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ESSAYS
O N
FRIENDSHIP AND OLD-AGE,
B Y T H E
MARCHIONESS DE LAMBERT.
-
ESSAYS
O N
FRIENDSHIP AND OLD-AGE,
B Y T H E
MARCHIONESS DE LAMBERT.
Que tout ce qu'elle dit eft grace ;
Tout ce qu'elle penfe, raifon. LA MOTTE.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH,
BY A ' L A D Y.
WITH AN
INTRODUCTORY LETTER
T o
WILLIAM M E L MOT H, ESQ..
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR J. DODSLEY, PALL-MALL.
M. DCC. LXXX.
INTRODUCTORY LETTER,
T o
WILLIAM MELMOTH, ESQ.
DEAR SIR,
AS you have led me, though
not intentionally, intothofe
perils, that attend a novice in
publication, I flatter myfelf you
will pardon the liberty I take in
recommending the two following
little efiays to your prote&ion.
AS In
-f > ." .-
J
6 INTRODUCTORY LETTER.
In perufing your elegant tranf-
lation of Laelius, iwas mortified to
find, that in fpeaking of the dif-
tinguiflied modern writers on
Friendfhip, you had omitted the
name of the amiable Marchionefs
de Lambert, whofe effay on the
fubjed: I had read with infinite
pleafure, and perhaps with that
partiality, which, women gene-
rally difcover towards an author
of their own fex.
My regard for this excellent
moralift, tempted me, upon this
occafion, to enquire in what
drefs fhe had been prefented to
our country ; and the only tranf-
lation of tjiefe treatifes that I
could difcover, appeared to me fo
very unworthy of the original,
that
INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 7
that I could not help feeling a
defire to give the Englifh reader
a more adequate idea of their
merit. How far I have been able
to fucceed, I am now to learn
from the Public, as I dare not
utterly confide in the approba-
tion of a few partial friends.
Let me honeftly confefs, that I
not only engaged in a new verfion
of the eflays in queftion, becaufe
they appeared to me not fo well
tranflated as fome of her other
works, but from an ambition of
placing her treatifes on Friendship
and Old- Age by the fide of your
Laelius and Cato : happy, were I
able to enrich my tranflation with
fuch biographical and critical re-
marks, as give to your's fo confi-
derable a portion of original me-
A 4 rit I
8 INTRODUCTORY LETTER,
rit! but I muft content myfelf
with barely relating, in this pre-
face, the few particulars, which I
have been able to colled: concern-
ing my author, from the writers
of her country.
The Marchionefs de Lambert
was the only daughter of Ste-
phen de Marguenot, Seigneur
de Courcelles, and born in the
year 1647: fhe loft her father
when {he was yet an infant; a
circumftance that proved, in its
confequences, the ocean* on of her
early and uncommon progrefs in
literature ; for by the fecond
marriage of her mother fhe fell
under the care of the celebrated
Bachaumont, who wrote, in con-
junction with the fprightly poet
LaChappelle, the pleafant motley
compofition
9
INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 9
competition in profe and verfe,
which bears the name of thefe
lively friends. He was, as Vol-
taire has remarked, one of the
moft amiable and accomplifhed
characters of his age, and culti-
vated, with great pleafure and
affedion, that early paffion for
letters, which his little daughter-
in-law foon began to difplay.
Under the care of fo engaging a
preceptor, fhe acquired that fund
of elegant and ufeful knowledge,
which afforded her fuch confi-
derable fupport in all the viciffi-
tudes of a long life, and which
has fecured to her a lafting re-
putation in the republic of let-
ters.
-At the age of nineteen flie was
married
io INTRODUCTORY LETTER,
married to Henry de Lambert,
Marq ns de Saint Bris, lieutenant-
general, and governor of Luxem-
burg, who died in 1686, leaving
her a fon and daughter, on
whofe education fhe exerted the
utmoft powers of her affectionate
mind, which are beautifully dif~
played in her two eflays of
advice, addreiGTed to her chil-
dren.
On the death of her hufband,
fhe was perfecuted with long
and vexatious law-fuits, in which
her whole fortune was at ftake,
and in the conduct of which fhe is
faid to have given moft ftriking
proofs of a mafculine underftand-
ing. As thefe were happily ter-
minated in her favor, fhe pafied
the
INTRODUCTORY LETTER. n
the remainder of her life in great
affluence, and chiefly in Paris,
where fhe died at the age of
Weighty-fix, in the year 1733.
It is fingular, that this lady, who
in general pofTefied fuchfolidityof
judgment, fhould, in one inftance,
be under the influence of a vulgar
prejudice, and confider it as un-
becoming a woman of her rank
to appear in the character of an
author. Her admirable efTays to
her children were firfl publifhcd
in a clandeftine manner, and their
appearance in the world gave her
fo much difquietude, that, as fhe
declares herfelf, in one of her
letters, fhe exerted her utmoft
efforts to fupprefs them ; and we
may juftly fay of her, what Pope
fays
12 INTRODUCTORY LETTER,
fays of Shakefpeare, though on a
very different occafion,
** She grew immortal in her own defpite."
Her extreme defire to prevent the
circulation of her writings, was
owing, indeed, in fome degree, to
the great (hare of natural modefty
which flie pofierTed, and ftill more,
I apprehend, to a painful dread
of that raillery to which every
French lady was expofed, who
ventured to engage deeply in any
literary purfuits, after the ap-
pearance of Moliere's admirable
comedy of the Femmes Savantes,
in 1672, which was, indeed,
fuppofed to glance a little at the
hotel de Lambert *.
Our
* This is aflerted in a few remarks pre-
nxed to the Femmes Savantes, in the laft oc-
tavo
INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 13
Our author had, however,
the fpirit to become the cham-
pion of her fex, in a little eflky
which fhe compofed for the pe-
rufal of her friends, entitled,
"New Reflections on Women."
She here combats, with great
vivacity and judgment, the dan-
gerous ridicule of Moliere ; and
obferves, that the wit of this
comic writer had proved as pre-
judicial to female underftanding
in France, as the pleafantry of
Cervantes had to heroic valour in
tavo edition of Moliere j but the circumflance
appears to me improbable, as this comedy
was firft reprefented a few years after the
marriage of Madame de Lambert and her
literary affemblies did not, I believe, attract
the notice of the public till towards the latter
period of her life,
Spain.
i 4 INTRODUCTORY LETTER.
Spain. Nor does fhe feem to
have exaggerated the ill effe&s
of that ridicule which {he fo
warmly oppofed, and of which
fhe was fo perfect a judge. A
living French author, of confi-
derable reputation, has repre-
fented this comedy of Moliere in
the fame point of view, in a very
entertaining effay concerning the
character, manners, and under-
Handing of women in different
ages. Having alluded to the
play of Moliere, he proceeds with
the following remarks : " Some
< c women, after this, applied
" themfelves to letters, and fome
* c cultivated the fciences; but the
f< example was far from general.
"In
INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 15
c< In the moft enlightened of
" ages, knowledge was deemed
<c unpardonable in females. A
<c tafte for letters was considered
<c as a kind of incongruity in
" the Great, and as pedantry in
" Women. This fecret contempt,
worthy of our moft barbarous
anceftors, muft have impofed
particular reftraint on that fex,
" which is moft under the influ-
" ence of opinion. Some women
<c braved this prejudice, but fuch
" conduct was even cenfured as
" criminal. As all things that
" are excellent have their ex-
cc cefles, and as a bon mot fails
Cl not to operate as a reafon, in
<c blending what is ridiculous
* c with what is ufefuj, it became
<c
cc
CC
1 6 INTRODUCTORY LETTER.
<c an eafy matter to difcredit
<c knowledge in women. Boi-
<c leau and Moliere fortified the
<c prejudice, by the authority of
" their genius. * .
" Thus, in the age of Lewis the
<c XlVth, women were reduced
* c to conceal themfelves in the
" purfuit of inftru&ion, and to
c be as much afliamed of know-
<c ledge, as they would have been
" of an intrigue in ages lefs po~
<c liflied. Some, however, had
" the refolution to free them-
<c felves from that ignorance
" which was impofed on them
" as a duty ; but the greater
" number concealed this hardi-
<c nefs of fpirit, or, if they were
" fufpeded, took every meafure
" to
INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 17
lc to avoid convi&ion, and al-
" lowed Friendfhip only to be
" their confident or their accom-
" plice."
This was particularly the cafe
with Madame de Lambert; who,
having defended her fex with
great fpirit, in the effay I have
mentioned, could not be pre-
vailed on to publifh that defence;
and in a letter to Monlieur de
St. Hyacinthe, then in London,
fhe exprefles her concern at its
having ftolen into the world.
She thanks him, at the fame time,
for an Englifh tranflation of her
work which he had fent her, and
juftifies herfelf in the following
manner, in anfwer to a very fin-
gular obfervation of her trarifla-
B tor,
<c
cc
18 INTRODUCTORY LETTER,
tor, Mr. Lockman. " He fays
" in his preface, that what I have
written on women is my apolo-
gy I have never had occalion
" to make any. He accufes me of
" having a tender and a feeling
" foul. I deny not the charge ;
" it remains only to enquire to
cc what I have applied it."
I muft obferve, for the honor
of my author, that few perfons,
of any country, could have lefs
reafon to apprehend fuch an en-
quiry, as it is univerfally allowed
that her whole life was animated
by that fpirit of tendernefs and
virtue, which ftill charm us in
her writings. One of the moft
ftriking proofs of the high efteem
in which fhe was held by her
con-
INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 19
Contemporaries, is found in a
letter of the amiable Fenelon, to
their common friend Monfieur
de Sacy, in which he fpeaks both
of her competitions and her cha-
racter in terms of the warmeft
admiration.
Voltaire happily obferves,
fpeaking of our author, in his
Age of Lewis the XlVth, " her
cc treatife on Friendship proves
" that he deferved herfelf to
tc have friends." There are alfo
many paflages in her letters,
which equally prove what ex-
alted ideas fhe entertained of this
noble fentiment, and how truly
formed her own heart was, both
to feel and infpire it.
B 2 One
20 INTRODUCTORY LETTER.
One paflage in particular I
cannot help mentioning, as it pre-
fents a ftriking picture of her own
feelings, and preferves a pleafing
anecdote of an amiable Prince,
the accomplished but fhort-lived
difciple of the virtuous Fenelon.
In writing to her friend, on the
death of the Duke of Burgundy,
(he exclaims, " How great is
* your private lofs, my dear
" Sacy ! I muft acquaint you
<e with a circumftance that re-
* c lates to you, and which, per-
cc haps, you are yet to learn. I
<c had a friend in the houfliold
" of the Prince, who, enchanted
<c with his virtues, was continu-
" ally fpeaking of them to me.
