{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_17667/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_17667","id":"gutenberg_17667","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/17667","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Plays/Films/Dramas","Dialogues, English -- Early works to 1800","Imaginary conversations"],"text":"Transcribed from the 1889 Cassell & Company edition by David Price, email\nccx074@coventry.ac.uk\n\n\n\n\n\nDIALOGUES OF THE DEAD.\n\n\nBY\nLORD LYTTELTON.\n\nCASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED:\n_LONDON_, _PARIS_, _NEW YORK & MELBOURNE_.\n1889.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\nGeorge, Lord Lyttelton, was born in 1709, at Hagley, in Worcestershire.\nHe was educated at Eton and at Christchurch, Oxford, entered Parliament,\nbecame a Lord of the Treasury and Chancellor of the Exchequer.  In 1757\nhe withdrew from politics, was raised to the peerage, and spent the last\neighteen years of his life in lettered ease.  In 1760 Lord Lyttelton\nfirst published these \"Dialogues of the Dead,\" which were revised for a\nfourth edition in 1765, and in 1767 he published in four volumes a\n\"History of the Life of King Henry the Second and of the Age in which he\nLived,\" a work upon which he had been busy for thirty years.  He began it\nnot long after he had published, at the age of twenty-six, his \"Letters\nfrom a Persian in England to his Friend at Ispahan.\"  If we go farther\nback we find George Lyttelton, aged twenty-three, beginning his life in\nliterature as a poet, with four eclogues on \"The Progress of Love.\"\n\nTo the last Lord Lyttelton was poet enough to feel true fellowship with\npoets of his day.  He loved good literature, and his own works show that\nhe knew it.  He counted Henry Fielding among his friends; he was a friend\nand helper to James Thomson, the author of \"The Seasons;\" and when acting\nas secretary to the king's son, Frederick, Prince of Wales (who held a\nlittle court of his own, in which there was much said about liberty), his\nfriendship brought Thomson and Mallet together in work on a masque for\nthe Prince and Princess, which included the song of \"Rule Britannia.\"\n\nBefore Lord Lyttelton followed their example, \"Dialogues of the Dead\" had\nbeen written by Lucian, and by Fenelon, and by Fontenelle; and in our\ntime they have been written by Walter Savage Landor.  This half-dramatic\nplan of presenting a man's own thoughts upon the life of man and\ncharacters of men, and on the issues of men's characters in shaping life,\nis a way of essay writing pleasant alike to the writer and the reader.\nLord Lyttelton was at his best in it.  The form of writing obliged him to\nwork with a lighter touch than he used when he sought to maintain the\ndignity of history by the style of his \"History of Henry II.\"  His calm\nliberality of mind enters into the discussion of many topics.  His truths\nare old, but there are no real truths of human life and conduct, worth\nanything at all, that are of yesterday.  Human love itself is called \"the\nold, old story;\" but do we therefore cease from loving, or from finding\nsuch ways as we can of saying that we love.  Dr. Johnson was not at his\nwisest when he found fault with Lord Lyttelton because, in his \"Dialogues\nof the Dead,\" \"that man sat down to write a book, to tell the world what\nthe world had all his life been telling him.\"  This was exactly what he\nwished to do.  In the Preface to his revised edition Lord Lyttelton said,\n\"Sometimes a new dress may render an old truth more pleasing to those\nwhom the mere love of novelty betrays into error, as it frequently does\nnot only the wits, but the sages of these days.  Indeed, one of the best\nservices that could now be done to mankind by any good writer would be\nthe bringing them back to common sense, from which the desire of shining\nby extraordinary notions has seduced great numbers, to the no small\ndetriment of morality and of all real knowledge.\"\n\nAt any rate, we now find it worth while to know what the world had been\ntelling all his life to an enlightened, highly-educated man, who was an\nactive politician in the days of Walpole and of the elder Pitt, who was a\nfriend of Pope's and of the best writers of the day, and who in his\noccasional verse added at least one line to the household words of\nEnglish literature when in his warm-hearted Prologue to Thomson's play of\n_Coriolanus_, produced after its writer's death, he said of that poet\nwhat we may say of Lord Lyttelton himself, that he gave to the world\n\n   \"Not one immoral, one corrupted thought,\n   One line which, dying, he could wish to blot.\"\n\nH. M.\n\n\n\n\nDIALOGUES OF THE DEAD.\n\n\nDIALOGUE I.\n\n\nLORD FALKLAND--MR. HAMPDEN.\n\n_Lord Falkland_.--Are not you surprised to see me in Elysium, Mr.\nHampden?\n\n_Mr. Hampden_.--I was going to put the same question to your lordship,\nfor doubtless you thought me a rebel.\n\n_Lord Falkland_.--And certainly you thought me an apostate from the\nCommonwealth, and a supporter of tyranny.\n\n_Mr. Hampden_.--I own I did, and I don't wonder at the severity of your\nthoughts about me.  The heat of the times deprived us both of our natural\ncandour.  Yet I will confess to you here, that, before I died, I began to\nsee in our party enough to justify your apprehensions that the civil war,\nwhich we had entered into from generous motives, from a laudable desire\nto preserve our free constitution, would end very unhappily, and perhaps,\nin the issue, destroy that constitution, even by the arms of those who\npretended to be most zealous for it.\n\n_Lord Falkland_.--And I will as frankly own to you that I saw, in the\ncourt and camp of the king, so much to alarm me for the liberty of my\ncountry, if our arms were successful, that I dreaded a victory little\nless than I did a defeat, and had nothing in my mouth but the word peace,\nwhich I constantly repeated with passionate fondness, in every council at\nwhich I was called to assist.\n\n_Mr. Hampden_.--I wished for peace too, as ardently as your lordship, but\nI saw no hopes of it.  The insincerity of the king and the influence of\nthe queen made it impossible to trust to his promises and declarations.\nNay, what reliance could we reasonably have upon laws designed to limit\nand restrain the power of the Crown, after he had violated the Bill of\nRights, obtained with such difficulty, and containing so clear an\nassertion of the privileges which had been in dispute?  If his conscience\nwould allow him to break an Act of Parliament, made to determine the\nbounds of the royal prerogative, because he thought that the royal\nprerogative could have no bounds, what legal ties could bind a conscience\nso prejudiced? or what effectual security could his people obtain against\nthe obstinate malignity of such an opinion, but entirely taking from him\nthe power of the sword, and enabling themselves to defend the laws he had\npassed?\n\n_Lord Falkland_.--There is evidently too much truth in what you have\nsaid.  But by taking from the king the power of the sword, you in reality\ntook all power.  It was converting the government into a democracy; and\nif he had submitted to it, he would only have preserved the name of a\nking.  The sceptre would have been held by those who had the sword; or we\nmust have lived in a state of perpetual anarchy, without any force or\nbalance in the government; a state which could not have lasted long, but\nwould have ended in a republic or in absolute dominion.\n\n_Mr. Hampden_.--Your reasoning seems unanswerable.  But what could we do?\nLet Dr. Laud and those other court divines, who directed the king's\nconscience, and fixed in it such principles as made him unfit to govern a\nlimited monarchy--though with many good qualities, and some great\nones--let them, I say, answer for all the mischiefs they brought upon him\nand the nation.\n\n_Lord Falkland_.--They were indeed much to blame; but those principles\nhad gained ground before their times, and seemed the principles of our\nChurch, in opposition to the Jesuits, who had certainly gone too far in\nthe other extreme.\n\n_Mr. Hampden_.--It is a disgrace to our Church to have taken up such\nopinions; and I will venture to prophesy that our clergy in future times\nmust renounce them, or they will be turned against them by those who mean\ntheir destruction.  Suppose a Popish king on the throne, will the clergy\nadhere to passive obedience and non-resistance?  If they do, they deliver\nup their religion to Rome; if they do not, their practice will confute\ntheir own doctrines.\n\n_Lord Falkland_.--Nature, sir, will in the end be sure to set right\nwhatever opinion contradicts her great laws, let who will be the teacher.\nBut, indeed, the more I reflect on those miserable times in which we both\nlived, the more I esteem it a favour of Providence to us that we were cut\noff so soon.  The most grievous misfortune that can befall a virtuous man\nis to be in such a state that he can hardly so act as to approve his own\nconduct.  In such a state we both were.  We could not easily make a step,\neither forward or backward, without great hazard of guilt, or at least of\ndishonour.  We were unhappily entangled in connections with men who did\nnot mean so well as ourselves, or did not judge so rightly.  If we\nendeavoured to stop them, they thought us false to the cause; if we went\non with them, we ran directly upon rocks, which we saw, but could not\navoid.  Nor could we take shelter in a philosophical retreat from\nbusiness.  Inaction would in us have been cowardice and desertion.  To\ncomplete the public calamities, a religious fury, on both sides, mingled\nitself with the rage of our civil dissensions, more frantic than that,\nmore implacable, more averse to all healing measures.  The most\nintemperate counsels were thought the most pious, and a regard to the\nlaws, if they opposed the suggestions of these fiery zealots, was\naccounted irreligion.  This added new difficulties to what was before but\ntoo difficult in itself, the settling of a nation which no longer could\nput any confidence in its sovereign, nor lay more restraints on the royal\nauthority without destroying the balance of the whole constitution.  In\nthose circumstances, the balls that pierced our hearts were directed\nthither by the hands of our guardian angels, to deliver us from horrors\nwe could not support, and perhaps from a guilt our souls abhorred.\n\n_Mr. Hampden_.--Indeed, things were brought to so deplorable a state,\nthat if either of us had seen his party triumphant, he must have lamented\nthat triumph as the ruin of his country.  Were I to return into life, the\nexperience I have had would make me very cautious how I kindled the\nsparks of civil war in England; for I have seen that, when once that\ndevouring fire is lighted, it is not in the power of the head of a party\nto say to the conflagration, \"Thus far shalt thou go, and here shall thy\nviolence stop.\"\n\n_Lord Falkland_.--The conversation we have had, as well as the\nreflections of my own mind on past events, would, if I were condemned to\nmy body again, teach me great moderation in my judgments of persons who\nmight happen to differ from me in difficult scenes of public action; they\nwould entirely cure me of the spirit of party, and make me think that as\nin the Church, so also in the State, no evil is more to be feared than a\nrancorous and enthusiastical zeal.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE II.\n\n\nLOUIS LE GRAND--PETER THE GREAT.\n\n_Louis_.--Who, sir, could have thought, when you were learning the trade\nof a shipwright in the dockyards of England and Holland, that you would\never acquire, as I had done, the surname of \"Great.\"\n\n_Peter_.--Which of us best deserved that title posterity will decide.  But\nmy greatness appeared sufficiently in that very act which seemed to you a\ndebasement.\n\n_Louis_.--The dignity of a king does not stoop to such mean employments.\nFor my own part, I was careful never to appear to the eyes of my subjects\nor foreigners but in all the splendour and majesty of royal power.\n\n_Peter_.--Had I remained on the throne of Russia, as my ancestors did,\nenvironed with all the pomp of barbarous greatness, I should have been\nidolised by my people--as much, at least, as you ever were by the French.\nMy despotism was more absolute, their servitude was more humble.  But\nthen I could not have reformed their evil customs; have taught them arts,\ncivility, navigation, and war; have exalted them from brutes in human\nshapes into men.  In this was seen the extraordinary force of my genius\nbeyond any comparison with all other kings, that I thought it no\ndegradation or diminution of my greatness to descend from my throne, and\ngo and work in the dockyards of a foreign republic; to serve as a private\nsailor in my own fleets, and as a common soldier in my own army, till I\nhad raised myself by my merit in all the several steps and degrees of\npromotion up to the highest command, and had thus induced my nobility to\nsubmit to a regular subordination in the sea and land service by a lesson\nhard to their pride, and which they would not have learnt from any other\nmaster or by any other method of instruction.\n\n_Louis_.--I am forced to acknowledge that it was a great act.  When I\nthought it a mean one, my judgment was perverted by the prejudices\narising from my own education and the ridicule thrown upon it by some of\nmy courtiers, whose minds were too narrow to be able to comprehend the\ngreatness of yours in that situation.\n\n_Peter_.--It was an act of more heroism than any ever done by Alexander\nor Caesar.  Nor would I consent to exchange my glory with theirs.  They\nboth did great things; but they were at the head of great nations, far\nsuperior in valour and military skill to those with whom they contended.\nI was the king of an ignorant, undisciplined, barbarous people.  My\nenemies were at first so superior to my subjects that ten thousand of\nthem could beat a hundred thousand Russians.  They had formidable navies;\nI had not a ship.  The King of Sweden was a prince of the most intrepid\ncourage, assisted by generals of consummate knowledge in war, and served\nby soldiers so disciplined that they were become the admiration and\nterror of Europe.  Yet I vanquished these soldiers; I drove that prince\nto take refuge in Turkey; I won battles at sea as well as land; I new-\ncreated my people; I gave them arts, science, policy; I enabled them to\nkeep all the powers of the North in awe and dependence, to give kings to\nPoland, to check and intimidate the Ottoman emperors, to mix with great\nweight in the affairs of all Europe.  What other man has ever done such\nwonders as these?  Read all the records of ancient and modern times, and\nfind, if you can, one fit to be put in comparison with me!\n\n_Louis_.--Your glory would indeed have been supreme and unequalled if, in\ncivilising your subjects, you had reformed the brutality of your own\nmanners and the barbarous vices of your nature.  But, alas! the\nlegislator and reformer of the Muscovites was drunken and cruel.\n\n_Peter_.--My drunkenness I confess; nor will I plead, to excuse it, the\nexample of Alexander.  It inflamed the tempers of both, which were by\nnature too fiery, into furious passions of anger, and produced actions of\nwhich our reason, when sober, was ashamed.  But the cruelty you upbraid\nme with may in some degree be excused, as necessary to the work I had to\nperform.  Fear of punishment was in the hearts of my barbarous subjects\nthe only principle of obedience.  To make them respect the royal\nauthority I was obliged to arm it with all the terrors of rage.  You had\na more pliant people to govern--a people whose minds could be ruled, like\na fine-managed horse, with an easy and gentle rein.  The fear of shame\ndid more with them than the fear of the knout could do with the Russians.\nThe humanity of your character and the ferocity of mine were equally\nsuitable to the nations over which we reigned.  But what excuse can you\nfind for the cruel violence you employed against your Protestant\nsubjects?  They desired nothing but to live under the protection of laws\nyou yourself had confirmed; and they repaid that protection by the most\nhearty zeal for your service.  Yet these did you force, by the most\ninhuman severities, either to quit the religion in which they were bred,\nand which their consciences still retained, or to leave their native\nland, and endure all the woes of a perpetual exile.  If the rules of\npolicy could not hinder you from thus depopulating your kingdom, and\ntransferring to foreign countries its manufactures and commerce, I am\nsurprised that your heart itself did not stop you.  It makes one shudder\nto think that such orders should be sent from the most polished court in\nEurope, as the most savage Tartars could hardly have executed without\nremorse and compassion.\n\n_Louis_.--It was not my heart, but my religion, that dictated these\nseverities.  My confessor told me they alone would atone for all my sins.\n\n_Peter_.--Had I believed in my patriarch as you believed in your priest,\nI should not have been the great monarch that I was.  But I mean not to\ndetract from the merit of a prince whose memory is dear to his subjects.\nThey are proud of having obeyed you, which is certainly the highest\npraise to a king.  My people also date their glory from the era of my\nreign.  But there is this capital distinction between us.  The pomp and\npageantry of state were necessary to your greatness; I was great in\nmyself, great in the energy and powers of my mind, great in the\nsuperiority and sovereignty of my soul over all other men.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE III.\n\n\nPLATO--FENELON.\n\n_Plato_.--Welcome to Elysium, O thou, the most pure, the most gentle, the\nmost refined disciple of philosophy that the world in modern times has\nproduced!  Sage Fenelon, welcome!--I need not name myself to you.  Our\nsouls by sympathy must know one another.\n\n_Fenelon_.--I know you to be Plato, the most amiable of all the disciples\nof Socrates, and the philosopher of all antiquity whom I most desired to\nresemble.\n\n_Plato_.--Homer and Orpheus are impatient to see you in that region of\nthese happy fields which their shades inhabit.  They both acknowledge you\nto be a great poet, though you have written no verses.  And they are now\nbusy in composing for you unfading wreaths of all the finest and sweetest\nElysian flowers.  But I will lead you from them to the sacred grove of\nphilosophy, on the highest hill of Elysium, where the air is most pure\nand most serene.  I will conduct you to the fountain of wisdom, in which\nyou will see, as in your own writings, the fair image of virtue\nperpetually reflected.  It will raise in you more love than was felt by\nNarcissus, when he contemplated the beauty of his own face in the\nunruffled spring.  But you shall not pine, as he did, for a shadow.  The\ngoddess herself will affectionately meet your embraces and mingle with\nyour soul.\n\n_Fenelon_.--I find you retain the allegorical and poetical style, of\nwhich you were so fond in many of your writings.  Mine also run sometimes\ninto poetry, particularly in my \"Telemachus,\" which I meant to make a\nkind of epic composition.  But I dare not rank myself among the great\npoets, nor pretend to any equality in oratory with you, the most eloquent\nof philosophers, on whose lips the Attic bees distilled all their honey.\n\n_Plato_.--The French language is not so harmonious as the Greek, yet you\nhave given a sweetness to it which equally charms the ear and heart.  When\none reads your compositions, one thinks that one hears Apollo's lyre,\nstrung by the hands of the Graces, and tuned by the Muses.  The idea of a\nperfect king, which you have exhibited in your \"Telemachus,\" far excels,\nin my own judgment, my imaginary \"Republic.\"  Your \"Dialogues\" breathe\nthe pure spirit of virtue, of unaffected good sense, of just criticism,\nof fine taste.  They are in general as superior to your countryman\nFontenelle's as reason is to false wit, or truth to affectation.  The\ngreatest fault of them, I think, is, that some are too short.\n\n_Fenelon_.--It has been objected to them--and I am sensible of it\nmyself--that most of them are too full of commonplace morals.  But I\nwrote them for the instruction of a young prince, and one cannot too\nforcibly imprint on the minds of those who are born to empire the most\nsimple truths; because, as they grow up, the flattery of a court will try\nto disguise and conceal from them those truths, and to eradicate from\ntheir hearts the love of their duty, if it has not taken there a very\ndeep root.\n\n_Plato_.--It is, indeed, the peculiar misfortune of princes, that they\nare often instructed with great care in the refinements of policy, and\nnot taught the first principles of moral obligations, or taught so\nsuperficially that the virtuous man is soon lost in the corrupt\npolitician.  But the lessons of virtue you gave your royal pupil are so\ngraced by the charms of your eloquence that the oldest and wisest men may\nattend to them with pleasure.  All your writings are embellished with a\nsublime and agreeable imagination, which gives elegance to simplicity,\nand dignity to the most vulgar and obvious truths.  I have heard, indeed,\nthat your countrymen are less sensible of the beauty of your genius and\nstyle than any of their neighbours.  What has so much depraved their\ntaste?\n\n_Fenelon_.--That which depraved the taste of the Romans after the ago of\nAugustus--an immoderate love of wit, of paradox, of refinement.  The\nworks of their writers, like the faces of their women, must be painted\nand adorned with artificial embellishments to attract their regards.  And\nthus the natural beauty of both is lost.  But it is no wonder if few of\nthem esteem my \"Telemachus,\" as the maxims I have principally inculcated\nthere are thought by many inconsistent with the grandeur of their\nmonarchy, and with the splendour of a refined and opulent nation.  They\nseem generally to be falling into opinions that the chief end of society\nis to procure the pleasures of luxury; that a nice and elegant taste of\nvoluptuous enjoyments is the perfection of merit; and that a king, who is\ngallant, magnificent, liberal, who builds a fine palace, who furnishes it\nwell with good statues and pictures, who encourages the fine arts, and\nmakes them subservient to every modish vice, who has a restless ambition,\na perfidious policy, and a spirit of conquest, is better for them than a\nNuma or a Marcus Aurelius.  Whereas to check the excesses of luxury--those\nexcesses, I mean, which enfeeble the spirit of a nation--to ease the\npeople, as much as is possible, of the burden of taxes; to give them the\nblessings of peace and tranquillity, when they can he obtained without\ninjury or dishonour; to make them frugal, and hardy, and masculine in the\ntemper of their bodies and minds, that they may be the fitter for war\nwhenever it does come upon them; but, above all, to watch diligently over\ntheir morals, and discourage whatever may defile or corrupt them--is the\ngreat business of government, and ought to be in all circumstances the\nprincipal object of a wise legislature.  Unquestionably that is the\nhappiest country which has most virtue in it; and to the eye of sober\nreason the poorest Swiss canton is a much nobler state than the kingdom\nof France, if it has more liberty, better morals, a more settled\ntranquillity, more moderation in prosperity, and more firmness in danger.\n\n_Plato_.--Your notions are just, and if your country rejects them she\nwill not long hold the rank of the first nation in Europe.  Her\ndeclension is begun, her ruin approaches; for, omitting all other\narguments, can a state be well served when the raising of an opulent\nfortune in its service, and making a splendid use of that fortune, is a\ndistinction more envied than any which arises from integrity in office or\npublic spirit in government?  Can that spirit, which is the parent of\nnational greatness, continue vigorous and diffusive where the desire of\nwealth, for the sake of a luxury which wealth alone can support, and an\nambition aspiring, not to glory, but to profit, are the predominant\npassions?  If it exists in a king or a minister of state, how will either\nof them find among a people so disposed the necessary instruments to\nexecute his great designs; or, rather, what obstruction will he not find\nfrom the continual opposition of private interest to public?  But if, on\nthe contrary, a court inclines to tyranny, what a facility will be given\nby these dispositions to that evil purpose?  How will men with minds\nrelaxed by the enervating ease and softness of luxury have vigour to\noppose it?  Will not most of them lean to servitude, as their natural\nstate, as that in which the extravagant and insatiable cravings of their\nartificial wants may best be gratified at the charge of a bountiful\nmaster or by the spoils of an enslaved and ruined people?  When all sense\nof public virtue is thus destroyed, will not fraud, corruption, and\navarice, or the opposite workings of court factions to bring disgrace on\neach other, ruin armies and fleets without the help of an enemy, and give\nup the independence of the nation to foreigners, after having betrayed\nits liberties to a king?  All these mischiefs you saw attendant on that\nluxury, which some modern philosophers account (as I am informed) the\nhighest good to a state!  Time will show that their doctrines are\npernicious to society, pernicious to government; and that yours, tempered\nand moderated so as to render them more practicable in the present\ncircumstances of your country, are wise, salutary, and deserving of the\ngeneral thanks of mankind.  But lest you should think, from the praise I\nhave given you, that flattery can find a place in Elysium, allow me to\nlament, with the tender sorrow of a friend, that a man so superior to all\nother follies could give into the reveries of a Madame Guyon, a\ndistracted enthusiast.  How strange was it to see the two great lights of\nFrance, you and the Bishop of Meaux, engaged in a controversy whether a\nmadwoman was a heretic or a saint!\n\n_Fenelon_.--I confess my own weakness, and the ridiculousness of the\ndispute; but did not your warm imagination carry you also into some\nreveries about divine love, in which you talked unintelligibly, even to\nyourself?\n\n_Plato_.--I felt something more than I was able to express.\n\n_Fenelon_.--I had my feelings too, as fine and as lively as yours; but we\nshould both have done better to have avoided those subjects in which\nsentiment took the place of reason.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE IV.\n\n\nMR. ADDISON--DR. SWIFT.\n\n_Dr. Swift_.--Surely, Addison, Fortune was exceedingly inclined to play\nthe fool (a humour her ladyship, as well as most other ladies of very\ngreat quality, is frequently in) when she made you a minister of state\nand me a divine!\n\n_Addison_.--I must confess we were both of us out of our elements; but\nyou don't mean to insinuate that all would have been right if our\ndestinies had been reversed?\n\n_Swift_.--Yes, I do.  You would have made an excellent bishop, and I\nshould have governed Great Britain, as I did Ireland, with an absolute\nsway, while I talked of nothing but liberty, property, and so forth.\n\n_Addison_.--You governed the mob of Ireland; but I never understood that\nyou governed the kingdom.  A nation and a mob are very different things.\n\n_Swift_.--Ay, so you fellows that have no genius for politics may\nsuppose; but there are times when, by seasonably putting himself at the\nhead of the mob, an able man may get to the head of the nation.  Nay,\nthere are times when the nation itself is a mob, and ought to be treated\nas such by a skilful observer.\n\n_Addison_.--I don't deny the truth of your proposition; but is there no\ndanger that, from the natural vicissitudes of human affairs, the\nfavourite of the mob should be mobbed in his turn?\n\n_Swift_.--Sometimes there may, but I risked it, and it answered my\npurpose.  Ask the lord-lieutenants, who were forced to pay court to me\ninstead of my courting them, whether they did not feel my superiority.\nAnd if I could make myself so considerable when I was only a dirty Dean\nof St. Patrick's, without a seat in either House of Parliament, what\nshould I have done if Fortune had placed me in England, unencumbered with\na gown, and in a situation that would have enabled me to make myself\nheard in the House of Lords or of Commons?\n\n_Addison_.--You would undoubtedly have done very marvellous acts!  Perhaps\nyou might then have been as zealous a Whig as my Lord Wharton himself;\nor, if the Whigs had unhappily offended the statesman as they did the\ndoctor, who knows whether you might not have brought in the Pretender?\nPray let me ask you one question between you and me: If your great\ntalents had raised you to the office of first minister under that prince,\nwould you have tolerated the Protestant religion or not?\n\n_Swift_.--Ha! Mr. Secretary, are you witty upon me?  Do you think,\nbecause Sunderland took a fancy to make you a great man in the state,\nthat he, or his master, could make you as great in wit as Nature made me?\nNo, no; wit is like grace, it must be given from above.  You can no more\nget that from the king than my lords the bishops can the other.  And,\nthough I will own you had some, yet believe me, my good friend, it was no\nmatch for mine.  I think you have not vanity enough in your nature to\npretend to a competition in that point with me.\n\n_Addison_.--I have been told by my friends that I was rather too modest,\nso I will not determine this dispute for myself, but refer it to Mercury,\nthe god of wit, who fortunately happens to be coming this way with a soul\nhe has brought to the Shades.\n\nHail, divine Hermes!  A question of precedence in the class of wit and\nhumour, over which you preside, having arisen between me and my\ncountryman, Dr. Swift, we beg leave--\n\n_Mercury_.--Dr. Swift, I rejoice to see you.  How does my old lad?  How\ndoes honest Lemuel Gulliver?  Have you been in Lilliput lately, or in the\nFlying Island, or with your good nurse Glumdalclitch?  Pray when did you\neat a crust with Lord Peter?  Is Jack as mad still as ever?  I hear that\nsince you published the history of his case the poor fellow, by more\ngentle usage, is almost got well.  If he had but more food he would be as\nmuch in his senses as Brother Martin himself; but Martin, they tell me,\nhas lately spawned a strange brood of Methodists, Moravians,\nHutchinsonians, who are madder than ever Jack was in his worst days.  It\nis a great pity you are not alive again to make a new edition of your\n\"Tale of the Tub\" for the use of these fellows.  Mr. Addison, I beg your\npardon; I should have spoken to you sooner, but I was so struck with the\nsight of my old friend the doctor, that I forgot for a time the respects\ndue to you.\n\n_Swift_.--Addison, I think our dispute is decided before the judge has\nheard the cause.\n\n_Addison_.--I own it is in your favour, but--\n\n_Mercury_.--Don't be discouraged, friend Addison.  Apollo perhaps would\nhave given a different judgment.  I am a wit, and a rogue, and a foe to\nall dignity.  Swift and I naturally like one another.  He worships me\nmore than Jupiter, and I honour him more than Homer; but yet, I assure\nyou, I have a great value for you.  Sir Roger de Coverley, Will\nHoneycomb, Will Wimble, the Country Gentleman in the Freeholder, and\ntwenty more characters, drawn with the finest strokes of unaffected wit\nand humour in your admirable writings, have obtained for you a high place\nin the class of my authors, though not quite so high a one as the Dean of\nSt. Patrick's.  Perhaps you might have got before him if the decency of\nyour nature and the cautiousness of your judgment would have given you\nleave.  But, allowing that in the force and spirit of his wit he has\nreally the advantage, how much does he yield to you in all the elegant\ngraces, in the fine touches of delicate sentiment, in developing the\nsecret springs of the soul, in showing the mild lights and shades of a\ncharacter, in distinctly marking each line, and every soft gradation of\ntints, which would escape the common eye?  Who ever painted like you the\nbeautiful parts of human nature, and brought them out from under the\nshade even of the greatest simplicity, or the most ridiculous weaknesses;\nso that we are forced to admire and feel that we venerate, even while we\nare laughing?  Swift was able to do nothing that approaches to this.  He\ncould draw an ill face, or caricature a good one, with a masterly hand;\nbut there was all his power, and, if I am to speak as a god, a worthless\npower it is.  Yours is divine.  It tends to exalt human nature.\n\n_Swift_.--Pray, good Mercury (if I may have liberty to say a word for\nmyself) do you think that my talent was not highly beneficial to correct\nhuman nature?  Is whipping of no use to mend naughty boys?\n\n_Mercury_.--Men are generally not so patient of whipping as boys, and a\nrough satirist is seldom known to mend them.  Satire, like antimony, if\nit be used as a medicine, must be rendered less corrosive.  Yours is\noften rank poison.  But I will allow that you have done some good in your\nway, though not half so much as Addison did in his.\n\n_Addison_.--Mercury, I am satisfied.  It matters little what rank you\nassign me as a wit, if you give me the precedence as a friend and\nbenefactor to mankind.\n\n_Mercury_.--I pass sentence on the writers, not the men, and my decree is\nthis:--When any hero is brought hither who wants to be humbled, let the\ntalk of lowering his arrogance be assigned to Swift.  The same good\noffice may be done to a philosopher vain of his wisdom and virtue, or to\na bigot puffed up with spiritual pride.  The doctor's discipline will\nsoon convince the first, that with all his boasted morality, he is but a\nYahoo; and the latter, that to be holy he must necessarily be humble.  I\nwould also have him apply his anticosmetic wash to the painted face of\nfemale vanity, and his rod, which draws blood at every stroke, to the\nhard back of insolent folly or petulant wit.  But Addison should be\nemployed to comfort those whose delicate minds are dejected with too\npainful a sense of some infirmities in their nature.  To them he should\nhold his fair and charitable mirror, which would bring to their sight\ntheir hidden excellences, and put them in a temper fit for\nElysium.--Adieu.  Continue to esteem and love each other, as you did in\nthe other world, though you were of opposite parties, and, what is still\nmore wonderful, rival wits.  This alone is sufficient to entitle you both\nto Elysium.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE V.\n\n\nULYSSES--CIRCE.--IN CIRCE'S ISLAND.\n\n_Circe_.--You will go then, Ulysses, but tell me, without reserve, what\ncarries you from me?\n\n_Ulysses_.--Pardon, goddess, the weakness of human nature.  My heart will\nsigh for my country.  It is an attachment which all my admiration of you\ncannot entirely overcome.\n\n_Circe_.--This is not all.  I perceive you are afraid to declare your\nwhole mind.  But what, Ulysses, do you fear?  My terrors are gone.  The\nproudest goddess on earth, when she has favoured a mortal as I have\nfavoured you, has laid her divinity and power at his feet.\n\n_Ulysses_.--It may be so while there still remains in her heart the\ntenderness of love, or in her mind the fear of shame.  But you, Circe,\nare above those vulgar sensations.\n\n_Circe_.--I understand your caution; it belongs to your character, and\ntherefore, to remove all diffidence from you, I swear by Styx I will do\nno manner of harm, either to you or your friends, for anything which you\nsay, however offensive it may be to my love or my pride, but will send\nyou away from my island with all marks of my friendship.  Tell me now,\ntruly, what pleasures you hope to enjoy in the barren rock of Ithaca,\nwhich can compensate for those you leave in this paradise, exempt from\nall cares and overflowing with all delights?\n\n_Ulysses_.--The pleasures of virtue; the supreme happiness of doing good.\nHere I do nothing.  My mind is in a palsy; all its faculties are\nbenumbed.  I long to return into action, that I may worthily employ those\ntalents which I have cultivated from the earliest days of my youth.  Toils\nand cares fright not me; they are the exercise of my soul; they keep it\nin health and in vigour.  Give me again the fields of Troy, rather than\nthese vacant groves.  There I could reap the bright harvest of glory;\nhere I am hid like a coward from the eyes of mankind, and begin to appear\ncomtemptible in my own.  The image of my former self haunts and seems to\nupbraid me wheresoever I go.  I meet it under the gloom of every shade;\nit even intrudes itself into your presence and chides me from your arms.\nO goddess, unless you have power to lay that spirit, unless you can make\nme forget myself, I cannot be happy here, I shall every day be more\nwretched.\n\n_Circe_.--May not a wise and good man, who has spent all his youth in\nactive life and honourable danger, when he begins to decline, be\npermitted to retire and enjoy the rest of his days in quiet and pleasure?\n\n_Ulysses_.--No retreat can be honourable to a wise and good man but in\ncompany with the muses.  Here I am deprived of that sacred society.  The\nmuses will not inhabit the abodes of voluptuousness and sensual pleasure.\nHow can I study or think while such a number of beasts--and the worst\nbeasts are men turned into beasts--are howling or roaring or grunting all\nabout me?\n\n_Circe_.--There may be something in this, but this I know is not all.  You\nsuppress the strongest reason that draws you to Ithaca.  There is another\nimage besides that of your former self, which appears to you in this\nisland, which follows you in your walks, which more particularly\ninterposes itself between you and me, and chides you from my arms.  It is\nPenelope, Ulysses, I know it is.  Don't pretend to deny it.  You sigh for\nPenelope in my bosom itself.  And yet she is not an immortal.  She is\nnot, as I am, endowed by Nature with the gift of unfading youth.  Several\nyears have passed since hers has been faded.  I might say, without\nvanity, that in her best days she was never so handsome as I.  But what\nis she now?\n\n_Ulysses_.--You have told me yourself, in a former conversation, when I\ninquired of you about her, that she is faithful to my bed, and as fond of\nme now, after twenty years' absence, as at the time when I left her to go\nto Troy.  I left her in the bloom of youth and beauty.  How much must her\nconstancy have been tried since that time!  How meritorious is her\nfidelity!  Shall I reward her with falsehood?  Shall I forget my\nPenelope, who can't forget me, who has no pleasure so dear to her as my\nremembrance?\n\n_Circe_.--Her love is preserved by the continual hope of your speedy\nreturn.  Take that hope from her.  Let your companions return, and let\nher know that you have fixed your abode with me, that you have fixed it\nfor ever.  Let her know that she is free to dispose as she pleases of her\nheart and her hand.  Send my picture to her, bid her compare it with her\nown face.  If all this does not cure her of the remains of her passion,\nif you don't hear of her marrying Eurymachus in a twelvemonth, I\nunderstand nothing of womankind.\n\n_Ulysses_.--O cruel goddess! why will you force me to tell you truths I\ndesire to conceal?  If by such unmerited, such barbarous usage I could\nlose her heart it would break mine.  How should I be able to endure the\ntorment of thinking that I had wronged such a wife?  What could make me\namends for her being no longer mine, for her being another's?  Don't\nfrown, Circe, I must own--since you will have me speak--I must own you\ncould not.  With all your pride of immortal beauty, with all your magical\ncharms to assist those of Nature, you are not so powerful a charmer as\nshe.  You feel desire, and you give it, but you have never felt love, nor\ncan you inspire it.  How can I love one who would have degraded me into a\nbeast?  Penelope raised me into a hero.  Her love ennobled, invigorated,\nexalted my mind.  She bid me go to the siege of Troy, though the parting\nwith me was worse than death to herself.  She bid me expose myself there\nto all the perils of war among the foremost heroes of Greece, though her\npoor heart sunk and trembled at every thought of those perils, and would\nhave given all its own blood to save a drop of mine.  Then there was such\na conformity in all our inclinations!  When Minerva was teaching me the\nlessons of wisdom she delighted to be present.  She heard, she retained,\nshe gave them back to me softened and sweetened with the peculiar graces\nof her own mind.  When we unbent our thoughts with the charms of poetry,\nwhen we read together the poems of Orpheus, Musaeus, and Linus, with what\ntaste did she discern every excellence in them!  My feelings were dull\ncompared to hers.  She seemed herself to be the muse who had inspired\nthose verses, and had tuned their lyres to infuse into the hearts of\nmankind the love of wisdom and virtue and the fear of the gods.  How\nbeneficent was she, how tender to my people!  What care did she take to\ninstruct them in all the finer arts, to relieve the necessities of the\nsick and aged, to superintend the education of children, to do my\nsubjects every good office of kind intercession, to lay before me their\nwants, to mediate for those who were objects of mercy, to sue for those\nwho deserved the favours of the Crown.  And shall I banish myself for\never from such a consort?  Shall I give up her society for the brutal\njoys of a sensual life, keeping indeed the exterior form of a man, but\nhaving lost the human soul, or at least all its noble and godlike powers?\nOh, Circe, it is impossible, I can't bear the thought.\n\n_Circe_.--Begone; don't imagine that I ask you to stay a moment longer.\nThe daughter of the sun is not so mean-spirited as to solicit a mortal to\nshare her happiness with her.  It is a happiness which I find you cannot\nenjoy.  I pity and despise you.  All you have said seems to me a jargon\nof sentiments fitter for a silly woman than a great man.  Go read, and\nspin too, if you please, with your wife.  I forbid you to remain another\nday in my island.  You shall have a fair wind to carry you from it.  After\nthat may every storm that Neptune can raise pursue and overwhelm you.\nBegone, I say, quit my sight.\n\n_Ulysses_.--Great goddess, I obey, but remember your oath.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE VI.\n\n\nMERCURY--AN ENGLISH DUELLIST--A NORTH AMERICAN SAVAGE.\n\n_The Duellist_.--Mercury, Charon's boat is on the other side of the\nwater.  Allow me, before it returns, to have some conversation with the\nNorth American savage whom you brought hither with me.  I never before\nsaw one of that species.  He looks very grim.  Pray, sir, what is your\nname?  I understand you speak English.\n\n_Savage_.--Yes, I learnt it in my childhood, having been bred for some\nyears among the English of New York.  But before I was a man I returned\nto my valiant countrymen, the Mohawks; and having been villainously\ncheated by one of yours in the sale of some rum, I never cared to have\nanything to do with them afterwards.  Yet I took up the hatchet for them\nwith the rest of my tribe in the late war against France, and was killed\nwhile I was out upon a scalping party.  But I died very well satisfied,\nfor my brethren were victorious, and before I was shot I had gloriously\nscalped seven men and five women and children.  In a former war I had\nperformed still greater exploits.  My name is the Bloody Bear; it was\ngiven me to express my fierceness and valour.\n\n_Duellist_.--Bloody Bear, I respect you, and am much your humble servant.\nMy name is Tom Pushwell, very well known at Arthur's.  I am a gentleman\nby my birth, and by profession a gamester and man of honour.  I have\nkilled men in fair fighting, in honourable single combat, but don't\nunderstand cutting the throats of women and children.\n\n_Savage_.--Sir, that is our way of making war.  Every nation has its\ncustoms.  But, by the grimness of your countenance, and that hole in your\nbreast, I presume you were killed, as I was, in some scalping party.  How\nhappened it that your enemy did not take off your scalp?\n\n_Duellist_.--Sir, I was killed in a duel.  A friend of mine had lent me a\nsum of money.  After two or three years, being in great want himself, he\nasked me to pay him.  I thought his demand, which was somewhat\nperemptory, an affront to my honour, and sent him a challenge.  We met in\nHyde Park.  The fellow could not fence: I was absolutely the adroitest\nswordsman in England, so I gave him three or four wounds; but at last he\nran upon me with such impetuosity, that he put me out of my play, and I\ncould not prevent him from whipping me through the lungs.  I died the\nnext day, as a man of honour should, without any snivelling signs of\ncontrition or repentance; and he will follow me soon, for his surgeon has\ndeclared his wounds to be mortal.  It is said that his wife is dead of\ngrief, and that his family of seven children will be undone by his death.\nSo I am well revenged, and that is a comfort.  For my part, I had no\nwife.  I always hated marriage.\n\n_Savage_.--Mercury, I won't go in a boat with that fellow.  