The Essays of Montaigne/Book II/Chapter XVI

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Chapter XVI. Of glory.[edit]

There is the name and the thing: the name is a voice which denotes and
signifies the thing; the name is no part of the thing, nor of the
substance; 'tis a foreign piece joined to the thing, and outside it.
God, who is all fulness in Himself and the height of all perfection,
cannot augment or add anything to Himself within; but His name may be
augmented and increased by the blessing and praise we attribute to His
exterior works: which praise, seeing we cannot incorporate it in Him,
forasmuch as He can have no accession of good, we attribute to His name,
which is the part out of Him that is nearest to us. Thus is it that to
God alone glory and honour appertain; and there is nothing so remote from
reason as that we should go in quest of it for ourselves; for, being
indigent and necessitous within, our essence being imperfect, and having
continual need of amelioration, 'tis to that we ought to employ all our
endeavour. We are all hollow and empty; 'tis not with wind and voice
that we are to fill ourselves; we want a more solid substance to repair
us: a man starving with hunger would be very simple to seek rather to
provide himself with a gay garment than with a good meal: we are to look
after that whereof we have most need. As we have it in our ordinary

          "Gloria in excelsis Deo, et in terra pax hominibus."

We are in want of beauty, health, wisdom, virtue, and such like essential
qualities: exterior ornaments should, be looked after when we have made
provision for necessary things. Divinity treats amply and more
pertinently of this subject, but I am not much versed in it.

Chrysippus and Diogenes were the earliest and firmest advocates of the
contempt of glory; and maintained that, amongst all pleasures, there was
none more dangerous nor more to be avoided than that which proceeds from
the approbation of others. And, in truth, experience makes us sensible of
many very hurtful treasons in it. There is nothing that so poisons
princes as flattery, nor anything whereby wicked men more easily obtain
credit and favour with them; nor panderism so apt and so usually made use
of to corrupt the chastity of women as to wheedle and entertain them with
their own praises. The first charm the Syrens made use of to allure
Ulysses is of this nature:

         "Deca vers nous, deca, o tres-louable Ulysse,
          Et le plus grand honneur don't la Grece fleurisse."

     ["Come hither to us, O admirable Ulysses, come hither, thou greatest
     ornament and pride of Greece."—Homer, Odysseus, xii. 184.]

These philosophers said, that all the glory of the world was not worth an
understanding man's holding out his finger to obtain it:

          "Gloria quantalibet quid erit, si gloria tantum est?"

     ["What is glory, be it as glorious as it may be, if it be no more
     than glory?"—Juvenal, Sat., vii. 81.]

I say for it alone; for it often brings several commodities along with
it, for which it may justly be desired: it acquires us good-will, and
renders us less subject and exposed to insult and offence from others,
and the like. It was also one of the principal doctrines of Epicurus;
for this precept of his sect, Conceal thy life, that forbids men to
encumber themselves with public negotiations and offices, also
necessarily presupposes a contempt of glory, which is the world's
approbation of those actions we produce in public.—[Plutarch, Whether
the saying, Conceal thy life, is well said.]—He that bids us conceal
ourselves, and to have no other concern but for ourselves, and who will
not have us known to others, would much less have us honoured and
glorified; and so advises Idomeneus not in any sort to regulate his
actions by the common reputation or opinion, except so as to avoid the
other accidental inconveniences that the contempt of men might bring upon

These discourses are, in my opinion, very true and rational; but we are,
I know not how, double in ourselves, which is the cause that what we
believe we do not believe, and cannot disengage ourselves from what we
condemn. Let us see the last and dying words of Epicurus; they are
grand, and worthy of such a philosopher, and yet they carry some touches
of the recommendation of his name and of that humour he had decried by
his precepts. Here is a letter that he dictated a little before his last

                     "EPICUYUS TO HEYMACHUS, health.

     "Whilst I was passing over the happy and last day of my life, I
     write this, but, at the same time, afflicted with such pain in my
     bladder and bowels that nothing can be greater, but it was
     recompensed with the pleasure the remembrance of my inventions and
     doctrines brought to my soul. Now, as the affection thou hast ever
     from thy infancy borne towards me and philosophy requires, take upon
     thee the protection of Metrodorus' children."

