CHAPTER VI——OF

COACHES
It is very easy to verify, that great authors, when they write of causes, not only
make use of those they think to be the true causes, but also of those they believe not
to be so, provided they have in them some beauty and invention: they speak true and
usefully enough, if it be ingeniously. We cannot make ourselves sure of the supreme
cause, and therefore crowd a great many together, to see if it may not accidentally
be amongst them:
“Namque unam dicere causam
Non satis est, verum plures, unde una tamen sit.”

[Lucretius, vi. 704.—The sense is in the preceding passage.]

Do you ask me, whence comes the custom of blessing those who sneeze? We
break wind three several ways; that which sallies from below is too filthy; that which
breaks out from the mouth carries with it some reproach of gluttony; the third is
sneezing, which, because it proceeds from the head and is without offence, we give
it this civil reception: do not laugh at this distinction; they say ‘tis Aristotle’s.
I think I have seen in Plutarch’ (who of all the authors I know, is he who has best
mixed art with nature, and judgment with knowledge), his giving as a reason for the,
rising of the stomach in those who are at sea, that it is occasioned by fear; having
first found out some reason by which he proves that fear may produce such an effect.
I, who am very subject to it, know well that this cause concerns not me; and I know
it, not by argument, but by necessary experience. Without instancing what has been
told me, that the same thing often happens in beasts, especially hogs, who are out of
all apprehension of danger; and what an acquaintance of mine told me of himself,
that though very subject to it, the disposition to vomit has three or four times gone
off him, being very afraid in a violent storm, as it happened to that ancient:
“Pejus vexabar, quam ut periculum mihi succurreret;”

[“I was too ill to think of danger.” (Or the reverse:)

“I was too frightened to be ill.”—Seneca, Ep., 53. 2]

I was never afraid upon the water, nor indeed in any other peril (and I have had
enough before my eyes that would have sufficed, if death be one), so as to be
astounded to lose my judgment. Fear springs sometimes as much from want of
judgment as from want of courage. All the dangers I have been in I have looked upon
without winking, with an open, sound, and entire sight; and, indeed, a man must
have courage to fear. It formerly served me better than other help, so to order and
regulate my retreat, that it was, if not without fear, nevertheless without affright and
astonishment; it was agitated, indeed, but not amazed or stupefied. Great souls go
yet much farther, and present to us flights, not only steady and temperate, but
moreover lofty. Let us make a relation of that which Alcibiades reports of Socrates,
his fellow in arms: “I found him,” says he, “after the rout of our army, him and
Lachez, last among those who fled, and considered him at my leisure and in security,
for I was mounted on a good horse, and he on foot, as he had fought. I took notice,
in the first place, how much judgment and resolution he showed, in comparison of
Lachez, and then the bravery of his march, nothing different from his ordinary gait;
his sight firm and regular, considering and judging what passed about him, looking
one while upon those, and then upon others, friends and enemies, after such a manner
as encouraged those, and signified to the others that he would sell his life dear to any
one who should attempt to take it from him, and so they came off; for people are not
willing to attack such kind of men, but pursue those they see are in a fright.” That is
the testimony of this great captain, which teaches us, what we every day experience,
that nothing so much throws us into dangers as an inconsiderate eagerness of getting
ourselves clear of them:
“Quo timoris minus est, eo minus ferme periculi est.”

[“When there is least fear, there is for the most part least
danger.”—Livy, xxii. 5.]

