sort of weapons: she forms and fashions me by use, hardens and habituates
me, so that I can know within a little for how much I shall be quit. For
want of natural memory, I make one of paper; and as any new symptom
happens in my disease, I set it down, whence it falls out that, having
now almost passed through all sorts of examples, if anything striking
threatens me, turning over these little loose notes, as the Sybilline
leaves, I never fail of finding matter of consolation from some
favourable prognostic in my past experience. Custom also makes me hope
better for the time to come; for, the conduct of this clearing out having
so long continued, 'tis to be believed that nature will not alter her
course, and that no other worse accident will happen than what I already
feel. And besides, the condition of this disease is not unsuitable to my
prompt and sudden complexion: when it assaults me gently, I am afraid,
for 'tis then for a great while; but it has, naturally, brisk and
vigorous excesses; it claws me to purpose for a day or two. My kidneys
held out an age without alteration; and I have almost now lived another,
since they changed their state; evils have their periods, as well as
benefits: peradventure, the infirmity draws towards an end. Age weakens
the heat of my stomach, and, its digestion being less perfect, sends this
crude matter to my kidneys; why, at a certain revolution, may not the
heat of my kidneys be also abated, so that they can no more petrify my
phlegm, and nature find out some other way of purgation. Years have
evidently helped me to drain certain rheums; and why not these excrements
which furnish matter for gravel? But is there anything delightful in
comparison of this sudden change, when from an excessive pain, I come, by
the voiding of a stone, to recover, as by a flash of lightning, the
beautiful light of health, so free and full, as it happens in our sudden
and sharpest colics? Is there anything in the pain suffered, that one
can counterpoise to the pleasure of so sudden an amendment? Oh, how much
does health seem the more pleasant to me, after a sickness so near and so
contiguous, that I can distinguish them in the presence of one another,
in their greatest show; when they appear in emulation, as if to make head
against and dispute it with one another! As the Stoics say that vices
are profitably introduced to give value to and to set off virtue, we can,
with better reason and less temerity of conjecture, say that nature has
given us pain for the honour and service of pleasure and indolence. When
Socrates, after his fetters were knocked off, felt the pleasure of that
itching which the weight of them had caused in his legs, he rejoiced to
consider the strict alliance betwixt pain and pleasure; how they are
linked together by a necessary connection, so that by turns they follow
and mutually beget one another; and cried out to good AEsop, that he
ought out of this consideration to have taken matter for a fine fable.
The worst that I see in other diseases is, that they are not so grievous
in their effect as they are in their issue: a man is a whole year in
recovering, and all the while full of weakness and fear. There is so
much hazard, and so many steps to arrive at safety, that there is no end
on't before they have unmuffled you of a kerchief, and then of a cap,
before they allow you to walk abroad and take the air, to drink wine, to
lie with your wife, to eat melons, 'tis odds you relapse into some new
distemper. The stone has this privilege, that it carries itself clean
off: whereas the other maladies always leave behind them some impression
and alteration that render the body subject to a new disease, and lend a
hand to one another. Those are excusable that content themselves with
possessing us, without extending farther and introducing their followers;
but courteous and kind are those whose passage brings us any profitable
issue. Since I have been troubled with the stone, I find myself freed
from all other accidents, much more, methinks, than I was before, and
have never had any fever since; I argue that the extreme and frequent
vomitings that I am subject to purge me: and, on the other hand, my
distastes for this and that, and the strange fasts I am forced to keep,
digest my peccant humours, and nature, with those stones, voids whatever
there is in me superfluous and hurtful. Let them never tell me that it
is a medicine too dear bought: for what avail so many stinking draughts,
so many caustics, incisions, sweats, setons, diets, and so many other
methods of cure, which often, by reason we are not able to undergo their
violence and importunity, bring us to our graves? So that when I have
the stone, I look upon it as physic; when free from it, as an absolute
deliverance.
