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Second BookPart II
Part II
Of their journeying or travelling abroad, with divers other matters cunningly
reasoned, and wittily discussed
But if any be desirous to visit either their friends that dwell in
another city, or to see the place itself: they easily obtain licence of their
syphogrants and tranibores, unless there be some profitable let. No man
goeth out alone but a company is sent forth together with their prince`s
letters, which do testify that they have licence to go that journey, and
prescribeth also the day of their return. They have a waggon given them,
with a common bondman, which driveth the oxen, and taketh charge of them.
But unless they have women in their company, they send home the waggon again,
as an impediment and a let. And though they carry nothing forth with
them, yet in all their journey they lack nothing. For wheresoever they
come they be at home. If they tarry in a place longer than one day, then
there every one of them falleth to his own occupation, and be very gently
entertained of the workmen and companies of the same crafts. If any man of
his own head and without leave, walk out of his precinct and bounds, taken
without the prince`s letters, he is brought again for a fugitive or a runaway
with great shame and rebuke, and is sharply punished. If he be taken in that
fault again, he is punished with bondage. If any be desirous to walk abroad
into the fields, or into the country that belongeth to the same city that he
dwelleth in, obtaining the goodwill of his father, and the consent of his
wife, he is not prohibited. But into what part of the country soever he
cometh he hath no meat given him until he have wrought out his forenoon`s
task, or else despatched so much work, as there is wont to be wrought before
supper. Observing this law and condition, he may so whither he will within
the bounds of his own city. For he shall be no less profitable to the city,
than if he were within it. Now you see how little liberty they have to
loiter: how they can have no cloak or pretence to idleness. There be neither
wine taverns, nor ale-houses, nor stews, nor any occasion of vice or
wickedness, no lurking corners, no places of wicked counsels or unlawful
assemblies. But they be in the present sight, and under the eyes of every
man. So that of necessity they must either apply their accustomed labours, or
else recreate themselves with honest and laudable pastimes.
This fashion being used among the people, they must of necessity have
store and plenty of all things. And seeing they be all thereof partners
equally, therefore can no man there be poor or needy. In the council of
Amaurote, whither, as I said, every city sendeth three men apiece yearly,
as soon as it is perfectly known of what things there is in every place
plenty, and again what things be scant in any place: incontinent the lack
of the one is performed and filled up with the abundance of the other. And
this they do freely without any benefit, taking nothing again of them, to
whom the things is given, but those cities that have given of their store to
any other city that lacketh, requiring nothing again of the same city, do
take such things as they lack of another city, to whom they gave nothing. So
the whole island is as it were one family, or household. But when they have
made sufficient provision of store for themselves (which they think not done,
until they have provided for two years following because of the uncertainty
of the next year`s proof) then of those things, whereof they have abundance,
they carry forth into other countries great plenty: as grain, honey, wool,
flax, wood, madder, purple dyed fells, wax, tallow, leather, and living
beasts. And the seventh part of all these things they give frankly and freely
to the poor of that country. The residue they sell at a reasonable and mean
price. By this trade of traffic or merchandise, they bring into their own
country, not only great plenty of gold and silver, but also all such things
as they lack at home, which is almost nothing but iron. And by reason they
have long used this trade, now they have more abundance of these things, than
any man will believe. Now therefore they care not whether they sell for ready
money, or else upon trust to be paid at a day, and to have the most part in
debts. But in so doing they never follow the credence of private men: but
the assurance or warrantys of the whole city, by instruments and writings
made in that behalf accordingly. When the day of payment is come and expired,
the city gathereth up the debt of the private debtors, and putteth it into
the common box and so long hath the use and profit of it, until the Utopians
their creditors demand it. The most part of it they never ask. For that thing
which is to them no profit to take it from other, to whom it is profitable:
they think it no right nor conscience. But if the case so stand, that they
must lend part of that money to another people, then they require their debt:
or when they have war. For the which purpose only they keep at home all the
treasure which they have, to be holpen and succoured by it either in extreme
jeopardies, or in sudden dangers. But especially and chiefly to hire
therewith, and that for unreasonable great wages, strange soldiers. For they
had rather put strangers in jeopardy, than their own countrymen: knowing that
for money enough, their enemies themselves many times may be bought and sold,
or else through treason be set together by the ears among themselves. For this
cause they keep an inestimable treasure. But yet not as a treasure: but so
they have it, and use it, as in good faith I am ashamed to show: fearing that
my words shall not be believed. And this I have more cause to fear, for that I
know how difficulty and hardly I myself would have believed another man
telling the same, if I had not presently seen it with mine own eyes.
