Discourses on a Sober and Temperate Life Part 1

Discourses on a Sober and Temperate Life.

by Lewis Cornaro.

PREFACE

The author of the following discourses, Lewis Cornaro, was descended from one of the most ill.u.s.trious families in Venice, but by the ill conduct of some of his relations, had the misfortune to be deprived of the dignity of a n.o.bleman, and excluded from all honours and public employments in the state. Chagrined at this unmerited disgrace, he retired to Padua, and married a lady of the family of Spiltemberg, whose name was Veronica. Being in possession of a good estate, he was very desirous of having children; and after a long expectation of this happiness, his wife was delivered of a daughter, to whom he gave the name of Clara. This was his only child, who afterwards was married to John, the son of Fantini Cornaro, of a rich family in Cyprus, while that island belonged to the republic of Venice. Though he was far advanced in life when his daughter Clara came into the world, yet he lived to see her very old, and the mother of eight sons and three daughters. He was a man of sound understanding, determined courage and resolution.

In his younger days, he had contracted infirmities by intemperance, and by indulging his too great propensity to anger; but when he perceived the ill consequence of his irregularities, he had command enough of himself to subdue his pa.s.sion and inordinate appet.i.tes. By means of great sobriety, and a strict regimen in his diet, he recovered his health and vigour, which he preserved to an extreme old age. At a very advanced stage of life he wrote the following discourses, wherein he acquaints us with the irregularity of his youth, his reformation of manners, and the hopes he entertained of living a long time. Nor was he mistaken in his expectation, for he resigned his last breath without any agony, sitting in an elbow chair, being above an hundred years old. This happened at Padua, the 26th of April, 1566. His lady, almost as old as himself, survived him but a short time, and died an early death. They were both interred in St. Anthony's church, without pomp, pursuant to their testamentary directions.

These discourses, though written in Cornaro's old age, were penned at different times, and published separately: The first, which he wrote at the age of eighty-three, is int.i.tled, A Treatise on a Sober Life, in which he declares war against every kind of intemperance; and his vigorous old age speaks in favour of his precepts. The second treatise he composed at the age of eighty-six: it contains farther encomiums on sobriety, and points out the means of mending a bad const.i.tution. He says, that he came into the world with a choleric disposition, but that his temperate way of life had enabled him to subdue it. The third, which he wrote at the age of ninety-one, is int.i.tled, An Earnest Exhortation to a Sober Life; here he uses the strongest arguments to persuade mankind to embrace a temperate life, as the means of attaining a healthy and vigorous old age. The fourth and last, is a letter to Barbaro, Patriarch of Aquileia, written at the age of ninety-five; it contains a lively description of the healthy, vigour, and perfect use of all his faculties, which he had the happiness of enjoying at that advanced period of life.

This useful work was translated some years ago into English, under the t.i.tle of _Sure and certain methods of attaining a long and healthy life_. The translator seems rather to have made use of a French version than of the Italian original; he has likewise omitted several pa.s.sages of the Italian, and the whole is rather a paraphrase than a translation. This has induced us to give the public an exact and faithful version of that excellent performance, from the Venice edition in 8vo, in the year 1620 [1]: and as a proof of the merit and authenticity of the work, we beg leave to quote Mr. Addison's recommendation of it, SPECTATOR, Vol. iii, No 195.

"The most remarkable instance of the efficacy of temperance, towards the procuring long life, is what we meet with in a little book published by _Lewis Cornaro,_ the _Venetian;_ which I rather mention, because it is of undoubted credit, as the late _Venetian_ amba.s.sador, who was of the same family, attested more than once in conversation, when he resided in _England_. _Cornaro,_ who was the author of the little treatise I am mentioning, was of an infirm const.i.tution, till about forty, when, by obstinately persisting in an exact course of temperance, he recovered a perfect state of health; insomuch that at fourscore he published his book, which has been translated into _English_ under the t.i.tle of, _Sure and certain methods of attaining a long and healthy life_. He lived to give a third or fourth edition of it, and after having pa.s.sed his hundredth year, died without pain or agony, and like one who falls asleep. The treatise I mention has been taken notice of by several eminent authors, and is written with such spirit of chearfulness, religion, and good sense, as are the natural concomitants of temperance and sobriety. The mixture of the old man in it, is rather a recommendation than a discredit to it."

[1] The first edition was published by the author at Padua, in 4to, A.D. 1558.

A TREATISE ON A SOBER LIFE

It is a thing past all doubt, that custom, by time, becomes a second nature, forcing men to use that, whether good or bad, to which they have been habituated: nay, we see habit, in many things, get the better of reason. This is so undeniably true, that virtuous men, by conversing with the wicked, very often fall into the same vicious course of life. The contrary, likewise, we see sometimes happen; viz. that, as good morals easily change to bad, so bad morals change again to good. For instance: let a wicked man, who was once virtuous, keep company with a virtuous man, and he will again become virtuous; and this alteration can be attributed to nothing but the force of habit, which is, indeed, very great. Seeing many examples of this; and besides, considering that, in consequence of this great force of habit, three bad customs have got footing in Italy within a few years, even within my own memory; the first flattery and ceremoniousness: the second Lutheranism [2], which some have most preposterously embraced; the third intemperance; and that these three vices, like so many cruel monsters, leagued, as indeed they are, against mankind, have gradually prevailed so far, as to rob civil life of its sincerity, the soul of its piety, and the body of its health; I have resolved to treat of the last of these vices, and prove that it is an abuse, in order to extirpate it, if possible. As to the second, Lutheranism, and the first, flattery, I am certain, that some great genius or another will soon undertake the task of exposing their deformity, and effectually suppressing them.

Therefore, I firmly hope, that, before I die, I shall see these three abuses conquered and driven out of Italy; and this country of course restored to its former laudable and virtuous customs.

[2] The author writes with the prejudice of a zealous Roman Catholic against the doctrine of the Reformation, which he here distinguishes by the name of Lutheranism. This was owing to the artifices of the Romish clergy in those days, by whom the reformed religion was misinterpreted, as introductive of licentiousness and debauchery.

