self-conceited, that he does not entertain the least doubt, and will undertake and endure any thing for the advancement and propagation of his own opinions. If by good luck he light upon the truth, what services will he not do it? They will doubtless be greater, than they would be if he were of a more moderate temper. The ties of prejudice, or, if you please, the weight of the passions, more strongly fasten the soul to the truth, than the charms of light; and observe, that I say nothing of the good effects of grace, both upon constitutions that are too phlegmatic, and too choleric. I consider the matter only philosophically, and under this notion we may truly say, that as to what concerns the interest of a sect, a man who is obstinate and violent, is preferable to a wise man ; and if any founder of a sect desire that his disciples should labour with success in spreading and propagating his doctrine, he should wish that they were of such a temper, as never to depart from any thing, and to espouse for all their lives the first party they embrace. If they pitch upon it before they are capable of weighing well the reasons on both sides, so much the better; they will be the farther from doubting for the future, and the less they doubt, the more obstinate and fiery they will be: whereas those who propose to inform themselves more and more every day, do not think themselves obliged to show a very great zeal; for they imagine, that what appears true to them to day, will appear to them at another time less probable than what they do not at all believe. Cicero, expresses very well these different characters, speaking of the Sceptics and Dogmatists. "Neque nostræ disputationes," says he," "quicquam aliud agunt, nisi ut in utramque partem dicendo, & audiendo eliciant & tanquam exprimant aliquid, quod aut verum sit, aut id quàm proxime accedat. Neque inter nos & eos qui scire se arbitrantur quicquam interest, nisi CICERO, de Academ. Quæst. lib. ii, cap. iii. quod illi non dubitant quin ea vera sint quæ defendunt: Nos probabilia multa habemus, quæ sequi facile, affirmare vix possumus. Hoc antem liberiores & solutiores sumus, quod integra nobis est judicandi potestas, neque ut omnia quæ præscripta & quasi imperata sint, defendamus, necessitate ulla cogimur. Nam cæteri primum ante tenentur astricti, quam quid esset optimum, judicare potuerunt. Deinde infirmissimo tempore ætatis aut obsecuti amico cuidam, aut una alicujus quem primum audierunt, ratione capti, de rebus incognitis judicant, & ad quamcunque sunt disciplinam quasi tempestate delati, ad eam tanquam ad saxum adhærescunt. Nam quod dicunt, omnino se credere ei, quem judicent fuisse sapientem, probarem, si id ipsum rudes & indocti judicare potuissent. Statuere enim quid sit sapiens, vel maxime videtur esse sapientis. Sed ut potuerunt omnibus rebus auditis, cognitis etiam reliquorum sententiis judicaverunt, aut re semel audita ad unius se authoritatem contulerunt. Sed nescio quomodo plerique errare malunt, eamque sententiam quam adamaverunt, pugnacissime defendere, quàm sine pertinacia quid constantissime dicant exquirere.- -The design of our disputations is nothing else, but by arguing and hearing both sides of the question, to draw forth, and as it were to force out, the truth, or what comes very near it. Nor is there any difference between us and them, who think themselves knowing, but that they entertain no doubt about the truth of what they defend, while we think many things probable, which we can readily follow, but can hardly aver for certain. In this however we are more free and independent, that we have entire liberty to judge, and are by no means compelled to defend all that is prescribed, and in a manner commanded, while the others are preengaged before they could judge what was best. And moreover, being swayed in the weakest time of life by some friend, or led away by the first that instructed them, they judge of things without examination, and whatever opinion they are cast upon, as it were by a tempest, they cleave to it as to a rock. As to what they say, that they entirely believe him, whom they judge to have been a wise man, I should approve it, if ignorant and illiterate persons could judge of wisdom; for to determine what a wise man is, seems chiefly to be the province of a wise man. But I know not how it is, most people chuse rather to err, and stiffly to defend the opinion they love, than, without partiality, to search out what they may stedfastly maintain."