One must not, at first sight, say that a man is uninteresting and that
his face is expressionless. One might as well say that the water of a
river is empty when it swarms with vegetable and animal life.
In one’s manner of listening to a man there may be prejudice and
suspicion, there must not be indifference or indolence. The soul has,
in its arsenal, lenses, microscopes, and powerful sources of light for
exploring objects to their depths, through their transparencies, into
the innermost recesses of their organs.
At the beginning of the war I lived for two years with a comrade who
was invariably silent and indolent; his handsome face remained always
so gloomy, his actions remained so devoid of purpose and significance,
that I despaired of ever making him my prey; I was simply never touched
with a desire to get hold of him.
Then a day came when I heard him greet some happening with a word,
pronounced in such a challenging tone that I decided to undertake the
expedition. I spent days and days at it, with the pickaxe, mattock,
and little lantern of the miner. I have thought of him ever since with
stupefaction, as of those subterranean, half-explored chasms where one
finds rivers, colonnades, domes, blind animals and terrible shapes of
stone.
The nature of the object should not discourage one’s interest. The
viper is a dangerous and vindictive creature. The naturalists who have
been able to study it have only been able to do so because they have
studied with passion, that is to say, with love.
So much to tell you that that sort of zoological curiosity you may
bring to the study of your neighbor no more authorizes cruelty than it
allows you to dispense with affection.
Extreme attention resembles affection. Contemplation is pure love.
X
It is after my own taste that I mean to enjoy my possessions.
First, I wish to have part possession of my companions. There is no
question of my being the only one to possess them, or of my limiting my
empire to one or two of them. What I plan is to undertake each conquest
separately. This word, we shall see, does not signify seduction, but
a knowledge that is full of respect, a profound, lasting interest, an
enthusiasm, a passionate contemplation.
Observe them, your comrades: say you have twenty-three of them; you
will find through them twenty-three distinct representations of
yourself, and that in spite of yourself, through the mere play of
everyday life. One of them knows chiefly your tireless patience;
another, who works beside you all day, knows that you are painstaking
and irritable; he is, however, ignorant of what a third, the friend
of your fireside, knows,--that you are a careful and anxious father.
There are others for whom you are, above all, a soul torn by religion
or a mind familiar with everything that concerns social questions,
or a great lover of reading. Others, finally, see in you only a good
billiard-player, or a crack shot, or a courteous companion.
You are, of course, all these things. The totality of these various
aspects is, indeed, you, provided that we add also many other qualities
that no one suspects. But each one of your comrades sees an aspect of
you that is different from what his neighbor sees. For this reason,
avoid confusion, avoid mixing things. Be lavish of yourself in every
sense, but begin by being prudent, careful of your resources and
skilful in the art of grouping them.
One day you were having an affectionate conversation with Maurin. You
were delighted with one another, delighted to be together, satisfied
with your fellowship, your mutual possession. You were not talking
of anything very private. But then Blèche came up, Blèche with whom
you have such profitable, such intimate talks, and all the charm of
Maurin’s company disappeared without your being able to compensate
yourself with the usual pleasure you take in the society of Blèche.
This was because, in the presence of both, you could not give each one
what you are accustomed to give him, nor could you ask from him what he
gives only to you.
These combinations, like those of the chemists, demand much care and
judgment. Don’t protest! Don’t exclaim that such notions are too
subtle, too complex: you do not receive all your friends pell-mell.
However much of an epicure you may be, you still give more attention
to the selection of your guests than to the composition of the menu.
Of what importance is the most delicate fare in comparison with the
delight the conversation of carefully chosen human beings gives us?
That is why, when you are sure of two persons for whom you feel an
interest that borders on passion, you experience such a delicious
anxiety at the moment of presenting them to one another, of bringing
them together in your presence.
You are like the maker of fireworks who is about to mix changeable
substances with explosive properties in his mortar. You weigh them
carefully and combine them in well-defined proportions. You take time
preparing each of the spiritual elements of this mixture.
And when the union is accomplished, you seem to be saying to each of
them: “I have prepared a magnificent gift for you. Come, now, and know
one another.”
Your heart throbs, because each of them is not only going to know the
other but is going to learn to know you through the eyes of the other.
Could there be a better reason for living?