He has\nmurdered his countryman--he has murdered his friend: I say, positively, I\nwon't go in a boat with that fellow.  I will swim over the River, I can\nswim like a duck.\n\n_Mercury_.--Swim over the Styx! it must not be done; it is against the\nlaws of Pluto's Empire.  You must go in the boat, and be quiet.\n\n_Savage_.--Don't tell me of laws, I am a savage.  I value no laws.  Talk\nof laws to the Englishman.  There are laws in his country, and yet you\nsee he did not regard them, for they could never allow him to kill his\nfellow-subject, in time of peace, because he asked him to pay a debt.  I\nknow indeed, that the English are a barbarous nation, but they can't\npossibly be so brutal as to make such things lawful.\n\n_Mercury_.--You reason well against him.  But how comes it that you are\nso offended with murder; you, who have frequently massacred women in\ntheir sleep, and children in the cradle?\n\n_Savage_.--I killed none but my enemies.  I never killed my own\ncountrymen.  I never killed my friend.  Here, take my blanket, and let it\ncome over in the boat, but see that the murderer does not sit upon it, or\ntouch it.  If he does, I will burn it instantly in the fire I see yonder.\nFarewell!  I am determined to swim over the water.\n\n_Mercury_.--By this touch of my wand I deprive thee of all thy strength.\nSwim now if thou canst.\n\n_Savage_.--This is a potent enchanter.  Restore me my strength, and I\npromise to obey thee.\n\n_Mercury_.--I restore it: but be orderly, and do as I bid you; otherwise\nworse will befall you.\n\n_Duellist_.--Mercury, leave him to me.  I'll tutor him for you.  Sirrah,\nsavage, dost thou pretend to be ashamed of my company?  Dost thou know I\nhave kept the best company in England?\n\n_Savage_.--I know thou art a scoundrel!  Not pay thy debts! kill thy\nfriend who lent thee money for asking thee for it!  Get out of my sight!\nI will drive thee into Styx!\n\n_Mercury_.--Stop!  I command thee.  No violence!  Talk to him calmly.\n\n_Savage_.--I must obey thee.  Well, sir, let me know what merit you had\nto introduce you into good company?  What could you do?\n\n_Duellist_.--Sir, I gamed, as I told you.  Besides, I kept a good table.\nI eat as well as any man either in England or France.\n\n_Savage_.--Eat!  Did you ever eat the liver of a Frenchman, or his leg,\nor his shoulder!  There is fine eating!  I have eat twenty.  My table was\nalways well served.  My wife was esteemed the best cook for the dressing\nof man's flesh in all North America.  You will not pretend to compare\nyour eating with mine?\n\n_Duellist_.--I danced very finely.\n\n_Savage_.--I'll dance with thee for thy ears: I can dance all day long.  I\ncan dance the war-dance with more spirit than any man of my nation.  Let\nus see thee begin it.  How thou standest like a post!  Has Mercury struck\nthee with his enfeebling rod? or art thou ashamed to let us see how\nawkward thou art?  If he would permit me, I would teach thee to dance in\na way that thou hast never yet learnt.  But what else canst thou do, thou\nbragging rascal?\n\n_Duellist_.--O heavens! must I bear this?  What can I do with this\nfellow?  I have neither sword nor pistol.  And his shade seems to be\ntwice as strong as mine.\n\n_Mercury_.--You must answer his questions.  It was your own desire to\nhave a conversation with him.  He is not well bred; but he will tell you\nsome truths which you must necessarily hear, when you come before\nRhadamanthus.  He asked you what you could do besides eating and dancing.\n\n_Duellist_.--I sang very agreeably.\n\n_Savage_.--Let me hear you sing your \"Death Song\" or the \"War Whoop.\"  I\nchallenge you to sing.  Come, begin.  The fellow is mute.  Mercury, this\nis a liar; he has told us nothing but lies.  Let me pull out his tongue.\n\n_Duellist_.--The lie given me! and, alas, I dare not resent it.  What an\nindelible disgrace to the family of the Pushwells!  This indeed is\ndamnation.\n\n_Mercury_.--Here, Charon, take these two savages to your care.  How far\nthe barbarism of the Mohawk will excuse his horrid acts I leave Minos to\njudge.  But what can be said for the other, for the Englishman?  The\ncustom of duelling?  A bad excuse at the best! but here it cannot avail.\nThe spirit that urged him to draw his sword against his friend is not\nthat of honour; it is the spirit of the furies, and to them he must go.\n\n_Savage_.--If he is to be punished for his wickedness, turn him over to\nme; I perfectly understand the art of tormenting.  Sirrah, I begin my\nwork with this kick on your breech.\n\n_Duellist_.--Oh my honour, my honour, to what infamy art thou fallen!\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE VII.\n\n\nPLINY THE ELDER--PLINY THE YOUNGER.\n\n_Pliny the Elder_.--The account that you give me, nephew, of your\nbehaviour amidst the tenors and perils that accompanied the first\neruption of Vesuvius does not please me much.  There was more of vanity\nin it than of true magnanimity.  Nothing is great that is unnatural and\naffected.  When the earth was shaking beneath you, when the whole heaven\nwas darkened with sulphurous clouds, when all Nature seemed falling into\nits final destruction, to be reading Livy and making extracts was an\nabsurd affectation.  To meet danger with courage is manly, but to be\ninsensible of it is brutal stupidity; and to pretend insensibility where\nit cannot be supposed is ridiculous falseness.  When you afterwards\nrefused to leave your aged mother and save yourself without her, you\nindeed acted nobly.  It was also becoming a Roman to keep up her spirits\namidst all the horrors of that tremendous scene by showing yourself\nundismayed; but the real merit and glory of this part of your behaviour\nis sunk by the other, which gives an air of ostentation and vanity to the\nwhole.\n\n_Pliny the Younger_.--That vulgar minds should consider my attention to\nmy studies in such a conjuncture as unnatural and affected, I should not\nmuch wonder; but that you would blame it as such I did not apprehend--you,\nwhom no business could separate from the muses; you, who approached\nnearer to the fiery storm, and died by the suffocating heat of the\nvapour.\n\n_Pliny the Elder_.--I died in doing my duty.  Let me recall to your\nremembrance all the particulars, and then you shall judge yourself on the\ndifference of your behaviour and mine.  I was the Prefect of the Roman\nfleet, which then lay at Misenum.  On the first account I received of the\nvery unusual cloud that appeared in the air I ordered a vessel to carry\nme out to some distance from the shore that I might the better observe\nthe phenomenon, and endeavour to discover its nature and cause.  This I\ndid as a philosopher, and it was a curiosity proper and natural to an\ninquisitive mind.  I offered to take you with me, and surely you should\nhave gone; for Livy might have been read at any other time, and such\nspectacles are not frequent.  When I came out from my house, I found all\nthe inhabitants of Misenum flying to the sea.  That I might assist them,\nand all others who dwelt on the coast, I immediately commanded the whole\nfleet to put out, and sailed with it all round the Bay of Naples,\nsteering particularly to those parts of the shore where the danger was\ngreatest, and from whence the affrighted people were endeavouring to\nescape with the most trepidation.  Thus I happily preserved some\nthousands of lives, noting at the same time, with an unshaken composure\nand freedom of mind, the several phenomena of the eruption.  Towards\nnight, as we approached to the foot of Mount Vesuvius, our galleys were\ncovered with ashes, the showers of which grew continually hotter and\nhotter; then pumice stones and burnt and broken pyrites began to fall on\nour heads, and we were stopped by the obstacles which the ruins of the\nvolcano had suddenly formed, by falling into the sea and almost filling\nit up, on that part of the coast.  I then commanded my pilot to steer to\nthe villa of my friend Pomponianus, which, you know, was situated in the\ninmost recess of the bay.  The wind was very favourable to carry me\nthither, but would not allow him to put off from the shore, as he was\ndesirous to have done.  We were, therefore, constrained to pass the night\nin his house.  The family watched, and I slept till the heaps of pumice\nstones, which incessantly fell from the clouds that had by this time been\nimpelled to that side of the bay, rose so high in the area of the\napartment I lay in, that if I had stayed any longer I could not have got\nout; and the earthquakes were so violent as to threaten every moment the\nfall of the house.  We, therefore, thought it more safe to go into the\nopen air, guarding our heads as well as we were able with pillows tied\nupon them.  The wind continuing contrary, and the sea very rough, we all\nremained on the shore, till the descent of a sulphurous and fiery vapour\nsuddenly oppressed my weak lungs and put an end to my life.  In all this\nI hope that I acted as the duty of my station required, and with true\nmagnanimity.  But on this occasion, and in many other parts of your\nconduct, I must say, my dear nephew, there was a mixture of vanity\nblended with your virtue which impaired and disgraced it.  Without that\nyou would have been one of the worthiest men whom Rome has over produced,\nfor none excelled you in sincere integrity of heart and greatness of\nsentiments.  Why would you lose the substance of glory by seeking the\nshadow?  Your eloquence had, I think, the same fault as your manners; it\nwas generally too affected.  You professed to make Cicero your guide and\npattern; but when one reads his Panegyric upon Julius Caesar, in his\nOration for Marcellus, and yours upon Trajan, the first seems the genuine\nlanguage of truth and Nature, raised and dignified with all the majesty\nof the most sublime oratory; the latter appears the harangue of a florid\nrhetorician, more desirous to shine and to set off his own wit than to\nextol the great man whose virtues he was praising.\n\n_Pliny the Younger_.--I will not question your judgment either of my life\nor my writings; they might both have been better if I had not been too\nsolicitous to render them perfect.  It is, perhaps, some excuse for the\naffectation of my style that it was the fashion of the age in which I\nwrote.  Even the eloquence of Tacitus, however nervous and sublime, was\nnot unaffected.  Mine, indeed, was more diffuse, and the ornaments of it\nwere more tawdry; but his laboured conciseness, the constant glow of his\ndiction, and pointed brilliancy of his sentences, were no less unnatural.\nOne principal cause of this I suppose to have been that, as we despaired\nof excelling the two great masters of oratory, Cicero and Livy, in their\nown manner, we took up another, which to many appeared more shining, and\ngave our compositions a more original air; but it is mortifying to me to\nsay much on this subject.  Permit me, therefore, to resume the\ncontemplation of that on which our conversation turned before.  What a\ndireful calamity was the eruption of Vesuvius, which you have been\ndescribing?  Don't you remember the beauty of that fine coast, and of the\nmountain itself, before it was torn with the violence of those internal\nfires, that forced their way through its surface.  The foot of it was\ncovered with cornfields and rich meadows, interspersed with splendid\nvillas and magnificent towns; the sides of it were clothed with the best\nvines in Italy.  How quick, how unexpected, how terrible was the change!\nAll was at once overwhelmed with ashes, cinders, broken rocks, and fiery\ntorrents, presenting to the eye the most dismal scene of horror and\ndesolation!\n\n_Pliny the Elder_.--You paint it very truly.  But has it never occurred\nto your philosophical mind that this change is a striking emblem of that\nwhich must happen, by the natural course of things, to every rich,\nluxurious state?  While the inhabitants of it are sunk in\nvoluptuousness--while all is smiling around them, and they imagine that\nno evil, no danger is nigh--the latent seeds of destruction are\nfermenting within; till, breaking out on a sudden, they lay waste all\ntheir opulence, all their boasted delights, and leave them a sad monument\nof the fatal effects of internal tempests and convulsions.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE VIII.\n\n\nFERNANDO CORTEZ--WILLIAM PENN.\n\n_Cortez_.--Is it possible, William Penn, that you should seriously\ncompare your glory with mine?  The planter of a small colony in North\nAmerica presume to vie with the conqueror of the great Mexican Empire?\n\n_Penn_.--Friend, I pretend to no glory--the Lord preserve me from it.  All\nglory is His; but this I say, that I was His instrument in a more\nglorious work than that performed by thee--incomparably more glorious.\n\n_Cortez_.--Dost thou not know, William Penn, that with less than six\nhundred Spanish foot, eighteen horse, and a few small pieces of cannon, I\nfought and defeated innumerable armies of very brave men; dethroned an\nemperor who had been raised to the throne by his valour, and excelled all\nhis countrymen in the science of war, as much as they excelled all the\nrest of the West Indian nations?  That I made him my prisoner in his own\ncapital; and, after he had been deposed and slain by his subjects,\nvanquished and took Guatimozin, his successor, and accomplished my\nconquest of the whole empire of Mexico, which I loyally annexed to the\nSpanish Crown?  Dost thou not know that, in doing these wonderful acts, I\nshowed as much courage as Alexander the Great, as much prudence as Caesar?\nThat by my policy I ranged under my banners the powerful commonwealth of\nTlascala, and brought them to assist me in subduing the Mexicans, though\nwith the loss of their own beloved independence? and that, to consummate\nmy glory, when the Governor of Cuba, Velasquez, would have taken my\ncommand from me and sacrificed me to his envy and jealousy, I drew from\nhim all his forces and joined them to my own, showing myself as superior\nto all other Spaniards as I was to the Indians?\n\n_Penn_.--I know very well that thou wast as fierce as a lion and as\nsubtle as a serpent.  The devil perhaps may place thee as high in his\nblack list of heroes as Alexander or Caesar.  It is not my business to\ninterfere with him in settling thy rank.  But hark thee, friend Cortez.\nWhat right hadst thou, or had the King of Spain himself, to the Mexican\nEmpire?  Answer me that, if thou canst.\n\n_Cortez_.--The Pope gave it to my master.\n\n_Penn_.--The devil offered to give our Lord all the kingdoms of the\nearth, and I suppose the Pope, as his vicar, gave thy master this; in\nreturn for which he fell down and worshipped him, like an idolater as he\nwas.  But suppose the high priest of Mexico had taken it into his head to\ngive Spain to Montezuma, would his grant have been good?\n\n_Cortez_.--These are questions of casuistry which it is not the business\nof a soldier to decide.  We leave that to gownsmen.  But pray, Mr. Penn,\nwhat right had you to the province you settled?\n\n_Penn_.--An honest right of fair purchase.  We gave the native savages\nsome things they wanted, and they in return gave us lands they did not\nwant.  All was amicably agreed on, not a drop of blood shed to stain our\nacquisition.\n\n_Cortez_.--I am afraid there was a little fraud in the purchase.  Thy\nfollowers, William Penn, are said to think cheating in a quiet and sober\nway no mortal sin.\n\n_Penn_.--The saints are always calumniated by the ungodly.  But it was a\nsight which an angel might contemplate with delight to behold the colony\nI settled!  To see us living with the Indians like innocent lambs, and\ntaming the ferocity of their barbarous manners by the gentleness of ours!\nTo see the whole country, which before was an uncultivated wilderness,\nrendered as fertile and fair as the garden of God!  O Fernando Cortez,\nFernando Cortez! didst thou leave the great empire of Mexico in that\nstate?  No, thou hadst turned those delightful and populous regions into\na desert--a desert flooded with blood.  Dost thou not remember that most\ninfernal scene when the noble Emperor Guatimozin was stretched out by thy\nsoldiers upon hot burning coals to make him discover into what part of\nthe lake of Mexico he had thrown the royal treasures?  Are not his groans\never sounding in the ears of thy conscience?  Do not they rend thy hard\nheart, and strike thee with more horror than the yells of the furies?\n\n_Cortez_.--Alas!  I was not present when that dire act was done.  Had I\nbeen there I would have forbidden it.  My nature was mild.\n\n_Penn_.--Thou wast the captain of that band of robbers who did this\nhorrid deed.  The advantage they had drawn from thy counsels and conduct\nenabled them to commit it; and thy skill saved them afterwards from the\nvengeance that was due to so enormous a crime.  The enraged Mexicans\nwould have properly punished them for it, if they had not had thee for\ntheir general, thou lieutenant of Satan.\n\n_Cortez_.--The saints I find can rail, William Penn.  But how do you hope\nto preserve this admirable colony which you have settled?  Your people,\nyou tell me, live like innocent lambs.  Are there no wolves in North\nAmerica to devour those lambs?  But if the Americans should continue in\nperpetual peace with all your successors there, the French will not.  Are\nthe inhabitants of Pennsylvania to make war against them with prayers and\npreaching?  If so, that garden of God which you say you have planted will\nundoubtedly be their prey, and they will take from you your property,\nyour laws, and your religion.\n\n_Penn_.--The Lord's will be done.  The Lord will defend us against the\nrage of our enemies if it be His good pleasure.\n\n_Cortez_.--Is this the wisdom of a great legislator?  I have heard some\nof your countrymen compare you to Solon.  Did Solon, think you, give laws\nto a people, and leave those laws and that people at the mercy of every\ninvader?  The first business of legislature is to provide a military\nstrength that may defend the whole system.  If a house is built in a land\nof robbers, without a gate to shut or a bolt or bar to secure it, what\navails it how well-proportioned or how commodious the architecture of it\nmay be?  Is it richly furnished within? the more it will tempt the hands\nof violence and of rapine to seize its wealth.  The world, William Penn,\nis all a land of robbers.  Any state or commonwealth erected therein must\nbe well fenced and secured by good military institutions; or, the happier\nit is in all other respects, the greater will be its danger, the more\nspeedy its destruction.  Perhaps the neighbouring English colonies may\nfor a while protect yours; but that precarious security cannot always\npreserve you.  Your plan of government must be changed, or your colony\nwill be lost.  What I have said is also applicable to Great Britain\nitself.  If an increase of its wealth be not accompanied with an increase\nof its force that wealth will become the prey of some of the neighbouring\nnations, in which the martial spirit is more prevalent than the\ncommercial.  And whatever praise may be due to its civil institutions, if\nthey are not guarded by a wise system of military policy, they will be\nfound of no value, being unable to prevent their own dissolution.\n\n_Penn_.--These are suggestions of human wisdom.  The doctrines I held\nwere inspired; they came from above.\n\n_Cortez_.--It is blasphemy to say that any folly could come from the\nFountain of Wisdom.  Whatever is inconsistent with the great laws of\nNature and with the necessary state of human society cannot possibly have\nbeen inspired by God.  Self-defence is as necessary to nations as to men.\nAnd shall particulars have a right which nations have not?  True\nreligion, William Penn, is the perfection of reason; fanaticism is the\ndisgrace, the destruction of reason.\n\n_Penn_.--Though what thou sayest should be true, it does not come well\nfrom thy mouth.  A Papist talk of reason!  Go to the Inquisition and tell\nthem of reason and the great laws of Nature.  They will broil thee, as\nthy soldiers broiled the unhappy Guatimozin.  Why dost thou turn pale?  Is\nit the name of the Inquisition, or the name of Guatimozin, that troubles\nand affrights thee?  O wretched man! who madest thyself a voluntary\ninstrument to carry into a new-discovered world that hellish tribunal?\nTremble and shake when thou thinkest that every murder the Inquisitors\nhave committed, every torture they have inflicted on the innocent\nIndians, is originally owing to thee.  Thou must answer to God for all\ntheir inhumanity, for all their injustice.  What wouldst thou give to\npart with the renown of thy conquests, and to have a conscience as pure\nand undisturbed as mine?\n\n_Cortez_.--I feel the force of thy words; they pierce me like daggers.  I\ncan never, never be happy, while I retain any memory of the ills I have\ncaused.  Yet I thought I did right.  I thought I laboured to advance the\nglory of God and propagate, in the remotest parts of the earth, His holy\nreligion.  He will be merciful to well designing and pious error.  Thou\nalso wilt have need of that gracious indulgence, though not, I own, so\nmuch as I.\n\n_Penn_.--Ask thy heart whether ambition was not thy real motive and zeal\nthe pretence?\n\n_Cortez_.--Ask thine whether thy zeal had no worldly views and whether\nthou didst believe all the nonsense of the sect, at the head of which\nthou wast pleased to become a legislator.--Adieu.  Self-examination\nrequires retirement.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE IX.\n\n\nMARCUS PORTIUS CATO--MESSALLA CORVINUS.\n\n_Cato_.--Oh, Messalla! is it then possible that what some of our\ncountrymen tell me should be true?  Is it possible that you could live\nthe courtier of Octavius; that you could accept of employments and\nhonours from him, from the tyrant of your country; you, the brave, the\nnoble-minded, the virtuous Messalla; you, whom I remember, my son-in-law\nBrutus has frequently extolled as the most promising youth in Rome,\ntutored by philosophy, trained up in arms, scorning all those soft,\neffeminate pleasures that reconcile men to an easy and indolent\nservitude, fit for all the roughest tasks of honour and virtue, fit to\nlive or to die a free man?\n\n_Messalla_.--Marcus Cato, I revere both your life and your death; but the\nlast, permit me to tell you, did no good to your country, and the former\nwould have done more if you could have mitigated a little the sternness\nof your virtue, I will not say of your pride.  For my own part, I adhered\nwith constant integrity and unwearied zeal to the Republic, while the\nRepublic existed.  I fought for her at Philippi under the only commander,\nwho, if he had conquered, would have conquered for her, not for himself.\nWhen he was dead I saw that nothing remained to my country but the choice\nof a master.  I chose the best.\n\n_Cato_.--The best!  What! a man who had broken all laws, who had violated\nall trusts, who had led the armies of the Commonwealth against Antony,\nand then joined with him and that sottish traitor Lepidus, to set up a\ntriumvirate more execrable by far than either of the former; who shed the\nbest blood in Rome by an inhuman proscription, murdered even his own\nguardian, murdered Cicero, to whose confidence, too improvidently given,\nhe owed all his power?  Was this the master you chose?  Could you bring\nyour tongue to give him the name of Augustus?  Could you stoop to beg\nconsulships and triumphs from him?  Oh, shame to virtue!  Oh, degeneracy\nof Rome!  To what infamy are her sons, her noblest sons, fallen.  The\nthought of it pains me more than the wound that I died of; it stabs my\nsoul.\n\n_Messalla_.--Moderate, Cato, the vehemence of your indignation.  There\nhas always been too much passion mixed with your virtue.  The enthusiasm\nyou are possessed with is a noble one, but it disturbs your judgment.\nHear me with patience, and with the tranquillity that becomes a\nphilosopher.  It is true that Octavius had done all you have said; but it\nis no less true that, in our circumstances, he was the best master Rome\ncould choose.  His mind was fitted by nature for empire.  His\nunderstanding was clear and strong.  His passions were cool, and under\nthe absolute command of his reason.  His name gave him an authority over\nthe troops and the people which no other Roman could possess in an equal\ndegree.  He used that authority to restrain the excesses of both, which\nit was no longer in the power of the Senate to repress, nor of any other\ngeneral or magistrate in the state.  He restored discipline in our\narmies, the first means of salvation, without which no legal government\ncould have been formed or supported.  He avoided all odious and invidious\nnames.  He maintained and respected those which time and long habits had\nendeared to the Roman people.  He permitted a generous liberty of speech.\nHe treated the nobles of Pompey's party as well as those of his father's,\nif they did not themselves, for factious purposes, keep up the\ndistinction.  He formed a plan of government, moderate, decent,\nrespectable, which left the senate its majesty, and some of its power.  He\nrestored vigour and spirit to the laws; he made new and good ones for the\nreformation of manners; he enforced their execution; he governed the\nempire with lenity, justice, and glory; he humbled the pride of the\nParthians; he broke the fierceness of the barbarous nations; he gave to\nhis country, exhausted and languishing with the great loss of blood which\nshe had sustained in the course of so many civil wars, the blessing of\npeace--a blessing which was become so necessary for her, that without it\nshe could enjoy no other.  In doing these things I acknowledge he had my\nassistance.  I am prouder of it, and I think I can justify myself more\neffectually to my country, than if I had died by my own hand at Philippi.\nBelieve me, Cato, it is better to do some good than to project a great\ndeal.  A little practical virtue is of more use to society than the most\nsublime theory, or the best principles of government ill applied.\n\n_Cato_.--Yet I must think it was beneath the character of Messalla to\njoin in supporting a government which, though coloured and mitigated, was\nstill a tyranny.  Had you not better have gone into a voluntary exile,\nwhere you would not have seen the face of the tyrant, and where you might\nhave quietly practised those private virtues which are all that the gods\nrequire from good men in certain situations?\n\n_Messalla_.--No; I did much more good by continuing at Rome.  Had\nAugustus required of me anything base, anything servile, I would have\ngone into exile, I would have died, rather than do it.  But he respected\nmy virtue, he respected my dignity; he treated me as well as Agrippa, or\nas Maecenas, with this distinction alone, that he never employed my sword\nbut against foreign nations, or the old enemies of the republic.\n\n_Cato_.--It must, I own, have been a pleasure to be employed against\nAntony, that monster of vice, who plotted the ruin of liberty, and the\nraising of himself to sovereign power, amidst the riot of bacchanals, and\nin the embraces of harlots, who, when he had attained to that power,\ndelivered it up to a lascivious queen, and would have made an Egyptian\nstrumpet the mistress of Rome, if the Battle of Actium had not saved us\nfrom that last of misfortunes.\n\n_Messalla_.--In that battle I had a considerable share.  So I had in\nencouraging the liberal arts and sciences, which Augustus protected.\nUnder his judicious patronage the muses made Rome their capital seat.  It\nwould have pleased you to have known Virgil, Horace, Tibullus, Ovid,\nLivy, and many more, whose names will be illustrious to all generations.\n\n_Cato_.--I understand you, Messalla.  Your Augustus and you, after the\nruin of our liberty, made Rome a Greek city, an academy of fine wits,\nanother Athens under the government of Demetrius Phalareus.  I had much\nrather have seen her under Fabricius and Curius, and her other honest old\nconsuls, who could not read.\n\n_Messalla_.--Yet to these writers she will owe as much of her glory as\nshe did to those heroes.  I could say more, a great deal more, on the\nhappiness of the mild dominion of Augustus.  I might even add, that the\nvast extent of the empire, the factions of the nobility, and the\ncorruption of the people, which no laws under the ordinary magistrates of\nthe state were able to restrain, seemed necessarily to require some\nchange in the government; that Cato himself, had he remained upon earth,\ncould have done us no good, unless he would have yielded to become our\nprince.  But I see you consider me as a deserter from the republic, and\nan apologist for a tyrant.  I, therefore, leave you to the company of\nthose ancient Romans, for whose society you were always much fitter than\nfor that of your contemporaries.  Cato should have lived with Fabricius\nand Curius, not with Pompey and Caesar.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE X.\n\n\nCHRISTINA, Queen Of Sweden--Chancellor OXENSTIERN.\n\n_Christina_.--You seem to avoid me, Oxenstiern; and, now we are met, you\ndon't pay me the reverence that is due to your queen!  Have you forgotten\nthat I was your sovereign?\n\n_Oxenstiern_.--I am not your subject here, madam; but you have forgotten\nthat you yourself broke that bond, and freed me from my allegiance, many\nyears before you died, by abdicating the crown, against my advice and the\ninclination of your people.  Reverence here is paid only to virtue.\n\n_Christina_.--I see you would mortify me if it were in your power for\nacting against your advice.  But my fame does not depend upon your\njudgment.  All Europe admired the greatness of my mind in resigning a\ncrown to dedicate myself entirely to the love of the sciences and the\nfine arts; things of which you had no taste in barbarous Sweden, the\nrealm of Goths and Vandals.\n\n_Oxenstiern_.--There is hardly any mind too great for a crown, but there\nare many too little.  Are you sure, madam, it was magnanimity that caused\nyou to fly from the government of a kingdom which your ancestors, and\nparticularly your heroic father Gustavus, had ruled with so much glory?\n\n_Christina_.--Am I sure of it?  Yes; and to confirm my own judgment, I\nhave that of many learned men and _beaux esprits_ of all countries, who\nhave celebrated my action as the perfection of heroism.\n\n_Oxenstiern_.--Those _beaux esprits_ judged according to their\npredominant passion.  I have heard young ladies express their admiration\nof Mark Antony for heroically leaving his fleet at the Battle of Actium\nto follow his mistress.  Your passion for literature had the same effect\nupon you.  But why did not you indulge it in a manner more becoming your\nbirth and rank?  Why did not you bring the muses to Sweden, instead of\ndeserting that kingdom to seek them in Rome?  For a prince to encourage\nand protect arts and sciences, and more especially to instruct an\nilliterate people and inspire them with knowledge, politeness, and fine\ntaste is indeed an act of true greatness.\n\n_Christina_.--The Swedes were too gross to be refined by any culture\nwhich I could have given to their dull, their half-frozen souls.  Wit and\ngenius require the influence of a more southern climate.\n\n_Oxenstiern_.--The Swedes too gross!  No, madam, not even the Russians\nare too gross to be refined if they had a prince to instruct them.\n\n_Christina_.--It was too tedious a work for the vivacity of my temper to\npolish bears into men.  I should have died of the spleen before I had\nmade any proficiency in it.  My desire was to shine among those who were\nqualified to judge of my talents.  At Paris, at Rome I had the glory of\nshowing the French and Italian wits that the North could produce one not\ninferior to them.  They beheld me with wonder.  The homage I had received\nin my palace at Stockholm was paid to my dignity.  That which I drew from\nthe French and Roman academies was paid to my talents.  How much more\nglorious, how much more delightful to an elegant and rational mind was\nthe latter than the former!  Could you once have felt the joy, the\ntransport of my heart, when I saw the greatest authors and all the\ncelebrated artists in the most learned and civilised countries of Europe\nbringing their works to me and submitting the merit of them to my\ndecisions; when I saw the philosophers, the rhetoricians, the poets\nmaking my judgment the standard of their reputation, you would not wonder\nthat I preferred the empire of wit to any other empire.\n\n_Oxenstiern_.--O great Gustavus! my ever-honoured, my adored master!  O\ngreatest of kings, greatest in valour, in virtue, in wisdom, with what\nindignation must thy soul, enthroned in heaven, have looked down on thy\nunworthy, thy degenerate daughter!  With what shame must thou have seen\nher rambling about from court to court deprived of her royal dignity,\ndebased into a pedant, a witling, a smatterer in sculpture and painting,\nreduced to beg or buy flattery from each needy rhetorician or hireling\npoet!  I weep to think on this stain, this dishonourable stain, to thy\nillustrious blood!  And yet, would to God! would to God! this was all the\npollution it has suffered!\n\n_Christina_.--Darest thou, Oxenstiern, impute any blemish to my honour?\n\n_Oxenstiern_.--Madam, the world will scarce respect the frailties of\nqueens when they are on their thrones, much less when they have\nvoluntarily degraded themselves to the level of the vulgar.  And if\nscandalous tongues have unjustly aspersed their fame, the way to clear it\nis not by an assassination.\n\n_Christina_.--Oh! that I were alive again, and restored to my throne,\nthat I might punish the insolence of this hoary traitor!  But, see! he\nleaves me, he turns his back upon me with cool contempt!  Alas! do I not\ndeserve this scorn?  In spite of myself I must confess that I do.  O\nvanity, how short-lived are the pleasures thou bestowest!  I was thy\nvotary.  Thou wast the god for whom I changed my religion.  For thee I\nforsook my country and my throne.  What compensation have I gained for\nall these sacrifices so lavishly, so imprudently made?  Some puffs of\nincense from authors who thought their flattery due to the rank I had\nheld, or hoped to advance themselves by my recommendation, or, at best,\nover-rated my passion for literature, and praised me to raise the value\nof those talents with which they were endowed.  But in the esteem of wise\nmen I stand very low, and their esteem alone is the true measure of\nglory.  Nothing, I perceive, can give the mind a lasting joy but the\nconsciousness of having performed our duty in that station which it has\npleased the Divine Providence to assign to us.  The glory of virtue is\nsolid and eternal.  All other will fade away like a thin vapoury cloud,\non which the casual glance of some faint beams of light has superficially\nimprinted their weak and transient colours.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE XI.\n\n\nTITUS VESPASIANUS--PUBLIUS CORNELIUS SCIPIO AFRICANUS.\n\n_Titus_.--No, Scipio, I can't give place to you in this.  In other\nrespects I acknowledge myself your inferior, though I was Emperor of Rome\nand you only her consul.  I think your triumph over Carthage more\nglorious than mine over Judaea.  But in that I gained over love I must\nesteem myself superior to you, though your generosity with regard to the\nfair Celtiberian, your captive, has been celebrated so highly.\n\n_Scipio_.--Fame has been, then, unjust to your merit, for little is said\nof the continence of Titus, but mine has been the favourite topic of\neloquence in every age and country.\n\n_Titus_.--It has; and in particular your great historian Livy has poured\nforth all the ornaments of his admirable rhetoric to embellish and\ndignify that part of your story.  I had a great historian too--Cornelius\nTacitus; but either from the brevity which he affected in writing, or\nfrom the severity of his nature, which never having felt the passion of\nlove, thought the subduing of it too easy a victory to deserve great\nencomiums, he has bestowed but three lines upon my parting with Berenice,\nwhich cost me more pain and greater efforts of mind than the conquest of\nJerusalem.\n\n_Scipio_.--I wish to hear from yourself the history of that parting, and\nwhat could make it so hard and painful to you.\n\n_Titus_.--While I served in Palestine under the auspices of my father,\nVespasian, I became acquainted with Berenice, sister to King Agrippa, and\nwho was herself a queen in one of those Eastern countries.  She was the\nmost beautiful woman in Asia, but she had graces more irresistible still\nthan her beauty.  She had all the insinuation and wit of Cleopatra,\nwithout her coquetry.  I loved her, and was beloved; she loved my person,\nnot my greatness.  Her tenderness, her fidelity so inflamed my passion\nfor her that I gave her a promise of marriage.\n\n_Scipio_.--What do I hear?  A Roman senator promise to marry a queen!\n\n_Titus_.--I expected, Scipio, that your ears would be offended with the\nsound of such a match.  But consider that Rome was very different in my\ntime from Rome in yours.  The ferocious pride of our ancient republican\nsenators had bent itself to the obsequious complaisance of a court.\nBerenice made no doubt, and I flattered myself that it would not be\ninflexible in this point alone.  But we thought it necessary to defer the\ncompletion of our wishes till the death of my father.  On that event the\nRoman Empire and (what I knew she valued more) my hand became due to her,\naccording to my engagements.\n\n_Scipio_.--The Roman Empire due to a Syrian queen!  Oh, Rome, how art\nthou fallen!  Accursed be the memory of Octavius Caesar, who by\noppressing its liberty so lowered the majesty of the republic, that a\nbrave and virtuous Roman, in whom was vested all the power of that mighty\nstate, could entertain such a thought!  But did you find the senate and\npeople so servile, so lost to all sense of their honour and dignity, as\nto affront the great genius of imperial Rome and the eyes of her tutelary\ngods, the eyes of Jupiter Capitolinus, with the sight of a queen--an\nAsiatic queen--on the throne of the Caesars?\n\n_Titus_.--I did not.  They judged of it as you, Scipio, judge; they\ndetested, they disdained it.  In vain did I urge to some particular\nfriends, who represented to me the sense of the Senate and people, that a\nMessalina, a Poppaea, were a much greater dishonour to the throne of the\nCaesars than a virtuous foreign princess.  Their prejudices were\nunconquerable; I saw it would be impossible for me to remove them.  But I\nmight have used my authority to silence their murmurs.  A liberal\ndonative to the soldiers, by whom I was fondly beloved, would have\nsecured their fidelity, and consequently would have forced the Senate and\npeople to yield to my inclination.  Berenice knew this, and with tears\nimplored me not to sacrifice her happiness and my own to an unjust\nprepossession.  Shall I own it to you, Publius?  My heart not only pitied\nher, but acknowledged the truth and solidity of her reasons.  Yet so much\ndid I abhor the idea of tyranny, so much respect did I pay to the\nsentiments of my subjects, that I determined to separate myself from her\nfor ever, rather than force either the laws or the prejudices of Rome to\nsubmit to my will.\n\n_Scipio_.--Give me thy hand, noble Titus.  Thou wast worthy of the\nempire, and Scipio Africanus honours thy virtue.\n\n_Titus_.--My virtue can have no greater reward from the approbation of\nman.  But, O Scipio, think what anguish my heart must have felt when I\ntook that resolution, and when I communicated it to my dear, my unhappy\nBerenice.  You saw the struggle of Masinissa, when you forced him to give\nup his beloved Sophonisba.  Mine was a harder conflict.  She had\nabandoned him to marry the King of Numidia.  He knew that her ruling\npassion was ambition, not love.  He could not rationally esteem her when\nshe quitted a husband whom she had ruined, who had lost his crown and his\nliberty in the cause of her country and for her sake, to give her person\nto him, the capital foe of that unfortunate husband.  He must, in spite\nof his passion, have thought her a perfidious, a detestable woman.  But I\nesteemed Berenice; she deserved my esteem.  I was certain she would not\nhave accepted the empire from any other hand; and had I been a private\nman she would have raised me to her throne.  Yet I had the fortitude--I\nought, perhaps, to say the hardness of heart--to bid her depart from my\nsight; depart for ever!  What, O Publius, was your conquest over\nyourself, in giving back to her betrothed lover the Celtiberian captive\ncompared to this?  Indeed, that was no conquest.  I will not so dishonour\nthe virtue of Scipio as to think he could feel any struggle with himself\non that account.  A woman engaged to another--engaged by affection as\nwell as vows, let her have been ever so beautiful--could raise in your\nheart no sentiments but compassion and friendship.  To have violated her\nwould have been an act of brutality, which none but another Tarquin could\nhave committed.  To have detained her from her husband would have been\ncruel.  But where love is mutual, where the object beloved suffers more\nin the separation than you do yourself, to part with her is indeed a\nstruggle.  It is the hardest sacrifice a good heart can make to its duty.\n\n_Scipio_.--I acknowledge that it is, and yield you the palm.  But I will\nown to you, Titus, I never knew much of the tenderness you describe.\nHannibal, Carthage, Rome, the saving of my country, the subduing of its\nrival, these filled my thoughts, and left no room there for those\neffeminate passions.  I do not blame your sensibility; but when I went to\nthe capitol to talk with Jove, I never consulted him about love affairs.\n\n_Titus_.--If my soul had been possessed by ambition alone, I might\npossibly have been a greater man than I was; but I should not have been\nmore virtuous, nor have gained the title I preferred to that of conqueror\nof Judaea and Emperor of Rome, in being called the delight of humankind.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE XII\n\n\nHENRY DUKE OF GUISE--MACHIAVEL.\n\n_Guise_.--Avaunt! thou fiend.  I abhor thy sight.  I look upon thee as\nthe original cause of my death, and of all the calamities brought upon\nthe French nation, in my father's time and my own.\n\n_Machiavel_.--I the cause of your death!  You surprise me!\n\n_Guise_.--Yes.  Your pernicious maxims of policy, imported from Florence\nwith Catherine of Medicis, your wicked disciple, produced in France such\na government, such dissimulation, such perfidy, such violent, ruthless\ncounsels, as threw that whole kingdom into the utmost confusion, and\nended my life, even in the palace of my sovereign, by the swords of\nassassins.\n\n_Machiavel_.--Whoever may have a right to complain of my policy, you,\nsir, have not.  You owed your greatness to it, and your deviating from it\nwas the real cause of your death.  If it had not been for the\nassassination of Admiral Coligni and the massacre of the Huguenots, the\nstrength and power which the conduct of so able a chief would have given\nto that party, after the death of your father, its most dangerous enemy,\nwould have been fatal to your house; nor could you, even with all the\nadvantage you drew from that great stroke of royal policy, have acquired\nthe authority you afterwards rose to in the kingdom of France; but by\npursuing my maxims, by availing yourself of the specious name of religion\nto serve the secret purposes of your ambition, and by suffering no\nrestraint of fear or conscience, not even the guilt of exciting a civil\nwar, to check the necessary progress of your well-concerted designs.  But\non the day of the barricades you most imprudently let the king escape out\nof Paris, when you might have slain or deposed him.  This was directly\nagainst the great rule of my politics, not to stop short in rebellion or\ntreason till the work is fully completed.  And you were justly censured\nfor it by Pope Sixtus Quintus, a more consummate politician, who said,\n\"You ought to have known that when a subject draws his sword against his\nking he should throw away the scabbard.\"  You likewise deviated from my\ncounsels, by putting yourself in the power of a sovereign you had so much\noffended.  Why would you, against all the cautions I had given, expose\nyour life in a loyal castle to the mercy of that prince?  You trusted to\nhis fear, but fear, insulted and desperate, is often cruel.  Impute\ntherefore your death not to any fault in my maxims, but to your own folly\nin not having sufficiently observed them.\n\n_Guise_.--If neither I nor that prince had ever practised your maxims in\nany part of our conduct, he would have reigned many years with honour and\npeace, and I should have risen by my courage and talents to as high a\npitch of greatness as it consisted with the duty of a subject to desire.\nBut your instructions led us on into those crooked paths, out of which\nthere was no retreat without great danger, nor a possibility of advancing\nwithout being detested by all mankind, and whoever is so has everything\nto fear from that detestation.  I will give you a proof of this in the\nfate of a prince, who ought to have been your hero instead of Caesar\nBorgia, because he was incomparably a greater man, and, of all who ever\nlived, seems to have acted most steadily according to the rules laid down\nby you; I mean Richard III., King of England.  