be placed either in discovering the designs of the enemy, or in concealing our own, or even in speed itself, we must take special care to be armed with the shield of Pallas, that is, of foresight, so as to leave as little as possible to fortune. To this belong the exploring of roads before a march, the careful fortification of the camp (which in modern warfare has fallen almost into disuse, whereas the camps of the Romans were like a fortified town, to fall back upon in case of defeat), a firm and well drawn up line of battle, not trusting too much to light troops, or even to cavalry; in a word, everything which relates to a sound and careful system of defensive war; for the shield of Pallas is generally of more avail in war, than the sword of Mars itself. But Perseus, however furnished with forces and and courage, has still need of one thing more, of the greatest possible importance, before he commences the campaign; he must turn aside to the Grææ. Now the Grææ are Treasons, which are the Sisters of War, though not indeed own sisters, but as it were of less noble birth. For wars are noble and generous; treasons degenerate and base. They are portrayed appropriately as being grey-headed from their birth and like old women, by reason of the perpetual cares and anxieties attending traitors. Their power (before they openly desert) is in the eye or tooth; for all faction, when discontented and inclined to treason, is both watchful and biting. Moreover this eye and tooth are, as it were, common to them all; for whatever they learn and discover is handed from one to another, and circulates through the whole party. And with regard to the tooth, they all bite as it were with one mouth, and utter the same scandals; so that if you hear one, you hear all. Wherefore Perseus must conciliate these Grææ, and bring them into alliance with him, especially that they may lend him their eye and tooth; the eye to gain information; the tooth to spread rumours, raise envy, and gain over the minds of men. But when everything has been arranged in order for war, we must take special care, like Perseus, to find Medusa asleep; for he who undertakes a war wisely will almost always attack his enemy unprepared and in security. Lastly, in the very actions and onsets of war the mirror of Pallas must be resorted to; for there are many who before the time of danger can take a clear and accurate survey of the position of the enemy, but in the very moment of peril they are either

stupified with terror, or look their dangers too rashly in the face; and so rush madly into them, bent on overcoming, not on avoiding them. Neither of which things should be done; but we should turn aside the head and look into the mirror of Pallas, that the onset may be rightly directed without either terror or fury.

From the conclusion of the war and victory follow two effects, first, the birth and springing up of Pegasus, which evidently enough signifies Fame that flies abroad and proclaims the victory, and so makes what remains of the war easy and satisfactory; secondly, the carrying of Medusa'a head on the shield; to which for excellence no other kind of defence can be compared. For one great and memorable enterprise successfully carried out paralyses every movement of the enemy, and stupifies disaffection itself.

The third Example of Philosophy according to the Ancient Fables, in Moral Philosophy. Of Desire, according to the fable of Dionysus.

THEY say that Semele, the mistress of Jupiter, having bound him by an inviolable oath to grant her a request whatever it might be, desired of him to come to her arms in the same form as he would to Juno; and so she was scorched to death in his embrace. The child which she bore in her womb was taken by his father and sewn up in his thigh, till the time of gestation was accomplished. And because the child, when in the thigh of Jupiter, pinched and galled him so as to make him limp, he received the name of Dionysus. After he was brought forth he was nursed for some years by Proserpine; and when he grew up his face was so like a woman's that it seemed doubtful of which sex he was. He was likewise once dead and buried for a time, but came to life again not long after. In his early youth he was the first to invent and explain the culture of the vine, and the making of wine, and its use; whereby becoming renowned and illustrious, he subdued the whole world and advanced to the furthest parts of India. He rode in a chariot drawn by tigers, round which danced certain deformed demons called Cobali; Acratus and others. The Muses also attended in his train. He took to wife Ariadne, whom Theseus had deserted and abandoned. His sacred tree was the ivy. He was regarded likewise as the inventor and institutor of sacred

rites and orgies; but such as were fanatical and full of corruption, and moreover cruel. He had also the power of exciting phrensy. At least it was by women excited to phrensy in his orgies that two renowned men, Pentheus and Orpheus, are said to have been torn to pieces; the one having climbed into a tree out of curiosity to see what they were doing; the other while playing sweetly and skilfully on the lyre. Moreover the actions of this god are often confounded with those of Jupiter.