Our people are to blame who say that such an one is afraid of death, when they
would express that he thinks of it and foresees it: foresight is equally convenient in
what concerns us, whether good or ill. To consider and judge of danger is, in some
sort, the reverse to being astounded. I do not find myself strong enough to sustain
the force and impetuosity of this passion of fear, nor of any other vehement passion
whatever: if I was once conquered and beaten down by it, I should never rise again
very sound. Whoever should once make my soul lose her footing, would never set
her upright again: she retastes and researches herself too profoundly, and too much
to the quick, and therefore would never let the wound she had received heal and
cicatrise. It has been well for me that no sickness has yet discomposed her: at every
charge made upon me, I preserve my utmost opposition and defence; by which
means the first that should rout me would keep me from ever rallying again. I have
no after-game to play: on which side soever the inundation breaks my banks, I lie
open, and am drowned without remedy. Epicurus says, that a wise man can never
become a fool; I have an opinion reverse to this sentence, which is, that he who has
once been a very fool, will never after be very wise. God grants me cold according
to my cloth, and passions proportionable to the means I have to withstand them:
nature having laid me open on the one side, has covered me on the other; having
disarmed me of strength, she has armed me with insensibility and an apprehension
that is regular, or, if you will, dull.
I cannot now long endure (and when I was young could much less) either coach,
litter, or boat, and hate all other riding but on horseback, both in town and country.
But I can bear a litter worse than a coach; and, by the same reason, a rough agitation
upon the water, whence fear is produced, better than the motions of a calm. At the
little jerks of oars, stealing the vessel from under us, I find, I know not how, both
my head and my stomach disordered; neither-can I endure to sit upon a tottering
chair. When the sail or the current carries us equally, or that we are towed, the equal
agitation does not disturb me at all; ‘tis an interrupted motion that offends me, and
most of all when most slow: I cannot otherwise express it. The physicians have
ordered me to squeeze and gird myself about the bottom of the belly with a napkin
to remedy this evil; which however I have not tried, being accustomed to wrestle
with my own defects, and overcome them myself.
 Would my memory serve me, I should not think my time ill spent in setting down
here the infinite variety that history presents us of the use of chariots in the service
of war: various, according to the nations and according to the age; in my opinion, of
great necessity and effect; so that it is a wonder that we have lost all knowledge of
them. I will only say this, that very lately, in our fathers’ time, the Hungarians made
very advantageous use of them against the Turks; having in every one of them a
targetter and a musketeer, and a number of harquebuses piled ready and loaded, and
all covered with a pavesade like a galliot—[Canvas spread along the side of a ship
of war, in action to screen the movements of those on board.]—They formed the
front of their battle with three thousand such coaches, and after the cannon had
played, made them all pour in their shot upon the enemy, who had to swallow that
volley before they tasted of the rest, which was no little advance; and that done, these
chariots charged into their squadrons to break them and open a way for the rest;
besides the use they might make of them to flank the soldiers in a place of danger
when marching to the field, or to cover a post, and fortify it in haste. In my time, a
gentleman on one of our frontiers, unwieldy of body, and finding no horse able to
carry his weight, having a quarrel, rode through the country in a chariot of this
fashion, and found great convenience in it. But let us leave these chariots of war.
As if their effeminacy—[Which Cotton translates: “as if the insignificancy of
coaches.” ]—had not been sufficiently known by better proofs, the last kings of our
first race travelled in a chariot drawn by four oxen. Marc Antony was the first at
Rome who caused himself to be drawn in a coach by lions, and a singing wench with
him.
[Cytheris, the Roman courtezan.—Plutarch’s Life of Antony, c. 3.
This, was the same person who is introduced by Gallus under the name
of Lycoris. Gallus doubtless knew her personally.]

Heliogabalus did since as much, calling himself Cybele, the mother of the gods;
and also drawn by tigers, taking upon him the person of the god Bacchus; he also
sometimes harnessed two stags to his coach, another time four dogs, and another
four naked wenches, causing himself to be drawn by them in pomp, stark naked too.
The Emperor Firmus caused his chariot to be drawn by ostriches of a prodigious
size, so that it seemed rather to fly than roll.
The strangeness of these inventions puts this other fancy in my head: that it is a
kind of pusillanimity in monarchs, and a testimony that they do not sufficiently
understand themselves what they are, when they study to make themselves honoured
and to appear great by excessive expense: it were indeed excusable in a foreign
country, but amongst their own subjects, where they are in sovereign command, and
may do what they please, it derogates from their dignity the most supreme degree of
honour to which they can arrive: just as, methinks, it is superfluous in a private
gentleman to go finely dressed at home; his house, his attendants, and his kitchen
sufficiently answer for him. The advice that Isocrates gives his king seems to be
grounded upon reason: that he should be splendid in plate and furniture; forasmuch
as it is an expense of duration that devolves on his successors; and that he should
avoid all magnificences that will in a short time be forgotten. I loved to go fine when
I was a younger brother, for want of other ornament; and it became me well: there
are some upon whom their rich clothes weep: We have strange stories of the frugality
of our kings about their own persons and in their gifts: kings who were great in
reputation, valour, and fortune. Demosthenes vehemently opposes the law of his city
that assigned the public money for the pomp of their public plays and festivals: he
would that their greatness should be seen in numbers of ships well equipped, and
good armies well provided for; and there is good reason to condemn Theophrastus,
who, in his Book on Riches, establishes a contrary opinion, and maintains that sort
of expense to be the true fruit of abundance. They are delights, says Aristotle, that a
only please the baser sort of the people, and that vanish from the memory as soon as
the people are sated with them, and for which no serious and judicious man can have
any esteem. This money would, in my opinion, be much more royally, as more
profitably, justly, and durably, laid out in ports, havens, walls, and fortifications; in
sumptuous buildings, churches, hospitals, colleges, the reforming of streets and
highways: wherein Pope Gregory XIII. will leave a laudable memory to future times:
and wherein our Queen Catherine would to long posterity manifest her natural
liberality and munificence, did her means supply her affection. Fortune has done me
a great despite in interrupting the noble structure of the Pont-Neuf of our great city,
and depriving me of the hope of seeing it finished before I die.
Moreover, it seems to subjects, who are spectators of these triumphs, that their
own riches are exposed before them, and that they are entertained at their own
expense: for the people are apt to presume of kings, as we do of our servants, that
they are to take care to provide us all things necessary in abundance, but not touch
it themselves; and therefore the Emperor Galba, being pleased with a musician who
played to him at supper, called for his money-box, and gave him a handful of crowns
that he took out of it, with these words: “This is not the public money, but my own.”
Yet it so falls out that the people, for the most part, have reason on their side, and
that the princes feed their eyes with what they have need of to fill their bellies.
Liberality itself is not in its true lustre in a sovereign hand: private men have
therein the most right; for, to take it exactly, a king has nothing properly his own; he
owes himself to others: authority is not given in favour of the magistrate, but of the
people; a superior is never made so for his own profit, but for the profit of the
inferior, and a physician for the sick person, and not for himself: all magistracy, as
well as all art, has its end out of itself wherefore the tutors of young princes, who
make it their business to imprint in them this virtue of liberality, and preach to them
to deny nothing and to think nothing so well spent as what they give (a doctrine that
I have known in great credit in my time), either have more particular regard to their
own profit than to that of their master, or ill understand to whom they speak. It is too
easy a thing to inculcate liberality on him who has as much as he will to practise it
with at the expense of others; and, the estimate not being proportioned to the measure
of the gift but to the measure of the means of him who gives it, it comes to nothing
in so mighty hands; they find themselves prodigal before they can be reputed liberal.
And it is but a little recommendation, in comparison with other royal virtues: and
the only one, as the tyrant Dionysius said, that suits well with tyranny itself. I should
rather teach him this verse of the ancient labourer:
 [“That whoever will have a good crop must sow with his hand, and not
pour out of the sack.”—Plutarch, Apothegms, Whether the Ancients
were more excellent in Arms than in Learning.]

