_Born 1630. Died 1685._
By HALIFAX.
_His_ DISSIMULATION.
One great Objection made to him was the concealing himself, and
disguising his Thoughts. In this there ought a Latitude to be given;
it is a Defect not to have it at all, and a Fault to have it too much.
Human Nature will not allow the Mean: like all other things, as soon
as ever Men get to do them well, they cannot easily hold from doing
them too much. 'Tis the case even in the least things, as singing, &c.
In _France_, he was to dissemble Injuries and Neglects, from one
reason; in _England_, he was to dissemble too, though for other
Causes; A King upon the _Throne_ hath as great Temptations (though of
another kind) to dissemble, as a King in _Exile_. The King of _France_
might have his Times of Dissembling as much with him, as he could have
to do it with the King of _France_: So he was in a _School_.
No King can be so little inclined to dissemble but he must needs learn
it from his _Subjects_, who every Day give him such Lessons of it.
Dissimulation is like most other Qualities, it hath two Sides; it is
necessary, and yet it is dangerous too. To have none at all layeth
a Man open to Contempt, to have too much exposeth him to Suspicion,
which is only the less dishonourable Inconvenience. If a Man doth not
take very great Precautions, he is never so much shewed as when he
endeavoureth to hide himself. One Man cannot take more pains to hide
himself, than another will do to see into him, especially in the Case
of Kings.
It is none of the exalted Faculties of the Mind, since there are
Chamber-Maids will do it better than any Prince in Christendom.
Men given to dissembling are like Rooks at play, they will cheat
for Shillings, they are so used to it. The vulgar Definition of
Dissembling is downright Lying; that kind of it which is less ill-bred
cometh pretty near it. Only Princes and Persons of Honour must have
gentler Words given to their Faults, than the nature of them may in
themselves deserve.
Princes dissemble with too many, not to have it discovered; no wonder
then that He carried it so far that it was discovered. Men compared
Notes, and got Evidence; so that those whose Morality would give them
leave, took it for an Excuse for serving him ill. Those who knew his
Face, fixed their Eyes there; and thought it of more Importance to
see, than to hear what he said. His Face was as little a Blab as most
Mens, yet though it could not be called a prattling Face, it would
sometimes tell Tales to a good Observer. When he thought fit to be
angry, he had a very peevish Memory; there was hardly a Blot that
escaped him. At the same time that this shewed the Strength of his
Dissimulation, it gave warning too; it fitted his present Purpose, but
it made a Discovery that put Men more upon their Guard against him.
Only Self-flattery furnisheth perpetual Arguments to trust again: The
comfortable Opinion Men have of themselves keepeth up Human Society,
which would be more than half destroyed without it.
_Of his WIT and CONVERSATION._
His Wit consisted chiefly in the _Quickness_ of his _Apprehension_.
His Apprehension made him _find Faults_, and that led him to short
Sayings upon them, not always equal, but often very good.
By his being abroad, he contracted a Habit of conversing familiarly,
which added to his natural Genius, made him very _apt to talk_;
perhaps more than a very nice judgment would approve.
He was apter to make _broad Allusions_ upon any thing that gave
the least occasion, than was altogether suitable with the very
Good-breeding he shewed in most other things. The Company he kept
whilst abroad, had so used him to that sort of Dialect, that he was so
far from thinking it a Fault or an Indecency, that he made it a matter
of Rallery upon those who could not prevail upon themselves to join in
it. As a Man who hath a good Stomach loveth generally to talk of Meat,
so in the vigour of his Age, he began that style, which, by degrees
grew so natural to him, that after he ceased to do it out of Pleasure,
he continued to do it out of Custom. The Hypocrisy of the former Times
inclined Men to think they could not shew too great an Aversion to
it, and that helped to encourage this unbounded liberty of Talking,
without the Restraints of Decency which were before observed. In
his more familiar Conversations with the Ladies, even they must be
passive, if they would not enter into it. How far Sounds as well
as Objects may have their Effects to raise Inclination, might be an
Argument to him to use that Style; or whether using Liberty at its
full stretch, was not the general Inducement without any particular
Motives to it.
The manner of that time of _telling Stories_, had drawn him into it;
being commended at first for the Faculty of telling a Tale well, he
might insensibly be betrayed to exercise it too often. Stories are
dangerous in this, that the best expose a Man most, by being oftenest
repeated. It might pass for an Evidence for the Moderns against the
Ancients, that it is now wholly left off by all that have any pretence
to be distinguished by their good Sense.
