24

24. Same design: differing outcomes

[This chapter, while continuing to stress the uncertainty in all human affairs, shows Montaigne’s concern with the role of Fortune in all human arts, not only in the art of Medicine but in the ecstatic creativity found in the fine arts and in the art of war. In conception it owes something to Plutarch’s Parallel Lives.]

[A] I was given the following true account by Jacques Amyot, the Grand Almoner of France. (It is to the honour of one of our Princes, who is entitled to be counted as ‘one of ours’ even though he was born abroad.)1 At the siege of Rouen during the first of our civil commotions this Prince had been warned by the Queen Mother2 of a plot hatched against him; he was specifically informed by letter of the name of the nobleman who was to carry it out – a nobleman from Anjou or Maine who was frequenting the household of this Prince for this very purpose. Our Prince, telling nobody of this warning, was on Saint Catherine’s Mount: our cannon-fire was being directed from there against Rouen, for it was during the siege of that town.3 Walking with the Grand Almoner and another Bishop he espied this nobleman (who had been pointed out to him) and summoned him to appear before him. When the man was in his presence the Prince saw him turn suddenly pale and begin to tremble as his conscience alarmed him; ‘My Lord So-and-so,’ the Prince said to him, ‘you know well enough what I want you for: your face shows it. There is nothing you can hide from me: I am so thoroughly informed of your enterprise that if you assay covering things up you will make a bad bargain bargain worse. You know quite well such-and-such a thing – and this too (mentioning the salient points of the most secret elements of the conspiracy); for your very life you had better tell me the whole truth about this scheme.’ When the wretched man realized he had been caught and found out (for one of his accomplices had revealed everything to the Queen) all he could do was to clasp his hands together and pray the Prince for pardon and mercy; he intended to throw himself at his feet but the Prince stopped him, going on to say: ‘Come here! Have I ever done you wrong? Have I, out of private hatred, ever done any wrong to any of your family? I have known you for a mere three weeks: what reason can have induced you to plot my death?’ The nobleman replied that he had no private cause only the general interest of his faction, since some had persuaded him that eradicating so mighty an enemy of their religion4 would be a deed full of piety, no matter how it was done. ‘Now,’ continued the Prince, ‘I would like to show you how much milder is the religion I hold than the one you profess. Your religion counsels you to kill me, unheard, even though I have done you no wrong: mine commands me to forgive you, guilty though you are of having wanted to murder me without cause. Get out. Clear off! Let me never set eyes on you again. And from now on, if you are wise you will seek men of better counsel to guide your actions.’

When the Emperor Augustus was in Gaul he received conclusive evidence of a conspiracy that Lucius Cinna was cooking up against him.5 He decided to avenge himself and called a Council of his friends for the following morning. But he spent the night in great distress, reflecting that the young man to be put to death was of a good family, the nephew of Pompey the Great. He groaned out contradictory arguments like this: ‘What! Shall men say that I live in fear, for ever on my guard, leaving the man who would murder me to go about at his ease? I have safely borne this head of mine through so many battles on land and sea: shall he go scot-free despite his attempt against me? And now that I have brought peace to the whole world, shall he be left free, after having determined not merely to murder me but to make a sacrificial victim of me?’ – (The conspiracy was to kill him while performing a sacrifice.) – He remained silent for a while and then berated himself in a firmer voice: ‘Why go on living if it matters to so many people that you should die? Will there never be an end of your cruel acts of vengeance? Is your life so valuable that such great harm must be done to preserve it?’

His wife, Livia, perceived his anguish and asked, ‘Will you accept womanly advice? Do what the doctors do when the usual remedies fail to work; they then assay contrary ones. Up till now severity has profited you nothing: after Salvidienus there was Lepidus; after Lepidus, Murena; after Murena, Caepio; after Caepio, Egnatius. Begin again and find out how mildness and clemency succeed. Cinna is found guilty: grant him pardon. He can harm you no more, but he can contribute to your glory.’

Augustus was happy indeed to have found an advocate after his own heart; having thanked his wife he rescinded the order for his friends to come to Council and commanded Cinna to appear before him quite alone. Having made everyone else leave the Council chamber, he had a chair provided for Cinna and addressed him thus: ‘In the first place I ask you, Cinna, to hear me out in silence. Do not interrupt what I have to say: I will allow you time and give you leave to reply. You are aware, Cinna, that I plucked you from the camp of my enemies, you who were not merely turned into my enemy but born an enemy; yet I saved you and handed all your goods back to you. In short I helped you and eventually made you so prosperous that the victors envied the condition of the vanquished. You asked to be appointed Pontifex: I granted that to you, although I had refused it to others whose fathers had always fought at my side. I have bound you so strongly to me: yet you have planned to kill me.’