he must scatter it abroad, and not lay it on a heap in one place: and that, seeing he
is to give, or, to say better, to pay and restore to so many people according as they
have deserved, he ought to be a loyal and discreet disposer. If the liberality of a
prince be without measure or discretion, I had rather he were covetous.
Royal virtue seems most to consist in justice; and of all the parts of justice that
best denotes a king which accompanies liberality, for this they have particularly
reserved to be performed by themselves, whereas all other sorts of justice they remit
to the administration of others. An immoderate bounty is a very weak means to
acquire for them good will; it checks more people than it allures:
“Quo in plures usus sis, minus in multos uti possis....
Quid autem est stultius, quam, quod libenter facias,
curare ut id diutius facere non possis;”

[“By how much more you use it to many, by so much less will you be
in a capacity to use it to many more. And what greater folly can
there be than to order it so that what you would willingly do, you
cannot do longer.”—Cicero, De Offic., ii. 15.]

and if it be conferred without due respect of merit, it puts him out of countenance
who receives it, and is received ungraciously. Tyrants have been sacrificed to the
hatred of the people by the hands of those very men they have unjustly advanced;
such kind of men as buffoons, panders, fiddlers, and such ragamuffins, thinking to
assure to themselves the possession of benefits unduly received, if they manifest to
have him in hatred and disdain of whom they hold them, and in this associate
themselves to the common judgment and opinion.
The subjects of a prince excessive in gifts grow excessive in asking, and regulate
their demands, not by reason, but by example. We have, seriously, very often reason
to blush at our own impudence: we are over-paid, according to justice, when the
recompense equals our service; for do we owe nothing of natural obligation to our
princes? If he bear our charges, he does too much; ‘tis enough that he contribute to
them: the overplus is called benefit, which cannot be exacted: for the very name
Liberality sounds of Liberty.
In our fashion it is never done; we never reckon what we have received; we are
only for the future liberality; wherefore, the more a prince exhausts himself in giving,
the poorer he grows in friends. How should he satisfy immoderate desires, that still
increase as they are fulfilled? He who has his thoughts upon taking, never thinks of
what he has taken; covetousness has nothing so properly and so much its own as
ingratitude.
The example of Cyrus will not do amiss in this place, to serve the kings of these
times for a touchstone to know whether their gifts are well or ill bestowed, and to
see how much better that emperor conferred them than they do, by which means they
are reduced to borrow of unknown subjects, and rather of them whom they have
wronged than of them on whom they have conferred their benefits, and so receive
aids wherein there is nothing of gratuitous but the name. Croesus reproached him
with his bounty, and cast up to how much his treasure would amount if he had been
a little closer-handed. He had a mind to justify his liberality, and therefore sent
despatches into all parts to the grandees of his dominions whom he had particularly
advanced, entreating every one of them to supply him with as much money as they
could, for a pressing occasion, and to send him particulars of what each could
advance. When all these answers were brought to him, every one of his friends, not
thinking it enough barely to offer him so much as he had received from his bounty,
and adding to it a great deal of his own, it appeared that the sum amounted to a great
deal more than Croesus’ reckoning. Whereupon Cyrus: “I am not,” said he, “less in
love with riches than other princes, but rather a better husband; you see with how
small a venture I have acquired the inestimable treasure of so many friends, and how
much more faithful treasurers they are to me than mercenary men without obligation,
without affection; and my money better laid up than in chests, bringing upon me the
hatred, envy, and contempt of other princes.”
The emperors excused the superfluity of their plays and public spectacles by
reason that their authority in some sort (at least in outward appearance) depended
upon the will of the people of Rome, who, time out of mind, had been accustomed
to be entertained and caressed with such shows and excesses. But they were private
citizens, who had nourished this custom to gratify their fellow-citizens and
companions (and chiefly out of their own purses) by such profusion and
magnificence it had quite another taste when the masters came to imitate it:
“Pecuniarum translatio a justis dominis ad alienos
non debet liberalis videri.”

