and swellings of the heart, which passions of all kinds do cause and
induce. We know diseases of stoppings, and suffocations, are the most
dangerous in the body; and it is not much otherwise in the mind: you may
take sarza to open the liver; steel to open the spleen; flower of
sulphur for the lungs; castoreum for the brain; but no receipt openeth
the heart, but a true friend; to whom you may impart griefs, joys,
fears, hopes, suspicions, counsels, and whatsoever lieth upon the heart,
to oppress it, in a kind of civil shrift or confession.
It is a strange thing to observe, how high a rate great kings and
monarchs, do
[Sidenote: The friendship of princes]
set upon this fruit of friendship, whereof we speak: so great, as they
purchase it, many times, at the hazard of their own safety, and
greatness. For princes, in regard of the distance of their fortune, from
that of their subjects and servants, cannot gather this fruit; except
(to make themselves capable thereof) they raise some persons, to be as
it were companions, and almost equals to themselves, which many times
sorteth to inconvenience. The modern languages give unto such persons
the name of favourites, or privadoes; as if it were matter of grace, or
conversation. But the Roman name attaineth the true use, and cause
thereof; naming them _participes curarum_; for it is that which tieth
the knot. And we see plainly, that this hath been done, not by weak and
passionate princes only, but by
[Sidenote: Sylla and Pompey]
the wisest, and most politic that ever reigned; who have oftentimes
joined to themselves some of their servants; whom both themselves have
called friends; and allowed others likewise to call them in the same
manner; using the word which is received between private men.
L. Sylla, when he commanded Rome, raised Pompey (after surnamed the
Great) to that height, that Pompey vaunted himself for Sylla’s
overmatch. For when he had carried the consulship for a friend of his,
against the pursuit of Sylla, and that Sylla did a little resent
thereat, and began to speak great, Pompey turned upon him again, and in
effect bade him be quiet; ‘for that more men adored the sun rising, than
the sun setting.’ With Julius Cæsar, Decimus Brutus had obtained that
interest, as he set him down, in his testament,
[Sidenote: Mæcenas]
for heir in remainder, after his nephew. And this was the man that had
power with him to draw him forth to his death. For when Cæsar would have
discharged the senate, in regard of some ill presages, and specially a
dream of Calpurnia, this man lifted him gently by the arm, out of his
chair, telling him, he hoped he would not dismiss the senate, till his
wife had dreamed a better dream. And it seemeth, his favour was so
great, as Antonius in a letter, which is recited verbatim, in one of
Cicero’s Philippics, calleth him _venefica_, witch; as if he had
enchanted Cæsar. Augustus raised Agrippa (though of mean birth) to that
height, as when he consulted with Mæcenas, about the marriage of his
daughter Julia, Mæcenas took the liberty to tell him; ‘That he must
either marry his
[Sidenote: Friendship’s altar]
daughter to Agrippa, or take away his life, there was no third way, he
had made him so great.’ With Tiberius Cæsar, Sejanus had ascended to
that height, as they two were termed and reckoned as a pair of friends.
Tiberius in a letter to him saith; ‘_Hæc pro amicitiâ nostrâ non
occultavi_.’ And the whole senate dedicated an altar to friendship as to
a goddess, in respect of the great dearness of friendship between them
two. The like or more was between Septimius Severus, and Plautianus. For
he forced his eldest son to marry the daughter of Plautianus; and would
often maintain Plautianus, in doing affronts to his son; and did write
also in a letter to the senate, by these words; ‘I love the man so well,
as I wish he may overlive me.’ Now if these princes had been as a
Trajan, or a Marcus
[Sidenote: The comfort of friendship]
Aurelius, a man might have thought that this had proceeded of an
abundant goodness of nature; but being men so wise, of such strength and
severity of mind, and so extreme lovers of themselves, as all these
were; it proveth most plainly, that they found their own felicity
(though as great as ever happened to mortal men) but as a half-piece,
except they might have a friend to make it entire: and yet, which is
more, they were princes that had wives, sons, nephews; and yet all these
could not supply the comfort of friendship.
It is not to be forgotten, what Commineus observeth, of his first master
Duke Charles the Hardy; namely, that he would communicate his secrets
with none; and, least of all, those secrets which troubled him most.
