The history of the wise man.
“I now returned to Rome, but in a very different character. Fortune had
now allotted me a serious part to act. I had even in my infancy a grave
disposition, nor was I ever seen to smile, which infused an opinion into
all about me that I was a child of great solidity; some foreseeing that
I should be a judge, and others a bishop. At two years old my father
presented me with a rattle, which I broke to pieces with great
indignation. This the good parent, being extremely wise, regarded as an
eminent symptom of my wisdom, and cried out in a kind of ecstasy, ‘Well
said, boy! I warrant thou makest a great man.’
“At school I could never be persuaded to play with my mates; not that
I spent my hours in learning, to which I was not in the least addicted,
nor indeed had I any talents for it. However, the solemnity of my
carriage won so much on my master, who was a most sagacious person,
that I was his chief favorite, and my example on all occasions was
recommended to the other boys, which filled them with envy, and me with
pleasure; but, though they envied me, they all paid me that involuntary
respect which it is the curse attending this passion to bear towards its
object.
“I had now obtained universally the character of a very wise young man,
which I did not altogether purchase without pains; for the restraint I
laid on myself in abstaining from the several diversions adapted to my
years cost me many a yearning; but the pride which I inwardly enjoyed in
the fancied dignity of my character made me some amends.
“Thus I passed on, without anything very memorable happening to me,
till I arrived at the age of twenty-three, when unfortunately I fell
acquainted with a young Neapolitan lady whose name was Ariadne. Her
beauty was so exquisite that her first sight made a violent impression
on me; this was again improved by her behavior, which was most genteel,
easy, and affable: lastly, her conversation completed the conquest. In
this she discovered a strong and lively understanding, with the sweetest
and most benign temper. This lovely creature was about eighteen when I
first unhappily beheld her at Rome, on a visit to a relation with whom I
had great intimacy. As our interviews at first were extremely frequent,
my passions were captivated before I apprehended the least danger; and
the sooner probably, as the young lady herself, to whom I consulted
every method of recommendation, was not displeased with my being her
admirer.
“Ariadne, having spent three months at Rome, now returned to Naples,
bearing my heart with her: on the other hand, I had all the assurances
consistent with the constraint under which the most perfect modesty lays
a young woman, that her own heart was not entirely unaffected. I soon
found her absence gave me an uneasiness not easy to be borne or
to remove. I now first applied to diversions (of the graver sort,
particularly to music), but in vain; they rather raised my desires and
heightened my anguish. My passion at length grew so violent, that I
began to think of satisfying it. As the first step to this, I cautiously
inquired into the circumstances of Ariadne’s parents, with which I was
hitherto unacquainted: though, indeed, I did not apprehend they were
extremely great, notwithstanding the handsome appearance of their
daughter at Rome. Upon examination, her fortune exceeded my expectation,
but was not sufficient to justify my marriage with her, in the opinion
of the wise and prudent. I had now a violent struggle between wisdom
and happiness, in which, after several grievous pangs, wisdom got
the better. I could by no means prevail with myself to sacrifice that
character of profound wisdom, which I had with such uniform conduct
obtained, and with such caution hitherto preserved. I therefore resolved
to conquer my affection, whatever it cost me; and indeed it did not cost
me a little.
“While I was engaged in this conflict (for it lasted a long time)
Ariadne returned to Rome: her presence was a terrible enemy to my
wisdom, which even in her absence had with great difficulty stood
its ground. It seems (as she hath since told me in Elysium with much
merriment) I had made the same impressions on her which she had made on
me. Indeed, I believe my wisdom would have been totally subdued by this
surprise, had it not cunningly suggested to me a method of satisfying my
passion without doing any injury to my reputation. This was by engaging
her privately as a mistress, which was at that time reputable enough
at Rome, provided the affair was managed with an air of slyness and
gravity, though the secret was known to the whole city.
“I immediately set about this project, and employed every art and engine
to effect it. I had particularly bribed her priest, and an old female
acquaintance and distant relation of hers, into my interest: but all
was in vain; her virtue opposed the passion in her breast as strongly as
wisdom had opposed it in mine. She received my proposals with the utmost
disdain, and presently refused to see or hear from me any more.
“She returned again to Naples, and left me in a worse condition than
before. My days I now passed with the most irksome uneasiness, and
my nights were restless and sleepless. The story of our amour was now
pretty public, and the ladies talked of our match as certain; but my
acquaintance denied their assent, saying, ‘No, no, he is too wise to
marry so imprudently.’ This their opinion gave me, I own, very great
pleasure; but, to say the truth, scarce compensated the pangs I suffered
to preserve it.
“One day, while I was balancing with myself, and had almost resolved
to enjoy my happiness at the price of my character, a friend brought
me word that Ariadne was married. This news struck me to the soul; and
though I had resolution enough to maintain my gravity before him (for
which I suffered not a little the more), the moment I was alone I threw
myself into the most violent fit of despair, and would willingly have
parted with wisdom, fortune, and everything else, to have retrieved her;
but that was impossible, and I had now nothing but time to hope a cure
from. This was very tedious in performing it, and the longer as Ariadne
had married a Roman cavalier, was now become my near neighbor, and I had
the mortification of seeing her make the best of wives, and of having
the happiness which I had lost, every day before my eyes.
