is as extensive as the art or science they profess; they repay with
interest, through their genius and inventive powers, what they borrowed
from it and from its first principles; they stray from art to ennoble
it, and deviate from its rules if they do not make use of them to
attain the grand and the sublime; they walk alone and unaccompanied,
but they soar very high and are very penetrating, always certain of
the advantages sometimes to be obtained by irregularity, and assured
of their success. Careful, timorous, and sedate minds not alone
never obtain those advantages, but they do not admire them nor even
understand them, and are much less likely to imitate them; they dwell
peaceably within the compass of their sphere, go up to a certain point,
which is the limit of their capacity and knowledge, but penetrate no
farther, because they see nothing beyond it; they are at best but the
first of a second class and excel in mediocrity.
(62.) If I may venture to say so, there are certain inferior or
second-rate minds, who seem only fit to become the receptacle,
register, or storehouse of all the productions of other talents;[116]
they are plagiarists, translators, compilers; they never think,
but tell you what other authors have thought; and as a selection
of thoughts requires some inventive powers, theirs is ill-made and
inaccurate, which induces them rather to make it large than excellent.
They have no originality, and possess nothing of their own; they only
know what they have learned, and only learn what the rest of the world
does not wish to know; a useless and dry science, without any charm
or profit, unfit for conversation, nor suitable to intercourse, like
a coin which has no currency. We are astonished when we read them, as
well as tired out by their conversation or their works. The nobility
and the common herd mistake them for men of learning, but intelligent
men rank them with pedants.
(63.) Criticism is often not a science but a trade, requiring more
health than intelligence, more industry than capacity, more practice
than genius. If it is exercised by a person of less discernment than
culture, and treats of certain subjects, it will spoil the readerʼs
judgment as well as that of the author criticised.
(64.) I would advise an author who can only imitate,[117] and who is
modest enough to tread in the footsteps of other men, to choose for his
models writings that are full of intelligence, imagination, or even
learning: if he does not come up to his originals, he may at least come
somewhat near them, and be read. He ought, on the contrary, to avoid,
as a rock ahead, the imitation of those authors who have a natural
inclination for writing, employ phrases and figures of speech which
spring from the heart, and who draw, if I may say so, from their inmost
feelings all they express on paper. They are dangerous models, and
induce those who endeavour to follow them to adopt a cold, vulgar, and
ridiculous style. Indeed, I should laugh at a man who would seriously
imitate my tone of voice, or endeavour to be like me in the face.
(65.) A man born a Christian and a Frenchman is constrained when he
uses satire, for he is forbidden to exercise it on great subjects;
sometimes he commences to write about them, but then turns to trifling
topics, which he enhances by the splendour of his genius and style.[118]
(66.) The turgid and puerile style of Dorilas and Handburg[119]
should always be avoided. In certain writings, on the contrary, a man
sometimes may be bold in his expressions, and use metaphorical phrases
which depict his subject vividly, whilst pitying those who do not feel
the pleasure there is in employing and understanding them.
(67.) He who only writes to suit the taste of the age, considers
himself more than his writings. We should always aim at perfection,
and then posterity will do us that justice which sometimes our
contemporaries refuse us.
(68.) We ought never to turn into ridicule a subject that does not lend
itself to it; it spoils our taste, vitiates our judgment as well as
other menʼs; but we should perceive ridicule where it does exist, show
it up delicately, and in a manner which both pleases and instructs.
(69.) “Horace or Boileau have said such a thing before you.”—“I take
your word for it, but I have used it as my own. May I not have the same
correct thought after them, as others may have after me?”
[Illustration]
II.
OF PERSONAL MERIT.
(1.) What man is not convinced of his inefficiency, though endowed with
the rarest talents and the most extraordinary merit, when he considers
that at his death he leaves a world that will not feel his loss, and
where so many people are ready to supply his place?
(2.) All the worth of some people lies in their name; upon a closer
inspection it dwindles to nothing, but from a distance it deceives us.
(3.) Though I am convinced that those who are selected to fill various
offices, every man according to his talents and his profession, perform
their duties well, yet I venture to say that perhaps there are many
men in this world, known or unknown, who are not employed, and would
perform those duties also very well. I am inclined to think so from the
marvellous success of certain people, who through chance alone obtained
a place, and from whom until then no great things were expected.
How many admirable men, of very great talent, die without ever being
talked about! And how many are there living yet of whom one does not
speak, nor ever will speak!
(4.) A man without eulogists and without a set of friends, who
is unconnected with any clique, stands alone, and has no other
recommendations but a good deal of merit, has very great difficulty in
emerging from his obscurity and in rising as high as a conceited noodle
who has a good deal of influence!
(5.) No one hardly ever thinks of the merit of others, unless it is
pointed out to him. Men are too engrossed by themselves to have the
leisure of penetrating or discerning character, so that a person
of great merit and of greater modesty may languish a long time in
obscurity.