He stopped at no crime\nthat could be profitable to him; he was a dissembler, a hypocrite, a\nmurderer in cool blood.  After the death of his brother he gained the\ncrown by cutting off, without pity, all who stood in his way.  He trusted\nno man any further than helped his own purposes and consisted with his\nown safety.  He liberally rewarded all services done him, but would not\nlet the remembrance of them atone for offences or save any man from\ndestruction who obstructed his views.  Nevertheless, though his nature\nshrunk from no wickedness which could serve his ambition, he possessed\nand exercised all those virtues which you recommend to the practice of\nyour prince.  He was bold and prudent in war, just and strict in the\ngeneral administration of his government, and particularly careful, by a\nvigorous execution of the laws, to protect the people against injuries or\noppressions from the great.  In all his actions and words there\nconstantly appeared the highest concern for the honour of the nation.  He\nwas neither greedy of wealth that belonged to other men nor profuse of\nhis own, but knew how to give and where to save.  He professed a most\nedifying sense of religion, pretended great zeal for the reformation of\nmanners, and was really an example of sobriety, chastity, and temperance\nin the whole course of his life.  Nor did he shed any blood, but of those\nwho were such obstacles in his way to dominion as could not possibly be\nremoved by any other means.  This was a prince after your heart, yet mark\nhis end.  The horror his crimes had excited in the minds of his subjects,\nand the detestation it produced, were so pernicious to him, that they\nenabled an exile, who had no right to the crown, and whose abilities were\nmuch inferior to his, to invade his realm and destroy him.\n\n_Machiavel_.--This example, I own, may seem to be of some weight against\nthe truth of my system.  But at the same time it demonstrates that there\nwas nothing so new in the doctrines I published as to make it reasonable\nto charge me with the disorders and mischiefs which, since my time, any\nkingdom may have happened to suffer from the ambition of a subject or the\ntyranny of a prince.  Human nature wants no teaching to render it wicked.\nIn courts more especially there has been, from the first institution of\nmonarchies, a policy practised, not less repugnant than mine to the\nnarrow and vulgar laws of humanity and religion.  Why should I be singled\nout as worse than other statesmen?\n\n_Guise_.--There have been, it must be owned, in all ages and all states,\nmany wicked politicians; but thou art the first that ever taught the\nscience of tyranny, reduced it to rules, and instructed his disciples how\nto acquire and secure it by treachery, perjuries, assassinations,\nproscriptions, and with a particular caution, not to be stopped in the\nprogress of their crimes by any check of the conscience or feeling of the\nheart, but to push them as far as they shall judge to be necessary to\ntheir greatness and safety.  It is this which has given thee a\npre-eminence in guilt over all other statesmen.\n\n_Machiavel_.--If you had read my book with candour you would have\nperceived that I did not desire to render men either tyrants or rebels,\nbut only showed, if they were so, what conduct, in such circumstances, it\nwould be rational and expedient for them to observe.\n\n_Guise_.--When you were a minister of state in Florence, if any chemist\nor physician had published a treatise, to instruct his countrymen in the\nart of poisoning, and how to do it with the most certain destruction to\nothers and security to themselves, would you have allowed him to plead in\nhis justification that he did not desire men to poison their neighbours?\nBut, if they would use such evil means of mending their fortunes, there\ncould surely be no harm in letting them know what were the most effectual\npoisons, and by what methods they might give them without being\ndiscovered.  Would you have thought it a sufficient apology for him that\nhe had dropped in his preface, or here and there in his book, a sober\nexhortation against the committing of murder?  Without all doubt, as a\nmagistrate concerned for the safety of the people of Florence, you would\nhave punished the wretch with the utmost severity, and taken great care\nto destroy every copy of so pernicious a book.  Yet your own admired work\ncontains a more baneful and more infernal art.  It poisons states and\nkingdoms, and spreads its malignity, like a general pestilence, over the\nwhole world.\n\n_Machiavel_.--You must acknowledge at least that my discourses on Livy\nare full of wise and virtuous maxims and precepts of government.\n\n_Guise_.--This, I think, rather aggravates than alleviates your guilt.\nHow could you study and comment upon Livy with so acute and profound an\nunderstanding, and afterwards write a book so absolutely repugnant to all\nthe lessons of policy taught by that sage and moral historian?  How could\nyou, who had seen the picture of virtue so amiably drawn by his hand, and\nwho seemed yourself to be sensible of all its charms, fall in love with a\nfury, and set up her dreadful image as an object of worship to princes?\n\n_Machiavel_.--I was seduced by vanity.  My heart was formed to love\nvirtue.  But I wanted to be thought a greater genius in politics than\nAristotle or Plato.  Vanity, sir, is a passion as strong in authors as\nambition in princes, or rather it is the same passion exerting itself\ndifferently.  I was a Duke of Guise in the republic of letters.\n\n_Guise_.--The bad influences of your guilt have reached further than\nmine, and been more lasting.  But, Heaven be praised, your credit is at\npresent much declining in Europe.  I have been told by some shades who\nare lately arrived here, that the ablest statesman of his time, a king,\nwith whose fame the world is filled, has answered your book, and confuted\nall the principles of it, with a noble scorn and abhorrence.  I am also\nassured, that in England there is a great and good king, whose whole life\nhas been a continued opposition to your evil system; who has hated all\ncruelty, all fraud, all falseness; whose word has been sacred, whose\nhonour inviolate; who has made the laws of his kingdom the rules of his\ngovernment, and good faith and a regard for the liberty of mankind the\nprinciples of his conduct with respect to foreign powers; who reigns more\nabsolutely now in the hearts of his people, and does greater things by\nthe confidence they place in him, and by the efforts they make from the\ngenerous zeal of affection, than any monarch ever did, or ever will do,\nby all the arts of iniquity which you recommended.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE XIII.\n\n\nVIRGIL--HORACE--MERCURY--SCALIGER THE ELDER.\n\n_Virgil_.--My dear Horace, your company is my greatest delight, even in\nthe Elysian Fields.  No wonder it was so when we lived together in Rome.\nNever had man so genteel, so agreeable, so easy a wit, or a temper so\npliant to the inclinations of others in the intercourse of society.  And\nthen such integrity, such fidelity, such generosity in your nature!  A\nsoul so free from all envy, so benevolent, so sincere, so placable in its\nanger, so warm and constant in its affections!  You were as necessary to\nMaecenas as he to Augustus.  Your conversation sweetened to him all the\ncares of his ministry; your gaiety cheered his drooping spirits; and your\ncounsels assisted him when he wanted advice.  For you were capable, my\ndear Horace, of counselling statesmen.  Your sagacity, your discretion,\nyour secrecy, your clear judgment in all affairs, recommended you to the\nconfidence, not of Maecenas alone, but of Augustus himself; which you\nnobly made use of to serve your old friends of the republican party, and\nto confirm both the minister and the prince in their love of mild and\nmoderate measures, yet with a severe restraint of licentiousness, the\nmost dangerous enemy to the whole commonwealth under any form of\ngovernment.\n\n_Horace_.--To be so praised by Virgil would have put me in Elysium while\nI was alive.  But I know your modesty will not suffer me, in return for\nthese encomiums, to speak of your character.  Supposing it as perfect as\nyour poems, you would think, as you did of them, that it wanted\ncorrection.\n\n_Virgil_.--Don't talk of my modesty.  How much greater was yours, when\nyou disclaimed the name of a poet, you whose odes are so noble, so\nharmonious, so sublime!\n\n_Horace_.--I felt myself too inferior to the dignity of that name.\n\n_Virgil_.--I think you did like Augustus, when he refused to accept the\ntitle of king, but kept all the power with which it was ever attended.\nEven in your Epistles and Satires, where the poet was concealed, as much\nas he could be, you may properly be compared to a prince in disguise, or\nin his hours of familiarity with his intimate friends: the pomp and\nmajesty were let drop, but the greatness remained.\n\n_Horace_.--Well, I will not contradict you; and, to say the truth, I\nshould do it with no very good grace, because in some of my Odes I have\nnot spoken so modestly of my own poetry as in my Epistles.  But to make\nyou know your pre-eminence over me and all writers of Latin verse, I will\ncarry you to Quintilian, the best of all Roman critics, who will tell you\nin what rank you ought to be placed.\n\n_Virgil_.--I fear his judgment of me was biassed by your commendation.\nBut who is this shade that Mercury is conducting?  I never saw one that\nstalked with so much pride, or had such ridiculous arrogance expressed in\nhis looks!\n\n_Horace_.--They come towards us.  Hail, Mercury!  What is this stranger\nwith you?\n\n_Mercury_.--His name is Julius Caesar Scaliger, and he is by profession a\ncritic.\n\n_Horace_.--Julius Caesar Scaliger!  He was, I presume, a dictator in\ncriticism.\n\n_Mercury_.--Yes, and he has exercised his sovereign power over you.\n\n_Horace_.--I will not presume to oppose it.  I had enough of following\nBrutus at Philippi.\n\n_Mercury_.--Talk to him a little.  He'll amuse you.  I brought him to you\non purpose.\n\n_Horace_.--Virgil, do you accost him.  I can't do it with proper gravity.\nI shall laugh in his face.\n\n_Virgil_.--Sir, may I ask for what reason you cast your eyes so\nsuperciliously upon Horace and me?  I don't remember that Augustus ever\nlooked down upon us with such an air of superiority when we were his\nsubjects.\n\n_Scaliger_.--He was only a sovereign over your bodies, and owed his power\nto violence and usurpation.  But I have from Nature an absolute dominion\nover the wit of all authors, who are subjected to me as the greatest of\ncritics or hypercritics.\n\n_Virgil_.--Your jurisdiction, great sir, is very extensive.  And what\njudgments have you been pleased to pass upon us?\n\n_Scaliger_.--Is it possible you should be ignorant of my decrees?  I have\nplaced you, Virgil, above Homer, whom I have shown to be--\n\n_Virgil_.--Hold, sir.  No blasphemy against my master.\n\n_Horace_.--But what have you said of me?\n\n_Scaliger_.--I have said that I had rather have written the little\ndialogue between you and Lydia than have been made king of Arragon.\n\n_Horace_.--If we were in the other world you should give me the kingdom,\nand take both the ode and the lady in return.  But did you always\npronounce so favourably for us?\n\n_Scaliger_.--Send for my works and read them.  Mercury will bring them to\nyou with the first learned ghost that arrives here from Europe.  There is\ninstruction for you in them.  I tell you of your faults.  But it was my\nwhim to commend that little ode, and I never do things by halves.  When I\ngive praise, I give it liberally, to show my royal bounty.  But I\ngenerally blame, to exert all the vigour of my censorian power, and keep\nmy subjects in awe.\n\n_Horace_.--You did not confine your sovereignty to poets; you exercised\nit, no doubt, over all other writers.\n\n_Scaliger_.--I was a poet, a philosopher, a statesman, an orator, an\nhistorian, a divine without doing the drudgery of any of these, but only\ncensuring those who did, and showing thereby the superiority of my genius\nover them all.\n\n_Horace_.--A short way, indeed, to universal fame!  And I suppose you\nwere very peremptory in your decisions?\n\n_Scaliger_.--Peremptory! ay.  If any man dared to contradict my opinions\nI called him a dunce, a rascal, a villain, and frightened him out of his\nwits.\n\n_Virgil_.--But what said others to this method of disputation?\n\n_Scaliger_.--They generally believed me because of the confidence of my\nassertions, and thought I could not be so insolent or so angry if I was\nnot absolutely sure of being in the right.  Besides, in my controversies,\nI had a great help from the language in which I wrote.  For one can scold\nand call names with a much better grace in Latin than in French or any\ntame modern tongue.\n\n_Horace_.--Have not I heard that you pretended to derive your descent\nfrom the princes of Verona?\n\n_Scaliger_.--Pretended!  Do you presume to deny it?\n\n_Horace_.--Not I, indeed.  Genealogy is not my science.  If you should\nclaim to descend in a direct line from King Midas I would not dispute it.\n\n_Virgil_.--I wonder, Scaliger, that you stooped to so low an ambition.\nWas it not greater to reign over all Mount Parnassus than over a petty\nstate in Italy?\n\n_Scaliger_.--You say well.  I was too condescending to the prejudices of\nvulgar opinion.  The ignorant multitude imagine that a prince is a\ngreater man than a critic.  Their folly made me desire to claim kindred\nwith the Scalas of Verona.\n\n_Horace_.--Pray, Mercury, how do you intend to dispose of this august\nperson?  You can't think it proper to let him remain with us.  He must be\nplaced with the demigods; he must go to Olympus.\n\n_Mercury_.--Be not afraid.  He shall not trouble you long.  I brought him\nhither to divert you with the sight of an animal you never had seen, and\nmyself with your surprise.  He is the chief of all the modern critics,\nthe most renowned captain of that numerous and dreadful band.  Whatever\nyou may think of him, I can seriously assure you that before he went mad\nhe had good parts and great learning.  But I will now explain to you the\noriginal cause of the absurdities he has uttered.  His mind was formed in\nsuch a manner that, like some perspective glasses, it either diminished\nor magnified all objects too much; but, above all others, it magnified\nthe good man to himself.  This made him so proud that it turned his\nbrain.  Now I have had my sport with him, I think it will be charity to\nrestore him to his senses, or rather to bestow what Nature denied him--a\nsound judgment.  Come hither, Scaliger.  By this touch of my Caduceus I\ngive thee power to see things as they are, and, among others, thyself.\nLook, gentlemen, how his countenance is fallen in a moment!  Hear what he\nsays.  He is talking to himself.\n\n_Scaliger_.--Bless me! with what persons have I been discoursing?  With\nVirgil and Horace!  How could I venture to open my lips in their\npresence?  Good Mercury, I beseech you let me retire from a company for\nwhich I am very unfit.  Let me go and hide my head in the deepest shade\nof that grove which I see in the valley.  After I have performed a\npenance there, I will crawl on my knees to the feet of those illustrious\nshades, and beg them to see me burn my impertinent books of criticism in\nthe fiery billows of Phlegethon with my own hands.\n\n_Mercury_.--They will both receive thee into favour.  This mortification\nof truly knowing thyself is a sufficient atonement for thy former\npresumption.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE XIV.\n\n\nBOILEAU--POPE.\n\n_Boileau_.--Mr. Pope, you have done me great honour.  I am told that you\nmade me your model in poetry, and walked on Parnassus in the same paths\nwhich I had trod.\n\n_Pope_.--We both followed Horace, but in our manner of imitation, and in\nthe turn of our natural genius, there was, I believe, much resemblance.\nWe both were too irritable and too easily hurt by offences, even from the\nlowest of men.  The keen edge of our wit was frequently turned against\nthose whom it was more a shame to contend with than an honour to\nvanquish.\n\n_Boileau_.--Yes.  But in general we were the champions of good morals,\ngood sense, and good learning.  If our love of these was sometimes heated\ninto anger against those who offended them no less than us, is that anger\nto be blamed?\n\n_Pope_.--It would have been nobler if we had not been parties in the\nquarrel.  Our enemies observe that neither our censure nor our praise was\nalways impartial.\n\n_Boileau_.--It might perhaps have been better if in some instances we had\nnot praised or blamed so much.  But in panegyric and satire moderation is\ninsipid.\n\n_Pope_.--Moderation is a cold unpoetical virtue.  Mere historical truth\nis better written in prose.  And, therefore, I think you did judiciously\nwhen you threw into the fire your history of Louis le Grand, and trusted\nhis fame to your poems.\n\n_Boileau_.--When those poems were published that monarch was the idol of\nthe French nation.  If you and I had not known, in our occasional\ncompositions, how to speak to the passions, as well as to the sober\nreason of mankind, we should not have acquired that despotic authority in\nthe empire of wit which made us so formidable to all the inferior tribe\nof poets in England and France.  Besides, sharp satirists want great\npatrons.\n\n_Pope_.--All the praise which my friends received from me was unbought.\nIn this, at least, I may boast a superiority over the pensioned Boileau.\n\n_Boileau_.--A pension in France was an honourable distinction.  Had you\nbeen a Frenchman you would have ambitiously sought it; had I been an\nEnglishman I should have proudly declined it.  If our merit in other\nrespects be not unequal, this difference will not set me much below you\nin the temple of virtue or of fame.\n\n_Pope_.--It is not for me to draw a comparison between our works.  But,\nif I may believe the best critics who have talked to me on the subject,\nmy \"Rape of the Lock\" is not inferior to your \"Lutrin;\" and my \"Art of\nCriticism\" may well be compared with your \"Art of Poetry;\" my \"Ethic\nEpistles\" are esteemed at least equal to yours; and my \"Satires\" much\nbetter.\n\n_Boileau_.--Hold, Mr. Pope.  If there is really such a sympathy in our\nnatures as you have supposed, there may be reason to fear that, if we go\non in this manner comparing our works, we shall not part in good\nfriendship.\n\n_Pope_.--No, no; the mild air of the Elysian Fields has mitigated my\ntemper, as I presume it has yours.  But, in truth, our reputations are\nnearly on a level.  Our writings are admired, almost equally (as I hear)\nfor energy and justness of thought.  We both of us carried the beauty of\nour diction, and the harmony of our numbers, to the highest perfection\nthat our languages would admit.  Our poems were polished to the utmost\ndegree of correctness, yet without losing their fire, or the agreeable\nappearance of freedom and ease.  We borrowed much from the ancients,\nthough you, I believe, more than I; but our imitations (to use an\nexpression of your own) had still an original air.\n\n_Boileau_.--I will confess, sir (to show you that the Elysian climate has\nhad its effects upon me), I will fairly confess, without the least ill\nhumour, that in your \"Eloisa to Abelard,\" your \"Verses to the Memory of\nan Unfortunate Lady,\" and some others you wrote in your youth, there is\nmore fire of poetry than in any of mine.  You excelled in the pathetic,\nwhich I never approached.  I will also allow that you hit the manner of\nHorace and the sly delicacy of his wit more exactly than I, or than any\nother man who has written since his time.  Nor could I, nor did even\nLucretius himself, make philosophy so poetical, and embellish it with\nsuch charms as you have given to that of Plato, or (to speak more\nproperly) of some of his modern disciples, in your celebrated \"Essay on\nMan.\"\n\n_Pope_.--What do you think of my \"Homer?\"\n\n_Boileau_.--Your \"Homer\" is the most spirited, the most poetical, the\nmost elegant, and the most pleasing translation that ever was made of any\nancient poem, though not so much in the manner of the original, or so\nexactly agreeable to the sense in all places, as might perhaps be\ndesired.  But when I consider the years you spent in this work, and how\nmany excellent original poems you might, with less difficulty, have\nproduced in that time, I can't but regret that your talents were thus\nemployed.  A great poet so tied down to a tedious translation is a\nColumbus chained to an oar.  What new regions of fancy, full of treasures\nyet untouched, might you have explored, if you had been at liberty to\nhave boldly expanded your sails, and steered your own course, under the\nconduct and direction of your own genius!  But I am still more angry with\nyou for your edition of Shakespeare.  The office of an editor was below\nyou, and your mind was unfit for the drudgery it requires.  Would anybody\nthink of employing a Raphael to clean an old picture?\n\n_Pope_.--The principal cause of my undertaking that task was zeal for the\nhonour of Shakespeare; and, if you knew all his beauties as well as I,\nyou would not wonder at this zeal.  No other author had ever so copious,\nso bold, so creative an imagination, with so perfect a knowledge of the\npassions, the humours, and sentiments of mankind.  He painted all\ncharacters, from kings down to peasants, with equal truth and equal\nforce.  If human nature were destroyed, and no monument were left of it\nexcept his works, other beings might know what man was from those\nwritings.\n\n_Boileau_.--You say he painted all characters, from kings down to\npeasants, with equal truth and equal force.  I can't deny that he did so;\nbut I wish he had not jumbled those characters together in the\ncomposition of his pictures as he has frequently done.\n\n_Pope_.--The strange mixture of tragedy, comedy, and farce in the same\nplay, nay, sometimes in the same scene, I acknowledge to be quite\ninexcusable.  But this was the taste of the times when Shakespeare wrote.\n\n_Boileau_.--A great genius ought to guide, not servilely follow, the\ntaste of his contemporaries.\n\n_Pope_.--Consider from how thick a darkness of barbarism the genius of\nShakespeare broke forth!  What were the English, and what, let me ask\nyou, were the French dramatic performances, in the age when he nourished?\nThe advances he made towards the highest perfection, both of tragedy and\ncomedy, are amazing!  In the principal points, in the power of exciting\nterror and pity, or raising laughter in an audience, none yet has\nexcelled him, and very few have equalled.\n\n_Boileau_.--Do you think that he was equal in comedy to Moliere?\n\n_Pope_.--In comic force I do; but in the fine and delicate strokes of\nsatire, and what is called genteel comedy, he was greatly inferior to\nthat admirable writer.  There is nothing in him to compare with the\n_Misanthrope_, the _Ecole des Femmes_, or _Tartuffe_.\n\n_Boileau_.--This, Mr. Pope, is a great deal for an Englishman to\nacknowledge.  A veneration for Shakespeare seems to be a part of your\nnational religion, and the only part in which even your men of sense are\nfanatics.\n\n_Pope_.--He who can read Shakespeare, and be cool enough for all the\naccuracy of sober criticism, has more of reason than taste.\n\n_Boileau_.--I join with you in admiring him as a prodigy of genius,\nthough I find the most shocking absurdities in his plays--absurdities\nwhich no critic of my nation can pardon.\n\n_Pope_.--We will be satisfied with your feeling the excellence of his\nbeauties.  But you would admire him still more if you could see the chief\ncharacters in all his test tragedies represented by an actor who appeared\non the stage a little before I left the world.  He has shown the English\nnation more excellencies in Shakespeare than the quickest wits could\ndiscern, and has imprinted them on the heart with a livelier feeling than\nthe most sensible natures had ever experienced without his help.\n\n_Boileau_.--The variety, spirit, and force of Mr. Garrick's action have\nbeen much praised to me by many of his countrymen, whose shades I\nconverse with, and who agree in speaking of him as we do of Baron, our\nmost natural and most admired actor.  I have also heard of another, who\nhas now quitted the stage, but who had filled, with great dignity, force,\nand elevation, some tragic parts, and excelled so much in the comic, that\nnone ever has deserved a higher applause.\n\n_Pope_.--Mr. Quin was, indeed, a most perfect comedian.  In the part of\nFalstaff particularly, wherein the utmost force of Shakespeare's humour\nappears, he attained to such perfection that he was not an actor; he was\nthe man described by Shakespeare; he was Falstaff himself!  When I saw\nhim do it the pleasantry of the fat knight appeared to me so bewitching,\nall his vices were so mirthful, that I could not much wonder at his\nhaving seduced a young prince even to rob in his company.\n\n_Boileau_.--That character is not well understood by the French; they\nsuppose it belongs, not to comedy, but to farce, whereas the English see\nin it the finest and highest strokes of wit and humour.  Perhaps these\ndifferent judgments may be accounted for in some measure by the diversity\nof manners in different countries.  But don't you allow, Mr. Pope, that\nour writers, both of tragedy and comedy, are, upon the whole, more\nperfect masters of their art than yours?  If you deny it, I will appeal\nto the Athenians, the only judges qualified to decide the dispute.  I\nwill refer it to Euripides, Sophocles, and Menander.\n\n_Pope_.--I am afraid of those judges, for I see them continually walking\nhand-in-hand, and engaged in the most friendly conversation with\nCorneille, Racine, and Moliere.  Our dramatic writers seem, in general,\nnot so fond of their company; they sometimes shove rudely by them, and\ngive themselves airs of superiority.  They slight their reprimands, and\nlaugh at their precepts--in short, they will be tried by their country\nalone; and that judicature is partial.\n\n_Boileau_.--I will press this question no further.  But let me ask you to\nwhich of our rival tragedians, Racine and Corneille, do you give the\npreference?\n\n_Pope_.--The sublimest plays of Corneille are, in my judgment, equalled\nby the _Athalia_ of Racine, and the tender passions are certainly touched\nby that elegant and most pathetic writer with a much finer hand.  I need\nnot add that he is infinitely more correct than Corneille, and more\nharmonious and noble in his versification.  Corneille formed himself\nentirely upon Lucan, but the master of Racine was Virgil.  How much\nbetter a taste had the former than the latter in choosing his model!\n\n_Boileau_.--My friendship with Racine, and my partiality for his\nwritings, make me hear with great pleasure the preference given to him\nabove Corneille by so judicious a critic.\n\n_Pope_.--That he excelled his competitor in the particulars I have\nmentioned, can't, I think, be denied.  But yet the spirit and the majesty\nof ancient Rome were never so well expressed as by Corneille.  Nor has\nany other French dramatic writer, in the general character of his works,\nshown such a masculine strength and greatness of thought.  Racine is the\nswan described by ancient poets, which rises to the clouds on downy wings\nand sings a sweet but a gentle and plaintive note.  Corneille is the\neagle, which soars to the skies on bold and sounding pinions, and fears\nnot to perch on the sceptre of Jupiter, or to bear in his pounces the\nlightning of the god.\n\n_Boileau_.--I am glad to find, Mr. Pope, that in praising Corneille you\nrun into poetry, which is not the language of sober criticism, though\nsometimes used by Longinus.\n\n_Pope_.--I caught the fire from the idea of Corneille.\n\n_Boileau_.--He has bright flashes, yet I think that in his thunder there\nis often more noise than fire.  Don't you find him too declamatory, too\nturgid, too unnatural, even in his best tragedies?\n\n_Pope_.--I own I do; yet the greatness and elevation of his sentiments,\nand the nervous vigour of his sense, atone, in my opinion, for all his\nfaults.  But let me now, in my turn, desire your opinion of our epic\npoet, Milton.\n\n_Boileau_.--Longinus perhaps would prefer him to all other writers, for\nhe surpasses even Homer in the sublime; but other critics who require\nvariety, and agreeableness, and a correct regularity of thought and\njudgment in an epic poem, who can endure no absurdities, no extravagant\nfictions, would place him far below Virgil.\n\n_Pope_.--His genius was indeed so vast and sublime, that his poem seems\nbeyond the limits of criticism, as his subject is beyond the limits of\nnature.  The bright and excessive blaze of poetical fire, which shines in\nso many parts of the \"Paradise Lost,\" will hardly permit the dazzled eye\nto see its faults.\n\n_Boileau_.--The taste of your countrymen is much changed since the days\nof Charles II., when Dryden was thought a greater poet than Milton!\n\n_Pope_.--The politics of Milton at that time brought his poetry into\ndisgrace, for it is a rule with the English, they see no good in a man\nwhose politics they dislike; but, as their notions of government are apt\nto change, men of parts whom they have slighted become their favourite\nauthors, and others who have possessed their warmest admiration are in\ntheir turn undervalued.  This revolution of favour was experienced by\nDryden as well as Milton; he lived to see his writings, together with his\npolitics, quite out of fashion.  But even in the days of his highest\nprosperity, when the generality of the people admired his _Almanzor_, and\nthought his _Indian Emperor_ the perfection of tragedy, the Duke of\nBuckingham and Lord Rochester, the two wittiest noblemen our country has\nproduced, attacked his fame, and turned the rants of his heroes, the\njargon of his spirits, and the absurdity of his plots into just ridicule.\n\n_Boileau_.--You have made him good amends by the praise you have given\nhim in some of your writings.\n\n_Pope_.--I owed him that praise as my master in the art of versification,\nyet I subscribe to the censures which have been passed by other writers\non many of his works.  They are good critics, but he is still a great\npoet.  You, sir, I am sure, must particularly admire him as an excellent\nsatirist; his \"Absalom and Achitophel\" is a masterpiece in that way of\nwriting, and his \"Mac Flecno\" is, I think, inferior to it in nothing but\nthe meanness of the subject.\n\n_Boileau_.--Did not you take the model of your \"Dunciad\" from the latter\nof those very ingenious satires?\n\n_Pope_.--I did; but my work is more extensive than his, and my\nimagination has taken in it a greater scope.\n\n_Boileau_.--Some critics may doubt whether the length of your poem was so\nproperly suited to the meanness of the subject as the brevity of his.\nThree cantos to expose a dunce crowned with laurel!  I have not given\nabove three lines to the author of the \"Pucelle.\"\n\n_Pope_.--My intention was to expose, not one author alone, but all the\ndulness and false taste of the English nation in my times.  Could such a\ndesign be contracted into a narrower compass?\n\n_Boileau_.--We will not dispute on this point, nor whether the hero of\nyour \"Dunciad\" was really a dunce.  But has not Dryden been accused of\nimmorality and profaneness in some of his writings?\n\n_Pope_.--He has, with too much reason: and I am sorry to say that all our\nbest comic writers after Shakespeare and Johnson, except Addison and\nSteele, are as liable as he to that heavy charge.  Fletcher is shocking.\nEtheridge, Wycherley, Congreve, Vanbrugh, and Farquhar have painted the\nmanners of the times in which they wrote with a masterly hand; but they\nare too often such manners that a virtuous man, and much more a virtuous\nwoman, must be greatly offended at the representation.\n\n_Boileau_.--In this respect our stage is far preferable to yours.  It is\na school of morality.  Vice is exposed to contempt and to hatred.  No\nfalse colours are laid on to conceal its deformity, but those with which\nit paints itself are there taken off.\n\n_Pope_.--It is a wonderful thing that in France the comic Muse should be\nthe gravest lady in the nation.  Of late she is so grave, that one might\nalmost mistake her for her sister Melpomene.  Moliere made her indeed a\ngood moral philosopher; but then she philosophised, like Democritus, with\na merry, laughing face.  Now she weeps over vice instead of showing it to\nmankind, as I think she generally ought to do, in ridiculous lights.\n\n_Boileau_.--Her business is more with folly than with vice, and when she\nattacks the latter, it should be rather with ridicule than invective.  But\nsometimes she may be allowed to raise her voice, and change her usual\nsmile into a frown of just indignation.\n\n_Pope_.--I like her best when she smiles.  But did you never reprove your\nwitty friend, La Fontaine, for the vicious levity that appears in many of\nhis tales?  He was as guilty of the crime of debauching the Muses as any\nof our comic poets.\n\n_Boileau_.--I own he was, and bewail the prostitution of his genius, as I\nshould that of an innocent and beautiful country girl.  He was all\nnature, all simplicity! yet in that simplicity there was a grace, and\nunaffected vivacity, with a justness of thought and easy elegance of\nexpression that can hardly be found in any other writer.  His manner is\nquite original, and peculiar to himself, though all the matter of his\nwritings is borrowed from others.\n\n_Pope_.--In that manner he has been imitated by my friend Mr. Prior.\n\n_Boileau_.--He has, very successfully.  Some of Prior's tales have the\nspirit of La Fontaine's with more judgment, but not, I think, with such\nan amiable and graceful simplicity.\n\n_Pope_.--Prior's harp had more strings than La Fontaine's.  He was a fine\npoet in many different ways: La Fontaine but in one.  And, though in some\nof his tales he imitated that author, his \"Alma\" was an original, and of\nsingular beauty.\n\n_Boileau_.--There is a writer of heroic poetry, who lived before Milton,\nand whom some of your countrymen place in the highest class of your\npoets, though he is little known in France.  I see him sometimes in\ncompany with Homer and Virgil, but oftener with Tasso, Ariosto, and\nDante.\n\n_Pope_.--I understand you mean Spenser.  There is a force and beauty in\nsome of his images and descriptions, equal to any in those writers you\nhave seen him converse with.  But he had not the art of properly shading\nhis pictures.  He brings the minute and disagreeable parts too much into\nsight; and mingles too frequently vulgar and mean ideas with noble and\nsublime.  Had he chosen a subject proper for epic poetry, he seems to\nhave had a sufficient elevation and strength in his genius to make him a\ngreat epic poet: but the allegory, which is continued throughout the\nwhole work, fatigues the mind, and cannot interest the heart so much as\nthose poems, the chief actors in which are supposed to have really\nexisted.  The Syrens and Circe in the \"Odyssey\" are allegorical persons;\nbut Ulysses, the hero of the poem, was a man renowned in Greece, which\nmakes the account of his adventures affecting and delightful.  To be now\nand then in Fairyland, among imaginary beings, is a pleasing variety, and\nhelps to distinguish the poet from the orator or historian, but to be\nalways there is irksome.\n\n_Boileau_.--Is not Spenser likewise blamable for confounding the\nChristian with the Pagan theology in some parts of his poem?\n\n_Pope_.--Yes; he had that fault in common with Dante, with Ariosto, and\nwith Camoens.\n\n_Boileau_.--Who is the poet that arrived soon after you in Elysium, whom\nI saw Spenser lead in and present to Virgil, as the author of a poem\nresembling the \"Georgics\"?  On his head was a garland of the several\nkinds of flowers that blow in each season, with evergreens intermixed.\n\n_Pope_.--Your description points out Thomson.  He painted nature exactly,\nand with great strength of pencil.  His imagination was rich, extensive,\nand sublime: his diction bold and glowing, but sometimes obscure and\naffected.  Nor did he always know when to stop, or what to reject.\n\n_Boileau_.--I should suppose that he wrote tragedies upon the Greek\nmodel.  For he is often admitted into the grove of Euripides.\n\n_Pope_.--He enjoys that distinction both as a tragedian and as a\nmoralist.  For not only in his plays, but all his other works, there is\nthe purest morality, animated by piety, and rendered more touching by the\nfine and delicate sentiments of a most tender and benevolent heart.\n\n_Boileau_.--St. Evremond has brought me acquainted with Waller.  I was\nsurprised to find in his writings a politeness and gallantry which the\nFrench suppose to be appropriated only to theirs.  His genius was a\ncomposition which is seldom to be met with, of the sublime and the\nagreeable.  In his comparison between himself and Apollo, as the lover of\nDaphne, and in that between Amoret and Sacharissa, there is a _finesse_\nand delicacy of wit which the most elegant of our writers have never\nexceeded.  Nor had Sarrazin or Voiture the art of praising more genteelly\nthe ladies they admired.  But his epistle to Cromwell, and his poem on\nthe death of that extraordinary man, are written with a force and\ngreatness of manner which give him a rank among the poets of the first\nclass.\n\n_Pope_.--Mr. Waller was unquestionably a very fine writer.  His Muse was\nas well qualified as the Graces themselves to dress out a Venus; and he\ncould even adorn the brows of a conqueror with fragrant and beautiful\nwreaths.  But he had some puerile and low thoughts, which unaccountably\nmixed with the elegant and the noble, like schoolboys or a mob admitted\ninto a palace.  There was also an intemperance and a luxuriancy in his\nwit which he did not enough restrain.  He wrote little to the\nunderstanding, and less to the heart; but he frequently delights the\nimagination, and sometimes strikes it with flashes of the highest\nsublime.  We had another poet of the age of Charles I., extremely admired\nby all his contemporaries, in whose works there is still more affectation\nof wit, a greater redundancy of imagination, a worse taste, and less\njudgment; but he touched the heart more, and had finer feelings than\nWaller.  I mean Cowley.\n\n_Boileau_.--I have been often solicited to admire his writings by his\nlearned friend, Dr. Spratt.  He seems to me a great wit, and a very\namiable man, but not a good poet.\n\n_Pope_.--The spirit of poetry is strong in some of his odes, but in the\nart of poetry he is always extremely deficient.\n\n_Boileau_.--I hear that of late his reputation is much lowered in the\nopinion of the English.  Yet I cannot but think that, if a moderate\nportion of the superfluities of his wit were given by Apollo to some of\ntheir modern bards, who write commonplace morals in very smooth verse,\nwithout any absurdity, but without a single new thought, or one\nenlivening spark of imagination, it would be a great favour to them, and\ndo them more service than all the rules laid down in my \"Art of Poetry\"\nand yours of \"Criticism.\"\n\n_Pope_.--I am much of your mind.  But I left in England some poets whom\nyou, I know, will admire, not only for the harmony and correctness of\nstyle, but the spirit and genius you will find in their writings.\n\n_Boileau_.--France, too, has produced some very excellent writers since\nthe time of my death.  Of one particularly I hear wonders.  Fame to him\nis as kind as if he had been dead a thousand years.  She brings his\npraises to me from all parts of Europe.  You know I speak of Voltaire.\n\n_Pope_.--I do; the English nation yields to none in admiration of his\nextensive genius.  Other writers excel in some one particular branch of\nwit or science; but when the King of Prussia drew Voltaire from Paris to\nBerlin, he had a whole academy of _belles lettres_ in him alone.\n\n_Boileau_.--That prince himself has such talents for poetry as no other\nmonarch in any age or country has ever possessed.  What an astonishing\ncompass must there be in his mind, what an heroic tranquillity and\nfirmness in his heart, that he can, in the evening, compose an ode or\nepistle in the most elegant verse, and the next morning fight a battle\nwith the conduct of Caesar or Gustavus Adolphus!\n\n_Pope_.--I envy Voltaire so noble a subject both for his verse and his\nprose.  But if that prince will write his own commentaries, he will want\nno historian.  I hope that, in writing them, he will not restrain his\npen, as Caesar has done, to a mere account of his wars, but let us see\nthe politician, and the benignant protector of arts and sciences, as well\nas the warrior, in that picture of himself.  Voltaire has shown us that\nthe events of battles and sieges are not the most interesting parts of\ngood history, but that all the improvements and embellishments of human\nsociety ought to be carefully and particularly recorded there.\n\n_Boileau_.--The progress of arts and knowledge, and the great changes\nthat have happened in the manners of mankind, are objects far more worthy\nof a leader's attention than the revolutions of fortune.  And it is\nchiefly to Voltaire that we owe this instructive species of history.\n\n_Pope_.--He has not only been the father of it among the moderns, but has\ncarried it himself to its utmost perfection.\n\n_Boileau_.--Is he not too universal?  Can any writer be exact who is so\ncomprehensive?\n\n_Pope_.--A traveller round the world cannot inspect every region with\nsuch an accurate care as exactly to describe each single part.  If the\noutlines are well marked, and the observations on the principal points\nare judicious, it is all that can be required.\n\n_Boileau_.--I would, however, advise and exhort the French and English\nyouth to take a fuller survey of some particular provinces, and to\nremember that although, in travels of this sort, a lively imagination is\na very agreeable companion, it is not the best guide.  To speak without a\nmetaphor, the study of history, both sacred and profane, requires a\ncritical and laborious investigation.  The composer of a set of lively\nand witty remarks on facts ill-examined, or incorrectly delivered, is not\nan historian.\n\n_Pope_.--We cannot, I think, deny that name to the author of the \"Life of\nCharles XII., King of Sweden.\"\n\n_Boileau_.--No, certainly.  I esteem it the very best history that this\nage has produced.  As full of spirit as the hero whose actions it\nrelates, it is nevertheless most exact in all matters of importance.  The\nstyle of it is elegant, perspicuous, unaffected; the disposition and\nmethod are excellent; the judgments given by the writer acute and just.\n\n_Pope_.--Are you not pleased with that philosophical freedom of thought\nwhich discovers itself in all the works of Voltaire, but more\nparticularly in those of an historical nature?\n\n_Boileau_.--If it were properly regulated, I should reckon it among their\nhighest perfections.  Superstition, and bigotry, and party spirit are as\ngreat enemies to the truth and candour of history as malice or adulation.\nTo think freely is therefore a most necessary quality in a perfect\nhistorian.  But all liberty has its bounds, which, in some of his\nwritings, Voltaire, I fear, has not observed.  Would to Heaven he would\nreflect, while it is yet in his power to correct what is faulty, that all\nhis works will outlive him; that many nations will read them; and that\nthe judgment pronounced here upon the writer himself will be according to\nthe scope and tendency of them, and to the extent of their good or evil\neffects on the great society of mankind.\n\n_Pope_.--It would be well for all Europe if some other wits of your\ncountry, who give the tone to this age in all polite literature, had the\nsame serious thoughts you recommend to Voltaire.  Witty writings, when\ndirected to serve the good ends of virtue and religion, are like the\nlights hung out in a _pharos_, to guide the mariners safe through\ndangerous seas; but the brightness of those that are impious or immoral\nshines only to betray and lead men to destruction.\n\n_Boileau_.--Has England been free from all seductions of this nature?\n\n_Pope_.--No.  But the French have the art of rendering vice and impiety\nmore agreeable than the English.\n\n_Boileau_.--I am not very proud of this superiority in the talents of my\ncountrymen.  But as I am told that the good sense of the English is now\nadmired in France, I hope it will soon convince both nations that true\nwisdom is virtue, and true virtue is religion.\n\n_Pope_.--I think it also to be wished that a taste for the frivolous may\nnot continue too prevalent among the French.  There is a great difference\nbetween gathering flowers at the foot of Parnassus and ascending the\narduous heights of the mountain.  The palms and laurels grow there, and\nif any of your countrymen aspire to gain them, they must no longer\nenervate all the vigour of their minds by this habit of trifling.  I\nwould have them be perpetual competitors with the English in manly wit\nand substantial learning.  But let the competition be friendly.  There is\nnothing which so contracts and debases the mind as national envy.  True\nwit, like true virtue, naturally loves its own image in whatever place it\nis found.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE XV.\n\n\nOCTAVIA--PORTIA--ARRIA.\n\n_Portia_.--How has it happened, Octavia, that Arria and I, who have a\nhigher rank than you in the Temple of Fame, should have a lower here in\nElysium?  