The fable appears to relate to morals; and indeed there is scarcely anything better to be found in moral philosophy. Under the person of Bacchus is depicted the nature of Desire, or the passions and perturbations of the mind. First therefore, with regard to the origin of Desire. The mother of all desire (though ever so hurtful) is nothing else than apparent good. For as the mother of virtue is real good, so the mother of desire is apparent good. One the lawful wife of Jupiter (in whose person the human soul is represented), the other his mistress; who nevertheless aspires, like Semele, to the honours of Juno. Now the conception of Desire is always in some unlawful wish, rashly granted before it has been understood and weighed; and as the passion warms, its mother (which is the nature and species of good), not able to endure the heat of it, is destroyed and perishes in the flame. Then the progress of Desire from its first conception is of this kind. It is both nursed and concealed in the human mind (which is its father); especially in the lower part of it, as in the thigh; where it causes such prickings, pains, and depressions, that the actions and resolutions of the mind labour and limp with it. And even when it has grown strong with indulgence and custom, and breaks forth into acts (as if it had now accomplished its time and were fairly born and delivered), yet at first it is brought up for a time by Proserpine; that is, it seeks hiding-places and keeps itself secret, and as it were underground; until throwing off all restraints of shame and fear, and growing bolder and bolder, it either assumes the mask of some virtue, or sets infamy itself at defiance. And it is most true that every passion of the more violent kind is as it were of doubtful sex; for it has at once the force of a man and the weakness of a It is well said likewise that Bacchus died and came to life again; for the passions seem sometimes lulled to sleep,

woman.

and as it were dead; yet can they never be trusted, no not though they be buried. For give them matter and opportunity and they will rise again.

It is a wise allegory too, that of the invention of the vine. For every passion is very ingenious and sagacious in discovering the things which nourish and foster itself. Now of all things known to man wine is the most powerful and efficacious in stimulating and inflaming every kind of excitement; serving as a common fuel to desires in general. Very elegantly too is passion or desire described as the subduer of provinces and the undertaker of an endless course of conquests. For it is never content with what it has got, but with infinite and insatiable appetite tries for something more, and ever craves for new triumphs. Tigers likewise are kept in the stables of the passions, and at times yoked to their chariot; for when passion ceases to go on foot and comes to ride in its chariot, as in celebration of its victory and triumph over reason, then is it cruel, savage, and pitiless towards all that withstand or oppose it. Again there is humour in making those ridiculous demons dance about the chariot of Bacchus. For every passion of the more vehement kind produces motions in the eyes, and indeed in the whole countenance and gesture, which are uncomely, unsettled, skipping, and deformed; insomuch that when a man under the influence of any passion (as anger, scorn, love, or the like) seems most grand and imposing in his own eyes, to the lookers on he appears unseemly and ridiculous. It is true also that the Muses are seen in the train of passion; there being scarce any passion which has not some branch of learning to flatter it. For herein the majesty of the Muses suffers immensely from the license and wantonness of men's wits, turning those that should be the guides and standard-bearers of man's life into mere followers in the train and ministers to the pleasures of the passions.

Especially noble again is that part of the allegory which represents Bacchus as lavishing his love upon one whom another man had cast off. For most certain it is that passion ever seeks and aspires after that which experience has long since repudiated. And let all men who in pursuit and indulgence of their passions care not what price they pay for the enjoyment of them, know this: that whatever be the object of their pursuit-be it honour or fortune or love or glory or knowledge, or what it may—they are paying court to things cast off,

things which many men in all times have tried, and upon trial rejected with disgust.

Nor is the consecration of Ivy to Bacchus without its mystery. For this has a double propriety. First, because ivy flourishes in the winter; next because it has the property of creeping and spreading about so many things, as trees, walls, buildings, &c. For as to the first, every passion flourishes and acquires vigour by being resisted and forbidden, as by reaction or antiperistasis; like the ivy by the cold of winter. As to the second, any predominant passion in the human spirit spreads itself like ivy round all its actions and resolves, so that you cannot find anything free from the embrace of its tendrils. Neither is it to be wondered at if superstitious rites are attributed to Bacchus; for almost every insane passion grows rank in depraved religions, insomuch that the pollutions of heretics are worse than the Bacchanalian orgies of the heathen; whose superstitions likewise have been no less bloody than foul. Neither again is it wonderful that phrensies are thought to be inspired by Bacchus; since every passion, in the excess thereof, is like a short madness, and if it continue vehement and obstinate, commonly ends in insanity. And that circumstance of the tearing to pieces of Pentheus and Orpheus amid the orgies of Bacchus, has an evident allegorical meaning; for every ruling passion is extremely hostile and inveterate against two things; whereof the one is curious inquisition; the other, free and wholesome advice. Nor does it make any difference if that inquisition be merely for the sake of looking on, as from a tree, without any ill-feeling; nor again if the advice be tendered ever so sweetly and skilfully; for the orgies cannot upon any conditions endure either Pentheus or Orpheus. Lastly, the confusion of the persons of Jupiter and Bacchus may well be taken in an allegorical sense. For noble and illustrious actions and glorious and distinguished services proceed sometimes from virtue, right reason, and magnanimity; and sometimes (however they are extolled and applauded without distinction) only from lurking passion and hidden desire; and thus the deeds of Bacchus are not easily distinguished from the deeds of Jupiter.

But we stay too long in the theatre; let us now pass to the palace of the mind, which we are to approach and enter with more reverence and attention.