For it must needs be, that how far a thing is dissonant and disagreeing
from the guise and trade of the hearers, so far shall it be out of their
belief. Howbeit, a wise and indifferent esteemer of things will not greatly
marvel perchance, seeing all their other laws and customs do so much differ
from ours, if the use also of gold and silver among them be applied, rather
to their own fashions than to ours. I mean in that they occupy not money
themselves, but keep it for that chance, which as it may happen, so it may
be that it shall never come to pass. In the meantime gold and silver, whereof
money is made, they do so use, as none of them doth more esteem it, than the
very nature of the thing deserveth. And then who doth not plainly see how far
it is under iron: as without the which men can no better live than without
fire and water. Whereas to gold and silver nature hath given no use, that we
may not well lack: if that the folly of men had not set it in higher
estimation for the rareness sake. But of the contrary part, nature as a most
tender and loving mother, hath placed the best and most necessary things open
abroad: as the air, the water and the earth itself. And hath removed and hid
farthest from us vain and unprofitable things. Therefore if these metals among
them should be fast locked up in some tower, it might be suspected, that the
prince and the council (as the people is ever foolishly imagining) intended by
some subtilty to deceive the commons, and to take same profit of it to
themselves. Furthermore if they should make thereof plate and such other
finely and cunningly wrought stuff: if at any time they should have occasion
to break it, and melt it again, and therewith to pay their soldiers` wages
they see and perceive very well, that men would be loath to part from those
things, that they once began to have pleasure and delight in. To remedy all
this they have found out a means, which, as it is agreeable to all their other
laws and customs, so it is from ours, where gold is so much set by and so
diligently kept, very far discrepant and repugnant: and therefore incredible,
but only to them that be wise. For whereas they eat and drink in earthen and
glass vessels, which indeed be curiously and properly made, and yet be of very
small value: of gold and silver they make commonly chamber pots, and other
like vessels, that serve for most vile uses, not only in their common halls,
but in every man`s private house. Furthermore of the same metals they make
great chains, with fetters, and gyves wherein they tie their bondmen. Finally
whosoever for any offence be infamed, by their ears hang rings of gold, upon
their fingers they wear rings of gold, and about their necks chains of gold,
and in conclusion their heads be tied about with gold. Thus by all means that
may be they procure to have gold and silver among them in reproach and infamy.
And therefore these metals, which other nations do as grievously and
sorrowfully forgo, as in a manner from their own lives: if they should
altogether at once be taken from the Utopians, no man there would think that
he had lost the worth of one farthing. They gather also pearls by the
sea-side, and diamonds and carbuncles upon certain rocks, and yet they seek
not for them: but by chance finding them, they cut and polish them. And
therewith they deck their young infants. Which like as in the first years
of their childhood, they make much and be fond and proud of such ornaments,
so when they be a little more grown in years and discretion, perceiving that
none but children do wear such toys and trifles: they lay them away even of
their own shamefacedness, without any bidding of their parents: even as our
children, when they wax big, do cast away nuts, brooches, and puppets.
Therefore these laws and customs, which be so far different from all other
nations, how divers fantasies also and minds they do cause, did I never so
plainly perceive, as in the ambassadors of the Anemolians.
These ambassadors came to Amaurote whilest I was there. And because they
came to entreat of great and weighty matters, those three citizens apiece out
of every city were come thither before them. But all the ambassadors of the
next countries, which had been there before, and knew the fashions and manners
of the Utopians, among whom they perceived no honour given to sumptuous and
costly apparel, silks to be contemned, gold also to be infamed and
reproachful, were wont to come thither in very homely and simple apparel. But
the Anemolians, because they dwell far thence and had very little acquaintance
with them, hearing that they were all apparelled alike, and that very rudely
and homely: thinking them not to have the things which they did not wear:
being therefore more proud, than wise: determined in the gorgeousness of their
apparel to represent very gods, and with the bright shining and glistering of
their gay clothing to dazzle the eyes of the silly poor Utopians. So there
came in three ambassadors with one hundred servants all apparelled in
changeable colours: the most of them in silks: the ambassadors themselves
(for at home in their own country they were noblemen) in cloth of gold, with
great chains of gold, with gold hanging at their ears, with gold rings upon
their fingers, with brooches and aglets of gold upon their caps, which
glistered full of pearls and precious stones: to be short, trimmed and
adorned with all those things, which among the Utopians were either the
punishment of bondmen, or the reproach of infamed persons, or else trifles
for young children to play withal. Therefore it would have done a man
good at his heart to have seen how proudly they displayed their peacock`s
feathers, how much they made of their painted sheaths, and how loftily they
set forth and advanced themselves, when they compared their gallant apparel
with the poor raiment of the Utopians. For all the people were swarmed forth
into the streets. And on the other side it was no less pleasure to consider
how much they were deceived, and how far they missed of their purpose, being
contrariwise taken than they thought they should have been. For to the eyes of
all the Utopians, except very few, which had been in other countries for some
reasonable cause, all that gorgeousness of apparel seemed shameful and
reproachful. Insomuch that they most reverently saluted the vilest and most
abject of them for lords: passing over the ambassadors themselves without any
honour: judging them by their wearing of golden chains to be bondmen. Yea you
should have seen children also, that had cast away their pearls and precious
stones, when they saw the like sticking upon the ambassadors` caps, dig and
push their mothers under the sides, saying thus to them. Look, mother, how
great a lubber doth yet wear pearls and precious stones, as though he were a
little child still. But the mother, yea, and that also in good earnest: peace,
son, saith she: I think he be some of the ambassadors` fools. Some found fault
at their golden chains, as to no use nor purpose, being so small and weak,
that a bondman might easily break them, and again so wide and large, that when
it pleased him, he might cast them off, and run away at liberty whither he
would. But when the ambassadors had been there a day or two and saw so great
abundance of gold so lightly esteemed, yea in no less reproach, than it was
with them in honour: and besides that more gold in the chains and gyves of one
fugitive bondman, than all the costly ornaments of them three was worth: they
began to abate their courage, and for very shame laid away all that gorgeous
array, whereof they were so proud. And specially when they had talked
familiarly with the Utopians, and had learned all their fashions and opinions.