We are told that the virtues you exerted as a wife were greater\nthan ours.  Be so good as to explain to us what were those virtues.  It\nis the privilege of this place that one can bear superiority without\nmortification.  The jealousy of precedence died with the rest of our\nmortal frailties.  Tell us, then, your own story.  We will sit down under\nthe shade of this myrtle grove and listen to it with pleasure.\n\n_Octavia_.--Noble ladies, the glory of our sex and of Rome, I will not\nrefuse to comply with your desire, though it recalls to my mind some\nscenes my heart would wish to forget.  There can be only one reason why\nMinos should have given to my conjugal virtues a preference above yours,\nwhich is that the trial assigned to them was harder.\n\n_Arria_.--How, madam! harder than to die for your husband!  We died for\nours.\n\n_Octavia_.--You did for husbands who loved yon, and were the most\nvirtuous men of the ages they lived in--who trusted you with their lives,\ntheir fame, their honour.  To outlive such husbands is, in my judgment, a\nharder effort of virtue than to die for them or with them.  But Mark\nAntony, to whom my brother Octavius, for reasons of state, gave my hand,\nwas indifferent to me, and loved another.  Yet he has told me himself I\nwas handsomer than his mistress Cleopatra.  Younger I certainly was, and\nto men that is generally a charm sufficient to turn the scale in one's\nfavour.  I had been loved by Marcellus.  Antony said he loved me when he\npledged to me his faith.  Perhaps he did for a time; a new handsome woman\nmight, from his natural inconstancy, make him forget an old attachment.\nHe was but too amiable.  His very vices had charms beyond other men's\nvirtues.  Such vivacity! such fire! such a towering pride!  He seemed\nmade by nature to command, to govern the world; to govern it with such\nease that the business of it did not rob him of an hour of pleasure.\nNevertheless, while his inclination for me continued, this haughty lord\nof mankind who could hardly bring his high spirit to treat my brother,\nhis partner in empire, with the necessary respect, was to me as\nsubmissive, as obedient to every wish of my heart, as the humblest lover\nthat ever sighed in the vales of Arcadia.  Thus he seduced my affection\nfrom the manes of Marcellus and fixed it on himself.  He fixed it, ladies\n(I own it with some confusion), more fondly than it had ever been fixed\non Marcellus.  And when he had done so he scorned me, he forsook me, he\nreturned to Cleopatra.  Think who I was--the sister of Caesar, sacrificed\nto a vile Egyptian queen, the harlot of Julius, the disgrace of her sex!\nEvery outrage was added that could incense me still more.  He gave her at\nsundry times, as public marks of his love, many provinces of the Empire\nof Rome in the East.  He read her love-letters openly in his tribunal\nitself--even while he was hearing and judging the causes of kings.  Nay,\nhe left his tribunal, and one of the best Roman orators pleading before\nhim, to follow her litter, in which she happened to be passing by at that\ntime.  But, what was more grievous to me than all these demonstrations of\nhis extravagant passion for that infamous woman, he had the assurance, in\na letter to my brother, to call her his wife.  Which of you, ladies,\ncould have patiently borne this treatment?\n\n_Arria_.--Not I, madam, in truth.  Had I been in your place, the dagger\nwith which I pierced my own bosom to show my dear Paetus how easy it was\nto die, that dagger should I have plunged into Antony's heart, if piety\nto the gods and a due respect to the purity of my own soul had not\nstopped my hand.  But I verily believe I should have killed myself; not,\nas I did, out of affection to my husband, but out of shame and\nindignation at the wrongs I endured.\n\n_Portia_.--I must own, Octavia, that to bear such usage was harder to a\nwoman than to swallow fire.\n\n_Octavia_.--Yet I did bear it, madam, without even a complaint which\ncould hurt or offend my husband.  Nay, more, at his return from his\nParthian expedition, which his impatience to bear a long absence from\nCleopatra had made unfortunate and inglorious, I went to meet him in\nSyria, and carried with me rich presents of clothes and money for his\ntroops, a great number of horses, and two thousand chosen soldiers,\nequipped and armed like my brother's Praetorian bands.  He sent to stop\nme at Athens because his mistress was then with him.  I obeyed his\norders; but I wrote to him, by one of his most faithful friends, a letter\nfull of resignation, and such a tenderness for him as I imagined might\nhave power to touch his heart.  My envoy served me so well, he set my\nfidelity in so fair a light, and gave such reasons to Antony why he ought\nto see and receive me with kindness, that Cleopatra was alarmed.  All her\narts were employed to prevent him from seeing me, and to draw him again\ninto Egypt.  Those arts prevailed.  He sent me back into Italy, and gave\nhimself up more absolutely than ever to the witchcraft of that Circe.  He\nadded Africa to the States he had bestowed on her before, and declared\nCaesario, her spurious son by Julius Caesar, heir to all her dominions,\nexcept Phoenicia and Cilicia, which with the Upper Syria he gave to\nPtolemy, his second son by her; and at the same time declared his eldest\nson by her, whom he had espoused to the Princess of Media, heir to that\nkingdom and King of Armenia; nay, and of the whole Parthian Empire which\nhe meant to conquer for him.  The children I had brought him he entirely\nneglected as if they had been bastards.  I wept.  I lamented the wretched\ncaptivity he was in; but I never reproached him.  My brother, exasperated\nat so many indignities, commanded me to quit the house of my husband at\nRome and come into his.  I refused to obey him.  I remained in Antony's\nhouse; I persisted to take care of his children by Fulvia, the same\ntender care as of my own.  I gave my protection to all his friends at\nRome.  I implored my brother not to make my jealousy or my wrongs the\ncause of a civil war.  But the injuries done to Rome by Antony's conduct\ncould not possibly be forgiven.  When he found he should draw the Roman\narms on himself, he sent orders to me to leave his house.  I did so, but\ncarried with me all his children by Fulvia, except Antyllus, the eldest,\nwho was then with him in Egypt.  After his death and Cleopatra's, I took\nher children by him, and bred them up with my own.\n\n_Arria_.--Is it possible, madam? the children of Cleopatra?\n\n_Octavia_.--Yes, the children of my rival.  I married her daughter to\nJuba, King of Mauritania, the most accomplished and the handsomest prince\nin the world.\n\n_Arria_.--Tell me, Octavia, did not your pride and resentment entirely\ncure you of your passion for Antony, as soon as you saw him go back to\nCleopatra?  And was not your whole conduct afterwards the effect of cool\nreason, undisturbed by the agitations of jealous and tortured love?\n\n_Octavia_.--You probe my heart very deeply.  That I had some help from\nresentment and the natural pride of my sex, I will not deny.  But I was\nnot become indifferent to my husband.  I loved the Antony who had been my\nlover, more than I was angry with the Antony who forsook me and loved\nanother woman.  Had he left Cleopatra and returned to me again with all\nhis former affection, I really believe I should have loved him as well as\nbefore.\n\n_Arria_.--If the merit of a wife is to be measured by her sufferings,\nyour heart was unquestionably the most perfect model of conjugal virtue.\nThe wound I gave mine was but a scratch in comparison to many you felt.\nYet I don't know whether it would be any benefit to the world that there\nshould be in it many Octavias.  Too good subjects are apt to make bad\nkings.\n\n_Portia_.--True, Arria; the wives of Brutus and Cecinna Paetus may be\nallowed to have spirits a little rebellious.  Octavia was educated in the\nCourt of her brother.  Subjection and patience were much better taught\nthere than in our houses, where the Roman liberty made its last abode.\nAnd though I will not dispute the judgment of Minos, I can't help\nthinking that the affection of a wife to her husband is more or less\nrespectable in proportion to the character of that husband.  If I could\nhave had for Antony the same friendship as I had for Brutus, I should\nhave despised myself.\n\n_Octavia_.--My fondness for Antony was ill-placed; but my perseverance in\nthe performance of all the duties of a wife, notwithstanding his\nill-usage, a perseverance made more difficult by the very excess of my\nlove, appeared to Minos the highest and most meritorious effort of female\nresolution against the seductions of the most dangerous enemy to our\nvirtue, offended pride.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE XVI.\n\n\nLOUISE DE COLIGNI, PRINCESS OF ORANGE--FRANCES WALSINGHAM, COUNTESS OF\nESSEX AND OF CLANRICARDE; BEFORE, LADY SIDNEY.\n\n_Princess of Orange_.--Our destinies, madam, had a great and surprising\nconformity.  I was the daughter of Admiral Coligni, you of Secretary\nWalsingham, two persons who were the most consummate statesmen and ablest\nsupports of the Protestant religion in France, and in England.  I was\nmarried to Teligni, the finest gentleman of our party, the most admired\nfor his valour, his virtue, and his learning: you to Sir Philip Sidney,\nwho enjoyed the same pre-eminence among the English.  Both these husbands\nwere cut off, in the flower of youth and of glory, by violent deaths, and\nwe both married again with still greater men; I with William Prince of\nOrange, the founder of the Dutch Commonwealth; you with Devereux Earl of\nEssex, the favourite of Elizabeth and of the whole English nation.  But,\nalas! to complete the resemblance of our fates, we both saw those second\nhusbands, who had raised us so high, destroyed in the full meridian of\ntheir glory and greatness: mine by the pistol of an assassin; yours still\nmore unhappily, by the axe, as a traitor.\n\n_Countess of Clanricarde_.--There was indeed in some principal events of\nour lives the conformity you observe.  But your destiny, though it raised\nyou higher than me, was more unhappy than mine.  For my father lived\nhonourably, and died in peace: yours was assassinated in his old age.\nHow, madam, did you support or recover your spirits under so rainy\nmisfortunes?\n\n_Princess of Orange_.--The Prince of Orange left an infant son to my\ncare.  The educating of him to be worthy of so illustrious a father, to\nbe the heir of his virtue as well as of his greatness, and the affairs of\nthe commonwealth, in which I interested myself for his sake, so filled my\nmind, that they in some measure took from me the sense of my grief, which\nnothing but such a great and important scene of business, such a\nnecessary talk of private and public duty, could have ever relieved.  But\nlet me inquire in my turn, how did your heart find a balm to alleviate\nthe anguish of the wounds it had suffered?  What employed your widowed\nhours after the death of your Essex?\n\n_Countess of Clanricarde_.--Madam, I did not long continue a widow: I\nmarried again.\n\n_Princess of Orange_.--Married again!  With what prince, what king did\nyou marry?  The widow of Sir Philip Sidney and of my Lord Essex could not\ndescend from them to a subject of less illustrious fame; and where could\nyou find one that was comparable to either?\n\n_Countess of Clanricarde_.--I did not seek for one, madam: the heroism of\nthe former, and the ambition of the latter, had made me very unhappy.  I\ndesired a quiet life and the joys of wedded love, with an agreeable,\nvirtuous, well-born, unambitious, unenterprising husband.  All this I\nfound in the Earl of Clanricarde: and believe me, madam, I enjoyed more\nsolid felicity in Ireland with him, than I ever had possessed with my two\nformer husbands, in the pride of their glory, when England and all Europe\nresounded with their praise.\n\n_Princess of Orange_.--Can it be possible that the daughter of\nWalsingham, and the wife of Sidney and Essex, should have sentiments so\ninferior to the minds from which she sprang, and to which she was\nmatched?  Believe me, madam, there was no hour of the many years I lived\nafter the death of the Prince of Orange, in which I would have exchanged\nthe pride and joy I continually had in hearing his praise, and seeing the\nmonuments of his glory in the free commonwealth his wisdom had founded,\nfor any other delights the world could give.  The cares that I shared\nwith him, while he remained upon earth, were a happiness to my mind,\nbecause they exalted its powers.  The remembrance of them was dear to me\nafter I had lost him.  I thought his great soul, though removed to a\nhigher sphere, would look down upon mine with some tenderness of\naffection, as its fellow-labourer in the heroic and divine work of\ndelivering and freeing his country.  But to be divorced from that soul!\nto be no longer his wife! to be the comfort of an inferior, inglorious\nhusband!  I had much rather have died a thousand deaths, than that my\nheart should one moment have conceived such a thought.\n\n_Countess of Clanricarde_.--Your Highness must not judge of all hearts by\nyour own.  The ruling passion of that was apparently ambition.  My\ninclinations were not so noble as yours, but better suited, perhaps, to\nthe nature of woman.  I loved Sir Philip Sidney, I loved the Earl of\nEssex, rather as amiable men than as heroes and statesmen.  They were so\ntaken up with their wars and state-affairs, that my tenderness for them\nwas too often neglected.  The Earl of Clanricarde was constantly and\nwholly mine.  He was brave, but had not that spirit of chivalry with\nwhich Sir Philip Sidney was absolutely possessed.  He had, in a high\ndegree, the esteem of Elizabeth, but did not aspire to her love; nor did\nhe wish to be the rival of Carr or of Villiers in the affection of James.\nSuch, madam, was the man on whom my last choice bestowed my hand, and\nwhose kindness compensated for all my misfortunes.  Providence has\nassigned to different tempers different comforts.  To you it gave the\neducation of a prince, the government of a state, the pride of being\ncalled the wife of a hero; to me a good-living husband, quiet, opulence,\nnobility, and a fair reputation, though not in a degree so exalted as\nyours.  If our whole sex were to choose between your consolations and\nmine, your Highness, I think, would find very few of your taste.  But I\nrespect the sublimity of your ideas.  Now that we have no bodies they\nappear less unnatural than I should have thought them in the other world.\n\n_Princess of Orange_.--Adieu, madam.  Our souls are of a different order,\nand were not made to sympathise or converse with each other.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE XVII.\n\n\nMARCUS BRUTUS--POMPONIUS ATTICUS.\n\n_Brutus_.--Well, Atticus, I find that, notwithstanding your friendship\nfor Cicero and for me, you survived us both many years, with the same\ncheerful spirit you had always possessed, and, by prudently wedding your\ndaughter to Agrippa, secured the favour of Octavius Caesar, and even\ncontracted a close alliance with him by your granddaughter's marriage\nwith Tiberius Nero.\n\n_Atticus_.--You know, Brutus, my philosophy was the Epicurean.  I loved\nmy friends, and I served them in their wants and distresses with great\ngenerosity; but I did not think myself obliged to die when they died, or\nnot to make others as occasions should offer.\n\n_Brutus_.--You did, I acknowledge, serve your friends, as far as you\ncould, without bringing yourself, on their account, into any great danger\nor disturbance of mind: but that you loved them I much doubt.  If you\nloved Cicero, how could you love Antony?  If you loved me, how could you\nlove Octavius?  If you loved Octavius, how could you avoid taking part\nagainst Antony in their last civil war?  Affection cannot be so strangely\ndivided, and with so much equality, among men of such opposite\ncharacters, and who were such irreconcilable enemies to each other.\n\n_Atticus_.--From my earliest youth I possessed the singular talent of\ningratiating myself with the heads of different parties, and yet not\nengaging with any of them so far as to disturb my own quiet.  My family\nwas connected with the Marian party; and, though I retired to Athens that\nI might not be unwillingly involved in the troubles which that turbulent\nfaction had begun to excite, yet when young Marius was declared an enemy\nby the Senate, I sent him a sum of money to support him in his exile.  Nor\ndid this hinder me from making my court so well to Sylla, upon his coming\nto Athens, that I obtained from him the highest marks of his favour.\nNevertheless, when he pressed me to go with him to Rome, I declined it,\nbeing as unwilling to fight for him against the Marian party, as for them\nagainst him.  He admired my conduct; and at his departure from Athens,\nordered all the presents made to him during his abode in that city to be\ncarried to me.  I remind you of this only to show that moderation in all\ncontentions of this kind had been always my principle; and that in the\ninstances you mentioned I did not act from any levity or inconstancy in\nmy nature, but from a regular consistent plan of conduct, which my reason\nconvinced me was the wisest I could follow.\n\n_Brutus_.--I remember indeed that you observed the same neutrality\nbetween Pompey and Julius Caesar.\n\n_Atticus_.--I did so--and that I might be able to do it with dignity, and\nwithout the reproach of ingratitude, I never would accept any office or\nhonour from either of those great men; nor from Cicero, though my sister\nhad married his brother; nor from you, Marcus Brutus, whose friendship I\nthought the greatest honour of my life.\n\n_Brutus_.--Are there no obligations to a good heart, Pomponius, but\nhonours and offices?  Or could you, by refusing to encumber yourself with\nthese, dissolve all other ties?  But, setting aside any considerations of\nprivate affection or esteem, how was you able to reconcile your conduct\nwith that which is the ruling principle in the heart of every virtuous\nman, and more especially a virtuous Roman, the love of the public?\n\n_Atticus_.--The times I lived in were so bad, and the conflict of parties\nhad so little to do in reality with the love of the public, that I\nthought my virtue much safer and purer by avoiding than mixing in the\nfray.\n\n_Brutus_.--Possibly, in the dispute between Marius and Sylla, and even in\nthat between Pompey and Caesar, a virtuous man might see so much to blame\non both sides, and so much to fear, whichever faction should overcome the\nother, as to be justified in not engaging with either.  But let me say,\nwithout vanity, in the war which I waged against Antony and Octavius you\ncould have nothing to blame, for I know you approved the principle upon\nwhich I killed Julius Caesar.  Nor had you anything to fear if our arms\nhad succeeded, for you know that my intentions were upright and pure; nor\nwas it doubtful that Cassius was as much determined as I to restore the\nRepublic.  How could you, then, with any sense of virtue in your heart,\nmaintain an indifference and neutrality between the deliverers and the\ntyrants of your country?\n\n_Atticus_.--My answer to this will necessarily require explanations,\nwhich my respect to the manes of Brutus makes me wish to avoid.\n\n_Brutus_.--In the other world I loved truth, and was desirous that all\nmight speak it with freedom; but here even the tender ears of a tyrant\nare compelled to endure it.  If I committed any faults, or erred in my\njudgment, the calamities I have suffered are a punishment for it.  Tell\nme then, truly, and without fear of offending, what you think were my\nfailings.\n\n_Atticus_.--You said that the principle upon which you killed Julius\nCaesar had my approbation.  This I do not deny; but did I ever declare,\nor give you reason to believe, that I thought it a prudent or well-timed\nact?  I had quite other thoughts.  Nothing ever seemed to me worse judged\nor worse timed; and these, Brutus, were my reasons.  Caesar was just\nsetting out to make war on the Parthians.  This was an enterprise of no\nlittle difficulty and no little danger; but his unbounded ambition, and\nthat restless spirit which never would suffer him to take any repose, did\nnot intend to stop there.  You know very well (for he hid nothing from\nyou) that he had formed a vast plan of marching, after he had conquered\nthe whole Parthian Empire, along the coast of the Caspian Sea and the\nsides of Mount Caucasus into Scythia, in order to subdue all the\ncountries that border on Germany, and Germany itself; from whence he\nproposed to return to Rome by Gaul.  Consider now, I beseech you, how\nmuch time the execution of this project required.  In some of his battles\nwith so many fierce and warlike nations, the bravest of all the\nbarbarians, he might have been slain; but, if he had not, disease, or age\nitself, might have ended his life before he could have completed such an\nimmense undertaking.  He was, when you killed him, in his fifty-sixth\nyear, and of an infirm constitution.  Except his bastard by Cleopatra, he\nhad no son; nor was his power so absolute or so quietly settled that he\ncould have a thought of bequeathing the Empire, like a private\ninheritance, to his sister's grandson, Octavius.  While he was absent\nthere was no reason to fear any violence or maladministration in Italy or\nin Rome.  Cicero would have had the chief authority in the Senate.  The\npraetorship of the city had been conferred upon you by the favour of\nCaesar, and your known credit with him, added to the high reputation of\nyour virtues and abilities, gave you a weight in all business which none\nof his party left behind him in Italy would have been able to oppose.\nWhat a fair prospect was here of good order, peace, and liberty at home,\nwhile abroad the Roman name would have been rendered more glorious, the\ndisgrace of Crassus revenged, and the Empire extended beyond the utmost\nambition of our forefathers by the greatest general that ever led the\narmies of Rome, or, perhaps, of any other nation!  What did it signify\nwhether in Asia, and among the barbarians, that general bore the name of\nKing or Dictator?  Nothing could be more puerile in you and your friends\nthan to start so much at the proposition of his taking that name in Italy\nitself, when you had suffered him to enjoy all the power of royalty, and\nmuch more than any King of Rome had possessed from Romulus down to\nTarquin.\n\n_Brutus_.--We considered that name as the last insult offered to our\nliberty and our laws; it was an ensign of tyranny, hung out with a vain\nand arrogant purpose of rendering the servitude of Rome more apparent.\nWe, therefore, determined to punish the tyrant, and restore our country\nto freedom.\n\n_Atticus_.--You punished the tyrant, but you did not restore your country\nto freedom.  By sparing Antony, against the opinion of Cassius, you\nsuffered the tyranny to remain.  He was Consul, and, from the moment that\nCaesar was dead, the chief power of the State was in his hands.  The\nsoldiers adored him for his liberality, valour, and military frankness.\nHis eloquence was more persuasive from appearing unstudied.  The nobility\nof his house, which descended from Hercules, would naturally inflame his\nheart with ambition.  The whole course of his life had evidently shown\nthat his thoughts were high and aspiring, and that he had little respect\nfor the liberty of his country.  He had been the second man in Caesar's\nparty; by saving him you gave a new head to that party, which could no\nlonger subsist without your ruin.  Many who would have wished the\nrestoration of liberty, if Caesar had died a natural death, were so\nincensed at his murder that, merely for the sake of punishing that, they\nwere willing to confer all power upon Antony and make him absolute master\nof the Republic.  This was particularly true with respect to the veterans\nwho had served under Caesar, and he saw it so plainly that he presently\navailed himself of their dispositions.  You and Cassius were obliged to\nfly out of Italy, and Cicero, who was unwilling to take the same part,\ncould find no expedient to save himself and the Senate but the wretched\none of supporting and raising very high another Caesar, the adopted son\nand heir of him you had slain, to oppose Antony and to divide the\nCaesarean party.  But even while he did this he perpetually offended that\nparty and made them his enemies by harangues in the Senate, which\nbreathed the very spirit of the old Pompeian faction, and made him appear\nto Octavius and all the friends of the dead Dictator no less guilty of\nhis death than those who had killed him.  What could this end in but that\nwhich you and your friends had most to fear, a reunion of the whole\nCaesarean party and of their principal leaders, however discordant the\none with the other, to destroy the Pompeians?  For my own part, I foresaw\nit long before the event, and therefore kept myself wholly clear of those\nproceedings.  You think I ought to have joined you and Cassius at\nPhilippi, because I knew your good intentions, and that, if you\nsucceeded, you designed to restore the commonwealth.  I am persuaded you\ndid both agree in that point, but you differed in so many others, there\nwas such a dissimilitude in your tempers and characters, that the union\nbetween you could not have lasted long, and your dissension would have\nhad most fatal effects with regard both to the settlement and to the\nadministration of the Republic.  Besides, the whole mass of it was in\nsuch a fermentation, and so corrupted, that I am convinced new disorders\nwould soon have arisen.  If you had applied gentle remedies, to which\nyour nature inclined, those remedies would have failed; if Cassius had\ninduced you to act with severity, your government would have been\nstigmatised with the name of a tyranny more detestable than that against\nwhich you conspired, and Caesar's clemency would have been the perpetual\ntopic of every factious oration to the people, and of every seditious\ndiscourse to the soldiers.  Thus you would have soon been plunged in the\nmiseries of another civil war, or perhaps assassinated in the Senate, as\nJulius was by you.  Nothing could give the Roman Empire a lasting\ntranquillity but such a prudent plan of a mitigated imperial power as was\nafterwards formed by Octavius, when he had ably and happily delivered\nhimself from all opposition and partnership in the government.  Those\nquiet times I lived to see, and I must say they were the best I ever had\nseen, far better than those under the turbulent aristocracy for which you\ncontended.  And let me boast a little of my own prudence, which, through\nso many storms, could steer me safe into that port.  Had it only given me\nsafety, without reputation, I should not think that I ought to value\nmyself upon it.  But in all these revolutions my honour remained as\nunimpaired as my fortune.  I so conducted myself that I lost no esteem in\nbeing Antony's friend after having been Cicero's, or in my alliance with\nAgrippa and Augustus Caesar after my friendship with you.  Nor did either\nCaesar or Antony blame my inaction in the quarrels between them; but, on\nthe contrary, they both seemed to respect me the more for the neutrality\nI observed.  My obligations to the one and alliance with the other made\nit improper for me to act against either, and my constant tenor of life\nhad procured me an exemption from all civil wars by a kind of\nprescription.\n\n_Brutus_.--If man were born to no higher purpose than to wear out a long\nlife in ease and prosperity, with the general esteem of the world, your\nwisdom was evidently as much superior to mine as my life was shorter and\nmore unhappy than yours.  Nay, I verily believe it exceeded the prudence\nof any other man that ever existed, considering in what difficult\ncircumstances you were placed, and with how many violent shocks and\nsudden changes of fortune you were obliged to contend.  But here the most\nvirtuous and public-spirited conduct is found to have been the most\nprudent.  The motives of our actions, not the success, give us here\nrenown.  And could I return to that life from whence I am escaped, I\nwould not change my character to imitate yours; I would again be Brutus\nrather than Atticus.  Even without the sweet hope of an eternal reward in\na more perfect state, which is the strongest and most immovable support\nto the good under every misfortune, I swear by the gods I would not give\nup the noble feelings of my heart, that elevation of mind which\naccompanies active and suffering virtue, for your seventy-seven years of\nconstant tranquillity, with all the praise you obtained from the learned\nmen whom you patronised or the great men whom you courted.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE XVIII.\n\n\nWILLIAM III., KING OF ENGLAND--JOHN DE WITT, PENSIONER, OF HOLLAND.\n\n_William_.--Though I had no cause to love you, yet, believe me, I\nsincerely lament your fate.  Who could have thought that De Witt, the\nmost popular Minister that ever served a commonwealth, should fall a\nsacrifice to popular fury!  Such admirable talents, such virtues as you\nwere endowed with, so clear, so cool, so comprehensive a head, a heart so\nuntainted with any kind of vice, despising money, despising pleasure,\ndespising the vain ostentation of greatness, such application to\nbusiness, such ability in it, such courage, such firmness, and so perfect\na knowledge of the nation you governed, seemed to assure you of a fixed\nand stable support in the public affection.  But nothing can be durable\nthat depends on the passions of the people.\n\n_De Witt_.--It is very generous in your Majesty, not only to\ncompassionate the fate of a man whose political principles made him an\nenemy to your greatness, but to ascribe it to the caprice and inconstancy\nof the people, as if there had been nothing very blamable in his conduct.\nI feel the magnanimity of this discourse from your Majesty, and it\nconfirms what I have heard of all your behaviour after my death.  But I\nmust frankly confess that, although the rage of the populace was carried\nmuch too far when they tore me and my unfortunate brother to pieces, yet\nI certainly had deserved to lose their affection by relying too much on\nthe uncertain and dangerous friendship of France, and by weakening the\nmilitary strength of the State, to serve little purposes of my own power,\nand secure to myself the interested affection of the burgomasters or\nothers who had credit and weight in the faction the favour of which I\ncourted.  This had almost subjected my country to France, if you, great\nprince, had not been set at the head of the falling Republic, and had not\nexerted such extraordinary virtues and abilities to raise and support it,\nas surpassed even the heroism and prudence of William, our first\nStadtholder, and equalled yon to the most illustrious patriots of Greece\nor Rome.\n\n_William_.--This praise from your mouth is glorious to me indeed!  What\ncan so much exalt the character of a prince as to have his actions\napproved by a zealous Republican and the enemy of his house?\n\n_De Witt_.--If I did not approve them I should show myself the enemy of\nthe Republic.  You never sought to tyrannise over it; you loved, you\ndefended, you preserved its freedom.  Thebes was not more indebted to\nEpaminondas or Pelopidas for its independence and glory than the United\nProvinces were to you.  How wonderful was it to see a youth, who had\nscarce attained to the twenty-second year of his age, whose spirit had\nbeen depressed and kept down by a jealous and hostile faction, rising at\nonce to the conduct of a most arduous and perilous war, stopping an enemy\nvictorious, triumphant, who had penetrated into the heart of his country,\ndriving him back and recovering from him all he had conquered: to see\nthis done with an army in which a little before there was neither\ndiscipline, courage, nor sense of honour!  Ancient history has no exploit\nsuperior to it; and it will ennoble the modern whenever a Livy or a\nPlutarch shall arise to do justice to it, and set the hero who performed\nit in a true light.\n\n_William_.--Say, rather, when time shall have worn out that malignity and\nrancour of party which in free States is so apt to oppose itself to the\nsentiments of gratitude and esteem for their servants and benefactors.\n\n_De Witt_.--How magnanimous was your reply, how much in the spirit of\ntrue ancient virtue, when being asked, in the greatest extremity of our\ndanger, \"How you intended to live after Holland was lost?\" you said, \"You\nwould live on the lands you had left in Germany, and had rather pass your\nlife in hunting there than sell your country or liberty to France at any\nrate!\"  How nobly did you think when, being offered your patrimonial\nlordships and lands in the county of Burgundy, or the full value of them\nfrom France, by the mediation of England in the treaty of peace, your\nanswer was, \"That to gain one good town more for the Spaniards in\nFlanders you would be content to lose them all!\"  No wonder, after this,\nthat you were able to combine all Europe in a league against the power of\nFrance; that you were the centre of union, and the directing soul of that\nwise, that generous confederacy formed by your labours; that you could\nsteadily support and keep it together, in spite of repeated misfortunes;\nthat even after defeats you were as formidable to Louis as other generals\nafter victories; and that in the end you became the deliverer of Europe,\nas you had before been of Holland.\n\n_William_.--I had, in truth, no other object, no other passion at heart\nthroughout my whole life but to maintain the independence and freedom of\nEurope against the ambition of France.  It was this desire which formed\nthe whole plan of my policy, which animated all my counsels, both as\nPrince of Orange and King of England.\n\n_De Witt_.--This desire was the most noble (I speak it with shame) that\ncould warm the heart of a prince whose ancestors had opposed and in a\ngreat measure destroyed the power of Spain when that nation aspired to\nthe monarchy of Europe.  France, sir, in your days had an equal ambition\nand more strength to support her vast designs than Spain under the\ngovernment of Philip II.  That ambition you restrained, that strength you\nresisted.  I, alas! was seduced by her perfidious Court, and by the\nnecessity of affairs in that system of policy which I had adopted, to ask\nher assistance, to rely on her favour, and to make the commonwealth,\nwhose counsels I directed, subservient to her greatness.  Permit me, sir,\nto explain to you the motives of my conduct.  If all the Princes of\nOrange had acted like you, I should never have been the enemy of your\nhouse.  But Prince Maurice of Nassau desired to oppress the liberty of\nthat State which his virtuous father had freed at the expense of his\nlife, and which he himself had defended against the arms of the House of\nAustria with the highest reputation of military abilities.  Under a\npretence of religion (the most execrable cover of a wicked design) he put\nto death, as a criminal, that upright Minister, Barneveldt, his father's\nbest friend, because, he refused to concur with him in treason against\nthe State.  He likewise imprisoned several other good men and lovers of\ntheir country, confiscated their estates, and ruined their families.  Yet,\nafter he had done these cruel acts of injustice with a view to make\nhimself sovereign of the Dutch Commonwealth, he found they had drawn such\na general odium upon him that, not daring to accomplish his iniquitous\npurpose, he stopped short of the tyranny to which he had sacrificed his\nhonour and virtue; a disappointment so mortifying and so painful to his\nmind that it probably hastened his death.\n\n_William_.--Would to Heaven he had died before the meeting of that\ninfamous Synod of Dort, by which he not only dishonoured himself and his\nfamily, but the Protestant religion itself!  Forgive this interruption--my\ngrief forced me to it--I desire you to proceed.\n\n_De Witt_.--The brother of Maurice, Prince Henry, who succeeded to his\ndignities in the Republic, acted with more moderation.  But the son of\nthat good prince, your Majesty's father (I am sorry to speak what I know\nyou hear with pain), resumed, in the pride and fire of his youth, the\nambitious designs of his uncle.  He failed in his undertaking, and soon\nafterwards died, but left in the hearts of the whole Republican party an\nincurable jealousy and dread of his family.  Full of these prejudices,\nand zealous for liberty, I thought it my duty as Pensionary of Holland to\nprevent for ever, if I could, your restoration to the power your\nancestors had enjoyed, which I sincerely believed would be inconsistent\nwith the safety and freedom of my country.\n\n_William_.--Let me stop you a moment here.  When my great-grandfather\nformed the plan of the Dutch Commonwealth, he made the power of a\nStadtholder one of the principal springs in his system of government.  How\ncould you imagine that it would ever go well when deprived of this\nspring, so necessary to adjust and balance its motions?  A constitution\noriginally formed with no mixture of regal power may long be maintained\nin all its vigour and energy without such a power; but if any degree of\nmonarchy was mixed from the beginning in the principles of it, the\nforcing that out must necessarily disorder and weaken the whole fabric.\nThis was particularly the case in our Republic.  The negative voice of\nevery small town in the provincial States, the tedious slowness of our\nforms and deliberations, the facility with which foreign Ministers may\nseduce or purchase the opinions of so many persons as have a right to\nconcur in all our resolutions, make it impossible for the Government,\neven in the quietest times, to be well carried on without the authority\nand influence of a Stadtholder, which are the only remedy our\nconstitution has provided for those evils.\n\n_De Witt_.--I acknowledge they are; but I and my party thought no evil so\ngreat as that remedy, and therefore we sought for other more pleasing\nresources.  One of these, upon which we most confidently depended, was\nthe friendship of France.  I flattered myself that the interest of the\nFrench would secure to me their favour, as your relation to the Crown of\nEngland might naturally raise in them a jealousy of your power.  I hoped\nthey would encourage the trade and commerce of the Dutch in opposition to\nthe English, the ancient enemies of their Crown, and let us enjoy all the\nbenefits of a perpetual peace, unless we made war upon England, or\nEngland upon us, in either of which cases it was reasonable to presume we\nshould have their assistance.  The French Minister at the Hague, who\nserved his Court but too well, so confirmed me in these notions, that I\nhad no apprehensions of the mine which was forming under my feet.\n\n_William_.--You found your authority strengthened by a plan so agreeable\nto your party, and this contributed more to deceive your sagacity than\nall the art of D'Estrades.\n\n_De Witt_.--My policy seemed to me entirely suitable to the lasting\nsecurity of my own power, of the liberty of my country, and of its\nmaritime greatness; for I made it my care to keep up a very powerful\nnavy, well commanded and officered, for the defence of all these against\nthe English; but, as I feared nothing from France, or any Power on the\nContinent, I neglected the army, or rather I destroyed it, by enervating\nall its strength, by disbanding old troops and veteran officers attached\nto the House of Orange, and putting in their place a trading militia,\ncommanded by officers who had neither experience nor courage, and who\nowed their promotions to no other merit but their relation to or interest\nwith some leading men in the several oligarchies of which the Government\nin all the Dutch towns is composed.  Nevertheless, on the invasion of\nFlanders by the French, I was forced to depart from my close connection\nwith France, and to concur with England and Sweden in the Triple\nAlliance, which Sir William Temple proposed, in order to check her\nambition; but as I entered into that measure from necessity, not from\nchoice, I did not pursue it.  I neglected to improve our union with\nEngland, or to secure that with Sweden; I avoided any conjunction of\ncounsels with Spain; I formed no alliance with the Emperor or the\nGermans; I corrupted our army more and more; till a sudden, unnatural\nconfederacy, struck up, against all the maxims of policy, by the Court of\nEngland with France, for the conquest of the Seven Provinces, brought\nthese at once to the very brink of destruction, and made me a victim to\nthe fury of a populace too justly provoked.\n\n_William_.--I must say that your plan was in reality nothing more than to\nprocure for the Dutch a licence to trade under the good pleasure and\ngracious protection of France.  But any State that so entirely depends on\nanother is only a province, and its liberty is a servitude graced with a\nsweet but empty name.  You should have reflected that to a monarch so\nambitious and so vain as Louis le Grand the idea of a conquest which\nseemed almost certain, and the desire of humbling a haughty Republic,\nwere temptations irresistible.  His bigotry likewise would concur in\nrecommending to him an enterprise which he might think would put heresy\nunder his feet.  And if you knew either the character of Charles II. or\nthe principles of his government, you ought not to have supposed his\nunion with France for the ruin of Holland an impossible or even\nimprobable event.  It is hardly excusable in a statesman to be greatly\nsurprised that the inclinations of princes should prevail upon them to\nact, in many particulars, without any regard to the political maxims and\ninterests of their kingdoms.\n\n_De Witt_.--I am ashamed of my error; but the chief cause of it was that,\nthough I thought very ill, I did not think quite so ill of Charles II.\nand his Ministry as they deserved.  I imagined, too, that his Parliament\nwould restrain him from engaging in such a war, or compel him to engage\nin our defence if France should attack us.  These, I acknowledge, are\nexcuses, not justifications.  When the French marched into Holland and\nfound it in a condition so unable to resist them, my fame as a Minister\nirrecoverably sank; for, not to appear a traitor, I was obliged to\nconfess myself a dupe.  But what praise is sufficient for the wisdom and\nvirtue you showed in so firmly rejecting the offers which, I have been\ninformed, were made to you, both by England and France, when first you\nappeared in arms at the head of your country, to give you the sovereignty\nof the Seven Provinces by the assistance and under the protection of the\ntwo Crowns!  Believe me, great prince, had I been living in those times,\nand had known the generous answers you made to those offers (which were\nrepeated more than once during the course of the war), not the most\nancient and devoted servant to your family would have been more your\nfriend than I.  But who could reasonably hope for such moderation, and\nsuch a right sense of glory, in the mind of a young man descended from\nkings, whose mother was daughter to Charles I., and whose father had left\nhim the seducing example of a very different conduct?  Happy, indeed, was\nthe English nation to have such a prince, so nearly allied to their Crown\nboth in blood and by marriage, whom they might call to be their deliverer\nwhen bigotry and despotism, the two greatest enemies to human society,\nhad almost overthrown their whole constitution in Church and State!\n\n_William_.--They might have been happy, but were not.  As soon as I had\naccomplished their deliverance for them, many of them became my most\nimplacable enemies, and even wished to restore the unforgiving prince\nwhom they had so unanimously and so justly expelled from his kingdom.\nSuch levity seems incredible.  I could not myself have imagined it\npossible, in a nation famed for good sense, if I had not had proofs of it\nbeyond contradiction.  They seemed as much to forget what they called me\nover for as that they had called me over.  The security of their\nreligion, the maintenance of their liberty, were no longer their care.\nAll was to yield to the incomprehensible doctrine of right divine and\npassive obedience.  Thus the Tories grew Jacobites, after having\nrenounced both that doctrine and King James, by their opposition to him,\nby their invitation of me, and by every Act of the Parliament which gave\nme the Crown.  But the most troublesome of my enemies were a set of\nRepublicans, who violently opposed all my measures, and joined with the\nJacobites in disturbing my government, only because it was not a\ncommonwealth.\n\n_De Witt_.--They who were Republicans under your government in the\nKingdom of England did not love liberty, but aspired to dominion, and\nwished to throw the nation into a total confusion, that it might give\nthem a chance of working out from that anarchy a better state for\nthemselves.\n\n_William_.--Your observation is just.  A proud man thinks himself a lover\nof liberty when he is only impatient of a power in government above his\nown, and were he a king, or the first Minister of a king, would be a\ntyrant.  