<p>Women are evermore addicted to cross their husbands: they lay hold with
both hands on all occasions to contradict and oppose them; the first
excuse serves for a plenary justification. I have seen one who robbed her
husband wholesale, that, as she told her confessor, she might distribute
the more liberal alms. Let who will trust to that religious dispensation.
No management of affairs seems to them of sufficient dignity, if
proceeding from the husband's assent; they must usurp it either by
insolence or cunning, and always injuriously, or else it has not the grace
and authority they desire. When, as in the case I am speaking of, 'tis
against a poor old man and for the children, then they make use of this
title to serve their passion with glory; and, as for a common service,
easily cabal, and combine against his government and dominion. If they be
males grown up in full and flourishing health, they presently corrupt,
either by force or favour, steward, receivers, and all the rout. Such as
have neither wife nor son do not so easily fall into this misfortune; but
withal more cruelly and unworthily. Cato the elder in his time said: So
many servants, so many enemies; consider, then, whether according to the
vast difference between the purity of the age he lived in and the
corruption of this of ours, he does not seem to shew us that wife, son,
and servant, are so many enemies to us? 'Tis well for old age that it is
always accompanied by want of observation, ignorance, and a proneness to
being deceived. For should we see how we are used and would not acquiesce,
what would become of us? especially in such an age as this, where the very
judges who are to determine our controversies are usually partisans to the
young, and interested in the cause. In case the discovery of this cheating
escape me, I cannot at least fail to discern that I am very fit to be
cheated. And can a man ever enough exalt the value of a friend, in
comparison with these civil ties? The very image of it which I see in
beasts, so pure and uncorrupted, how religiously do I respect it! If
others deceive me, yet do I not, at least, deceive myself in thinking I am
able to defend myself from them, or in cudgelling my brains to make myself
so. I protect myself from such treasons in my own bosom, not by an unquiet
and tumultuous curiosity, but rather by diversion and resolution. When I
hear talk of any one's condition, I never trouble myself to think of him;
I presently turn my eyes upon myself to see in what condition I am;
whatever concerns another relates to me; the accident that has befallen
him gives me caution, and rouses me to turn my defence that way. We every
day and every hour say things of another that we might properly say of
ourselves, could we but apply our observation to our own concerns, as well
as extend it to others. And several authors have in this manner prejudiced
their own cause by running headlong upon those they attack, and darting
those shafts against their enemies, that are more properly, and with
greater advantage, to be turned upon themselves.</p>
<p>The late Mareschal de Montluc having lost his son, who died in the island
of Madeira, in truth a very worthy gentleman and of great expectation, did
to me, amongst his other regrets, very much insist upon what a sorrow and
heart-breaking it was that he had never made himself familiar with him;
and by that humour of paternal gravity and grimace to have lost the
opportunity of having an insight into and of well knowing, his son, as
also of letting him know the extreme affection he had for him, and the
worthy opinion he had of his virtue. "That poor boy," said he, "never saw
in me other than a stern and disdainful countenance, and is gone in a
belief that I neither knew how to love him nor esteem him according to his
desert. For whom did I reserve the discovery of that singular affection I
had for him in my soul? Was it not he himself, who ought to have had all
the pleasure of it, and all the obligation? I constrained and racked
myself to put on, and maintain this vain disguise, and have by that means
deprived myself of the pleasure of his conversation, and, I doubt, in some
measure, his affection, which could not but be very cold to me, having
never other from me than austerity, nor felt other than a tyrannical
manner of proceeding."</p>
<p>[Madame de Sevigne tells us that she never read this passage without<br/>
tears in her eyes. "My God!" she exclaims, "how full is this book<br/>
of good sense!" Ed.]<br/></p>
<p>I find this complaint to be rational and rightly apprehended: for, as I
myself know by too certain experience, there is no so sweet consolation in
the loss of friends as the conscience of having had no reserve or secret
for them, and to have had with them a perfect and entire communication. Oh
my friend,—[La Boetie.] am I the better for being sensible of this;
or am I the worse? I am, doubtless, much the better. I am consoled and
honoured, in the sorrow for his death. Is it not a pious and a pleasing
office of my life to be always upon my friend's obsequies? Can there be
any joy equal to this privation?</p>
<p>I open myself to my family, as much as I can, and very willingly let them
know the state of my opinion and good will towards them, as I do to
everybody else: I make haste to bring out and present myself to them; for
I will not have them mistaken in me, in anything. Amongst other particular
customs of our ancient Gauls, this, as Caesar reports,—[De Bello
Gall., vi. r8.]—was one, that the sons never presented themselves
before their fathers, nor durst ever appear in their company in public,
till they began to bear arms; as if they would intimate by this, that it
was also time for their fathers to receive them into their familiarity and
acquaintance.</p>
<p>I have observed yet another sort of indiscretion in fathers of my time,
that, not contented with having deprived their children, during their own
long lives, of the share they naturally ought to have had in their
fortunes, they afterwards leave to their wives the same authority over
their estates, and liberty to dispose of them according to their own
fancy. And I have known a certain lord, one of the principal officers of
the crown, who, having in reversion above fifty thousand crowns yearly
revenue, died necessitous and overwhelmed with debt at above fifty years
of age; his mother in her extremest decrepitude being yet in possession of
all his property by the will of his father, who had, for his part, lived
till near fourscore years old. This appears to me by no means reasonable.