“If I suffered so much on account of my wisdom in having refused
Ariadne, I was not much more obliged to it for procuring me a rich
widow, who was recommended to me by an old friend as a very prudent
match; and, indeed, so it was, her fortune being superior to mine in
the same proportion as that of Ariadne had been inferior. I therefore
embraced this proposal, and my character of wisdom soon pleaded so
effectually for me with the widow, who was herself a woman of great
gravity and discretion, that I soon succeeded; and as soon as decency
would permit (of which this lady was the strictest observer) we were
married, being the second day of the second week of the second year
after her husband’s death; for she said she thought some period of time
above the year had a great air of decorum.
“But, prudent as this lady was, she made me miserable. Her person was
far from being lovely, but her temper was intolerable.
“During fifteen years’ habitation, I never passed a single day without
heartily cursing her, and the hour in which we came together. The only
comfort I received, in the midst of the highest torments, was from
continually hearing the prudence of my match commended by all my
acquaintance.
“Thus you see, in the affairs of love, I bought the reputation of
wisdom pretty dear. In other matters I had it somewhat cheaper; not that
hypocrisy, which was the price I gave for it, gives one no pain. I have
refused myself a thousand little amusements with a feigned contempt,
while I have really had an inclination to them. I have often almost
choked myself to restrain from laughing at a jest, and (which was
perhaps to myself the least hurtful of all my hypocrisy) have heartily
enjoyed a book in my closet which I have spoken with detestation of in
public. To sum up my history in short, as I had few adventures worth
remembering, my whole life was one constant lie; and happy would it have
been for me if I could as thoroughly have imposed on myself as I did on
others: for reflection, at every turn, would often remind me I was
not so wise as people thought me; and this considerably embittered the
pleasure I received from the public commendation of my wisdom. This
self-admonition, like a memento mori or mortalis es, must be, in my
opinion, a very dangerous enemy to flattery: indeed, a weight sufficient
to counterbalance all the false praise of the world. But whether it be
that the generality of wise men do not reflect at all, or whether they
have, from a constant imposition on others, contracted such a habit of
deceit as to deceive themselves, I will not determine: it is, I believe,
most certain that very few wise men know themselves what fools they are,
more than the world doth. Good gods! could one but see what passes in
the closet of wisdom! how ridiculous a sight must it be to behold the
wise man, who despises gratifying his palate, devouring custard; the
sober wise man with his dram-bottle; or, the anti-carnalist (if I may
be allowed the expression) chuckling over a b--dy book or picture, and
perhaps caressing his house-maid!
“But to conclude a character in which I apprehend I made as absurd a
figure as in any in which I trod the stage of earth, my wisdom at last
but an end to itself, that is, occasioned my dissolution.
“A relation of mine in the eastern part of the empire disinherited his
son, and left me his heir. This happened in the depth of winter, when
I was in my grand climacteric, and had just recovered of a dangerous
disease. As I had all the reason imaginable to apprehend the family of
the deceased would conspire against me, and embezzle as much as they
could, I advised with a grave and wise friend what was proper to be
done; whether I should go myself, or employ a notary on this occasion,
and defer my journey to the spring. To say the truth, I was most
inclined to the latter; the rather as my circumstances were extremely
flourishing, as I was advanced in years, and had not one person in the
world to whom I should with pleasure bequeath any fortune at my death.
“My friend told me he thought my question admitted of no manner of
doubt or debate; that common prudence absolutely required my immediate
departure; adding, that if the same good luck had happened to him he
would have been already on his journey; ‘for,’ continued he, ‘a man who
knows the world so well as you, would be inexcusable to give persons
such an opportunity of cheating you, who, you must be assured, will
be too well inclined; and as for employing a notary, remember that
excellent maxim, Ne facias per alium, quod fieri potest per te. I
own the badness of the season and your very late recovery are unlucky
circumstances; but a wise man must get over difficulties when necessity
obliges him to encounter them.’
“I was immediately determined by this opinion. The duty of a wise man
made an irresistible impression, and I took the necessity for granted
without examination. I accordingly set forward the next morning; very
tempestuous weather soon overtook me; I had not traveled three days
before I relapsed into my fever, and died.
“I was now as cruelly disappointed by Minos as I had formerly been
happily so. I advanced with the utmost confidence to the gate, and
really imagined I should have been admitted by the wisdom of my
countenance, even without any questions asked: but this was not my case;
and, to my great surprise, Minos, with a menacing voice, called out to
me, ‘You Mr. there, with the grave countenance, whither so fast, pray?
Will you please, before you move any farther forwards, to give me a
short account of your transactions below?’ I then began, and recounted
to him my whole history, still expecting at the end of every period that
the gate would be ordered to fly open; but I was obliged to go quite
through with it, and then Minos after some little consideration spoke to
me as follows:--
“‘You, Mr. Wiseman, stand forth if you please. Believe me, sir, a trip
back again to earth will be one of the wisest steps you ever took,
and really more to the honor of your wisdom than any you have hitherto
taken. On the other side, nothing could be simpler than to endeavor at
Elysium; for who but a fool would carry a commodity, which is of such
infinite value in one place, into another where it is of none? But,
without attempting to offend your gravity with a jest, you must return
to the place from whence you came, for Elysium was never designed for
those who are too wise to be happy.’
“This sentence confounded me greatly, especially as it seemed to
threaten me with carrying my wisdom back again to earth. I told the
judge, though he would not admit me at the gate, I hoped I had committed
no crime while alive which merited my being wise any longer. He answered
me, I must take my chance as to that matter, and immediately we turned
our backs to each other.”