And here is another particular benefit of my disease; which is, that it
almost plays its game by itself, and lets 'me play mine, if I have only
courage to do it; for, in its greatest fury, I have endured it ten hours
together on horseback. Do but endure only; you need no other regimen
play, run, dine, do this and t'other, if you can; your debauch will do
you more good than harm; say as much to one that has the pox, the gout,
or hernia! The other diseases have more universal obligations; rack our
actions after another kind of manner, disturb our whole order, and to
their consideration engage the whole state of life: this only pinches the
skin; it leaves the understanding and the will wholly at our own
disposal, and the tongue, the hands, and the feet; it rather awakens than
stupefies you. The soul is struck with the ardour of a fever,
overwhelmed with an epilepsy, and displaced by a sharp megrim, and, in
short, astounded by all the diseases that hurt the whole mass and the
most noble parts; this never meddles with the soul; if anything goes
amiss with her, 'tis her own fault; she betrays, dismounts, and abandons
herself. There are none but fools who suffer themselves to be persuaded
that this hard and massive body which is baked in our kidneys is to be
dissolved by drinks; wherefore, when it is once stirred, there is nothing
to be done but to give it passage; and, for that matter, it will itself
make one.
I moreover observe this particular convenience in it, that it is a
disease wherein we have little to guess at: we are dispensed from the
trouble into which other diseases throw us by the uncertainty of their
causes, conditions, and progress; a trouble that is infinitely painful:
we have no need of consultations and doctoral interpretations; the senses
well enough inform us both what it is and where it is.
By suchlike arguments, weak and strong, as Cicero with the disease of his
old age, I try to rock asleep and amuse my imagination, and to dress its
wounds. If I find them worse tomorrow, I will provide new stratagems.
That this is true: I am come to that pass of late, that the least motion
forces pure blood out of my kidneys: what of that? I move about,
nevertheless, as before, and ride after my hounds with a juvenile and
insolent ardour; and hold that I have very good satisfaction for an
accident of that importance, when it costs me no more but a dull
heaviness and uneasiness in that part; 'tis some great stone that wastes
and consumes the substance of my kidneys and my life, which I by little
and little evacuate, not without some natural pleasure, as an excrement
henceforward superfluous and troublesome. Now if I feel anything
stirring, do not fancy that I trouble myself to consult my pulse or my
urine, thereby to put myself upon some annoying prevention; I shall soon
enough feel the pain, without making it more and longer by the disease of
fear. He who fears he shall suffer, already suffers what he fears. To
which may be added that the doubts and ignorance of those who take upon
them to expound the designs of nature and her internal progressions, and
the many false prognostics of their art, ought to give us to understand
that her ways are inscrutable and utterly unknown; there is great
uncertainty, variety, and obscurity in what she either promises or
threatens. Old age excepted, which is an indubitable sign of the
approach of death, in all other accidents I see few signs of the future,
whereon we may ground our divination. I only judge of myself by actual
sensation, not by reasoning: to what end, since I am resolved to bring
nothing to it but expectation and patience? Will you know how much I get
by this? observe those who do otherwise, and who rely upon so many
diverse persuasions and counsels; how often the imagination presses upon
them without any bodily pain. I have many times amused myself, being
well and in safety, and quite free from these dangerous attacks in
communicating them to the physicians as then beginning to discover
themselves in me; I underwent the decree of their dreadful conclusions,
being all the while quite at my ease, and so much the more obliged to the
favour of God and better satisfied of the vanity of this art.
There is nothing that ought so much to be recommended to youth as
activity and vigilance our life is nothing but movement. I bestir myself
with great difficulty, and am slow in everything, whether in rising,
going to bed, or eating: seven of the clock in the morning is early for
me, and where I rule, I never dine before eleven, nor sup till after six.
I formerly attributed the cause of the fevers and other diseases I fell
into to the heaviness that long sleeping had brought upon me, and have
ever repented going to sleep again in the morning. Plato is more angry
at excess of sleeping than at excess of drinking. I love to lie hard and
alone, even without my wife, as kings do; pretty well covered with
clothes. They never warm my bed, but since I have grown old they give me
at need cloths to lay to my feet and stomach. They found fault with the
great Scipio that he was a great sleeper; not, in my opinion, for any
other reason than that men were displeased that he alone should have
nothing in him to be found fault with. If I am anything fastidious in my
way of living 'tis rather in my lying than anything else; but generally
I give way and accommodate myself as well as any one to necessity.