And therefore I think it of very little advantage to a man, whose affairs
are well enough, to seek a wife who encumbers his estate with a very great
fortune; there is no sort of foreign debt that brings more ruin to
families than this: my predecessors have ever been aware of that danger
and provided against it, and so have I. But those who dissuade us from
rich wives, for fear they should be less tractable and kind, are out in
their advice to make a man lose a real commodity for so frivolous a
conjecture. It costs an unreasonable woman no more to pass over one reason
than another; they cherish themselves most where they are most wrong.
Injustice allures them, as the honour of their virtuous actions does the
good; and the more riches they bring with them, they are so much the more
good-natured, as women, who are handsome, are all the more inclined and
proud to be chaste.</p>
<p>'Tis reasonable to leave the administration of affairs to the mothers,
till the children are old enough, according to law, to manage them; but
the father has brought them, up very ill, if he cannot hope that, when
they come to maturity, they will have more wisdom and ability in the
management of affairs than his wife, considering the ordinary weakness of
the sex. It were, notwithstanding, to say the truth, more against nature
to make the mothers depend upon the discretion of their children; they
ought to be plentifully provided for, to maintain themselves according to
their quality and age, by reason that necessity and indigence are much
more unbecoming and insupportable to them than to men; the son should
rather be cut short than the mother.</p>
<p>In general, the most judicious distribution of our goods, when we come to
die, is, in my opinion, to let them be distributed according to the custom
of the country; the laws have considered the matter better than we know
how to do, and 'tis wiser to let them fail in their appointment, than
rashly to run the hazard of miscarrying in ours. Nor are the goods
properly ours, since, by civil prescription and without us, they are all
destined to certain successors. And although we have some liberty beyond
that, yet I think we ought not, without great and manifest cause, to take
away that from one which his fortune has allotted him, and to which the
public equity gives him title; and that it is against reason to abuse this
liberty, in making it serve our own frivolous and private fancies. My
destiny has been kind to me in not presenting me with occasions to tempt
me and divert my affection from the common and legitimate institution. I
see many with whom 'tis time lost to employ a long exercise of good
offices: a word ill taken obliterates ten years' merit; he is happy who is
in a position to oil their goodwill at this last passage. The last action
carries it, not the best and most frequent offices, but the most recent
and present do the work. These are people that play with their wills as
with apples or rods, to gratify or chastise every action of those who
pretend to an interest in their care. 'Tis a thing of too great weight and
consequence to be so tumbled and tossed and altered every moment, and
wherein the wise determine once for all, having above all things regard to
reason and the public observance. We lay these masculine substitutions too
much to heart, proposing a ridiculous eternity to our names. We are,
moreover, too superstitious in vain conjectures as to the future, that we
derive from the words and actions of children. Peradventure they might
have done me an injustice, in dispossessing me of my right, for having
been the most dull and heavy, the most slow and unwilling at my book, not
of all my brothers only, but of all the boys in the whole province:
whether about learning my lesson, or about any bodily exercise. 'Tis a
folly to make an election out of the ordinary course upon the credit of
these divinations wherein we are so often deceived. If the ordinary rule
of descent were to be violated, and the destinies corrected in the choice
they have made of our heirs, one might more plausibly do it upon the
account of some remarkable and enormous personal deformity, a permanent
and incorrigible defect, and in the opinion of us French, who are great
admirers of beauty, an important prejudice.</p>
<p>The pleasant dialogue betwixt Plato's legislator and his citizens will be
an ornament to this place, "What," said they, feeling themselves about to
die, "may we not dispose of our own to whom we please? God! what cruelty
that it shall not be lawful for us, according as we have been served and
attended in our sickness, in our old age, in our affairs, to give more or
less to those whom we have found most diligent about us, at our own fancy
and discretion!" To which the legislator answers thus:</p>
<p>"My friends, who are now, without question, very soon to die, it is hard
for you in the condition you are, either to know yourselves, or what is
yours, according to the delphic inscription. I, who make the laws, am of
opinion, that you neither are yourselves your own, nor is that yours of
which you are possessed. Both your goods and you belong to your families,
as well those past as those to come; but, further, both your family and