He had the Improvements of _Wine, &c_. which made him _pleasant_ and
_easy in Company_; where he bore his part, and was acceptable even to
those who had no other Design than to be merry with him.
The Thing called _Wit_, a Prince may taste, but it is dangerous for
him to take too much of it; it hath Allurements which by refining his
Thoughts, take off from their _dignity_, in applying them less to the
governing part. There is a Charm in Wit, which a Prince must resist:
and that to him was no easy matter; it was contesting with Nature upon
Terms of Disadvantage.
His Wit was not so ill-natured as to put Men out of countenance. In
the case of a King especially, it is more allowable to speak sharply
_of_ them, than _to_ them.
His Wit was not acquired by _Reading_; that which he had above his
original Stock by Nature, was from Company, in which he was very
capable to observe. He could not so properly be said to have a Wit
very much raised, as a plain, gaining, well-bred, recommending kind of
Wit.
But of all Men that ever _liked_ those who _had Wit_, he could the
best _endure_ those who had _none_. This leaneth more towards a Satire
than a Compliment, in this respect, that he could not only suffer
Impertinence, but at some times seemed to be pleased with it.
He encouraged some to talk a good deal more with him, than one would
have expected from a Man of so good a Taste: He should rather have
order'd his Attorney-General to prosecute them for a Misdemeanour, in
using Common-sense so scurvily in his Presence. However, if this was
a Fault, it is arrogant for any of his Subjects to object to it, since
it would look like defying such a piece of Indulgence. He must in some
degree loosen the Strength of his Wit, by his Condescension to talk
with Men so very unequal to him. Wit must be used to some _Equality_,
which may give it Exercise, or else it is apt either to languish,
or to grow a little vulgar, by reigning amongst Men of a lower Size,
where there is no Awe to keep a Man upon his _guard_.
It fell out rather by Accident than Choice, that his Mistresses
were such as did not care that Wit of the best kind should have the
Precedence in their Apartments. Sharp and strong Wit will not always
be so held in by Good-manners, as not to be a little troublesome in
a _Ruelle_. But wherever Impertinence hath Wit enough left to be
thankful for being well used, it will not only be admitted, but
kindly received; such Charms every thing hath that setteth us off by
Comparison.
His _Affability_ was a Part, and perhaps not the least, of his Wit.
It is a Quality that must not always spring from the Heart, Mens
Pride, as well as their Weakness, maketh them ready to be deceived by
it: They are more ready to believe it a Homage paid to their Merit,
than a Bait thrown out to deceive them. _Princes_ have a particular
Advantage.
There was at first as much of Art as Nature in his Affability, but by
Habit it became Natural. It is an Error of the better hand, but the
_Universality_ taketh away a good deal of the Force of it. A Man
that hath had a kind Look seconded with engaging Words, whilst he is
chewing the Pleasure, if another in his Sight should be just received
as kindly, that Equality would presently alter the Relish: The Pride
of Mankind will have Distinction; till at last it cometh to Smile for
Smile, meaning nothing of either Side; without any kind of Effect;
mere Drawing-room Compliments; the _Bow_ alone would be better without
them. He was under some Disadvantages of this kind, that grew still
in proportion as it came by Time to be more known, that there was less
Signification in those Things than at first was thought.
The Familiarity of his Wit must needs have the Effect of _lessening_
the _Distance_ fit to be kept to him. The Freedom used to him whilst
abroad, was retained by those who used it longer than either they
ought to have kept it, or he have suffered it, and others by their
Example learned to use the same. A King of _Spain_ that will say
nothing but _Tiendro cuydado_, will, to the generality, preserve
more Respect; an Engine that will speak but sometimes, at the same
time that it will draw the Raillery of the Few who judge well, it
will create Respect in the ill-judging Generality. Formality is
sufficiently revenged upon the World for being so unreasonably laughed
at; it is destroyed it is true, but it hath the spiteful Satisfaction
of seeing every thing destroyed with it.
His fine Gentlemanship did him no Good, encouraged in it by being too
much applauded.