[“The transferring of money from the right owners to strangers

ought not to have the title of liberality.”
—Cicero, De Offic., i. 14.]

Philip, seeing that his son went about by presents to gain the affection of the
Macedonians, reprimanded him in a letter after this manner: “What! hast thou a mind
that thy subjects shall look upon thee as their cash-keeper and not as their king? Wilt
thou tamper with them to win their affections? Do it, then, by the benefits of thy
virtue, and not by those of thy chest.” And yet it was, doubtless, a fine thing to bring
and plant within the amphitheatre a great number of vast trees, with all their branches
in their full verdure, representing a great shady forest, disposed in excellent order;
and, the first day, to throw into it a thousand ostriches and a thousand stags, a
thousand boars, and a thousand fallow-deer, to be killed and disposed of by the
people: the next day, to cause a hundred great lions, a hundred leopards, and three
hundred bears to be killed in his presence; and for the third day, to make three
hundred pair of gladiators fight it out to the last, as the Emperor Probus did. It was
also very fine to see those vast amphitheatres, all faced with marble without,
curiously wrought with figures and statues, and within glittering with rare
enrichments:
“Baltheus en! gemmis, en illita porticus auro:”

[“A belt glittering with jewels, and a portico overlaid with gold.”
—Calpurnius, Eclog., vii. 47. A baltheus was a shoulder-belt or
baldric.]
 all the sides of this vast space filled and environed, from the bottom to the top,
with three or four score rows of seats, all of marble also, and covered with cushions:
“Exeat, inquit,
Si pudor est, et de pulvino surgat equestri,
Cujus res legi non sufficit;”

[“Let him go out, he said, if he has any sense of shame, and rise
from the equestrian cushion, whose estate does not satisfy the law.”
—Juvenal, iii. 153. The Equites were required to possess a fortune
of 400 sestertia, and they sat on the first fourteen rows behind the
orchestra.]

where a hundred thousand men might sit at their ease: and, the place below, where
the games were played, to make it, by art, first open and cleave in chasms,
representing caves that vomited out the beasts designed for the spectacle; and then,
secondly, to be overflowed by a deep sea, full of sea monsters, and laden with ships
of war, to represent a naval battle; and, thirdly, to make it dry and even again for the
combat of the gladiators; and, for the fourth scene, to have it strown with vermilion
grain and storax,—[A resinous gum.]—instead of sand, there to make a solemn feast
for all that infinite number of people: the last act of one only day:
“Quoties nos descendentis arenae
Vidimus in partes, ruptaque voragine terrae
Emersisse feras, et eisdem saepe latebris
Aurea cum croceo creverunt arbuta libro!....
Nec solum nobis silvestria cernere monstra
Contigit; aequoreos ego cum certantibus ursis
Spectavi vitulos, et equorum nomine dignum,
Sen deforme pecus, quod in illo nascitur amni....”

[“How often have we seen the stage of the theatre descend and part
asunder, and from a chasm in the earth wild beasts emerge, and then
presently give birth to a grove of gilded trees, that put forth
blossoms of enamelled flowers. Nor yet of sylvan marvels alone had
we sight: I saw sea-calves fight with bears, and a deformed sort of
cattle, we might call sea-horses.”—Calpurnius, Eclog., vii. 64.]

Sometimes they made a high mountain advance itself, covered with fruit-trees and
other leafy trees, sending down rivulets of water from the top, as from the mouth of
a fountain: otherwhiles, a great ship was seen to come rolling in, which opened and
divided of itself, and after having disgorged from the hold four or five hundred beasts
for fight, closed again, and vanished without help. At other times, from the floor of
this place, they made spouts of perfumed water dart their streams upward, and so
high as to sprinkle all that infinite multitude. To defend themselves from the injuries
of the weather, they had that vast place one while covered over with purple curtains
of needlework, and by-and-by with silk of one or another colour, which they drew
off or on in a moment, as they had a mind:
“Quamvis non modico caleant spectacula sole,
Vela reducuntur, cum venit Hermogenes.”