"He
INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 21
" He has told me, that as the
<c Prince was one day coming out
" of his chamber, where he had
" ready our treatife on Friendship,
cc he faid to him I have juft
" been reading a book, which has
" made me feel the misfortune
" of our rank. We cannot hope
<c to have friends ! We muft re-
" nounce the moft engaging fen-
timent in life. He felt, my
dear Sacy, the neceflity of
friendship. The fentiments of
<c nature had their full influence
tc over his heart, and majefty dif-
" appeared before them. He
" would have had friends, and
" he would not have chofen them
" from the crowd of his flatter-
cc
cc
cc
" ers/
83 I hare
22 INTRODUCTORY LETTER.
J have inferted this paffage,
both becaufe the letter is omitted
in the common Englifli tranfla-,
tion of my author's works, and
becaufe it (hews fhe was fuperior
to the little meannefs of jealoufy
towards a rival, who had written
on the fame fubje& with herfelf.
In her intimacy with Monfieur de
Sacy, fhe difplayed all the delicacy
of the moft refined friendfhip ;
and Monfieur d'Alembert makes
fuch pleafing mention of their
mutual regard, in his eulogy on
this writer, that I am tempted to
hazard a tranflation of the paf-
fage.
" The talents of Monfieur de
" Sacy, the reputation which he
" had acquired, the mildnefs of
"his
INTRODUCTORY LETTER.' 23
" his character, and his manners,
c< procured his admiflion into an
" enchanting fociety, which is
" ftill remembered in our days,
" after a period of more than
" forty years; I mean that of the
" Marchionefs de Lambert. This
" lady aflembled at her houfe
" many celebrated writers, at the
" head of whom were Fontenelle
" and LaMotte, who united phi-
lofophy to the charms of lite-
rature, politenefs to talents,
and reciprocal efteem to emu-
lation. Madame de Lambert,
who was accufed of an excef-
five partiality for wit, and who
honored this reproach of fools,
" with an attention it hardly de-
<c ferved from her, anfwered it,
B 4
u
(C
24. INTRODUCTORY LETTER.
" by admitting into this little
<c academy, more fplendid than
" numerous, fuch characters of
c< the court, as were moft diftin-
cc guifhed by their ftation and
<c their birth. In this aflembly
** they did not liften to, or rather
c - { they were not acquainted with
that rigid and unjuft philofo-
phy, which, by imposing on
women a filence humiliating
to themfelves, and melancholy
to us, obliges them to conceal
cc their underftanding and their
<c knowledge, with as much foli-
c * citude as their moft fecret fenti-
<c ments and affections. They be-
<c lieved,on the contrary ^ and they
cc had the good fortune to expe-
^ rience perpetually, in the pre~
" fence
cc
cc
<c
<c
cc
cc
cc
CC
cc
INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 25
<c fence of Madame de Lambert,
c< that a woman of virtue, deli-
<c cacy, and fentiment, animated
with genius, and every pleafing
accomplishment, was the prin-
cipal tie, and the moft at-
tradtive charm of a fociety fo
happily compofed ; a rare af-
" femblage of elegance and
" knowledge, of imagination and
" judgment, of politenefs and
" learning. It was in the midft
<c of this fociety that Monfieur
" de Sacy compofed his eflay on
c< Friendfhip. He addrefTed it
<c to Madame de Lambert ; and
" he was, indeed, much more her
* c friend, than the other men of
" letters whom fhe aflembled.
ic The intimacy of thefe were
only
26 INTRODUCTORY LETTER. :
cc only agreeable to her, that of
cc Monfieur^ die Sacy was much
" more, it was neceffary to her
" happinefs. If the wit of Fon-
" tenelle and La Motte afforded
" her more refources of amufe-
" ment, fhe found in Monfieur
" de Sacy a fenfibility more con-
<c genial with her heart, and a
" foul more in unifon with her
<c own. Under the eyes of this
" worthy friend, fhe principally
cc compofed her excellent book,
<c entitled, Advice from a Mother
<c to her Son and Daughter ; a
" work in which delicacy of tafte
" is united to that of fentiment ;
" knowledge of the world, to the
" moft touching leffons of vir-
<c tue; and the lively graces of
ftile,
INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 27
* ( ftile, to the moft natural ex-
u prefllons of maternal tender-
" nefs."
Among the fmaller productions
of our author, there are three
very pleafing portraits of Mon-
fieur de Sacy, Fontenelle, and
La Motte, drawn with equal de-
licacy and difcernment ; and
among the Letters of the latter,
in the loth volume of his works,
there are feveral which give a
lively picture of the chofen foci-
ety which frequented the houfe
of my author, particularly one
from herfelf to the Duchefs of
Maine, who had exprefled the
moft eager defire to be admitted
into her weekly aflembly. Fon-
tenelle fuggefted the pleafantry
a g INTRODUCTORY LETTER,
of addreffing the Duchefs, before
flie was admitted to their parties,
in the name of the day in which
the company afTembled. La
Motte, who had received parti-
cular compliments from her, was
prevailed on to write as their
* .
fecretary ; and to his letter Ma-
dame de Lambert added the fol-
lowing :
cc MADAME DE LAMBERT TO THE
A _ff
" DUCHESS OF MAINE.
' jr
" BEHOLD, Madam, the ho-
T y^_ *y^-*
<c norable Tuefday, which comes
4
c to pay its homage to your Se-
" reneHighnefs. The great Fon-
c< tenelle, adorned with all his
" talents, equally the favorite of
" the ferious and the fportive
" Mufe,
INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 29
<c Mufe, whofe reputation is un-
" bounded; fecretary, and almoft
" prefident of our academies,
" throws himfelf at your feet.
" The inflexible La Motte,
" who has endeavored to abolifh
" the adoration of Homer, and
" who has never burnt a grain of
" incenfe on his altar, throws a
" profufion of flowers on your's.
<c The Mentor of a great
4C Prince, who inftruds better
<c than Minerva, who has lent
new graces to Cicero, and is
lefs his tranflator than his rival,
u proftrates himfelf before your
" Serene Highnefs.
" The amiable Abbe de Brage-
" lonne, cherifhed by the Graces
" and the Mufes, and fo extolled
"by
<C
cc
<c
cc
30 INTRODUCTORY LETTER;
" by you, is received into that
" band which celebrates your
" praifes.
" The exacl:, the precife, of
" rather precifion itfelf ; in
<c fhort, the great geometriciarij
" Moniieur de Mairan, comes to
<c renew that homage which he
has already had the honor to
pay you.
" You fee, Madam, that all
cc our great men place theif
glory in honoring you. It is
but jufl that the academy,
which is fo deeply indebted
to you, fhould make to your
Serene Highnefs their acknow-^
ledgments in form. Our lan-
" g ua g e improves only when you
cc fpeak it, or when it fpeaks of
<c you.
" I (hall
. t
C(
cc
it
cc
cc
INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 31
" I {hall expect you, Madam,
" with all the folicitude of that
" refpe&ful attachment, with
" which I am,
i ,4 o4^^^
" MADAM,
" Your moft humble, and
" Moft obedient Servant."
%
" Paris y Auguft 23, 1726."
The anfwer of the Duchefs
expreffes, in a lively manner,
the moft flattering efteem for our
author. Thus pofTefTed of ge-
neral regard, and equally honor-
ed by the applaufe of grandeur
and of wit, fhe pafled her latter
days in the moft refined pleafures
of
3* INTRODUCTORY LETTER,
of feled fociety, and thofe fu-
perior delights which attend the
exercife of every generous virtue.
All thefe, however, were much
checquered by the infirmities of a
tender conftitution by the com-
mon maladies of old-age, and ftill
more by the death of her daugh-
ter, which happened two years
before her own.
I have now given you the beft
account that I have been able to
colled:, of an author whom I ne-
ver review without enthufiaftic
admiration : but I can affure you,
I am fo far from being vain of
the performance, that I have ftill
an earneft defire to fee more
juftice done to her inftrudive
2 character,
INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 33
character, by a much abler
hand.
As you have mentioned her
friend Monfieur de Sacy with ho-
nor, in the advertifement to your
Laelius, allow me to hope, that
in your next edition of that
work, you will not omit the
name of the Marchionefs de
Lambert.
I am not Singular in this wifh,
but fhare it with many friends,
who are equally admirers with
me, both of your writings and
of her's ; and particularly one,
who has given me leave to clofe
my preface with the following
Stanzas but before I tranfcribe
them, allow me to allure you,
C that
34 INTRODUCTORY LETTER.
that I am, with the trueflLefleem
for your literary talents, and ftill
more for your private virtues,
DEAR SIR,
Tour Jincere friend,
and obedient Servant,
E. H.
1 O
...... ..,.___..
' Dflfi ,23JH
lliV 3Ji
T O
WILLIAM MELMOTH, Efq;
On his omitting the name of the Marcbionefs
de Lambert, in his account of the celebra-
ted Modern Writers on Friendlhip.
HASTE, gentle MELMOTH,
Beauty's friend,
Whofe fpirit glories to commend
Each talent {he difplays ;
And nobly fcorns that Cynic pride,
Which oft to Woman has deny'd
The palm of letter'd praife :
C 2 O hafte !
"\} f i Q'^ ftsv* 1 1 * fnofi i A/ -. Y-J-J'^
O haile ' thy hard neglect retrieve,
For which the wounded Graces grieve.
And mourn their LAMBERT'S lot:
.
To think her page, to them fo dear,
jHpnrliJQi Jorusq 3m n
Is, by the critic they revere,
Contemptuoufly forgot.
But, as the voice of Fame will own,
oiib e x x
For fuch offences to alone
^i i n i i noxH
Thou haft the happy power :
, . . M TCl333i
As the poor annual decays,
This rhyme may perifh, but thy praife
Is a perennial flower.
Then in thy foft Virgilian profe,
That with poetic fweetnefs flows,
Whofe beauties will outlive
The ruder verfe I vainly frame,
To 'lovely LAMBERT'S injur'd name
Full retribution give !
i Thv
W. MELMOTH, ESCL 37
Thy TULLY, whom all eyes confefs
So graceful in thy Englifh drefs,
To Man confines his aim,
When he makes age forget its ills,
Or in the patriot foul inftills
True Friendfhip's kindred flame :
But LAMBERT, Learning's fofter pride,
Her fex's unafTuming guide,
Exerts a nicer art -,
Her precept from Caprice withdraws,
And forms to philofophic laws
The lighter female heart.
'Tis her's to teach the vain coquette
To bear, unwounded by regret,
The lofs of youthful grace j
And in the cultur'd mind difplay
Charms, that compenfate and o'erpay
The ruins of her face :
C 3 FOJ?
38 STANZAS TO
For well file eftimates, above
The fcorching beams of blazing Love,
Friendfhip's ferener fires -,
Wifely fhe moulds the mind of youth ;
Sweet moralifl ! who teaches truth,
Yet teaching never tires.
Oh Eloquence ! we own thy power :
Thy Tully is the richer! flower,
That can the fenfe regale :
Butmuft the Rofe engrofs our eye ?
And can we pafs unheeding by
The Lily of the vale ?
No, MEL MOTH ! tho' a rival coaft,
Tho' Gallia may this Lily boaft,
Its fweets thou wilt not wrong :
Open to Merit's juft complaint,
Thou wilt in happier colours paint
The fubjeft of my fbng;
That
\Y.
