XIV. Nor ought we to conclude, that those few whose will with respect to other men, is the law, and whose libertinism there is no rein to check, navigate the sea of vice without inquietude, for they also experience the waters of that sea to be extremely bitter. I mean sovereign princes. Nero was lord of the earth, that is to say, master of the whole Roman empire. He gave the most latitudinary loose imaginable to all his perverse inclinations, and those inclinations were irrefragable decrees. The weight of government, sat very light on him, and far from supporting the state on his shoulders, which by way of example, had been done by the best princes, he trod it under foot. All the world obeyed the sceptre, and the sceptre was the slave of appetite. He possessed whomsoever he liked, and put to death whomsoever he hated. Love in the Emperor’s hands, held its attainment and completion, and in the hands of his instruments, hatred held the knife. Passion could not carry a man to a more horrible pitch of extravagance, than he manifested, when he set fire to Rome to indulge his cruelty, and also to gratify his base appetites, which were evident by the indignities he offered to his own sex. All this, to the disgrace of human nature, was executed by that monster in iniquity.
XV. Who would believe, that this prince, who held the world in slavery to his arbitrary will, did not lead a joyous life? but according to Tacitus, so far from enjoying this happiness, he was always possessed with terrors: Facinorum recordatione nunquam timore vacuus. And Suetonius adds, that unable to sleep of nights, he used to run about the salons of his palace, tumbling heels over head like a man out of his senses.
XVI. Tiberius was equal to Nero in power, and very little inferior to him in wickedness; but with all his power, he led so uneasy and disturbed a life, that in order a little to relieve his heart from the oppression of its anxieties, he could not avoid bursting forth in groans and words, that were expressive of his grief and uneasiness. So says Tacitus: Tiberium non fortuna, non solitudines protegebant, quin tormenta pectoris, suasque ipse pænas fateretur; and a little before, he relates a mournful exclamation of the Emperor’s, in a letter he wrote to the Senate, where he says, my own crimes have transformed themselves into executioners, in order to torment me; adeo facinora atque flagitia ipsi quoque in supplicium verterant.
XVII. These anxieties of bad princes, are for the most part, occasioned by their seeing themselves universally abhorred, in consequence of which, they live in continual dread of conspiracies. They reflect, that out of so many people who hate them, some will be found, with sufficient resolution to execute, what had been previously concerted; so that amidst all their pleasures, they cannot feel more enjoyment, than is felt by a culprit, at the sound of soft music, while he is waiting to hear the fatal sentence. Dionysius the tyrant of Syracuse, in order to undeceive a person who envied his happiness, made use of the following expressive device. He invited the man to a banquet, and seated him immediately under the point of a sword, that hung suspended by a fine thread, very near to, and just ready to pierce his neck, and then informed him, that was precisely the situation, in which his fortune had placed him.
XVIII. Over and above this anguish, which is common to all tyrants, there is no legitimate prince, however happy he may seem, without his serious and weighty inquietudes. Alexander cloathed with glory, afflicts himself, because Homer does not live to celebrate his actions. Augustus, who had always been the favourite of fortune, because she once slighted him in the case of the legions in Germany, passed much of his time, both night and day, in ravings and exclamations, as if he had been mad. Caligula, fancies he shall insure his safety, by spilling great quantities of blood, but is grieved when he reflects, that all the heads in Rome are not placed on one neck, and that he cannot strike them off at a blow. The ambitious prince groans, because he cannot make himself master of the whole world; the covetous one, because he cannot accumulate in his own treasury, the riches of other kingdoms; the vindictive one, because he cannot destroy a neighbouring prince who has offended him; the lascivious one, because his imagination represents to him some foreign object, exempt from the power of his will. Thus bitter afflictions, are annexed to exalted stations.
SECT. IV.
XIX. So certain and so general is the sentence, which wisdom puts in the mouths of all wicked men, when they arrive at the region where the delusion ceases: Lassati sumus in via iniquitatis & perditionis, & ambulavimus vias difficiles. Oh! how have we fatigued ourselves in the way of perdition! our relaxation was weariness, our pleasures anguish; unhappy we, who have run the course of life, not through delicious gardens, or pleasant forests, but through thorns and briars, and intricate paths! This is the language of all the damned: Talia dixerunt in inferno hi, qui peccaverunt. Of all? yes, they all say so, and they speak the truth. All sinners have their little hell in this world. They all travel through asperities, to arrive at the precipice. They all drink the dregs of that cup, which according to David’s description our Lord holds in his hand: Calix in manu domini vini meri plenus mixto: & inclinavit ex hoc in hoc, verumtamen fæx ejus non est exinanita, bibent omnes peccatores terræ. And it must be so, for according to the sense and meaning of the text, the pure wine is for the saints of the land, where the enjoyment is pure: the mixed, is for the just of that country, where tribulation is mixed with happiness, so that even in this life, there remains for sinners, only the bitter and gross dregs; and these they all drink. All, yes all, without excepting even those, on whom the good things of this world seem to be heaped up.