(6.) Genius and great talents are often wanting, but sometimes only
opportunities. Some people deserve praise for what they have done, and
others for what they would have done.
(7.) It is not so uncommon to meet with intelligence as with people who
make use of it, or who praise other personsʼ intelligence and employ it.
(8.) There are more tools than workmen, and of the latter more bad
than good ones. What would you think of a man who would use a plane to
saw, and his saw to plane?
(9.) There is no business in this world so troublesome as the pursuit
of fame: life is over before you have hardly begun your work.
(10.) What is to be done with Egesippus who solicits some employment?
Shall he have a post in the finances or in the army? It does not
matter much, and interest alone can decide it, for he is as able to
handle money or to make up accounts as to be a soldier. “He is fit for
anything,” say his friends, which always means that he has no more
talent for one thing than for another, or, in other words, that he is
fit for nothing. Thus it is with most men; in their youth they are
only occupied with themselves, are spoiled by idleness or pleasure,
and then wrongly imagine, when more advanced in years, that it is
sufficient for them to be useless or poor for the commonwealth to be
obliged to give them a place or to relieve them. They seldom profit by
that important maxim, that men ought to employ the first years of their
lives in so qualifying themselves by their studies and labour, that
the commonwealth itself, needing their industry and their knowledge as
necessary materials for its building up, might be induced, for its own
benefit, to make their fortune or improve it.
It is our duty to labour in order to make ourselves worthy of filling
some office: the rest does not concern us, but is other peopleʼs
business.
(11.) To make the most of ourselves through things which do not depend
on others but on ourselves alone, or to abandon all ideas of making the
most of ourselves, is an inestimable maxim and of infinite advantage
when brought into practice, useful to the weak, the virtuous, and
the intelligent, whom it renders masters of their fortune or their
ease; hurtful to the great, as it would diminish the number of their
attendants, or rather of their slaves, would abate their pride, and
partly their authority, and would almost reduce them to the pleasures
of the table and the splendour of their carriages; it would deprive
them of the pleasure they feel in being entreated, courted, solicited;
of allowing people to dance attendance on them, or of refusing
any request; of promising and not performing; it would thwart the
disposition they sometimes have of bringing fools forward and of
depressing merit when they chance to discern it; it would banish from
courts plots, parties, trickery, baseness, flattery, and deceit; it
would make a court, full of agitation, bustle, and intrigue, resemble
a comedy, or even a tragedy, where the wise are only spectators; it
would restore dignity to the several conditions of men, serenity to
their looks, enlarge their liberty, and awaken in them their natural
talents as well as a habit for work and for exercise; it would excite
them to emulation, to a desire for renown, a love for virtue; and
instead of vile, restless, useless courtiers, often burdensome to the
commonwealth, would make them clever administrators, exemplary heads of
families, upright judges or good financiers, great commanders, orators,
or philosophers; and all the inconvenience any of them would suffer
through this would be, perhaps, to leave to their heirs less treasures,
but excellent examples.
(12.) In France a great deal of resolution, as well as a widely
cultivated intellect, are required to decline posts and offices, and
thus consent to remain in retirement and to do nothing. Almost no one
has merit enough to play this part in a dignified manner, or solidity
enough to pass their leisure hours without what is vulgarly called
“business.” There is, however, nothing wanting to the idleness of a
philosopher but a better name, and that meditation, conversation, and
reading should be called “work.”
(13.) A man of merit, and in office, is never troublesome through
vanity. The post he fills does not elate him much, because he thinks
that he deserves a more important one, which he does not occupy, and
this mortifies him. He is more inclined to be restless than to be
haughty or disdainful; he is only uncomfortable to himself.
(14.) It goes against the grain of a man of merit continually to dance
attendance, but for a reason quite the opposite of what some might
imagine. His very merits make him modest, so that he is far from
thinking that he gives the smallest pleasure by showing himself when
the prince passes, by placing himself just before him, and by letting
him look at his face; he is more apt to fear being importunate, and
he needs many arguments based on custom and duty to persuade himself
to make his appearance; while, on the contrary, a man who has a good
opinion of himself, and who is usually called a conceited man,[120]
likes to show himself, and pays his court with the more confidence as
it never enters into his head that the great people by whom he is seen
may think otherwise of him than he thinks of himself.
(15.) A gentleman[121] repays himself for the zeal with which he
performs his duty by the pleasure he enjoys in acting thus, and does
not regret the praise, esteem, and gratitude which he sometimes does
not receive.
(16.) If I dared to make a comparison between two conditions of life
vastly different, I would say that a courageous soldier applies himself
to perform his duty almost in the same manner as a tyler goes about his
work; neither the one nor the other seeks to expose his life, nor are
diverted by danger, for to them death is an accident of their callings,
but never an obstacle. Thus the first is scarcely more proud of having
appeared in the trenches, carried some advanced works or forced some
intrenchment, than the other of having climbed on some high roof, or on
the top of a steeple. Both have but endeavoured to act well, whilst an
ostentatious man gives himself endless trouble to have it said that he
has acted well.