[“The curtains, though the sun should scorch the spectators, are
drawn in, when Hermogenes appears."-Martial, xii. 29, 15. M.
Tigellius Hermogenes, whom Horace and others have satirised. One
editor calls him “a noted thief,” another: “He was a literary
amateur of no ability, who expressed his critical opinions with too
great a freedom to please the poets of his day.” D.W.]

The network also that was set before the people to defend them from the violence
of these turned-out beasts was woven of gold:
 “Auro quoque torts refulgent
Retia.”

[“The woven nets are refulgent with gold.”

—Calpurnius, ubi supra.]

If there be anything excusable in such excesses as these, it is where the novelty

and invention create more wonder than the expense; even in these vanities we
discover how fertile those ages were in other kind of wits than these of ours. It is
with this sort of fertility, as with all other products of nature: not that she there and
then employed her utmost force: we do not go; we rather run up and down, and whirl
this way and that; we turn back the way we came. I am afraid our knowledge is weak
in all senses; we neither see far forward nor far backward; our understanding
comprehends little, and lives but a little while; ‘tis short both in extent of time and
extent of matter:
“Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona
Mufti, sed omnes illacrymabiles
Urgentur, ignotique longs
Nocte.”

[ Many brave men lived before Agamemnon, but all are pressed by the
long night unmourned and unknown.”—Horace, Od., iv. 9, 25.]

“Et supra bellum Thebanum et funera Trojae

Non alias alii quoque res cecinere poetae?”

[“Why before the Theban war and the destruction of Troy, have not
other poets sung other events?”—Lucretius, v. 327. Montaigne here
diverts himself m giving Lucretius’ words a construction directly
contrary to what they bear in the poem. Lucretius puts the
question, Why if the earth had existed from all eternity, there had
not been poets, before the Theban war, to sing men’s exploits.
—Coste.]

And the narrative of Solon, of what he had learned from the Egyptian priests,
touching the long life of their state, and their manner of learning and preserving
foreign histories, is not, methinks, a testimony to be refused in this consideration:
“Si interminatam in omnes partes magnitudinem regionum videremus et
temporum, in quam se injiciens animus et intendens, ita late
longeque peregrinatur, ut nullam oram ultimi videat, in qua possit
insistere: in haec immensitate . . . infinita vis innumerabilium
appareret fomorum.”

[“Could we see on all parts the unlimited magnitude of regions and

of times, upon which the mind being intent, could wander so far and
wide, that no limit is to be seen, in which it can bound its eye, we
should, in that infinite immensity, discover an infinite force of
innumerable atoms.” Here also Montaigne puts a sense quite
different from what the words bear in the original; but the
application he makes of them is so happy that one would declare they
were actually put together only to express his own sentiments. “Et
temporum” is an addition by Montaigne.—Coste.]

Though all that has arrived, by report, of our knowledge of times past should be
true, and known by some one person, it would be less than nothing in comparison of
what is unknown. And of this same image of the world, which glides away whilst
we live upon it, how wretched and limited is the knowledge of the most curious; not
only of particular events, which fortune often renders exemplary and of great
concern, but of the state of great governments and nations, a hundred more escape
us than ever come to our knowledge. We make a mighty business of the invention
of artillery and printing, which other men at the other end of the world, in China, had
a thousand years ago. Did we but see as much of the world as we do not see, we
should perceive, we may well believe, a perpetual multiplication and vicissitude of
forms. There is nothing single and rare in respect of nature, but in respect of our
knowledge, which is a wretched foundation whereon to ground our rules, and that
represents to us a very false image of things. As we nowadays vainly conclude the
declension and decrepitude of the world, by the arguments we extract from our own
weakness and decay:
“Jamque adeo est affecta aetas effoet aque tellus;”

[“Our age is feeble, and the earth less fertile.”

—Lucretius, ii. 1151.]

so did he vainly conclude as to its birth and youth, by the vigour he observed in
the wits of his time, abounding in novelties and the invention of divers arts:
“Verum, ut opinor, habet novitatem summa, recensque
Natura est mundi, neque pridem exordia coepit
Quare etiam quaedam nunc artes expoliuntur,
Nunc etiam augescunt; nunc addita navigiis sunt
Multa.”

[“But, as I am of opinion, the whole of the world is of recent

origin, nor had its commencement in remote times; wherefore it is
that some arts are still being refined, and some just on the
increase; at present many additions are being made to shipping.”
—Lucretius, v. 331.]

