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be grave or fullen, you must nos be too much pleased with a jeft, or transported with any thing that is gay or diverting. If his beauty be none of the best, you must be a professed admirer of prudence, or any other quality he is master of, or at least vain enough to think he is. In the next place, you must be sure to be free and
open in your conversation with him, and to let in light upon your actions, to unravel all your designs, and discover every secret however trifling or indifferent. A jealous husband has a particular averfion to winks and whispers, and if he does not see to the bottom of every thing, will be sure to go beyond it in his fears and suspicions. He will always expect to be your chief confident, and where he finds himself kept out of a secret, will believe there is more in it than there should be. And here it is of great concern, that you preserve the character of your sincerity uniform and of a piece : for if he once finds a false gloss put upon any single action, he quickly suspects all the rest; his working imagination immediately takes a false hint, and runs off with it into several remote consequences, until he has proved very ingenious in working out his own misery
If both these methods fail, the best way will be to let him see you are much cast down and afficted for the ill opinion he entertains of you, and the disquietudes he himself suffers for your fake. There are many who take a kind of barbarous pleasure in the jealousy of those who love them, and insult over an aking heart, and triumph in their charms which are able to excite so much uneasiness.
Ardeat ipsa licet, tormentis gaudet amantis.
Juv. Sat. 6. ver. 208.
A lover's torments give her spiteful joy.
melancholy, dejected carriage, the usual effects of injured innocence, may soften the jealous husband into pity, make him sensible of the wrong he does you, and work out of his mind all those fears and suspicions that make
At least it will have this good effect, that he will keep his jealousy to himself, and repine in private, either because he is sensible it is a weakness, and will therefore hide it from your knowledge, or because he will be apt to fear some ill effect it may produce, in cooling your love towards him, or diverting it to another.
There is still another secret that can never fail, if you can once get it believed, and which is often practifed by women of greater cunning than virtue. This is to change sides for a while with the jealous man, and to turn his own paflion upon himfelf; to take some occasion of growing jealous of him, and to follow the example he himself hath set you. This counterfeited jealousy will bring him a great deal of pleasure, if he thinks it real; for he knows experimentally how much love goes along with this passion, and will besides feel something like the satisfaction of revenge, in seeing you undergo all his own tortures. But this, indeed, is an artifice lo difficult, and at the same time fo disingenuous, that it ought never to be put in practice but by such as have skill enough to cover the deceit, and innocence to render it excusable.
I shall conclude this essay with the story of Herod and Mariamne, as I have collected it out of Josephus; which may serve almost as an example to whatever can be said on this subject.
Marianne had all the charms that beauty, birth, wit, and youth could give a woman, and Herod all the love that such charms are able to raise in a warm and amorous disposition. In the nidst of this his fondness for Mariamne, he put her brother to death, as he did her father not many years after. The barbarity of the action was represented to Mark Antony, who immediately summoned Herod into Egypt, to answer for the crime that was there laid to his charge. Herod attributed the summons to Antony's desire of Mariamne, whom therefore, before his departure, he gave into the custody of his
uncle Jofeph, with private orders to put her to death, if any fuch violence was offered to himfelf. This Jofeph was much delighted with Marianne's converfation, and endeavoured with all his art and rhetoric, to set out the excess of Herod's paffion for her ; but when he still found her cold and incredulous, he inconfiderately told her, as a certain instance of her lord's affection, the private orders he had left behind him, which plainly shewed, according to Jofeph's interpretation, that he could neither live nor die without her. This barbarous instance of a wild unreasonable passion quite put out, for a time, thofe little remains of affection she still had for her lord: her thoughts were fo wholly taken up with the cruelty of his orders, that she could not confider the kindness that produced them, and therefore represented him in her imagination, rather under the frightful idea of a murderer than a lover. Herod was at length acquitted and dismiffed by Mark Antony, when his soul was all in flair as for his Marianne ; but before their nieeting, he was not a little alarmed at the report he had heard of his uncle's conversation and familiarity with her in his absence. This therefore was the first discourse he entertained her with, in which the found it no easy matter to quiet his suspicions. But at fast he appeared to well satisfied of her innocence, that from reproaches and wranglings he fell to tears and embraces. Both of them wept very tenderly at their reconciliation, and Herod poured out his whole soul to her in the warmeft protestations of love and constancy; when amidft all his fighs and languishings she asked him, whether the private orders he left with his uncle Joseph were an instance of fuch an inflamed affection. The jealous king was immediately roused at fo unexpected a question, and concluded his uncle must have been too familiar with her, before he would have discovered such a secret. In short, he put his uncle to death, and very difficultly pre
himself to fpare Mariamne. After this he was forced on a fecond journey into Egypt, when he committed his lady to the care of Sohemus, with the same private orders he had before given his unele, if any mischief befell him.