At this, Cinna exclaimed that he was far from any such a wicked thought.

Augustus continued: ‘You are not keeping your promise: you assured me that I would not be interrupted. Yes, you have planned to kill me, in such-and-such a place, in such-and-such a time, in such-and-such company and in such-and-such a manner.’

Cinna was paralysed by this news, remaining silent – not so as to keep his bargain but because his conscience was overwhelmed. Augustus saw this; he added: ‘Why do such a thing? Is it to become Emperor? The State must truly be in a bad way if there is nothing but myself between you and the Imperial office. You cannot even look after your own household, having recently lost a lawsuit through the intervention of a mere freedman. Are you able to do nothing except take on Caesar? If I am the only one frustrating your hopes, then I give up. Do you believe you will be tolerated by Paulus? by Fabius? by the Cossii and the Servilii, or by that great band of noblemen who are not merely noble in name but who honour nobility itself by their deeds?’

He said a great deal more, speaking to him for a good two hours; then he added:

‘Now go, Cinna. I once gave you your life as an enemy: I give it you now as a traitor and a parricide. From this day forth let there be loving-friendship between us: let us see who acts in better faith, I, in granting you your life, or you in accepting it.’

And with that he left him.

Some time later he granted the consulship to Cinna, reproaching him for not asking for it. Cinna subsequently became a firm friend and the sole heir to all his property.

After this incident (which occurred when Augustus was in the fortieth year of his age) there was no further plot or conspiracy against him and he received a just reward for his clemency.

But the same did not apply to our French Prince: for his mildness could not save him from falling into the snare of another similar act of treachery.6 So vain and worthless is human wisdom: despite all our projects, counsels and precautions, the outcome remains in the possession of Fortune.

We talk of ‘lucky’ doctors who see a case successfully through, as though there was nothing in that Art of theirs which can stand firm, since its foundations are too fragile to hold it up by its own strength, and as though it alone needed a helping hand from Fortune to make it work. Say what you like about that Art of theirs – good or ill – and I will believe you: thank God we have nothing to do with each other. Contrary to other people, I always despise that Art when I am well but never make a truce with it when I am ill: I then begin to hate it and to fear it. I tell those who urge me to take medicine at least to wait until I am well and have got my strength back in order to have the means of resisting the hazardous effects of their potions. I let Nature run her course: I take it for granted that she is armed with teeth and claws to protect herself from attacks launched against her, so maintaining our fabric and avoiding its disintegration. Instead of going to her help when she is wrestling at close grips with the illness, I fear we help her adversary instead and load extra tasks upon her.

I maintain that not only in medicine but in many of the surer arts Fortune plays a major part. Take those creative ecstasies which transport a poet and carry him outside himself in rapture:7 why do we not attribute them to good luck, since he himself confesses that they surpass his own strength and capacities, acknowledging that they come from without, being in no wise within his own power – no more than in the case of those adepts at oratory, who claim that in their art, too, there are stirrings and perturbations, outside the natural order, which impel them well beyond what they had planned. The same applies to painting, which sometimes escapes free from the brush-strokes of the painter’s hand, surpassing his own conceptions and artistry and bringing him to an ecstasy of astonishment which leaves him thunderstruck. Why, Fortune herself reveals to us even more clearly the part she plays in all such works as these by the evidence of that grace and beauty which are found in them not only without the artist’s intention but without his knowledge. A competent reader can often find in another man’s writings perfections other than those which the author knows that he put there, and can endow them with richer senses and meanings.

As for military exploits, anyone can see that Fortune plays a major part in them: even in our very reflections and deliberations there certainly has to be an element of chance and good luck mingled in with them; all that our wisdom can do does not amount to much: the more acute and lively she is the more frailty she finds within herself and the more she distrusts herself. [A] I share Sylla’s opinion:8 [A] when I pay close attention to the most glorious exploits in war I see, I think that the leaders engage in deliberation and reflection merely as a pure formality, surrendering the best part of their undertaking to Fortune and, trusting in her aid, constantly going way beyond any bounds of rational decision. In the midst of their deliberations there comes upon them Fortune’s joyful rapture and, from beyond them, inspired frenzies which as often as not push them towards the least likely of decisions and swell their hearts above the reach of reason. That explains why many great ancient Captains, in order to lend plausibility to their bolder decisions, claimed to their men that they had been bidden to reach them by some inspiration or other, by some sign or prognostic.