Nevertheless I will own to you, with the candour which becomes a\nvirtuous prince, that there were in England some Whigs, and even some of\nthe most sober and moderate Tories, who, with very honest intentions, and\nsometimes with good judgments, proposed new securities to the liberty of\nthe nation, against the prerogative or influence of the Crown and the\ncorruption of Ministers in future times.  To some of these I gave way,\nbeing convinced they were right, but others I resisted for fear of\nweakening too much the royal authority, and breaking that balance in\nwhich consists the perfection of a mixed form of government.  I should\nnot, perhaps, have resisted so many if I had not seen in the House of\nCommons a disposition to rise in their demands on the Crown had they\nfound it more yielding.  The difficulties of my government, upon the\nwhole, were so great that I once had determined, from mere disgust and\nresentment, to give back to the nation, assembled in Parliament, the\ncrown they had placed on my head, and retire to Holland, where I found\nmore affection and gratitude in the people.  But I was stopped by the\nearnest supplications of my friends and by an unwillingness to undo the\ngreat work I had done, especially as I knew that, if England should\nreturn into the hands of King James, it would be impossible in that\ncrisis to preserve the rest of Europe from the dominion of France.\n\n_De Witt_.--Heaven be praised that your Majesty did not persevere in so\nfatal a resolution!  The United Provinces would have been ruined by it\ntogether with England.  But I cannot enough express my astonishment that\nyou should have met with such treatment as could suggest such a thought.\nThe English must surely be a people incapable either of liberty or\nsubjection.\n\n_William_.--There were, I must acknowledge, some faults in my temper and\nsome in my government, which are an excuse for my subjects with regard to\nthe uneasiness and disquiet they gave me.  My taciturnity, which suited\nthe genius of the Dutch, offended theirs.  They love an affable prince;\nit was chiefly his affability that made them so fond of Charles II.  Their\nfrankness and good-humour could not brook the reserve and coldness of my\nnature.  Then the excess of my favour to some of the Dutch, whom I had\nbrought over with me, excited a national jealousy in the English and hurt\ntheir pride.  My government also appeared, at last, too unsteady, too\nfluctuating between the Whigs and the Tories, which almost deprived me of\nthe confidence and affection of both parties.  I trusted too much to the\nintegrity and the purity of my intentions, without using those arts that\nare necessary to allay the ferment of factions and allure men to their\nduty by soothing their passions.  Upon the whole I am sensible that I\nbetter understood how to govern the Dutch than the English or the Scotch,\nand should probably have been thought a greater man if I had not been\nKing of Great Britain.\n\n_De Witt_.--It is a shame to the English that gratitude and affection for\nsuch merit as yours were not able to overcome any little disgusts arising\nfrom your temper, and enthrone their deliverer in the hearts of his\npeople.  But will your Majesty give me leave to ask you one question?  Is\nit true, as I have heard, that many of them disliked your alliances on\nthe Continent and spoke of your war with France as a Dutch measure, in\nwhich you sacrificed England to Holland?\n\n_William_.--The cry of the nation at first was strong for the war, but\nbefore the end of it the Tories began publicly to talk the language you\nmention.  And no wonder they did, for, as they then had a desire to set\nup again the maxims of government which had prevailed in the reign of\ntheir beloved Charles II., they could not but represent opposition to\nFrance, and vigorous measures taken to restrain her ambition, as\nunnecessary for England, because they well knew that the counsels of that\nking had been utterly averse to such measures; that his whole policy made\nhim a friend to France; that he was governed by a French mistress, and\neven bribed by French money to give that Court his assistance, or at\nleast his acquiescence, in all their designs.\n\n_De Witt_.--A King of England whose Cabinet is governed by France, and\nwho becomes a vile pensioner to a French King, degrades himself from his\nroyalty, and ought to be considered as an enemy to the nation.  Indeed\nthe whole policy of Charles II., when he was not forced off from his\nnatural bias by the necessity he lay under of soothing his Parliament,\nwas a constant, designed, systematical opposition to the interest of his\npeople.  His brother, though more sensible to the honour of England, was\nby his Popery and desire of arbitrary power constrained to lean upon\nFrance, and do nothing to obstruct her designs on the Continent or lessen\nher greatness.  It was therefore necessary to place the British Crown on\nyour head, not only with a view to preserve the religious and civil\nrights of the people from internal oppressions, but to rescue the whole\nState from that servile dependence on its natural enemy, which must\nunquestionably have ended in its destruction.  What folly was it to\nrevile your measures abroad, as sacrificing the interest of your British\ndominions to connections with the Continent, and principally with\nHolland!  Had Great Britain no interest to hinder the French from being\nmasters of all the Austrian Netherlands, and forcing the Seven United\nProvinces, her strongest barrier on the Continent against the power of\nthat nation, to submit with the rest to their yoke?  Would her trade,\nwould her coasts, would her capital itself have been safe after so mighty\nan increase of shipping and sailors as France would have gained by those\nconquests?  And what could have prevented them, but the war which you\nwaged and the alliances which you formed?  Could the Dutch and the\nGermans, unaided by Great Britain, have attempted to make head against a\nPower which, even with her assistance, strong and spirited as it was,\nthey could hardly resist?  And after the check which had been given to\nthe encroachments of France by the efforts of the first grand alliance,\ndid not a new and greater danger make it necessary to recur to another\nsuch league?  Was not the union of France and Spain under one monarch, or\neven under one family, the most alarming contingency that ever had\nthreatened the liberty of Europe?\n\n_William_.--I thought so, and I am sure I did not err in my judgment.  But\nfolly is blind, and faction wilfully shuts her eyes against the most\nevident truths that cross her designs, as she believes any lies, however\npalpable and absurd, that she thinks will assist them.\n\n_De Witt_.--The only objection which seems to have any real weight\nagainst your system of policy, with regard to the maintenance of a\nbalance of power in Europe, is the enormous expense that must necessarily\nattend it; an expense which I am afraid neither England nor Holland will\nbe able to bear without extreme inconvenience.\n\n_William_.--I will answer that objection by asking a question.  If, when\nyou were Pensionary of Holland, intelligence had been brought that the\ndykes were ready to break and the sea was coming in to overwhelm and to\ndrown us, what would you have said to one of the deputies who, when you\nwere proposing the proper repairs to stop the inundation, should have\nobjected to the charge as too heavy on the Province?  This was the case\nin a political sense with both England and Holland.  The fences raised to\nkeep out superstition and tyranny were all giving way; those dreadful\nevils were threatening, with their whole accumulated force, to break in\nupon us and overwhelm our ecclesiastical and civil constitutions.  In\nsuch circumstances to object to a necessary expense is folly and madness.\n\n_De Witt_.--It is certain, sir, that the utmost abilities of a nation can\nnever be so well employed as in the unwearied, pertinacious defence of\ntheir religion and freedom.  When these are lost, there remains nothing\nthat is worth the concern of a good or wise man.  Nor do I think it\nconsistent with the prudence of government not to guard against future\ndangers, as well as present; which precaution must be often in some\ndegree expensive.  I acknowledge, too, that the resources of a commercial\ncountry, which supports its trade, even in war, by invincible fleets, and\ntakes care not to hurt it in the methods of imposing or collecting its\ntaxes, are immense, and inconceivable till the trial is made; especially\nwhere the Government, which demands the supplies, is agreeable to the\npeople.  But yet an unlimited and continued expense will in the end be\ndestructive.  What matters it whether a State is mortally wounded by the\nhand of a foreign enemy, or dies by a consumption of its own vital\nstrength?  Such a consumption will come upon Holland sooner than upon\nEngland, because the latter has a greater radical force; but, great as it\nis, that force at last will be so diminished and exhausted by perpetual\ndrains, that it may fail all at once, and those efforts, which may seem\nmost surprisingly vigorous, will be in reality the convulsions of death.\nI don't apply this to your Majesty's government; but I speak with a view\nto what may happen hereafter from the extensive ideas of negotiation and\nwar which you have established: they have been salutary to your kingdom;\nbut they will, I fear, be pernicious in future times, if in pursuing\ngreat plans great Ministers do not act with a sobriety, prudence, and\nattention to frugality, which very seldom are joined with an\nextraordinary vigour and boldness of counsels.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE XIX.\n\n\nM. APICIUS--DARTENEUF.\n\n_Darteneuf_.--Alas! poor Apicius, I pity thee from my heart for not\nhaving lived in my age and in my country.  How many good dishes, unknown\nat Rome in thy days, have I feasted upon in England!\n\n_Apicius_.--Keep your pity for yourself.  How many good dishes have I\nfeasted upon in Rome which England does not produce, or of which the\nknowledge has been lost, with other treasures of antiquity, in these\ndegenerate days!  The fat paps of a sow, the livers of scari, the brains\nof phoenicopters, and the tripotanum, which consisted of three excellent\nsorts of fish, for which you English have no names, the lupus marinus,\nthe myxo, and the muraena.\n\n_Darteneuf_.--I thought the muraena had been our lamprey.  We have\ndelicate ones in the Severn.\n\n_Apicius_.--No; the muraena, so respected by the ancient Roman senators,\nwas a salt-water fish, and kept by our nobles in ponds, into which the\nsea was admitted.\n\n_Darteneuf_.--Why, then, I dare say our Severn lampreys are better.  Did\nyou ever eat any of them stewed or potted?\n\n_Apicius_.--I was never in Britain.  Your country then was too barbarous\nfor me to go thither.  I should have been afraid that the Britons would\nhave eaten me.\n\n_Darteneuf_.--I am sorry for you, very sorry; for if you never were in\nBritain you never ate the best oysters.\n\n_Apicius_.--Pardon me, sir, your Sandwich oysters were brought to Rome in\nmy time.\n\n_Darteneuf_.--They could not be fresh; they were good for nothing there.\nYou should have come to Sandwich to eat them.  It is a shame for you that\nyou did not.  An epicure talk of danger when he is in search of a dainty!\nDid not Leander swim over the Hellespont in a tempest to get to his\nmistress?  And what is a wench to a barrel of exquisite oysters?\n\n_Apicius_.--Nay; I am sure you can't blame me for any want of alertness\nin seeking fine fishes.  I sailed to the coast of Africa, from Minturnae\nin Campania, only to taste of one species, which I heard was larger there\nthan it was on our coast; and finding that I had received a false\ninformation, I returned immediately, without even deigning to land.\n\n_Darteneuf_.--There was some sense in that.  But why did not you also\nmake a voyage to Sandwich?  Had you once tasted those oysters in their\nhighest perfection, you would never have come back; you would have eaten\ntill you burst.\n\n_Apicius_.--I wish I had.  It would have been better than poisoning\nmyself, as I did at Rome, because I found, upon the balance of my\naccounts, I had only the pitiful sum of fourscore thousand pounds left,\nwhich would not afford me a table to keep me from starving.\n\n_Darteneuf_.--A sum of fourscore thousand pounds not keep you from\nstarving!  Would I had had it!  I should have been twenty years in\nspending it, with the best table in London.\n\n_Apicius_.--Alas, poor man!  This shows that you English have no idea of\nthe luxury that reigned in our tables.  Before I died I had spent in my\nkitchen 807,291 pounds 13s. 4d.\n\n_Darteneuf_.--I don't believe a word of it.  There is certainly an error\nin the account.\n\n_Apicius_.--Why, the establishment of Lucullus for his suppers in the\nApollo--I mean for every supper he sat down to in the room which he\ncalled by that name--was 5,000 drachms, which is in your money 1,614\npounds 11s. 8d.\n\n_Darteneuf_.--Would I had supped with him there!  But are you sure there\nis no blunder in these calculations?\n\n_Apicius_.--Ask your learned men that.  I reckon as they tell me.  But\nyou may think that these feasts were made only by great men, by\ntriumphant generals, like Lucullus, who had plundered all Asia to help\nhim in his housekeeping.  What will you say when I tell you that the\nplayer AEsopus had one dish that cost him 6,000 sestertia--that is, 4,843\npounds 10s. English?\n\n_Darteneuf_.--What will I say?  Why, that I pity my worthy friend Mr.\nGibber, and that, if I had known this when alive, I should have hanged\nmyself for vexation that I did not live in those days.\n\n_Apicius_.--Well you might, well you might.  You don't know what eating\nis.  You never could know it.  Nothing less than the wealth of the Roman\nEmpire is sufficient to enable a man of taste to keep a good table.  Our\nplayers were infinitely richer than your princes.\n\n_Darteneuf_.--Oh that I had but lived in the blessed reign of Caligula,\nor of Vitellius, or of Heliogabalus, and had been admitted to the honour\nof dining with their slaves!\n\n_Apicius_.--Ay, there you touch me.  I am miserable that I died before\ntheir good times.  They carried the glories of their table much farther\nthan the best eaters of the age in which I lived.  Vitellius spent in\nfeasting, within the compass of one year, what would amount in your money\nto above 7,200,000 pounds.  He told me so himself in a conversation I had\nwith him not long ago.  And the two others you mentioned did not fall\nvery short of his royal magnificence.\n\n_Darteneuf_.--These, indeed, were great princes.  But what most affects\nme is the luxury of that upstart fellow AEsopus.  Pray, of what\ningredients might the dish he paid so much for consist?\n\n_Apicius_.--Chiefly of singing birds.  It was that which so greatly\nenhanced the price.\n\n_Darteneuf_.--Of singing birds!  Choke him!  I never ate but one, which I\nstole out of its cage from a lady of my acquaintance, and all London was\nin an uproar, as if I had stolen and roasted an only child.  But, upon\nrecollection, I doubt whether I have really so much cause to envy AEsopus.\nFor the singing bird which I ate was not so good as a wheat-ear or\nbecafigue.  And therefore I suspect that all the luxury you have bragged\nof was nothing but vanity.  It was like the foolish extravagance of the\nson of AEsopus, who dissolved pearls in vinegar and drank them at supper.\nI will stake my credit that a haunch of good buck venison and my\nfavourite ham pie were much better dishes than any at the table of\nVitellius himself.  It does not appear that you ancients ever had any\ngood soups, without which a man of taste cannot possibly dine.  The\nrabbits in Italy are detestable.  But what is better than the wing of one\nof our English wild rabbits?  I have been told you had no turkeys.  The\nmutton in Italy is ill-flavoured.  And as for your boars roasted whole,\nthey were only fit to be served up at a corporation feast or election\ndinner.  A small barbecued hog is worth a hundred of them.  And a good\ncollar of Canterbury or Shrewsbury brawn is a much better dish.\n\n_Apicius_.--If you had some meats that we wanted, yet our cookery must\nhave been greatly superior to yours.  Our cooks were so excellent that\nthey could give to hog's flesh the taste of all other meats.\n\n_Darteneuf_.--I should never have endured their imitations.  You might as\neasily have imposed on a good connoisseur in painting the copy of a fine\npicture for the original.  Our cooks, on the contrary, give to all other\nmeats, and even to some kinds of fish, a rich flavour of bacon without\ndestroying that which makes the distinction of one from another.  It does\nnot appear to me that essence of hams was ever known to the ancients.  We\nhave a hundred ragouts, the composition of which surpasses all\ndescription.  Had yours been as good, you could not have lain indolently\nlolling upon couches while you were eating.  They would have made you sit\nup and mind your business.  Then you had a strange custom of hearing\nthings read to you while you were at supper.  This demonstrates that you\nwere not so well entertained as we are with our meat.  When I was at\ntable, I neither heard, nor saw, nor spoke; I only tasted.  But the worst\nof all is that, in the utmost perfection of your luxury, you had no wine\nto be named with claret, Burgundy, champagne, old hock, or Tokay.  You\nboasted much of your Falernum, but I have tasted the Lachrymae Christi\nand other wines of that coast, not one of which would I have drunk above\na glass or two of if you would have given me the Kingdom of Naples.  I\nhave read that you boiled your wines and mixed water with them, which is\nsufficient evidence that in themselves they were not fit to drink.\n\n_Apicius_.--I am afraid you do really excel us in wines; not to mention\nyour beer, your cider, and your perry, of all which I have heard great\nfame from your countrymen, and their report has been confirmed by the\ntestimony of their neighbours who have travelled into England.  Wonderful\nthings have been also said to me of an English liquor called punch.\n\n_Darteneuf_.--Ay, to have died without tasting that is miserable indeed!\nThere is rum punch and arrack punch!  It is difficult to say which is\nbest, but Jupiter would have given his nectar for either of them, upon my\nword and honour.\n\n_Apicius_.--The thought of them puts me into a fever with thirst.\n\n_Darteneuf_.--Those incomparable liquors are brought to us from the East\nand West Indies, of the first of which you knew little, and of the latter\nnothing.  This alone is sufficient to determine the dispute.  What a new\nworld of good things for eating and drinking has Columbus opened to us!\nThink of that, and despair.\n\n_Apicius_.--I cannot indeed but exceedingly lament my ill fate that\nAmerica was not discovered before I was born.  It tortures me when I hear\nof chocolate, pineapples, and a number of other fine fruits, or delicious\nmeats, produced there which I have never tasted.\n\n_Darteneuf_.--The single advantage of having sugar to sweeten everything\nwith, instead of honey, which you, for want of the other, were obliged to\nmake use of, is inestimable.\n\n_Apicius_.--I confess your superiority in that important article.  But\nwhat grieves me most is that I never ate a turtle.  They tell me that it\nis absolutely the best of all foods.\n\n_Darteneuf_.--Yes, I have heard the Americans say so, but I never ate\nany; for in my time they were not brought over to England.\n\n_Apicius_.--Never ate any turtle!  How couldst thou dare to accuse me of\nnot going to Sandwich to eat oysters, and didst not thyself take a trip\nto America to riot on turtles?  But know, wretched man, I am credibly\ninformed that they are now as plentiful in England as sturgeons.  There\nare turtle-boats that go regularly to London and Bristol from the West\nIndies.  I have just received this information from a fat alderman, who\ndied in London last week of a surfeit he got at a turtle feast in that\ncity.\n\n_Darteneuf_.--What does he say?  Does he affirm to you that turtle is\nbetter than venison?\n\n_Apicius_.--He says, there was a haunch of the fattest venison untouched,\nwhile every mouth was employed on the turtle alone.\n\n_Darteneuf_.--Alas! how imperfect is human felicity!  I lived in an age\nwhen the noble science of eating was supposed to have been carried to its\nhighest perfection in England and France.  And yet a turtle feast is a\nnovelty to me!  Would it be impossible, do you think, to obtain leave\nfrom Pluto of going back for one day to my own table at London just to\ntaste of that food?  I would promise to kill myself by the quantity of it\nI would eat before the next morning.\n\n_Apicius_.--You have forgot you have no body.  That which you had has\nlong been rotten, and you can never return to the earth with another,\nunless Pythagoras should send you thither to animate a hog.  But comfort\nyourself that, as you have eaten dainties which I never tasted, so the\nnext age will eat some unknown to this.  New discoveries will be made,\nand new delicacies brought from other parts of the world.  But see; who\ncomes hither?  I think it is Mercury.\n\n_Mercury_.--Gentlemen, I must tell you that I have stood near you\ninvisible, and heard your discourse--a privilege which, you know, we\ndeities use as often as we please.  Attend, therefore, to what I shall\ncommunicate to you, relating to the subject upon which you have been\ntalking.  I know two men, one of whom lived in ancient, and the other in\nmodern times, who had much more pleasure in eating than either of you\nthrough the whole course of your lives.\n\n_Apicius_.--One of these happy epicures, I presume, was a Sybarite, and\nthe other a French gentleman settled in the West Indies.\n\n_Mercury_.--No; one was a Spartan soldier, and the other an English\nfarmer.  I see you both look astonished.  But what I tell you is truth.\nLabour and hunger gave a relish to the black broth of the former, and the\nsalt beef of the latter, beyond what you ever found in the tripotanums or\nham pies, that vainly stimulated your forced and languid appetites, which\nperpetual indolence weakened, and constant luxury overcharged.\n\n_Darteneuf_.--This, Apicius, is more mortifying than not to have shared a\nturtle feast.\n\n_Apicius_.--I wish, Mercury, you had taught me your art of cookery in my\nlifetime; but it is a sad thing not to know what good living is till\nafter one is dead.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE XX.\n\n\nALEXANDER THE GREAT--CHARLES XII., KING OF SWEDEN.\n\n_Alexander_.--Your Majesty seems in great wrath!  Who has offended you?\n\n_Charles_.--The offence is to you as much as me.  Here is a fellow\nadmitted into Elysium who has affronted us both--an English poet, one\nPope.  He has called us two madmen!\n\n_Alexander_.--I have been unlucky in poets.  No prince ever was fonder of\nthe Muses than I, or has received from them a more ungrateful return.\nWhen I was alive, I declared that I envied Achilles because he had a\nHomer to celebrate his exploits; and I most bountifully rewarded\nChoerilus, a pretender to poetry, for writing verses on mine.  But my\nliberality, instead of doing me honour, has since drawn upon me the\nridicule of Horace, a witty Roman poet; and Lucan, another versifier of\nthe same nation, has loaded my memory with the harshest invectives.\n\n_Charles_.--I know nothing of these; but I know that in my time a pert\nFrench satirist, one Boileau, made so free with your character, that I\ntore his book for having abused my favourite hero.  And now this saucy\nEnglishman has libelled us both.  But I have a proposal to make to you\nfor the reparation of our honour.  If you will join with me, we will turn\nall these insolent scribblers out of Elysium, and throw them down\nheadlong to the bottom of Tartarus, in spite of Pluto and all his guards.\n\n_Alexander_.--This is just such a scheme as that you formed at Bender, to\nmaintain yourself there, with the aid of three hundred Swedes, against\nthe whole force of the Ottoman Empire.  And I must say that such follies\ngave the English poet too much cause to call you a madman.\n\n_Charles_.--If my heroism was madness, yours, I presume, was not wisdom.\n\n_Alexander_.--There was a vast difference between your conduct and mine.\nLet poets or declaimers say what they will, history shows that I was not\nonly the bravest soldier, but one of the ablest commanders the world has\never seen.  Whereas you, by imprudently leading your army into vast and\nbarren deserts at the approach of the winter, exposed it to perish in its\nmarch for want of subsistence, lost your artillery, lost a great number\nof your soldiers, and was forced to fight with the Muscovites under such\ndisadvantages as made it almost impossible for you to conquer.\n\n_Charles_.--I will not dispute your superiority as a general.  It is not\nfor me, a mere mortal, to contend with the son of Jupiter Ammon.\n\n_Alexander_.--I suppose you think my pretending that Jupiter was my\nfather as much entitles me to the name of a madman as your extravagant\nbehaviour at Bender does you.  But you are greatly mistaken.  It was not\nmy vanity, but my policy, which set up that pretension.  When I proposed\nto undertake the conquest of Asia, it was necessary for me to appear to\nthe people something more than a man.  They had been used to the idea of\ndemi-god heroes.  I therefore claimed an equal descent with Osiris and\nSesostris, with Bacchus and Hercules, the former conquerors of the East.\nThe opinion of my divinity assisted my arms and subdued all nations\nbefore me, from the Granicus to the Ganges.  But though I called myself\nthe son of Jupiter, and kept up the veneration that name inspired, by a\ncourage which seemed more than human, and by the sublime magnanimity of\nall my behaviour, I did not forget that I was the son of Philip.  I used\nthe policy of my father and the wise lessons of Aristotle, whom he had\nmade my preceptor, in the conduct of all my great designs.  It was the\nson of Philip who planted Greek colonies in Asia as far as the Indies;\nwho formed projects of trade more extensive than his empire itself; who\nlaid the foundations of them in the midst of his wars; who built\nAlexandria, to be the centre and staple of commerce between Europe, Asia,\nand Africa, who sent Nearchus to navigate the unknown Indian seas, and\nintended to have gone himself from those seas to the Pillars of\nHercules--that is, to have explored the passage round Africa, the\ndiscovery of which has since been so glorious to Vasco de Gama.  It was\nthe son of Philip who, after subduing the Persians, governed them with\nsuch lenity, such justice, and such wisdom, that they loved him even more\nthan ever they had loved their natural kings; and who, by intermarriages\nand all methods that could best establish a coalition between the\nconquerors and the conquered, united them into one people.  But what,\nsir, did you do to advance the trade of your subjects, to procure any\nbenefit to those you had vanquished, or to convert any enemy into a\nfriend?\n\n_Charles_.--When I might easily have made myself King of Poland, and was\nadvised to do so by Count Piper, my favourite Minister, I generously gave\nthat kingdom to Stanislas, as you had given a great part of you conquests\nin India to Porus, besides his own dominions, which you restored to him\nentire after you had beaten his army and taken him captive.\n\n_Alexander_.--I gave him the government of those countries under me and\nas my lieutenant, which was the best method of preserving my power in\nconquests where I could not leave garrisons sufficient to maintain them.\nThe same policy was afterwards practised by the Romans, who of all\nconquerors, except me, were the greatest politicians.  But neither was I\nnor were they so extravagant as to conquer only for others, or dethrone\nkings with no view but merely to have the pleasure of bestowing their\ncrowns on some of their subjects without any advantage to ourselves.\nNevertheless, I will own that my expedition to India was an exploit of\nthe son of Jupiter, not of the son of Philip.  I had done better if I had\nstayed to give more consistency to my Persian and Grecian Empires,\ninstead of attempting new conquests and at such a distance so soon.  Yet\neven this war was of use to hinder my troops from being corrupted by the\neffeminacy of Asia, and to keep up that universal awe of my name which in\nthose countries was the great support of my power.\n\n_Charles_.--In the unwearied activity with which I proceeded from one\nenterprise to another, I dare call myself your equal.  Nay, I may pretend\nto a higher glory than you, because you only went on from victory to\nvictory; but the greatest losses were not able to diminish my ardour or\nstop the efforts of my daring and invincible spirit.\n\n_Alexander_.--You showed in adversity much more magnanimity than you did\nin prosperity.  How unworthy of a prince who imitated me was your\nbehaviour to the king your arms had vanquished!  The compelling Augustus\nto write himself a letter of congratulation to one of his vassals whom\nyou had placed in his throne, was the very reverse of my treatment of\nPorus and Darius.  It was an ungenerous insult upon his ill-fortune.  It\nwas the triumph of a little and a low mind.  The visit you made him\nimmediately after that insult was a further contempt, offensive to him,\nand both useless and dangerous to yourself.\n\n_Charles_.--I feared no danger from it.  I knew he durst not use the\npower I gave him to hurt me.\n\n_Alexander_.--If his resentment in that instant had prevailed over his\nfear, as it was likely to do, you would have perished deservedly by your\ninsolence and presumption.  For my part, intrepid as I was in all dangers\nwhich I thought it was necessary or proper for me to meet, I never put\nmyself one moment in the power of an enemy whom I had offended.  But you\nhad the rashness of folly as well as of heroism.  A false opinion\nconceived of your enemy's weakness proved at last your undoing.  When, in\nanswer to some reasonable propositions of peace sent to you by the Czar,\nyou said, \"You would come and treat with him at Moscow,\" he replied very\njustly, \"That you affected to act like Alexander, but should not find in\nhim a Darius.\"  And, doubtless, you ought to have been better acquainted\nwith the character of that prince.  Had Persia been governed by a Peter\nAlexowitz when I made war against it, I should have acted more\ncautiously, and not have counted so much on the superiority of my troops\nin valour and discipline over an army commanded by a king who was so\ncapable of instructing them in all they wanted.\n\n_Charles_.--The battle of Narva, won by eight thousand Swedes against\nfourscore thousand Muscovites, seemed to authorise my contempt of the\nnation and their prince.\n\n_Alexander_.--It happened that their prince was not present in that\nbattle.  But he had not as yet had the time which was necessary to\ninstruct his barbarous soldiers.  You gave him that time, and he made so\ngood a use of it that you found at Pultowa the Muscovites become a\ndifferent nation.  If you had followed the blow you gave them at Narva,\nand marched directly to Moscow, you might have destroyed their Hercules\nin his cradle.  But you suffered him to grow till his strength was\nmature, and then acted as if he had been still in his childhood.\n\n_Charles_.--I must confess you excelled me in conduct, in policy, and in\ntrue magnanimity.  But my liberality was not inferior to yours; and\nneither you nor any mortal ever surpassed me in the enthusiasm of\ncourage.  I was also free from those vices which sullied your character.\nI never was drunk; I killed no friend in the riot of a feast; I fired no\npalace at the instigation of a harlot.\n\n_Alexander_.--It may perhaps be admitted, as some excuse for my\ndrunkenness, that the Persians esteemed it an excellence in their kings\nto be able to drink a great quantity of wine, and the Macedonians were\nfar from thinking it a dishonour.  But you were as frantic and as cruel\nwhen sober as I was when drunk.  You were sober when you resolved to\ncontinue in Turkey against the will of your host, the Grand Signor.  You\nwere sober when you commanded the unfortunate Patkull, whose only crime\nwas his having maintained the liberties of his country, and who bore the\nsacred character of an ambassador, to be broken alive on the wheel,\nagainst the laws of nations, and those of humanity, more inviolable still\nto a generous mind.  You were likewise sober when you wrote to the Senate\nof Sweden, who, upon a report of your death, endeavoured to take some\ncare of your kingdom, that you would send them one of your boots, and\nfrom that they should receive their orders if they pretended to meddle in\ngovernment--an insult much worse than any the Macedonians complained of\nfrom me when I was most heated with wine and with adulation.  As for my\nchastity, it was not so perfect as yours, though on some occasions I\nobtained great praise for my continence; but, perhaps, if you had been\nnot quite so insensible to the charms of the fair sex, it would have\nmitigated and softened the fierceness, the pride, and the obstinacy of\nyour nature.\n\n_Charles_.--It would have softened me into a woman, or, what I think\nstill more contemptible, the slave of a woman.  But you seem to insinuate\nthat you never were cruel or frantic unless when you were drunk.  This I\nabsolutely deny.  You were not drunk when you crucified Hephaestion's\nphysician for not curing a man who killed himself by his intemperance in\nhis sickness, nor when you sacrificed to the manes of that favourite\nofficer the whole nation of the Cusseans--men, women, and children--who\nwere entirely innocent of his death--because you had read in Homer that\nAchilles had immolated some Trojan captives on the tomb of Patroclus.  I\ncould mention other proofs that your passions inflamed you as much as\nwine, but these are sufficient.\n\n_Alexander_.--I can't deny that my passions were sometimes so violent as\nto deprive me for a while of the use of my reason; especially when the\npride of such amazing successes, the servitude of the Persians, and\nbarbarian flattery had intoxicated my mind.  To bear at my age, with\ncontinual moderation, such fortune as mine, was hardly in human nature.\nAs for you, there was an excess and intemperance in your virtues which\nturned them all into vices.  And one virtue you wanted, which in a prince\nis very commendable and beneficial to the public--I mean, the love of\nscience and of the elegant arts.  Under my care and patronage they were\ncarried in Greece to their utmost perfection.  Aristotle, Apelles, and\nLysippus were among the glories of my reign.  Yours was illustrated only\nby battles.  Upon the whole, though, from some resemblance between us I\nshould naturally be inclined to decide in your favour, yet I must give\nthe priority in renown to your enemy, Peter Alexowitz.  That great\nmonarch raised his country; you ruined yours.  He was a legislator; you\nwere a tyrant.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE XXI.\n\n\nCARDINAL XIMENES--CARDINAL WOLSEY.\n\n_Wolsey_.--You seem to look on me, Ximenes, with an air of superiority,\nas if I was not your equal.  Have you forgotten that I was the favourite\nand first Minister of a great King of England? that I was at once Lord\nHigh Chancellor, Bishop of Durham, Bishop of Winchester, Archbishop of\nYork, and Cardinal Legate?  On what other subject were ever accumulated\nso many dignities, such honours, such power?\n\n_Ximenes_.--In order to prove yourself my equal, you are pleased to tell\nme what you had, not what you did.  But it is not the having great\noffices, it is the doing great things, that makes a great Minister.  I\nknow that for some years you governed the mind of King Henry VIII., and\nconsequently his kingdom, with the most absolute sway.  Let me ask you,\nthen, What were the acts of your reign?\n\n_Wolsey_.--My acts were those of a very skilful courtier and able\npolitician.  I managed a temper which nature had made the most difficult\nto manage of any perhaps that ever existed, with such consummate address\nthat all its passions were rendered entirely subservient to my\ninclinations.  In foreign affairs I turned the arms of my master or\ndisposed of his friendship, whichever way my own interest happened to\ndirect.  It was not with him, but with me, that treaties were made by the\nEmperor or by France; and none were concluded during my Ministry that did\nnot contain some Article in my favour, besides secret assurances of\naiding my ambition or resentment, which were the real springs of all my\nnegotiations.  At home I brought the pride of the English nobility, which\nhad resisted the greatest of the Plantagenets, to bow submissively to the\nson of a butcher of Ipswich.  And, as my power was royal, my state and\nmagnificence were suitable to it; my buildings, my furniture, my\nhousehold, my equipage, my liberalities, and my charities were above the\nrank of a subject.\n\n_Ximenes_.--From all you have said I understand that you gained great\nadvantages for yourself in the course of your Ministry--too great,\nindeed, for a good man to desire, or a wise man to accept.  But what did\nyou do for your sovereign and for the State?  You make me no answer.  What\nI did is well known.  I was not content with forcing the arrogance of the\nSpanish nobility to stoop to my power, but used that power to free the\npeople from their oppressions.  In you they respected the royal\nauthority; I made them respect the majesty of the laws.  I also relieved\nmy countrymen, the commons of Castile, from a most grievous burden, by an\nalteration in the method of collecting their taxes.  After the death of\nIsabella I preserved the tranquillity of Aragon and Castile by procuring\nthe regency of the latter for Ferdinand, a wise and valiant prince,\nthough he had not been my friend during the life of the queen.  And when\nafter his decease I was raised to the regency by the general esteem and\naffection of the Castilians, I administered the government with great\ncourage, firmness, and prudence; with the most perfect disinterestedness\nin regard to myself, and most zealous concern for the public.  I\nsuppressed all the factions which threatened to disturb the peace of that\nkingdom in the minority and the absence of the young king; and prevented\nthe discontents of the commons of Castile, too justly incensed against\nthe Flemish Ministers, who governed their prince and rapaciously pillaged\ntheir country, from breaking out during my life into open rebellion, as\nthey did, most unhappily, soon after my death.  These were my civil acts;\nbut, to complete the renown of my administration, I added to it the palm\nof military glory.  At my own charges, and myself commanding the army, I\nconquered Oran from the Moors, and annexed it, with its territory, to the\nSpanish dominions.\n\n_Wolsey_.--My soul was as elevated and noble as yours, my understanding\nas strong, and more refined; but the difference of our conduct arose from\nthe difference of our objects.  To raise your reputation and secure your\npower in Castile, by making that kingdom as happy and as great as you\ncould, was your object.  Mine was to procure the Triple Crown for myself\nby the assistance of my sovereign and of the greatest foreign Powers.\nEach of us took the means that were evidently most proper to the\naccomplishment of his ends.\n\n_Ximenes_.--Can you confess such a principle of your conduct without a\nblush?  But you will at least be ashamed that you failed in your purpose,\nand were the dupe of the Powers with whom you negotiated, after having\ndishonoured the character of your master in order to serve your own\nambition.  I accomplished my desire with glory to my sovereign and\nadvantage to my country.  Besides this difference, there was a great one\nin the methods by which we acquired our power.  We both owed it, indeed,\nto the favour of princes; but I gained Isabella's by the opinion she had\nof my piety and integrity.  You gained Henry's by a complaisance and\ncourse of life which were a reproach to your character and sacred orders.\n\n_Wolsey_.--I did not, as you, Ximenes, did, carry with me to Court the\nausterity of a monk; nor, if I had done so, could I possibly have gained\nany influence there.  Isabella and Henry were different characters, and\ntheir favour was to be sought in different ways.  By making myself\nagreeable to the latter, I so governed his passions, unruly as they were,\nthat while I lived they did not produce any of those dreadful effects\nwhich after my death were caused by them in his family and kingdom.\n\n_Ximenes_.--If Henry VIII., your master, had been King of Castile, I\nwould never have been drawn by him out of my cloister.  A man of virtue\nand spirit will not be prevailed with to go into a Court where he cannot\nrise without baseness.\n\n_Wolsey_.--The inflexibility of your mind had like to have ruined you in\nsome of your measures; and the bigotry which you had derived from your\nlong abode in a cloister, and retained when a Minister, was very near\ndepriving the Crown of Castile of the new-conquered kingdom of Granada by\nthe revolt of the Moors in that city, whom you had prematurely forced to\nchange their religion.  Do you not remember how angry King Ferdinand was\nwith you on that account?\n\n_Ximenes_.--I do, and must acknowledge that my zeal was too intemperate\nin all that proceeding.\n\n_Wolsey_.--My worst complaisances to King Henry VIII. were far less\nhurtful to England than the unjust and inhuman Court of Inquisition,\nwhich you established in Granada to watch over the faith of your\nunwilling converts, has been to Spain.\n\n_Ximenes_.--I only revived and settled in Granada an ancient tribunal,\ninstituted first by one of our saints against the Albigenses, and gave it\ngreater powers.  The mischiefs which have attended it cannot be denied;\nbut if any force may be used for the maintenance of religion (and the\nChurch of Rome has, you know, declared authoritatively that it may) none\ncould be so effectual to answer the purpose.\n\n_Wolsey_.--This is an argument rather against the opinion of the Church\nthan for the Inquisition.  I will only say I think myself very happy that\nmy administration was stained with no action of cruelty, not even cruelty\nsanctified by the name of religion.  My temper indeed, which influenced\nmy conduct more than my principles, was much milder than yours.  To the\nproud I was proud, but to my friends and inferiors benevolent and humane.\nHad I succeeded in the great object of my ambition, had I acquired the\nPopedom, I should have governed the Church with more moderation and\nbetter sense than probably you would have done if you had exchanged the\nSee of Toledo for that of Rome.  My good-nature, my policy, my taste for\nmagnificence, my love of the fine arts, of wit, and of learning, would\nhave made me the delight of all the Italians, and have given me a rank\namong the greatest princes.  Whereas in you the sour bigot and rigid monk\nwould too much have prevailed over the prince and the statesman.\n\n_Ximenes_.--What either of us would have been in that situation does not\nappear; but, if you are compared to me as a Minister, you are vastly\ninferior.  The only circumstance in which you can justly pretend to any\nequality is the encouragement you gave to learning and your munificence\nin promoting it, which was indeed very great.  Your two colleges founded\nat Ipswich and Oxford may vie with my University at Alcala de Henara.  But\nin our generosity there was this difference--all my revenues were spent\nin well-placed liberalities, in acts of charity, piety, and virtue;\nwhereas a great part of your enormous wealth was squandered away in\nluxury and vain ostentation.  With regard to all other points, my\nsuperiority is apparent.  You were only a favourite; I was the friend and\nthe father of the people.  You served yourself; I served the State.  The\nconclusion of our lives was also much more honourable to me than you.\n\n_Wolsey_.--Did not you die, as I did, in disgrace with your master?\n\n_Ximenes_.--That disgrace was brought upon me by a faction of foreigners,\nto whose power, as a good Spaniard, I would not submit.  A Minister who\nfalls a victim to such an opposition rises by his fall.  Yours was not\ngraced by any public cause, any merit to the nation.  Your spirit,\ntherefore, sank under it; you bore it with meanness.  Mine was unbroken,\nsuperior to my enemies, superior to fortune, and I died, as I had lived,\nwith undiminished dignity and greatness of mind.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE XXII.\n\n\nLUCIAN--RABELAIS.\n\n_Lucian_.--Friend Rabelais, well met--our souls are very good company for\none another; we both were great wits and most audacious freethinkers.  We\nlaughed often at folly, and sometimes at wisdom.  I was, indeed, more\ncorrect and more elegant in my style; but then, in return, you had a\ngreater fertility of imagination.  My \"True History\" is much inferior, in\nfancy and invention, in force of wit and keenness of satire, to your\n\"History of the Acts of Gargantua and Pantagruel.\"\n\n_Rabelais_.--You do me great honour; but I may say, without vanity, that\nboth those compositions entitle the authors of them to a very\ndistinguished place among memoir-writers, travellers, and even\nhistorians, ancient and modern.\n\n_Lucian_.--Doubtless they do; but will you pardon me if I ask you one\nquestion?  