(17.) Modesty is to merit what shade is to figures in a picture; it
gives it strength and makes it stand out. A plain appearance is to
ordinary men their proper garb; it suits them and fits them, but it
adorns those persons whose lives have been distinguished by grand
deeds; I compare them to a beauty who is most charming in _négligé_.
Some men, satisfied with themselves because their actions or works have
been tolerably successful, and having heard that modesty becomes great
men, affect the simplicity and the natural air of truly modest people,
like those persons of middling size who stoop, when under a doorway,
for fear of hurting their heads.
(18.) Your son stammers; do not think of letting him make speeches;
your daughter, too, looks as if she were made for the world, so never
immure her among the vestals.[122] Xanthus, your freedman, is feeble
and timorous; therefore do not delay, but let him instantly leave
the army and the soldiers.[123] You say you would promote him, heap
wealth on him, overwhelm him with lands, titles, and possessions: make
the most of your time, for in the present age they will do him far
more credit than virtue. “But this will cost me too much,” you reply.
“Ah, Crassus, do you speak seriously? Why, for you to enrich Xanthus,
whom you love, is no more than taking a drop of water from the Tiber;
and thus you prevent the bad consequences of his having entered a
profession for which he was not fit.”
(19.) It is virtue alone which should guide us in the choice of our
friends, without any inquiry into their poverty or riches; and as we
are resolved not to abandon them in adversity, we may boldly and freely
cultivate their friendship even in their greatest prosperity.
(20.) If it be usual to be strongly impressed by things that are
scarce, why are we so little impressed by virtue?
(21.) If it be a happiness to be of noble parentage, it is no less so
to possess so much merit that nobody inquires whether we are noble or
plebeian.
(22.) From time to time have appeared in the world some extraordinary
and admirable men, refulgent by their virtues, and whose eminent
qualities have shone with prodigious brilliancy, like those uncommon
stars of which we do not know why they appear, and know still less what
becomes of them after they have disappeared. These men have neither
ancestors nor posterity; they alone are their whole race.
(23.) A sensible mind shows us our duty and the obligation we lie under
to perform it, and if attended with danger, to perform it in spite of
danger; it inspires us with courage or supplies the want of it.
(24.) He who excels in his art, so as to carry it to the utmost height
of perfection, goes in some measure beyond it, and becomes the equal
of whatever is most noble and most transcendental: thus V ... is an
artist, C ... a musician, and the author of _Pyrame_ a poet; but
Mignard is Mignard, Lulli is Lulli, and Corneille is Corneille.[124]
(25). A man who is single and independent, and who has some
intelligence, may rise above his fortune, mix with the world, and
be considered the equal of the best society, which is not so easily
done if encumbered. Marriage seems to place everybody in their proper
station of life.
(26.) Next to personal merit, it must be owned that from eminent
dignities and lofty titles men derive the greatest distinction and
lustre; and thus a man who will never make an Erasmus[125] is right
when he thinks of becoming a bishop.[126] Some, to spread their fame,
heap up dignities, decorations,[127] bishoprics, become cardinals,
and may want the tiara; but what need for Trophime[128] to become a
cardinal.
(27.) You tell me that Philemonʼs[129] clothes blaze with gold, but
that metal also shone when they were in the tailorʼs shop. His clothes
are made of the finest materials; but are those same materials less
fine in the warehouse or in the whole piece? But then the embroidery
and trimmings make them still more magnificent. I praise, therefore,
the skill of his tailor. Ask him what oʼclock it is, and he pulls out
a watch, a masterpiece of workmanship; the handle of his sword is an
onyx,[130] and on his finger he wears a large diamond which dazzles
our eyes and has no flaw. He wants none of all those curious nicknacks
which are worn more for show than service, and is as profuse[131] with
all kinds of ornaments as a young fellow who has married a wealthy old
lady. Well, at last you have excited my curiosity: I should, at least,
like to see all this finery: send me Philemonʼs clothes and jewels; but
I do not wish to see him.
You are mistaken, Philemon, if you think you will be esteemed a whit
the more for your showy coach, the large number of rogues who follow
you, and those six horses that draw you along; we mentally remove all
splendour which is not properly yours, to reach you personally, and
find you to be a mere conceited noodle.