His Wit was better suited to his Condition _before_ he was restored
than _afterwards_. The Wit of a Gentleman, and that of a crowned Head,
ought to be different things. As there is a _Crown Law_, there is a
_Crown Wit_ too. To use it with Reserve is very good, and very rare.
There is a Dignity in doing things _seldom_, even without any other
Circumstance. Where Wit will run continually, the Spring is apt to
fail; so that it groweth vulgar, and the more it is practised, the
more it is debased.
He was so good at finding out other Mens weak Sides, that it made
him less intent to cure his own: That generally happeneth. It may be
called a treacherous Talent, for it betrayeth a Man to forget to judge
himself, by being so eager to censure others: This doth so misguide
Men the first Part of their Lives, that the Habit of it is not easily
recovered, when the greater Ripeness of their Judgment inclineth them
to look more into themselves than into other Men.
Men love to see themselves in the false Looking-glass of other Mens
Failings. It maketh a Man think well of himself at the time, and by
sending his Thoughts abroad to get Food for Laughing, they are less
at leisure to see Faults at home. Men choose rather to make the War in
another Country, than to keep all well at home.
_His_ TALENTS, TEMPER, HABITS, &c.
He had a _Mechanical Head_, which appeared in his inclination to
Shipping and Fortification, &c. This would make one conclude, that
his Thoughts would naturally have been more fixed to Business, if his
Pleasures had not drawn them away from it.
He had a very good _Memory_, though he would not always make equal
good Use of it. So that if he had accustomed himself to direct his
Faculties to his Business, I see no Reason why he might not have been
a good deal Master of it. His Chain of _Memory_ was longer than his
Chain of _Thought_; the first could bear any Burden, the other was
tired by being carried on too long; it was fit to ride a Heat, but it
had not Wind enough for a long Course.
A very great Memory often forgetteth how much Time is lost by
repeating things of no Use. It was one Reason of his talking so much;
since a great Memory will always have something to say, and will be
discharging itself, whether in or out of Season, if a good Judgment
doth not go along with it, to make it stop and turn. One might say
of his Memory, that it was a _Beauté Journaliere_; Sometimes he would
make shrewd Applications, &c. at others he would bring things out of
it, that never deserved to be laid in it. He grew by Age into a pretty
exact _Distribution_ of his _Hours_, both for his Business, Pleasures,
and the Exercise for his Health, of which he took as much care as
could possibly consist with some Liberties he was resolved to indulge
in himself. He walked by his Watch, and when he pulled it out to look
upon it, skilful Men would make haste with what they had to say to
him.
He was often retained in his _personal_ against his _politick_
Capacity. He would speak upon those Occasions most dexterously against
himself; _Charles Stuart_ would be bribed against the _King_; and
in the Distinction, he leaned more to his natural Self, than his
Character would allow. He would not suffer himself to be so much
fettered by his Character as was convenient; he was still starting
out of it, the Power of Nature was too strong for the Dignity of his
Calling, which generally yielded as often as there was a contest.
It was not the best use he made of his _Back-stairs_ to admit Men
to bribe him against himself, to procure a Defalcation, help a
lame Accountant to get off, or side with the Farmers against the
Improvement of the Revenue. The King was made the Instrument to
defraud the Crown, which is somewhat extraordinary.
That which might tempt him to it probably was, his finding that those
about him so often took Money upon those Occasions; so that he thought
he might do well at least to be a Partner. He did not take the Money
to _hoard_ it; there were those at Court who watched those Times, as
the _Spaniards_ do for the coming in of the _Plate Fleet_. The Beggars
of both Sexes helped to empty his Cabinet, and to leave room in them
for a new lading upon the next Occasion. These Negotiators played
double with him too, when it was for their purpose so to do. He _knew
it_, and _went on_ still; so he gained his present end, at the time,
he was less solicitous to enquire into the Consequences.
He could not properly be said to be either _covetous_ or _liberal_;
his desire to get was not with an Intention to be rich; and his
spending was rather an Easiness in letting Money go, than any
premeditated Thought for the Distribution of it. He would do as much
to throw off the burden of a present Importunity, as he would to
relieve a want.