This is the letter. And that which makes me interpret that the pleasure
he says he had in his soul concerning his inventions, has some reference
to the reputation he hoped for thence after his death, is the manner of
his will, in which he gives order that Amynomachus and Timocrates, his
heirs, should, every January, defray the expense of the celebration of
his birthday as Hermachus should appoint; and also the expense that
should be made the twentieth of every moon in entertaining the
philosophers, his friends, who should assemble in honour of the memory of
him and of Metrodorus.—[Cicero, De Finibus, ii. 30.]

Carneades was head of the contrary opinion, and maintained that glory was
to be desired for itself, even as we embrace our posthumous issue for
themselves, having no knowledge nor enjoyment of them. This opinion has
not failed to be the more universally followed, as those commonly are
that are most suitable to our inclinations. Aristotle gives it the first
place amongst external goods; and avoids, as too extreme vices, the
immoderate either seeking or evading it. I believe that, if we had the
books Cicero wrote upon this subject, we should there find pretty
stories; for he was so possessed with this passion, that, if he had
dared, I think he could willingly have fallen into the excess that others
did, that virtue itself was not to be coveted, but upon the account of
the honour that always attends it:

                   "Paulum sepultae distat inertiae
                    Celata virtus:"

          ["Virtue concealed little differs from dead sloth."
          —Horace, Od., iv. 9, 29.]

which is an opinion so false, that I am vexed it could ever enter into
the understanding of a man that was honoured with the name of

If this were true, men need not be virtuous but in public; and we should
be no further concerned to keep the operations of the soul, which is the
true seat of virtue, regular and in order, than as they are to arrive at
the knowledge of others. Is there no more in it, then, but only slily
and with circumspection to do ill? "If thou knowest," says Carneades,
"of a serpent lurking in a place where, without suspicion, a person is
going to sit down, by whose death thou expectest an advantage, thou dost
ill if thou dost not give him caution of his danger; and so much the more
because the action is to be known by none but thyself." If we do not
take up of ourselves the rule of well-doing, if impunity pass with us for
justice, to how many sorts of wickedness shall we every day abandon
ourselves? I do not find what Sextus Peduceus did, in faithfully
restoring the treasure that C. Plotius had committed to his sole secrecy
and trust, a thing that I have often done myself, so commendable, as I
should think it an execrable baseness, had we done otherwise; and I think
it of good use in our days to recall the example of P. Sextilius Rufus,
whom Cicero accuses to have entered upon an inheritance contrary to his
conscience, not only not against law, but even by the determination of
the laws themselves; and M. Crassus and Hortensius, who, by reason of
their authority and power, having been called in by a stranger to share
in the succession of a forged will, that so he might secure his own part,
satisfied themselves with having no hand in the forgery, and refused not
to make their advantage and to come in for a share: secure enough, if
they could shroud themselves from accusations, witnesses, and the
cognisance of the laws:

          "Meminerint Deum se habere testem, id est (ut ego arbitror)
          mentem suam."

     ["Let them consider they have God to witness, that is (as I
     interpret it), their own consciences."—Cicero, De Offic., iii. 10.]

Virtue is a very vain and frivolous thing if it derive its recommendation
from glory; and 'tis to no purpose that we endeavour to give it a station
by itself, and separate it from fortune; for what is more accidental than

     "Profecto fortuna in omni re dominatur: ea res cunctas ex
     libidine magis, quhm ex vero, celebrat, obscuratque."

     ["Fortune rules in all things; it advances and depresses things
     more out of its own will than of right and justice."
     —Sallust, Catilina, c. 8.]