For they marvel that any men be so foolish, as to have delight and
pleasure in the glistering of a little trifling stone, which may behold any of
the stars, or else the sun itself. Or that any man is so mad, as to count
himself the nobler for the smaller or finer thread of wool, which selfsame
wool (be it now in never so fine a spun thread) did once a sheep wear: and yet
was she all that time no other thing than a sheep. They marvel also that gold,
which of the own nature is a thing so unprofitable, is now among all people in
so high estimation, that man himself, by whom, yea and for the use of whom it
is so much set by, is in much less estimation than the gold itself. Insomuch
that a lumpish blockheaded churl, and which hath no more wit than an ass, yea
and as full of worthlessness and foolishness, shall have nevertheless many
wise and good men in subjection and bondage, only for this, because he hath a
great heap of gold. Which if it should be taken from him by any fortune, or by
some subtle wile of the law (which no less than fortune doth raise up the low
and pluck down the high), and be given to the most vile slave and abject
drudge of all his household, then shortly after he shall go into the service
of his servant, as an augmentation or an overplus beside his money. But they
much more marvel at and detest the madness of them which to those rich men, in
whose debt and danger they be not, do give almost divine honours, for none
other consideration, but because they be rich: and yet knowing them to be such
niggardly penny-fathers, that they be sure as long as they live, not the worth
of one farthing of that heap of gold shall come to them.
These and such like opinions have they conceived, partly by education,
being brought up in that commonwealth, whose laws and customs be far different
from these kinds of folly, and partly by good literature and learning. For
though there be not many in every city, which be exempt and discharged of all
other labours, and appointed only to learning; that is to say, such in whom
even from their very childhood they have perceived a singular towardness, a
fine wit, and a mind apt to good learning: yet all in their childhood be
instruct in learning. And the better part of the people, both men and women
throughout all their whole life do bestow in learning those spare hours, which
we said they have vacant from bodily labours. They be taught learning in their
own native tongue. For it is both copious in words, and also pleasant to the
ear, and for the utterance of a man`s mind very perfect and sure. The most
part of all that side of the world useth the same language, saving that among
the Utopians it is finest and purest, and according to the diversity of the
countries it is diversely altered. Of all these philosophers, whose names be
here famous in this part of the world to us known, before our coming thither
not as much as the fame of any of them was come among them. And yet in music,
logic, arithmetic, and geometry they have found out in a manner all that our
ancient philosophers have taught. But as they in all things be almost equal to
our old ancient clerks, so our new logicians in subtle inventions have far
passed and gone beyond them. For they have not devised one of all those rules
of restrictions, amplifications and suppositions, very wittily invented in the
small logicals, which here our children in every place do learn. Furthermore,
they were never yet able to find out the second intentions: insomuch that none
of them all could ever see man himself in common, as they call him, though he
be (as you know) bigger than ever was any giant, yea and pointed to of us even
with our finger. But they be in the course of the stars, and the movings of
the heavenly spheres very expert and cunning. They have also wittily
excogitated and devised instruments of divers fashions: wherein is exactly
comprehended and contained the movings and situations of the sun, the moon,
and of all the other stars, which appear in their horizon. But as for the
amities and dissensions of the planets, and all that deceitful divination by
the stars, they never as much as dreamed thereof. Rains, winds, and other
courses of tempests they know before by certain tokens, which they have
learned by long use and observation. But of the causes of all these things and
of the ebbing, flowing and saltness of the sea, and finally of the original
beginning and nature of heaven and of the world, they hold partly the same
opinions that our old philosophers hold, and partly, as our philosophers vary
among themselves, so they also, whiles they bring new reasons of things, do
disagree from all them, and yet among themselves in all points they do not
accord. In that part of philosophy, which treateth of manners and virtue,
their reasons and opinions agree with ours. They dispute of the good qualities
of the soul, of the body and of fortune. And whether the name of goodness may
be applied to all these, or only to the endowments and gifts of the soul.