To come then to that abuse, of which I am proposed to speak, namely, intemperance; I say, that it is a great pity it should have prevailed so much, as entirely to banish sobriety. Though all are agreed, that intemperance is the offspring of gluttony, and sober living of abstemiousness; the former, nevertheless, is considered a virtue and a mark of distinction, and the latter, as dishonourable and the badge of avarice. Such mistaken notions are entirely owing to the power of custom, established by our senses and irregular appet.i.tes; these have blinded and besotted men to such a degree, that, leaving the paths of virtue, they have followed those of vice, which lead them before their time to an old age, burthened with strange and mortal infirmities, so as to render them quite decrepid before forty, contrary to the effects of sobriety, which, before it was banished by this destructive intemperance, used to keep men sound and hearty to the age of eighty and upwards. O wretched and unhappy Italy! do you not see, that intemperance murders every year more of your subjects, than you could lose by the most cruel plague, or by fire and sword in many battles? Those truly shameful feasts, no so much in fashion, and so intolerably profuse, that no tables are large enough to hold the dishes, which renders it necessary to heap them one upon another; those feasts, I say, are so many battles; and how is it possible to support nature by such a variety of contrary and unwholesome foods? Put a stop to this abuse, for G.o.d's sake, for there is not, I am certain of it, a vice more abominable than this in the eyes of the Divine Majesty. Drive away this new kind of death, and you have banished the plague, which, though it formerly used to make such havock, now does little or no mischief, owing to the laudable practice of attending more to the goodness of the provisions brought to our markets. There are means still left to banish intemperance, and such means too, that every man may have recourse to them without any a.s.sistance. Nothing more is requisite for this purpose, than to live up to the simplicity dictated by nature, which teaches us to be content with little, to pursue the medium of holy abstemiousness and divine reason, and to accustom ourselves to eat no more than is absolutely necessary to support life; considering, that what exceeds this, is disease and death, and merely gives the palate satisfaction, which, though but momentary, brings on the body a long and lasting train of disagreeable sensations and diseases, and at length destroys it along with the soul. How many friends of mine, men of the finest understanding and most amiable disposition, have I seen carried off by this plague in the flower of their youth? who, where they now living, would be an ornament to the public, whose company I should enjoy with as much pleasure, as I now feel concern at their loss.

In order, therefore, to put a stop to so great an evil, I have resolved by this short discourse to demonstrate, that intemperance is an abuse which may be easily removed, and that the good old sober living may be subst.i.tuted in its stead; and this I undertake more readily, as many young men of the best understanding, knowing that it is a vice, have requested it of me, moved thereto by seeing their fathers drop off in the flower of their youth, and me so sound and hearty at the age of eighty-one. They expressed a desire to reach the same term, nature not forbidding us to wish for longevity; and old-age being, in fact, that time of life in which prudence can be best exercised, and the fruits of all the other virtues enjoyed with less opposition, the pa.s.sions being then so subdued, that man gives himself up entirely to reason. They beseeched me to let them know the method pursued by me to attain it; and then finding them intent on so laudable a pursuit, I have resolved to treat of that method, in order to be of service not only to them, but to all those who may be willing to peruse this discourse. I shall, therefore, give my reasons for renouncing intemperance, and betaking myself to a sober course of life; declare freely the method pursued by me for that purpose; and then set forth the effects of so good an habit upon me; whence it may be clearly gathered, how easy it is to remove the abuse of intemperance.

I shall conclude, by shewing how many conveniencies and blessings are the consequences of a sober life.

I say then, that the heavy train of infirmities, which had not only invaded, but even made great inroads in my const.i.tution, were my motives for renouncing intemperance, to which I had been greatly addicted; so that, in consequence of it, and the badness of my const.i.tution, my stomach being exceedingly cold and moist, I was fallen into different kinds of disorders, such as pains in my stomach, and often st.i.tches, and spices of the gout; attended by, what was still worse, an almost continual slow fever, a stomach generally out of order, and a perpetual thirst. From these natural and acquired disorders the best delivery I had to hope for, was death, to put an end to the pains and miseries of life; a period very remote in the regular course of nature, though I had hastened it by my irregular manner of living.

Finding myself, therefore, in such unhappy circ.u.mstances between my thirty-fifth and fortieth year, every thing that could be thought of having been tried to no purpose to relieve me, the physicians gave me to understand, that there was but one method left to get the better of my complaints, provided I would resolve to use it, and patiently persevere in it. This was a sober and regular life, which the a.s.sured me would be still of the greatest service to me, and would be as powerful in its effects, as the intemperance and irregular one had been, in reducing me to the present low condition: and that I might be fully satisfied of its salutary effects, for though by my irregularities I was become infirm, I was not reduced so low, but that a temperate life, the opposite in every respect to an intemperate one, might still entirely recover me. And besides, it in fact appears, such a regular life, whilst observed, preserves men of a bad const.i.tution, and far gone in years, just as a contrary course has the power to destroy those of the best const.i.tution, and in their prime; for this plain reason, that different modes of life are attended by different effects; art following, even herein, the steps of nature, with equal power to correct natural vices and imperfections. This is obvious in husbandry and the like. They added, that if I did not immediately have recourse to such a regimen, I could receive no benefit from it in a few months, and that in a few more I must resign myself to death.

These solid and convincing arguments made such an impression on me, that, mortified as I was besides, by the thoughts of dying in the prime of life, and at the same time perpetually tormented by various diseases, I immediately concluded, that the foregoing contrary effects could not be produced but by contrary modes of living; and, therefore, full of hopes, resolved, in order to avoid at once both death and disease, to betake myself to a regular course of life. Having, upon this, enquired of them what rules I should follow, they told me, that I must not use any food, solid or liquid, but such as, being generally prescribed to sick persons, is, for that reason, called diet, and both very sparingly. These directions, to say the truth, they had before given me; but it was at a time of life when, impatient of such restraint, and finding myself satiated, as it were, with such food, I could not put up with it, and therefore eat freely of every thing I liked best; and likewise, feeling myself in a manner parched up by the heat of my disease, made no scruple of drinking, and in large quant.i.ties, the wines that best pleased my palate. This indeed, like all other patients, I kept a secret from my physicians. But, when I had once resolved to live sparingly, and according to the dictates of reason, seeing that is was no difficult matter, nay, that it was my duty as a man so to do, I entered with so much resolution upon this new course of life, that nothing has been since able to divert me from it. The consequence was, that in a few days I began to perceive, that such a course agreed with me very well; and by pursuing it, in less than a year, I found myself (some persons, perhaps, will not believe it) entirely freed from all my complaints.

