himself, to go his own ways; everyone needs to be guided by a
preconceived plan, and to follow certain general rules. But if this is
carried too far, and a man tries to take on a character which is not
natural or innate in him, but it artificially acquired and evolved
merely by a process of reasoning, he will very soon discover that
Nature cannot be forced, and that if you drive it out, it will return
despite your efforts:--
_Naturam expelles furca, tamen usque recurret_.
To understand a rule governing conduct towards others, even to
discover it for oneself and to express it neatly, is easy enough; and
still, very soon afterwards, the rule may be broken in practice. But
that is no reason for despair; and you need not fancy that as it is
impossible to regulate your life in accordance with abstract ideas
and maxims, it is better to live just as you please. Here, as in all
theoretical instruction that aims at a practical result, the first
thing to do is to understand the rule; the second thing is to learn
the practice of it. The theory may be understand at once by an effort
of reason, and yet the practice of it acquired only in course of time.
A pupil may lean the various notes on an instrument of music, or the
different position in fencing; and when he makes a mistake, as he
is sure to do, however hard he tries, he is apt to think it will be
impossible to observe the rules, when he is set to read music at sight
or challenged to a furious duel. But for all that, gradual practice
makes him perfect, through a long series of slips, blunders and fresh
efforts. It is just the same in other things; in learning to write and
speak Latin, a man will forget the grammatical rules; it is only
by long practice that a blockhead turns into a courtier, that a
passionate man becomes shrewd and worldly-wise, or a frank person
reserved, or a noble person ironical. But though self-discipline of
this kind is the result of long habit, it always works by a sort of
external compulsion, which Nature never ceases to resist and sometimes
unexpectedly overcomes. The difference between action in accordance
with abstract principles, and action as the result of original,
innate tendency, is the same as that between a work of art, say a
watch--where form and movement are impressed upon shapeless and inert
matter--and a living organism, where form and matter are one, and each
is inseparable from the other.
There is a maxim attributed to the Emperor Napoleon, which expresses
this relation between acquired and innate character, and confirms what
I have said: _everything that is unnatural is imperfect_;--a rule of
universal application, whether in the physical or in the moral sphere.
The only exception I can think of to this rule is aventurine,[1] a
substance known to mineralogists, which in its natural state cannot
compare with the artificial preparation of it.
[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_. Aventurine is a rare kind of quartz;
and the same name is given to a brownish-colored glass much resembling
it, which is manufactured at Murano. It is so called from the fact
that the glass was discovered by chance _(arventura)_.]
And in this connection let me utter a word of protest against any and
every form of _affectation_. It always arouses contempt; in the first
place, because it argues deception, and the deception is cowardly,
for it is based on fear; and, secondly, it argues self-condemnation,
because it means that a man is trying to appear what he is not, and
therefore something which he things better than he actually is. To
affect a quality, and to plume yourself upon it, is just to confess
that you have not got it. Whether it is courage, or learning, or
intellect, or wit, or success with women, or riches, or social
position, or whatever else it may be that a man boasts of, you may
conclude by his boasting about it that that is precisely the direction
in which he is rather weak; for if a man really possesses any faculty
to the full, it will not occur to him to make a great show of
affecting it; he is quite content to know that he has it. That is the
application of the Spanish proverb: _herradura que chacolotea clavo le
falta_--a clattering hoof means a nail gone. To be sure, as I said at
first, no man ought to let the reins go quite loose, and show himself
just as he is; for there are many evil and bestial sides to our nature
which require to be hidden away out of sight; and this justifies the
negative attitude of dissimulation, but it does not justify a
positive feigning of qualities which are not there. It should also be
remembered that affectation is recognized at once, even before it is
clear what it is that is being affected. And, finally, affectation
cannot last very long, and one day the mask will fall off. _Nemo
potest personam diu ferre fictam_, says Seneca;[1] _ficta cito in
naturam suam recidunt_--no one can persevere long in a fictitious
character; for nature will soon reassert itself.
[Footnote 1: _De Clementia, I_. 1.]