Chapter IV

To which I answered: "The things which thou reportest are true, O nurse
of all virtues, and I cannot deny the most speedy course of my
prosperity. But this is that which vexeth me most, when I remember it.
For in all adversity of fortune it is the most unhappy kind of
misfortune to have been happy." "But," quoth she, "thou canst not justly
impute to the things themselves that thou art punished for thy false
opinion. For if this vain name of casual felicity moveth thee, let us
make accompt with how many and how great things thou aboundest.
Wherefore, if that which in all thy revenues of fortune thou esteemest
most precious doth still by God's providence remain safe and untouched,
canst thou, retaining the best, justly complain of misfortune?

But thy father-in-law, Symmachus (that most excellent ornament of
mankind) liveth in safety, and for the obtaining of which thou wouldst
willingly spend thy life, that man wholly framed to wisdom and virtues,
being secure of his own, mourneth for thy injuries. Thy wife liveth,
modest in disposition, eminent in chastity, and, to rehearse briefly all
her excellent gifts, like her father. She liveth, I say, and weary of
her life reserveth her breath only for thee. In which alone even I must
grant that thy felicity is diminished, she consumeth herself with tears
and grief for thy sake.

What should I speak of thy children, which have been Consuls, in whom
already, as in children of that age, their father's or grandfather's
good disposition appeareth? Wherefore, since the greatest care that
mortal men have is to save their lives, O happy man that thou art, if
thou knowest thine own wealth, who still hast remaining those things
which no man doubteth to be dearer than life itself? And therefore cease
weeping. Fortune hath not hitherto showed her hatred against you all,
neither art thou assailed with too boisterous a storm, since those
anchors hold fast which permit neither the comfort of the time present
nor the hope of the time to come to be wanting."

"And I pray God," quoth I, "that they may hold fast, for so long as they
remain, howsoever the world goeth we shall escape drowning. But thou
seest how great a part of our ornaments is lost." "We have gotten a
little ground," quoth she, "if thy whole estate be not irksome unto
thee. But I cannot suffer thy daintiness, who with such lamentation and
anxiety complaineth that something is wanting to thy happiness. For who
hath so entire happiness that he is not in some part offended with the
condition of his estate? The nature of human felicity is doubtful and
uncertain, and is neither ever wholly obtained, or never lasteth always.
One man hath great revenues, but is contemned for his base lineage.
Another's nobility maketh him known, but, oppressed with penury, had
rather be unknown. Some, abounding with both, bewail their life without
marriage. Some other, well married but wanting children, provideth
riches for strangers to inherit. Others, finally, having children,
mournfully bewail the vices which their sons or daughters are given to.
So that scarce any man is pleased with the condition of his fortune. For
there is something in every estate, which without experience is not
known, and being experienced doth molest and trouble. Besides that,
those which are most happy are most sensible,[108] and unless all things
fall out to their liking, impatient of all adversity, every little cross
overthrows them, so small are the occasions which take from the most
fortunate the height of their happiness. How many are there, thinkest
thou, which would think themselves almost in Heaven if they had but the
least part of the remains of thy fortune? This very place, which thou
callest banishment, is to the inhabitants thereof their native land. So
true it is that nothing is miserable but what is thought so, and
contrariwise, every estate is happy if he that bears it be content. Who
is so happy that if he yieldeth to discontent, desireth not to change
his estate? How much bitterness is mingled with the sweetness of man's
felicity, which, though it seemeth so pleasant while it is enjoyed, yet
can it not be retained from going away when it will. And by this it
appeareth how miserable is the blessedness of mortal things, which
neither endureth alway with the contented, nor wholly delighteth the
pensive.

Wherefore, O mortal men, why seek you for your felicity abroad, which is
placed within yourselves? Error and ignorance do confound you. I will
briefly show thee the centre of thy chiefest happiness. Is there
anything more precious to thee than thyself? I am sure thou wilt say,
nothing. Wherefore, if thou enjoyest thyself, thou shalt possess that
which neither thou wilt ever wish to lose nor fortune can take away. And
that thou mayst acknowledge that blessedness cannot consist in these
casual things, gather it thus. If blessedness be the chiefest good of
nature endued with reason, and that is not the chiefest good which may
by any means be taken away, because that which cannot be taken away is
better, it is manifest that the instability of fortune cannot aspire to
the obtaining of blessedness. Moreover, he that now enjoyeth this
brittle felicity, either knoweth it to be mutable or no. If not, what
estate can be blessed by ignorant blindness? And if he knoweth it, he
must needs fear lest he lose that which he doubteth not may be lost,
wherefore continual fear permitteth him not to be happy. Or though he
should lose it, doth he think that a thing of no moment? But so it were
a very small good which he would be content to lose. And because thou
art one whom I know to be fully persuaded and convinced by innumerable
demonstrations that the souls of men are in no wise mortal, and since it
is clear that casual felicity is ended by the body's death, there is no
doubt, if this can cause blessedness, but that all mankind falleth into
misery by death. But if we know many who have sought to reap the fruit
of blessedness, not only by death, but also by affliction and torments,
how can present happiness make men happy, the loss of which causeth not
misery?

[108] _i.e._ sensitive.

IV.

Quisquis uolet perennem
Cautus ponere sedem
Stabilisque nec sonori
Sterni flatibus Euri
Et fluctibus minantem 5
Curat spernere pontum,
Montis cacumen alti,
Bibulas uitet harenas.
Illud proteruus Auster
Totis uiribus urget, 10
Hae pendulum solutae
Pondus ferre recusant.
Fugiens periculosam
Sortem sedis amoenae
Humili domum memento 15
Certus figere saxo.
Quamuis tonet ruinis
Miscens aequora uentus,
Tu conditus quieti
Felix robore ualli 20
Duces serenus aeuum
Ridens aetheris iras.

IV.

Who with an heedful care
Will an eternal seat prepare,
Which cannot be down cast
By force of windy blast,
And will the floods despise,
When threatening billows do arise,
He not on hills must stand,
Nor on the dangerous sinking sand.
For there the winds will threat,
And him with furious tempests beat,
And here the ground too weak
Will with the heavy burden break.[109]
Fly then the dangerous case
Of an untried delightful place,
And thy poor house bestow
In stony places firm and low.
For though the winds do sound,
And waves of troubled seas confound:
Yet thou to rest disposed
In thy safe lowly vale inclosed,
Mayst live a quiet age,
Scorning the air's distempered rage.

[109] Literally, "These shifting sands refuse to bear the weight laid
upon them."