Whereupon
[Sidenote: Of communicating one’s self]
he goeth on, and saith, that towards his latter time; ‘that closeness
did impair, and a little perish his understanding.’ Surely Commineus
might have made the same judgment also, if it had pleased him, of his
second master Lewis the Eleventh, whose closeness was indeed his
tormentor. The parable of Pythagoras is dark, but true; ‘_Cor ne edito_’
(eat not the heart). Certainly, if a man would give it a hard phrase,
those that want friends to open themselves unto are cannibals of their
own hearts. But one thing is most admirable (wherewith I will conclude
this first fruit of friendship), which is, that this communicating of a
man’s self to his friend, works two contrary effects; for it redoubleth
joys, and cutteth griefs in halves. For there is no man, that imparteth
his joys to his friend, but
[Sidenote: Friendship maketh a fair day]
he joyeth the more; and no man, that imparteth his griefs to his friend,
but he grieveth the less. So that it is, in truth of operation upon a
man’s mind, of like virtue as the alchemists use to attribute to their
stone for man’s body; that it worketh all contrary effects, but still to
the good, and benefit of nature. But yet, without praying in aid of
alchemists, there is a manifest image of this in the ordinary course of
nature. For in bodies union strengtheneth and cherisheth any natural
action; and, on the other side, weakeneth and dulleth any violent
impression: and even so is it of minds.
The second fruit of friendship is healthful and sovereign for the
understanding, as the first is for the affections. For friendship maketh
indeed a fair day in the affections, from storm and tempests: but
[Sidenote: Of discourse with a friend]
it maketh daylight in the understanding, out of darkness and confusion
of thoughts. Neither is this to be understood only of faithful counsel,
which a man receiveth from his friend; but before you come to that,
certain it is, that whosoever hath his mind fraught with many thoughts,
his wits and understanding do clarify and break up, in the communicating
and discoursing with another: he tosseth his thoughts more easily; he
marshalleth them more orderly; he seeth how they look when they are
turned into words; finally, he waxeth wiser than himself; and that more
by an hour’s discourse, than by a day’s meditation. It was well said by
Themistocles to the King of Persia; ‘That speech was like cloth of
Arras, opened, and put abroad; whereby the imagery doth
[Sidenote: Of friendly counsel]
appear in figure; whereas in thoughts, they lie but as in packs.’
Neither is this second fruit of friendship, in opening the
understanding, restrained only to such friends as are able to give a man
counsel: (they indeed are best) but even, without that, a man learneth
of himself, and bringeth his own thoughts to light, and whetteth his
wits as against a stone, which itself cuts not. In a word, a man were
better relate himself to a statue, or picture, than to suffer his
thoughts to pass in smother.
Add now, to make this second fruit of friendship complete, that other
point, which lieth more open, and falleth within vulgar observation;
which is faithful counsel from a friend. Heraclitus saith well, in one
of his enigmas; ‘Dry light is ever the best.’ And certain it is, that
[Sidenote: Of friendly counsel]
the light that a man receiveth by counsel from another, is drier, and
purer, than that which cometh from his own understanding, and judgment;
which is ever infused and drenched in his affections and customs. So as,
there is as much difference between the counsel that a friend giveth,
and that a man giveth himself, as there is between the counsel of a
friend, and of a flatterer. For there is no such flatterer as is a man’s
self; and there is no such remedy, against flattery of a man’s self, as
the liberty of a friend. Counsel is of two sorts; the one concerning
manners, the other concerning business. For the first; the best
preservative to keep the mind in health is the faithful admonition of a
friend. The calling of a man’s self to a strict account is a medicine
sometime too piercing and
[Sidenote: Of admonition]
corrosive. Reading good books of morality is a little flat, and dead.
