1.08

You think that it is a serious matter to deprive kings of the right of free speech, which belongs to the humblest man. “That,” you say, “is servitude, not sovereignty.” What? are you not aware that the sovereignty is ours, the servitude yours? Far different is the position of those who escape notice in a crowd that they do not overtop, whose virtues must struggle long in order to be seen, whose vices keep under the cover of obscurity; but the words and deeds of such as you are caught up by rumor, and, consequently, none should be more concerned about the character of their reputation than those who, no matter what reputation they may deserve, are sure to have a great one. How many things there are which you may not do, which we, thanks to you, may do! It is possible for me to walk alone without fear in any part of the city I please, though no companion attends me, though I have no sword at my house, none at my side; you, amid the peace you create, must live armed. You cannot escape from your lot; it besets you, and, whenever you leave the heights, it pursues you with its magnificence. In this lies the servitude of supreme greatness — that it cannot become less great; but you share with the gods that inevitable condition. For even they are held in bondage by heaven, and it is no more lawful for them to leave the heights than it is safe for you; you are nailed to your pinnacle. Our movements are noticed by few; we may come forth and retire and change our dress without the world being aware; you can no more hide yourself than the sun. A flood of light surrounds you; toward it every one turns his eyes. Think you to “come forth”? Nay, you rise.9 You cannot speak but that all the nations of the earth hear your voice; you cannot be angry without causing everything to tremble, because you cannot strike any one down without shaking all that is around him. As the lightning’s stroke is dangerous for the few, though feared by all, so the punishment born of great power I causes wider terror than harm, and not without reason; for when the doer is omnipotent, men consider not how much he has done, but how much he is likely to do. Consider, too, that whereas private citizens, by enduring the wrongs already received, lie more open to receiving others, yet kings by clemency gain a security more assured, because repeated punishment, while it crushes the hatred of a few, stirs the hatred of all. The inclination to vent one’s rage should be less strong than the provocation for it; otherwise, just as trees that have been trimmed throw out again countless branches, and as many kinds of plants are cut back to make them grow thicker, so the cruelty of a king by removing his enemies increases their number; for the parents and children of those who have been killed, their relatives too and their friends, step into the place of each single victim.