So to order it that actions may be known and seen is purely the work of
fortune; 'tis chance that helps us to glory, according to its own
temerity. I have often seen her go before merit, and often very much
outstrip it. He who first likened glory to a shadow did better than he
was aware of; they are both of them things pre-eminently vain glory also,
like a shadow, goes sometimes before the body, and sometimes in length
infinitely exceeds it. They who instruct gentlemen only to employ their
valour for the obtaining of honour:

          "Quasi non sit honestum, quod nobilitatum non sit;"

          ["As though it were not a virtue, unless celebrated"
          —Cicero De Offic. iii. 10.]

what do they intend by that but to instruct them never to hazard
themselves if they are not seen, and to observe well if there be
witnesses present who may carry news of their valour, whereas a thousand
occasions of well-doing present themselves which cannot be taken notice
of? How many brave individual actions are buried in the crowd of a
battle? Whoever shall take upon him to watch another's behaviour in such
a confusion is not very busy himself, and the testimony he shall give of
his companions' deportment will be evidence against himself:

          "Vera et sapiens animi magnitudo, honestum illud,
          quod maxime naturam sequitur, in factis positum,
          non in gloria, judicat."

     ["The true and wise magnanimity judges that the bravery which most
     follows nature more consists in act than glory."
     —Cicero, De Offic. i. 19.]

All the glory that I pretend to derive from my life is that I have lived
it in quiet; in quiet, not according to Metrodorus, or Arcesilaus, or
Aristippus, but according to myself. For seeing philosophy has not been
able to find out any way to tranquillity that is good in common, let
every one seek it in particular.

To what do Caesar and Alexander owe the infinite grandeur of their renown
but to fortune? How many men has she extinguished in the beginning of
their progress, of whom we have no knowledge, who brought as much courage
to the work as they, if their adverse hap had not cut them off in the
first sally of their arms? Amongst so many and so great dangers I do not
remember I have anywhere read that Caesar was ever wounded; a thousand
have fallen in less dangers than the least of those he went through. An
infinite number of brave actions must be performed without witness and
lost, before one turns to account. A man is not always on the top of a
breach, or at the head of an army, in the sight of his general, as upon a
scaffold; a man is often surprised betwixt the hedge and the ditch; he
must run the hazard of his life against a henroost; he must dislodge four
rascally musketeers out of a barn; he must prick out single from his
party, and alone make some attempts, according as necessity will have it.
And whoever will observe will, I believe, find it experimentally true,
that occasions of the least lustre are ever the most dangerous; and that
in the wars of our own times there have more brave men been lost in
occasions of little moment, and in the dispute about some little paltry
fort, than in places of greatest importance, and where their valour might
have been more honourably employed.

Who thinks his death achieved to ill purpose if he do not fall on some
signal occasion, instead of illustrating his death, wilfully obscures his
life, suffering in the meantime many very just occasions of hazarding
himself to slip out of his hands; and every just one is illustrious
enough, every man's conscience being a sufficient trumpet to him.

          "Gloria nostra est testimonium conscientiae nostrae."

     ["For our rejoicing is this, the testimony of our conscience."
     —Corinthians, i. I.]

He who is only a good man that men may know it, and that he may be the
better esteemed when 'tis known; who will not do well but upon condition
that his virtue may be known to men: is one from whom much service is not
to be expected:

              "Credo ch 'el reste di quel verno, cose
               Facesse degne di tener ne conto;
               Ma fur fin' a quel tempo si nascose,
               Che non a colpa mia s' hor 'non le conto
               Perche Orlando a far l'opre virtuose
               Piu ch'a narrar le poi sempre era pronto;
               Ne mai fu alcun' de'suoi fatti espresso,
               Se non quando ebbe i testimonii appresso."

     ["The rest of the winter, I believe, was spent in actions worthy of
     narration, but they were done so secretly that if I do not tell them
     I am not to blame, for Orlando was more bent to do great acts than
     to boast of them, so that no deeds of his were ever known but those
     that had witnesses."—Ariosto, Orlando Furioso, xi. 81.]

A man must go to the war upon the account of duty, and expect the
recompense that never fails brave and worthy actions, how private soever,
or even virtuous thoughts-the satisfaction that a well-disposed
conscience receives in itself in doing well. A man must be valiant for
himself, and upon account of the advantage it is to him to have his
courage seated in a firm and secure place against the assaults of

                   "Virtus, repulsaa nescia sordidx
                    Intaminatis fulget honoribus
                    Nec sumit, aut ponit secures
                    Arbitrio popularis aura."