Having thus recovered my health, I began seriously to consider the power of temperance, and say to myself, that if this virtue had efficacy enough to subdue such grievous disorders as mine, it must have still greater to preserve me in health, to help my bad const.i.tution, and comfort my very weak stomach. I therefore applied myself diligently to discover what kinds of food suited me best. But, first, I resolved to try, whether those, which pleased my palate, agreed or disagreed with my stomach, in order to judge for myself of the truth of that proverb, which I once held true, and is universally held as such in the highest degree, insomuch that epicures, who give a loose to their appet.i.tes, lay it down as a fundamental maxim. This proverb is, that whatever pleases the palate, must agree with the stomach, and nourish the body; or whatever is palatable must be equally wholesome and nourishing. The issue was, that I found it to be false: for, though rough and very cold wines, as likewise melons and other fruits, sallad, fish and pork, tarts, garden-stuff, pastry, and the like, were very pleasing to my palate, the disagreed with me notwithstanding. Having convinced myself, that the proverb in question was false, I look'd upon it as such; and, taught by experience, I gave over the use of such meats and wines, and likewise of ice; chose wine suited to my stomach, drinking of it but the quant.i.ty I knew I could digest. I did the same by my meat, as well in regard to quant.i.ty as to quality, accustoming myself never to cloy my stomach with eating or drinking; but constantly rise from table with a disposition to eat and drink still more. In this I conformed to the proverb, which says, that a man, to consult his health, must check his appet.i.te. Having in this manner, and for these reasons, conquered intemperance and irregularity, I betook myself intirely to a temperate and regular life: which effected in me the alteration already mentioned, that is, in less than a year it rid me of all those disorders, which had taken so deep a root in me; nay, as I have already observed, had made such a progress, as to be in a manner incurable. It had likewise this other good effect, that I no longer experienced those annual fits of sickness, with which I used to be afflicted, while I followed a different, that is a sensual, course of life; for then I used to be attacked every year with a strange kind of fever, which sometimes brought me to death's door. From this disease, then, I also freed myself, and became exceeding healthy, as I have continued from that time forward to this very day; and for no other reason than that I never trespa.s.sed against regularity, which by its infinite efficacy has been the cause, that the meat I constantly eat, and the wine I constantly drink, being such as agreed with my const.i.tution, and taken in proper quant.i.ties, imparted all their virtue to my body, and then left it without difficulty, and without engendering in it any bad humours.

In consequence therfore of my taking such methods, I have always enjoyed, and (G.o.d be praised) actually enjoy, the best of healths. It is true, indeed, that, besides the two forgoing most important rules relative to eating and drinking, which I have ever been very scrupulous to observe; that is, not to take of any thing, but as much as my stomach can easily digest, and to use those things only, which agree with me; I have carefully avoided heat, cold, and extraordinary fatigue, interruption of my usual hours of rest, excessive venery, making any stay in bad air, and exposing myself to the wind and sun; for these, too, are great disorders. But then, fortunately, there is no great difficulty in avoiding them, the love of life and health having more sway over men of understanding, than any satisfaction they could find in doing what must be extremely hurtful to their const.i.tution. I have likewise done all that lay in my power to avoid those evils, which we do not find so easy to remove; these are melancholy, hatred, and other violent pa.s.sions, which appear to have the greatest influence over our bodies. However, I have not been able to guard so well against either one or the other kind of these disorders, as not to suffer myself now and then to be hurried away by many, not to say, all of them; but I have reaped the benefit of knowing by experience that these pa.s.sions have, in the main, no great influence over bodies governed by the two foregoing rules of eating and drinking, and therefore can do them but very little harm; so that it may with great truth be affirmed, that whoever observes these two capital rules, is liable to very little inconveniency from any other excesses.

This, Galen, who was an eminent physician, observed before me.

He affirms, that so long as he followed these rules relative to eating and drinking, he suffered but little from other disorders, so little, that they never gave him above a day's uneasiness.

That what he says is true, I am a living witness, and so are many others, who know me, and have seen, how often I have been exposed to heats and colds, and such other disagreeable changes of weather; and have, likewise, seen me (owing to various misfortunes, which have more than once befallen me) greatly disturbed my mind. For they can not only say of me, that such disturbance of mind has done me very little harm, but they can aver of many others, who did not lead a sober and regular life, that it proved very prejudicial to them, amongst whom was a brother of my own, and others of my family, who trusting to the goodness of their const.i.tution, did not follow my way of living. The consequence hereof was a great misfortune to them, the perturbations of the mind having thereby acquired an extraordinary influence over their bodies. Such, in a word, was their grief and dejection at seeing me involved in expensive law-suits, commenced against my by great and powerful men, that, fearing I should be cast, they were seized with that melancholy humour, with which intemperate bodies always abound; and these humours had such an influence over them, and increased to such a degree, as to carry them off before their time; whereas I suffered nothing on the occasion, as I had in me no superfluous humours of that kind. Nay, in order to keep up my spirits, I brought myself to think, that G.o.d had raised up these suits against me, in order to make me more sensible of my strength of body and mind; and that I should get the better of them with honour and advantage, as it, in fact, came to pa.s.s: for, at last, I obtained a decree exceeding favourable to my fortune and my character, which, though it gave me the highest pleasure, had not the power to do me any harm in other respects. Thus it is plain, that neither melancholy nor any other affection of the mind can hurt bodies governed with temperance and regularity.

But I must go a step further, and say, that even misfortunes themselves can do but very little mischief, or cause but very little pain, to such bodies; and that this is true, I have myself experienced at the age of seventy. I happened, as is often the case, to be in a coach, which going at a pretty smart rate, was overset, and in that condition drawn a considerable way by the horses, before means could be found to stop them; whence I received so many shocks and bruises, that I was taken out with my head and all the rest of my body terribly battered, and a dislocated leg and arm. When I was brought home, the family immediately sent for the physicians, who, on their arrival, seeing me in so bad a plight, concluded, that within three days I should die; nevertheless, they would try what good two things would do me; one was to bleed me, the other to purge me; and thereby prevent my humours altering, as they every moment expected, to such a degree, as to ferment greatly, and bring on a high fever.

