The Essays, vol 15 | Page 8

traffic with them a little in
private; public conversation is without favour and without savour. In
farewells, we oftener than not heat our affections towards the things we

take leave of; I take my last leave of the pleasures of this world: these
are our last embraces.
But let us come to my subject: what has the act of generation, so
natural, so necessary, and so just, done to men, to be a thing not to be
spoken of without blushing, and to be excluded from all serious and
moderate discourse? We boldly pronounce kill, rob, betray, and that we
dare only to do betwixt the teeth. Is it to say, the less we expend in
words, we may pay so much the more in thinking? For it is certain that
the words least in use, most seldom written, and best kept in, are the
best and most generally known: no age, no manners, are ignorant of
them, no more than the word bread they imprint themselves in every
one without being, expressed, without voice, and without figure; and
the sex that most practises it is bound to say least of it. 'Tis an act that
we have placed in the franchise of silence, from which to take it is a
crime even to accuse and judge it; neither dare we reprehend it but by
periphrasis and picture. A great favour to a criminal to be so execrable
that justice thinks it unjust to touch and see him; free, and safe by the
benefit of the severity of his condemnation. Is it not here as in matter of
books, that sell better and become more public for being suppressed?
For my part, I will take Aristotle at his word, who says, that
"bashfulness is an ornament to youth, but a reproach to old age." These
verses are preached in the ancient school, a school that I much more
adhere to than the modern: its virtues appear to me to be greater, and
the vices less:
"Ceux qui par trop fuyant Venus estrivent, Faillent autant que ceulx qui
trop la suyvent."
["They err as much who too much forbear Venus, as they who are too
frequent in her rites."--A translation by Amyot from Plutarch, A
philosopher should converse with princes.]
"Tu, dea, rerum naturam sola gubernas, Nec sine to quicquam dias in
luminis oras Exoritur, neque fit laetum, nec amabile quidquam."
["Goddess, still thou alone governest nature, nor without thee anything
comes into light; nothing is pleasant, nothing joyful." --Lucretius, i.
22.]
I know not who could set Pallas and the Muses at variance with Venus,
and make them cold towards Love; but I see no deities so well met, or
that are more indebted to one another. Who will deprive the Muses of

amorous imaginations, will rob them of the best entertainment they
have, and of the noblest matter of their work: and who will make Love
lose the communication and service of poesy, will disarm him of his
best weapons: by this means they charge the god of familiarity and
good will, and the protecting goddesses of humanity and justice, with
the vice of ingratitude and unthankfulness. I have not been so long
cashiered from the state and service of this god, that my memory is not
still perfect in his force and value:
"Agnosco veteris vestigia flammae;"
["I recognise vestiges of my old flame."--AEneid., iv. 23.]
There are yet some remains of heat and emotion after the fever:
"Nec mihi deficiat calor hic, hiemantibus annis!"
["Nor let this heat of youth fail me in my winter years."]
Withered and drooping as I am, I feel yet some remains of the past
ardour:
"Qual l'alto Egeo, per the Aquilone o Noto Cessi, the tutto prima il
volse et scosse, Non 's accheta ei pero; ma'l suono e'l moto Ritien del
l'onde anco agitate e grosse:"
["As Aegean seas, when storms be calmed again, That rolled their
tumbling waves with troublous blasts, Do yet of tempests passed some
show retain, And here and there their swelling billows cast."--Fairfax.]
but from what I understand of it, the force and power of this god are
more lively and animated in the picture of poesy than in their own
essence:
"Et versus digitos habet:"
["Verse has fingers."--Altered from Juvenal, iv. 196.]
it has I know not what kind of air, more amorous than love itself.
Venus is not so beautiful, naked, alive, and panting, as she is here in
Virgil:
"Dixerat; et niveis hinc atque hinc Diva lacertis Cunctantem amplexu
molli fovet. Ille repente Accepit solitam flammam; notusque medullas
Intravit calor, et labefacta per ossa cucurrit Non secus atque olim
tonitru, cum rupta corusco Ignea rima micans percurrit lumine
nimbos. . . . . . . Ea verba loquutus, Optatos dedit amplexus;
placidumque petivit Conjugis