     ["Virtue, repudiating all base repulse, shines in taintless
     honours, nor takes nor leaves dignity at the mere will of the
     vulgar."—Horace, Od., iii. 2, 17.]

It is not for outward show that the soul is to play its part, but for
ourselves within, where no eyes can pierce but our own; there she defends
us from the fear of death, of pain, of shame itself: there she arms us
against the loss of our children, friends, and fortunes: and when
opportunity presents itself, she leads us on to the hazards of war:

          "Non emolumento aliquo, sed ipsius honestatis decore."

     ["Not for any profit, but for the honour of honesty itself."
     —Cicero, De Finib., i. 10.]

This profit is of much greater advantage, and more worthy to be coveted
and hoped for, than, honour and glory, which are no other than a
favourable judgment given of us.

A dozen men must be called out of a whole nation to judge about an acre
of land; and the judgment of our inclinations and actions, the most
difficult and most important matter that is, we refer to the voice and
determination of the rabble, the mother of ignorance, injustice, and
inconstancy. Is it reasonable that the life of a wise man should
depend upon the judgment of fools?

          "An quidquam stultius, quam, quos singulos contemnas,
          eos aliquid putare esse universes?"

     ["Can anything be more foolish than to think that those you despise
     singly, can be anything else in general."
     —Cicero, Tusc. Quaes., v. 36.]

He that makes it his business to please them, will have enough to do and
never have done; 'tis a mark that can never be aimed at or hit:

          "Nil tam inaestimabile est, quam animi multitudinis."

     ["Nothing is to be so little understood as the minds of the
     multitude."—Livy, xxxi. 34.]

Demetrius pleasantly said of the voice of the people, that he made no
more account of that which came from above than of that which came from
below. He [Cicero] says more:

          "Ego hoc judico, si quando turpe non sit, tamen non
          esse non turpe, quum id a multitudine laudatur."

     ["I am of opinion, that though a thing be not foul in itself,
     yet it cannot but become so when commended by the multitude."
     —Cicero, De Finib., ii. 15.]

No art, no activity of wit, could conduct our steps so as to follow so
wandering and so irregular a guide; in this windy confusion of the noise
of vulgar reports and opinions that drive us on, no way worth anything
can be chosen. Let us not propose to ourselves so floating and wavering
an end; let us follow constantly after reason; let the public approbation
follow us there, if it will; and as it wholly depends upon fortune, we
have no reason sooner to expect it by any other way than that. Even
though I would not follow the right way because it is right, I should,
however, follow it as having experimentally found that, at the end of
the reckoning, 'tis commonly the most happy and of greatest utility.

              "Dedit hoc providentia hominibus munus,
               ut honesta magis juvarent."

     ["This gift Providence has given to men, that honest things should
     be the most agreeable."—Quintilian, Inst. Orat., i. 12.]

The mariner of old said thus to Neptune, in a great tempest: "O God, thou
wilt save me if thou wilt, and if thou choosest, thou wilt destroy me;
but, however, I will hold my rudder straight."—[Seneca, Ep., 85.]—
I have seen in my time a thousand men supple, halfbred, ambiguous, whom
no one doubted to be more worldly-wise than I, lose themselves, where I
have saved myself:

               "Risi successus posse carere dolos."

          ["I have laughed to see cunning fail of success."
          —Ovid, Heroid, i. 18.]

Paulus AEmilius, going on the glorious expedition of Macedonia, above all
things charged the people of Rome not to speak of his actions during his
absence. Oh, the license of judgments is a great disturbance to great
affairs! forasmuch as every one has not the firmness of Fabius against
common, adverse, and injurious tongues, who rather suffered his authority
to be dissected by the vain fancies of men, than to do less well in his
charge with a favourable reputation and the popular applause.

There is I know not what natural sweetness in hearing one's self
commended; but we are a great deal too fond of it:

         "Laudari metuam, neque enim mihi cornea fibra est
          Sed recti finemque extremumque esse recuso
          Euge tuum, et belle."