But I, on the contrary, who knew, that the sober life I had led for many years past, had so well united, harmonized, and disposed my humours, as not to leave it in their power to ferment to such a degree, refused to be either bled, or purged. I just caused my leg and arm to be set, an suffered myself to be rubbed with some oils, which they said were proper on the occasion. Thus, without using any other kind of remedy, I recovered, as I thought I should, without feeling the least alteration in myself, or any other bad effects from the accident; a thing, which appeared miraculous even in the eyes of the physicians. Hence we are to infer, that whoever leads a sober and regular life, and commits no excess in his diet, can suffer but very little from disorders of any other kind, or external accidents. On the contrary, I conclude, especially from the late trial I have had, that excesses in eating and drinking are fatal. Of this I convinced myself four years ago, when by the advice of my physicians, the instigation of my friends, and the importunity of my own family, I consented to such an excess, which, as it will appear hereafter, was attended with far worse consequences, than could naturally be expected. This excess consisted in increasing the quant.i.ty of food I generally made use of; which increase alone brought me to a most cruel fit of sickness.

And as it is a case so much in point to the subject in hand, and the knowledge of it may be useful to some of my readers, I shall take the trouble to relate it.

I say, then, that my dearest friends and relations, actuated by the warm and laudable affection and regard they have for me, seeing how little I eat, represented to me, in conjunction with my physicians, that the sustenance I took could not be sufficient to support one so far advanced in years, when it was become necessary not only to preserve nature, but to increase its vigour. That, as this could not be done without food, it was absolutely inc.u.mbent upon me to eat a little more plentifully. I, on the other hand, produced my reasons for not complying with their desires. These were, that nature is content with little, and that with this little I had preserved myself so many years; and that, to me, the habit of it was become a second nature; and that it was more agreeable to reason, that, as I advanced in years and lost my strength, I should rather lessen than increase the quant.i.ty of my food: Farther, that it was but natural to think, that the powers of the stomach grew weaker from day to day; on which account I could see no reason to make such an addition. To corroborate my arguments, I alleged that those two natural and very true proverbs; one, that he, who has a mind to eat a great deal, must eat but little; which is said for no other reason than this, that eating little makes a man live very long, and living very long he must eat a great deal. The other proverb was, that what we leave after making a hearty meal, does us more good than what we have eat. But neither these proverbs, nor any other arguments I could think of, were able to prevent their teazing me more than ever.

Wherefore, not to appear obstinate, or affect to know more than the physicians themselves; but, above all, to please my family, who very earnestly desired it, from a persuasion that such an addition to my usual allowance would preserve my strength, I consented to increase the quant.i.ty of food, but with two ounces only. So that, as before, what with bread, meat, the yolk of an egg, and soup, I eat as much, as weighed in all twelve ounces, neither more nor less, I now increased it to fourteen; and as before I drank but fourteen ounces of wine, I now increased it to sixteen. This increase and irregularity, had, in eight days time, such an effect upon me, that, from being chearful and brisk, I began to be peevish and melancholy, so that nothing could please me; and was constantly so strangely disposed, that I neither knew what to say to others, nor what to do with myself. On the twelfth day, I was attacked with a most violent pain in my side, which held me twenty-two hours, and was succeeded by a terrible fever, which continued thirty-five days and as many nights, without giving me a moment's respite; though, to say the truth, it began to abate gradually on the fifteenth. But notwithstanding such abatement, I could not, during the whole time, sleep half a quarter of an hour together, insomuch that every one looked upon me as a dead man. But, G.o.d be praised, I recovered merely by my former regular course of life, though then in my seventy-eighth year, and in the coldest season of a very cold year, and reduced to a mere skeleton; and I am positive that it was the great regularity I had observed for so many years, and that only, which rescued me from the jaws of death. In all that time I never knew what sickness was, unless I may call by that same name some slight indispositions of a day or two's continuance; the regular life I had led, as I have already taken notice, for so many years, not having permitted any superfluous or bad humours to breed in me; or if they did, to acquire such strength and malignity, a they generally acquire in the superannuated bodies of those, who live without rule. And as there was not any old malignity in my humours (which is the thing that kills people) but only that, which my new irregularity had occasioned, this fit of sickness, though exceeding violent, had not the strength to destroy me. This it was, and nothing else, that saved my life; whence may be gathered, how great is the power and efficacy of regularity; and how great, likewise, is that of irregularity, which in a few days could bring on me so terrible a fit of sickness, just as regularity had preserved me in health for so many years.

And it appears to me a no weak argument, that, since the world, consisting of the four elements, is upheld by order; and our life, as to the body, is no other than a harmonious combination of the same four elements, so it should be preserved and maintained by the very same order; and, on the other hand, it must be worn out by sickness, or destroyed by death, which are produced by the contrary effects. By order the arts are more easily learned; by order armies are rendered victorious; by order, in a word, families, cities, and even states are maintained. Hence I concluded, that orderly living is no other than a most certain cause and foundation of health and long life; nay I cannot help saying, that it is the only and true medicine; and whoever weighs the matter well, must also conclude, that this is really the case.

Hence it is, that when a physician comes to visit a patient, the first thing he prescribes, is to live regularly. In like manner, when a physician takes leave of a patient, on his being recovered, he advises him, as he tenders his health, to lead a regular life.

And it is not to be doubted, that, were a patient so recovered to live in that manner, he could never be sick again, as it removes every cause of illness; and so, for the future, would never want either physician or physic. Nay, by attending duly to what I have said, he would become his own physician, and, indeed, the best he could have; since, in fact, no many can be a perfect physician to any one but himself. The reason of which is, that any man may, by repeated trials, acquire a perfect knowledge of his own const.i.tution, and the most hidden qualities of his body; and what wine and food agree with his stomach. Now, it is so far from being an easy matter to know these things perfectly of another, that we cannot without much trouble discover them in ourselves, since a great deal of time and repeated trials are requisite for the purpose.