That mind, where, tender as the dove$
The fpirit of maternal love
Was fondly feen to brood,
And with foft Virtue's fweeteft tone,
With gentle grace, to Man unknown,
The Moralift endu'd.
'
To generous admiration fir'd,
Contemporary Wits confpir'd
To praife her glowing page :
And France, exulting, ranks her name
With thofe who conftitute the fame
Of her Auguftan age.
Britain applauds fo juft a meed :
Let Female worth, fhe cries, fucceed,
Where'er that worth may fhine I
Let France unenvy'd boafl her ihare
Of glory from her letter'd Fair,
Since MONTAGU is mine !
C 4 ESSAY
I I ft 8 a M -3.IJI
1
gCL 1 ,
IISO
-'I
T -i c
11
ESSAY
O N
FRIENDSHIP.
YO U are under fome obli-
gation, my dear Sir, to
confole me for the lofs of our
female friend. I efteem as a lofs
every diminution in friendfhip ;
fince, in general, every fenti-
ment that begins to languifh,
expires. I examine myfelf with
feverity, and I am perfuaded
that I give more to friendship
than
2 ESSAYON
than others, and yet it ratitfli-
es. Do, therefore, I entreat
you, tell me, without referve, to
whom I am to impute it, as my
complaints muft certainly have an
object. Is the fault in myfelf, or
in my friends, or in the manners
of the times ? In fhof t, correct me
where I fail, and confole me for
what I lofe.
The farther we advance in life,
the more we feel the neceffity of
friendfriip. In proportion as rea-
fon improves, as the imagination
encreafes in brilliancy, and as the
heart becomes pure and refined,
the more the fentiment of friend-
fhip appears requifite to our hap-
pinefs. Behold, therefore, fuch
reflections as the leifure of my
2 retirement
FRIENDSHIP. 43
retirement has led me to throw
together on the fubjed. In all
ages friendfhip has been confider-
ed as one of the firft bleffings of
life : 'Tis a fentiment which is
born with us, and the firft move-
ment of every heart is to unite
itfelf to fome other ; neverthelefs,
it is a general lamentation, and
all the world exclaims " There
are no friends." The whole cir-
cle of paft ages hardly furnifhes
three or four examples of a per-
fect union. Since then all men
are agreed concerning the charms
of friend/hip, why do they not
comprehend their common inte-
reft, and unite to enjoy it ? Man-
kind, in growing depraved, be-
come blind to their own ad vantage.
Wifdom
44 ESSAYON
H 3 yji i
Wifdom and truth, in e,nlight-
, ,3fmEffo oT72i
enmg our underltandings, make
our felf-love more adroit and pe-
netrating, and teach us that it
is our real intereft to attach our-
HT>B !Ld3qi3q or b3riTL6T ?
felves to virtue, and that vir-
, . nu". 911. .dtotemphb hn
tue brings with it all the gentle
and engaging pleafures of friend-
,, . , t tn3i3nB,nA .arn?
imp. Let us examine, then, what
are the charms and the advantages
of friendfliip, that we may feek
them ; what its true characlerif-
tic, that we may know it ; and
what its duties, that we may dif-
t SfifqlrflnnbiTi oJ flsilii
charge them.
The advantages of friendfliip
manifeft themfelves fufficiently ;
., . . n3^no ^?on:
all nature exclaims with one voice,
that they are of all blefiings the
moft defirable : without it, life
has
FRIENDSHIP. 45
giiha nx < .JJI& -;
has no charms. Man is made up
of wants, and when left to him-
felf, feels a void, which friend-
fhip only is capable of filling.
Harrafled in perpetual agitation
and difquietude, he can find re-
pofe only in the bofom of friend-
{hip. An ancient fays, that Love
is the fon of Poverty and the God
of Riches : of Poverty, becaufe he
is by profeffion a beggar ; and of
the God of Riches, becaufe he is
naturally profufe : why may we
not aflign to Friendfhip the fame
origin ? When fhe is lively, fhe
requires fympathy ; tender and
delicate characters feel the wants
of the heart more than others
feel the common neceffities of
life. On the other hand, from her
generolity
4 6 E S S A Y O N
generofity of nature ftie deferves
to be acknowledged asi:he daugh-
ter of the God of Riches ; for
thofe have no pretenfions to the
noble name of friend fhip, who
fhrink from her feverer duties in
the hour of advedity. In fhort,
feeling minds feek to unite them-
felves by fentiment ; for as the
heart was made for affection, it
becomes lifelefs the moment you
refufe it the pleafure of loving
and being beloved. Load men
with pofleffions, with riches, and
honors, and deprive them of the
fweets of friendship ; all the
charms of life difappear.
Your reafonable characters de-
ny themfelves to love : women,
from attachment to duty men,
from
FRIENDSHIP. 47
from the fear of chufing un-
wifely. You are attracted to~
wards friendfhip ; you are hur-
ried into love. Friendfhip is of-
ten built upon the ruins of love ;
and fuch friend/hip is moft ten-
der, moft lively, and moft aflidut-
ous. All the delicacies of love
are found in the connection of
which I fpeak. Friendfhip, in its
infancy, 13 fubjecl: to illufion :
Novelty pleafes by promifing
much, and whatever awakens
hope is of high eftimation. II-
lufion is a fentiment which tranf-
ports us beyond the truth, by
obfcuring our reafon. You fee in
the perfons that begin to pleafe
you, every perfection ; and the
imagination, which always acls
under
4 S ESSAY ON
under the dominion of the heart,
lends to the beloved "object the
merit which it wants. We love
our friends much more for the
qualities that we give them cre-
dit for, than for thofe which they
have difplayed. There are alfo
friendfliips which feem to depend
on the ftars ; fympathetic con-
ne&ions, and undifcovered ties,
which unite and bind us fo firm-
ly that we neither want vows
nor proteftations : Confidence
takes the lead of language.
When Montaign defcribes to us
his fentiments towards his friend,
we fought each other" fays he,
upon report, and our names
had already embraced before
we became acquainted. It
was
<c
(C
cc
FRIENDSHIP. 49
cc Was on a feftival that I firft
<c faw him, and we both found
<c ourfelves in an inftantfo united,
cc fo well known, and fo intimate,
" that nothing could be more
<c dear than we were to each
<c other ; and when I afk myfelf
<c whence arifes that joy, that
" eafe, that repofe, which I feel
cc when I fee him ? all I can fay
" is, 'Tis he 'tis I." We enjoy
in friendfhip the pureft fweets
of love : the pleafure of con-
fidence, the charm of expofing
our foul to our friend to read
in his very heart to fee it
without a fhadow of difguife ;
to difcover our own weaknef-
fes, for we muft think aloud
before our friend. Thofe only
D who
5 o ESSAY ON
who have enjoyed the en-
chanting pleafure of friendship,
know what delight there is in
pafiing whole days together *
how light, how rapid, the
hours in the prefenee of thofe
we love ! what a refource is the
afylum of friendship ! By her
we efcape from the world>
which is generally deceitful,
falfe, and inconftant.
But one of the great advanta-
ges of friendfhip, is the aid of
good counfels : however rational
we may be, we have ftill occafion.
for a director, as we ought to
diftruft our reafon, which fre-
quently delivers as its own lan-
guage, the mere dictates of paf-
lion. 'Tis a great fupport to
know
FRIENDSHIP. 51
know we have a guide to correct
and reform us. The ancients un-
derftood all the advantages of
friendfhip ; but they have fo o-
vercharged their portraits of it,
that they are looked upon merely
as fine ideas, which exift not in
nature. As men love to fly from
great models, and to rejecl great
examples, becaufe they require
much from us, they agree to treat
them as chimeras ; but in this
we mifunderftand our own inte-
reft. In withdrawing ourfelves
from the obligations of friendfhip,
we lofe all its advantages : it is a
commerce, it is a kind of part-
nerfhip, in which the moft wor-
thy advances the largeft fum, and
thinks himfelf happy in propor-
D 2 tion
52 ESSAY ON
A 1
tion to that advance. We divide
our fortune with our friend ;
riches, credit, attentions, fervices,
all belong to him, except our ho-
; f/lJ(.'.' ~^) y/J} TIJ 2fj' Q33^{
nor. It has appeared to me, to
>3 11/p 311/1;
the difgrace of our age, that of-
l\I: I/ I O UjJ^ZV 1 l\JJ^fi
fering our fortune to our friend
is confidered as the laft effort of
friendfhip ; there are trials far
%erior to this.
Jjr?Jj);V/J : 5^1 flfJT
But one of the greateft advan-
tages of friendfhip, is to find in
our friend a juft model ; for we
*
defire the efteem of thofe we love,
and that defire leads us to imi-
tate thofe virtues which may in-
fure it. Seneca recommends to his
friend, to chufe from amongft the
great men the moft refpedtable
character, to ad always as if he
117 /IF rra^iQ'Bli
* was
FRIENDSHIP. 53
aW SDn^fa^ te. i t .
was prelent, and to render him
an account of every adtion. Our
friend is this exalted character to
keep us in awe nothing can in-
fure our conduct fo effectually,
both with regard to ourfelves and
others, as a refpectable friend.
jo Jiorb jh i i b*M
It is not allowed us to be imper-
'.ilk i 2 Liii "Li *^
feet in his eyes ; neither do we
often fee virtue connected with
vice. We do not love to fee
thofe who conftantly fcrutinize
and condemn us-^-we muft be
certain of our own integrity, to
dare to give ourfelves certain
friends. Pyrrhus faid, " Save me
" from my friends, I fear only
F|T% |- r\rri & _Tfsf\t4
<c them." Pliny having loft his
friend, I fear," faid he, c< I (hall
< c flacken in the road of virtue ;
D 3 "I have
54 ESSAY ON
<C T I. 1/1 -J- J ^.-t
" I have loit my guide, and the
<c witnefs of my life." In fhort,
perfect friendship puts us under
the neceffity of being virtuous ;
as it can only be maintained be-
tween eftimable perfons, it .forces
us to refemble them, that we
may preferve their regard. You
will find then in friendfhip the
fecurity of good advice, the emu-
lation of good example, fympathy
in yourforrows, afliftance in your
wants, without being afked, wait-
ed for, or purchafed.