Observing our faults in others is sometimes improper for our case. But
the best receipt (best (I say) to work, and best to take) is the
admonition of a friend. It is a strange thing to behold, what gross
errors, and extreme absurdities, many (especially of the greater sort)
do commit, for want of a friend, to tell them of them; to the great
damage, both of their fame and fortune. For, as St. James saith, they
are as men, ‘that look sometimes into a glass, and presently forget
their own shape, and favour.’ As for business, a man may think, if he
will, that two eyes see no more than one; or that a gamester seeth
always more than a looker-on; or that a man in anger is as wise as he
that hath said over the four-and-twenty letters; or that a
[Sidenote: The help of good counsel]
musket may be shot off as well upon the arm, as upon a rest; and such
other fond and high imaginations, to think himself all in all. But when
all is done, the help of good counsel is that which setteth business
straight. And if any man think that he will take counsel, but it shall
be by pieces; asking counsel in one business of one man, and in another
business of another man: it is well (that is to say, better perhaps than
if he asked none at all); but he runneth two dangers: one, that he shall
not be faithfully counselled; for it is a rare thing, except it be from
a perfect and entire friend, to have counsel given, but such as shall be
bowed and crooked to some ends, which he hath that giveth it. The other,
that he shall have counsel given, hurtful and unsafe (though with good
meaning), and mixed,
[Sidenote: Scattered counsels to be avoided]
partly of mischief, and partly of remedy: even as if you would call a
physician, that is thought good, for the cure of the disease you
complain of, but is unacquainted with your body; and therefore, may put
you in way for a present cure, but overthroweth your health in some
other kind; and so cure the disease, and kill the patient. But a friend,
that is wholly acquainted with a man’s estate, will beware by furthering
any present business how he dasheth upon other inconvenience. And
therefore, rest not upon scattered counsels; they will rather distract,
and mislead, than settle and direct.
After these two noble fruits of friendship (peace in the affections, and
support of the judgment) followeth the last fruit; which is like the
pomegranate, full of many kernels; I mean aid, and bearing
[Sidenote: Friendship’s uses]
a part, in all actions, and occasions. Here, the best way to represent
to life the manifold use of friendship is to cast and see how many
things there are which a man cannot do himself; and then it will appear,
that it was a sparing speech of the ancients to say, ‘That a friend is
another himself’: for that a friend is far more than himself. Men have
their time, and die many times in desire of some things which they
principally take to heart; the bestowing of a child, the finishing of a
work, or the like. If a man have a true friend, he may rest almost
secure that the care of those things will continue after him. So that a
man hath as it were two lives in his desires. A man hath a body, and
that body is confined to a place; but where friendship is, all offices
of life are as it were granted to him, and his deputy. For he may
exercise
[Sidenote: That friendship is valuable]
them by his friend. How many things are there which a man cannot, with
any face or comeliness, say or do himself? A man can scarce allege his
own merits with modesty, much less extol them: a man cannot sometimes
brook to supplicate or beg: and a number of the like. But all these
things are graceful in a friend’s mouth, which are blushing in a man’s
own. So again, a man’s person hath many proper relations, which he
cannot put off. A man cannot speak to his son, but as a father; to his
wife, but as a husband; to his enemy, but upon terms: whereas a friend
may speak, as the case requires, and not as it sorteth with the person.
But to enumerate these things were endless: I have given the rule, where
a man cannot fitly play his own part: if he have not a friend, he may
quit the stage.
XII
OF FRIENDSHIP
MICHAEL, LORD OF MONTAIGNE
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Society]
There is nothing to which Nature hath more addressed us than to society.