These trials are, indeed, (if I may say it) more than necessary, as there is a greater variety in the natures and const.i.tutions of different men, than in their persons. Who could believe, that old wine, wine that had pa.s.sed its first year, should disagree with my stomach, and new wine agree with it? and that pepper, which is looked upon as a warm spice, should not have a warm effect upon me, insomuch that I find myself more warmed and comforted by cinnamon? Where is the physician, that could have informed me of these two latent qualities, since I myself, even by a long course of observation, could scarce discover them?

From all these reasons it follows, that it is impossible to be a perfect physician to another. Since, therefore, a man cannot have a better physician than himself, nor any physic better than a regular life, a regular life he ought to embrace.

I do not, however, mean, that, for the knowledge and cure of such disorders, as often befall those who do not live regularly, there is no occasion for a physician, and that his a.s.sistance ought to be slighted. For, if we are apt to receive such great comfort from friends, who come to visit us in our illness, though they do no more than testify their concern for us, and bid us be of good cheer; how much more regard ought we to have for the physician, who is a friend that comes to see us in order to relieve us, and promises us a cure? But for the bare purpose of keeping ourselves in good health, I am of the opinion, that we should consider as a physician this regular life, which, as we have seen, is our natural and proper physic, since it preserves men, even those of a bad const.i.tution, in health; makes them live sound and hearty to the age of one hundred and upwards; and prevents their dying of sickness, or through a corruption of their humours, but merely by a dissolution of their radical moisture, when quite exhausted; all which effects several wise men have attributed to potable gold, and the elixir, sought for by many, but discovered by few. However to confess the truth, men, for the most part, are very sensual and intemperate, and love to satisfy their appet.i.tes, and to commit every excess; therefore, seeing that they cannot avoid being greatly injured by such excess, as often as they are guilty of it, they, by way of apologizing for their conduct, say, that it is better to live ten years less, and enjoy themselves; not considering, of what importance are ten years more of life, especially a healthy life, and at a maturer age; when men become sensible of their progress in knowledge and virtue, which cannot attain to any degree of perfection before this period of life.

Not to speak, at present, of many other advantages, I shall barely mention that in regard to letters and the sciences; far the greatest number of the best and most celebrated books extant, were written during that period of life, and those ten years, which some make it their business to undervalue, in order to give a loose to their appet.i.tes. Be that as it will, I would not act like them.

I rather coveted to live these ten years, and, had I not done so, I should never have finished those tracts, which I have composed in consequence of my having been sound and hearty these ten years past; and which I have the pleasure to think will be of service to others. These sensualists add, that a regular life is such as no man can lead. To this I answer, Galen, who was so great a physician, led such a life, and chose it as the best physic. The same did Plato, Cicero, Isocrates, and many other great men of former times; whom, not to tire the reader, I shall forbear naming: and, in our own days, pope Paul Farnese led it, and cardinal Bembo; and it was for that reason they lived so long; likewise our two doges, Lando and Donato; besides many others of meaner condition, and those who live not only in cities, but also in different parts of the country, who all found great benefit by conforming to this regularity. Therefore, since many have led this life, and many actually lead it, it is not such a life but that every one may conform to it; and the more so, as no great difficulty attends it; nothing, indeed, being requisite but to begin in good earnest, as the above-mentioned Cicero affirms, and all those who now live in this manner. Plato, you will say, though he himself lived very regularly, affirms, notwithstanding, that, in republics, men cannot do so, being often obligated to expose themselves to heat, cold, and several other kinds of hardship, and other things, which are all so many disorders, and incompatable with a regular life. I answer, as I have already observed, that these are not disorders attended with any bad consequence, or which affect either health or life, when the man, who undergoes them, observes the rules of sobriety, and commits no excess in the two points concerning diet, which a republican may very well avoid, nay it is requisite he should avoid; because, by so doing, he may be sure either to escape those disorders, which, otherwise, it would be no easy matter for him to escape while exposed to these hardships; or, in case he could not escape them, he may more easily and speedily prevent their bad effects.

Here it may be objected, and some actually object, that he, who leads a regular life, having constantly, when well, made use of food fit for the sick, and in small quant.i.ties, has no resource left in case of illness. To this I might, in the first place, answer, that nature, desirous to preserve man in good health as long as possible, informs him, herself, how he is to act in time of illness; for she immediately deprives him, when sick, of his appet.i.te, in order that he may eat but little; because nature (as I have said already) is satisfied with little; wherefore, it is requisite, that a man, when sick, whether he has been a regular or irregular liver, should use no meats, but such as are suited to his disorder; and of these even in a much smaller quant.i.ty than he was wont to do, when in health. For were he to eat as much as he used to do, he would die by it; because it would be only adding to the burden, with which nature was already oppressed, by giving her a greater quant.i.ty of food, than she can in such circ.u.mstances support; and this, I imagine, would be a sufficient caution to any sick person. But, independent of all this, I might answer some others, and still better, that whoever leads a regular life, cannot be sick; or, at least, but seldom, and for a short time; because, by living regularly, he extirpates every seed of sickness; and thus, by removing the cause, prevents the effect; so that he, who pursues a regular course of life, need not be apprehensive of illness, as he need not be afraid of the effect, who has guarded against the cause.

Since it therefore appears that a regular life is so profitable and virtuous, so lovely and so holy, it ought to be universally followed and embraced; and more so, as it does not clash with the means or duties of any station, but is easy to all; because, to lead it, a man need not tie himself down to eat so little as I do, or not to eat fruit, fish, and other things of that kind, from which I abstain, who eat little, because it is sufficient for my puny and weak stomach; and fruit, fish, and other things of that kind, disagree with me, which is my reason for not touching them. Those, however, with whom such things agree, may, and ought to eat of them; since they are not by any means forbid the use use of such sustinance. But, then, both they, and all others, are forbid to eat a greater quant.i.ty of any kind of food, even of that which agrees with them, than what their stomachs can easily digest; the same is to be understood of drink.

Hence it is that those, with whom nothing disagrees, are not bound to observe any rule but that relating to the quant.i.ty, and not to the quality, of their food; a rule which they may, without the least difficulty in the world, comply with.