Sleeping has taken up a great part of my life, and I yet continue, at the
age I now am, to sleep eight or nine hours at one breath. I wean myself
with utility from this proneness to sloth, and am evidently the better
for so doing. I find the change a little hard indeed, but in three days
'tis over; and I see but few who live with less sleep, when need
requires, and who more constantly exercise themselves, or to whom long
journeys are less troublesome. My body is capable of a firm, but not of
a violent or sudden agitation. I escape of late from violent exercises,
and such as make me sweat: my limbs grow weary before they are warm.
I can stand a whole day together, and am never weary of walking; but from
my youth I have ever preferred to ride upon paved roads; on foot, I get
up to the haunches in dirt, and little fellows as I am are subject in the
streets to be elbowed and jostled for want of presence; I have ever loved
to repose myself, whether sitting or lying, with my heels as high or
higher than my seat.
There is no profession as pleasant as the military, a profession both
noble in its execution (for valour is the stoutest, proudest, and most
generous of all virtues), and noble in its cause: there is no utility
either more universal or more just than the protection of the peace and
greatness of one's country. The company of so many noble, young, and
active men delights you; the ordinary sight of so many tragic spectacles;
the freedom of the conversation, without art; a masculine and
unceremonious way of living, please you; the variety of a thousand
several actions; the encouraging harmony of martial music that ravishes
and inflames both your ears and souls; the honour of this occupation,
nay, even its hardships and difficulties, which Plato holds so light that
in his Republic he makes women and children share in them, are delightful
to you. You put yourself voluntarily upon particular exploits and
hazards, according as you judge of their lustre and importance; and, a
volunteer, find even life itself excusably employed:
"Pulchrumque mori succurrit in armis."
["'Tis fine to die sword in hand." ("And he remembers that it
is honourable to die in arms.")--AEneid, ii. 317.]
To fear common dangers that concern so great a multitude of men; not to
dare to do what so many sorts of souls, what a whole people dare, is for
a heart that is poor and mean beyond all measure: company encourages even
children. If others excel you in knowledge, in gracefulness, in
strength, or fortune, you have alternative resources at your disposal;
but to give place to them in stability of mind, you can blame no one for
that but yourself. Death is more abject, more languishing and
troublesome, in bed than in a fight: fevers and catarrhs as painful and
mortal as a musket-shot. Whoever has fortified himself valiantly to bear
the accidents of common life need not raise his courage to be a soldier:
"Vivere, mi Lucili, militare est."
["To live, my Lucilius, is (to make war) to be a soldier."
--Seneca, Ep., 96.]
I do not remember that I ever had the itch, and yet scratching is one of
nature's sweetest gratifications, and so much at hand; but repentance
follows too near. I use it most in my ears, which are at intervals apt
to itch.
I came into the world with all my senses entire, even to perfection. My
stomach is commodiously good, as also is my head and my breath; and, for
the most part, uphold themselves so in the height of fevers. I have
passed the age to which some nations, not without reason, have prescribed
so just a term of life that they would not suffer men to exceed it; and
yet I have some intermissions, though short and inconstant, so clean and
sound as to be little inferior to the health and pleasantness of my
youth. I do not speak of vigour and sprightliness; 'tis not reason they
should follow me beyond their limits:
"Non hoc amplius est liminis, aut aquae
Coelestis, patiens latus."
["I am no longer able to stand waiting at a door in the rain."
--Horace, Od., iii. 10, 9.]
My face and eyes presently discover my condition; all my alterations
begin there, and appear somewhat worse than they really are; my friends
often pity me before I feel the cause in myself. My looking-glass does
not frighten me; for even in my youth it has befallen me more than once
to have a scurvy complexion and of ill augury, without any great
consequence, so that the physicians, not finding any cause within
answerable to that outward alteration, attributed it to the mind and to
some secret passion that tormented me within; but they were deceived.