-Art. MELANCTHON. MODESTY. ICARIUS not having been able to persuade his sonin-law Ulysses to stay in Lacedæmon, endeavoured to prevail upon his daughter Penelope; but his intreaties could not move her to make so great a sacrifice to him, as to prefer her father's house to her husband, and she therefore set out with Ulysses, to go to Ithaca. Her father perceiving that they had made their escape, got into his chariot and overtook them, and renewed his intreaties to his daughter. Ulysses being weary of that persecution, declared to Penelope that if she would follow him willingly, he should be very glad of it; but that if she had rather return to Lacedæmon, he would not oppose it. Though Penelope returned no answer but let down her veil, Icarius discovered her thoughts, and easily apprehended that she had a mind to follow her husband. He consented to it, and erected in that very place, a statue of Modesty. Here are some well-marked strokes of the character of a refined and honourable woman.Art. PRNELOpe. MOLIERE. (His singular Death.) His last comedy was Le Malade Imaginaire. It was acted for the fourth time on the seventeenth of February, 1673, and he died the same day. The chief person represented in Moliere's last play, is a sick man who pretends to be dead. Moliere repre sented that person, and consequently was obliged in one of his scenes to act the part of a dead man. It has been said by a great many people, that he expired in that part of his play, and that when he was to make an end of it, in order to shew that it was only a feint, he could neither speak nor get up, being actually dead. This singularity was looked upon as very wonderful, and afforded the poets plentiful matter for witty conceits and ingenious allusions; which, in all probability was the reason why that story was so much credited. Nay, some gave a serious turn to their thoughts, and made many moral reflections upon that incident. But the truth is, Moliere did not die in such a manner; he had time enough, though very sick, to make an end of his part, as it appears from this passage of his life. "The seventeenth of February, 1673, on which Le Malade Imaginaire was acted a fourth time, he was so much troubled with his defluxion, that he had much ado to act his part; he made an end of it in great pain, and the spectators were sensible that he was very far from being what he acted for indeed when the comedy was over he went home, and was scarcely got to bed, when his continual cough increased so violently, that one of the veins of his lungs broke. He no sooner found himself in that condition, but he bent all his thoughts upon heavenly things; and immediately he lost his speech, and in half an hour's time was stifled by the great quantity of blood that ran out of his mouth."* I must however inform the reader that if some other writers are to be credited, Moliere was not able to hold out till the play was over. "Mo : * Life of Moliere prefixed to his works. I make use of the Brussels edition, 1694. liere died in a very surprising manner. He had been indisposed for a long time; which was ascribed to the trouble his wife gave him, but more still to his great application. One day being to act Le Malade Imaginaire, a new piece at that time, and the last he had made, he was taken very ill before he began it, and had nearly put it off on account of his illness. Nevertheless, considering the great number of spectators, and being unwilling to send them away, he strained himself, and acted his part almost to the end, without perceiving that his illness increased upon him. But when he came to that part of the play, wherein he counterfeited a dead man, he happened to be so weak, that it was thought he was really dead, and they had much ado to make him stand up. They advised him to go to bed, bnt he chose rather to make an end; and the play being far advanced, he thought he could go through it without much prejudice to himself. But his zeal for the public was attended with a sad consequence to him; for as he was speaking of rhubarb and senna, in the ceremony of the physicians, some blood came out of his mouth, at which the spectators, and his friends being very much frighted, he was immediately carried home, and his wife followed him into his chamber, pretending to be very much afflicted. But every thing they did to relieve him proved ineffectual, and he died in a few hours, having lost all his blood, which came out of his mouth in great plenty." ""* The poets, as I have already said, took hold of that occasion to shew their wit: they handed about a great many small pieces; but of all those that were made upon Moliere's death, none was better approved than these four Latin verses; which they have thought fit to pre serve. * See the book intitled, "La fameuse Comedienne, ou Histoire de la Guerin, auparavant femme & veuve de Moliere, pag. 38, 39. |