     ["I should fear to be praised, for my heart is not made of horn;
     but I deny that 'excellent—admirably done,' are the terms and
     final aim of virtue."—Persius, i. 47.]

I care not so much what I am in the opinions of others, as what I am in
my own; I would be rich of myself, and not by borrowing. Strangers see
nothing but events and outward appearances; everybody can set a good face
on the matter, when they have trembling and terror within: they do not
see my heart, they see but my countenance. One is right in decrying the
hypocrisy that is in war; for what is more easy to an old soldier than to
shift in a time of danger, and to counterfeit the brave when he has no
more heart than a chicken? There are so many ways to avoid hazarding a
man's own person, that we have deceived the world a thousand times before
we come to be engaged in a real danger: and even then, finding ourselves
in an inevitable necessity of doing something, we can make shift for that
time to conceal our apprehensions by setting a good face on the business,
though the heart beats within; and whoever had the use of the Platonic
ring, which renders those invisible that wear it, if turned inward
towards the palm of the hand, a great many would very often hide
themselves when they ought most to appear, and would repent being placed
in so honourable a post, where necessity must make them bold.

              "Falsus honor juvat, et mendax infamia terret
               Quem nisi mendosum et mendacem?"

          ["False honour pleases, and calumny affrights, the guilty
          and the sick."—Horace, Ep., i. 16, 89.]

Thus we see how all the judgments that are founded upon external
appearances, are marvellously uncertain and doubtful; and that there is
no so certain testimony as every one is to himself. In these, how many
soldiers' boys are companions of our glory? he who stands firm in an
open trench, what does he in that more than fifty poor pioneers who open
to him the way and cover it with their own bodies for fivepence a day
pay, do before him?

              "Non quicquid turbida Roma
               Elevet, accedas; examenque improbum in illa
               Castiges trutina: nec to quaesiveris extra."

     ["Do not, if turbulent Rome disparage anything, accede; nor correct
     a false balance by that scale; nor seek anything beyond thyself."
     —Persius, Sat., i. 5.]

The dispersing and scattering our names into many mouths, we call making
them more great; we will have them there well received, and that this
increase turn to their advantage, which is all that can be excusable in
this design. But the excess of this disease proceeds so far that many
covet to have a name, be it what it will. Trogus Pompeius says of
Herostratus, and Titus Livius of Manlius Capitolinus, that they were more
ambitious of a great reputation than of a good one. This is very common;
we are more solicitous that men speak of us, than how they speak; and it
is enough for us that our names are often mentioned, be it after what
manner it will. It should seem that to be known, is in some sort to have
a man's life and its duration in others' keeping. I, for my part, hold
that I am not, but in myself; and of that other life of mine which lies
in the knowledge of my friends, to consider it naked and simply in
itself, I know very well that I am sensible of no fruit nor enjoyment
from it but by the vanity of a fantastic opinion; and when I shall be
dead, I shall be still and much less sensible of it; and shall, withal,
absolutely lose the use of those real advantages that sometimes
accidentally follow it.

I shall have no more handle whereby to take hold of reputation, neither
shall it have any whereby to take hold of or to cleave to me; for to
expect that my name should be advanced by it, in the first place, I have
no name that is enough my own; of two that I have, one is common to all
my race, and indeed to others also; there are two families at Paris and
Montpellier, whose surname is Montaigne, another in Brittany, and one in
Xaintonge, De La Montaigne. The transposition of one syllable only would
suffice so to ravel our affairs, that I shall share in their glory, and
they peradventure will partake of my discredit; and, moreover, my
ancestors have formerly been surnamed, Eyquem,—[Eyquem was the
patronymic.]—a name wherein a family well known in England is at this
day concerned. As to my other name, every one may take it that will, and
so, perhaps, I may honour a porter in my own stead. And besides, though
I had a particular distinction by myself, what can it distinguish, when I
am no more? Can it point out and favour inanity?

              "Non levior cippus nunc imprimit ossa?
               Laudat posteritas! Nunc non e manibus illis,
               Nunc non a tumulo fortunataque favilla,
               Nascentur violae?"