If my body would govern itself as well, according to my rule, as my mind
does, we should move a little more at our ease. My mind was then not
only free from trouble, but, moreover, full of joy and satisfaction,
as it commonly is, half by its complexion, half by its design:
"Nec vitiant artus aegrae contagia mentis."
["Nor do the troubles of the body ever affect my mind."
--Ovid, Trist., iii. 8, 25.]
I am of the opinion that this temperature of my soul has often raised my
body from its lapses; this is often depressed; if the other be not brisk
and gay, 'tis at least tranquil and at rest. I had a quartan ague four
or five months, that made me look miserably ill; my mind was always, if
not calm, yet pleasant. If the pain be without me, the weakness and
languor do not much afflict me; I see various corporal faintings, that
beget a horror in me but to name, which yet I should less fear than a
thousand passions and agitations of the mind that I see about me. I make
up my mind no more to run; 'tis enough that I can crawl along; nor do I
more complain of the natural decadence that I feel in myself:
"Quis tumidum guttur miratur in Alpibus?"
["Who is surprised to see a swollen goitre in the Alps?"
--Juvenal, xiii. 162.]
than I regret that my duration shall not be as long and entire as that of
an oak.
I have no reason to complain of my imagination; I have had few thoughts
in my life that have so much as broken my sleep, except those of desire,
which have awakened without afflicting me. I dream but seldom, and then
of chimaeras and fantastic things, commonly produced from pleasant
thoughts, and rather ridiculous than sad; and I believe it to be true
that dreams are faithful interpreters of our inclinations; but there is
art required to sort and understand them
"Res, quae in vita usurpant homines, cogitant, curant, vident,
Quaeque agunt vigilantes, agitantque, ea si cui in somno accidunt,
Minus mirandum est."
["'Tis less wonder, what men practise, think, care for, see, and do
when waking, (should also run in their heads and disturb them when
they are asleep) and which affect their feelings, if they happen to
any in sleep."--Attius, cited in Cicero, De Divin., i. 22.]
Plato, moreover, says, that 'tis the office of prudence to draw
instructions of divination of future things from dreams: I don't know
about this, but there are wonderful instances of it that Socrates,
Xenophon, and Aristotle, men of irreproachable authority, relate.
Historians say that the Atlantes never dream; who also never eat any
animal food, which I add, forasmuch as it is, peradventure, the reason
why they never dream, for Pythagoras ordered a certain preparation of
diet to beget appropriate dreams. Mine are very gentle, without any
agitation of body or expression of voice. I have seen several of my time
wonderfully disturbed by them. Theon the philosopher walked in his
sleep, and so did Pericles servant, and that upon the tiles and top of
the house.
I hardly ever choose my dish at table, but take the next at hand, and
unwillingly change it for another. A confusion of meats and a clatter of
dishes displease me as much as any other confusion: I am easily satisfied
with few dishes: and am an enemy to the opinion of Favorinus, that in a
feast they should snatch from you the meat you like, and set a plate of
another sort before you; and that 'tis a pitiful supper, if you do not
sate your guests with the rumps of various fowls, the beccafico only
deserving to be all eaten. I usually eat salt meats, yet I prefer bread
that has no salt in it; and my baker never sends up other to my table,
contrary to the custom of the country. In my infancy, what they had most
to correct in me was the refusal of things that children commonly best
love, as sugar, sweetmeats, and march-panes. My tutor contended with
this aversion to delicate things, as a kind of over-nicety; and indeed
'tis nothing else but a difficulty of taste, in anything it applies
itself to. Whoever cures a child of an obstinate liking for brown bread,
bacon, or garlic, cures him also of pampering his palate. There are some
who affect temperance and plainness by wishing for beef and ham amongst
the partridges; 'tis all very fine; this is the delicacy of the delicate;
'tis the taste of an effeminate fortune that disrelishes ordinary and
accustomed things.
"Per qux luxuria divitiarum taedio ludit."