They reason of virtue and pleasure. But the chief and principal question
is in what thing, be it one or more, the felicity of man consisteth. But in
this point they seem almost too much given and inclined to the opinion of
them which defend pleasure, wherein they determine either all or the chiefest
part of man`s felicity to rest. And (which is more to be marvelled at) the
defence of this so dainty and delicate an opinion they fetch even from their
grave, sharp, bitter, and rigorous religion. For they never dispute of
felicity or blessedness, but they join to the reasons of philosophy certain
principles taken out of religion: without the which to the investigation of
true felicity they think reason of itself weak and imperfect. Those principles
be these and such like: That the soul is immortal, and by the bountiful
goodness of God ordained to felicity. That to our virtues and good deeds
rewards be appointed after this life, and to our evil deeds, punishments.
Though these be pertaining to religion, yet they think it meet that they
should be believed and granted by proofs of reason. But if these principles
were condemned and disannulled, then without any delay they pronounce no man
to be so foolish, which would not do all his diligence and endeavour to obtain
pleasure by right or wrong, only avoiding this inconvenience, that the less
pleasure should not be a let or hindrance to the bigger: or that he laboured
not for that pleasure, which would bring after it displeasure, grief, and
sorrow. For they judge it extreme madness to follow sharp and painful virtue,
and not only to banish the pleasure of life, but also willingly to suffer
grief without any hope of profit thereof. For what profit can there be, if a
man, when he hath passed over all his life unpleasantly, that is to say,
wretchedly, shall have no reward after his death? But now, sir, they think
not felicity to rest in all pleasure, but only in that pleasure that is good
and honest, and that hereto, as to perfect blessedness our nature is allured
and drawn even of virtue, whereto only they that be of the contrary opinion
do attribute felicity. For they define virtue to be a life ordered according
to nature, and that we be hereunto ordained of God. And that he doth follow
the course of nature, which in desiring and refusing things is ruled by
reason. Furthermore, that reason doth chiefly and principally kindle in men
the love and veneration of the divine majesty. Of whose goodness it is that
we be, and that we be in possibility to attain felicity. And that secondly,
it moveth and provoketh us to lead our life out of care in joy and mirth,
and to help all other in respect of the society of nature to obtain the same.
For there was never man so earnest and painful a follower of virtue and hater
of pleasure, that would so enjoin you labours, watchings and fastings, but he
would also exhort you to ease and lighten, to your power, the lack and misery
of others, praising the same as a deed of humanity and pity. Then if it be a
point of humanity for man to bring health and comfort to man, and specially
(which is a virtue most peculiarly belonging to man) to mitigate and assuage
the grief of others, and by taking from them the sorrow and heaviness of
life, to restore them to joy, that is to say, to pleasure: why may it not
then be said, that nature doth provoke every man to do the same to himself?
For a joyful life, that is to say, a pleasant life, is either evil, and if it
be so, then thou shouldest not only help no man thereto, but rather, as much
as in thee lieth, help all men from it, as noisome and hurtful, or else if
thou not only mayst, but also of duty art bound to procure it to others, why
not chiefly to thyself, to whom thou art bound to show as much favour as to
other? For when nature biddeth thee to be good and gentle to other she
commandeth thee not to be cruel and ungentle to thyself. Therefore even very
nature (say they) prescribeth to us a joyful life, that is to say, pleasure
as the end of all our operations. And they define virtue to be life ordered
according to the prescript of nature. But in that, that nature doth allure
and provoke men one to help another to live merrily (which surely she doth
not without a good cause, for no man is so far above the lot of man`s state
or condition, that nature doth cark and care for him only, which equally
favoureth all that be comprehended under the communion of one shape, form and
fashion) verily she commandeth thee to use diligent circumspection, that thou
do not so seek for thine own commodities, that thou procure others
incommodities. Wherefore their opinion is, that not only covenants and
bargains made among private men ought to be well and faithfully fulfilled,
observed, and kept, but also common laws, which either a good prince hath
justly published, or else the people neither oppressed with tyranny, neither
deceived by fraud and guile, hath by their common consent constituted and
ratified, concerning the partition of the commodities of life, that is to
say, the matter of pleasure. These laws not offended, it is wisdom, that thou
look to thine own wealth. And to do the same for the commonwealth is no less
than thy duty, if thou bearest any reverent love or any natural zeal and
affection to thy native country. But to go about to let another man of his
pleasure, whilst thou procurest thine own, that is open wrong. Contrariwise to
withdraw something from thyself to give to other, that is a point of humanity
and gentleness; which never taketh away so much commodity, as it bringeth
again. For it is recompensed with the return of benefits; and the conscience
of the good deed, with the remembrance of the thankful love and benevolence of
them to whom thou hast done it, doth bring more pleasure to thy mind, than
that which thou hast withholden from thyself could have brought to thy body.
