Consolation to Marcia Chapter 7

"At enim naturale desiderium suorum est." Quis negat, quam diu modicum est ? Nam discessu, non solum amissione carissimorum necessarius morsus est et firmissimorum quoque animorum contractio. Sed plus est quod opinio adicit quam quod natura imperavit. Aspice mutorum animalium quam concitata sint desideria et tamen quam brevia: vaccarum uno die alterove mugitus auditur, nec diutius equarum vagus ille amensque discursus est ; ferae cum vestigia catulorum consectatae sunt et silvas pervagatae, cum saepe ad cubilia expilata redierint, rabiem intra exiguum tempus extinguunt ; aves cum stridore magno inanes nidos circum- fremuerunt, intra momentum tamen quietae volatus suos repetunt ; nec ulli animali longum fetus sui desiderium est nisi homini, qui adest dolori suo nec tantum, quantum sentit, sed quantum constituit, adficitur. Ut scias autem non esse hoc naturale, luctibus frangi, primum magis feminas quam viros, magis barbaros quam placidae eruditaeque gentis homines, magis indoctos quam doctos eadem orbitas vulnerat. Atqui ea, quae a natura vim acceperunt, eandem in omnibus servant ; apparet non esse naturale quod varium est. Ignis omnes aetates omniumque urbium cives, tam viros quam feminas uret ; ferrum in omni corpore exhibebit secandi potentiam. Quare ? quia vires illi a natura datae sunt, quae nihil in personam constituit. Paupertatem, luctum, ambitionem alius aliter sentit, prout illum consuetudo infecit, et imbecillum impatientemque reddit praesumpta opinio de non timendis terribilis.

“But,” say you, “sorrow for the loss of one’s own children is natural.” Who denies it? provided it be reasonable? for we cannot help feeling a pang, and the stoutest-hearted of us are cast down not only at the death of those dearest to us, but even when they leave us on a journey. Nevertheless, the mourning which public opinion enjoins is more than nature insists upon. Observe how intense and yet how brief are the sorrows of dumb animals: we hear a cow lowing for one or two days, nor do mares pursue their wild and senseless gallops for longer: wild beasts after they have tracked their lost cubs throughout the forest, and often visited their plundered dens, quench their rage within a short space of time. Birds circle round their empty nests with loud and piteous cries, yet almost immediately resume their ordinary flight in silence; nor does any creature spend long periods in sorrowing for the loss of its offspring, except man, who encourages his own grief, the measure of which depends not upon his sufferings, but upon his will. You may know that to be utterly broken down by grief is not natural, by observing that the same bereavement inflicts a deeper wound upon women than upon men, upon savages than upon civilised and cultivated persons, upon the unlearned than upon the learned: yet those passions which derive their force from nature are equally powerful in all men: therefore it is clear that a passion of varying strength cannot be a natural one. Fire will burn all people equally, male and female, of every rank and every age: steel will exhibit its cutting power on all bodies alike: and why? Because these things derive their strength from nature, which makes no distinction of persons. Poverty, grief, and ambition, are felt differently by different people, according as they are influenced by habit: a rooted prejudice about the terrors of these things, though they are not really to be feared, makes a man weak and unable to endure them.

« Mais il est naturel de regretter les siens. » Qui le nie, tant que les regrets sont modérés ? L’absence, et à plus forte raison la mort de qui nous est cher, est nécessairement douloureuse et serre le cœur des plus résolus. Mais le préjugé nous entraîne plus loin que ne commande la nature. Voyez comme chez la brute les regrets sont véhéments, et pourtant combien ils passent vite. La vache ne fait entendre ses mugissements qu’un ou deux jours ; la cavale ne continue pas plus longtemps ses courses vagues et insensées. Quand la bête féroce a bien couru sur la trace de ses petits et rôdé par toute la forêt, après qu’elle est mainte fois revenue au gîte pillé par le chasseur, sa douleur furieuse est prompte à s’éteindre. L’oiseau qui voltige avec des cris si aigus autour de son nid dépeuplé, en un moment redevient calme et reprend son vol ordinaire. Il n’est point d’animaux qui regrettent longtemps leurs petits : l’homme seul attise sa douleur et s’afflige, non en raison de ce qu’il éprouve, mais selon qu’il a pris parti de s’affliger. Ce qui prouve qu’il n’est pas naturel de succomber à ces deuils, à ces déchirements, c’est qu’ils sont plus douloureux à la femme qu’à l’homme, plus aux barbares qu’aux peuples de mœurs douces et civilisées, plus aux ignorants qu’aux esprits éclairés. Or ce qui tient sa force de la nature reste identique dans tous les êtres. Évidemment donc ce qui est si variable n’est point naturel. Le feu brûlera qui que ce soit, à tout âge et en tout pays, les hommes comme les femmes ; le fer manifestera sur tout corps vivant sa propriété de trancher : pourquoi ? parce qu’il l’a reçue de la nature, qui ne fait acception de personne. La pauvreté, le chagrin, l’ambition affectent diversement les hommes, plus ou moins imbus qu’ils sont du préjugé ; et la faiblesse, l’impatience nous viennent d’avoir, à l’avance, cru terrible ce qui ne l’est point.