XX. For the more clear understanding this matter, and to enforce the argument we are using, it will be necessary to premise, that in this life, there is a heavy and mortal affliction, which is common to all men; but with respect to sinners, it is peculiarly and most severely felt by those who seem the most happy. This affliction, consists in the reflection, that we must one day die. There is no doubt, but every living creature feels horror, upon arriving at that fatal pass, and is naturally sad, whenever it occurs to him, that he must unavoidably go through it; but he will be more affected beyond comparison, who after having culled all the regales of fortune, has placed his whole happiness in the enjoyment of them. Let us contemplate a man, rich, powerful, respected, and obeyed, and to whom nothing is wanting, either for convenience or pleasure, and to whom, let his appetites be ever so vague, fortune has denied nothing that may enable him to gratify them. Such a man, whenever he thinks that he must die, which is a thought that will sometimes occur to him, without his being able to prevent it, cannot fail to be exceedingly afflicted. The thought of death, to whoever does not employ it for the amendment of his life, becomes a torturer. Let us admit, that he is a determined Atheist, so blinded, as not to entertain the least idea of the immortality of the soul, and consequently, has not the least apprehension of what will befall him in the world to come; yet he will at least consider death, as a merciless, and a savage tyrant, who will despoil him of all that is most dear to him; of the property which he possesses, of the banquet he regales himself at, of the chace which diverts him, of the music which delights him, and of the concubine whom he adores; all which will be lost at a stroke, never to be recovered any more. The greater the pleasures are which he enjoys, the more miserable this consideration will make him. The unhappy man, who is the outcast of fortune, and even he who is placed in a middle station of life, feels the light consolation, that death will relieve him from many vexations; but what comfort can he receive, whom it will only rob of enjoyments? Death strikes terror into all men, but to such a one, it is terrible in extreme. Every man is intensely fond of his own particular happiness, and in proportion to the ardour with which he loves it, will be his grief at losing it. Such a man, when he thinks himself arrived at the summit of felicity, and knows no other than that which he possesses, with what anguish must he reflect, that the whole, without the least reserve, will be one day lost!
XXI. This inevitable melancholy, as they advance in years, is much augmented in all the favourites of fortune. Life, after a man is arrived at his prime, may be from thenceforward, truly and properly, compared to a chronic disease, which proceeds leading a man to death by slow paces; or to speak more properly, it is death implanted in our nature. Upon arriving at the period we have just mentioned, that is, the prime of life, the powerful man, from thenceforward, in the strength which he continues to lose, and in the diseases he proceeds to gain, finds constant information, that by little and little, the cottage of life goes on crushing and crumbling to nothing, by the weight of the temple of fortune. At this stage, he revolves in his mind, one by one, all the pleasures he enjoys, and all the objects of his love, and each thought tears from his heart a sigh, especially when he reflects, that the time approaches, when he must bid them all a melancholy farewell. He proceeds to cast another glance at death, and almost in the words of the unhappy King David oppressed with grief, exclaims against her in a sentimental complaint, not so much for having cut the thread of his life, as for having separated him by an eternal absence from all he esteemed and adored. Siccine separat amara mors. O sinners! whom the world call happy, is this living? But let the world be undeceived; for ye are the people, who burden yourselves with whatever is most heavy, and hard to be borne, that is contained in the stores of mortality; all your relaxation is fatigue, all your pleasure is anxiety, all your nectar is poison.
XXII. For your comfort and advantage, although you cannot be a stranger to it, listen at present, to that sweet and sonorous voice, which, by the divine organ, was conveyed and dispersed over the whole face of the earth. Attend, for to you it is addressed; hear and profit by it: Venite ad me omnes, qui laboratis, & onerati estis, & ego reficiam vos. Come unto me, all ye who labour, and are heavy laden with cares, for I will lighten your burdens, and give you relaxation and ease. These words, it is certain, are designed to reclaim sinners, and are addressed as a call to those who are distant from Christ. These then are they, who lead a wearisome life. Christ invites them to come nearer him, that is, to embrace virtue; the virtuous then are those, who enjoy relaxation and ease. Thus, you see, both the points I am attempting to prove are supported by evangelical authority.