Let us now fee what are the
true charadleriftics of friendfhip,
that we may know it. The prin-
cipal merit which fhould be re-
quired in our friends, is virtue :
It is that which aflures us they
are
FRIENDSHIP. 55
are capable of friendfhip, and
worthy of it : expedl nothing
from your connections, when they
have not this foundation. In
thefe days, it is not our taftes,
but our wants, which unite us. It
is not the union of hearts, or of
the underftanding, that is fought
for in thefe intimacies. Thus we
fee them at an end as foon as they
are begun. There can be no
rupture without fome degree of
difgrace, as there muft be fome
fault on one fide or the other :
there is no efcaping the mame of
being miftaken in our opinion,
and of being obliged to retract
it. We form intimacies without
any exertion of our judgment,
and we diffolve them without re-
D 4 fledtion ;
5 5 ESSAY OF
flelion ; what can be more con-
temptible ? Chufe your friend out
of a thoufand ; nothing is more
important than fuch a choice,
fince upon it your happinefs de-
pends : as, on the contrary, no-
thing is more melancholy than to
be connected with the unworthy,
to have all the fhame of a fepa-
ration to undergo, or the mortifi-
cation of continuing united with
perfons of no merit. We fhould
alfo remember, that our friends
(lamp our characters ; we are dif-
covered in them, and we thus
prefent a kind of portrait of our-
felves to the public, and a con-
feffion of what we are. We
fhould tremble, if we reflected
what we hazard in acknowledg-
ing
FRIENDSHIP. 57
ing a friend. Would you be
efteemed ? live with perfons that
are eftimable ; we fhould there-
fore be well acquainted before we
engage ourfelves.
The firft mark, which affures
us that any perfon is worthy of
friendfhip, is virtue ; after that, we
muft feek for friends that are free,
and unenflaved by the pafiions :
thofewhom ambition poflefies, are
little capable of this tender fenti-
ment; ftill lefs capable are thofe
who are in the chains of love.
Love carries away with him all
the vivacity of friendfhip ; it is a
turbulent pailion, and friendfhip
is a gentle and well-regulated
fentiment. Love gives the foul
v on;b~
goi
58 ESSAY ON
an intoxicating kind of joy, which
is fometimes followed by extreme
difcontent. j The other is a rea-
fonable delight, always, pure and
always equal ; nothing can ob-
ftruct or weary it it nourishes
the foul.
Moreover, if you are attached
to a perfon of merit, has not
that perfon all your confidence ?
The friendship of a lover is too
inlipid; he may, indeed, afford
you fome degree of attention, and
fome fervices ; but as to fenti-
ment, he has none left to beftow.
The recompence of virtuous
love is friendfhip; it is not, how-
ever, a common paffion, but love
of the pureft and moft exalted na-
FRIENDSHIP. 59
ture, which leads to this reward.
Perfons of a frivolous and difli-
pated turn are by no means fuited
to friendfliip ; for every objed
with them carries away fome
portion of that fentiment and fo-
Jicitude which fhould be the
property of friendfliip.
Though it has been always
faid, that we fhould give to
friendihip a foundation more fo-
lid than mere fenfibility, yet if
inclination is not concerned, we
are not deeply engaged. The
fancy admits not of conviction.
If the heart is not affeded, we
advance neither rapidly nor far*
Virtue and inclination united to
form thofe ancient friendships,
whofe memory has defcended to
our
60 .
ji/ii pvil-p.vsa.9W - % bn-
our days. Montaign, who de-
&3 . ,^3fi3bni>q3biji to, 33iipT>.,
icribes to us the rife of his fijnti-
ments towards his friend, fays he
33XBO .DOGS ;jX>fljiltrB DJ3
was imitten as one in love : he
o, r n^m woUoj jyuQit)
was in a lituation to reliih fnend-
nv.]-' -r, , r s-qinlbn^m
Jhip. rreed from paliionsj and
devoted to reafon, there remained
t . 3fi ,
to him no other enjoyment.
T* r i r -JtOICl
Perions recovered from violent
paffions, and who are reftored
* .-cjOJ 3r ' ' 2^^^
to themfelves, from a convidlion
^ /^^ little value of things in ge-
neral, are moft proper for true
friendiliip. Thofe who are free,
and difengaged from the million
of frivolous amufements, attach
themfelves to you by fentiment ;
^c -itTi^J 1 3nl yoin
but however infenfible to their
own wants, they fail not to feel
and to alleviate tjiofe of their
friend?,
F R I.E N D SHIP. 61
friends. We never live in fuch
a degree of independence, as to
be able tp difpenfe with recipro-
cal affiftance; but good offices
fhould follow friendfliip, not
friendfliip good offices. Friend-
fliip alfo requires conformity,
equality of age, or what ap-
i r ^i j r -i r
proaches to it, and a iimilanty of
inclinations and purfuits. Per-
fons elevated to a fplendid ftation,
and intoxicated with profperity ;
thofe diffipated minds which are
carefled by fortune, are by no
means proper for friendfliip.
- iii JT1O3 !
Kings are alfo deprived of this
r iioi ,?jn3m r .
iweet lentiment ; they can never
inonilfi3T VQ
enjoy the certainty of being be-
loved for their own fakes : it is
always the king, and feldom the
man :
62 ESSAY ON
1
man : I would not accept the
firft of dignities at this price.
All things are a burthen, without
the fuccour of friendfhip. There
never was a king, except Agefi-
laus, who fuffered for having
made himfelf too much beloved.
It is a noble dominion, to reign
over every heart. Perfons of dif-
tin&ion are more eager to amafs
riches, than to acquire friends.
Where is the perfon who thinks
of gaining hearts by effential
fervices; of feeking after, and
affifting neglected merit ; of
preparing, in the heart of a
friend, an afylum for himfelf in
the feafon of difgrace ? The
greater part of our acquisitions
are for others ; this alone is for
ourfelves.
9 A purity
FRIENDSHIP. 63
A purity of morals is alfo ne-
cefTary in friendfliip. The rifque
is too great in uniting ourfelves
with a perfon of an irregular
conduct.
You fee clearly that all the
virtues are effential to perfecl
friendfliip. Retirement is pro-
per to cultivate this fentiment.
Solitude is the friend of wifdom.
The habitation of peace and
truth is within ourfelves. " It
" is the mark of a well-formed
" mind," fays one of the an-
cients, " to know how to live
1 c well with one's felf. How plea-
fant is this fyftem of life, when
it is thoroughly underftood,
and fuccefsfully purfued !"
Friendfliip demands an entire
poffefiion
cc
(C
cc
6 4 fc S $ A Y tf
pofieflion of the whole milid i
in retirement, this fentiment be-
comes more neceffary and lefs
divided. Moreover, we are ge-
nerally fuch to others as we are
to ourfelves. The wife know
how to eftablifh peace within
themfelves, and can communi-
cate it to others. Seneca fays>
" I have advanced fo far in im-
" provement, that I have learnt
" to be a friend to myfel"
Whoever can live with them-
felves, may live with others.
Mild and gentle characters diffufe
a foft charm over all that ap-
proach them. Retirement fecures
innocence, and renders friendship
more requifite. Some witnefs
of our conduct is neceflkry, to
eftimate
FRIENDSHIP. 65
eftimate our good qualities, as
without fuch, we advance faintly
in the road of virtue. When you
efteem your friend to a certain
degree, you place all your glory
in his approbation. If you are
happy, you would divide your
happinefs with him: and indeed,
all valuable porTeffions become
infipid when unobferved.
I believe that extreme youth is
by no means fuited to the plea-
fures of perfect friendship : we
fee many young perfons fancy,
and call themfelves friends ; but
the bonds of their union are
pleafures, and pleafures are not
ties worthy of friendship. " You
<c are at the age," fays Seneca to
his friend, " when the violent
E " paffions
66 ESSAY ON
" paffions are no more; only the
" gentler ones remain : we can
" now enjoy the noble pleafure of
" friendfhip."
What renders friendfhip moft
certain and moft folid, is virtue ;
abfence from the world ; love of
folitude; and purity of manners ;
a life which reftores us to wifdom
and to ourfelves ; an elevated fpi-
rit (for there is a refinement and
dignity in perfect friendfhip, to
which minds of an ordinary level
can never rife) ; but, above all, a
purity of heart. The qualities
of the heart are much more ne-
ceflary than thofe of the un-
derftanding. The underftanding
may amufe, but it is the heart
that attaches. Thofe who are
influenced
FRIENDSHIP. 6?
influenced by felf-love, are un-
worthy of it : they only think of
taking from the fund of friendfliip,
whereas the virtuous are only de-
firous of adding to it. The ava-
ricious are unacquainted with a
fentiment fo noble. True friend-
fhip is liberal : avarice forms
an unfurmountable obftacle to
every virtue. The fentiment of
avarice retards, or$ to fpeak more
properly, ftifles every good incli-
nation. There is not a virtue
which does not exacl: fomething
from its pofieffor ; but the ava-
ricious mind is always inclined to
draw every thing from others.
We muft give without a chance
of return ; we muft rifque the
E 2 danger
68 E S S A Y O N
j c hJUKuf
danger or encountering ingrati-
tude.
There are three feafons in
friendfhip ; the beginning, the
continuance, and the end. As
the commencement of friendfhip
abounds with fentiments, and as
a rifing amity is fupported by
fome illufion nothing is pain-
ful in thefe firft moments ; all
is pleafure : but it often hap-
pens that fancy dies away,
and this energy of fentiment is
impaired by habitude. The il-
lufion difappears, and we are re-
duced to call reafon to our
port, a dry and cold counfellor,
at beft.
Of our friendfhip, as of our
love,
FRIENDSHIP. 69
love, we fhould not be too la-
vi{h. There is a degree of al-
lowable ceconomy ; but how is it
poffible to reftrain ourfelves in
the enjoyment of a pleafure that
has the fandion of innocence?
However, as there is nothing in
life fo pleafing as a lively friend-
fhip, the parties fhould equally
co-operate towards the prefer-
vation of a ftate fo defirable ;
for happinefs is nothing more
than a conftant fucceflion of
pleafing fenfations and agreeable
ideas. We feel the prefent we
imagine the future. Friendfliip
fills both thefe periods, and
fupports both the fentiments.
To the prefent, fhe gives per-
ceptible delight; to the future,
E 3 the
70 ESSAY ON
the brilliant vifions of hope: but as
it has been obferved, that all fen-
fibility is liable to decay, and that
the pureft hearts cannot engage
to prefer ve always the quicknefs
of a growing friendship ; they
may therefore be fometimes in-
conftant, but never unfaithful.
The vivacity of inclination fades
away, but the love of duty re-
mains. Such are to be pitied,
for they have loft a pleafing fen-
timent. Why have we not the
power of infuring it ? Let us
therefore give to friendship the
more folid foundation of efteem,
which, built on the knowledge
of merit, is not liable to change.
The bandage on the eyes of love,
fhoujd be ever removed from
thofe
FRIENDSHIP. 71
thofe of friendship : it is her na-
ture to be quick-fighted, to exa-
mine before me forms her en-
gagements, and to attach herfelf
only to perfonal merit ; for thofe
alone are worthy of her regard,
who poflefs in themfelves a juft
title to her affe&ion.
gybjAfter having made a proper
choice, we muft be fteady ; not
efteem our friends with a variable
regard, but with an unfhaken at-
tachment ; for when fenfibility
would efcape, and carry efteem
away with it, juftice fhould in-
terfere to retain it. We muft
not allow ourfelves to pry into
the defccls of our friends ; ftill
lefs to fpeak of them. We Should
refpecl: friendfhip but as me is
E 4 given
72 ESSAY ON
given us as an affiftant to virtue,
and not as the companion of vice.