Finally (which to a godly disposed and a religious mind is easy to be
persuaded) God recompenseth the gift of a short and small pleasure with great
and everlasting joy. Therefore the matter diligently weighed and considered,
thus they think, that all our actions, and in them the virtues themselves, be
referred at the last to pleasure, as their end and felicity. Pleasure they
call every motion and state of the body or mind wherein man hath naturally
delectation. Appetite they join to nature, and that not without a good cause.
For like as, not only the senses, but also right reason coveteth whatsoever is
naturally pleasant, so that it may be gotten without wrong or injury, not
letting or debarring a greater pleasure, nor causing painful labour, even so
those things that men by vain imagination do feign against nature to be
pleasant (as though it lay in their power to change the things, as they do the
names of things) all such pleasures they believe to be of so small help and
furtherance to felicity, that they count them great let and hindrance. Because
that in whom they have once taken place, all his mind they possess with a
false opinion of pleasure. So that there is no place left for true and natural
delectations. For there be many things, which of their own nature contain no
pleasantness: yea the most part of them much grief and sorrow. And yet through
the perverse and malicious flickering enticement of lewd and unhonest
desires, be taken not only for special and sovereign pleasures, but also be
counted amoung the chief causes of life. In this counterfeit kind of pleasure
they put them that I spake of before; which the better gown they have on, the
better men they think themselves. In the which thing they do twice err. For
they be no less deceived in that they think their gown the better, than they
be, in that they think themselves the better. For if you consider the
profitable use of the garment, why should wool of a finer spun thread be
thought better, than the wool of a coarse spun thread? Yet they, as though the
one did pass the other by nature, and not by their mistaking, advance
themselves, and think the price of their own persons thereby greatly
increased. And therefore the honour, which in a coarse gown they durst not
have looked for, they require, as it were of duty, for their finer gown`s
sake. And if they be passed by without reverence, they take it angrily and
disdainfully. And again is it not a like madness to take a pride in vain and
unprofitable honours? For what natural or true pleasure dost thou take of
another man`s bare head, or bowed knees? Will this ease the pain of thy knees,
or remedy the frenzy of thy head? In this image of counterfeit pleasure, they
be of a marvellous madness, which for the opinion of nobility, rejoice much in
their own conceit. Because it was their fortune to come of such ancestors,
whose stock of long time hath been counted rich (for now nobility is nothing
else) specially rich in lands. And though their ancestors left them not one
foot of land, yet they think themselves not the less noble therefore of one
hair. In this number also they count them that take pleasure and delight (as I
said) in gems and precious stones, and think themselves almost gods, if they
chance to get an excellent one, specially of that kind, which in that time of
their own countrymen is had in highest estimation. For one kind of stone
keepeth not his price still in all countries and at all times. Nor they buy
them not, but taken out of the gold and bare: no, nor so neither, before they
have made the seller to swear, that he will warrant and assure it to be a true
stone, and no counterfeit gem. Such care they take lest a counterfeit stone
should deceive their eyes instead of a right stone. But why shouldst thou not
take even as much pleasure in beholding a counterfeit stone, which thine eye
cannot discern from a right stone? They should both be of like value to thee,
even as to a blind man. What shall I say of them, that keep superfluous
riches, to take delectation only in the beholding, and not in the use or
occupying thereof? Do they take true pleasure, or else be they deceived with
false pleasure? Or of them that be in a contrary vice, hiding the gold which
they shall never occupy, nor peradventure never see more; and whiles they take
care lest they shall lose it, do lose it indeed? For what is it else, when
they hide it in the ground, taking it both from their own use, and perchance
from all other men`s also? And yet thou, when thou hast hid thy treasure, as
one out of all care, hoppest for joy. The which treasure, if it should chance
to be stolen, and thou ignorant of the theft shouldst die ten years after: all
that ten years` space that thou livedst after thy money was stolen, what
matter was it to thee, whether it had been taken away or else safe as thou
leftest it? Truly both ways like profit came to thee. To these so foolish
pleasures they join dicers, whose madness they know by hearsay and not by use.