Why did you choose to write such absolute nonsense as you have\nin some places of your illustrious work?\n\n_Rabelais_.--I was forced to compound my physic for the mind with a large\ndose of nonsense in order to make it go down.  To own the truth to you,\nif I had not so frequently put on the fool's-cap, the freedoms I took in\nother places with cowls, with Red Hats, and the Triple Crown itself,\nwould have brought me into great danger.  Not only my book, but I myself,\nshould, in all probability, have been condemned to the flames; and\nmartyrdom was an honour to which I never aspired.  I therefore\ncounterfeited folly, like Junius Brutus, from the wisest of all\nprinciples--that of self-preservation.  You, Lucian, had no need to use\nso much caution.  Your heathen priests desired only a sacrifice now and\nthen from an Epicurean as a mark of conformity, and kindly allowed him to\nmake as free as he pleased, in conversation or writings, with the whole\ntribe of gods and goddesses--from the thundering Jupiter and the scolding\nJuno, down to the dog Anubis and the fragrant dame Cloacina.\n\n_Lucian_.--Say rather that our Government allowed us that liberty; for I\nassure you our priests were by no means pleased with it--at least, they\nwere not in my time.\n\n_Rabelais_.--The wiser men they; for, in spite of the conformity required\nby the laws and enforced by the magistrate, that ridicule brought the\nsystem of pagan theology into contempt, not only with the philosophical\npart of mankind, but even with the vulgar.\n\n_Lucian_.--It did so, and the ablest defenders of paganism were forced to\ngive up the poetical fables and allegorise the whole.\n\n_Rabelais_.--An excellent way of drawing sense out of absurdity, and\ngrave instructions from lewdness.  There is a great modern wit, Sir\nFrancis Bacon, Lord Verulam, who in his treatise entitled \"The Wisdom of\nthe Ancients\" has done more for you that way than all your own priests.\n\n_Lucian_.--He has indeed shown himself an admirable chemist, and made a\nfine transmutation of folly into wisdom.  But all the later Platonists\ntook the same method of defending our faith when it was attacked by the\nChristians; and certainly a more judicious one could not be found.  Our\nfables say that in one of their wars with the Titans the gods were\ndefeated, and forced to turn themselves into beasts in order to escape\nfrom the conquerors.  Just the reverse happened here, for by this happy\nart our beastly divinities were turned again into rational beings.\n\n_Rabelais_.--Give me a good commentator, with a subtle, refining,\nphilosophical head, and you shall have the edification of seeing him draw\nthe most sublime allegories and the most venerable mystic truths from my\nhistory of the noble Gargantua and Pantagruel.  I don't despair of being\nproved, to the entire satisfaction of some future ape, to have been,\nwithout exception, the profoundest divine and metaphysician that ever yet\nheld a pen.\n\n_Lucian_.--I shall rejoice to see you advanced to that honour.  But in\nthe meantime I may take the liberty to consider you as one of our class.\nThere you sit very high.\n\n_Rabelais_.--I am afraid there is another, and a modern author too, whom\nyou would bid to sit above me, and but just below yourself--I mean Dr.\nSwift.\n\n_Lucian_.--It was not necessary for him to throw so much nonsense into\nhis history of Lemuel Gulliver as you did into that of your two\nillustrious heroes; and his style is far more correct than yours.  His\nwit never descended, as yours frequently did, into the lowest of taverns,\nnor ever wore the meanest garb of the vulgar.\n\n_Rabelais_.--If the garb which it wore was not as mean, I am certain it\nwas sometimes as dirty as mine.\n\n_Lucian_.--It was not always nicely clean; yet, in comparison with you,\nhe was decent and elegant.  But whether there was not in your\ncompositions more fire, and a more comic spirit, I will not determine.\n\n_Rabelais_.--If you will not determine it, e'en let it remain a matter in\ndispute, as I have left the great question, Whether Panurge should marry\nor not?  I would as soon undertake to measure the difference between the\nheight and bulk of the giant Gargantua and his Brobdignagian Majesty, as\nthe difference of merit between my writings and Swift's.  If any man\ntakes a fancy to like my book, let him freely enjoy the entertainment it\ngives him, and drink to my memory in a bumper.  If another likes\nGulliver, let him toast Dr. Swift.  Were I upon earth I would pledge him\nin a bumper, supposing the wine to be good.  If a third likes neither of\nus, let him silently pass the bottle and be quiet.\n\n_Lucian_.--But what if he will not be quiet?  A critic is an unquiet\ncreature.\n\n_Rabelais_.--Why, then he will disturb himself, not me.\n\n_Lucian_.--You are a greater philosopher than I thought you.  I knew you\npaid no respect to Popes or kings, but to pay none to critics is, in an\nauthor, a magnanimity beyond all example.\n\n_Rabelais_.--My life was a farce; my death was a farce; and would you\nhave me make my book a serious affair?  As for you, though in general you\nare only a joker, yet sometimes you must be ranked among grave authors.\nYou have written sage and learned dissertations on history and other\nweighty matters.  The critics have therefore an undoubted right to maul\nyou; they find you in their province.  But if any of them dare to come\ninto mine, I will order Gargantua to swallow them up, as he did the six\npilgrims, in the next salad he eats.\n\n_Lucian_.--Have I not heard that you wrote a very good serious book on\nthe aphorisms of Hippocrates?\n\n_Rabelais_.--Upon my faith I had forgot it.  I am so used to my fool's\ncoat that I don't know myself in my solemn doctor's gown.  But your\ninformation was right; that book was indeed a very respectable work.  Yet\nnobody reads it; and if I had writ nothing else, I should have been\nreckoned, at best, a lackey to Hippocrates, whereas the historian of\nPanurge is an eminent writer.  Plain good sense, like a dish of solid\nbeef or mutton, is proper only for peasants; but a ragout of folly, well\ndressed with a sharp sauce of wit, is fit to be served up at an emperor's\ntable.\n\n_Lucian_.--You are an admirable pleasant fellow.  Let me embrace you.  How\nApollo and the Muses may rank you on Parnassus I am not very certain;\nbut, if I were Master of the Ceremonies on Mount Olympus, you should be\nplaced, with a full bowl of nectar before you, at the right hand of\nMomus.\n\n_Rabelais_.--I wish you were; but I fear the inhabitants of those sublime\nregions will like your company no better than mine.  Indeed, how Momus\nhimself could get a seat at that table I can't well comprehend.  It has\nbeen usual, I confess, in some of our Courts upon earth, to have a\nprivileged jester, called the king's fool.  But in the Court of Heaven\none should not have supposed such an officer as Jupiter's fool.  Your\nallegorical theology in this point is very abstruse.\n\n_Lucian_.--I think our priests admitted Momus into our heaven, as the\nIndians are said to worship the devil, through fear.  They had a mind to\nkeep fair with him.  For we may talk of the giants as much as we please,\nbut to our gods there is no enemy so formidable as he.  Ridicule is the\nterror of all false religion.  Nothing but truth can stand its lash.\n\n_Rabelais_.--Truth, advantageously set in a good and fair light, can\nstand any attacks; but those of Ridicule are so teasing and so fallacious\nthat I have seen them put her ladyship very much out of humour.\n\n_Lucian_.--Ay, friend Rabelais, and sometimes out of countenance too.  But\nTruth and Wit in confederacy will strike Momus dumb.  United they are\ninvincible, and such a union is necessary upon certain occasions.  False\nReasoning is most effectually exposed by Plain Sense; but Wit is the best\nopponent to False Ridicule, as Just Ridicule is to all the absurdities\nwhich dare to assume the venerable names of Philosophy or Religion.  Had\nwe made such a proper use of our agreeable talents; had we employed our\nridicule to strip the foolish faces of Superstition, Fanaticism, and\nDogmatical Pride of the serious and solemn masks with which they are\ncovered, at the same time exerting all the sharpness of our wit to combat\nthe flippancy and pertness of those who argue only by jests against\nreason and evidence in points of the highest and most serious concern, we\nshould have much better merited the esteem of mankind.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE XXIII.\n\n\nPERICLES--COSMO DE MEDICIS, THE FIRST OF THAT NAME.\n\n_Pericles_.--In what I have heard of your character and your fortune,\nillustrious Cosmo, I find a most remarkable resemblance with mine.  We\nboth lived in republics where the sovereign power was in the people; and\nby mere civil arts, but more especially by our eloquence, attained,\nwithout any force, to such a degree of authority that we ruled those\ntumultuous and stormy democracies with an absolute sway, turned the\ntempests which agitated them upon the heads of our enemies, and after\nhaving long and prosperously conducted the greatest affairs in war and\npeace, died revered and lamented by all our fellow-citizens.\n\n_Cosmo_.--We have indeed an equal right to value ourselves on that\nnoblest of empires, the empire we gained over the minds of our\ncountrymen.  Force or caprice may give power, but nothing can give a\nlasting authority except wisdom and virtue.  By these we obtained, by\nthese we preserved, in our respective countries, a dominion unstained by\nusurpation or blood--a dominion conferred on us by the public esteem and\nthe public affection.  We were in reality sovereigns, while we lived with\nthe simplicity of private men; and Athens and Florence believed\nthemselves to be free, though they obeyed all our dictates.  This is more\nthan was done by Philip of Macedon, or Sylla, or Caesar.  It is the\nperfection of policy to tame the fierce spirit of popular liberty, not by\nblows or by chains, but by soothing it into a voluntary obedience, and\nbringing it to lick the hand that restrains it.\n\n_Pericles_.--The task can never be easy, but the difficulty was still\ngreater to me than to you.  For I had a lion to tame, from whose\nintractable fury the greatest men of my country, and of the whole world,\nwith all their wisdom and virtue, could not save themselves.  Themistocles\nand Aristides were examples of terror that might well have deterred me\nfrom the administration of public affairs at Athens.  Another impediment\nin my way was the power of Cimon, who for his goodness, his liberality,\nand the lustre of his victories over the Persians was much beloved by the\npeople, and at the same time, by being thought to favour aristocracy, had\nall the noble and rich citizens devoted to his party.  It seemed\nimpossible to shake so well established a greatness.  Yet by the charms\nand force of my eloquence, which exceeded that of all orators\ncontemporary with me; by the integrity of my life, my moderation, and my\nprudence; but, above all, by my artful management of the people, whose\npower I increased that I might render it the basis and support of my own,\nI gained such an ascendant over all my opponents that, having first\nprocured the banishment of Cimon by ostracism, and then of Thucydides,\nanother formidable antagonist set up by the nobles against my authority,\nI became the unrivalled chief, or rather the monarch, of the Athenian\nRepublic, without ever putting to death, in above forty years that my\nadministration continued, one of my fellow-citizens; a circumstance which\nI declared, when I lay on my death-bed, to be, in my own judgment, more\nhonourable to me than all my prosperity in the government of the State,\nor the nine trophies erected for so many victories obtained by my\nconduct.\n\n_Cosmo_.--I had also the same happiness to boast of at my death.  And\nsome additions were made to the territories of Florence under my\ngovernment; but I myself was no soldier, and the Commonwealth I directed\nwas never either so warlike or so powerful as Athens.  I must, therefore,\nnot pretend to vie with you in the lustre of military glory; and I will\nmoreover acknowledge that, to govern a people whose spirit and pride were\nexalted by the wonderful victories of Marathon, Mycale, Salamis, and\nPlataea, was much more difficult than to rule the Florentines and the\nTuscans.  The liberty of the Athenians was in your time more imperious,\nmore haughty, more insolent, than the despotism of the King of Persia.\nHow great, then, must have been your ability and address that could so\nabsolutely reduce it under your power!  Yet the temper of my countrymen\nwas not easy to govern, for it was exceedingly factious.  The history of\nFlorence is little else, for several ages, than an account of\nconspiracies against the State.  In my youth I myself suffered much by\nthe dissensions which then embroiled the Republic.  I was imprisoned and\nbanished, but after the course of some years my enemies, in their turn,\nwere driven into exile.  I was brought back in triumph, and from that\ntime till my death, which was above thirty years, I governed the\nFlorentines, not by arms or evil arts of tyrannical power, but with a\nlegal authority, which I exercised so discreetly as to gain the esteem of\nall the neighbouring potentates, and such a constant affection of all my\nfellow-citizens that an inscription, which gave me the title of Father of\nmy Country, was engraved on my monument by an unanimous decree of the\nwhole Commonwealth.\n\n_Pericles_.--Your end was incomparably more happy than mine.  For you\ndied rather of age than any violent illness, and left the Florentines in\na state of peace and prosperity procured for them by your counsels.  But\nI died of the plague, after having seen it almost depopulate Athens, and\nleft my country engaged in a most dangerous war, to which my advice and\nthe power of my eloquence had excited the people.  The misfortune of the\npestilence, with the inconveniences they suffered on account of the war,\nso irritated their minds, that not long before my death they condemned me\nto a fine.\n\n_Cosmo_.--It is wonderful that, when once their anger was raised, it went\nno further against you!  A favourite of the people, when disgraced, is in\nstill greater danger than a favourite of a king.\n\n_Pericles_.--Your surprise will increase at hearing that very soon\nafterwards they chose me their general, and conferred on me again the\nprincipal direction of all their affairs.  Had I lived I should have so\nconducted the war as to have ended it with advantage and honour to my\ncountry.  For, having secured to her the sovereignty of the sea by the\ndefeat of the Samians, before I let her engage with the power of Sparta,\nI knew that our enemies would be at length wearied out and compelled to\nsue for a peace, because the city, from the strength of its\nfortifications and the great army within it, being on the land side\nimpregnable to the Spartans, and drawing continual supplies from the sea,\nsuffered not much by their ravages of the country about it, from whence I\nhad before removed all the inhabitants; whereas their allies were undone\nby the descents we made on their coasts.\n\n_Cosmo_.--You seem to have understood beyond all other men what\nadvantages are to be drawn from a maritime power, and how to make it the\nsurest foundation of empire.\n\n_Pennies_.--I followed the plan, traced out by Themistocles, the ablest\npolitician that Greece had ever produced.  Nor did I begin the\nPeloponnesian War (as some have supposed) only to make myself necessary,\nand stop an inquiry into my public accounts.  I really thought that the\nRepublic of Athens could no longer defer a contest with Sparta, without\ngiving up to that State the precedence in the direction of Greece and her\nown independence.  To keep off for some time even a necessary war, with a\nprobable hope of making it more advantageously at a favourable\nopportunity, is an act of true wisdom; but not to make it, when you see\nthat your enemy will be strengthened, and your own advantages lost or\nconsiderably lessened, by the delay, is a most pernicious imprudence.\nWith relation to my accounts, I had nothing to fear.  I had not embezzled\none drachma of public money, nor added one to my own paternal estate; and\nthe people had placed so entire a confidence in me that they had allowed\nme, against the usual forms of their government, to dispose of large sums\nfor secret service, without account.  When, therefore, I advised the\nPeloponnesian War, I neither acted from private views, nor with the\ninconsiderate temerity of a restless ambition, but as became a wise\nstatesman, who, having weighed all the dangers that may attend a great\nenterprise, and seeing a reasonable hope of good success, makes it his\noption to fight for dominion and glory, rather than sacrifice both to the\nuncertain possession of an insecure peace.\n\n_Cosmo_.--How were you sure of inducing so volatile a people to persevere\nin so steady a system of conduct as that which you had laid down--a\nsystem attended with much inconvenience and loss to particulars, while it\npresented but little to strike or inflame the imagination of the public?\nBold and arduous enterprises, great battles, much bloodshed, and a speedy\ndecision, are what the multitude desire in every war; but your plan of\noperation was the reverse of all this, and the execution of it required\nthe temper of the Thebans rather than of the Athenians.\n\n_Pericles_.--I found, indeed, many symptoms of their impatience, but I\nwas able to restrain it by the authority I had gained; for during my\nwhole Ministry I never had stooped to court their favour by any unworthy\nmeans, never flattered them in their follies, nor complied with their\npassions against their true interests and my own better judgment; but\nused the power of my eloquence to keep them in the bounds of a wise\nmoderation, to raise their spirits when too low, and show them their\ndanger when they grew too presumptuous, the good effects of which conduct\nthey had happily experienced in all their affairs.  Whereas those who\nsucceeded to me in the government, by their incapacity, their corruption,\nand their servile complaisance to the humour of the people, presently\nlost all the fruits of my virtue and prudence.  Xerxes himself, I am\nconvinced, did not suffer more by the flattery of his courtiers than the\nAthenians, after my decease, by that of their orators and Ministers of\nState.\n\n_Cosmo_.--Those orators could not gain the favour of the people by any\nother methods.  Your arts were more noble--they were the arts of a\nstatesman and of a prince.  Your magnificent buildings (which in beauty\nof architecture surpassed any the world had ever seen), the statues of\nPhidias, the paintings of Zeuxis, the protection you gave to knowledge,\ngenius, and abilities of every kind, added as much to the glory of Athens\nas to your popularity.  And in this I may boast of an equal merit to\nFlorence.  For I embellished that city and the whole country about it\nwith excellent buildings; I protected all arts; and, though I was not\nmyself so eloquent or so learned as you, I no less encouraged those who\nwere eminent in my time for their eloquence or their learning.  Marcilius\nFicinus, the second father of the Platonic philosophy, lived in my house,\nand conversed with me as intimately as Anaxagoras with you.  Nor did I\never forget and suffer him so to want the necessaries of life as you did\nAnaxagoras, who had like to have perished by that unfriendly neglect; but\nto secure him at all times from any distress in his circumstances, and\nenable him to pursue his sublime speculations unmolested by low cares, I\ngave him an estate adjacent to one of my favourite villas.  I also drew\nto Florence Argiropolo, the most learned Greek of those times, that,\nunder my patronage, he might teach the Florentine youth the language and\nsciences of his country.  But with regard to our buildings, there is this\nremarkable difference--yours were all raised at the expense of the\npublic, mine at my own.\n\n_Pericles_.--My estate would bear no profuseness, nor allow me to exert\nthe generosity of my nature.  Your wealth exceeded that of any\nparticular, or indeed of any prince who lived in your days.  The vast\ncommerce which, after the example of your ancestors, you continued to\ncarry on in all parts of the world, even while you presided at the helm\nof the State, enabled you to do those splendid acts which rendered your\nname so illustrious.  But I was constrained to make the public treasure\nthe fund of my bounties; and I thought I could not possibly dispose of it\nbetter in time of peace than in finding employment for that part of the\npeople which must else have been idle and useless to the community,\nintroducing into Greece all the elegant arts, and adorning my country\nwith works that are an honour to human nature; for, while I attended the\nmost to these civil and peaceful occupations, I did not neglect to\nprovide, with timely care, against war, nor suffer the nation to sink\ninto luxury and effeminate softness.  I kept our fleets in continual\nexercise, maintained a great number of seamen in constant pay, and\ndisciplined well our land forces.  Nor did I ever cease to recommend to\nall the Athenians, both by precepts and example, frugality, temperance,\nmagnanimity, fortitude, and whatever could most effectually contribute to\nstrengthen their bodies and minds.\n\n_Cosmo_.--Yet I have heard you condemned for rendering the people less\nsober and modest, by giving them a share of the conquered lands, and\npaying them wages for their necessary attendance in the public assemblies\nand other civil functions; but more especially for the vast and\nsuperfluous expense you entailed on the State in the theatrical\nspectacles with which you entertained them at the cost of the public.\n\n_Pericles_.--Perhaps I may have been too lavish in some of those\nbounties.  Yet in a popular State it is necessary that the people should\nbe amused, and should so far partake of the opulence of the public as not\nto suffer any want, which would render their minds too low and sordid for\ntheir political duties.  In my time the revenues of Athens were\nsufficient to bear this charge; but afterwards, when we had lost the\ngreatest part of our empire, it became, I must confess, too heavy a\nburden, and the continuance of it proved one cause of our ruin.\n\n_Cosmo_.--It is a most dangerous thing to load the State with largesses\nof that nature, or indeed with any unnecessary but popular charges,\nbecause to reduce them is almost impossible, though the circumstances of\nthe public should necessarily demand a reduction.  But did not you\nlikewise, in order to advance your own greatness, throw into the hands of\nthe people of Athens more power than the institutions of Solon had\nentrusted them with, and more than was consistent with the good of the\nState?\n\n_Pericles_.--We are now in the regions where Truth presides, and I dare\nnot offend her by playing the orator in defence of my conduct.  I must\ntherefore acknowledge that, by weakening the power of the court of\nAreopagus, I tore up that anchor which Solon had wisely fixed to keep his\nRepublic firm against the storms and fluctuations of popular factions.\nThis alteration, which fundamentally injured the whole State, I made with\na view to serve my own ambition, the only passion in my nature which I\ncould not contain within the limits of virtue.  For I knew that my\neloquence would subject the people to me, and make them the willing\ninstruments of all my desires; whereas the Areopagus had in it an\nauthority and a dignity which I could not control.  Thus by diminishing\nthe counterpoise our Constitution had settled to moderate the excess of\npopular power, I augmented my own.  But since my death I have been often\nreproached by the Shades of some of the most virtuous and wisest\nAthenians, who have fallen victims to the caprice or fury of the people,\nwith having been the first cause of the injustice they suffered, and of\nall the mischiefs perpetually brought on my country by rash undertakings,\nbad conduct, and fluctuating councils.  They say, I delivered up the\nState to the government of indiscreet or venal orators, and to the\npassions of a misguided, infatuated multitude, who thought their freedom\nconsisted in encouraging calumnies against the best servants of the\nCommonwealth, and conferring power upon those who had no other merit than\nfalling in with and soothing a popular folly.  It is useless for me to\nplead that, during my life, none of these mischiefs were felt; that I\nemployed my rhetoric to promote none but good and wise measures; that I\nwas as free from any taint of avarice or corruption as Aristides himself.\nThey reply that I am answerable for all the great evils occasioned\nafterwards by the want of that salutary restraint on the natural levity\nand extravagance of a democracy, which I had taken away.  Socrates calls\nme the patron of Anytus, and Solon himself frowns upon me whenever we\nmeet.\n\n_Cosmo_.--Solon has reason to do so; for tell me, Pericles, what opinion\nwould you have of the architect you employed in your buildings if he had\nmade them to last no longer than during the term of your life?\n\n_Pericles_.--The answer to your question will turn to your own\ncondemnation.  Your excessive liberalities to the indigent citizens, and\nthe great sums you lent to all the noble families, did in reality buy the\nRepublic of Florence, and gave your family such a power as enabled them\nto convert it from a popular State into an absolute monarchy.\n\n_Cosmo_.--The Florentines were so infested with discord and faction, and\ntheir commonwealth was so void of military virtue, that they could not\nhave long been exempt from a more ignominious subjection to some foreign\nPower if those internal dissensions, with the confusion and anarchy they\nproduced, had continued.  But the Athenians had performed very glorious\nexploits, had obtained a great empire, and were become one of the noblest\nStates in the world, before you altered the balance of their government.\nAnd after that alteration they declined very fast, till they lost all\ntheir greatness.\n\n_Pericles_.--Their constitution had originally a foul blemish in it--I\nmean, the ban of ostracism, which alone would have been sufficient to\nundo any State.  For there is nothing of such important use to a nation\nas that men who most excel in wisdom and virtue should be encouraged to\nundertake the business of government.  But this detestable custom\ndeterred such men from serving the public, or, if they ventured to do so,\nturned even their own wisdom and virtue against them; so that in Athens\nit was safer to be infamous than renowned.  We are told indeed, by the\nadvocates for this strange institution, that it was not a punishment, but\nmeant as a guard to the equality and liberty of the State; for which\nreason they deem it an honour done to the persons against whom it was\nused; as if words could change the real nature of things, and make a\nbanishment of ten years, inflicted on a good citizen by the suffrages of\nhis countrymen, no evil to him, or no offence against justice and the\nnatural right every freeman may claim--that he shall not be expelled from\nany society of which he is a member without having first been proved\nguilty of some criminal action.\n\n_Cosmo_.--The ostracism was indeed a most unpardonable fault in the\nAthenian constitution.  It placed envy in the seat of justice, and gave\nto private malice and public ingratitude a legal right to do wrong.  Other\nnations are blamed for tolerating vice, but the Athenians alone would not\ntolerate virtue.\n\n_Pericles_.--The friends to the ostracism say that too eminent virtue\ndestroys that equality which is the safeguard of freedom.\n\n_Cosmo_.--No State is well modelled if it cannot preserve itself from the\ndanger of tyranny without a grievous violation of natural justice; nor\nwould a friend to true freedom, which consists in being governed not by\nmen but by laws, desire to live in a country where a Cleon bore rule, and\nwhere an Aristides was not suffered to remain.  But, instead of remedying\nthis evil, you made it worse.  You rendered the people more intractable,\nmore adverse to virtue, less subject to the laws, and more to impressions\nfrom mischievous demagogues, than they had been before your time.\n\n_Pericles_.--In truth, I did so; and therefore my place in Elysium,\nnotwithstanding the integrity of my whole public conduct, and the great\nvirtues I excited, is much below the rank of those who have governed\ncommonwealths or limited monarchies, not merely with a concern for their\npresent advantage, but also with a prudent regard to that balance of\npower on which their permanent happiness must necessarily depend.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE XXIV.\n\n\nLOCKE--BAYLE.\n\n_Bayle_.--Yes, we both were philosophers; but my philosophy was the\ndeepest.  You dogmatised; I doubted.\n\n_Locke_.--Do you make doubting a proof of depth in philosophy?  It may be\na good beginning of it, but it is a bad end.\n\n_Bayle_.--No; the more profound our searches are into the nature of\nthings, the more uncertainty we shall find; and the most subtle minds see\nobjections and difficulties in every system which are overlooked or\nundiscoverable by ordinary understandings.\n\n_Locke_.--It would be better, then, to be no philosopher, and to continue\nin the vulgar herd of mankind, that one may have the convenience of\nthinking that one knows something.  I find that the eyes which Nature has\ngiven me see many things very clearly, though some are out of their\nreach, or discerned but dimly.  What opinion ought I to have of a\nphysician who should offer me an eye-water, the use of which would at\nfirst so sharpen my sight as to carry it farther than ordinary vision,\nbut would in the end put them out?  Your philosophy, Monsieur Bayle, is\nto the eyes of the mind what I have supposed the doctor's nostrum to be\nto those of the body.  It actually brought your own excellent\nunderstanding, which was by nature quick-sighted, and rendered more so by\nart and a subtlety of logic peculiar to yourself--it brought, I say, your\nvery acute understanding to see nothing clearly, and enveloped all the\ngreat truths of reason and religion in mists of doubt.\n\n_Bayle_.--I own it did; but your comparison is not just.  I did not see\nwell before I used my philosophic eye-water.  I only supposed I saw well;\nbut I was in an error, with all the rest of mankind.  The blindness was\nreal; the perceptions were imaginary.  I cured myself first of those\nfalse imaginations, and then I laudably endeavoured to cure other men.\n\n_Locke_.--A great cure, indeed! and don't you think that, in return for\nthe service you did them, they ought to erect you a statue?\n\n_Bayle_.--Yes; it is good for human nature to know its own weakness.  When\nwe arrogantly presume on a strength we have not, we are always in great\ndanger of hurting ourselves--or, at least, of deserving ridicule and\ncontempt by vain and idle efforts.\n\n_Locke_.--I agree with you that human nature should know its own\nweakness; but it should also feel its strength, and try to improve it.\nThis was my employment as a philosopher.  I endeavoured to discover the\nreal powers of the mind; to see what it could do, and what it could not;\nto restrain it from efforts beyond its ability, but to teach it how to\nadvance as far as the faculties given to it by Nature, with the utmost\nexertion and most proper culture of them, would allow it to go.  In the\nvast ocean of philosophy I had the line and the plummet always in my\nhands.  Many of its depths I found myself unable to fathom; but by\ncaution in sounding, and the careful observations I made in the course of\nmy voyage, I found out some truths of so much use to mankind that they\nacknowledge me to have been their benefactor.\n\n_Bayle_.--Their ignorance makes them think so.  Some other philosopher\nwill come hereafter, and show those truths to be falsehoods.  He will\npretend to discover other truths of equal importance.  A later sage will\narise, perhaps among men now barbarous and unlearned, whose sagacious\ndiscoveries will discredit the opinions of his admired predecessor.  In\nphilosophy, as in Nature, all changes its form, and one thing exists by\nthe destruction of another.\n\n_Locke_.--Opinions taken up without a patient investigation, depending on\nterms not accurately defined, and principles begged without proof, like\ntheories to explain the phenomena of Nature built on suppositions instead\nof experiments, must perpetually change and destroy one another.  But\nsome opinions there are, even in matters not obvious to the common sense\nof mankind, which the mind has received on such rational grounds of\nassent that they are as immovable as the pillars of heaven, or (to speak\nphilosophically) as the great laws of Nature, by which, under God, the\nuniverse is sustained.  Can you seriously think that because the\nhypothesis of your countryman Descartes, which was nothing but an\ningenious, well-imagined romance, has been lately exploded, the system of\nNewton, which is built on experiments and geometry--the two most certain\nmethods of discovering truth--will ever fail?  Or that, because the whims\nof fanatics and the divinity of the schoolmen cannot now be supported,\nthe doctrines of that religion which I, the declared enemy of all\nenthusiasm and false reasoning, firmly believed and maintained, will ever\nbe shaken?\n\n_Bayle_.--If you had asked Descartes, while he was in the height of his\nvogue, whether his system would be ever confuted by any other\nphilosopher's, as that of Aristotle had been by his, what answer do you\nsuppose he would have returned?\n\n_Locke_.--Come, come, Monsieur Bayle, you yourself know the difference\nbetween the foundations on which the credit of those systems and that of\nNewton is placed.  Your scepticism is more affected than real.  You found\nit a shorter way to a great reputation (the only wish of your heart) to\nobject than to defend, to pull down than to set up.  And your talents\nwere admirable for that kind of work.  Then your huddling together in a\ncritical dictionary a pleasant tale, or obscene jest, and a grave\nargument against the Christian religion, a witty confutation of some\nabsurd author, and an artful sophism to impeach some respectable truth,\nwas particularly commodious to all our young smarts and smatterers in\nfreethinking.  But what mischief have you not done to human society!  You\nhave endeavoured, and with some degree of success, to shake those\nfoundations on which the whole moral world and the great fabric of social\nhappiness entirely rest.  How could you, as a philosopher, in the sober\nhours of reflection, answer for this to your conscience, even supposing\nyou had doubts of the truth of a system which gives to virtue its\nsweetest hopes, to impenitent vice its greatest fears, and to true\npenitence its best consolations; which restrains even the least\napproaches to guilt, and yet makes those allowances for the infirmities\nof our nature which the stoic pride denied to it, but which its real\nimperfection and the goodness of its infinitely benevolent Creator so\nevidently require?\n\n_Bayle_.--The mind is free, and it loves to exert its freedom.  Any\nrestraint upon it is a violence done to its nature, and a tyranny against\nwhich it has a right to rebel.\n\n_Locke_.--The mind, though free, has a governor within itself, which may\nand ought to limit the exercise of its freedom.  That governor is reason.\n\n_Bayle_.--Yes; but reason, like other governors, has a policy more\ndependent upon uncertain caprice than upon any fixed laws.  And if that\nreason which rules my mind or yours has happened to set up a favourite\nnotion, it not only submits implicitly to it, but desires that the same\nrespect should be paid to it by all the rest of mankind.  Now I hold that\nany man may lawfully oppose this desire in another; and that if he is\nwise, he will do his utmost endeavours to check it in himself.\n\n_Locke_.--Is there not also a weakness of a contrary nature to this you\nare now ridiculing?  Do we not often take a pleasure to show our own\npower and gratify our own pride by degrading notions set up by other men\nand generally respected?\n\n_Bayle_.--I believe we do; and by this means it often happens that if one\nman builds and consecrates a temple to folly, another pulls it down.\n\n_Locke_.--Do you think it beneficial to human society to have all temples\npulled down?\n\n_Bayle_.--I cannot say that I do.\n\n_Locke_.--Yet I find not in your writings any mark of distinction to show\nus which you mean to save.\n\n_Bayle_.--A true philosopher, like an impartial historian, must be of no\nsect.\n\n_Locke_.--Is there no medium between the blind zeal of a sectary and a\ntotal indifference to all religion?\n\n_Bayle_.--With regard to morality I was not indifferent.\n\n_Locke_.--How could you, then, be indifferent with regard to the\nsanctions religion gives to morality?  How could you publish what tends\nso directly and apparently to weaken in mankind the belief of those\nsanctions?  Was not this sacrificing the great interests of virtue to the\nlittle motives of vanity?\n\n_Bayle_.--A man may act indiscreetly, but he cannot do wrong, by\ndeclaring that which, on a full discussion of the question, he sincerely\nthinks to be true.\n\n_Locke_.--An enthusiast who advances doctrines prejudicial to society, or\nopposes any that are useful to it, has the strength of opinion and the\nheat of a disturbed imagination to plead in alleviation of his fault; but\nyour cool head and sound judgment can have no such excuse.  I know very\nwell there are passages in all your works, and those not a few, where you\ntalk like a rigid moralist.  I have also heard that your character was\nirreproachably good; but when, in the most laboured parts of your\nwritings, you sap the surest foundations of all moral duties, what avails\nit that in others, or in the conduct of your life, you have appeared to\nrespect them?  How many who have stronger passions than you had, and are\ndesirous to get rid of the curb that restrains them, will lay hold of\nyour scepticism to set themselves loose from all obligations of virtue!\nWhat a misfortune is it to have made such a use of such talents!  It\nwould have been better for you and for mankind if you had been one of the\ndullest of Dutch theologians, or the most credulous monk in a Portuguese\nconvent.  The riches of the mind, like those of Fortune, may be employed\nso perversely as to become a nuisance and pest instead of an ornament and\nsupport to society.\n\n_Bayle_.--You are very severe upon me.  But do you count it no merit, no\nservice to mankind, to deliver them from the frauds and fetters of\npriestcraft, from the deliriums of fanaticism, and from the terrors and\nfollies of superstition?  Consider how much mischief these have done to\nthe world!  Even in the last age what massacres, what civil wars, what\nconvulsions of government, what confusion in society, did they produce!\nNay, in that we both lived in, though much more enlightened than the\nformer, did I not see them occasion a violent persecution in my own\ncountry?  And can you blame me for striking at the root of these evils.\n\n_Locke_.--The root of these evils, you well know, was false religion; but\nyou struck at the true.  Heaven and hell are not more different than the\nsystem of faith I defended and that which produced the horrors of which\nyou speak.  Why would you so fallaciously confound them together in some\nof your writings, that it requires much more judgment, and a more\ndiligent attention than ordinary readers have, to separate them again,\nand to make the proper distinctions?  This, indeed, is the great art of\nthe most celebrated freethinkers.  They recommend themselves to warm and\ningenuous minds by lively strokes of wit, and by arguments really strong,\nagainst superstition, enthusiasm, and priestcraft; but at the same time\nthey insidiously throw the colours of these upon the fair face of true\nreligion, and dress her out in their garb, with a malignant intention to\nrender her odious or despicable to those who have not penetration enough\nto discern the impious fraud.  Some of them may have thus deceived\nthemselves as well as others.  Yet it is certain no book that ever was\nwritten by the most acute of these gentlemen is so repugnant to\npriestcraft, to spiritual tyranny, to all absurd superstitions, to all\nthat can tend to disturb or injure society, as that Gospel they so much\naffect to despise.\n\n_Bayle_.--Mankind is so made that, when they have been over-heated, they\ncannot be brought to a proper temper again till they have been\nover-cooled.  My scepticism might be necessary to abate the fever and\nfrenzy of false religion.\n\n_Locke_.--A wise prescription, indeed, to bring on a paralytical state of\nthe mind (for such a scepticism as yours is a palsy which deprives the\nmind of all vigour, and deadens its natural and vital powers) in order to\ntake off a fever which temperance and the milk of the Evangelical\ndoctrines would probably cure.\n\n_Bayle_.--I acknowledge that those medicines have a great power.  But few\ndoctors apply them untainted with the mixture of some harsher drugs or\nsome unsafe and ridiculous nostrums of their own.\n\n_Locke_.--What you now say is too true.  God has given us a most\nexcellent physic for the soul in all its diseases, but bad and interested\nphysicians, or ignorant and conceited quacks, administer it so ill to the\nrest of mankind that much of the benefit of it is unhappily lost.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE XXV.\n\n\nARCHIBALD, EARL OF DOUGLAS, DUKE OF TOURAINE--JOHN, DUKE OF ARGYLE AND\nGREENWICH, FIELD-MARSHAL OF HIS BRITANNIC MAJESTY'S FORCES.\n\n_Argyle_.--Yes, noble Douglas, it grieves me that you and your son,\ntogether with the brave Earl of Buchan, should have employed so much\nvalour and have thrown away your lives in fighting the battles of that\nState which, from its situation and interests, is the perpetual and most\ndangerous enemy to Great Britain.  A British nobleman serving France\nappears to me as unfortunate and as much out of his proper sphere as a\nGrecian commander engaged in the service of Persia would have appeared to\nAristides or Agesilaus.\n\n_Douglas_.--In serving France I served Scotland.  The French were the\nnatural allies to the Scotch, and by supporting their Crown I enabled my\ncountrymen to maintain their independence against the English.\n\n_Argyle_.--The French, indeed, from the unhappy state of our country,\nwere ancient allies to the Scotch, but that they ever were our natural\nallies I deny.  Their alliance was proper and necessary for us, because\nwe were then in an unnatural state, disunited from England.  While that\ndisunion continued, our monarchy was compelled to lean upon France for\nassistance and support.  The French power and policy kept us, I\nacknowledge, independent of the English, but dependent on them; and this\ndependence exposed us to many grievous calamities by drawing on our\ncountry the formidable arms of the English whenever it happened that the\nFrench and they had a quarrel.  The succours they afforded us were\ndistant and uncertain.  Our enemy was at hand, superior to us in\nstrength, though not in valour.  Our borders were ravaged; our kings were\nslain or led captive; we lost all the advantage of being the inhabitants\nof a great island; we had no commerce, no peace, no security, no degree\nof maritime power.  Scotland was a back-door through which the French,\nwith our help, made their inroads into England; if they conquered, we\nobtained little benefit from it; but if they were defeated, we were\nalways the devoted victims on whom the conquerors severely wreaked their\nresentment.\n\n_Douglas_.--The English suffered as much in those wars as we.  How\nterribly were their borders laid waste and depopulated by our sharp\nincursions!  How often have the swords of my ancestors been stained with\nthe best blood of that nation!  Were not our victories at Bannockburn and\nat Otterburn as glorious as any that, with all the advantage of numbers,\nthey have ever obtained over us?\n\n_Argyle_.--They were; but yet they did us no lasting good.  They left us\nstill dependent on the protection of France.  They left us a poor, a\nfeeble, a distressed, though a most valiant nation.  They irritated\nEngland, but could not subdue it, nor hinder our feeling such effects of\nits enmity as gave us no reason to rejoice in our triumphs.  How much\nmore happily, in the auspicious reign of that queen who formed the Union,\nwas my sword employed in humbling the foes of Great Britain!  With how\nsuperior a dignity did I appear in the combined British senate,\nmaintaining the interests of the whole united people of England and\nScotland against all foreign powers who attempted to disturb our general\nhappiness or to invade our common rights!\n\n_Douglas_.--Your eloquence and your valour had unquestionably a much\nnobler and more spacious field to exercise themselves in than any of\nthose who defended the interests of only a part of the island.\n\n_Argyle_.--Whenever I read any account of the wars between the Scotch and\nthe English, I think I am reading a melancholy history of civil\ndissensions.  Whichever side is defeated, their loss appears to me a loss\nto the whole and an advantage to some foreign enemy of Great Britain.  