     ["Does the tomb press with less weight upon my bones? Do comrades
     praise? Not from my manes, not from the tomb, not from the ashes
     will violets grow."—Persius, Sat., i. 37.]

but of this I have spoken elsewhere. As to what remains, in a great
battle where ten thousand men are maimed or killed, there are not fifteen
who are taken notice of; it must be some very eminent greatness, or some
consequence of great importance that fortune has added to it, that
signalises a private action, not of a harquebuser only, but of a great
captain; for to kill a man, or two, or ten: to expose a man's self
bravely to the utmost peril of death, is indeed something in every one of
us, because we there hazard all; but for the world's concern, they are
things so ordinary, and so many of them are every day seen, and there
must of necessity be so many of the same kind to produce any notable
effect, that we cannot expect any particular renown from it:

              "Casus multis hic cognitus, ac jam
               Tritus, et a medio fortunae ductus acervo."

     ["The accident is known to many, and now trite; and drawn from the
     midst of Fortune's heap."—Juvenal, Sat., xiii. 9.]

Of so many thousands of valiant men who have died within these fifteen
hundred years in France with their swords in their hands, not a hundred
have come to our knowledge. The memory, not of the commanders only, but
of battles and victories, is buried and gone; the fortunes of above half
of the world, for want of a record, stir not from their place, and vanish
without duration. If I had unknown events in my possession, I should
think with great ease to out-do those that are recorded, in all sorts of
examples. Is it not strange that even of the Greeks and Romans, with so
many writers and witnesses, and so many rare and noble exploits, so few
are arrived at our knowledge:

               "Ad nos vix tenuis famx perlabitur aura."

     ["An obscure rumour scarce is hither come."—AEneid, vii. 646.]

It will be much if, a hundred years hence, it be remembered in general
that in our times there were civil wars in France. The Lacedaemonians,
entering into battle, sacrificed to the Muses, to the end that their
actions might be well and worthily written, looking upon it as a divine
and no common favour, that brave acts should find witnesses that could
give them life and memory. Do we expect that at every musket-shot we
receive, and at every hazard we run, there must be a register ready to
record it? and, besides, a hundred registers may enrol them whose
commentaries will not last above three days, and will never come to the
sight of any one. We have not the thousandth part of ancient writings;
'tis fortune that gives them a shorter or longer life, according to her
favour; and 'tis permissible to doubt whether those we have be not the
worst, not having seen the rest. Men do not write histories of things of
so little moment: a man must have been general in the conquest of an
empire or a kingdom; he must have won two-and-fifty set battles, and
always the weaker in number, as Caesar did: ten thousand brave fellows
and many great captains lost their lives valiantly in his service, whose
names lasted no longer than their wives and children lived:

                    "Quos fama obscura recondit."

     ["Whom an obscure reputation conceals."—AEneid, v. 302.]

Even those whom we see behave themselves well, three months or three
years after they have departed hence, are no more mentioned than if they
had never been. Whoever will justly consider, and with due proportion,
of what kind of men and of what sort of actions the glory sustains itself
in the records of history, will find that there are very few actions and
very few persons of our times who can there pretend any right. How many
worthy men have we known to survive their own reputation, who have seen
and suffered the honour and glory most justly acquired in their youth,
extinguished in their own presence? And for three years of this
fantastic and imaginary life we must go and throw away our true and
essential life, and engage ourselves in a perpetual death! The sages
propose to themselves a nobler and more just end in so important an

          "Recte facti, fecisse merces est: officii fructus,
          ipsum officium est."

     ["The reward of a thing well done is to have done it; the fruit
     of a good service is the service itself."—Seneca, Ep., 8.]

It were, peradventure, excusable in a painter or other artisan, or in a
rhetorician or a grammarian, to endeavour to raise himself a name by his
works; but the actions of virtue are too noble in themselves to seek any
other reward than from their own value, and especially to seek it in the
vanity of human judgments.