When once the Aversion to bear Uneasiness taketh place in a Man's
Mind, it doth so check all the Passions, that they are dampt into a
kind of Indifference; they grow faint and languishing, and come to be
subordinate to that fundamental Maxim, of not purchasing any thing at
the price of a Difficulty. This made that he had as little Eagerness
to oblige, as he had to hurt Men; the Motive of his giving Bounties
was rather to make Men less uneasy to him, than more easy to
themselves; and yet no ill-nature all this while. He would slide from
an asking Face, and could guess very well. It was throwing a Man off
from his Shoulders, that leaned upon them with his whole weight; so
that the Party was not glader to receive, than he was to give. It was
a kind of implied bargain; though Men seldom kept it, being so apt to
forget the advantage they had received, that they would presume the
King would as little remember the good he had done them, so as to make
it an Argument against their next Request.
This Principle of making the _love_ of _Ease_ exercise an entire
Sovereignty in his Thoughts, would have been less censured in a
private Man, than might be in a Prince. The Consequence of it to the
Publick changeth the Nature of that Quality, or else a Philosopher in
his private Capacity might say a great deal to justify it. The truth
is, a King is to be such a distinct Creature from a Man, that their
Thoughts are to be put in quite a differing Shape, and it is such a
disquieting task to reconcile them, that Princes might rather expect
to be lamented than to be envied, for being in a Station that exposeth
them, if they do not do more to answer Mens Expectations than human
Nature will allow.
That Men have the less Ease for their loving it so much, is so far
from a wonder, that it is a natural Consequence, especially in the
case of a Prince. Ease is seldom got without some pains, but it is yet
seldomer kept without them. He thought giving would make Men more easy
to him, whereas he might have known it would certainly make them more
troublesome.
When Men receive Benefits from Princes, they attribute less to his
Generosity than to their own Deserts; so that in their own Opinion,
their Merit cannot be bounded; by that mistaken Rule, it can as
little be satisfied. They would take it for a diminution to have it
circumscribed. Merit hath a Thirst upon it that can never be quenched
by golden Showers. It is not only still ready, but greedy to receive
more. This King _Charles_ found in as many Instances as any Prince
that ever reigned, because the Easiness of Access introducing the
good Success of their first Request, they were the more encouraged to
repeat those Importunities, which had been more effectually stopt in
the Beginning by a short and resolute Denial. But his Nature did not
dispose him to that Method, it directed him rather to put off the
troublesome Minute for the time, and that being his Inclination, he
did not care to struggle with it.
I am of an Opinion, in which I am every Day more confirmed by
Observation, that Gratitude is one of those things that cannot be
bought. It must be born with Men, or else all the Obligations in
the World will not create it. An outward Shew may be made to satisfy
Decency, and to prevent Reproach; but a real Sense of a kind thing is
a Gift of Nature, and never was, nor can be acquired.
The Love of Ease is an Opiate, it is pleasing for the time, quieteth
the Spirits, but it hath its Effects that seldom fail to be most
fatal. The immoderate Love of Ease maketh a Man's Mind pay a passive
Obedience to any thing that happeneth: It reduceth the Thoughts from
having _Desire_ to be _content_.
It must be allowed he had a little Over-balance on the well-natured
Side, not Vigour enough to be earnest to do a kind Thing, much less
to do a harsh one; but if a hard thing was done to another Man, he
did not eat his Supper the worse for it. It was rather a Deadness
than Severity of Nature, whether it proceeded from a Dissipation of
Spirits, or by the Habit of Living in which he was engaged.
If a King should be born with more Tenderness than might suit with his
Office, he would in time be hardned. The Faults of his Subjects make
Severity so necessary, that by the frequent Occasions given to use
it, it comes to be habitual, and by degrees the Resistance that Nature
made at first groweth fainter, till at last it is in a manner quite
extinguished.
In short, this Prince might more properly be said to have _Gifts_ than
_Virtues_, as Affability, Easiness of Living, Inclinations to give,
and to forgive: Qualities that flowed from his Nature rather than from
his Virtue.
He had not more Application to any thing than the Preservation of
his _Health_; it had an intire Preference to any thing else in his
Thoughts, and he might be said without Aggravation to study that, with
as little Intermission as any Man in the World. He understood it very
well, only in this he failed, that he thought it was more reconcilable
with his _Pleasures_, than it really was. It is natural to have such
a Mind to reconcile these, that 'tis the easier for any Man that goeth
about it, to be guilty of that Mistake.