We muft caution thofe we re-
gard, when we fee them led
aftray ; if they refift, we muft for-
tify ourfelves with that ftrength
and authority which arife from
the prudence of wife counfel,
and the purity of honeft inten-
tions. We fhould hazard even
the offending them, by our refo-
lution in fpeaking truth : though
the terms of it fhould be foftened
according to the nature of their
necefiity ; for few have ftrength of
mind fufficient to fubmit to that
truth which is to reform them.
But while we blame them in pri-
vate, we muft defend them in
public, and not fuffer, if poffible,
their
FRIENDSHIP. 73
their reputation to be doubt-
ful.
What then, it may be afked, is
the boundary of friendfhip ? It
extends to the utmoft pale of re-
ligion ; duty and honor are the
only bounds which ought to con-
fine it ; and there are many
things, which the delicacy of ho-
nor allows us not to execute for
ourfelves, which are yet permit-
ted, and even laudable, in the
fervice of our friends. Diogenes
ufed to fay, " When I borrow of
" my friend, it is my own money
" that I afk him for." Such a
confidence is the nobleft panegy-
ric on both the parties.
Whatever your advantages may
be, in the articles of virtue, ta-
lents,
74 ESSAY O tf
Icnts, or fortune, they give you
no claim to an oftentatious fupe-
riority. It has been made a quef-
tion, if we may.entruft another
with the fecret of our friend.
The cafe admits not of delibera-
tion ; a fecret is a truft of which
we cannot difpofe, becaufe it is
not our own.
It now remains to enquire, in
what manner we ought to con-
duel: ourfelves when friendfhip
begins to languish and change.
As this union is formed between
human beings, we muft make an
allowance for the failings of hu-
manity. Many things muft be
overlooked on both fides, if we
wifli to give permanency . to
friendfhip. The moft virtuous
are
FRIENDSHIP. 75
are moft inclined to pardon -
** You will render your friend
<c faithful," fays one of the an-
cients, " in believing him to be
" fo. We give fome title to of-
* c fend, to that perfon whom we
** think capable of offence. "
Ordinary friendship is never
willing to confefs itfelf in the
wrong; delicate friendfhip im-
putes every failing to herfelf ;
happy in being able to fave our
friend from every painful fenfa-
tion, we would indulge him in
the pleafure of forgiving us, and
fave him from the humiliating
neceflity of afldng pardon. But
for this purpofe we muft be con-
nected with a noble fpirit, pof-
fefling refolution to bear the in-
fpection
;6 ESSAY ON-
fpedion of its own failings, and
even to affume fuch as do not
belong to it.
If your friend ftands in need
of being guided and governed
for his own advantage, you muft
preferve a gentle hand, and never
fuffer him to feel his dependence.
Nothing is more at variance with
friendfhip, than thofe felf-fuffici-
ent characters, who endeavour to
pry into your defects, and delight
to difplay them ; fuch a difcovery
is a triumph to them, as it forti-
fies their fway, and encreafes your
dependence. Avoid every thing
that irritates, and in expoftula-
tions beware of ufing any afperity
of language : there are terms of
reproach which ought never to be
admitted,
FRIENDSHIP. 77
admitted, fince they give fuch
wounds to the heart as no time
can clofe.
From the moment you find
your anger begin to kindle, have
a guard upon yourfelf ; recoiled
that paffion always commits a
trefpafs upon juftice. But there
are fome, who have no fooner
committed one offence, than they
perfevere to an hundred, and
know not where to flop ; they
punifli you for faults which they
themfelves have committed, and
are incapable of forgivenefs : when
fuch have been deficient, you
muft not fancy that you can con-'
vince them of it; their under-
ftanding is the flave of their in-
juftice : you muft not reproach
them;
7 $ ESSAY ON
them ; but if you would punifli
them, and avenge yourfelf with
dignity, obferve a ftill greater
nicety of behaviour ; feek occa-
fions to fhew them kindnefs ; as
it is your conduct which fliould
reproach them, and not your dif-
courfe.
However ingenious felf^love
may be in concealing our failings
from us, there are moments fa-
cred to truth, in which fhe makes
herfelf vifible. The kindnefs we
have fhewn in the feafon of
friendfliip, muft be forgotten at
the time of feparation ; and thofe
who do not feel themfelves paid
for their fervices by the pleafure
which they have had in perform-
ing them, cannot be faid to have
given 5
FRIENDSHIP. 79
given ; they have only lent, or
fold. In fhort, we muft fly in
the purfuit of friendfhip, and the
efteem of our friends, and not be
apprehensive of doing too much.
If we are fo unfortunate as to
have made an improper choice,
we muft fupport it, and by that
means punifh ourfelves for our
imprudence, and for the raflinefs
of our attachment. Difagree-
ments are difadvantageous to all
parties. After having done all in
your power to prevent them, as
it will often happen that you are
connected with obftinate perfons,
who only fee you through the me-
dium of their own per verfity, all
is ineffectual. Nothing is more
diftreffing, than to encounter thofe
2 violent
Jo feSSAY ON
Violent and inflammatory cha*
racters, who have only juft un-
derftanding fufficient to defend
their own abfurdity ; whatever
fteps you purfue, you will receive
from them nothing but reproach.
Let it not be the object of your
ambition to reduce them to rea-
fon; but to fubdue yourfelf: you
muft retire, and let your inno-
cence tranquillize and confole
you.
Do not think, that when a fe-
paration has taken place, you have
no further duties to fulfil ; here
begin the moft difficult of duties,
and thofe in which integrity
alone can fupport you : refpect
is due to paft friendfhip, call not
the world to be witnefs of your
3 quarrels,
FRIENDSHIP. 81
quarrels, and never fpeak of
them but when you are forced to
it in your own juftification ; even
then, we ought not to aggravate
the failings of our faithlefs friend.
It is an ill fight to the public, and
a difgraceful part to yourfelf, to
appear in open diffenfion. Re-
flect that all eyes are upon you
that your judges are all your
enemies, either from ignorance of
your real worth, or from envy, if
they are acquainted with it, or
from prejudice and natural ma-
lignity. Whatever has been im-
parted to your confidence in the
feafon of friend {hip, muft never
be revealed ; remember that a fe-
cret is a debt of ancient friend-
ftiip, which you owe to ycurfelf.
F In
82 ESSAY ON
In fhort, the duties which you
difcharge in the feafon of friend -
thip, are -for the perfon beloved ;
but after a rupture <they are, Jbr
yourfelf. In the feafon of affec-
tion, we all know how to coo-
duel: ourfelves ; we need only to
follow pur feelings .: but. wixen
this is at an end, it is the voice
.of duty and reafon which we
muft attend to and obey.
Few perfons know how to con-
duel themfelves in anger ; the ge-
nerality preferve no moderation.
How melancholy is it to give lef-
fons upon fuch a misfortune to
contemplate, amidft the enjoy-
ments of friendfhip, the danger of
their efcaping us ! neverthelefs,
we ihould refled: that we are
threatened
FRIENDSHIP. 83
threatened with fuch a calamity,
and that the moft valuable friends
may pofiefs fuch difpofitions as
have a ftrong tendency to pro-
duce diflenfion. We muft pafs
lightly over ideas of this kind, or
they would ruin the pleafures of
the moft perfect amity.
Some perfons think there are
no duties to difcharge beyond
the grave ; very few are capable
of being friends to the dead : tho'
there is no funeral fo truly noble
as the tears and lamentations of
our friends ; and the moft glo-
rious fepulchre is in their hearts :
neverthelefs, we are not to believe
that the tears which we flied
through fenfibility, and frequent-
F 2 ly
4 ESSAY ON
ly from the bitter fenfe of our
own lofs, can acquit us towards
them. There are duties which
we ftill owe to their name, their
reputation, and their family ;
they muft live in our hearts by
tendernefs, in our memory by
recollection, in our difcourfe by
commendations, and in our con-
dud: by an imitation of their
virtues ' m vinfb' aril 1o
If I have given precepts for
behaviour, when thefe ties are
either broke or flackened, I am
by no means of opinion that we
ought to love our friend as if we
were one day to hate him : my
/ * - /
heart has never liftened to the
do&rines of Machiavel, it is very
2 far
END SHI P. 85
far from conducing itfelf by his
maxims. Thofe who know me,
are convinced, that in friendship
I have hardly the proper degree of
referve ; never am I cautioned by
my own feelings to diftruft my
friends : thofe who think after
the fafhion of the vulgar, confi-
der me as a kind of dupe : I only
fave myfelf from the humiliation
of the character, by rejoicing in
the comfort which it affords.
Thus the prudence from which
I have hitherto collected thefe
maxims, has not yet paffed into
my heart ; but cuftom, the world,
and my own experience, have but
too well inftru&ed me, that in
friend/hip the beft acquired, and
F 3 the
86 E ; $ S A V ON
the moft deferved, we muft trea~
fure up a fund of conftancy and
virtue, to be able to fupport the
lofs of it.
It has been afked, if friendship
can fubftft between - perfons of
different fexes ? This is indeed
rare and difficult, but it is the
kind of friendllup which affords
the higheft delight ; moft diffi-
cult, becaufe it requires moft
virtue and circumfpedtiom Wo-
men who have only the com-
mon ideas of love, are 'not wor-
thy of it : and men who only feek
in women the ordinary pleafures
of the fex, without fuppofing that
they may poffefs qualities of the
jnind and heart more attra&ive
jo than
FRIENDSHIP. 87
than thofe of beauty ; fuch men
are' not formed for the friendship
of which I fpeak. Let us there-
fore attach ourfelves by the ties-
of virtue and of perfonal merit ;
connections of this kind fome-
times begin in love, and termi-
nate in friendfhip. When wo-
men are faithful to the virtue of
their fex, friendship being the re-
coinpence of virtuous love, they
may flatter themfelves with the
hopes of it. From the manner
in which love is treated at this
time, it frequently terminates in
an open quarrel, lhame being ge-
nerally the punifhment of vice.
When women oppofe their duty
to their affe&ion, and offer you
F 4 the
88 : E S S A Y ON
the charms and fentiments of
friendfhip ; when, moreover, you
difcover in them the fame merit
as in men, can you do better
than connect yourfelf with them ?
It is certain, that of all unions it
is the moft enchanting ; there is
always a degree of vivacity, which
is not to be found between per-
fons of the fame fex above all, the
failings that difunite, fuch as en-
vy or competition, of whatever
nature it may be, is not to be
found in this fore of connexion.