Hunters also, and hawkers, For what pleasure is there (say they) in casting
the dice upon a table; which thou hast done so often, that if there were any
pleasure in it, yet the oft use might make thee weary thereof? Or what delight
can there be, and not rather displeasure in hearing the barking and howling of
dogs? Or what greater pleasure is there to be felt when a dog followeth an
hare, than when a dog followeth a dog? for one thing is done in both, that is
to say, running, if thou hast pleasure therein. But if the hope of slaughter
and the expectation of tearing in pieces the beast doth please thee: thou
shouldest rather be moved with pity to see a silly innocent hare murdered of a
dog, the weak of the stronger, the fearful of the fierce, the innocent of the
cruel and unmerciful. Therefore all this exercise of hunting, as a thing
unworthy to be used of free men, the Utopians have rejected to their
butchers, to the which craft (as we said before) they appoint their bondmen.
For they count hunting the lowest, the vilest, and most abject part of
butchery, and the other parts of it more profitable and more honest, as which
do bring much more commodity, and do kill beasts only for necessity. Whereas
the hunter seeketh nothing but pleasure of the silly and woful beasts`
slaughter and murder. The which pleasure, in beholding death, they think doth
rise in the very beasts, either of a cruel affection of mind, or else to be
changed in continuance of time into cruelty, by long use of so cruel a
pleasure. These therefore and all such like, which be innumerable, though the
common sort of people doth take them for pleasures, yet they, seeing there is
no natural pleasantness in them, do plainly determine them to have no
affinity with true and right pleasure. For as touching that they do commonly
move the sense with delectation (which seemeth to be a work of pleasure) this
doth nothing diminish their opinion. For not the nature of the thing, but
their perverse and lewd custom is the cause hereof, which causeth them to
accept bitter or sour things for sweet things. Even as women with child in
their viciated and corrupt taste, think pitch and tallow sweeter than any
honey. Howbeit no man`s judgment depraved and corrupt, either by sickness, or
by custom, can change the nature of pleasure, more than it can do the nature
of other things.
They make divers kinds of true pleasures. For some they attribute to the
soul, and some to the body. To the soul they give intelligence and that
delectation that cometh of the contemplation of truth. Hereunto is joined the
pleasant remembrance of the good life past. The pleasure of the body they
divide into two parts. The first is when delectation is sensibly felt and
perceived. The second part of bodily pleasure, they say, is that which
consisteth and resteth in the quiet and upright state of the body. And that
truly is every man`s own proper health, intermingled and disturbed with no
grief. For this, if it be not let nor assaulted with no grief, is delectable
of itself, though it be moved with no external or outward pleasure. For though
it be not so plain and manifest to the sense, as the greedy lust of eating and
drinking, yet nevertheless many take it for the chiefest pleasure. All the
Utopians grant it to be a right great pleasure, and as you would say, the
foundation and ground of all pleasures, as which even alone is able to make
the state and condition of life delectable and pleasant. And it being once
taken away, there is no place left for any pleasure. For to be without grief
having health, that they call insensibility, and not pleasure. The Utopians
have long ago rejected and condemned the opinion of them which said that
steadfast and quiet health (for this question also hath been diligently
debated among them) ought not therefore to be counted a pleasure, because they
say it cannot be presently and sensibly perceived and felt by some outward
motion. But of the contrary part now they agree almost all in this, that
health is a most sovereign pleasure. For seeing that in sickness (say they) is
grief, which is a mortal enemy to pleasure, even as sickness is to health, why
should not then pleasure be in the quietness of health? For they say it maketh
nothing to this matter, whether you say that sickness is a grief, or that in
sickness is grief, for all cometh to one purpose. For whether health be a
pleasure itself, or a necessary cause of pleasure, as fire is of heat, truly
both ways it followeth that they cannot be without pleasure that be in perfect
health. Furthermore whilest we eat (say they) then health, which began to be
impaired, fighteth by the help of food against hunger. In the which fight,
whilest health by little and little getteth the upper hand, that same
proceeding, and (as ye would say) that onwardness to the wonted strength,
ministreth that pleasure, whereby we be so refreshed. Health therefore, which
in the conflict is joyful, shall it not be merry, when it hath gotten the
victory? But as soon as it hath recovered the pristinate strength, which thing
only in all the fight it coveted, shall it incontinent be astonished? Nor
shall it not know nor embrace the own wealth and goodness? For that it is
said, health cannot be felt: this, they think, is nothing true. For what man
waking, say they, feeleth not himself in health, but he that is not? Is there
any man so possessed with stonish insensibility, or with the sleeping
sickness, that he will not grant health to be acceptable to him, and
delectable? But what other thing is delectation, than that which by another
name is called pleasure? They embrace chiefly the pleasures of the mind. For
them they count the chiefest and most principal of all. The chief part of them
they think doth come of the exercise of virtue, and conscience of good life.