Let n.o.body tell me, that there are numbers, who, though they live most irregularly, live in health and spirits, to those remote periods of life, attained by the most sober; for, this argument being grounded on a case full of uncertainty and hazard, and which, besides, so seldom occurs, as to look more like a miracle than the work of nature, men should not suffer themselves to be thereby persuaded to live irregularly, nature having been too liberal to those, who did so without suffering by it; a favour, which very few have any right to expect. Whoever, trusting to his youth, or the strength of his const.i.tution, or the goodness of his stomach, slights these observations, must expect to suffer greatly by so doing, and live in constant danger of disease and death. I therefore affirm, that an old man, even of a bad const.i.tution, who leads a regular and sober life, is surer of a long one, than a young man of the best const.i.tution, who leads a disorderly life. It is not to be doubted, however, that a man blessed with a good const.i.tution may, by living temperately, expect to live longer than one, whose const.i.tution is not so good; and that G.o.d and nature can dispose matters so, that a man shall bring into the world with him so sound a const.i.tution, as to live long and healthy, without observing such strick rules; and then die in a very advanced age through a mere dissolution of his elementary parts; as was the case, in Venice, of the procurator Thomas Contarini; and in Padua, of the cavalier Antonio Capo di Vacca. But it is not one man in a hundred thousand, that so much can be said of. If others have a mind to live long and healthy, and die without sickness of body or mind, but by mere dissolution, they must submit to live regularly, since the cannot otherwise expect to enjoy the fruits of such a life, which are almost infinite in number, and each of them, in particular, of infinite value. For, as such regularity keeps the humours of the body cleansed and purified; it suffers no vapors to ascend from the stomach to the head; hence the brain of him, who lives in that manner, enjoys such a constant serenity, that he is always perfectly master of himself. He, therefore, easily soars above the low and groveling concerns of this life, to the exalted and beautiful contemplation of heavenly things, to his exceeding great comfort and satisfaction; because he, by this means, comes to consider, know, and understand that, which otherwise he would never have considered, known, or understood; that is, how great is the power, wisdom, and goodness of the Deity. He then descends into nature, and acknowledges her for the daughter of G.o.d; and sees, and even feels with his hands, that, which in any other age, or with a perception less clear, he could never have seen or felt. He then truly discerns the brutality of that vice into which they fall, who know not how to subdue their pa.s.sions, and those three importunate l.u.s.ts, which, one would imagine, came all together into the world with us, in order to keep us in perpetual anxiety and disturbance. These are, the l.u.s.t of the flesh, the l.u.s.t of honours, and the l.u.s.t of riches; which are apt to increase with years in such old persons as do not lead a regular life; because, in their pa.s.sage through the stage of manhood, they did not, as they ought, renounce sensuality and their pa.s.sions; and take up with sobriety and reason; virtues which men of a regular life, did not neglect when they pa.s.sed through the above-mentioned stage. For, knowing such pa.s.sions are such l.u.s.ts to be inconsistent with reason, by which they are entirely governed; they, at once, broke loose from all temptations to vice; and, instead of being slaves to their inordinate appet.i.tes, they applied themselves to virtue and good works; and by these means, they altered their conduct, and became men of good and sober lives. When, therefore, in process of time, they see themselves brought by a long series of years to their dissolution, conscious that, through the singular mercy of G.o.d, they had so sincerely relinquished the paths of vice, as never afterwards to enter them; and moreover hoping, through the merits of our Saviour Jesus Christ, to die in his favour, they do not suffer themselves to be cast down at the thoughts of death, knowing that they must die. This is particularly the case, when, loaded with honour, and sated with life, they see themselves arrived at that age, which not one in many thousands of those, who live otherwise, ever attains. They have still the greater reason not to be dejected at the thoughts of death, as it does not attack them violently and by surprize, with a bitter and painful turn of their humours, with feverish sensations, and sharp pains, but steals upon them insensibly and with the greatest ease and gentleness; such an end, proceeding intirely from an exhaustion of the radical moisture, which decays by degrees like the oil of a lamp; so that they pa.s.s gently, without any sickness, from this terrestrial and mortal to a celestial and eternal life.

O holy and truly happy regularity! How holy and happy should men, in fact, deem thee, since the opposite habit is the cause of such guilt and misery, as evidently appears to those who consider the opposite effects of both! so that men should know thee by thy voice alone, and thy lovely name; for what a glorious name, what a n.o.ble thing, is an orderly and sober life! as, on the contrary, the bare mention of disorder and intemperance is offensive to our ears.

Nay, there is the same difference between the mentioning these two things, as between the uttering of the words angel and devil.

Thus I have a.s.signed my reasons for abandoning intemperance, and betaking myself intirely to a sober life; with the method I pursued in doing so, and what was the consequence of it; and, finally, the advantages an blessings, which a sober life confers upon those who embrace it. Some sensual, inconsiderate persons affirm, that a long life is no blessing; and that the state of a man, who has pa.s.sed his seventy-fifth year, cannot really be called life, but death: but this is a great mistake, as I shall fully prove; and it is my sincere wish, that all men would endeavour to attain my old age, in order that they too may enjoy that period of life, which of all others is the most desirable.

