The Essays, vol 15 | Page 6

besides attributing it to a divine
ecstasy, love, martial fierceness, poesy, wine, they have not also
attributed a part to health: a boiling, vigorous, full, and lazy health,
such as formerly the verdure of youth and security, by fits, supplied me
withal; that fire of sprightliness and gaiety darts into the mind flashes
that are lively and bright beyond our natural light, and of all
enthusiasms the most jovial, if not the most extravagant.
It is, then, no wonder if a contrary state stupefy and clog my spirit, and
produce a contrary effect:
"Ad nullum consurgit opus, cum corpore languet;"
["When the mind is languishing, the body is good for nothing." (Or:) "It
rises to no effort; it languishes with the body." --Pseudo Gallus, i. 125.]
and yet would have me obliged to it for giving, as it wants to make out,
much less consent to this stupidity than is the ordinary case with men
of my age. Let us, at least, whilst we have truce, drive away
incommodities and difficulties from our commerce:
"Dum licet, obducta solvatur fronte senectus:"
["Whilst we can, let us banish old age from the brow." --Herod., Ep.,
xiii. 7.]
"Tetrica sunt amcenanda jocularibus."
["Sour things are to be sweetened with those that are pleasant."
--Sidonius Apollin., Ep., i. 9.]
I love a gay and civil wisdom, and fly from all sourness and austerity of
manners, all repellent, mien being suspected by me:
"Tristemque vultus tetrici arrogantiam:"
["The arrogant sadness of a crabbed face."--Auctor Incert.]
"Et habet tristis quoque turba cinaedos."
["And the dull crowd also has its voluptuaries." (Or:) "An austere
countenance sometimes covers a debauched mind." --Idem.]

I am very much of Plato's opinion, who says that facile or harsh
humours are great indications of the good or ill disposition of the mind.
Socrates had a constant countenance, but serene and smiling, not sourly
austere, like the elder Crassus, whom no one ever saw laugh. Virtue is a
pleasant and gay quality.
I know very well that few will quarrel with the licence of my writings,
who have not more to quarrel with in the licence of their own thoughts:
I conform myself well enough to their inclinations, but I offend their
eyes. 'Tis a fine humour to strain the writings of Plato, to wrest his
pretended intercourses with Phaedo, Dion, Stella, and Archeanassa:
"Non pudeat dicere, quod non pudet sentire."
["Let us not be ashamed to speak what we are not ashamed to think."]
I hate a froward and dismal spirit, that slips over all the pleasures of life
and seizes and feeds upon misfortunes; like flies, that cannot stick to a
smooth and polished body, but fix and repose themselves upon craggy
and rough places, and like cupping-glasses, that only suck and attract
bad blood.
As to the rest, I have enjoined myself to dare to say all that I dare to do;
even thoughts that are not to be published, displease me; the worst of
my actions and qualities do not appear to me so evil as I find it evil and
base not to dare to own them. Every one is wary and discreet in
confession, but men ought to be so in action; the boldness of doing ill is
in some sort compensated and restrained by the boldness of confessing
it. Whoever will oblige himself to tell all, should oblige himself to do
nothing that he must be forced to conceal. I wish that this excessive
licence of mine may draw men to freedom, above these timorous and
mincing virtues sprung from our imperfections, and that at the expense
of my immoderation I may reduce them to reason. A man must see and
study his vice to correct it; they who conceal it from others, commonly
conceal it from themselves; and do not think it close enough, if they
themselves see it: they withdraw and disguise it from their own
consciences:
"Quare vitia sua nemo confitetur? Quia etiam nunc in illia est;
somnium narrare vigilantis est."
["Why does no man confess his vices? because he is yet in them; 'tis for
a waking man to tell his dream."--Seneca, Ep., 53.]
The diseases of the body explain themselves by their increase; we find

that to be the gout which we called a rheum or a strain; the diseases of
the soul, the greater they are, keep, themselves the most obscure; the
most sick are the least sensible; therefore it is that with an unrelenting
hand they most often, in full day, be taken to task, opened, and torn
from the hollow of the heart. As in doing well, so in doing ill, the mere
confession is sometimes satisfaction. Is there any deformity in doing
amiss, that can excuse us from confessing ourselves? It is so great a
pain to me to