non vos pietatis imago Ulla, nec adversa conspecti front e parentes Commoveant; vultus gladio turbate verendos." "3 Let us deprive wicked, bloody, and treacherous natures of such a pretence of reason: let us set aside this guilty and extravagant justice, and stick to more human imitations. How great things can time and example do! In an encounter of the civil war against Cinna, one of Pompey's soldiers having unawares killed his brother, who was of the contrary party, he immediately for shame and sorrow killed himself: and some years after, in another civil war of the same people, a soldier demanded a reward of his officer for having killed his brother." A man but ill proves the honour and beauty of an action 1 "The duty to one's country does not supersede all other duties,—the country itself requires that its citizens should act piously towards their parents." -Cicero, De Offic., iii. 23, who, however, puts the matter interrogatively. * Julius Cæsar. 3 "When swords are drawn, let no idea of love, nor the face even of a father presented to you, move you: mutilate with your sword those venerable features."-Lucan., viii. 320. Tacitus, Hist., iii. 51. 5 Idem, ibid. by its utility and very erroneously concludes that every one is obliged to it, and that it becomes every one to do it, if it be of utility: "Omnia non pariter rerum sunt omnibus apta." 1 Let us take that which is most necessary and profitable for human society; it will be marriage; and yet the council of the saints find the contrary much better, excluding from it the most venerable vocation of man: as we design those horses for stallions, of which we have the least esteem. CHAPTER II. OF REPENTANCE. OTHERS form man; I only report him: and represent a particular one, ill fashioned enough, and whom, if I had to model him anew, I should certainly make something else than what he is: but that's past recalling. Now, though the features of my picture alter and change, 'tis not, however, unlike the world eternally turns round; all things therein are incessantly moving, the earth, the rocks of Caucasus, and the Pyramids of Egypt, both by the public motion and their own. Even constancy itself is no other but a slower and more languishing motion. I cannot fix my object; 'tis always tottering and reeling by a natural giddiness: I take it as it is at the instant I consider it; I do not paint its being, I paint its passage; not a passing from one age to another, or, as the people say, from seven to seven years, but from day to day, from minute to minute. "All things are not equally fit for all men."-Propertius, iii. 9, 7. I must accommodate my history to the hour: I may presently change, not only by fortune, but also by intention. 'Tis a counterpart of various and changeable accidents, and of irresolute imaginations, and, as it falls out, sometimes contrary whether it be that I am then another self, or that I take subjects by other circumstances and considerations: so it is, that I may peradventure contradict myself, but, as Demades said, I never contradict the truth. Could my soul once take footing, I would not essay but resolve: but it is always learning and making trial. I propose a life ordinary and without lustre: 'tis all one; all moral philosophy may as well be applied to a common and private life, as to one of richer composition: every man carries the entire form of human condition. Authors communicate themselves to the people by some especial and extrinsic mark; I, the first of any, by my universal being; as Michael de Montaigne, not as a grammarian, a poet, or a lawyer. If the world find fault that I speak too much of myself, I find fault that they do not so much as think of themselves. But is it reason, that being so particular in my way of living, I should pretend to recommend myself to the public knowledge? And is it also reason that I should produce to the world, where art and handling have so much credit and authority, crude and simple effects of nature, and of a weak nature to boot? Is it not to build a wall without stone or brick, or some such thing, to write books. without learning and without art? The fancies of music are carried on by art; mine by chance. I have this, at least, according to discipline, that never any man treated of a subject he better understood and knew, than I what I have undertaken, and that in this I am the most understanding man alive: secondly, that never any man penetrated farther into his matter, nor better and more distinctly sifted the parts and sequences of it, nor ever more exactly and fully |