I will therefore give an account of my recreations, and the relish which I find at this stage of life, in order to convince the public (which may likewise be done by all those who know me) that the state I have now attained to is by no means death, but real life; such a life, as by many is deemed happy, since it abounds with all the felicity that can be enjoyed in this world. And this testimony they will give, in the first place, because they see, and not without the greatest amazement, the good state of health and spirits I enjoy; how I mount my horse without any a.s.sistance, or advantage of situation; and how I not only ascend a single flight of stairs, but climb up an hill from bottom to top, afoot, and with the greatest of ease and unconcern; then how gay, pleasant, and good-humoured I am; how free from every perturbation of mind, and every disagreeable thought; in lieu of which, joy and peace have so firmly fixed their residence in my bosom, as never to depart from it. Moreover, they know in what manner I pa.s.s my time, so as not to find life a burden; seeing I can contrive to spend every hour of it with the greatest delight and pleasure, having frequent opportunities of conversing with many honourable gentlemen, men valuable for their good sense and manners, their acquaintance with letters, and every other good quality. Then, when I cannot enjoy their conversation, I betake myself to the reading of some good book. When I have read as much as I like, I write; endeavouring, in this as in everything else, to be of service to others, to the utmost of my power. And all these things I do with the greatest ease to myself, at their proper seasons, and in my own house; which, besides being situated in the most beautiful quarter of this n.o.ble and learned city of Padua, is, in itself, really convenient and handsome, such, in a word, as it is no longer the fashion to build; for, in one part of it, I can shelter myself from extreme heat; and, in the other, from extreme cold, having contrived the apartments according to the rules of architecture, which teach us what is to be observed in practice. Besides this house, I have my several gardens, supplied with running waters; and in which I always find something to do, that amuses me. I have another way of diverting myself, which is going every April and May; and, likewise, every September and October, for some days, to enjoy an eminence belonging to me in the Euganean mountains, and in the most beautiful part of them, adorned with fountains and gardens; and, above all, a convenient and handsome lodge; in which place I likewise now and then make one in some hunting party suitable to my taste and age. Then I enjoy for as many days my villa in the plain, which is laid out in regular streets, all terminating in a large square, in the middle of which stands a church, suited to the condition of the place. This villa is divided by a wide and rapid branch of the river Brenta, on both sides of which there is a considerable extent of country, consisting intirely of fertile and well-cultivated fields. Besides, this district is now, G.o.d be praised, exceedingly well inhabited, which it was not at first, but rather the reverse; for it was marshy; and the air so unwholesome, as to make it a residence fitter for snakes than men.

But, on my draining off the waters, the air mended, and people resorted to it so fast, and increased to such a degree, that it soon acquired the perfection in which it now appears: hence, I may say with truth, that I have offered this place, an alter and a temple to G.o.d, with souls to adore him: these are things which afford me infinite pleasure, comfort, and satisfaction, as often as I go to see and enjoy them.

At the same seasons every year, I revisit some of the neighbouring cities, and enjoy such of my friends as live there, taking the greatest pleasure in their company and conversation; and by their means I also enjoy the conversation of other men of parts, who live in the same places; such as architects, painters, sculptors, musicians, and husbandmen, with whom this age certainly abounds.

I visit their new works; I revisit their former ones; and I always learn something, which gives me satisfaction. I see palaces, gardens, antiquities; and with these, the squares and other public places, the churches, the fortifications, leaving nothing un.o.bserved, from whence I may reap either entertainment or instruction. But what delights me most, is, in my journies backwards and forwards, to contemplate the situation and other beauties of the places I pa.s.s through; some in the plain, others on hills, adjoining to rivers or fountains; with a great many fine houses and gardens. Nor are my recreations rendered less agreeable and entertaining by my not feeling well, or not hearing readily every thing that is said to me; or by any other of my faculties not being perfect; for they are all, thank G.o.d, in the highest perfection; particularly my palate, which now relishes better the simple fare I eat, wherever I happen to be, than it formerly did with the most delicate dishes, when I led an irregular life. Nor does the change of beds give me any uneasiness, so that I sleep every where soundly and quietly, without experiencing the least disturbance; and all my dreams are pleasant and delightful.

It is likewise with the greatest pleasure and satisfaction I behold the success of an undertaking so important to this state, I mean that of draining and improving so many uncultivated pieces of ground, an undertaking begun within my memory; and which I never thought I should live to see compleated; knowing how slow republics are apt to proceed in enterprises of great importance.

Nevertheless, I have lived to see it; and was even in person, in the marshy places, along with those appointed to superintend the draining of them, for two months together, during the greatest heats of summer, without ever finding myself the worse for the fatigues of inconveniences I suffered; of so much efficacy is that orderly life, which I every where constantly lead.

What is more, I am in the greatest hopes, or rather sure, to see the beginning and completion of another undertaking of no less importance, which is that of preserving our estuary or port, that last and wonderful bulwark of my dear country, the preservation of which (it is not to flatter my vanity to say it, but merely to do justice to the truth) has been more than once recommended by me to this republic, by word of mouth, and in writings which cost me many nights study. And to this dear country of mine, as I am bound by the laws of nature to do every thing, from which it may reap any benefit, so I most ardently wish perpetual duration, and a long succession of every kind of prosperity. Such are my genuine and no trifling satisfactions; such are the recreations and diversions of my old age, which is so much the more to be valued than the old age, or even youth, of other men, because being freed, by G.o.d's grace, from the perturbations of the mind, and the infirmities of the body, it no longer experiences any of those contrary emotions, which torment a number of young men, and many old ones dest.i.tute of strength and health, and every other blessing.

And if it be lawful to compare little matters, and such as are esteemed trifling, to affairs of importance, I will further venture to say, that such are the effects of this sober life, that at my present age of eighty-three, I have been able to write a very entertaining comedy, abounding with innocent mirth and pleasant jests. This species of composition is generally the child and offspring of youth, as tragedy is that of old age; the former being by its facetious and sprightly turn suited to the bloom of life, and the latter by its gravity adapted to riper years. Now, if that good old man [Sophocles], a Grecian by birth, and a poet, was so much extolled for having written a tragedy at the age of seventy-three, and, on that account alone, reputed of sound memory and understanding, though tragedy be a grave and melancholy poem; why should I be deemed less happy, and to have a smaller share of memory and understanding, who have, at an age, ten years more advanced than his, written a comedy, which, as every one knows, is a merry and pleasant kind of composition? And, indeed, if I may be allowed to be an impartial judge in my own cause, I cannot help thinking, that I am now of sounder memory and understanding, and heartier, than hew was when ten years younger.

And, that no comfort might be wanting to the fulness of my years, whereby my great age may be rendered less irksome, or rather the number of my enjoyments increased, I have the additional comfort of seeing a kind of immortality in a succession of descendants.

For, as often as I return home, I find there, before me, not one or two, but eleven grandchildren, the oldest of them eighteen, and the youngest two; all the offspring of one father and one mother; all blessed with the best health; and, by what as yet appears, fond of learning, and of good parts and morals. Some of the youngest I always play with; and, indeed, children from three to five are only fit for play. Those above that age I make companions of; and, as nature has bestowed very fine voices upon them, I amuse myself, besides, with seeing and hearing them sing, and play on various instruments. Nay, I sing myself, as I have a better voice now, and a clearer and louder pipe, than at any other period of life. Such are the recreations of my old age.