Women have the misfortune of
not being able to depend on
friendfliip with each other ; the
multiplicity of their failings forms
an infurmountable impediment j
they
FRIENDSHIP. 89
they unite from neceflity, and
never from inclination. To what
account, then, may they venture
to turn that fund of fentiment
which they pofTefs ? Thofe who
have denied themfelves to love,
are naturally led into friend-
fhip, and men are confiderable
gainers by this meafure ; for
when women have not exhauft-
ed the fenfibility of their hearts
by the paffions, their friend-
flrip is peculiarly interefting
and tender ; for it muft be con-
feflfed (to the glory, or to the
difgrace of women) that they
alone are capable of giving all
that poignancy to fentiment,
which
9 o ESSA'Y ON
which they generally give.-^
Met* fpeak to the underftand-
ing, Wbmen to the heart. More-
over,- as nature Kas placed invi-
*^ * v "\
fible attractions and' ties be-
tween perfons of different fex,
we find every preparation for
friendfhip. The works of na-
ture ard always the moft per-
fe& ; thofe in which fhe has
not the principal fhare, are the
leaft engagirtg. In the friend-
fhip of which I fpeak, we feel
that it is her work ; thefe fe-
cret ties, thefe fympathies, this
fWet inclination, which there
is no refitting; all are comprized
in it. A blefling fo defirable,
is
FRIENDSHIP. 91
is always the recompence of me-
rit ; but we ought to watch
over ourfelves, left a virtue
fhould change imperceptibly in-
ESSAY
2 a
H O
o A -a J o
! nam oi nsvi nsad 2.d
noi:&0ift0i tbHi idi
HI f Blentqqif lo 300310!
,3vil ibritlo agaft ^
jft JB m
^Jasvb amol
,-t-
o
E
L
s s
o
D-
A Y
N
AGE.
EVERY neceffary affiftancc
has been given to men for
the improvement of their reafon,
and for their inftrudtion in the
great fcience of happinefs, in
every ftage of their lives. Cicero
has written a treatife on Old-
Age, to put them in a fituation
to ex trad fome advantages from
a period,
94 ESSAY ON
a period, in which every,, thing
feems to defert us!
Attention is directed to the
improvement of men alone; but
as to women, at all feafons of life
i.
they are left to themfelves : their
education is , neglected in their
youth ; in the fequel they are de-
prived of coalbktion and fupport
for their old-age.
Thus the greateft part of wo-
men Hve without thought,- with-
O *
out felf-examination : in youth
they are vain and diflipated, in
old-age weak and forfaken. We
'-arrive at' each feafon, without
knowing either how to conduct
ourfelves in it, or to enjoy it:
when it is paft, we fee the ufe
we might have made of it; but
as
O L D - A JG E. 9$
as regret is unprofitable when it
ferves not to reform us, let us
turn to our advantage the time
that remains. I fupport myfelf
by my own refle&ions, and as
I approach that age when all
things forfake us, I wifh my
reafon ,to afford me a compenfa-
tion for what I lofe.
All the world has a dread of
old-age ; it is regarded as a fea-
fon given up to pain and vexa-
tion, in which all pleafures dif-
appear. Every one lofes in ad-
vancing in life, and the women
more than the men. As all their
merit confifts in exterior graces,
and as time deftroys them, they
are left entirely deftitute; for
there are very few women whofe
merit
9 6 ESSAY ON
merit is more lafting than their
beauty. Let us try if it be not
poflible to replace it ; and, fince
there is no bleffing fo trivial that
it may not be turned to fome ad-
vantage in the hands of a dex-
trous perfon, let us endeavour
to render the feafon of old-age
profitable, by making it condu-
cive to our happinefs and perfec-
tion.
Let us examine the duties of
old-age ; the refpecl: and pro-
priety which are due to that pe-
riod : and let us enquire into the
advantages which may be drawn
from it, that we may enjoy
them. Life does not confift fo
much in the fpace of time, as in
the ufe we are able to make of
it.
O L D - A G E. 97
it. ' We fhbuld lay clown a plan,
and follow it with exadtnefs ; for
to be ever chanonno; our refolu-
o o
tions and our conduct, is man-
gling our exiftehce. We fhort-
en it by our instability, and
lengthen it by an uniformity, of
conduft.
Thefe reflections, my child,
which belong to my fituation at
prefent, will be one day your's.
Prepare for yourfelf an happy
old-age, by a youth of innocence.
Recollect that the pleafurable
age is but a flower, which you
will fee faded. The graces will
defert you, and health will dif-
appear. Old-age will come, and
deftroy the rofes in your cheeks.
Young as you are, that which
G travels
9-8 E S S A Y O N
travels with fuch rapidity, is not
far from. you. ,3iirtwt
We have, in growing old, the
common evils of humanity. The
infirmities of the body and the
mind are attendants on advanced
life. Old-age, fays Montaign,
imprejjes more wrinkles on the mind
than on the face. The paflions
may be faid to lie in wait for
us during the whole courfe of our
lives. There feem to be ambuf-
cades of them, through which we
muft neceflarily pafs. From the
torrid paeons, fays Montaign, we
retreat to the temperate.
Melancholy refle&ions are in
the train of old-age. They dry
up the foxirces of joy and plea-
fure. They make us difgufted
9 with
OLD-AGE. 99
with the prefent, and dread the
future. They render us infenfible
to every thing but pain.
All thefe misfortunes are com-
mon to both fexes ; but there
are fome which are peculiar to
women. As there are different
characters, there are different
kinds of pain to fuffer, and mea-
fures to purfue. Women are ei-
ther libertine or virtuous. Thefe
two characters are varied with
infinite difcriminations, and there
are many {hades and degrees in
both. As to thofe, who are born
without tendernefs or attractions,
and who have neither made nor
received any impreffion ; they
enjoy a tranquillity and a regu-
larity of life, and have lefs to
G 2 lofe,
ioo ESSAY ON
o
.
lofe, as they advance m years,
H 1LH ... x,& r / 7
than thofe who are fufceptible of
fentiment, and calculated to in-
fpire it. Neverthelefs, thefe have
many uneafinefles to fuffer, and
r n *f r V>tIJ5
imperfections to ltrup;p;le with.
r & . vn
They ought to be on their guard
n i i
againft melancholy. We become
enemies to joy, which our intereft
fhould lead us to cherifli in our-
felves, and which we ought not
to cenfure in others. But we muft
chufe our pleafures, or rather our
amufements ; what is allowable
iiOJ JO oUOiyi jfI^"l3iTll"i *3 f B *^T^Ti ^
and graceful at one age, is unbe-
coming at another.
. on nwofil sysd
Avarice is alio one of the
i rr t_ i - 3d ^VBfi Odw
weaknelies belonging to the lat-
ter period of life. As every
thing fails, we wifli for fome-
thing
OLD-AGE. 101
thing to lean on ; and we attach
r i i_ r
ourielves to riches as our lupport.
Neverthelefs, if we could reafon
properly, we fhould fee that we
have no real occafion for them,
and that we enfure more comfort
by fharing them with others,
than by amaffing them for our-
felves.
^niLro ri
But let us return to women
too nr.dlnano.n . bl^H
or gaiety ; they have molt to
lofe in growing old, and a more
difficult part to acl:. As there
are various forts of them, fo
there are different kinds of con-
duct to obferve. For thofe who
have fhown no difcretion, and
who have been unfaithful to the
prejudices, and to the virtues
i j
of their fex, they lofe infinitely
03 on
E S AY Cf Q; N
on the Jaiiwfc
thefe being the only
united them to
ne&ion muft be
thofe who have known how,t;o
refpecl: themfelves, who have
been able to join probity and
friendfhip to love; thefe are ftill
connedled with men by the vir-
tues of fociety ; for virtue alone
has a tight to unite us. Feel-
ing characters have more to un-
dergo. The heart does not ex-
hauft itfelf like the fenfes. At-
tachment to our duties is often
followed by a long and painful
fenfibility. Love indemnifies
himfelf on the fentiments of the
heart, for what the fenfes have
refufed him. The more the
fentiments
OLD-AGE. 103
fentlments are reftrained, the
more lively they become. In-
clination grows weaker by in-
dulgence, and the paffions 6f
women wear out like thofe of
men. In fhort, there is a pe-
riod in the lives of women,
which becomes a criris. It is
the conduct which they obferve,
and the part that they take at
that time, which gives the; laft
finifh to their reputation, and
upon which depends the re*
pofe of their whole lives.
Women fupport themfelves in
youth by a vivacity of confti-
tution, which hurries them to-
wards fuch objects as gratify
their fenfes, and which deli-
vers them to the paffions, either
G 4 allowable
IQ4 ESSAY ON
allowable or forbiddenui}
novelty/ pf:; -the fcene,:>i'Tfrfuiaii
excites and nourifhes their cu-
riofity, fupports them. For
thofe who have beauty and at-
tradHons, they enjoy the ad-
vantage of their own figure,
and the impreffion which they
make on others. Their felf-
love is always gratified by what
they find in themfelves, and by
the afTedtion which they in-
fpire.
What authority is more inftan-
taneous, more fweet, and more
abfolute, than that of beauty?
Majefty and power have domi-
nion only over external objecls>
that of beauty reaches the foul.
There is hardly an amiable WOT-
man
OLD-AGE. 105
man that has not enjoyed thefe
triumphs. Moreover, what a
fund of amufements does not the
defireof pleafing fupply? All the
apparatus of gallantry, allowable
in a young perfon, drefs, diver-
verfions ; all thefe pleafures are
the occupations of a certain age.
What a&ivity do the paffions not
infpire ? Gan we be agitated more
forcibly than by their power ?
The events of female life depend
on them, and great eftablifh men ts
have often been the confequence
and the reward of a fentiment.
All thefe things are connected
with each other ; they relate to
the heart, and conftitute an active
and bufy life, even for thofe who
have not made an improper ufe
of
ESSAY ON
of their liberty. All this vanishes
at an after-period, when, if you
wifh to try the fenfibility of the
heart, you find it alive only to
pain. There comes a feafon in
which you rauft lead a fort of life
fuitable to the decency and dig-
nity of your age. You muft give
up all: that is called lively plea-
fure. It often happens that you
have loft all tafte for amufements:
they can no longer employ your
hours ; you have even loft your
real friends, and the time is paft
for you to make others. The
eftate of beauty is love, and the
recompence of virtuous love is
friendship ;. and you are -very
fortunate, when all your beft
years have procured you one, or
two
OLD-AGE. 107
two real friends. In fliort, you
quit each feafon of life as foon as
you begin to be acquainted with
it, and you enter quite a novice
into another. All exterior obje&s
afford you no further fupport, or
are prohibited to you. Within
yourfelf you find nothing but in-
firmities of body, and melancholy
reflexions in the mind, nothing
but difguft. You muft break all
commerce with fentiment. We
feel our ties when they ought to
be diflblved. Devotion has been
called the play- thing, but I con-
fider it as the ftaff of age ; it is
a becoming fentiment, and the
only one neceffary. The yoke of
religion is not a burden, but a
fupport,
But
ESSAY ON
f ^"*< .*
But let us proceed to the du-
ties of old-age. In all the fea-
fons of life we have duties to
difcharge, both to others and
to ourfelves, and thofe which
we owe to others double as we
-*** X, MM I <* 1 ** ' OOJ3 f 3vT5r
grow old. When we can no
longer diffufe the charm of chear-
fulnefs over fociety, it has a
ftronger claim on us for intrin-
fic virtues. In youth others will
attend to you. In old-age you
muft attend to others : participa-
tion is expeded from us, and
our failure is not forgiven. With
our youth we lofe the privilege
of erring. It is no longer per-
mitted us to be in the wrong.