This made him overdo in point of Nourishment, the better to furnish to
those Entertainments; and then he thought by great _Exercise_ to make
Amends, and to prevent the ill Effects of his Blood being too much
raised. The Success he had in this Method, whilst he had Youth and
Vigour to support him in it, encouraged him to continue it longer than
Nature allowed. Age stealeth so insensibly upon us, that we do not
think of suiting our way of Reasoning to the several Stages of Life;
so insensibly that not being able to pitch upon any _precise Time_,
when we cease to be young, we either flatter ourselves that we always
continue to be so, or at least forget how much we are mistaken in it.
63.
By BURNET.
The King was then thirty years of age, and, as might have been
supposed, past the levities of youth and the extravagance of pleasure.
He had a very good understanding. He knew well the state of affairs
both at home and abroad. He had a softness of temper that charmed all
who came near him, till they found how little they could depend on
good looks, kind words, and fair promises; in which he was liberal
to excess, because he intended nothing by them, but to get rid of
importunities, and to silence all farther pressing upon him. He seemed
to have no sense of religion: Both at prayers and sacrament he, as it
were, took care to satisfy people, that he was in no sort concerned in
that about which he was employed. So that he was very far from being
an hypocrite, unless his assisting at those performances was a sort of
hypocrisy, (as no doubt it was:) But he was sure not to encrease that
by any the least appearance of religion. He said once to my self, he
was no atheist, but he could not think God would make a man miserable
only for taking a little pleasure out of the way. He disguised his
Popery to the last. But when he talked freely, he could not help
letting himself out against the liberty that under the Reformation
all men took of enquiring into matters of religion: For from their
enquiring into matters of religion they carried the humour farther,
to enquire into matters of state. He said often, he thought government
was a much safer and easier thing where the authority was believed
infallible, and the faith and submission of the people was implicite:
About which I had once much discourse with him. He was affable and
easy, and loved to be made so by all about him. The great art of
keeping him long was, the being easy, and the making every thing easy
to him. He had made such observations on the _French_ government, that
he thought a King who might be checkt, or have his Ministers called
to an account by a Parliament, was but a King in name. He had a great
compass of knowledge, tho' he was never capable of much application
or study. He understood the Mechanicks and Physick; and was a good
Chymist, and much set on several preparations of Mercury, chiefly the
fixing it. He understood navigation well: But above all he knew the
architecture of ships so perfectly, that in that respect he was exact
rather more than became a Prince. His apprehension was quick, and his
memory good. He was an everlasting talker. He told his stories with
a good grace: But they came in his way too often. He had a very ill
opinion both of men and women; and did not think that there was either
sincerity or chastity in the world out of principle, but that some had
either the one or the other out of humour or vanity. He thought that
no body did serve him out of love: And so he was quits with all the
world, and loved others as little as he thought they loved him. He
hated business, and could not be easily brought to mind any: But when
it was necessary, and he was set to it, he would stay as long as his
Ministers had work for him. The ruine of his reign, and of all his
affairs, was occasioned chiefly by his delivering himself up at his
first coming over to a mad range of pleasure.
64.
By BURNET.
Thus lived and died King _Charles_ the second. He was the greatest
instance in history of the various revolutions of which any one man
seemed capable. He was bred up, the first twelve years of his life,
with the splendor that became the heir of so great a Crown. After
that he past thro' eighteen years in great inequalities, unhappy in
the war, in the loss of his Father, and of the Crown of _England_.