Our world has lately discovered another (and who will assure us that it is the last
of its brothers, since the Daemons, the Sybils, and we ourselves have been ignorant
of this till now?), as large, well-peopled, and fruitful as this whereon we live and yet
so raw and childish, that we are still teaching it it’s a B C: ‘tis not above fifty years
since it knew neither letters, weights, measures, vestments, corn, nor vines: it was
then quite naked in the mother’s lap, and only lived upon what she gave it. If we
rightly conclude of our end, and this poet of the youthfulness of that age of his, that
other world will only enter into the light when this of ours shall make its exit; the
universe will fall into paralysis; one member will be useless, the other in vigour. I
am very much afraid that we have greatly precipitated its declension and ruin by our
contagion; and that we have sold it opinions and our arts at a very dear rate. It was
an infant world, and yet we have not whipped and subjected it to our discipline by
the advantage of our natural worth and force, neither have we won it by our justice
and goodness, nor subdued it by our magnanimity. Most of their answers, and the
negotiations we have had with them, witness that they were nothing behind us in
pertinency and clearness of natural understanding. The astonishing magnificence of
the cities of Cusco and Mexico, and, amongst many other things, the garden of the
king, where all the trees, fruits, and plants, according to the order and stature they
have in a garden, were excellently formed in gold; as, in his cabinet, were all the
animals bred upon his territory and in its seas; and the beauty of their manufactures,
in jewels, feathers, cotton, and painting, gave ample proof that they were as little
inferior to us in industry. But as to what concerns devotion, observance of the laws,
goodness, liberality, loyalty, and plain dealing, it was of use to us that we had not so
much as they; for they have lost, sold, and betrayed themselves by this advantage
over us.
As to boldness and courage, stability, constancy against pain, hunger, and death, I
should not fear to oppose the examples I find amongst them to the most famous
examples of elder times that we find in our records on this side of the world. Far as
to those who subdued them, take but away the tricks and artifices they practised to
gull them, and the just astonishment it was to those nations to see so sudden and
unexpected an arrival of men with beards, differing in language, religion, shape, and
countenance, from so remote a part of the world, and where they had never heard
there was any habitation, mounted upon great unknown monsters, against those who
had not only never seen a horse, but had never seen any other beast trained up to
carry a man or any other loading; shelled in a hard and shining skin, with a cutting
and glittering weapon in his hand, against them, who, out of wonder at the brightness
of a looking glass or a knife, would exchange great treasures of gold and pearl; and
who had neither knowledge, nor matter with which, at leisure, they could penetrate
our steel: to which may be added the lightning and thunder of our cannon and
harquebuses, enough to frighten Caesar himself, if surprised, with so little
experience, against people naked, except where the invention of a little quilted cotton
was in use, without other arms, at the most, than bows, stones, staves, and bucklers
of wood; people surprised under colour of friendship and good faith, by the curiosity
of seeing strange and unknown things; take but away, I say, this disparity from the
conquerors, and you take away all the occasion of so many victories. When I look
upon that in vincible ardour wherewith so many thousands of men, women, and
children so often presented and threw themselves into inevitable dangers for the
defence of their gods and liberties; that generous obstinacy to suffer all extremities
and difficulties, and death itself, rather than submit to the dominion of those by
whom they had been so shamefully abused; and some of them choosing to die of
hunger and fasting, being prisoners, rather than to accept of nourishment from the
hands of their so basely victorious enemies: I see, that whoever would have attacked
them upon equal terms of arms, experience, and number, would have had a hard,
and, peradventure, a harder game to play than in any other war we have seen.
Why did not so noble a conquest fall under Alexander, or the ancient Greeks and
Romans; and so great a revolution and mutation of so many empires and nations, fall
into hands that would have gently levelled, rooted up, and made plain and smooth
whatever was rough and savage amongst them, and that would have cherished and
propagated the good seeds that nature had there produced; mixing not only with the
culture of land and the ornament of cities, the arts of this part of the world, in what
was necessary, but also the Greek and Roman virtues, with those that were original
of the country? What a reparation had it been to them, and what a general good to
the whole world, had our first examples and deportments in those parts allured those
people to the admiration and imitation of virtue, and had begotten betwixt them and
us a fraternal society and intelligence? How easy had it been to have made advantage
of souls so innocent, and so eager to learn, leaving, for the most part, naturally so
good inclinations before? Whereas, on the contrary, we have taken advantage of their
ignorance and inexperience, with greater ease to incline them to treachery, luxury,
avarice, and towards all sorts of inhumanity and cruelty, by the pattern and example
of our manners. Who ever enhanced the price of merchandise at such a rate? So
many cities levelled with the ground, so many nations exterminated, so many
millions of people fallen by the edge of the sword, and the richest and most beautiful
part of the world turned upside down, for the traffic of pearl and pepper? Mechanic
victories! Never did ambition, never did public animosities, engage men against one
another in such miserable hostilities, in such miserable calamities.