Of these pleasures that the body ministreth, they give the pre-eminence to
health. For the delight of eating and drinking, and whatsoever hath any like
pleasantness, they determine to be pleasures much to be desired, but no other
ways than for health`s sake. For such things of their own proper nature be not
pleasant, but in that they resist sickness privily stealing on. Therefore like
as it is a wise man`s part, rather to avoid sickness, than to wish for
medicines, and rather to drive away and put to flight careful griefs, than to
call for comfort: so it is much better not to need this kind of pleasure, than
in curing the contrary grief to be eased of the same. The which kind of
pleasure, if any man take for his felicity, that man must needs grant, that
then he shall be in most felicity, if he live that life, which is led in
continual hunger, thirst, itching, eating, drinking, scratching and rubbing.
The which life how not only foul it is, but also miserable and wretched who
perceiveth not? These doubtless be the basest pleasures of all, as impure and
imperfect. For they never come, but accompanied with their contrary griefs. As
with the pleasure of eating is joined hunger, and that after no very equal
sort. For of these two the grief is both the more vehement, and also of longer
continuance. For it riseth before the pleasure, and endeth not until the
pleasure die with it. Wherefore such pleasures they think not greatly to be
set by, but in that they be necessary. Howbeit they have delight also in
these, and thankfully acknowledge the tender love of mother nature, which with
most pleasant delectation allureth her children to that, which of necessity
they be driven often to use. For how wretched and miserable should our life
be, if these daily griefs of hunger and thirst could not be driven away, but
with bitter potions and sour medicines, as the other diseases be, wherewith we
be seldomer troubled? But beauty, strength, nimbleness, these as peculiar and
pleasant gifts of nature they make much of. But those pleasures which be
received by the ears, the eyes and the nose, which nature willeth to be proper
and peculiar to man (for no other kind of living beasts doth behold the
fairness and the beauty of the world, or is moved with any respect of savours,
but only for the diversity of meats, neither perceiveth the concordant and
discordant distances of sounds and tunes) these pleasures, I say, they accept
and allow as certain pleasant rejoicings of life. But in all things this
precaution they use, that a less pleasure hinder not a bigger, and that the
pleasure be no cause of displeasure, which they think to follow of necessity,
if the pleasure be unhonest. But yet to despise the comeliness of beauty, to
waste the bodily strength, to turn nimbleness into sluggishness, to consume
and make feeble the body with fasting, to do injury to health, and to reject
the other pleasant motions of nature unless a man neglect these his
commodities, whilest he doth with a fervent zeal procure the wealth of others,
or the common profit, for the which pleasure forborn, he is in hope of a
greater pleasure at God`s hand; else for a vain shadow of virtue, for the
wealth and profit of no man, to punish himself, or to the intent he may be
able courageously to suffer adversities, which perchance shall never come to
him; this to do they think it a point of extreme madness, and a token of a man
cruelly minded towards himself, and unkind toward nature, as one so disdaining
to be in her danger, that he renounceth and refuseth all her benefits.
This is their sentence and opinion of virtue and pleasure. And they
believe that by man`s reason none can be found truer than this, unless any
godlier be inspired into man from heaven. Wherein whether they believe well or
no, neither the time doth suffer us to discuss, neither it is now necessary.
For we have taken upon us to show and declare their lores and ordinances, and
not to defend them. But this thing I believe verily, howsoever these decrees
be, that there is in no place of the world, neither a more excellent people,
neither a more flourishing commonwealth. They be light and quick of body,
full of activity and nimbleness, and of more strength than a man would judge
them by their stature, which for all that is not too low. And though their
soil be not very fruitful, nor their air very wholesome, yet against the air
they so defend them with temperate diet, and so order and husband their ground
with diligent travail, that in no country is greater increase, and plenty of
corn and cattle, nor men`s bodies of longer life, and subject or apt to
fewer diseases. There therefore, a man may see well and diligently exploited
and furnished, not only those things which husbandmen do commonly in other
countries, as by craft and cunning to remedy the barrenness of the ground; but
also a whole wood by the hands of the people plucked up by the roots in one
place, and set again in another place. Wherein was had regard and
consideration, not of plenty but of commodious carriage, that wood and timber
might be nigher to the sea, or the rivers or the cities. For it is less
labour and business to carry grain far by land, than wood. The people be
gentle, merry, quick, and fine witted, delighting in quietness, and when need
requireth, able to abide and suffer much bodily labour. Else they be not
greatly desirous and fond of it; but in the exercise and study of the mind
they be never weary. When they had heard me speak of the Greek literature or
learning (for in Latin there was nothing that I thought they would greatly
allow, besides historians and poets) they made wonderful earnest and
importunate suit unto me that I would teach and instruct them in that
tongue and learning. I began therefore to read unto them, at the first truly
more because I would not seem to refuse the labour, than that I hoped that
they would anything profit therein. But when I had gone forward a little, and
perceived incontinent by their diligence, that my labour should not be
bestowed in vain; for they began so easily to fashion their letters, so
plainly to pronounce the words, so quickly to learn by heart, and so surely
to rehearse the same, that I marvelled at it, saving that the most part of
them were fine and chosen wits and of ripe age, picked out of the company of
the learned men, which not only of their own free and voluntary will, but
also by the commandment of the council, undertook to learn this language.