["By which the luxury of wealth causes tedium."--Seneca, Ep., 18.]
Not to make good cheer with what another is enjoying, and to be curious
in what a man eats, is the essence of this vice:
"Si modica coenare times olus omne patella."
["If you can't be content with herbs in a small dish for supper."
--Horace, Ep., i. 5, 2.]
There is indeed this difference, that 'tis better to oblige one's
appetite to things that are most easy to be had; but 'tis always vice to
oblige one's self. I formerly said a kinsman of mine was overnice, who,
by being in our galleys, had unlearned the use of beds and to undress
when he went to sleep.
If I had any sons, I should willingly wish them my fortune. The good
father that God gave me (who has nothing of me but the acknowledgment of
his goodness, but truly 'tis a very hearty one) sent me from my cradle to
be brought up in a poor village of his, and there continued me all the
while I was at nurse, and still longer, bringing me up to the meanest and
most common way of living:
"Magna pars libertatis est bene moratus venter."
["A well-governed stomach is a great part of liberty."
--Seneca,Ep., 123.]
Never take upon yourselves, and much less give up to your wives, the care
of their nurture; leave the formation to fortune, under popular and
natural laws; leave it to custom to train them up to frugality and
hardship, that they may rather descend from rigour than mount up to it.
This humour of his yet aimed at another end, to make me familiar with the
people and the condition of men who most need our assistance; considering
that I should rather regard them who extend their arms to me, than those
who turn their backs upon me; and for this reason it was that he provided
to hold me at the font persons of the meanest fortune, to oblige and
attach me to them.
Nor has his design succeeded altogether ill; for, whether upon the
account of the more honour in such a condescension, or out of a natural
compassion that has a very great power over me, I have an inclination
towards the meaner sort of people. The faction which I should condemn in
our wars, I should more sharply condemn, flourishing and successful; it
will somewhat reconcile me to it, when I shall see it miserable and
overwhelmed. How willingly do I admire the fine humour of Cheilonis,
daughter and wife to kings of Sparta. Whilst her husband Cleombrotus, in
the commotion of her city, had the advantage over Leonidas her father,
she, like a good daughter, stuck close to her father in all his misery
and exile, in opposition to the conqueror. But so soon as the chance of
war turned, she changed her will with the change of fortune, and bravely
turned to her husband's side, whom she accompanied throughout, where his
ruin carried him: admitting, as it appears to me, no other choice than to
cleave to the side that stood most in need of her, and where she could
best manifest her compassion. I am naturally more apt to follow the
example of Flaminius, who rather gave his assistance to those who had
most need of him than to those who had power to do him good, than I do to
that of Pyrrhus, who was of an humour to truckle under the great and to
domineer over the poor.
Long sittings at table both trouble me and do me harm; for, be it that I
was so accustomed when a child, I eat all the while I sit. Therefore it
is that at my own house, though the meals there are of the shortest, I
usually sit down a little while after the rest, after the manner of
Augustus, but I do not imitate him in rising also before the rest; on the
contrary, I love to sit still a long time after, and to hear them talk,
provided I am none of the talkers: for I tire and hurt myself with
speaking upon a full stomach, as much as I find it very wholesome and
pleasant to argue and to strain my voice before dinner.
The ancient Greeks and Romans had more reason than we in setting apart
for eating, which is a principal action of life, if they were not
prevented by other extraordinary business, many hours and the greatest
part of the night; eating and drinking more deliberately than we do, who
perform all our actions post-haste; and in extending this natural
pleasure to more leisure and better use, intermixing with profitable
conversation.
They whose concern it is to have a care of me, may very easily hinder me
from eating anything they think will do me harm; for in such matters I
never covet nor miss anything I do not see; but withal, if it once comes
in my sight, 'tis in vain to persuade me to forbear; so that when I
design to fast I must be kept apart from the suppers, and must have only
so much given me as is required for a prescribed collation; for if to
table, I forget my resolution. When I order my cook to alter the manner
of dressing any dish, all my family know what it means, that my stomach
is out of order, and that I shall not touch it.