Certain Spaniards, coasting the sea in quest of their mines, landed in a fruitful and
pleasant and very well peopled country, and there made to the inhabitants their
accustomed professions: “that they were peaceable men, who were come from a very
remote country, and sent on the behalf of the King of Castile, the greatest prince of
the habitable world, to whom the Pope, God’s vicegerent upon earth, had given the
principality of all the Indies; that if they would become tributaries to him, they
should be very gently and courteously used”; at the same time requiring of them
victuals for their nourishment, and gold whereof to make some pretended medicine;
setting forth, moreover, the belief in one only God, and the truth of our religion,
which they advised them to embrace, whereunto they also added some threats. To
which they received this answer: “That as to their being peaceable, they did not seem
to be such, if they were so. As to their king, since he was fain to beg, he must be
necessitous and poor; and he who had made him this gift, must be a man who loved
dissension, to give that to another which was none of his own, to bring it into dispute
against the ancient possessors. As to victuals, they would supply them; that of gold
they had little; it being a thing they had in very small esteem, as of no use to the
service of life, whereas their only care was to pass it over happily and pleasantly:
but that what they could find excepting what was employed in the service of their
gods, they might freely take. As to one only God, the proposition had pleased them
well; but that they would not change their religion, both because they had so long
and happily lived in it, and that they were not wont to take advice of any but their
friends, and those they knew: as to their menaces, it was a sign of want of judgment
to threaten those whose nature and power were to them unknown; that, therefore,
they were to make haste to quit their coast, for they were not used to take the civilities
and professions of armed men and strangers in good part; otherwise they should do
by them as they had done by those others,” showing them the heads of several
executed men round the walls of their city. A fair example of the babble of these
children. But so it is, that the Spaniards did not, either in this or in several other
places, where they did not find the merchandise they sought, make any stay or
attempt, whatever other conveniences were there to be had; witness my
CANNIBALS. —[Chapter XXX. of Book I.]
Of the two most puissant monarchs of that world, and, peradventure, of this, kings
of so many kings, and the last they turned out, he of Peru, having been taken in a
battle, and put to so excessive a ransom as exceeds all belief, and it being faithfully
paid, and he having, by his conversation, given manifest signs of a frank, liberal, and
constant spirit, and of a clear and settled understanding, the conquerors had a mind,
after having exacted one million three hundred and twenty-five thousand and five
hundred weight of gold, besides silver, and other things which amounted to no less
(so that their horses were shod with massy gold), still to see, at the price of what
disloyalty and injustice whatever, what the remainder of the treasures of this king
might be, and to possess themselves of that also. To this end a false accusation was
preferred against him, and false witnesses brought to prove that he went about to
raise an insurrection in his provinces, to procure his own liberty; whereupon, by the
virtuous sentence of those very men who had by this treachery conspired his ruin,
he was condemned to be publicly hanged and strangled, after having made him buy
off the torment of being burnt alive, by the baptism they gave him immediately
before execution; a horrid and unheard of barbarity, which, nevertheless, he
underwent without giving way either in word or look, with a truly grave and royal
behaviour. After which, to calm and appease the people, aroused and astounded at
so strange a thing, they counterfeited great sorrow for his death, and appointed most
sumptuous funerals.
The other king of Mexico,—[Guatimosin]—having for a long time defended his
beleaguered city, and having in this siege manifested the utmost of what suffering
and perseverance can do, if ever prince and people did, and his misfortune having
delivered him alive into his enemies’ hands, upon articles of being treated like a
king, neither did he in his captivity discover anything unworthy of that title. His
enemies, after their victory, not finding so much gold as they expected, when they
had searched and rifled with their utmost diligence, they went about to procure
discoveries by the most cruel torments they could invent upon the prisoners they had
taken: but having profited nothing by these, their courage being greater than their
torments, they arrived at last to such a degree of fury, as, contrary to their faith and
the law of nations, to condemn the king himself, and one of the principal noblemen
of his court, to the rack, in the presence of one another. This lord, finding himself
overcome with pain, being environed with burning coals, pitifully turned his dying
eyes towards his master, as it were to ask him pardon that he was able to endure no
more; whereupon the king, darting at him a fierce and severe look, as reproaching
his cowardice and pusillanimity, with a harsh and constant voice said to him thus
only: “And what dost thou think I suffer? am I in a bath? am I more at ease than
thou?” Whereupon the other immediately quailed under the torment and died upon
the spot. The king, half roasted, was carried thence; not so much out of pity (for what
compassion ever touched so barbarous souls, who, upon the doubtful information of
some vessel of gold to be made a prey of, caused not only a man, but a king, so great
in fortune and desert, to be broiled before their eyes), but because his constancy
rendered their cruelty still more shameful. They afterwards hanged him for having
nobly attempted to deliver himself by arms from so long a captivity and subjection,
and he died with a courage becoming so magnanimous a prince.
Another time, they burnt in the same fire four hundred and sixty men alive at once,