But\nthe strength of that island is made complete by the Union, and what a\ngreat English poet has justly said in one instance is now true in all:--\n\n   \"The Hotspur and the Douglas, both together,\n   Are confident against the world in arms.\"\n\nWho can resist the English and Scotch valour combined?  When separated\nand opposed, they balanced each other; united, they will hold the balance\nof Europe.  If all the Scotch blood that has been shed for the French in\nunnatural wars against England had been poured out to oppose the ambition\nof France, in conjunction with the English--if all the English blood that\nhas been spilt as unfortunately in useless wars against Scotland had been\npreserved, France would long ago have been rendered incapable of\ndisturbing our peace, and Great Britain would have been the most powerful\nof nations.\n\n_Douglas_.--There is truth in all you have said.  But yet when I reflect\non the insidious ambition of King Edward I., on the ungenerous arts he so\ntreacherously employed to gain, or rather to steal, the sovereignty of\nour kingdom, and the detestable cruelty he showed to Wallace, our brave\nchampion and martyr, my soul is up in arms against the insolence of the\nEnglish, and I adore the memory of those patriots who died in asserting\nthe independence of our Crown and the liberty of our nation.\n\n_Argyle_.--Had I lived in those days I should have joined with those\npatriots, and been the foremost to maintain so noble a cause.  The Scotch\nwere not made to be subject to the English.  Their souls are too great\nfor such a timid submission.  But they may unite and incorporate with a\nnation they would not obey.  Their scorn of a foreign yoke, their strong\nand generous love of independence and freedom, make their union with\nEngland more natural and more proper.  Had the spirit of the Scotch been\nservile or base, it could never have coalesced with that of the English.\n\n_Douglas_.--It is true that the minds of both nations are congenial and\nfilled with the same noble virtues, the same impatience of servitude, the\nsame magnanimity, courage, and prudence, the same genius for policy, for\nnavigation and commerce, for sciences and arts.  Yet, notwithstanding\nthis happy conformity, when I consider how long they were enemies to each\nother, what an hereditary hatred and jealousy had subsisted for many ages\nbetween them, what private passions, what prejudices, what contrary\ninterests must have necessarily obstructed every step of the treaty, and\nhow hard it was to overcome the strong opposition of national pride, I\nstand astonished that it was possible to unite the two kingdoms upon any\nconditions, and much more that it could be done with such equal regard\nand amicable fairness to both.\n\n_Argyle_.--It was indeed a most arduous and difficult undertaking.  The\nsuccess of it must, I think, be thankfully ascribed, not only to the\ngreat firmness and prudence of those who had the management of it, but to\nthe gracious assistance of Providence for the preservation of the\nreformed religion amongst us, which, in that conjuncture, if the union\nhad not been made, would have been ruined in Scotland and much endangered\nin England.  The same good Providence has watched over and protected it\nsince, in a most signal manner, against the attempts of an infatuated\nparty in Scotland and the arts of France, who by her emissaries laboured\nto destroy it as soon as formed; because she justly foresaw that the\ncontinuance of it would be destructive to all her vast designs against\nthe liberty of Europe.  I myself had the honour to have a principal share\nin subduing one rebellion designed to subvert it, and since my death it\nhas been, I hope, established for ever, not only by the defeat of another\nrebellion, which came upon us in the midst of a dangerous war with\nFrance, but by measures prudently taken in order to prevent such\ndisturbances for the future.  The ministers of the Crown have proposed\nand the British legislature has enacted a wise system of laws, the object\nof which is to reform and to civilise the Highlands of Scotland; to\ndeliver the people there from the arbitrary power and oppression of their\nchieftains; to carry the royal justice and royal protection into the\nwildest parts of their mountains; to hinder their natural valour from\nbeing abused and perverted to the detriment of their country; and to\nintroduce among them arts, agriculture, commerce, tranquillity, with all\nthe improvements of social and polished life.\n\n_Douglas_.--By what you now tell me you give me the highest idea of the\ngreat prince, your master, who, after having been provoked by such a\nwicked rebellion, instead of enslaving the people of the Highlands, or\nlaying the hand of power more heavily upon them (which is the usual\nconsequence of unsuccessful revolts), has conferred on them the\ninestimable blessings of liberty, justice, and good order.  To act thus\nis indeed to perfect the union and make all the inhabitants of Great\nBritain acknowledge, with gratitude and with joy, that they are subjects\nof the same well-regulated kingdom, and governed with the same impartial\naffection by the sovereign and father of the whole commonwealth.\n\n_Argyle_.--The laws I have mentioned and the humane benevolent policy of\nHis Majesty's Government have already produced very salutary effects in\nthat part of the kingdom, and, if steadily pursued, will produce many\nmore.  But no words can recount to you the infinite benefits which have\nattended the union in the northern counties of England and the southern\nof Scotland.\n\n_Douglas_.--The fruits of it must be, doubtless, most sensible there,\nwhere the perpetual enmity between the two nations had occasioned the\ngreatest disorder and desolation.\n\n_Argyle_.--Oh, Douglas, could you revive and return into Scotland what a\ndelightful alteration would you see in that country.  All those great\ntracts of land, which in your time lay untilled on account of the inroads\nof the bordering English, or the feuds and discords that raged with\nperpetual violence within our own distracted kingdom, you would now\nbehold cultivated and smiling with plenty.  Instead of the castles, which\nevery baron was compelled to erect for the defence of his family, and\nwhere he lived in the barbarism of Gothic pride, among miserable vassals\noppressed by the abuse of his feudal powers, your eyes would be charmed\nwith elegant country houses, adorned with fine plantations and beautiful\ngardens, while happy villages or gay towns are rising about them and\nenlivening the prospect with every image of rural wealth.  On our coasts\ntrading cities, full of new manufactures, and continually increasing the\nextent of their commerce.  In our ports and harbours innumerable merchant\nships, richly loaded, and protected from all enemies by the matchless\nfleet of Great Britain.  But of all improvements the greatest is in the\nminds of the Scotch.  These have profited, even more than their lands, by\nthe culture which the settled peace and tranquillity produced by the\nunion have happily given to them, and they have discovered such talents\nin all branches of literature as might render the English jealous of\nbeing excelled by their genius, if there could remain a competition, when\nthere remains no distinction between the two nations.\n\n_Douglas_.--There may be emulation without jealousy, and the efforts,\nwhich that emulation will excite, may render our island superior in the\nfame of wit and good learning to Italy or to Greece; a superiority, which\nI have learnt in the Elysian fields to prefer even to that which is\nacquired by arms.  But one doubt still remains with me concerning the\nunion.  I have been informed that no more than sixteen of our peers,\nexcept those who have English peerages (which some of the noblest have\nnot), now sit in the House of Lords as representatives of the rest.  Does\nnot this in a great measure diminish those peers who are not elected?  And\nhave you not found the election of the sixteen too dependent on the\nfavour of a court?\n\n_Argyle_.--It was impossible that the English could ever consent in the\nTreaty of Union, to admit a greater number to have places and votes in\nthe Upper House of Parliament, but all the Scotch peerage is virtually\nthere by representation.  And those who are not elected have every\ndignity and right of the peerage, except the privilege of sitting in the\nHouse of Lords and some others depending thereon.\n\n_Douglas_.--They have so; but when parliaments enjoy such a share in the\ngovernment of a country as ours do at this time, to be personally there\nis a privilege and a dignity of the highest importance.\n\n_Argyle_.--I wish it had been possible to impart it to all.  But your\nreason will tell you it was not.  And consider, my lord, that, till the\nRevolution in 1688, the power vested by our Government in the Lords of\nthe Articles had made our parliaments much more subject to the influence\nof the Crown than our elections are now.  As, by the manner in which they\nwere constituted, those lords were no less devoted to the king than his\nown privy council, and as no proposition could then be presented in\nParliament if rejected by them, they gave him a negative before debate.\nThis, indeed, was abolished upon the accession of King William III., with\nmany other oppressive and despotical powers, which had rendered our\nnobles abject slaves to the Crown, while they were allowed to be tyrants\nover the people.  But if King James or his son had been restored, the\ngovernment he had exercised would have been re-established, and nothing\nbut the union of the two kingdoms could have effectually prevented that\nrestoration.  We likewise owe to the union the subsequent abolition of\nthe Scotch privy council, which had been the most grievous engine of\ntyranny, and that salutary law which declared that no crimes should be\nhigh treason or misprision of treason in Scotland but such as were so in\nEngland, and gave us the English methods of trial in cases of that\nnature; whereas before there were so many species of treasons, the\nconstruction of them was so uncertain, and the trials were so arbitrary,\nthat no man could be safe from suffering as a traitor.  By the same Act\nof Parliament we also received a communication of that noble privilege of\nthe English, exemption from torture--a privilege which, though essential\nboth to humanity and to justice, no other nation in Europe, not even the\nfreest republics, can boast of possessing.  Shall we, then, take offence\nat some inevitable circumstances, which may be objected to, on our part,\nin the Treaty of Union, when it has delivered us from slavery, and all\nthe worst evils that a state can suffer?  It might be easily shown that,\nin his political and civil condition, every baron in Scotland is much\nhappier now, and much more independent, than the highest was under that\nconstitution of government which continued in Scotland even after the\nexpulsion of King James II.  The greatest enemies to the union are the\nfriends of that king in whose reign, and in his brother's, the kingdom of\nScotland was subjected to a despotism as arbitrary as that of France, and\nmore tyrannically administered.\n\n_Douglas_.--All I have heard of those reigns makes me blush with\nindignation at the servility of our nobles, who could endure them so\nlong.  What, then, was become of that undaunted Scotch spirit, which had\ndared to resist the Plantagenets in the height of their power and pride?\nCould the descendants of those who had disdained to be subjects of Edward\nI. submit to be slaves of Charles II. or James?\n\n_Argyle_.--They seemed in general to have lost every characteristic of\ntheir natural temper, except a desire to abuse the royal authority for\nthe gratification of their private resentments in family quarrels.\n\n_Douglas_.--Your grandfather, my lord, has the glory of not deserving\nthis censure.\n\n_Argyle_.--I am proud that his spirit, and the principles he professed,\ndrew upon him the injustice and fury of those times.  But there needs no\nother proof than the nature and the manner of his condemnation to show\nwhat a wretched state our nobility then were in, and what an inestimable\nadvantage it is to them that they are now to be tried as peers of Great\nBritain, and have the benefit of those laws which imparted to us the\nequity and the freedom of the English Constitution.\n\nUpon the whole, as much as wealth is preferable to poverty, liberty to\noppression, and national strength to national weakness, so much has\nScotland incontestably gained by the union.  England, too, has secured by\nit every public blessing which was before enjoyed by her, and has greatly\naugmented her strength.  The martial spirit of the Scotch, their hardy\nbodies, their acute and vigorous minds, their industry, their activity,\nare now employed to the benefit of the whole island.  He is now a bad\nScotchman who is not a good Englishman, and he is a bad Englishman who is\nnot a good Scotchman.  Mutual intercourse, mutual interests, mutual\nbenefits, must naturally be productive of mutual affection.  And when\nthat is established, when our hearts are sincerely united, many great\nthings, which some remains of jealousy and distrust, or narrow local\npartialities, may hitherto have obstructed, will be done for the good of\nthe whole United Kingdom.  How much may the revenues of Great Britain be\nincreased by the further increase of population, of industry, and of\ncommerce in Scotland!  What a mighty addition to the stock of national\nwealth will arise from the improvement of our most northern counties,\nwhich are infinitely capable of being improved!  The briars and thorns\nare in a great measure grubbed up; the flowers and fruits may soon be\nplanted.  And what more pleasing, or what more glorious employment can\nany government have, than to attend to the cultivating of such a\nplantation?\n\n_Douglas_.--The prospect you open to me of happiness to my country\nappears so fair, that it makes me amends for the pain with which I\nreflect on the times wherein I lived, and indeed on our whole history for\nseveral ages.\n\n_Argyle_.--That history does, in truth, present to the mind a long series\nof the most direful objects, assassinations, rebellions, anarchy,\ntyranny, and religion itself, either cruel, or gloomy and unsocial.  An\nhistorian who would paint it in its true colours must take the pencil of\nGuercino or Salvator Rosa.  But the most agreeable imagination can hardly\nfigure to itself a more pleasing scene of private and public felicity\nthan will naturally result from the union, if all the prejudices against\nit, and all distinctions that may tend on either side to keep up an idea\nof separate interests, or to revive a sharp remembrance of national\nanimosities, can be removed.\n\n_Douglas_.--If they can be removed!  I think it impossible they can be\nretained.  To resist the union is indeed to rebel against Nature.  She\nhas joined the two countries, has fenced them both with the sea against\nthe invasion of all other nations, but has laid them entirely open the\none to the other.  Accursed be he who endeavours to divide them.  What\nGod has joined let no man put asunder.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE XXVI.\n\n\nCADMUS--HERCULES.\n\n_Hercules_.--Do you pretend to sit as high on Olympus as Hercules?  Did\nyou kill the Nemean lion, the Erymanthian boar, the Lernean serpent, and\nStymphalian birds?  Did you destroy tyrants and robbers?  You value\nyourself greatly on subduing one serpent; I did as much as that while I\nlay in my cradle.\n\n_Cadmus_.--It is not on account of the serpent I boast myself a greater\nbenefactor to Greece than you.  Actions should be valued by their utility\nrather than their eclat.  I taught Greece the art of writing, to which\nlaws owe their precision and permanency.  You subdued monsters; I\ncivilised men.  It is from untamed passions, not from wild beasts, that\nthe greatest evils arise to human society.  By wisdom, by art, by the\nunited strength of civil community, men have been enabled to subdue the\nwhole race of lions, bears, and serpents, and what is more, to bind in\nlaws and wholesome regulations the ferocious violence and dangerous\ntreachery of the human disposition.  Had lions been destroyed only in\nsingle combat, men had had but a bad time of it; and what but laws could\nawe the men who killed the lions?  The genuine glory, the proper\ndistinction of the rational species, arises from the perfection of the\nmental powers.  Courage is apt to be fierce, and strength is often\nexerted in acts of oppression.  But wisdom is the associate of justice.\nIt assists her to form equal laws, to pursue right measures, to correct\npower, protect weakness, and to unite individuals in a common interest\nand general welfare.  Heroes may kill tyrants, but it is wisdom and laws\nthat prevent tyranny and oppression.  The operations of policy far\nsurpass the labours of Hercules, preventing many evils which valour and\nmight cannot even redress.  You heroes consider nothing but glory, and\nhardly regard whether the conquests which raise your fame are really\nbeneficial to your country.  Unhappy are the people who are governed by\nvalour not directed by prudence, and not mitigated by the gentle arts!\n\n_Hercules_.--I do not expect to find an admirer of my strenuous life in\nthe man who taught his countrymen to sit still and read, and to lose the\nhours of youth and action in idle speculation and the sport of words.\n\n_Cadmus_.--An ambition to have a place in the registers of fame is the\nEurystheus which imposes heroic labours on mankind.  The muses incite to\naction as well as entertain the hours of repose; and I think you should\nhonour them for presenting to heroes such a noble recreation as may\nprevent their taking up the distaff when they lay down the club.\n\n_Hercules_.--Wits as well as heroes can take up the distaff.  What think\nyou of their thin-spun systems of philosophy, or lascivious poems, or\nMilesian fables?  Nay, what is still worse, are there not panegyrics on\ntyrants, and books that blaspheme the gods and perplex the natural sense\nof right and wrong?  I believe if Eurystheus was to set me to work again\nhe would find me a worse task than any he imposed; he would make me read\nthrough a great library; and I would serve it as I did the hydra, I would\nburn as I went on, that one chimera might not rise from another to plague\nmankind.  I should have valued myself more on clearing the library than\non cleansing the Augean stables.\n\n_Cadmus_.--It is in those libraries only that the memory of your labours\nexists.  The heroes of Marathon, the patriots of Thermopylae, owe their\nimmortality to me.  All the wise institutions of lawgivers and all the\ndoctrines of sages had perished in the ear, like a dream related, if\nletters had not preserved them.  Oh Hercules! it is not for the man who\npreferred virtue to pleasure to be an enemy to the muses.  Let\nSardanapalus and the silken sons of luxury, who have wasted life in\ninglorious ease, despise the records of action which bear no honourable\ntestimony to their lives.  But true merit, heroic virtue, each genuine\noffspring of immortal Jove, should honour the sacred source of lasting\nfame.\n\n_Hercules_.--Indeed, if writers employed themselves only in recording the\nacts of great men, much might be said in their favour.  But why do they\ntrouble people with their meditations?  Can it signify to the world what\nan idle man has been thinking?\n\n_Cadmus_.--Yes, it may.  The most important and extensive advantages\nmankind enjoy are greatly owing to men who have never quitted their\nclosets.  To them mankind is obliged for the facility and security of\nnavigation.  The invention of the compass has opened to them new worlds.\nThe knowledge of the mechanical powers has enabled them to construct such\nwonderful machines as perform what the united labour of millions by the\nseverest drudgery could not accomplish.  Agriculture, too, the most\nuseful of arts, has received its share of improvement from the same\nsource.  Poetry likewise is of excellent use to enable the memory to\nretain with more ease, and to imprint with more energy upon the heart,\nprecepts of virtue and virtuous actions.  Since we left the world, from\nthe little root of a few letters, science has spread its branches over\nall nature, and raised its head to the heavens.  Some philosophers have\nentered so far into the counsels of divine wisdom as to explain much of\nthe great operations of nature.  The dimensions and distances of the\nplanets, the causes of their revolutions, the path of comets, and the\nebbing and flowing of tides are understood and explained.  Can anything\nraise the glory of the human species more than to see a little creature,\ninhabiting a small spot, amidst innumerable worlds, taking a survey of\nthe universe, comprehending its arrangement, and entering into the scheme\nof that wonderful connection and correspondence of things so remote, and\nwhich it seems the utmost exertion of Omnipotence to have established?\nWhat a volume of wisdom, what a noble theology do these discoveries open\nto us!  While some superior geniuses have soared to these sublime\nsubjects, other sagacious and diligent minds have been inquiring into the\nmost minute works of the Infinite Artificer; the same care, the same\nprovidence is exerted through the whole, and we should learn from it that\nto true wisdom utility and fitness appear perfection, and whatever is\nbeneficial is noble.\n\n_Hercules_.--I approve of science as far as it is assistant to action.  I\nlike the improvement of navigation and the discovery of the greater part\nof the globe, because it opens a wider field for the master spirits of\nthe world to bustle in.\n\n_Cadmus_.--There spoke the soul of Hercules.  But if learned men are to\nbe esteemed for the assistance they give to active minds in their\nschemes, they are not less to be valued for their endeavours to give them\na right direction and moderate their too great ardour.  The study of\nhistory will teach the warrior and the legislator by what means armies\nhave been victorious and states have become powerful; and in the private\ncitizen they will inculcate the love of liberty and order.  The writings\nof sages point out a private path of virtue, and show that the best\nempire is self-government, and subduing our passions the noblest of\nconquests.\n\n_Hercules_.--The true spirit of heroism acts by a sort of inspiration,\nand wants neither the experience of history nor the doctrines of\nphilosophers to direct it.  But do not arts and sciences render men\neffeminate, luxurious, and inactive? and can you deny that wit and\nlearning are often made subservient to very bad purposes?\n\n_Cadmus_.--I will own that there are some natures so happily formed they\nhardly want the assistance of a master, and the rules of art, to give\nthem force or grace in everything they do.  But these heaven-inspired\ngeniuses are few.  As learning flourishes only where ease, plenty, and\nmild government subsist, in so rich a soil, and under so soft a climate,\nthe weeds of luxury will spring up among the flowers of art; but the\nspontaneous weeds would grow more rank, if they were allowed the\nundisturbed possession of the field.  Letters keep a frugal, temperate\nnation from growing ferocious, a rich one from becoming entirely sensual\nand debauched.  Every gift of the gods is sometimes abused; but wit and\nfine talents by a natural law gravitate towards virtue; accidents may\ndrive them out of their proper direction; but such accidents are a sort\nof prodigies, and, like other prodigies, it is an alarming omen, and of\ndire portent to the times.  For if virtue cannot keep to her allegiance\nthose men, who in their hearts confess her divine right, and know the\nvalue of her laws, on whose fidelity and obedience can she depend?  May\nsuch geniuses never descend to flatter vice, encourage folly, or\npropagate irreligion; but exert all their powers in the service of\nvirtue, and celebrate the noble choice of those, who, like you, preferred\nher to pleasure.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE XXVII.\n\n\nMERCURY--AND A MODERN FINE LADY.\n\n_Mrs. Modish_.--Indeed, Mr. Mercury, I cannot have the pleasure of\nwaiting upon you now.  I am engaged, absolutely engaged.\n\n_Mercury_.--I know you have an amiable, affectionate husband, and several\nfine children; but you need not be told, that neither conjugal\nattachments, maternal affections, nor even the care of a kingdom's\nwelfare or a nation's glory, can excuse a person who has received a\nsummons to the realms of death.  If the grim messenger was not as\nperemptory as unwelcome, Charon would not get a passenger (except now and\nthen a hypochondriacal Englishman) once in a century.  You must be\ncontent to leave your husband and family, and pass the Styx.\n\n_Mrs. Modish_.--I did not mean to insist on any engagement with my\nhusband and children; I never thought myself engaged to them.  I had no\nengagements but such as were common to women of my rank.  Look on my\nchimney-piece, and you will see I was engaged to the play on Mondays,\nballs on Tuesdays, the opera on Saturdays, and to card assemblies the\nrest of the week, for two months to come; and it would be the rudest\nthing in the world not to keep my appointments.  If you will stay for me\ntill the summer season, I will wait on you with all my heart.  Perhaps\nthe Elysian fields may be less detestable than the country in our world.\nPray have you a fine Vauxhall and Ranelagh?  I think I should not dislike\ndrinking the Lethe waters when you have a full season.\n\n_Mercury_.--Surely you could not like to drink the waters of oblivion,\nwho have made pleasure the business, end, and aim of your life!  It is\ngood to drown cares, but who would wash away the remembrance of a life of\ngaiety and pleasure.\n\n_Mrs. Modish_.--Diversion was indeed the business of my life, but as to\npleasure, I have enjoyed none since the novelty of my amusements was gone\noff.  Can one be pleased with seeing the same thing over and over again?\nLate hours and fatigue gave me the vapours, spoiled the natural\ncheerfulness of my temper, and even in youth wore away my youthful\nvivacity.\n\n_Mercury_.--If this way of life did not give you pleasure, why did you\ncontinue in it?  I suppose you did not think it was very meritorious?\n\n_Mrs. Modish_.--I was too much engaged to think at all: so far indeed my\nmanner of life was agreeable enough.  My friends always told me\ndiversions were necessary, and my doctor assured me dissipation was good\nfor my spirits; my husband insisted that it was not, and you know that\none loves to oblige one's friends, comply with one's doctor, and\ncontradict one's husband; and besides I was ambitious to be thought _du\nbon ton_.\n\n_Mercury_.--_Bon ton_! what is that, madam?  Pray define it.\n\n_Mrs. Modish_.--Oh sir, excuse me, it is one of the privileges of the\n_bon ton_ never to define, or be defined.  It is the child and the parent\nof jargon.  It is--I can never tell you what it is: but I will try to\ntell you what it is not.  In conversation it is not wit; in manners it is\nnot politeness; in behaviour it is not address; but it is a little like\nthem all.  It can only belong to people of a certain rank, who live in a\ncertain manner, with certain persons, who have not certain virtues, and\nwho have certain vices, and who inhabit a certain part of the town.  Like\na place by courtesy, it gets a higher rank than the person can claim, but\nwhich those who have a legal title to precedency dare not dispute, for\nfear of being thought not to understand the rules of politeness.  Now,\nsir, I have told you as much as I know of it, though I have admired and\naimed at it all my life.\n\n_Mercury_.--Then, madam, you have wasted your time, faded your beauty,\nand destroyed your health, for the laudable purposes of contradicting\nyour husband, and being this something and this nothing called the _bon\nton_.\n\n_Mrs. Modish_.--What would you have had me do?\n\n_Mercury_.--I will follow your mode of instructing.  I will tell you what\nI would not have had you do.  I would not have had you sacrifice your\ntime, your reason, and your duties, to fashion and folly.  I would not\nhave had you neglect your husband's happiness and your children's\neducation.\n\n_Mrs. Modish_.--As to the education of my daughters, I spared no expense;\nthey had a dancing-master, music-master, and drawing-mister, and a French\ngoverness to teach them behaviour and the French language.\n\n_Mercury_.--So their religion, sentiments, and manners were to be learnt\nfrom a dancing-master, music-master, and a chambermaid!  Perhaps they\nmight prepare them to catch the _bon ton_.  Your daughters must have been\nso educated as to fit them to be wives without conjugal affection, and\nmothers without maternal care.  I am sorry for the sort of life they are\ncommencing, and for that which you have just concluded.  Minos is a sour\nold gentleman, without the least smattering of the _bon ton_, and I am in\na fright for you.  The best thing I can advise you is to do in this world\nas you did in the other, keep happiness in your view, but never take the\nroad that leads to it.  Remain on this side Styx, wander about without\nend or aim, look into the Elysian fields, but never attempt to enter into\nthem, lest Minos should push you into Tartarus; for duties neglected may\nbring on a sentence not much less severe than crimes committed.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE XXVIII.\n\n\nPLUTARCH--CHARON--AND A MODERN BOOKSELLER.\n\n_Charon_.--Here is a fellow who is very unwilling to land in our\nterritories.  He says he is rich, has a great deal of business in the\nother world, and must needs return to it; he is so troublesome and\nobstreperous I know not what to do with him.  Take him under your care,\ntherefore, good Plutarch; you will easily awe him into order and decency\nby the superiority an author has over a bookseller.\n\n_Bookseller_.--Am I got into a world so absolutely the reverse of that I\nleft, that here authors domineer over booksellers?  Dear Charon, let me\ngo back, and I will pay any price for my passage; but, if I must stay,\nleave me not with any of those who are styled classical authors.  As to\nyou, Plutarch, I have a particular animosity against you for having\nalmost occasioned my ruin.  When I first set up shop, understanding but\nlittle of business, I unadvisedly bought an edition of your \"Lives,\" a\npack of old Greeks and Romans, which cost me a great sum of money.  I\ncould never get off above twenty sets of them.  I sold a few to the\nUniversities, and some to Eton and Westminster, for it is reckoned a\npretty book for boys and undergraduates; but, unless a man has the luck\nto light on a pedant, he shall not sell a set of them in twenty years.\n\n_Plutarch_.--From the merit of the subjects, I had hoped another\nreception for my works.  I will own, indeed, that I am not always\nperfectly accurate in every circumstance, nor do I give so exact and\ncircumstantial a detail of the actions of my heroes as may be expected\nfrom a biographer who has confined himself to one or two characters.  A\nzeal to preserve the memory of great men, and to extend the influence of\nsuch noble examples, made me undertake more than I could accomplish in\nthe first degree of perfection; but surely the characters of my\nillustrious men are not so imperfectly sketched that they will not stand\nforth to all ages as patterns of virtue and incitements to glory.  My\nreflections are allowed to be deep and sagacious; and what can be more\nuseful to a reader than a wise man's judgment on a great man's conduct?\nIn my writings you will find no rash censures, no undeserved encomiums,\nno mean compliance with popular opinions, no vain ostentation of critical\nskill, nor any affected finesse.  In my \"Parallels,\" which used to be\nadmired as pieces of excellent judgment, I compare with perfect\nimpartiality one great man with another, and each with the rule of\njustice.  If, indeed, latter ages have produced greater men and better\nwriters, my heroes and my works ought to give place to them.  As the\nworld has now the advantage of much better rules of morality than the\nunassisted reason of poor Pagans could form, I do not wonder that those\nvices, which appeared to us as mere blemishes in great characters, should\nseem most horrid deformities in the purer eyes of the present age--a\ndelicacy I do not blame, but admire and commend.  And I must censure you\nfor endeavouring, if you could publish better examples, to obtrude on\nyour countrymen such as were defective.  I rejoice at the preference\nwhich they give to perfect and unalloyed virtue; and as I shall ever\nretain a high veneration for the illustrious men of every age, I should\nbe glad if you would give me some account of those persons who in wisdom,\njustice, valour, patriotism, have eclipsed my Solon, Numa, Camillus, and\nother boasts of Greece or Rome.\n\n_Bookseller_.--Why, Master Plutarch, you are talking Greek indeed.  That\nwork which repaired the loss I sustained by the costly edition of your\nbooks was \"The Lives of the Highwaymen;\" but I should never have grown\nrich if it had not been by publishing \"The Lives of Men that Never\nLived.\"  You must know that, though in all times it was possible to have\na great deal of learning and very little wisdom, yet it is only by a\nmodern improvement in the art of writing that a man may read all his life\nand have no learning or knowledge at all, which begins to be an advantage\nof the greatest importance.  There is as natural a war between your men\nof science and fools as between the cranes and the pigmies of old.  Most\nof our young men having deserted to the fools, the party of the learned\nis near being beaten out of the field; and I hope in a little while they\nwill not dare to peep out of their forts and fastnesses at Oxford and\nCambridge.  There let them stay and study old musty moralists till one\nfalls in love with the Greek, another with the Roman virtue; but our men\nof the world should read our new books, which teach them to have no\nvirtue at all.  No book is fit for a gentleman's reading which is not\nvoid of facts and of doctrines, that he may not grow a pedant in his\nmorals or conversation.  I look upon history (I mean real history) to be\none of the worst kinds of study.  Whatever has happened may happen again,\nand a well-bred man may unwarily mention a parallel instance he had met\nwith in history and be betrayed into the awkwardness of introducing into\nhis discourse a Greek, a Roman, or even a Gothic name; but when a\ngentleman has spent his time in reading adventures that never occurred,\nexploits that never were achieved, and events that not only never did,\nbut never can happen, it is impossible that in life or in discourse he\nshould ever apply them.  A secret history, in which there is no secret\nand no history, cannot tempt indiscretion to blab or vanity to quote; and\nby this means modern conversation flows gentle and easy, unencumbered\nwith matter and unburdened of instruction.  As the present studies throw\nno weight or gravity into discourse and manners, the women are not afraid\nto read our books, which not only dispose to gallantry and coquetry, but\ngive rules for them.  Caesar's \"Commentaries,\" and the \"Account of\nXenophon's Expedition,\" are not more studied by military commanders than\nour novels are by the fair--to a different purpose, indeed; for their\nmilitary maxims teach to conquer, ours to yield.  Those inflame the vain\nand idle love of glory: these inculcate a noble contempt of reputation.\nThe women have greater obligations to our writers than the men.  By the\ncommerce of the world men might learn much of what they get from books;\nbut the poor women, who in their early youth are confined and restrained,\nif it were not for the friendly assistance of books, would remain long in\nan insipid purity of mind, with a discouraging reserve of behaviour.\n\n_Plutarch_.--As to your men who have quitted the study of virtue for the\nstudy of vice, useful truth for absurd fancy, and real history for\nmonstrous fiction, I have neither regard nor compassion for them; but I\nam concerned for the women who are betrayed into these dangerous studies;\nand I wish for their sakes I had expatiated more on the character of\nLucretia and some other heroines.\n\n_Bookseller_.--I tell you, our women do not read in order to live or to\ndie like Lucretia.  If you would inform us that a _billet-doux_ was found\nin her cabinet after her death, or give a hint as if Tarquin really saw\nher in the arms of a slave, and that she killed herself not to suffer the\nshame of a discovery, such anecdotes would sell very well.  Or if, even\nby tradition, but better still, if by papers in the Portian family, you\ncould show some probability that Portia died of dram drinking, you would\noblige the world very much; for you must know, that next to new-invented\ncharacters, we are fond of new lights upon ancient characters; I mean\nsuch lights as show a reputed honest man to have been a concealed knave,\nan illustrious hero a pitiful coward, &c.  Nay, we are so fond of these\nkinds of information as to be pleased sometimes to see a character\ncleared from a vice or crime it has been charged with, provided the\nperson concerned be actually dead.  But in this case the evidence must be\nauthentic, and amount to a demonstration; in the other, a detection is\nnot necessary; a slight suspicion will do, if it concerns a really good\nand great character.\n\n_Plutarch_.--I am the more surprised at what you say of the taste of your\ncontemporaries, as I met with a Frenchman who assured me that less than a\ncentury ago he had written a much admired \"Life of Cyrus,\" under the name\nof Artamenes, in which he ascribed to him far greater actions than those\nrecorded of him by Xenophon and Herodotus; and that many of the great\nheroes of history had been treated in the same manner; that empires were\ngained and battles decided by the valour of a single man, imagination\nbestowing what nature has denied, and the system of human affairs\nrendered impossible.\n\n_Bookseller_.--I assure you those books were very useful to the authors\nand their booksellers; and for whose benefit besides should a man write?\nThese romances were very fashionable and had a great sale: they fell in\nluckily with the humour of the age.\n\n_Plutarch_.--Monsieur Scuderi tells me they were written in the times of\nvigour and spirit, in the evening of the gallant days of chivalry, which,\nthough then declining, had left in the hearts of men a warm glow of\ncourage and heroism; and they were to be called to books as to battle, by\nthe sound of the trumpet.  He says, too, that if writers had not\naccommodated themselves to the prejudices of the age, and written of\nbloody battles and desperate encounters, their works would have been\nesteemed too effeminate an amusement for gentlemen.  Histories of\nchivalry, instead of enervating, tend to invigorate the mind, and\nendeavour to raise human nature above the condition which is naturally\nprescribed to it; but as strict justice, patriotic motives, prudent\ncounsels, and a dispassionate choice of what upon the whole is fittest\nand best, do not direct these heroes of romance, they cannot serve for\ninstruction and example, like the great characters of true history.  It\nhas ever been my opinion, that only the clear and steady light of truth\ncan guide men to virtue, and that the lesson which is impracticable must\nbe unuseful.  Whoever shall design to regulate his conduct by these\nvisionary characters will be in the condition of superstitious people,\nwho choose rather to act by intimations they receive in the dreams of the\nnight, than by the sober counsels of morning meditation.  Yet I confess\nit has been the practice of many nations to incite men to virtue by\nrelating the deeds of fabulous heroes: but surely it is the custom only\nof yours to incite them to vice by the history of fabulous scoundrels.\nMen of fine imagination have soared into the regions of fancy to bring\nback Astrea; you go thither in search of Pandora.  Oh disgrace to\nletters!  Oh shame to the muses!\n\n_Bookseller_.--You express great indignation at our present race of\nwriters; but believe me the fault lies chiefly on the side of the\nreaders.  As Monsieur Scuderi observed to you, authors must comply with\nthe manners and disposition of those who are to read them.  There must be\na certain sympathy between the book and the reader to create a good\nliking.  Would you present a modern fine gentleman, who is negligently\nlolling in an easy chair, with the labours of Hercules for his\nrecreation? or make him climb the Alps with Hannibal when he is expiring\nwith the fatigue of last night's ball?  Our readers must be amused,\nflattered, soothed; such adventures must be offered to them as they would\nlike to have a share in.\n\n_Plutarch_.--It should be the first object of writers to correct the\nvices and follies of the age.  I will allow as much compliance with the\nmode of the times as will make truth and good morals agreeable.  Your\nlove of fictitious characters might be turned to good purpose if those\npresented to the public were to be formed on the rules of religion and\nmorality.  It must be confessed that history, being employed only about\nillustrious persons, public events, and celebrated actions, does not\nsupply us with such instances of domestic merit as one could wish.  Our\nheroes are great in the field and the senate, and act well in great\nscenes on the theatre of the world; but the idea of a man, who in the\nsilent retired path of life never deviates into vice, who considers no\nspectator but the Omniscient Being, and solicits no applause but His\napprobation, is the noblest model that can be exhibited to mankind, and\nwould be of the most general use.  Examples of domestic virtue would be\nmore particularly useful to women than those of great heroines.  The\nvirtues of women are blasted by the breath of public fame, as flowers\nthat grow on an eminence are faded by the sun and wind which expand them.\nBut true female praise, like the music of the spheres, arises from a\ngentle, a constant, and an equal progress in the path marked out for them\nby their great Creator; and, like the heavenly harmony, it is not adapted\nto the gross ear of mortals, but is reserved for the delight of higher\nbeings, by whose wise laws they were ordained to give a silent light and\nshed a mild, benignant influence on the world.\n\n_Bookseller_.--We have had some English and French writers who aimed at\nwhat you suggest.  In the supposed character of Clarissa (said a\nclergyman to me a few days before I left the world) one finds the dignity\nof heroism tempered by the meekness and humility of religion, a perfect\npurity of mind, and sanctity of manners.  In that of Sir Charles\nGrandison, a noble pattern of every private virtue, with sentiments so\nexalted as to render him equal to every public duty.\n\n_Plutarch_.--Are both these characters by the same author?\n\n_Bookseller_.--Ay, Master Plutarch, and what will surprise you more, this\nauthor has printed for me.\n\n_Plutarch_.--By what you say, it is pity he should print any work but his\nown.  Are there no other authors who write in this manner?\n\n_Bookseller_.--Yes, we have another writer of these imaginary histories;\none who has not long since descended to these regions.  His name is\nFielding, and his works, as I have heard the best judges say, have a true\nspirit of comedy and an exact representation of nature, with fine moral\ntouches.  He has not, indeed, given lessons of pure and consummate\nvirtue, but he has exposed vice and meanness with all the powers of\nridicule; and we have some other good wits who have exerted their talents\nto the purposes you approve.  Monsieur de Marivaux, and some other French\nwriters, have also proceeded much upon the same plan with a spirit and\nelegance which give their works no mean rank among the _belles lettres_.\nI will own that, when there is wit and entertainment enough in a book to\nmake it sell, it is not the worse for good morals.\n\n_Charon_.--I think, Plutarch, you have made this gentleman a little more\nhumble, and now I will carry him the rest of his journey.  But he is too\nfrivolous an animal to present to wise Minos.  I wish Mercury were here;\nhe would damn him for his dulness.  I have a good mind to carry him to\nthe Danaides, and leave him to pour water into their vessels which, like\nhis late readers, are destined to eternal emptiness.  Or shall I chain\nhim to the rock, side to side by Prometheus, not for having attempted to\nsteal celestial fire, in order to animate human forms, but for having\nendeavoured to extinguish that which Jupiter had imparted?  Or shall we\nconstitute him _friseur_ to Tisiphone, and make him curl up her locks\nwith his satires and libels?\n\n_Plutarch_.--Minos does not esteem anything frivolous that affects the\nmorals of mankind.  He punishes authors as guilty of every fault they\nhave countenanced and every crime they have encouraged, and denounces\nheavy vengeance for the injuries which virtue or the virtuous have\nsuffered in consequence of their writings.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE XXIX.\n\n\nPUBLIUS CORNELIUS SCIPIO AFRICANUS--CAIUS JULIUS CAESAR.\n\n_Scipio_.--Alas, Caesar! how unhappily did you end a life made\nillustrious by the greatest exploits in war and most various civil\ntalents!\n\n_Caesar_.