And _Aristotle_ saith, _that perfect Law-givers have had more regardful
care of friendship than of justice_. And the utmost drift of its
perfection is this. For generally, all those amities which are forged
and nourished by voluptuousness or profit, public or private need, are
thereby so much the less fair and generous, and so much the less true
amities, in that they intermeddle other causes, scope, and fruit with
friendship, than itself alone: Nor do those four ancient kinds of
friendships, _Natural_, _social_, _hospitable_, and _venerian_, either
particularly or conjointly
[Sidenote: The chief offices of friendship]
beseem the same. That from children to parents may rather be termed
respect: Friendship is nourished by communication, which by reason of
the over-great disparity cannot be found in them, and would happily
offend the duties of nature: for neither all the secret thoughts of
parents can be communicated unto children, lest it might engender an
unbeseeming familiarity between them, nor the admonitions and
corrections (which are the chiefest offices of friendship) could be
exercised from children to parents. There have nations been found,
where, by custom, children killed their parents, and others, where
parents slew their children, thereby to avoid the hindrance of
enter-bearing one another in aftertimes: for naturally one dependeth
from the ruin of another.... Verily the name of Brother is
[Sidenote: A glorious name]
a glorious name, and full of loving kindness, and therefore did he and I
term one another sworn brother: but this commixture, dividence, and
sharing of goods, this joining wealth to wealth, and that the riches of
one shall be the poverty of another, doth exceedingly distemper and
distract all brotherly alliance, and lovely conjunction: If brothers
should conduct the progress of their advancement and thrift in one same
path and course, they must necessarily oftentimes hinder and cross one
another. Moreover, the correspondency and relation that begetteth these
true and mutually perfect amities, why shall it be found in these? The
father and the son may very well be of a far differing complexion, and
so [may] brothers: He is my son, he is my kinsman; but he may be a fool,
a bad, or a
[Sidenote: Father and son]
peevish-minded man. And then according as they are friendships, which
the law and duty of nature doth command us, so much the less of our own
voluntary choice and liberty is there required unto it: And our genuine
liberty hath no production more properly her own, than that of affection
and amity. Sure I am, that concerning the same I have assayed all that
might be, having had the best and most indulgent father that ever was,
even to his extremest age, and who from father to son was descended of a
famous house, and touching this rare-seen virtue of brotherly concord
very exemplary:
‘--_et ipse_
_Notus in fratres animi paterni_.’
HOR. ii. _Od._ ii. 6.
To his brothers known so kind,
As to bear a father’s mind.
To compare the affection toward
[Sidenote: True friendship]
women unto it, although it proceed from our own free choice, a man
cannot, nor may it be placed in this rank: Her fire, I confess it
‘(--_neque enim est dea nescia nostri_
_Quæ dulcem curis miscet amaritiem_.)’
(Nor is that Goddess ignorant of me,
Whose bitter-sweets with my cares mixed be.)
to be more active, more fervent, and more sharp. But it is a rash and
wavering fire, waving and divers: the fire of an ague subject to fits
and stints, and that hath but slender hold-fast of us. In true
friendship, it is a general and universal heat, and equally tempered, a
constant and settled heat, all pleasure and smoothness, that hath no
pricking or stinging in it, which the more it is in lustful love, the
more is it but a ranging and mad desire in following that which flies
us,
[Sidenote: The enjoyment of friendship]
‘_Come segue la lepre il cacciatore_
_Al freddo, al caldo, alla montagna, al lito,_
_Ne piu l’estima poi che presa vede,_
_E sol dietro a chi fugge affretta il piede._’
ARIOS., can. x. st. 7.
Ev’n as the huntsman doth the hare pursue,
In cold, in heat, on mountains, on the shore,
But cares no more, when he her ta’en espies,
Speeding his pace, only at that which flies.
As soon as it creepeth into the terms of friendship, that is to say, in
the agreement of wills, it languisheth and vanisheth away: enjoying doth
lose it, as having a corporal end, and subject to sacietie. On the other
side, friendship is enjoyed according as it is desired, it is neither
bred, nor nourished, nor increaseth but in jovissance, as being
spiritual, and the mind being refined by use and custom. Under this
chief amity, these fading affections have sometimes found place in me,
lest I should speak of him, who in his verses
[Sidenote: Marriage and friendship]
speaks but too much of it. So are these two passions entered into me in
knowledge one of another, but in comparison never: the first flying a
high, and keeping a proud pitch, disdainfully beholding the other to
pass her points far under it. Concerning marriage, besides that it is a
covenant which hath nothing free but the entrance, the continuance being
forced and constrained, depending elsewhere than from our will, and a
match ordinarily concluded to other ends: A thousand strange knots are