If this false opinion, nevertheless, be of such use to the public as to
keep men in their duty; if the people are thereby stirred up to virtue;
if princes are touched to see the world bless the memory of Trajan, and
abominate that of Nero; if it moves them to see the name of that great
beast, once so terrible and feared, so freely cursed and reviled by every
schoolboy, let it by all means increase, and be as much as possible
nursed up and cherished amongst us; and Plato, bending his whole
endeavour to make his citizens virtuous, also advises them not to despise
the good repute and esteem of the people; and says it falls out, by a
certain Divine inspiration, that even the wicked themselves oft-times, as
well by word as opinion, can rightly distinguish the virtuous from the
wicked. This person and his tutor are both marvellous and bold
artificers everywhere to add divine operations and revelations where
human force is wanting:

          "Ut tragici poetae confugiunt ad deum,
          cum explicare argumenti exitum non possunt:"

     ["As tragic poets fly to some god when they cannot explain
     the issue of their argument."—Cicero, De Nat. Deor., i. 20.]

and peradventure, for this reason it was that Timon, railing at him,
called him the great forger of miracles. Seeing that men, by their
insufficiency, cannot pay themselves well enough with current money, let
the counterfeit be superadded. 'Tis a way that has been practised by all
the legislators: and there is no government that has not some mixture
either of ceremonial vanity or of false opinion, that serves for a curb
to keep the people in their duty. 'Tis for this that most of them have
their originals and beginnings fabulous, and enriched with supernatural
mysteries; 'tis this that has given credit to bastard religions, and
caused them to be countenanced by men of understanding; and for this,
that Numa and Sertorius, to possess their men with a better opinion of
them, fed them with this foppery; one, that the nymph Egeria, the other
that his white hind, brought them all their counsels from the gods.
And the authority that Numa gave to his laws, under the title of the
patronage of this goddess, Zoroaster, legislator of the Bactrians and
Persians, gave to his under the name of the God Oromazis: Trismegistus,
legislator of the Egyptians, under that of Mercury; Xamolxis, legislator
of the Scythians, under that of Vesta; Charondas, legislator of the
Chalcidians, under that of Saturn; Minos, legislator of the Candiots,
under that of Jupiter; Lycurgus, legislator of the Lacedaemonians, under
that of Apollo; and Draco and Solon, legislators of the Athenians, under
that of Minerva. And every government has a god at the head of it;
the others falsely, that truly, which Moses set over the Jews at their
departure out of Egypt. The religion of the Bedouins, as the Sire de
Joinville reports, amongst other things, enjoined a belief that the soul
of him amongst them who died for his prince, went into another body more
happy, more beautiful, and more robust than the former; by which means
they much more willingly ventured their lives:

         "In ferrum mens prona viris, animaeque capaces
          Mortis, et ignavum est rediturae parcere vitae."

     ["Men's minds are prone to the sword, and their souls able to bear
     death; and it is base to spare a life that will be renewed."
     —Lucan, i. 461.]

This is a very comfortable belief, however erroneous. Every nation has
many such examples of its own; but this subject would require a treatise
by itself.

To add one word more to my former discourse, I would advise the ladies no
longer to call that honour which is but their duty:

          "Ut enim consuetudo loquitur, id solum dicitur
          honestum, quod est populari fama gloriosum;"

     ["As custom puts it, that only is called honest which is
     glorious by the public voice."—Cicero, De Finibus, ii. 15.]

their duty is the mark, their honour but the outward rind. Neither would
I advise them to give this excuse for payment of their denial: for I
presuppose that their intentions, their desire, and will, which are
things wherein their honour is not at all concerned, forasmuch as nothing
thereof appears without, are much better regulated than the effects:

          "Qux quia non liceat, non facit, illa facit:"

     ["She who only refuses, because 'tis forbidden, consents."
     —Ovid, Amor., ii. 4, 4.]

The offence, both towards God and in the conscience, would be as great to
desire as to do it; and, besides, they are actions so private and secret
of themselves, as would be easily enough kept from the knowledge of
others, wherein the honour consists, if they had not another respect to
their duty, and the affection they bear to chastity, for itself. Every
woman of honour will much rather choose to lose her honour than to hurt
her conscience.