the four hundred of the common people, the sixty the principal lords of a province,
simply prisoners of war. We have these narratives from themselves for they not only
own it, but boast of it and publish it. Could it be for a testimony of their justice or
their zeal to religion? Doubtless these are ways too differing and contrary to so holy
an end. Had they proposed to themselves to extend our faith, they would have
considered that it does not amplify in the possession of territories, but in the gaining
of men; and would have more than satisfied themselves with the slaughters
occasioned by the necessity of war, without indifferently mixing a massacre, as upon
wild beasts, as universal as fire and sword could make it; having only, by intention,
saved so many as they meant to make miserable slaves of, for the work and service
of their mines; so that many of the captains were put to death upon the place of
conquest, by order of the kings of Castile, justly offended with the horror of their
deportment, and almost all of them hated and disesteemed. God meritoriously
permitted that all this great plunder should be swallowed up by the sea in
transportation, or in the civil wars wherewith they devoured one another; and most
of the men themselves were buried in a foreign land without any fruit of their victory.
That the revenue from these countries, though in the hands of so parsimonious and
so prudent a prince,—[Phillip II.]—so little answers the expectation given of it to
his predecessors, and to that original abundance of riches which was found at the
first landing in those new discovered countries (for though a great deal be fetched
thence, yet we see ‘tis nothing in comparison of that which might be expected), is
that the use of coin was there utterly unknown, and that consequently their gold was
found all hoarded together, being of no other use but for ornament and show, as a
furniture reserved from father to son by many puissant kings, who were ever draining
their mines to make this vast heap of vessels and statues for the decoration of their
palaces and temples; whereas our gold is always in motion and traffic; we cut it into
a thousand small pieces, and cast it into a thousand forms, and scatter and disperse
it in a thousand ways. But suppose our kings should thus hoard up all the gold they
could get in several ages and let it lie idle by them.
Those of the kingdom of Mexico were in some sort more civilised and more
advanced in arts than the other nations about them. Therefore did they judge, as we
do, that the world was near its period, and looked upon the desolation we brought
amongst them as a certain sign of it. They believed that the existence of the world
was divided into five ages, and in the life of five successive suns, of which four had
already ended their time, and that this which gave them light was the fifth. The first
perished, with all other creatures, by an universal inundation of water; the second by
the heavens falling upon us and suffocating every living thing to which age they
assigned the giants, and showed bones to the Spaniards, according to the proportion
of which the stature of men amounted to twenty feet; the third by fire, which burned
and consumed all; the fourth by an emotion of the air and wind, which came with
such violence as to beat down even many mountains, wherein the men died not, but
were turned into baboons. What impressions will not the weakness of human belief
admit? After the death of this fourth sun, the world was twenty-five years in
perpetual darkness: in the fifteenth of which a man and a woman were created, who
restored the human race: ten years after, upon a certain day, the sun appeared newly
created, and since the account of their year takes beginning from that day: the third
day after its creation the ancient gods died, and the new ones were since born daily.
After what manner they think this last sun shall perish, my author knows not; but
their number of this fourth change agrees with the great conjunction of stars which
eight hundred and odd years ago, as astrologers suppose, produced great alterations
and novelties in the world.
As to pomp and magnificence, upon the account of which I engaged in this
discourse, neither Greece, Rome, nor Egypt, whether for utility, difficulty, or state,
can compare any of their works with the highway to be seen in Peru, made by the
kings of the country, from the city of Quito to that of Cusco (three hundred leagues),
straight, even, five-and-twenty paces wide, paved, and provided on both sides with
high and beautiful walls; and close by them, and all along on the inside, two
perennial streams, bordered with beautiful plants, which they call moly. In this work,
where they met with rocks and mountains, they cut them through, and made them
even, and filled up pits and valleys with lime and stone to make them level. At the
end of every day’s journey are beautiful palaces, furnished with provisions,
vestments, and arms, as well for travellers as for the armies that are to pass that way.
In the estimate of this work I have reckoned the difficulty which is especially
considerable in that place; they did not build with any stones less than ten feet square,
and had no other conveniency of carriage but by drawing their load themselves by
force of arm, and knew not so much as the art of scaffolding, nor any other way of
standing to their work, but by throwing up earth against the building as it rose higher,
taking it away again when they had done.
Let us here return to our coaches. Instead of these, and of all other sorts of
carriages, they caused themselves to be carried upon men’s shoulders. This last king
of Peru, the day that he was taken, was thus carried betwixt two upon staves of gold,
and set in a chair of gold in the middle of his army. As many of these sedan-men as
were killed to make him fall (for they would take him alive), so many others (and
they contended for it) took the place of those who were slain, so that they could
never beat him down, what slaughter soever they made of these people, till a
horseman, seizing upon him, brought him to the ground.