O man is more free from this passion than I, for I neither love nor regard it: albeit the world hath undertaken, as it were upon covenant, to grace it with a particular favour. Therewith, they adorn age, virtue, and conscience. Oh, foolish and base ornament! The Italians have more properly with its name entitled malignity: for it is a quality ever hurtful, ever sottish; and as ever base and coward, the Stoics inhibit their Elders and Sages to be therewith tainted or have any feeling of it.
But the story saith that Psamneticus, king of Egypt, having been defeated and taken by Cambises, king of Persia, seeing his own daughter pass before him in base and vile array, being sent to draw water from a well, his friends weeping and wailing about him he with his eyes fixed on the ground, could not be moved to utter one word, and shortly after beholding his son led to execution, held still the same undaunted countenance. But perceiving a familiar friend of his haled amongst the captives, he began to beat his head and burst forth into extreme sorrow.
This might well be compared to that which one of our Princes was lately seen to do, who being at Trent and receiving news of his elder brother’s death, but such a brother as on him lay all the burden and honor of his house, and shortly after tidings of his younger brother’s decease, who was his second hope; and having with an unmatched countenance and exemplary constancy endured these two affronts, it happened not long after that one of his servants dying, he by this latter accident suffered himself to be so far transported that, quitting and forgetting his former resolution, he so abandoned himself to all manner of sorrow and grief that some argued only this last mischance had touched him to the quick; but verily the reason was that being otherwise full and over-plunged in sorrow, the least surcharge broke the bounds and bars of patience.
The light might, I say, be judged of our story, were it not it follows that Cambises, inquiring of Psamneticus why he was nothing distempered at the misfortune of his son and daughter, he did so impatiently bear the disaster of his friend: “It is,” answered he, “because this last displeasure may be manifested by weeping whereas the two former exceed by much, all means and compass to be expressed by tears.
The invention of that ancient painter might happily fit this purpose, who in the sacrifice of Iphigenia, being to represent the grief of the bystanders, according to the quality and interest each one bore for the death of so fair, so young, and innocent a lady, having ransacked the utmost skill and effects of his art, when he came to the virgin’s father, as if no countenance were able to represent that degree of sorrow, he drew him with a veil over his face. And that is the reason why our poets feign miserable Niobe, who first having lost seven sons and immediately as many daughters, as one overburdened with their losses, to have been transformed into a stone; Diriguisse malis: –Ovid. Metam. 1. vi. 303. And grew as hard as stone, But misery and moan.
To express this mournful and stupefying shame that so pierces us when overwhelming accidents surpass our strength, the violence of grief must necessarily astound the mind and hinder the freedom of its actions. It happens at the sudden alarm of bad news when we feel ourselves surprised, benumbed, and deprived of all motion, so that the soul, bursting forth into tears and complaints, seems more at ease and free to lose, to clear, and to expand itself. “Et via vix tandem voci laxata dolore est.” — Virg. Æn. 1. xi. 151. And scarce at last for speech, By grief was made a breach.
In the wars that King Ferdinando waged against the widow of John, King of Hungary, about Buda, a man-at-arms was particularly noted by all men because he had shown exceeding prowess in his body during a certain skirmish. Though unknown, when he was slain, he was highly commended and much bemoaned by all. But of none so greatly as by a German lord called Raisciac, who was amazed at such rare virtue. When his body was recovered and removed, this lord, led by a common curiosity, drew near to it to see who it might be. Having caused him to be disarmed, he perceived him to be his own son, which greatly augmented the compassion of all the camp. He only, without framing word or closing his eyes, but earnestly viewing the dead body of his son, stood still upright until the vehemence of his sad sorrow, having suppressed and choked his vital spirits, felled him stark dead to the ground. “Chi puo dir com’ egli arde è in picciol fuoco.” — Pet. p. 1. Son. 140. 3.
Those lovers who would lively represent an intolerable passion say, “He that can say how he doth frie, In pettie-gentle flames doth lie.” “Isero quod omnes Eripit sensus mihi; Nam simul te Lesbia aspexi, nihil est super mi Quod loquar amens. Lingua torpet, tenuis sub artus Flamma dimanant, sonitu suopte Tinniunt aures, gemina teguntur Lumina nocte.” — Catul. Epig. xlviii. 5. Miserably from me, this bereaves all sense: for I can no sooner eye thee, my sweet heart, but I know not one word to speak, amazed. Tongue-tied as in a trance, while a sprightly thin flame flows in all my joints with a self-resounding, both my ears tingle with a night redoubled, both my eyes are veiled. Nor is it in the liveliest and most ardent heat of the fit that we are able to display our plaints and persuasions. The soul is then burdened with heavy thoughts, and the body is suppressed and languishing for love.
And thence is sometimes engendered that casual faintness, which so unseasonably surprises passionate lovers, and that childishness which by the “Curæ leves loquuntur, ingentes stupent.” — Sen. Hip. Act. ii. Scena 2. Light cares can freely speak, Great cares rather break. The surprise of an unexpected pleasure astonishes us alike. “Vt me conspexit venientem, et Troja circum Arma amens vidit, maqnis exterrita monstris, Diriguit visu in medio, calor ossa relinquit, Labitur.
Besides the Roman Lady who died of joy at seeing her son return alive from the Battle of Cannae, Sophocles and Dionysius the ant who died of overgladness, and Talva who died in Corsica while reading the news of the honors that the Roman Senate had conferred upon him, it is reported that in our age, Pope Leo the tenth, having received word of the taking of the City of Milan, which he had so exceedingly desired, entered into such excess of joy that he fell into an ague and died shortly thereafter. For a more authentic testimony of human frailty, it is noted by our ancients that Diodorus the Logician, being overwhelmed by an extreme passion or apprehension of shame, fell down dead because he was unable to resolve an argument proposed to him either in his school or in public. I am little subject to these violent passions. I have naturally a hard apprehension, which by daily exercise I strengthen more and more.