That is also why, in the state of indecision and perplexity brought upon us by our inability to see what is most advantageous and to choose it (on account of the difficulties which accompany the divers unforeseeable qualities and circumstances which events bring in their train) the surest way in my opinion, even if no other considerations brought us to do so, is to opt for the course in which is found the more honourable conduct and justice; and [A1] since we doubt which is the shorter road, we should keep going straight ahead. [A] That applies to the two examples which I have just narrated: there is no doubt that it was fairer and nobler in the one who was offended not to act otherwise but to forgive. If it turned out badly for the first of them that is no reason to condemn his good intention; and we do not know, even if he had taken the opposite decision, that he would have escaped the end to which his destiny called him; but he would have lost the glory of such a memorable good deed.

History tells of many people who, faced with such fears, have chosen the way of hastening to greet any conspiracies laid against them with vengeance and punishments; yet I can see hardly any who were well served by this remedy. Many Roman Emperors bear witness to that. Anyone who finds himself in this peril should not count much on his might or his vigilance; for how hard it is to protect oneself from an enemy who is hidden behind the face of the most dutiful friend we have, or to know the inner thoughts and wishes of those who surround us! In vain does a man employ foreign nations in his personal guard, always surrounded by a hedge of armed men: anyone who holds his own life cheap is always master of the life of another man. And then the continual suspicion which leads a Prince to distrust everyone must torment him strangely. [B] Which explains why, when Dion was told that Callipus was on the lookout for ways to kill him, he had no heart to find out more, saying that he would rather die than live in the misery of having to be on guard not only against his enemies but against his friends as well.9

Alexander acted this out even more clearly and rigorously: when he received a letter from Parmenion warning him that his beloved doctor Philip had been suborned by money from Darius to poison him, he handed the letter to Philip to read and, at the same time, swallowed down the medicine that he had just handed to him. Was he not showing his resolve to abet his friends if they wished to kill him? Alexander is the supreme model of daring deeds, but I doubt whether there is anything in his whole life which showed a firmer resolve than this nor a beauty shimmering with such lustre.10

Those who under pretext of their security teach princes so watchful a distrust teach them their downfall and their shame. Nothing noble is achieved without risk. I know one [C] whose mind is of a most martial and positive complexion [B] whose good fortune is daily corrupted by such arguments as urge him to remain surrounded by his own men; not to hear of any reconciliation with his former enemies; to keep aloof and never entrust himself to stronger hands, no matter what promises are made nor what advantage he might gain from doing so.11 [C] (I know another12 who has unexpectedly improved his fortune by having taken quite contrary advice. When need arises, that bravery which men seek so avidly may be shown as magnificently in a doublet as in armour, in a closet as on the battlefield, when our hands are folded as when our fist is raised.) [B] So sensitive and circumspect a wisdom is the mortal enemy of great undertakings. [C] (To gain the support of Syphax, Scipio13 knew how to leave his army, quit Spain while still doubtful of that new conquest, cross over to Africa with only two small vessels and, in a hostile land, entrust his fate to a Barbarian King whose faith was untried; he was without bond or hostage, simply trusting surely in the greatness of his own heart, in his good fortune and in the promise of his high hopes: ‘habita fides ipsam plerumque fidem obligat.’ [Our own trust frequently binds the trust of others.])14

[B] For a life ambitious for fame, a man must, on the contrary, yield little to suspicions and keep them on a tight rein: fear and distrust attract hostile actions: it invites them.

The most mistrustful of our kings made himself secure mainly by voluntarily surrendering his life and entrusting his liberty to the hands of his foes, showing complete trust in them so that they might learn trust from him.15 Against legions, mutinous and under arms, Caesar simply opposed the authority of his countenance and his proud words; he trusted so much in himself and in his good fortune that he did not fear to yield and entrust them to a rebellious and seditious army.

[C] Stetit aggere fulti Cespitis, intrepidus vultu, meruitque timeri Nil metuens.

[With intrepid face he stood upon a mound of turf, deserving to be feared since he feared nothing.]16

[B] It is however quite true that this strong confidence can only be manifested, natural and entire, by those who are not terrified by the thought of death or of the worst that can happen to them in the end: for to manifest it tremulously, still doubting and unsure, contributes nothing of value towards a great reconciliation. It is an excellent way to win the heart and mind of another man to go and trust him, putting yourself in his power – provided it be done freely, quite unconstrained by necessity, and on condition that the trust we bring is clear and pure, and that at least our brow is not weighed down by hesitations.