We have no longer that fedu-
cing charm, and we are judged
with feverity. The firft graces of
youth
109
rr\ ^rf'<i- fs~1 "j^Vf J^rtTf" ?ffe ^"^f "ffrfJ
youth have a lultre which covers
every thing. The errors in judg-
ment are pardoned, and have the
merit of fimplicity.
t r *\ J+ L r *\
In growing old, we muft ob-
ferve, above all, propriety in our
converfation and in our drefs.
Nothing is more ridiculous than
making it appear, by ftudied or-
naments, that you wifh to recall
the departing graces. An avowed
old-age is leaft old. The greateft
misfortune of women who have
been lovely, is their forgetting
that they are fo no more.
We muft alfo plan out for
ourfelves a fuitable mode of
life. It is not living as we
ought to live, under the do-
minion of our paflions and fan-
tafies j we only live as becomes
us.
ESSAY ON
us, when we live according to
reafon. We muft alfo pay at-
tention to our fociety, and only
unite with perfons of fimilar age
and difpoiitions. Shews and pub-
lic places ought to be prohi-
bited, or at leaft we fhould vifit
them but rarely. Nothing is lefs
decent, than to difplay there a
countenance which has loft its
graces. When you can no longer
adorn thofe fcenes, it is time to
quit them. The advantages of
underftanding are but ill fup-
ported, when contrafted with the
brilliancy of youth. They ferve
but to make you feel too fcverely
what you have loft : nothing
fuits us then fo well as home ;
our felf-love fuffers lefs there than
in other places. There are, how-
ever*
ever, -allowable amufements, and
all -that is called pleafure is not
forbidden. f ^psbol mo ot noi:/
Let us examine what we owe
to ourfelves ; our fentiments
and our conduct ought to be
different from what it has been
in our earlieft years. You owe
to the world the obligations
of politenefs ; but you owe to
yourfelf fuch fentiments as arq
allowable and innocent, from a
fenfe of your own dignity ; for we
muft live upon good terms with
ourfelves. It is neceflary alfo for
our own repofe ; but it ought tQ
be coniidered, that there are fen-
timents, from which- tp be di-
vorced, aftedls the very foul.
You neither^ know their price,
nor
ESSAY ON
nor the ufe which fhould be made
of them, till they are to be given
up. In a more advanced age, the
tafte becomes more delicate upon
thofe points which wound, and
more exquifite upon thofe which
pleafe. Love is the firft of plea-
fures, and the fweeteft of errors ;
but when youth has forfaken you,
the pains double, and the plea-
fures diminifh.
What conftitutes the misfor-
tune of a certain feafon is, that we
wifh to preferve, and to carry fen-
timents into an age in which they
ought not to appear. Is that the fault
of the feafon? is it not rather our
own? Our manners make the mif-
fortune, not old-age. Every fea-
fon muft be a burden to thofe who
10 have
OLD-AGE. ii3
have not within themfelves the
powers of rendering life happy.
We muft with docility fubmit
ourfelves to the pains of our age,
and of our Situation. Nature^
makes a kind of agreement with
men ; me only gives them life
upon conditions : (he gives us
nothing as our property ; me does
no more than lend. We muft
not revolt at the natural progrefs-
of humanity. A philofopher who
had lived to a hundred and feven
years, was aflced if he did not
find life tirefome ? Ke replied,
have no reafon to complain of my
old-age, as I never made an ill
ufe of my youth. When the mo-
rals are pure and innocent in ear-*
ly life, old-age is mild and tran-
H quiL
folation of anadvanced age. Wfcn
yga h^mK
you reap the
fea^S^
fpn the misfortunes which, our
u PP. n :Sfe e^wk 21 ftfi ftfil
, v The wants of the heart are
infinite, thofe of nature are li-
rmted. Happy is that old-age
in which, the heart is devoted to
heaven. Devotion is a proper
fentiment for women, and becom-
ing to both fexes. Old-age, with-
i iJOJ v>J i/Aii i!vlJ JUIIiJi CEuif lyi ii Joi-l .
out religion, is burdenfome. All
the exterior pleafur,es abandon us.
beft of bleffings, health aj^.yo
3 are
yWPBremblifc N*i& infidel fees
only pains prepared for him : tBe
philofopher, only annihilation.
Behold the termination" of the
The laft a<5l is always tragical ;
but how great the gain, to change
the idea of annihilation for that
of eternity ! If we live in a manner
to render it blefled, how beauti-
ful the profpeft of an eternity
ofblifs! but the greateft part of
mankind fuffer their life to pafs
away without a thought of afcer-
taining their real fituation. Who
would believe that t^iefe very
men, who are fo zealous upon
H 2 that
n6 E S S A
T ^ bnii .;37ii jiaHl ,e,-YniJiis.
that which regards their glory
or their fortune, when they think
it in danger, are tranquil and in-
dolent concerning the knowledge
of their being; that they will fuf-
fer themfelves to be effeminately
led on to death, without inform-
ing themfelves whether what they
have been told are chimaeras or
truths ; that they fhould travel
on their road, and fee advancing
towards them death, eternity,
and everlafting punifhments and
rewards, without refle&ing that
thefe great truths concern and
intereft them ? Can we, with-
out forefight and without fear,
proceed to the trial of fo great
an event ? This is, neverthe-
kfs > the ftate in which the ge-
2 nerality
OLD-AGE. 117
>. C i A >
nerality of men live ; and for
thofe few who have taken the
good or the bad fide, how many-
are there who never think of it?
For thofe who are fo happy as to
be affected by religion, their piety
confoles them. It is alfo moft
r if?{. v < t"
ealy to pradtiie.
' r 3flw s^vbtffDrfj onr
All the chains that attach us
to life are nearly broken. It
is the work of nature, more
than that of our reafon, to
detach us from it. The ban-
dage of illufion is fallen, and we
fee things as they are. A know-
ledge of the world is dearly pur-
chafed, and thofe who are beft
acquainted with It know, that it
is only good to take leave of.
H 3 Subftan-
we
even in tranfient pleafures. We
flaall draw nothing fo valuable
from the world as we {hall from de-
votion. . She has many refqurces.
Refignation
every period
pra&ice of it is moft neceflary in
old-age;, as we are fuflaining loffes
continually. But as fentiment is
lefs lively, we Attach ourfelves
lefs to things. We muft follow
nature imperceptibly, without
revolting againft h$r. c .*uSk ifr<$hf
beft guide we can have. We live
but .to lofe, and to wean ourfelves
from , the objects of our regard t
H We
. 119
We tnuft exped a change both in
ourtelves and in others, and on
mhfe$3&c<&fiMs we 'fhotrld fKew
fiftch indulgence to others as we
wiili to receive on the appearance
of a iimilar change in ourfelves.
o
But our lofles are frequently to
our advantage. Worthy minds
will rejoice in being freed from
the fetters of voluptuoufnefs.
We are to blame therefore our
morals, and not our period of life,
for what we fuffer. We iliould
fubmit mildly to the laws of our
condition : we are all made to
grow weak, to grow old., and to
die. Nothing is ^rritfre idle than
to #f uggte againft the effeds of
$M?i ttHe^ciscidur fuperior in
II 4 ftrength.
E S S A Y O N
ftrength. In youth we all live as
it were in the future. Life is
ipent in defire> and to the future
we truft for our joys and repofe.
In old-age we muft feize them
in the inftant. Montaign fays,
that he turns every thing to ad-
vantage* I feel, fays he, as other
men do, but not quite in fo tran-
fient a rnanner. In proportion
as life becomes fhpjrter, I would
encreafe my reliih for what re-
mains. I would flop the rapidi-
ty of its flight by the eagernefs
of my grafp. We muft fupport
old-age by every prop. I make
all things contribute to my aid,
and both wifdom and folly will
have enough to do in affi
<0 L D*- A G E.
me with their alternate good offi-
ces under this latter period of life.
One of the duties of old-
age, is the management of time.
The lefs that remains to us, the
more valuable we ought to con-
fider it. The time of Chriftkns
is the price with which they puf-*
chafe eternity. Without wafting
it, therefore, in the purfuitof vain
fciences, which are above us, let
us make the proper ufe of our fi~
tuation, and juftly eftimate the
reach of our underftanding.
We are lefs limited in the article of
enjoyment, than in that of know-
ledge : we have iftdeed as much
light as is neceflary and proper
for OUT well-being ; but we en-
gage
E3 SiAOrj ,0 N
which were not defigned for our
saJipbeheBfion .? JbiitsbBfoie ore
temqhitb inquiries!
know the
ftanding. What is the rule that
fion ? We muft learn to feparafe
opinion from real knciwJedge/^^)
have the ftrength to pauie- amlt^)
doubt, when we fee nothing
clearly ; and to have the refolu-
tion to bear the ignorance of
truths which are beyond our
Qfcmprehenfion. ioBut>ii0>qchecfa
our prefumption, and to weaken
our ccmfidence, let us reflect that
the two principles of our know-
noFHrqo
t> L D-A G E. 123
ledge, our reafon and our fenfes,
are deficient in fincerity, and very
apt o to /mlfleadjdi^ noSftfae fenfes
overpower reafon by furprize,
andiit^e (reafon deceives them in
its turn. Behold our two guides,
who both lead us aftray 1 Re-
flections like thefe infpire us
with difguft for mere fpecu^-
lative truths, let us then em-
ploy our time in attainments
which will contribute to our
happinefs and perfe&ion. -
There is hardly any age, which
has not in its difpofal a cer-
tain portion of bleffings :^^to
the firft period, belong the live-
ly pfefcfores of the fenfes and
imagination ; to the fecond, thofe
of ambition and opinion ; and to
the
124 ESSAY ON
the laft, the poifeffion of reafon
and tranquillity. SfjTn4jy 3 $
foul- is the moft neceffary difpofi-
tion for happinefs. When the
foul is not fhaken by a multitude
of fenfations, it is in a better
ftate to make the moft of thofe
bleffings which prefent them-
felves, and gains as much by the
improvement of its relifh, as it
lofes by the failure of its ob-
jects.
It has been confidered as the
duty of old-age to think of death.
I believe it is ufeful to reflect
upon it, for the regulation of our
lives, and to detach ourfelves
from the world. But it is not
neceflary to have it always in
contemplation,
OLD-AGE. 125
contemplation, to afflict us. The
idea is afflicting from the firft
opening of the fcene. How
beautiful foever the drama, the
curtain rnuft fall. The nobleft
lives terminate in the 'fame man-
ner. A little duft is thrown
over us, and we are plunged into
eternity. Montaign does not
agree with me. He would ra-
ther difarm death, by familiar-
izing the mind to its terrors.
We muft hope that Heaven will
fupport us in our clofing fcene.