In the mean while Mariamne so won upon Soheius by her presents
and obliging conversation, that she drew all the secret from him, with which Herod had intrufted him ; fo that after his return, when he flew to her with all the transports of joy and love, the received him coldly with fighs and tears, and all the marks of indifference and aversion. This reception so stirred up his indignation, that he had certainly Nain her with his own hands, had not he feared he himself thould have become the greater sufferer by it. It was not long after this, when he had another violent return of love upon him ; Mariamne was therefore sent for to him, whom he endeavoured to soften and reconcile with all possible conjugal careffes and endearments ; but she declined his embraces, and answered all his fondness with bitter invectives for the death of her father and her brother. This behaviour fo incensed Herod, that he very hardly refrained from striking her; when in the heat of their quarrel there came in a witness, suborned by some of Mariamne's eñemies, who accuséd her to the king of a design to poison him. Herod was now prepared to hear any thing in her prejudice, and immediately ordered her servant to be stretched upon the rack: who in the extremity of his tortures confeft, that his mistress's aversion to the king arose from something Sohemus had told her ; but as for any design of poisoning, he utterly disowned the least knowledge of it. This confession quickly proved fatal to Sohenus, who now lay under the same suspicions and sentence that Joseph had before him on the like occasion. Nor would Herod rest here; but accused her with great vehemence of a design upon his life, and by his authority with the judges had her publicly condemned and executed. Herod soon after her death grew melancholy and dejected, retiring from the public administration of affairs into a solitary forest, and there abandoning himself to all the black confiderations, which naturally arise from a pafsion made up of love, remorse, pity, and despair. He used to rave for his Mariamne, and to call upon her in his distracted fits; and in all probability would soon have followed her, had not his thoughts been seasonably called off from fo fad an object by public storms, which at that time very nearly threatened him.
Monday, September 17.
Non folùm fcientia, quæ eft remota à justitia, calliditas
potiùs quam fapientia eft appellanda; verum etiam animus paratus ad periculum, fi fuã cupiditate, non utilirate communi, impellitur, audaciæ potiùs nomen habeat, quàm fortitudinis
PLATO apud Tull. As knowledge, without justice, ought to be called cun
ning, rather than wisdom; so a mind prepared to meet danger, if excited by its own eagerness, and not the public good, deserves the name of audacity, rather than of
courage. There can be no greater injury to human society than that good talents among men should be held honourable to those who are endowed with them without any regard how they are applied. The gifts of nature and accomplishments of art are valuable but as they are exerted in the interests of virtue, or governed by the rules of honour. Wë ought to abstract our minds from the observation of any excellence in those we converse with, until we have taken some notice, or received some good information of the disposition of their minds; otherwise the beauty of their persons, or the charms of their wit, may make us fond of thofe whom our reason and judgment will tell us we ought to abhor.
When we suffer ourselves to be thus carried away by mere beauty, or mere wit, Omniainante, with all her vice, will bear away as much of our good-will as the moft innocent virgin or discreetest matron; and there cannot be a more abject slavery in this world than to dote upon what we think we ought to condemn : yet this must be our condition in all the parts of life, if we suffer ourselves to approve any thing but what tends to the promotion of what is good and honourable. If we would take true pains with ourselves to consider all things by the light of reason and justice, though a man were in the