When a boy I saw the commander of a great city, a nobleman, who was in real difficulties from the violence of an enraged populace;17 in order to snuff out this disturbance from the start he decided to leave the very safe place he was in and to put himself in the power of that mutinous mob; things went badly for him and he was ignominiously killed. But to me his error lay not in going out to them – the blame usually attached to his memory – but in adopting the way of submissiveness and weakness, wishing to appease that frenzy more by following than by giving a lead, by begging than by remonstrating; I believe that a military bearing full of assurance and confidence, a gracious severity becoming his rank and the dignity of his office, would have succeeded better, and at least more honourably and more fittingly. Nothing is less to be hoped from that monster18 thus aroused than mildness or humanity; it will be more open to awe and to fear. I would also reproach him in that, having made a decision which to my taste was more brave than foolhardy, he cast himself into that stormy sea of furious men, weak and in his doublet; he ought to have drunk the cup to the dregs and never given up the part he was playing: whereas when he saw the danger at close quarters he did flinch, subsequently changing the modest ingratiating look he had assumed into one of terror, his voice and his eyes burdened with amazement and contrition. By trying to creep away and hide he set them ablaze and invited them to attack him.

It was decided once to hold a review of the various troops under arms19 – such being just the place for secret plans of revenge: nowhere can you, in such security, carry them out. There were notorious public signs that it would be most unsafe for some of those on whom the obligation of reviewing the troops mainly fell. Several different pieces of advice were given, as was to be expected in a difficult matter of such weight and consequence. My own advice was not to give any sign of apprehension but to go there and walk between the ranks, faces frank and heads erect; rather than cut anything out (the direction towards which the majority opinion tended) we should on the contrary invite the captains to advise their men to make their welcoming volleys fair and hearty, not sparing their powder. This pleased the troops which we had had our doubts about, and it engendered from then on a most useful mutual confidence.

[A] I find the most beautiful of all courses was that adopted by Julius Caesar. First he assayed making even his enemies love him by mildness and clemency: when conspiracies were uncovered he simply let it be known that he had been told about them; then, he made the very noble resolve to await the outcome without worry or fear, surrendering himself to the protection of the gods and entrusting himself to Fortune: such was the position when he was murdered.20

[B] There was a foreigner who noised abroad that, in return for a good sum of money, he could teach Dionysius, the Tyrant of Syracuse, an infallible way of perceiving and uncovering any plots which his subjects should contrive against him. Dionysius was told of this and summoned him to come and enlighten him about an art so indispensable for his protection. The stranger told him that his art merely consisted in accepting half a hundredweight of silver from him and then boasting of having revealed such a very special secret to him. Dionysius approved of the idea and had six hundred crowns paid over to him: for it was not believable that he should have given so large a sum of money to an unknown man except as a recompense for being initiated into some very useful art; this consideration served to make his enemies fear him.21

Princes are wise to publish any information which they receive warning them of plots against their life so as to make people believe that they are indeed well-informed and that nothing can be undertaken without their having wind of it. [C] The Duke of Athens did many silly things when consolidating his recent Tyranny over Florence, but the most noteworthy was when he first received warning from Matteo Morozo, one of the accomplices, of the conspiracies that people were plotting against him: he put him to death, to suppress news of this warning and to prevent it being known that anyone in that city could be discontented with his upright rule!22

[A] I read an account once, I remember, of a Roman of high rank who was fleeing from the tyranny of the Triumvirate; he had already escaped his pursuers hundreds of times by subtle tricks he had invented. One day a troop of horsemen responsible for arresting him passed close by some bushes behind which he was crouching; they failed to spot him. But he thought at this juncture of the toil and hardships he had so long undergone to save himself from the endless searches they were diligently making for him everywhere; of the little joy he could hope from such a life; of how much better it would be to die once than to remain forever in such dread: so he called them back and let them see where he was hiding. He voluntarily gave himself up to their cruelty to relieve both them and himself of further hardship.23

Issuing invitations to the hands of an enemy is a rather rash decision, yet I believe it would be better to take it than to remain in a continual sweat over an outcome which cannot be remedied. But since such provisions as we can make are full of uncertainty and anguish, it is better to be ready to face with fair assurance anything that can happen, while drawing some consolation from not being sure that it will.