It fhould be our only aim to en-
gage its protection, by a life of
innocence and virtue. We fhould
alfo b3 careful 'not to fet too
high a value on life. It has al-
ways
126 E 5 S >f'Y ON
ways-
tach m, and misfortunes enough
to reconcile uSP^tf* its ^^6{s? n ^K
philofophcr anfwered a man,
who afked him if he fliould de-
ftroy himfelf You have no re-
fle<5fcion upon a point of fo much
importance. Great men do not
meafure life by the duration in
point of time, but by its propor-
tion of glory. An exemplary
death throws a luftre upon life ;
a weak one difhonors it. To
form a complete judgment of
any one, we ought to have feen
Lite is in itfelf ihort, and we
make it more fo, by our levijty and
irregularities; The fliorf
OLD-AGE.
for-
went glflp. 8 3i WJiqe,yer i j fubftrads
f?h%ir^ift^e te portioa
of; time allotted for fleep, and
other necefiities, for the difor-
ders of mind and body, will
difcover, that little remains to
us for happinefs ; and out of a
long life, we fhall with difficulty
extrad fome years of it. ,
It has been faid, we ought to fi-
nifh our lives before our death, that
is- to fay, our projefls. To finifli
our life, is to have worn out our
inclination; for it; for with re-
fpeft to our projects, as long as
we liv* we muft amufe ourfelves
with hopes, and we exift lefs
in
t-28 S 5 A Y ON
in the prefent than in the future*
Life would be fliort, if hopg did
&ot give it 'extent. The prefect,
fays- afcal,- is never our aim:
the p&ft and the prefent are our
means ; the future alone is- oiir
object Thus we do not exift, but
we hope to do fo. WV fhould,
however, make hafte to live.
It is not wife to fay, I flmll live
to-morrow. The Philofophers
fay, Learn to live ; and the Chrif-
tians, Learn every day how to die.
- One- of the advantages ,bf old-
age is liberty. Pififtratus afked
Solon, who- eppofed him, on what
he grounded his liberty ? Upon
my old-age, he replied, which
has- no longer any- thing to fear-;
The
OLD-AGE. 129
latter feafon fets us free
from the tyranny of opinion.
When we are young, we think
only pf living in the conceit g{
Others. We muft eftablifh our
reputations, and give ourfelves
an honorable place in the ima-
gination of others ; and we muft
even be happy in their idea.
Such happinefs is not real ; it
is not ourfelves we confult, but
others. In a later period, we
return to ourfelves, and this re-
tura jias its fweets. We begin
to confult and to confide in our-
felves. We efcape from fortune
an4 from illufion. Men have
loft their prerogative of deceiving
us. We have learn: to know
I them,
1 30 ESSAY ON
them, and to know ourfelves j to
profit from our own faults, which
inftru us as- much as thofe
of others. We begin to fe^'our
'error, in having fet fo high a va-
lue upon men. Often do tjiey
teach us, to our coft, to place
no dependence upon arty thing.
Infidelity difengages us ; the
falfity of pleafure undeceives
us.
Old-age delivers u-s alfo from
the tyranny of the paffions, and
convinces us, that there is a con-
fiderable pleafure in difcovering
that we-ean e^ift without them,
and a high degree of deliglit, in
feeling ourfelves fuperipr to their
controul. Nature fupplies us
with
OLD-AGE. 13 *
with taftes and defires conform-
able to our prefent fituation. In
youth, we conceive a falfe idea
of old-age : thefe are fears which
w^ contract burfelves. It is not
nature that infpires them, be-
caufe, during the period we are in,
we dread the paffions of another
period, which is a ftranger to us.
Nature is full of admirable re-
fources : flie conducts and go-
verns us almbft without our
.
knowing it, and has the art of
afTifting- us under every incon-
venience. Deprivations are no
longer felt?, when defire is ex-
tinguiflied; All our inclinations
pafs away, even to that of life
itfelf. It is to be wifhed that
I 2 all
ON
" ; iV" 5w3i 3fiDjdbiw 4 . ,
the pafuons mould expire be-
fore us this is to have finished
our life before we die. In this
feafon, reifqn is reftored to us.
She refumes all her rights. We
begin to live when we begin
to obey her for they whole
thoughts, whofe hopes, and even
whole reafon, is at the mergy of
fortune, and of their own fan-
talies, they can affure themfelves
of nothing, having nothing for
their fupport. It is melancholy
to arrive at the end of life with-
out having made any provifion of
real bldTmgs, which never decay.
Never thelefs, men errfploy them-
felves entirely in arriafljrig fuch
j o
pofleffions as" they muft necef-
farily
<XL D - A G E._
farily lofe, \?ithout reflecting, that
thofe perifhable commodities do
pot belong to us. Experience is
alfo one of the advantages of the
.eU CJ ;2 \ iQJI3i 3f J7O1.S57 */!<.-
laft feafon. Vfe are inftruded by
- . . -
the paft even our .errors .reform,
and reftore to us our reafon,
which is feldom preferved in prof-
perity ; for thofe perfons, who
have been always happy, have
V-J - Ar~>A.3. ^ *^
feldom deferved to be fo. But
Tt^Tu " '
there are troubles that arife/rom
fortune and from chance, and
others, which flow from irregu-
larity of morals. Thefe corrupt
the mind and deftroy the health;
for the fequel of an irregular
youth, is a miferable old-age, and
frequently we employ the firft
I 3 part
I 34 E S S A Y O N
part of our lives to render the
remainder of them wretched.
The flavery of the paffions is a
kind of imprifonment, in which
the foul is impaired and weakened.
When we are delivered from them,
the foul enlarges and expands. At
a certain age, we are no longer to
be enfnared by the pleafuresof the
imagination. We know how de-
ceitful they are, and that all the
paflions promife more than they
give. Thofe which are only fup-
ported by illufion, are mifplaced
and odious at a certain age. Am-
bition, extended too far, degene-
rates into folly ; and love, by dif-
play ing itfelf to public view, be-
comes the objed: of ridicule.
There
OLD-AGE.
There comes a feafon in our
liveSj which is facred to truth.
which is j deftincd to ' make
things appear according to their
juft value* Youth, and the paf-
fions, give a falfe colouring to
every thing we are then reftor-
ed to pleafures of genuine fim-
plicity we begin to confult
and to rely on our own fenti-
ments concerning happinefs. We
muft in fome degree, accommo-
date ourfelves to the cuftoms of
life but we fhould not furren^
der to them either our liberty or
our judgment.
Nothing is more glorious than to
make an honourable retreat, and
to fecure to ourfelves an interval of
I 4 leifure
E s S A * o *r
Ieifur6 between life and deatn.
Death, fays Montaign, is no focial
bufinefs, but the ad: of an indivi^
dual. In old-age, we ought rather
to be avaricious than prodigal of
dur fociety. It has been faid of a
man, that he took the counfel
of his old-age, and retired. We
owe the firft and the fecond fea-
fon to our country, and the la ft
to ourfelves. To live in per-
petual employment, is to travel
rapidly through life. Tranquil-
lity lengthens our exiftence. The
world fteals us from ourfelves and
folitude reftbres us.-^-The world
is compofed of a herd, which are
ever flying from themfelves. So-
litude, lays an exalted character,
is
O'-L ft- A G E
is the infirmary of fouls $ t etite
then within yourfelf, but prepare
for yourfelf a good reeepttaift
Unite the oppofite tenements of
{hame and refped, and,
ing the Iktlenefs ; of
learh to reverence your own
The general pralice is
thereverft; but how mekiicholy
to retairi this felf-love, arid tti fee
bAirfelves dying every inft^nt ! fa
is eflentfel to our intereft* t
wean ourfelves from tMs- felf-
ifli affedion, to break part of
thefe fetters, and make at leaft
fome advancestowardsfreedom*-^^
to clofe every avenue that might;
condu'd: us back into the world,
and
I 3 8 ESS AY ON
and not even caft a look towards
it. O happy exiftence, which
finds itfelf delivered from every
fpecies of flavery ! in which, we re-
linquifli all things not from. a
tranfitory difguft, ;but from a
confirmed judgment, fupported
by the conviction of the . fmall
value of things in general* It is
this knowledge which reconciles
us with wifdom, which makes
old-age palatable to us, if I may
hazard fuch an expreflion.
It belongs only to liberal fouls
to make a proper eftimate of life
andjdeath fuch alone as are full
of refqurcescan extract enjoyment
from thefe declining years. Weak
minds endure them ; but minds
of
OLD-AGE. 139
of fuperior ftrerigth convert them
to advantage. It has been faid,
that there was no fpe&acle more
worthy of a God, than a virtuous
man ftruggling with adverfity.
We may fay the fame thing of a
man abandoned to himfelf, ftrug-
gling with old-age, infirmity,
and death. In retirement, which
is the afylum of age, we en-
joy an uninterrupted calm. In-
nocent days bring with them
nights of tranquillity, and while
you affociate with the dead, they
inftrucl, direct, and confole you
thefe are certain and conftant
friends, devoid of caprice or jea-
loufy. In fhort, it has been faid,
that the moft pleafing period in
2 the
i 4 o ESSAY ON
the life of man is the clofe of
it.
As we advance, we learn alfo
to fubmit ourfelves to the laws
ofneceflity: that free-will, fo
ftrong and unruly, becomes weak,
and is infenfibly extinguiflied.
We have too often proved, that
refiftance is ineffe&ual, and leaves
us nothing but the diflionor of
unfuccefsful rebellion. We often
wifti for what is contrary to our
intereft, and it frequently hap-
pens, that what we have fuppofed
prejudicial, turns out to our
advantage. We no longer know
what we ought to wifli for. We
have no longer the ftrength to
defire. We find it much eafier
to
O L P- A G E, 141
to fubmit, than to change the
order of the world. Internal
peace does not refide in the
fenfes, but in the will. It is pre-
ferved in the midft of affliction,
as long as the will remains firm
and fubmiflive. Our peace does
not confift fo much in an ex-
emption from fufferings, as in a
mild resignation under them. We
ought to consider every paflef-
fion, which is out of our reach;,
as ftrangers to us. It isiS-etii
regarding things as our due and
property, that we fuffer by their
deprivation. Impoflibility alone,
can fix the imagination of man.
-;
Perfons of judgment employ them-
{elves in confidering the limits
9 which
x 4 2 ESS A Y,
which are prefcribed by reafon
and nature.
In fhort, all things are at peace,
when they are in their natural or-
der. The foul of man can repofe
only in the bofom of his God.
When we refign ourfelves to his
guidance, resignation and regula-
rity reftore us to that peace which
our refiftance had deprived us of.
The only fecure afylum for man,
is in the love and in the fear of
his Creator.
FINIS,
LETTERS
TO AND FKOM
THE COUNTESS DU BARRY,
The laft Miftrefs of L E w i s XV. of France;
CONTAINING
Her Correfpondence with the PRINCES OF THE BLOOD,
MINISTERS OF STATE, and Others:
INC L V D I X G
Several curious ANECDOTES of the Court of VERSAILLES
during die Laft fix Years of that Reign.
EXPLANATORY NOTES.
Tranflated from the FRENCH.
The FOURTH EDITION.
LONDON:
Printed for G. KEARSLY, No. 46, FJeet-flreet.
M,DCC.LXXX.
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