_Scotland_ did not only receive him, tho' upon terms hard of
digestion, but made an attempt upon _England_ for him, tho' a feeble
one. He lost the battle of _Worcester_ with too much indifference:
And then he shewed more care of his person, than became one who had so
much at stake. He wandered about _England_ for ten weeks after that,
hiding from place to place. But, under all the apprehensions he had
then upon him, he shewed a temper so careless, and so much turned
to levity, that he was then diverting himself with little houshold
sports, in as unconcerned a manner, as if he had made no loss, and had
been in no danger at all. He got at last out of _England_. But he had
been obliged to so many, who had been faithful to him, and careful of
him, that he seemed afterwards to resolve to make an equal return to
them all: And finding it not easy to reward them all as they deserved,
he forgot them all alike. Most Princes seem to have this pretty deep
in them; and to think that they ought never to remember past services,
but that their acceptance of them is a full reward. He, of all in our
age, exerted this piece of prerogative in the amplest manner: For he
never seemed to charge his memory, or to trouble his thoughts, with
the sense of any of the services that had been done him. While he
was abroad at _Paris_, _Colen_, or _Brussells_, he never seemed to
lay any thing to heart. He pursued all his diversions, and irregular
pleasures, in a free carrier; and seemed to be as serene under the
loss of a Crown, as the greatest Philosopher could have been. Nor did
he willingly hearken to any of those projects, with which he often
complained that his Chancellor persecuted him. That in which he seemed
most concerned was, to find money for supporting his expence. And it
was often said, that, if _Cromwell_ would have compounded the matter,
and have given him a good round pension, that he might have been
induced to resign his title to him. During his exile he delivered
himself so entirely to his pleasures, that he became incapable of
application. He spent little of his time in reading or study, and
yet less in thinking. And, in the state his affairs were then in, he
accustomed himself to say to every person, and upon all occasions,
that which he thought would please most: So that words or promises
went very easily from him. And he had so ill an opinion of mankind,
that he thought the great art of living and governing was, to manage
all things and all persons with a depth of craft and dissimulation.
And in that few men in the world could put on the appearances of
sincerity better than he could: Under which so much artifice was
usually hid, that in conclusion he could deceive none, for all were
become mistrustful of him. He had great vices, but scarce any vertues
to correct them: He had in him some vices that were less hurtful,
which corrected his more hurtful ones. He was during the active part
of life given up to sloth and lewdness to such a degree, that he hated
business, and could not bear the engaging in any thing that gave him
much trouble, or put him under any constraint. And, tho' he desired to
become absolute, and to overturn both our religion and our laws, yet
he would neither run the risque, nor give himself the trouble, which
so great a design required. He had an appearance of gentleness in his
outward deportment: But he seemed to have no bowels nor tenderness in
his nature: And in the end of his life he became cruel. He was apt to
forgive all crimes, even blood it self: Yet he never forgave any thing
that was done against himself, after his first and general act of
indemnity, which was to be reckoned as done rather upon maxims of
state than inclinations of mercy. He delivered himself up to a most
enormous course of vice, without any sort of restraint, even from
the consideration of the nearest relations: The most studied
extravagancies that way seemed, to the very last, to be much delighted
in, and pursued by him. He had the art of making all people grow fond
of him at first, by a softness in his whole way of conversation, as he
was certainly the best bred man of the age. But when it appeared how
little could be built on his promise, they were cured of the fondness
that he was apt to raise in them. When he saw young men of quality,
who had something more than ordinary in them, he drew them about him,
and set himself to corrupt them both in religion and morality; in
which he proved so unhappily successful, that he left _England_ much
changed at his death from what he had found it at his Restoration. He
loved to talk over all the stories of his life to every new man that
came about him. His stay in _Scotland_, and the share he had in the
war of _Paris_, in carrying messages from the one side to the other,
were his common topicks. He went over these in a very graceful manner;
but so often, and so copiously, that all those who had been long
accustomed to them grew weary of them: And when he entred on those
stories they usually withdrew: So that he often began them in a full
audience, and before he had done there were not above four or five
left about him: Which drew a severe jest from _Wilmot_, Earl of
_Rochester_. He said, he wondred to see a man have so good a memory
as to repeat the same story without losing the least circumstance, and
yet not remember that he had told it to the same persons the very day
before. This made him fond of strangers; for they hearkned to all
his often repeated stories, and went away as in a rapture at such an
uncommon condescension in a King.
His person and temper, his vices as well as his fortunes, resemble the
character that we have given us of _Tiberius_ so much, that it were
easy to draw the parallel between them. _Tiberius_'s banishment, and
his coming afterwards to reign, makes the comparison in that respect
come pretty near. His hating of business, and his love of pleasures;
his raising of favourites, and trusting them entirely; and his pulling
them down, and hating them excessively; his art of covering deep
designs, particularly of revenge, with an appearance of softness,
brings them so near a likeness, that I did not wonder much to observe
the resemblance of their face and person. At _Rome_ I saw one of the
last statues made for _Tiberius_, after he had lost his teeth. But,
bating the alteration which that made, it was so like King _Charles_,
that Prince _Borghese_, and _Signior Dominica_ to whom it belonged,
did agree with me in thinking that it looked like a statue made for
him.
65.