goods much more appertain to the public. Wherefore, lest any flatterer in
your old age or in your sickness, or any passion of your own, should
unseasonably prevail with you to make an unjust will, I shall take care to
prevent that inconvenience; but, having respect both to the universal
interests of the city and that of your particular family, I shall
establish laws, and make it by good reasons appear, that private
convenience ought to give place to the common benefit. Go then cheerfully
where human necessity calls you. It is for me, who regard no more the one
thing than the other, and who, as much as in me lies, am provident of the
public interest, to have a care as to what you leave behind you."</p>
<p>To return to my subject: it appears to me that women are very rarely born,
to whom the prerogative over men, the maternal and natural excepted, is in
any sort due, unless it be for the punishment of such, as in some amorous
fever have voluntarily submitted themselves to them: but that in no way
concerns the old ones, of whom we are now speaking. This consideration it
is which has made us so willingly to enact and give force to that law,
which was never yet seen by any one, by which women are excluded the
succession to our crown: and there is hardly a government in the world
where it is not pleaded, as it is here, by the probability of reason that
authorises it, though fortune has given it more credit in some places than
in others. 'Tis dangerous to leave the disposal of our succession to their
judgment, according to the choice they shall make of children, which is
often fantastic and unjust; for the irregular appetites and depraved
tastes they have during the time of their being with child, they have at
all other times in the mind. We commonly see them fond of the most weak,
ricketty, and deformed children; or of those, if they have such, as are
still hanging at the breast. For, not having sufficient force of reason to
choose and embrace that which is most worthy, they the more willingly
suffer themselves to be carried away, where the impressions of nature are
most alone; like animals that know their young no longer than they give
them suck. As to the rest, it is easy by experience to be discerned that
this natural affection to which we give so great authority has but very
weak roots. For a very little profit, we every day tear their own children
out of the mothers' arms, and make them take ours in their room: we make
them abandon their own to some pitiful nurse, to whom we disdain to commit
ours, or to some she-goat, forbidding them, not only to give them suck,
what danger soever they run thereby, but, moreover, to take any manner of
care of them, that they may wholly be occupied with the care of and
attendance upon ours; and we see in most of them an adulterate affection,
more vehement than the natural, begotten by custom toward the foster
children, and a greater solicitude for the preservation of those they have
taken charge of, than of their own. And that which I was saying of goats
was upon this account; that it is ordinary all about where I live, to see
the countrywomen, when they want milk of their own for their children, to
call goats to their assistance; and I have at this hour two men-servants
that never sucked women's milk more than eight days after they were born.
These goats are immediately taught to come to suckle the little children,
know their voices when they cry, and come running to them. If any other
than this foster-child be presented to them, they refuse to let it suck;
and the child in like manner will refuse to suck another goat. I saw one
the other day from whom they had taken away the goat that used to nourish
it, by reason the father had only borrowed it of a neighbour; the child
would not touch any other they could bring, and died, doubtless of hunger.
Beasts as easily alter and corrupt their natural affection as we: I
believe that in what Herodotus relates of a certain district of Lybia,
there are many mistakes; he says that the women are there in common; but
that the child, so soon as it can go, finds him out in the crowd for his
father, to whom he is first led by his natural inclination.</p>
<p>Now, to consider this simple reason for loving our children, that we have
begot them, therefore calling them our second selves, it appears,
methinks, that there is another kind of production proceeding from us,
that is of no less recommendation: for that which we engender by the soul,
the issue of our understanding, courage, and abilities, springs from
nobler parts than those of the body, and that are much more our own: we
are both father and mother in this generation. These cost us a great deal
more and bring us more honour, if they have anything of good in them. For
the value of our other children is much more theirs than ours; the share
we have in them is very little; but of these all the beauty, all the grace
and value, are ours; and also they more vividly represent us than the
others. Plato adds, that these are immortal children that immortalise and
deify their fathers, as Lycurgus, Solon, Minos. Now, histories being full
of examples of the common affection of fathers to their children, it seems
not altogether improper to introduce some few of this other kind.