--Can Scipio wonder at the ingratitude of Rome to her generals?\nDid not he reproach her with it in the epitaph he ordered to be inscribed\nupon his tomb at Liternum, that mean village in Campania, to which she\nhad driven the conqueror of Hannibal and of Carthage?  I also, after\nsubduing her most dangerous enemies, the Helvetians, the Gauls, and the\nGermans, after raising her name to the highest pitch of glory, should\nhave been deprived of my province, reduced to live as a private man under\nthe power of my enemies and the enviers of my greatness; nay, brought to\na trial and condemned by the judgment of a faction, if I had not led my\nvictorious troops to Rome, and by their assistance, after all my offers\nof peace had been iniquitously rejected, made myself master of a State\nwhich knew so ill how to recompense superior merit.  Resentment of this,\ntogether with the secret machinations of envy, produced not long\nafterwards a conspiracy of senators, and even of some whom I had most\nobliged and loved, against my life, which they basely took away by\nassassination.\n\n_Scipio_.--You say you led your victorious troops to Rome.  How were they\nyour troops?  I thought the Roman armies had belonged to the Republic,\nnot to their generals.\n\n_Caesar_.--They did so in your time.  But before I came to command them,\nMarius and Sylla had taught them that they belonged to their generals.\nAnd I taught the senate that a veteran army, affectionately attached to\nits leader, could give him all the treasures and honours of the State\nwithout asking their leave.\n\n_Scipio_.--Just gods! did I then deliver my country from the invading\nCarthaginian, did I exalt it by my victories above all other nations,\nthat it might become a richer prey to its own rebel soldiers and their\nambitious commanders?\n\n_Caesar_.--How could it be otherwise?  Was it possible that the\nconquerors of Europe, Asia, and Africa could tamely submit to descend\nfrom their triumphal chariots and become subject to the authority of\npraetors and consuls elected by a populace corrupted by bribes, or\nenslaved to a confederacy of factious nobles, who, without regard to\nmerit, considered all the offices and dignities of the State as\nhereditary possessions belonging to their families?\n\n_Scipio_.--If I thought it no dishonour, after triumphing over Hannibal,\nto lay down my fasces and obey, as all my ancestors had done before me,\nthe magistrates of the republic, such a conduct would not have\ndishonoured either Marius, or Sylla, or Caesar.  But you all dishonoured\nyourselves when, instead of virtuous Romans, superior to your\nfellow-citizens in merit and glory, but equal to them in a due subjection\nto the laws, you became the enemies, the invaders, and the tyrants of\nyour country.\n\n_Caesar_.--Was I the enemy of my country in giving it a ruler fit to\nsupport all the majesty and weight of its empire?  Did I invade it when I\nmarched to deliver the people from the usurped dominion and insolence of\na few senators?  Was I a tyrant because I would not crouch under Pompey,\nand let him be thought my superior when I felt he was not my equal?\n\n_Scipio_.--Pompey had given you a noble example of moderation in twice\ndismissing the armies, at the head of which he had performed such\nillustrious actions, and returning a private citizen into the bosom of\nhis country.\n\n_Caesar_.--His moderation was a cheat.  He believed that the authority\nhis victories had gained him would make him effectually master of the\ncommonwealth without the help of those armies.  But finding it difficult\nto subdue the united opposition of Crassus and me, he leagued himself\nwith us, and in consequence of that league we three governed the empire.\nBut, after the death of Crassus, my glorious achievements in subduing the\nGauls raised such a jealousy in him that he could no longer endure me as\na partner in his power, nor could I submit to degrade myself into his\nsubject.\n\n_Scipio_.--Am I then to understand that the civil war you engaged in was\nreally a mere contest whether you or Pompey should remain sole lord of\nRome?\n\n_Caesar_.--Not so, for I offered, in my letters to the senate, to lay\ndown my arms if Pompey at the same time would lay down his, and leave the\nrepublic in freedom.  Nor did I resolve to draw the sword till not only\nthe senate, overpowered by the fear of Pompey and his troops, had\nrejected these offers, but two tribunes of the people, for legally and\njustly interposing their authority in my behalf, had been forced to fly\nfrom Rome disguised in the habit of slaves, and take refuge in my camp\nfor the safety of their persons.  My camp was therefore the asylum of\npersecuted liberty, and my army fought to avenge the violation of the\nrights and majesty of the people as much as to defend the dignity of\ntheir general unjustly oppressed.\n\n_Scipio_.--You would therefore have me think that you contended for the\nequality and liberty of the Romans against the tyranny of Pompey and his\nlawless adherents.  In such a war I, myself, if I had lived in your\ntimes, would have willingly been your lieutenant.  Tell me then, on the\nissue of this honourable enterprise, when you had subdued all your foes\nand had no opposition remaining to obstruct your intentions, did you\nestablish that liberty for which you fought?  Did you restore the\nrepublic to what it was in my time?\n\n_Caesar_.--I took the necessary measures to secure to myself the fruits\nof my victories, and gave a head to the empire, which could neither\nsubsist without one nor find another so well suited to the greatness of\nthe body.\n\n_Scipio_.--There the true character of Caesar was seen unmasked.  You had\nmanaged so skilfully in the measures which preceded the civil war, your\noffers were so specious, and there appeared so much violence in the\nconduct of your enemies that, if you had fallen in that war, posterity\nmight have doubted whether you were not a victim to the interests of your\ncountry.  But your success, and the despotism you afterwards exorcised,\ntook off those disguises and showed clearly that the aim of all your\nactions was tyranny.\n\n_Caesar_.--Let us not deceive ourselves with sounds and names.  That\ngreat minds should aspire to sovereign power is a fixed law of Nature.  It\nis an injury to mankind if the highest abilities are not placed in the\nhighest stations.  Had you, Scipio, been kept down by the republican\njealousy of Cato, the censor Hannibal would have never been recalled out\nof Italy nor defeated in Africa.  And if I had not been treacherously\nmurdered by the daggers of Brutus and Cassius, my sword would have\navenged the defeat of Crassus and added the empire of Parthia to that of\nRome.  Nor was my government tyrannical.  It was mild, humane, and\nbounteous.  The world would have been happy under it and wished its\ncontinuance, but my death broke the pillars of the public tranquillity\nand brought upon the whole empire a direful scene of calamity and\nconfusion.\n\n_Scipio_.--You say that great minds will naturally aspire to sovereign\npower.  But, if they are good as well as great, they will regulate their\nambition by the laws of their country.  The laws of Rome permitted me to\naspire to the conduct of the war against Carthage; but they did not\npermit you to turn her arms against herself, and subject her to your\nwill.  The breach of one law of liberty is a greater evil to a nation\nthan the loss of a province; and, in my opinion, the conquest of the\nwhole world would not be enough to compensate for the total loss of their\nfreedom.\n\n_Caesar_.--You talk finely, Africanus; but ask yourself, whether the\nheight and dignity of your mind--that noble pride which accompanies the\nmagnanimity of a hero--could always stoop to a nice conformity with the\nlaws of your country?  Is there a law of liberty more essential, more\nsacred, than that which obliges every member of a free community to\nsubmit himself to a trial, upon a legal charge brought against him for a\npublic misdemeanour?  In what manner did you answer a regular accusation\nfrom a tribune of the people, who charged you with embezzling the money\nof the State?  You told your judges that on that day you had vanquished\nHannibal and Carthage, and bade them follow you to the temples to give\nthanks to the gods.  Nor could you ever be brought to stand a legal\ntrial, or justify those accounts, which you had torn in the senate when\nthey were questioned there by two magistrates in the name of the Roman\npeople.  Was this acting like the subject of a free State?  Had your\nvictory procured you an exemption from justice?  Had it given into your\nhands the money of the republic without account?  If it had, you were\nking of Rome.  Pharsalia, Thapsus, and Munda could do no more for me.\n\n_Scipio_.--I did not question the right of bringing me to a trial, but I\ndisdained to plead in vindication of a character so unspotted as mine.  My\nwhole life had been an answer to that infamous charge.\n\n_Caesar_.--It may be so; and, for my part, I admire the magnanimity of\nyour behaviour.  But I should condemn it as repugnant and destructive to\nliberty, if I did not pay more respect to the dignity of a great general,\nthan to the forms of a democracy or the rights of a tribune.\n\n_Scipio_.--You are endeavouring to confound my cause with yours; but they\nare exceedingly different.  You apprehended a sentence of condemnation\nagainst you for some part of your conduct, and, to prevent it, made an\nimpious war on your country, and reduced her to servitude.  I trusted the\njustification of my affronted innocence to the opinion of my judges,\nscorning to plead for myself against a charge unsupported by any other\nproof than bare suspicions and surmises.  But I made no resistance; I\nkindled no civil war; I left Rome undisturbed in the enjoyment of her\nliberty.  Had the malice of my accusers been ever so violent, had it\nthreatened my destruction, I should have chosen much rather to turn my\nsword against my own bosom than against that of my country.\n\n_Caesar_.--You beg the question in supposing that I really hurt my\ncountry by giving her a master.  When Cato advised the senate to make\nPompey sole consul, he did it upon this principle, that any kind of\ngovernment is preferable to anarchy.  The truth of this, I presume, no\nman of sense will contest; and the anarchy, which that zealous defender\nof liberty so much apprehended, would have continued in Rome, if that\npower, which the urgent necessity of the State conferred upon me, had not\nremoved it.\n\n_Scipio_.--Pompey and you had brought that anarchy on the State in order\nto serve your own ends.  It was owing to the corruption, the factions,\nand the violence which you had encouraged from an opinion that the senate\nwould be forced to submit to an absolute power in your hands, as a remedy\nagainst those intolerable evils.  But Cato judged well in thinking it\neligible to make Pompey sole consul rather than you dictator, because\nexperience had shown that Pompey respected the forms of the Roman\nconstitution; and though he sought, by bad means as well as good, to\nobtain the highest magistracies and the most honourable commands, yet he\nlaid them down again, and contented himself with remaining superior in\ncredit to any other citizen.\n\n_Caesar_.--If all the difference between my ambition and Pompey's was\nonly, as you represent it, in a greater or less respect for the forms of\nthe constitution, I think it was hardly becoming such a patriot as Cato\nto take part in our quarrel, much less to kill himself rather than yield\nto my power.\n\n_Scipio_.--It is easier to revive the spirit of liberty in a government\nwhere the forms of it remain unchanged, than where they have been totally\ndisregarded and abolished.  But I readily own that the balance of the\nRoman constitution had been destroyed by the excessive and illegal\nauthority which the people were induced to confer upon Pompey, before any\nextraordinary honours or commands had been demanded by you.  And that is,\nI think, your best excuse.\n\n_Caesar_.--Yes, surely.  The favourers of the Manilian law had an ill\ngrace in desiring to limit the commissions I obtained from the people,\naccording to the rigour of certain absolute republican laws, no more\nregarded in my time than the Sybilline oracles or the pious institutions\nof Numa.\n\n_Scipio_.--It was the misfortune of your time that they were not\nregarded.  A virtuous man would not take from a deluded people such\nfavours as they ought not to bestow.  I have a right to say this because\nI chid the Roman people, when, overheated by gratitude for the services I\nhad done them, they desired to make me perpetual consul and dictator.\nHear this, and blush.  What I refused to accept, you snatched by force.\n\n_Caesar_.--Tiberius Gracchus reproached you with the inconsistency of\nyour conduct, when, after refusing these offers, you so little respected\nthe tribunitian authority.  But thus it must happen.  We are naturally\nfond of the idea of liberty till we come to suffer by it, or find it an\nimpediment to some predominant passion; and then we wish to control it,\nas you did most despotically, by refusing to submit to the justice of the\nState.\n\n_Scipio_.--I have answered before to that charge.  Tiberius Gracchus\nhimself, though my personal enemy, thought it became him to stop the\nproceedings against me, not for my sake, but for the honour of my\ncountry, whose dignity suffered with mine.  Nevertheless I acknowledge my\nconduct in that business was not absolutely blameless.  The generous\npride of virtue was too strong in my mind.  It made me forget I was\ncreating a dangerous precedent in declining to plead to a legal\naccusation brought against me by a magistrate invested with the majesty\nof the whole Roman people.  It made me unjustly accuse my country of\ningratitude when she had shown herself grateful, even beyond the true\nbounds of policy and justice, by not inflicting upon me any penalty for\nso irregular a proceeding.  But, at the same time, what a proof did I\ngive of moderation and respect for her liberty, when my utmost resentment\ncould impel me to nothing more violent than a voluntary retreat and quiet\nbanishment of myself from the city of Rome!  Scipio Africanus offended,\nand living a private man in a country-house at Liternum, was an example\nof more use to secure the equality of the Roman commonwealth than all the\npower of its tribunes.\n\n_Caesar_.--I had rather have been thrown down the Tarpeian Rock than have\nretired, as you did, to the obscurity of a village, after acting the\nfirst part on the greatest theatre of the world.\n\n_Scipio_.--A usurper exalted on the highest throne of the universe is not\nso glorious as I was in that obscure retirement.  I hear, indeed, that\nyou, Caesar, have been deified by the flattery of some of your\nsuccessors.  But the impartial judgment of history has consecrated my\nname, and ranks me in the first class of heroes and patriots; whereas,\nthe highest praise her records, even under the dominion usurped by your\nfamily, have given to you, is, that your courage and talents were equal\nto the object your ambition aspired to, the empire of the world; and that\nyou exercised a sovereignty unjustly acquired with a magnanimous\nclemency.  But it would have been better for your country, and better for\nmankind, if you had never existed.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE XXX.\n\n\nPLATO--DIOGENES.\n\n_Diogenes_.--Plato, stand off.  A true philosopher as I was, is no\ncompany for a courtier of the tyrant of Syracuse.  I would avoid you as\none infected with the most noisome of plagues--the plague of slavery.\n\n_Plato_.--He who can mistake a brutal pride and savage indecency of\nmanners for freedom may naturally think that the being in a court\n(however virtuous one's conduct, however free one's language there) is\nslavery.  But I was taught by my great master, the incomparable Socrates,\nthat the business of true philosophy is to consult and promote the\nhappiness of society.  She must not, therefore, be confined to a tub or a\ncell.  Her sphere is in senates or the cabinets of kings.  While your\nsect is employed in snarling at the great or buffooning with the vulgar,\nshe is counselling those who govern nations, infusing into their minds\nhumanity, justice, temperance, and the love of true glory, resisting\ntheir passions when they transport them beyond the bounds of virtue, and\nfortifying their reason by the antidotes she administers against the\npoison of flattery.\n\n_Diogenes_.--You mean to have me understand that you went to the court of\nthe Younger Dionysius to give him antidotes against the poison of\nflattery.  But I say he sent for you only to sweeten the cup, by mixing\nit more agreeably, and rendering the flavour more delicate.  His vanity\nwas too nice for the nauseous common draught; but your seasoning gave it\na relish which made it go down most delightfully, and intoxicated him\nmore than ever.  Oh, there is no flatterer half so dangerous to a prince\nas a fawning philosopher!\n\n_Plato_.--If you call it fawning that I did not treat him with such\nunmannerly rudeness as you did Alexander the Great when he visited you at\nAthens, I have nothing to say.  But, in truth, I made my company\nagreeable to him, not for any mean ends which regarded only myself, but\nthat I might be useful both to him and to his people.  I endeavoured to\ngive a right turn to his vanity; and know, Diogenes, that whosoever will\nserve mankind, but more especially princes, must compound with their\nweaknesses, and take as much pains to gain them over to virtue, by an\nhonest and prudent complaisance, as others do to seduce them from it by a\ncriminal adulation.\n\n_Diogenes_.--A little of my sagacity would have shown you that if this\nwas your purpose your labour was lost in that court.  Why did not you go\nand preach chastity to Lais?  A philosopher in a brothel, reading\nlectures on the beauty of continence and decency, is not a more\nridiculous animal than a philosopher in the cabinet, or at the table of a\ntyrant, descanting on liberty and public spirit!  What effect had the\nlessons of your famous disciple Aristotle upon Alexander the Great, a\nprince far more capable of receiving instruction than the Younger\nDionysius?  Did they hinder him from killing his best friend, Clitus, for\nspeaking to him with freedom, or from fancying himself a god because he\nwas adored by the wretched slaves he had vanquished?  When I desired him\nnot to stand between me and the sun, I humbled his pride more, and\nconsequently did him more good, than Aristotle had done by all his formal\nprecepts.\n\n_Plato_.--Yet he owed to those precepts that, notwithstanding his\nexcesses, he appeared not unworthy of the empire of the world.  Had the\ntutor of his youth gone with him into Asia and continued always at his\near, the authority of that wise and virtuous man might have been able to\nstop him, even in the riot of conquest, from giving way to those passions\nwhich dishonoured his character.\n\n_Diogenes_.--If he had gone into Asia, and had not flattered the king as\nobsequiously as Haephestion, he would, like Callisthenes, whom he sent\nthither as his deputy, have been put to death for high treason.  The man\nwho will not flatter must live independent, as I did, and prefer a tub to\na palace.\n\n_Plato_.--Do you pretend, Diogenes, that because you were never in a\ncourt, you never flattered?  How did you gain the affection of the people\nof Athens but by soothing their ruling passion--the desire of hearing\ntheir superiors abused?  Your cynic railing was to them the most\nacceptable flattery.  This you well understood, and made your court to\nthe vulgar, always envious and malignant, by trying to lower all dignity\nand confound all order.  You made your court, I say, as servilely, and\nwith as much offence to virtue, as the basest flatterer ever did to the\nmost corrupted prince.  But true philosophy will disdain to act either of\nthese parts.  Neither in the assemblies of the people, nor in the\ncabinets of kings, will she obtain favour by fomenting any bad\ndispositions.  If her endeavours to do good prove unsuccessful, she will\nretire with honour, as an honest physician departs from the house of a\npatient whose distemper he finds incurable, or who refuses to take the\nremedies he prescribes.  But if she succeeds--if, like the music of\nOrpheus, her sweet persuasions can mitigate the ferocity of the multitude\nand tame their minds to a due obedience of laws and reverence of\nmagistrates; or if she can form a Timoleon or a Numa Pompilius to the\ngovernment of a state--how meritorious is the work!  One king--nay, one\nminister or counsellor of state--imbued with her precepts is of more\nvalue than all the speculative, retired philosophers or cynical revilers\nof princes and magistrates that ever lived upon earth.\n\n_Diogenes_.--Don't tell me of the music of Orpheus, and of his taming\nwild beasts.  A wild beast brought to crouch and lick the hand of a\nmaster, is a much viler animal than he was in his natural state of\nferocity.  You seem to think that the business of philosophy is to polish\nmen into slaves; but I say, it is to teach them to assert, with an\nuntamed and generous spirit, their independence and freedom.  You profess\nto instruct those who want to ride their fellow-creatures, how to do it\nwith an easy and gentle rein; but I would have them thrown off, and\ntrampled under the feet of all their deluded or insulted equals, on whose\nbacks they have mounted.  Which of us two is the truest friend to\nmankind?\n\n_Plato_.--According to your notions all government is destructive to\nliberty; but I think that no liberty can subsist without government.  A\nstate of society is the natural state of mankind.  They are impelled to\nit by their wants, their infirmities, their affections.  The laws of\nsociety are rules of life and action necessary to secure their happiness\nin that state.  Government is the due enforcing of those laws.  That\ngovernment is the best which does this post effectually, and most\nequally; and that people is the freest which is most submissively\nobedient to such a government.\n\n_Diogenes_.--Show me the government which makes no other use of its power\nthan duly to enforce the laws of society, and I will own it is entitled\nto the most absolute submission from all its subjects.\n\n_Plato_.--I cannot show you perfection in human institutions.  It is far\nmore easy to blame them than it is to amend them, much may be wrong in\nthe best: but a good man respects the laws and the magistrates of his\ncountry.\n\n_Diogenes_.--As for the laws of my country, I did so far respect them as\nnot to philosophise to the prejudice of the first and greatest principle\nof nature and of wisdom, self-preservation.  Though I loved to prate\nabout high matters as well as Socrates, I did not choose to drink hemlock\nafter his example.  But you might as well have bid me love an ugly woman,\nbecause she was dressed up in the gown of Lais, as respect a fool or a\nknave, because he was attired in the robe of a magistrate.\n\n_Plato_.--All I desired of you was, not to amuse yourself and the\npopulace by throwing dirt upon the robe of a magistrate, merely because\nhe wore that robe, and you did not.\n\n_Diogenes_.--A philosopher cannot better display his wisdom than by\nthrowing contempt on that pageantry which the ignorant multitude gaze at\nwith a senseless veneration.\n\n_Plato_.--He who tries to make the multitude venerate nothing is more\nsenseless than they.  Wise men have endeavoured to excite an awful\nreverence in the minds of the vulgar for external ceremonies and forms,\nin order to secure their obedience to religion and government, of which\nthese are the symbols.  Can a philosopher desire to defeat that good\npurpose?\n\n_Diogenes_.--Yes, if he sees it abused to support the evil purposes of\nsuperstition and tyranny.\n\n_Plato_.--May not the abuse be corrected without losing the benefit?  Is\nthere no difference between reformation and destruction.\n\n_Diogenes_.--Half-measures do nothing.  He who desires to reform must not\nbe afraid to pull down.\n\n_Plato_.--I know that you and your sect are for pulling down everything\nthat is above your own level.  Pride and envy are the motives that set\nyou all to work.  Nor can one wonder that passions, the influence of\nwhich is so general, should give you many disciples and many admirers.\n\n_Diogenes_.--When you have established your Republic, if you will admit\nme into it I promise you to be there a most respectful subject.\n\n_Plato_.--I am conscious, Diogenes, that my Republic was imaginary, and\ncould never be established.  But they show as little knowledge of what is\npracticable in politics as I did in that book, who suppose that the\nliberty of any civil society can be maintained by the destruction of\norder and decency or promoted by the petulance of unbridled defamation.\n\n_Diogenes_.--I never knew any government angry at defamation, when it\nfell on those who disliked or obstructed its measures.  But I well\nremember that the thirty tyrants at Athens called opposition to them the\ndestruction of order and decency.\n\n_Plato_.--Things are not altered by names.\n\n_Diogenes_.--No, but names have a strange power to impose on weak\nunderstandings.  If, when you were in Egypt, you had laughed at the\nworship of an onion, the priests would have called you an atheist, and\nthe people would have stoned you.  But I presume that, to have the honour\nof being initiated into the mysteries of that reverend hierarchy, you\nbowed as low to it as any of their devout disciples.  Unfortunately my\nneck was not so pliant, and therefore I was never initiated into the\nmysteries either of religion or government, but was feared or hated by\nall who thought it their interest to make them be respected.\n\n_Plato_.--Your vanity found its account in that fear and that hatred.  The\nhigh priest of a deity or the ruler of a state is much less distinguished\nfrom the vulgar herd of mankind than the scoffer at all religion and the\ndespiser of all dominion.  But let us end our dispute.  I feel my folly\nin continuing to argue with one who in reasoning does not seek to come at\ntruth, but merely to show his wit.  Adieu, Diogenes; I am going to\nconverse with the shades of Pythagoras, Solon, and Bias.  You may jest\nwith Aristophanes or rail with Thersites.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE XXXI.\n\n\nARISTIDES--PHOCION--DEMOSTHENES.\n\n_Aristides_.--How could it happen that Athens, after having recovered an\nequality with Sparta, should be forced to submit to the dominion of\nMacedon when she had two such great men as Phocion and Demosthenes at the\nhead of her State?\n\n_Phocion_.--It happened because our opinions of her interests in foreign\naffairs were totally different; which made us act with a constant and\npernicious opposition the one to the other.\n\n_Aristides_.--I wish to hear from you both (if you will indulge my\ncuriosity) on what principles you could form such contrary judgments\nconcerning points of such moment to the safety of your country, which you\nequally loved.\n\n_Demosthenes_.--My principles were the same with yours, Aristides.  I\nlaboured to maintain the independence of Athens against the encroaching\nambition of Macedon, as you had maintained it against that of Persia.  I\nsaw that our own strength was unequal to the enterprise; but what we\ncould not do alone I thought might be done by a union of the principal\nstates of Greece--such a union as had been formed by you and Themistocles\nin opposition to the Persians.  To effect this was the great, the\nconstant aim of my policy; and, though traversed in it by many whom the\ngold of Macedon had corrupted, and by Phocion, whom alone, of all the\nenemies to my system, I must acquit of corruption, I so far succeeded,\nthat I brought into the field of Chaeronea an army equal to Philip's.  The\nevent was unfortunate; but Aristides will not judge of the merits of a\nstatesman by the accidents of war.\n\n_Phocion_.--Do not imagine, Aristides, that I was less desirous than\nDemosthenes to preserve the independence and liberty of my country.  But,\nbefore I engaged the Athenians in a war not absolutely necessary, I\nthought it proper to consider what the event of a battle would probably\nbe.  That which I feared came to pass: the Macedonians were victorious,\nand Athens was ruined.\n\n_Demosthenes_.--Would Athens not have been ruined if no battle had been\nfought?  Could you, Phocion, think it safety to have our freedom depend\non the moderation of Philip?  And what had we else to protect us, if no\nconfederacy had been formed to resist his ambition?\n\n_Phocion_.--I saw no wisdom in accelerating the downfall of my country by\na rash activity in provoking the resentment of an enemy, whose arms, I\nforetold, would in the issue prove superior, not only to ours, but to\nthose of any confederacy we were able to form.  My maxim was, that a\nstate which cannot make itself stronger than any of its neighbours,\nshould live in friendship with that power which is the strongest.  But\nthe more apparent it was that our strength was inferior to that of\nMacedon, the more you laboured to induce us, by all the vehemence of your\noratory, to take such measures as tended to render Philip our enemy, and\nexasperate him more against us than any other nation.  This I thought a\nrash conduct.  It was not by orations that the dangerous war you had\nkindled could finally be determined; nor did your triumphs over me in an\nassembly of the people intimidate any Macedonian in the field of\nChaeronea, or stop you yourself from flying out of that field.\n\n_Demosthenes_.--My flight from thence, I must own, was ignominious to me;\nbut it affects not the question we are agitating now, whether the\ncounsels I gave to the people of Athens, as a statesman and a public\nminister, were right or wrong.  When first I excited them to make war\nagainst Philip, the victories gained by Chabrias, in which you, Phocion,\nhad a share (particularly that of Naxos, which completely restored to us\nthe empire of the sea), had enabled us to maintain, not only our own\nliberty, but that of all Greece, in the defence of which we had formerly\nacquired so much glory, and which our ancestors thought so important to\nthe safety and independence of Athens.  Philip's power was but beginning,\nand supported itself more by craft than force.  I saw, and I warned my\ncountrymen in due time, how impolitic it would be to suffer his\nmachinations to be carried on with success, and his strength to increase\nby continual acquisitions, without resistance.  I exposed the weakness of\nthat narrow, that short-sighted policy, which looked no farther than to\nour own immediate borders, and imagined that whatsoever lay out of those\nbounds was foreign to our interests, and unworthy of our care.  The force\nof my remonstrances roused the Athenians to a more vigilant conduct.  Then\nit was that the orators whom Philip had corrupted loudly inveighed\nagainst me, as alarming the people with imaginary dangers, and drawing\nthem into quarrels in which they had really no concern.  This language,\nand the fair professions of Philip, who was perfectly skilled in the\nroyal art of dissembling, were often so prevalent, that many favourable\nopportunities of defeating his designs were unhappily lost.  Yet\nsometimes, by the spirit with which I animated the Athenians and other\nneighbouring states, I stopped the progress of his arms, and opposed to\nhim such obstacles as cost him much time and much labour to remove.  You\nyourself, Phocion, at the head of fleets and armies sent against him by\ndecrees which I had proposed, vanquished his troops in Eubaea, and saved\nfrom him Byzantium, with other cities of our allies on the coasts of the\nHellespont, from which you drove him with shame.\n\n_Phocion_.--The proper use of those advantages was to secure a peace to\nAthens, which they inclined him to keep.  His ambition was checked, but\nhis forces were not so much diminished as to render it safe to provoke\nhim to further hostilities.\n\n_Demosthenes_.--His courage and policy were indeed so superior to ours\nthat, notwithstanding his defeats, he was soon in a condition to pursue\nthe great plan of conquest and dominion which he had formed long before,\nand from which he never desisted.  Thus, through indolence on our side\nand activity on his, things were brought to such a crisis that I saw no\nhope of delivering all Greece from his yoke, but by confederating against\nhim the Athenians and the Thebans, which league I effected.  Was it not\nbetter to fight for the independence of our country in conjunction with\nThebes than alone?  Would a battle lost in Boeotia be so fatal to Athens\nas one lost in our own territory and under our own walls?\n\n_Phocion_.--You may remember that when you were eagerly urging this\nargument I desired you to consider, not where we should fight, but how we\nshould be conquerors; for, if we were vanquished, all sorts of evils and\ndangers would be instantly at our gates.\n\n_Aristides_.--Did not you tell me, Demosthenes, when you began to speak\nupon this subject, that you brought into the field of Chaeronea an army\nequal to Philip's?\n\n_Demosthenes_.--I did, and believe that Phocion will not contradict me.\n\n_Aristides_.--But, though equal in number, it was, perhaps, much inferior\nto the Macedonians in valour and military discipline.\n\n_Demosthenes_.--The courage shown by our army excited the admiration of\nPhilip himself, and their discipline was inferior to none in Greece.\n\n_Aristides_.--What then occasioned their defeat?\n\n_Demosthenes_.--The bad conduct of their generals.\n\n_Aristides_.--Why was the command not given to Phocion, whose abilities\nhad been proved on so many other occasions?  Was it offered to him, and\ndid he refuse to accept it?  You are silent, Demosthenes.  I understand\nyour silence.  You are unwilling to tell me that, having the power, by\nyour influence over the people, to confer the command on what Athenian\nyou pleased, you were induced, by the spirit of party, to lay aside a\ngreat general who had been always successful, who had the chief\nconfidence of your troops and of your allies, in order to give it to men\nzealous indeed for your measures and full of military ardour, but of\nlittle capacity or experience in the conduct of a war.  You cannot plead\nthat, if Phocion had led your troops against Philip, there was any danger\nof his basely betraying his trust.  Phocion could not be a traitor.  You\nhad seen him serve the Republic and conquer for it in wars, the\nundertaking of which he had strenuously opposed, in wars with Philip.  How\ncould you then be so negligent of the safety of your country as not to\nemploy him in this, the most dangerous of all she ever had waged?  If\nChares and Lysicles, the two generals you chose to conduct it, had\ncommanded the Grecian forces at Marathon and Plataea we should have lost\nthose battles.  All the men whom you sent to fight the Macedonians under\nsuch leaders were victims to the animosity between you and Phocion, which\nmade you deprive them of the necessary benefit of his wise direction.\nThis I think the worst blemish of your administration.  In other parts of\nyour conduct I not only acquit but greatly applaud and admire you.  With\nthe sagacity of a most consummate statesman you penetrated the deepest\ndesigns of Philip, you saw all the dangers which threatened Greece from\nthat quarter while they were yet at a distance, you exhorted your\ncountrymen to make a timely provision for their future security, you\nspread the alarm through all the neighbouring states, you combined the\nmost powerful in a confederacy with Athens, you carried the war out of\nAttica, which (let Phocion say what he will) was safer than meeting it\nthere, you brought it, after all that had been done by the enemy to\nstrengthen himself and weaken us, after the loss of Amphipolis, Olynthus,\nand Potidaea, the outguards of Athens, you brought it, I say, to the\ndecision of a battle with equal forces.  When this could be effected\nthere was evidently nothing so desperate in our circumstances as to\njustify an inaction which might probably make them worse, but could not\nmake them better.  Phocion thinks that a state which cannot itself be the\nstrongest should live in friendship with that power which is the\nstrongest.  But in my opinion such friendship is no better than\nservitude.  It is more advisable to endeavour to supply what is wanting\nin our own strength by a conjunction with others who are equally in\ndanger.  This method of preventing the ruin of our country was tried by\nDemosthenes.  Nor yet did he neglect, by all practicable means, to\naugment at the same time our internal resources.  I have heard that when\nhe found the Public Treasure exhausted he replenished it, with very great\nperil to himself, by bringing into it money appropriated before to the\nentertainment of the people, against the express prohibition of a popular\nlaw, which made it death to propose the application thereof to any other\nuse.  This was virtue, this was true and genuine patriotism.  He owed all\nhis importance and power in the State to the favour of the people; yet,\nin order to serve the State, he did not fear, at the evident hazard of\nhis life, to offend their darling passion and appeal against it to their\nreason.\n\n_Phocion_.--For this action I praise him.  It was, indeed, far more\ndangerous for a minister at Athens to violate that absurd and extravagant\nlaw than any of those of Solon.  But though he restored our finances, he\ncould not restore our lost virtue; he could not give that firm health,\nthat vigour to the State, which is the result of pure morals, of strict\norder and civil discipline, of integrity in the old, and obedience in the\nyoung.  I therefore dreaded a conflict with the solid strength of\nMacedon, where corruption had yet made but a very small progress, and was\nhappy that Demosthenes did not oblige me, against my own inclination, to\nbe the general of such a people in such war.\n\n_Aristides_.--I fear that your just contempt of the greater number of\nthose who composed the democracy so disgusted you with this mode and form\nof government, that you were as averse to serve under it as others with\nless ability and virtue than you were desirous of obtruding themselves\ninto its service.  But though such a reluctance proceeds from a very\nnoble cause, and seems agreeable to the dignity of a great mind in bad\ntimes, yet it is a fault against the highest of moral obligations--the\nlove of our country.  For, how unworthy soever individuals may be, the\npublic is always respectable, always dear to the virtuous.\n\n_Phocion_.--True; but no obligation can lie upon a citizen to seek a\npublic charge when he foresees that his obtaining of it will be useless\nto his country.  Would you have had me solicit the command of an army\nwhich I believed would be beaten?\n\n_Aristides_.--It is not permitted to a State to despair of its safety\ntill its utmost efforts have been made without success.  If you had\ncommanded the army at Chaeronea you might possibly have changed the event\nof the day; but, if you had not, you would have died more honourably\nthere than in a prison at Athens, betrayed by a vain confidence in the\ninsecure friendship of a perfidious Macedonian.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE XXXII.\n\n\nMARCUS AURELIUS PHILOSOPHUS--SERVIUS TULLIUS.\n\n_Servius Tullius_.--Yes, Marcus, though I own you to have been the first\nof mankind in virtue and goodness--though, while you governed, Philosophy\nsat on the throne and diffused the benign influences of her\nadministration over the whole Roman Empire--yet as a king I might,\nperhaps, pretend to a merit even superior to yours.\n\n_Marcus Aurelius_.--That philosophy you ascribe to me has taught me to\nfeel my own defects, and to venerate the virtues of other men.  Tell me,\ntherefore, in what consisted the superiority of your merit as a king.\n\n_Servius Tullius_.--It consisted in this--that I gave my people freedom.\nI diminished, I limited the kingly power, when it was placed in my hands.\nI need not tell you that the plan of government instituted by me was\nadopted by the Romans when they had driven out Tarquin, the destroyer of\ntheir liberty; and gave its form to that republic, composed of a due\nmixture of the regal, aristocratical, and democratical powers, the\nstrength and wisdom of which subdued the world.  Thus all the glory of\nthat great people, who for many ages excelled the rest of mankind in the\narts of war and of policy, belongs originally to me.\n\n_Marcus Aurelius_.--There is much truth in what you say.  But would not\nthe Romans have done better if, after the expulsion of Tarquin, they had\nvested the regal power in a limited monarch, instead of placing it in two\nannual elective magistrates with the title of consuls?  This was a great\ndeviation from your plan of government, and, I think, an unwise one.  For\na divided royalty is a solecism--an absurdity in politics.  Nor was the\nregal power committed to the administration of consuls continued in their\nhands long enough to enable them to finish any difficult war or other act\nof great moment.  From hence arose a necessity of prolonging their\ncommands beyond the legal term; of shortening the interval prescribed by\nthe laws between the elections to those offices; and of granting\nextraordinary commissions and powers, by all which the Republic was in\nthe end destroyed.\n\n_Servius Tullius_.--The revolution which ensued upon the death of\nLucretia was made with so much anger that it is no wonder the Romans\nabolished in their fury the name of king, and desired to weaken a power\nthe exercise of which had been so grievous, though the doing this was\nattended with all the inconveniences you have justly observed.  But, if\nanger acted too violently in reforming abuses, philosophy might have\nwisely corrected that error.  Marcus Aurelius might have new-modelled the\nconstitution of Rome.  He might have made it a limited monarchy, leaving\nto the emperors all the power that was necessary to govern a\nwide-extended empire, and to the Senate and people all the liberty that\ncould be consistent with order and obedience to government--a liberty\npurged of faction and guarded against anarchy.\n\n_Marcus Aurelius_.--I should have been happy indeed if it had been in my\npower to do such good to my country.  But the gods themselves cannot\nforce their blessings on men who by their vices are become incapable to\nreceive them.  Liberty, like power, is only good for those who possess it\nwhen it is under the constant direction of virtue.  No laws can have\nforce enough to hinder it from degenerating into faction and anarchy,\nwhere the morals of a nation are depraved; and continued habits of vice\nwill eradicate the very love of it out of the hearts of a people.  A\nMarcus Brutus in my time could not have drawn to his standard a single\nlegion of Romans.  But, further, it is certain that the spirit of liberty\nis absolutely incompatible with the spirit of conquest.  To keep great\nconquered nations in subjection and obedience, great standing armies are\nnecessary.  The generals of those armies will not long remain subjects;\nand whoever acquires dominion by the sword must rule by the sword.  If he\ndoes not destroy liberty, liberty will destroy him.\n\n_Servius Tullius_.--Do you then justify Augustus for the change he made\nin the Roman government?\n\n_Marcus Aurelius_.--I do not, for Augustus had no lawful authority to\nmake that change.  His power was usurpation and breach of trust.  But the\ngovernment which he seized with a violent hand came to me by a lawful and\nestablished rule of succession.\n\n_Servius Tullius_.--Can any length of establishment make despotism\nlawful?  Is not liberty an inherent, inalienable right of mankind?\n\n_Marcus Aurelius_.--They have an inherent right to be governed by laws,\nnot by arbitrary will.  But forms of government may, and must, be\noccasionally changed, with the consent of the people.  When I reigned\nover them the Romans were governed by laws.\n\n_Servius Tullius_.--Yes, because your moderation and the precepts of that\nphilosophy in which your youth had been tutored inclined you to make the\nlaws the rules of your government and the bounds of your power.  But if\nyou had desired to govern otherwise, had they power to restrain you?\n\n_Marcus Aurelius_.--They had not.  The imperial authority in my time had\nno limitations.\n\n_Servius Tullius_.--Rome therefore was in reality as much enslaved under\nyou as under your son; and you left him the power of tyrannising over it\nby hereditary right?\n\n_Marcus Aurelius_.--I did; and the conclusion of that tyranny was his\nmurder.\n\n_Servius Tullius_.--Unhappy father! unhappy king! what a detestable thing\nis absolute monarchy when even the virtues of Marcus Aurelius could not\nhinder it from being destructive to his family and pernicious to his\ncountry any longer than the period of his own life.  But how happy is\nthat kingdom in which a limited monarch presides over a state so justly\npoised that it guards itself from such evils, and has no need to take\nrefuge in arbitrary power against the dangers of anarchy, which is almost\nas bad a resource as it would be for a ship to run itself on a rock in\norder to escape from the agitation of a tempest.","title":"Dialogues of the Dead","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":62884}