therein commonly to be unknit, able to break the web, and trouble the
whole course of a lively affection; whereas in friendship, there is no
commerce or business depending on the same, but itself. Seeing (to speak
truly) that the ordinary sufficiency of women, cannot answer this
conference
[Sidenote: Complete friendship]
and communication, the nurse of this sacred bond: nor seem their minds
strong enough to endure the pulling of a knot so hard, so fast, and
durable. And truly, if without that, such a genuine and voluntary
acquaintance might be contracted, where not only minds had this entire
jovissance, but also bodies, a share of the alliance, and where a man
might wholly be engaged: It is certain, that friendship would thereby be
more complete and full: But this sex could never yet by any example
attain unto it, and is by ancient schools rejected thence. And this
other Greek licence is justly abhorred by our customs, which
notwithstanding, because according to use it had so necessary a
disparity of ages, and difference of offices between lovers, did no more
sufficiently answer the perfect
[Sidenote: External beauty]
union and agreement, which here we require: ‘_Quis est enim iste amor
amicitiæ? cur neque deformem adolescentem quisquam amat, neque formosum
senem?_’ (CIC., _Tusc. Que._ iv.). _For, what love is this of
friendship? why doth no man love either a deformed young man, or a
beautiful old man?_ For even the picture the _Academie_ makes of it,
will not (as I suppose) disavow me, to say thus in her behalf: That the
first fury, inspired by the son of _Venus_ in the lover’s heart, upon
the object of tender youth’s-flower, to which they allow all insolent
and passionate violences, an immoderate heat may produce, was simply
grounded upon an external beauty; a false image of corporal generation:
for in the spirit it had no power, the sight whereof was yet concealed,
which was but in his
[Sidenote: The lover]
infancy, and before the age of budding. For, if this fury did seize upon
a base minded courage, the means of its pursuit, [were] riches, gifts,
favour to the advancement of dignities, and such like vile merchandice,
which they reprove. If it fell into a most generous mind, the
interpositions were likewise generous: Philosophical instructions,
documents to reverence religion, to obey the laws, to die for the good
of his country: examples of valour, wisdom and justice. The lover
endeavouring and studying to make himself acceptable by the good grace
and beauty of his mind (that of his body being long since decayed)
hoping by this mental society to establish a more firm and permanent
bargain. When this pursuit attained the effect in due season (for by not
requiring in a
[Sidenote: Spiritual beauty]
lover, he should bring leasure and discretion in his enterprise, they
require it exactly in the beloved; forasmuch as he was to judge of an
internal beauty, of a difficile knowledge, and abstruse discovery)
[then] by the interposition of a spiritual beauty was the desire of a
spiritual conception engendred in the beloved. The latter was here
chiefest; the corporal, accidental and second, altogether contrary to
the lover. And therefore do they prefer the beloved, and verify that the
gods likewise prefer the same: and greatly blame the Poet _Æschylus_,
who in the love between _Achilles_ and _Patroclus_ ascribeth the lover’s
part unto _Achilles_, who was in the first and beardless youth of his
adolescency, and the fairest of the Græcians. After this general
community, the mistress and
[Sidenote: A definition of love]
worthiest part of it, predominant and exercising her offices (they say
the most availful commodity did thereby redound both to the private and
public). That it was the force of countries received the use of it, and
the principal defence of equity and liberty: witness the comfortable
loves of _Hermodius_ and _Aristogiton_. Therefore name they it sacred
and divine, and it concerns not them whether the violence of tyrants, or
the demisness of the people be against them: To conclude, all can be
alleaged in favour of the Academy, is to say, that it was a love ending
in friendship, a thing which hath no bad reference unto the Stoical
definition of love: ‘_Amorem conatum esse amicitiæ faciendæ ex
pulchritudinis specie_’ (CIC., _ibid._). _That love is an endeavour of
making friendship, by the shew of beauty._
[Sidenote: How friendships are to be judged]
I return to my description in a more equitable and equal manner.
‘_Omnino amicitiæ corroboratis jam confirmatisque ingeniis et ætatibus
judicandæ sunt_’ (CIC., _Amic._). _Clearly friendships are to be judged
by wits, and ages already strengthened and confirmed._ As for the rest,
those we ordinarily call friends and amities, are but acquaintances and
familiarities, tied together by some occasion or commodities, by means
whereof our minds are entertained. In the amity I speak of, they
intermix and confound themselves one in the other, with so universal a
commixture, that they wear out, and can no more find the seam that hath
conjoined them together. If a man urge me to tell wherefore I loved him,
I feel it cannot be expressed, but by answering: Because it was he,
because it was myself.
[Sidenote: A preordained friendship]