Whence it appears, that the life I lead is chearful, and not gloomy, as some persons pretend, who know no better; to whom, in order that it may appear what value I set on every other kind of life, I must declare, that I would not exchange my manner of living or my grey hairs with any of those young men, even of the best const.i.tution, who give way to their appet.i.tes; knowing, as I do, that such are daily, nay hourly, subject, as I have observed, to a thousand kind of ailments and deaths. This is, in fact, so obvious, as to require no proof. Nay, I remember perfectly well, how I used to behave at that time of life. I know how inconsiderately that age is apt to act, and how foolhardy young men, hurried on by the heat of their blood, are wont to be; how apt they are to presume too much on their own strength in all their actions; and how sanguine they are in their expectations; as well on account of the little experience they have had for the the time past, as by reason of the power they enjoy in their own imaginations over the time to come. Hence they expose themselves rashly to every kind of danger; and, banishing reason, and bowing their necks to the yoke of concupiscence, endeavour to gratify all their appet.i.tes, not minding, fools as they are, that they thereby hasten, as I have several times observed, the approach of what they would most willingly avoid, I mean sickness, and death. Of these two evils, one is troublesome and painful, the other, above all things, dreadful and insupportable; insupportable to every man, who has given himself up to his sensual appet.i.tes, and to young men in particular, to whom it appears a hardship to die an early death; dreadful to those, who reflect on the errors, to which this mortal life is subject, and on the vengeance, which the justice of G.o.d is wont to take on sinners, by condemning them to everlasting punishment. On the other hand, I, in my old age (praise to the Almighty) am exempt from both these apprehensions; from the one, because I am sure and certain, that I cannot fall sick, having removed all the causes of illness by my divine medicine; from the other, that of death, because from so many years experience I have learned to obey reason; whence I not only think it a great piece of folly to fear that, which cannot be avoided, but likewise firmly expect some consolation, from the grace of Jesus Christ, when I shall arrive at that period.

Besides, though I am sensible that I must, like others, reach that term, it is yet at so great a distance, that I cannot discern it, because I know I shall not die except by mere dissolution, having already, by my regular course of life, shut up all the other avenues of death, and thereby prevented the humours of my body from making any other war upon me, than that which I must expect from the elements employed in the composition of this mortal frame. I am not so simple as not to know, that, as I was born, so I must die. But that is a desirable death, which nature brings on us by way of dissolution. For nature, having herself formed the union between our body and soul, knows best in what manner it may be most easily dissolved, and grants us a longer day to do it, than we could expect from sickness, which is violent. This is the death, which, without speaking like a poet, I may call, not death, but life. Nor can it be otherwise. Such a death does not overtake one till after a very long course of years, and in consequence of an extreme weakness; it being only by slow degrees, that men grow too feeble to walk, and unable to reason, becoming blind, and deaf, decrepid, and full of every other kind of infirmity. Now I (by G.o.d's blessing) may be quite sure that I am at a very great distance from such a period. Nay, I have reason to think, that my soul, having so agreeable a dwelling in my body, as not to meet with any thing in it but peace, love, and harmony, not only between its humours, but between my reason and my senses, is exceedingly content and well pleased with her present situation: and of course, that a great length of time and many years must be requisite to dislodge her. Whence it must be concluded for certain, that I have still a series of years to live in health and spirits, and enjoy this beautiful world, which is, indeed, beautiful to those, who know how to make it so, as I have done, and likewise expect to be able to do, with G.o.d's a.s.sistance, in the next; and all by the means of virtue, and that divine regularity of life, which I have adopted, concluding an alliance with my reason, and declaring war against my sensual appet.i.tes; a thing which every man may do, who desired to live as he ought.

Now, if this sober life be so happy; if its name be so desirable and delightful; if the possession of the blessings which attend it, be so stable and permanent, all I have still left to do, is to beseech (since I cannot compa.s.s my desires by the powers of oratory) every man of a liberal disposition, and sound understanding, to embrace with open arms this most valuable treasure of a long and healthy life; a treasure, which as it exceeds all the other riches and blessings of this world, so it deserves above all things to be cherished, sought after, and carefully preserved. This is that divine sobriety, agreeable to the Deity, the friend of nature, the daughter of reason, the sister of all the virtues, the companion of temperate living, modest, courteous, content with little, regular, and perfect mistress of all her operations. From her, as from their proper root, spring life, health, chearfulness, industry, learning, and all those actions and employments worth of n.o.ble and generous minds. The laws of G.o.d and man are all in her favour. Repletion, excess, intemperance, superfluous humours, diseases, fevers, pains, and the dangers of death, vanish, in her presence, like clouds before the sun. Her comeliness ravishes every well-disposed mind. Her influence is so sure, as to promise to all a very long and agreeable existence; the facility of acquiring her is such, as ought to induce every one to look for her, and share in her victories. And, lastly, she promises to be a mild and agreeable guardian of life; as well of the rich as of the poor; of the male as of the female s.e.x; the old as of the young; being that, which teaches the rich modesty; the poor frugality; men, continence; women, chast.i.ty; the old, how to ward off the attacks of death; and bestows on youth firmer and securer hopes of life. Sobriety renders the senses clear, the body light, the understanding lively, the soul brisk, the memory tenacious, our motions free, and all our actions regular and easy. By means of sobriety, the soul delivered, as it were, of her earthly burthen, experiences a great deal of her natural liberty: the spirits circulate gently through the arteries; the blood runs freely through the veins; the heat of the body, kept mild and temperate, has mild and temperate effects: and, lastly, our faculties, being under a perfect regulation, preserves a pleasing and agreeable harmony.

O most innocent and holy sobriety, the sole refreshment of nature, the nursing mother of human life, the true physic of soul as well as of body. How ought men to praise thee, and thank thee for thy princely gifts! since thou bestowest on them the means of preserving this blessing, I mean life and health, than which it has not pleased G.o.d we should enjoy a greater on this side of the grave, life and existence being a thing so naturally coveted, and willingly preserved, by every living creature. But, as I do not intend to write a panegyric on this rare and excellent virtue, I shall put an end to this discourse, lest I should be guilty of excess, in dwelling so long on so pleasing a subject. Yet as numberless things may still be said of it, I leave off, with an intention of setting forth the rest of its praises at a more convenient opportunity.