Fortune Pleads Her Case

'Now I would fain also reason with thee a little in Fortune's own words. Do thou observe whether her contentions be just. "Man," she might say, "why dost thou pursue me with thy daily complainings? What wrong have I done thee? What goods of thine have I taken from thee? Choose an thou wilt a judge, and let us dispute before him concerning the rightful ownership of wealth and rank. If thou succeedest in showing that any one of these things is the true property of mortal man, I freely grant those things to be thine which thou claimest. When nature brought thee forth out of thy mother's womb, I took thee, naked and destitute as thou wast, I cherished thee with my substance, and, in the partiality of my favour for thee, I brought thee up somewhat too indulgently, and this it is which now makes thee rebellious against me. I surrounded thee with a royal abundance of all those things that are in my power. Now it is my pleasure to draw back my hand. Thou hast reason to thank me for the use of what was not thine own; thou hast no right to complain, as if thou hadst lost what was wholly thine. Why, then, dost bemoan thyself? I have done thee no violence. Wealth, honour, and all such things are placed under my control. My handmaidens know their mistress; with me they come, and at my going they depart. I might boldly affirm that if those things the loss of which thou lamentest had been thine, thou couldst never have lost them. Am I alone to be forbidden to do what I will with my own? Unrebuked, the skies now reveal the brightness of day, now shroud the daylight in the darkness of night; the year may now engarland the face of the earth with flowers and fruits, now disfigure it with storms and cold. The sea is permitted to invite with smooth and tranquil surface to-day, to-morrow to roughen with wave and storm. Shall man's insatiate greed bind me to a constancy foreign to my character? This is my art, this the game I never cease to play. I turn the wheel that spins. I delight to see the high come down and the low ascend. Mount up, if thou wilt, but only on condition that thou wilt not think it a hardship to come down when the rules of my game require it. Wert thou ignorant of my character? Didst not know how Crœsus, King of the Lydians, erstwhile the dreaded rival of Cyrus, was afterwards pitiably consigned to the flame of the pyre, and only saved by a shower sent from heaven? Has it 'scaped thee how Paullus paid a meed of pious tears to the misfortunes of King Perseus, his prisoner? What else do tragedies make such woeful outcry over save the overthrow of kingdoms by the indiscriminate strokes of Fortune? Didst thou not learn in thy childhood how there stand at the threshold of Zeus 'two jars,' 'the one full of blessings, the other of calamities'? How if thou hast drawn over-liberally from the good jar? What if not even now have I departed wholly from thee? What if this very mutability of mine is a just ground for hoping better things? But listen now, and cease to let thy heart consume away with fretfulness, nor expect to live on thine own terms in a realm that is common to all.'

But first I should like to argue a little with you in Fortune's own words. So consider whether her claim is just:

"Mortal, why do you charge me each day with your complaints? What wrong have I done you? What goods of yours have I taken away? Take me before any judge you like and contend with me over the ownership of riches and high places; and if you can show that any of these truly belongs to any mortal, I will at once freely grant that what you ask for was yours.

When nature brought you forth from your mother's womb, I received you naked and destitute of everything; I cherished you with my resources, and—this is what now makes you impatient with me—I brought you up too indulgently, inclining toward you with favor. I surrounded you with abundance and splendor, all of which is mine to give. Now it pleases me to draw back my hand. Be grateful, as one who has enjoyed what was not his own; you have no right to complain, as though you had lost what was entirely yours. So why do you groan? I have done you no violence. Wealth, honors, and the rest of such things are mine to command. They acknowledge me as their mistress; they come with me and leave when I depart. I would boldly affirm: if the things whose loss you lament had been yours, you could in no way have lost them.

Am I alone to be forbidden to exercise my own right? The sky is allowed to bring forth bright days and to bury them in dark nights; the year is allowed now to wreathe the face of the earth with flowers and fruits, now to throw it into confusion with storms and frosts; the sea has the right now to flatter with its smooth surface, now to bristle with gales and waves. Shall the insatiable greed of men bind me to a constancy foreign to my nature? This is my power; this is the unending game I play: I turn the wheel on its whirling circle, and I delight to bring the lowest up to the top and the highest down to the bottom. Climb up, if you wish, but on this condition: do not think it an injury to come down when the rule of my game requires it.

Did you really not know my ways? Did you not know that Croesus, king of the Lydians, lately a terror to Cyrus, was soon after a pitiable thing handed over to the flames of the pyre, only to be saved by a rain sent down from heaven? Has it escaped you that Aemilius Paulus shed pious tears over the disasters of King Perses, whom he had captured? What else does the cry of tragedy bewail but Fortune overturning happy kingdoms with an indiscriminate blow? Did you not learn as a boy that two jars stand at the threshold of Jove, the one full of evils, the other of blessings? What if you have drawn more generously from the share of good things? What if I have not wholly departed from you? What if this very changeableness of mine is a just ground for you to hope for better? Even so, are you to waste away in spirit, and, placed within a realm that all share in common, demand to live by a law of your own?"