Therefore in less than three years` space there was nothing in the Greek
tongue that they lacked. They were able to read good authors without any stay,
if the book were not false. This kind of learning, as I suppose, they took so
much the sooner, because it is somewhat allied to them. For I think that this
nation took their beginning of the Greeks, because their speech, which in all
other points is not much unlike the Persian tongue, keepeth divers signs and
tokens of the Greek language in the names of their cities and of their
magistrates. They have of me (for when I was determined to enter into my
fourth voyage, I cast into the ship in the stead of merchandise a pretty
fardel of books, because I intended to come again rather never, than shortly)
the most part of Plato`s works, more of Aristotle`s also Theophrastus of
plants, but in divers places (which I am sorry for) imperfect. For whilst we
were sailing, a marmoset chanced upon the book, as it was negligently laid by,
which wantonly playing therewith plucked out certain leaves, and tore them in
pieces. Of them that have written the grammar, they have only Lascaris. For
Theodorus I carried not with me, nor never a dictionary but Hesychius, and
Dioscorides. They set great store by Plutarch`s books. And they be delighted
with Lucian`s merry conceits and jests. Of the poets they have Aristophanes,
Homer, Euripides, and Sophocles in Aldus` small print. Of the historians they
have Thucydides, Herodotus, and Herodian. Also my companion, Tricius Apinatus,
carried with him physic books, certain small works of Hippocrates and Galen`s
Microtechne. The which book they have in great estimation. For though there be
almost no nation under heaven that hath less need of physic than they, yet
this notwithstanding, physic is nowhere in greater honour; because they count
the knowledge of it among the goodliest and most profitable parts of
philosophy. For whilest they by the help of this philosophy search out the
secret mysteries of nature, they think that they not only receive thereby
wonderful great pleasure, but also obtain great thanks and favour of the
author and maker thereof. Whom they think, according to the fashion of other
artificers, to have set forth the marvellous and gorgeous frame of the world
for man to behold. Whom only he hath made of wit and capacity to consider and
understand the excellence of so great a work. And therefore (say they) doth he
bear more goodwill and love to the curious and diligent beholder and viewer of
his work and marveller at the same, than he doth to him, which like a very
beast without wit and reason, or as one without sense or moving, hath no
regard to so great and so wonderful a spectacle. The wits therefore of the
Utopians, inured and exercised in learning, be marvellous quick in the
invention of feats helping anything to the advantage and wealth of life.
Howbeit two feats they may thank us for. That is, the science of imprinting,
and the craft of making paper. And yet not only us but chiefly and principally
themselves.
For when we showed to them Aldus his print in books of paper, and told
them of the stuff whereof paper is made, and of the feat of graving letters,
speaking somewhat more, than we could plainly declare (for there was none of
us, that knew perfectly either the one or the other) they forthwith very
wittily conjectured the thing. And whereas before they wrote only in skins,
in barks of trees, and in reeds, now they have attempted to make paper, and
to imprint letters. And though at the first it proved not all of the best, yet
by often assaying the same they shortly got the feat of both. And have so
brought the matter about that if they had copies of Greek authors, they could
lack no books. But now they have no more than I rehearsed before, saving that
by printing of books they have multiplied and increased the same into many
thousands of copies. Whosoever cometh thither to see the land, being excellent
in any gift of wit, or through much and long journeying well experienced and
seen in the knowledge of many countries (for the which cause we were very
welcome to them) him they receive and entertain wonders gently and lovingly.
For they have delight to hear what is done in every land, howbeit very few
merchantmen come thither, for what should they bring thither, unless it were
iron, or else gold and silver, which they had rather carry home again? Also
such things as are to be carried out of their land, they think it more wisdom
to carry that gear forth themselves, than that others should come thither to
fetch it, to the intent they may the better know the outlands on every side of
them, and keep in use the feat and knowledge of sailing.
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