Heliodorus, that good bishop of Trikka, rather chose to lose the dignity,
profit, and devotion of so venerable a prelacy, than to lose his daughter;
a daughter that continues to this day very graceful and comely; but,
peradventure, a little too curiously and wantonly tricked, and too amorous
for an ecclesiastical and sacerdotal daughter. There was one Labienus at
Rome, a man of great worth and authority, and amongst other qualities
excellent in all sorts of literature, who was, as I take it, the son of
that great Labienus, the chief of Caesar's captains in the wars of Gaul;
and who, afterwards, siding with Pompey the great, so valiantly maintained
his cause, till he was by Caesar defeated in Spain. This Labienus, of whom
I am now speaking, had several enemies, envious of his good qualities,
and, tis likely, the courtiers and minions of the emperors of his time who
were very angry at his freedom and the paternal humour which he yet
retained against tyranny, with which it is to be supposed he had tinctured
his books and writings. His adversaries prosecuted several pieces he had
published before the magistrates at Rome, and prevailed so far against
him, as to have them condemned to the fire. It was in him that this new
example of punishment was begun, which was afterwards continued against
others at Rome, to punish even writing and studies with death. There would
not be means and matter enough of cruelty, did we not mix with them things
that nature has exempted from all sense and suffering, as reputation and
the products of the mind, and did we not communicate corporal punishments
to the teachings and monuments of the Muses. Now, Labienus could not
suffer this loss, nor survive these his so dear issue, and therefore
caused himself to be conveyed and shut up alive in the monument of his
ancestors, where he made shift to kill and bury himself at once. 'Tis hard
to shew a more vehement paternal affection than this. Cassius Severus, a
man of great eloquence and his very intimate friend, seeing his books
burned, cried out that by the same sentence they should as well condemn
him to the fire too, seeing that he carried in his memory all that they
contained. The like accident befel Cremutius Cordus, who being accused of
having in his books commended Brutus and Cassius, that dirty, servile, and
corrupt Senate, worthy a worse master than Tiberius, condemned his
writings to the flame. He was willing to bear them company, and killed
himself with fasting. The good Lucan, being condemned by that rascal Nero,
at the last gasp of his life, when the greater part of his blood was
already spent through the veins of his arms, which he had caused his
physician to open to make him die, and when the cold had seized upon all
his extremities, and began to approach his vital parts, the last thing he
had in his memory was some of the verses of his Battle of Phaysalia, which
he recited, dying with them in his mouth. What was this, but taking a
tender and paternal leave of his children, in imitation of the
valedictions and embraces, wherewith we part from ours, when we come to
die, and an effect of that natural inclination, that suggests to our
remembrance in this extremity those things which were dearest to us during
the time of our life?</p>
<p>Can we believe that Epicurus who, as he says himself, dying of the
intolerable pain of the stone, had all his consolation in the beauty of
the doctrine he left behind him, could have received the same satisfaction
from many children, though never so well-conditioned and brought up, had
he had them, as he did from the production of so many rich writings? Or
that, had it been in his choice to have left behind him a deformed and
untoward child or a foolish and ridiculous book, he, or any other man of
his understanding, would not rather have chosen to have run the first
misfortune than the other? It had been, for example, peradventure, an
impiety in St. Augustin, if, on the one hand, it had been proposed to him
to bury his writings, from which religion has received so great fruit, or
on the other to bury his children, had he had them, had he not rather
chosen to bury his children. And I know not whether I had not much rather
have begot a very beautiful one, through society with the Muses, than by
lying with my wife. To this, such as it is, what I give it I give
absolutely and irrevocably, as men do to their bodily children. That
little I have done for it, is no more at my own disposal; it may know many
things that are gone from me, and from me hold that which I have not
retained; and which, as well as a stranger, I should borrow thence, should
I stand in need. If I am wiser than my book, it is richer than I. There
are few men addicted to poetry, who would not be much prouder to be the
father to the AEneid than to the handsomest youth of Rome; and who would
not much better bear the loss of the one than of the other. For according
to Aristotle, the poet, of all artificers, is the fondest of his work.
'Tis hard to believe that Epaminondas, who boasted that in lieu of all
posterity he left two daughters behind him that would one day do their
father honour (meaning the two victories he obtained over the
Lacedaemonians), would willingly have consented to exchange these for the
most beautiful creatures of all Greece; or that Alexander or Caesar ever
wished to be deprived of the grandeur of their glorious exploits in war,
for the convenience of children and heirs, how perfect and accomplished
soever. Nay, I make a great question, whether Phidias or any other
excellent sculptor would be so solicitous of the preservation and
continuance of his natural children, as he would be of a rare statue,
which with long labour and study he had perfected according to art. And to
those furious and irregular passions that have sometimes inflamed fathers
towards their own daughters, and mothers towards their own sons, the like
is also found in this other sort of parentage: witness what is related of
Pygmalion who, having made the statue of a woman of singular beauty, fell
so passionately in love with this work of his, that the gods in favour of
his passion inspired it with life.</p>
<p>"Tentatum mollescit ebur, positoque rigore,<br/>
Subsidit digitis."<br/>
<br/>
["The ivory grows soft under his touch and yields to his fingers."<br/>
—Ovid, Metam., x. 283.]<br/></p>
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