Not but that a man is sometimes to be forgiven who, on account of his
splendid retinue, his rich clothes, and his magnificent carriage,
thinks himself of more noble descent and more intelligent than he
really is; for he sees this opinion expressed on the countenances and
in the eyes of those who speak to him.[132]
(28.) At court, and often in the city, a man in a long silken cassock
or one of very fine cloth,[133] with a broad cincture tied high
upon his stomach, shoes of the finest morocco leather, and a little
skull-cap of the same material, with well-made and well-starched bands,
his hair smoothed down, and with a ruddy complexion; who, besides,
remembers some metaphysical distinctions, explains what is the _lumen
gloriæ_, and what it is to behold God face to face,[134] is called a
doctor.[135] A man of humble mind, who is immured in his study, who
has meditated, searched, compared, collated, read or written all his
lifetime, is a man of learning.[136]
(29.) With us a soldier is brave, a lawyer learned; we proceed no
farther. Among the Romans a lawyer was brave and a soldier learned; a
Roman was a soldier and a lawyer.
(30.) A hero seems to have but one profession, namely, to be a soldier,
whilst a great man is of all professions—a lawyer, a soldier, a
politician or a courtier; put them both together and they are not worth
an honest man.[137]
(31.) In war it is very difficult to make a distinction between a hero
and a great man, for both possess military virtues. It seems, however,
that the first should be young, daring, unmoved amidst dangers and
dauntless, whilst the other should have extraordinary sense, great
sagacity, lofty capacities, and a long experience. Perhaps Alexander
was but a hero, and Cæsar a great man.[138]
(32.) Æmilius[139] was born with those qualities which the greatest
men do not acquire without guidance, long study, and practice. He had
nothing to do in his early years but to show himself worthy of his
innate talents, and to give himself up to the bent of his genius. He
has done and performed deeds before he knew anything; or rather, he
knew what was never taught him. I dare say it: many victories were
the sport of his childhood. A life attended by great good fortune
as well as by long experience, would have gained renown by the mere
actions of his youth.[140] He embraced all opportunities of conquest
which presented themselves, whilst his courage and his good fortune
created those which did not exist; he was admired for what he has
done, as well as for what he could have done. He has been looked upon
as a man incapable of yielding to an enemy, or giving way to numbers
or difficulties; as a superior mind, never wanting in expediency or
knowledge, and seeing things which no one else could see; as one who
was sure to lead to victory when at the head of an army; and who
singly was more valuable than many battalions; as one who was great in
prosperity, greater when fortune was against him,—the being compelled
to raise a siege[141] or to beat a retreat have gained him more honour
than a victory, and they rank before his gaining battles or taking of
towns,—as one full of glory and modesty. He has been heard to say, “I
fled,” as calmly as he said, “We beat the enemy;” he was a man devoted
to the State,[142] to his family, to the head of that family;[143]
sincere towards God and men, as great an admirer of merit as if he had
not been so well acquainted with it himself; a true, unaffected, and
magnanimous man, in whom none but virtues of an inferior kind were
wanting.[144]
(33.) The offspring of the gods,[145] if I may express myself so, are
beyond the laws of nature, and, as it were, an exception to them. They
expect almost nothing from time or age; for merit, in them, precedes
years.[146] They are born well informed, and reach manhood before
ordinary men abandon infancy.
(34.) Short-sighted men, I mean those whose minds are limited and
never extend beyond their own little sphere, cannot understand that
universality of talent one sometimes observes in the same person. They
allow no one to possess solid qualities when he is agreeable; or, when
they think they have perceived in a person some bodily attractions,
such as agility, elasticity, and skill, they will not credit him with
the possession of those gifts of the mind, perspicacity, judgment, and
wisdom; they will not believe what is told in the history of Socrates,
that he ever danced.
(35.) There exists scarcely any man so accomplished, or so necessary
to his own family, but he has some failing which will diminish their
regret at his loss.
(36.) An intelligent man, of a simple and straightforward character,
may fall into some snare, for he does not think that anybody would
spread one for him or select him in order to deceive him. This
assurance makes him less cautious, and he is caught by some rogues
through this failing. But the latter will not be so successful when
they attempt it a second time; such a man can only be deceived once.
If I am a just man, I will be careful not to offend any one, but above
all not to offend an intelligent man, if I have the smallest regard for
my own interests.
(37.) There exists nothing so subtle, so simple, and so imperceptible
which is not revealed to us by a something in its composition. A
blockhead cannot enter a room, nor leave it, nor sit down, nor rise,
nor be silent, nor stand on his legs like an intelligent man.
(38.) I made the acquaintance of Mopsus[147] through a visit he made
me without knowing me previously; he asks people whom he does not know
to present him to others to whom he is equally unknown; he writes
to ladies whom he only knows by sight. He introduces himself into a
company of highly respectable people, though he is a perfect stranger
to them, and without waiting till they address him, or feeling that
he interrupts them, he often speaks, and that in an absurd manner.
Another time he enters a public meeting, sits down anywhere, without
paying any regard to others or to himself; and if removed from a place
destined for a Minister of State, he goes and seats himself in the seat
of a duke and peer of the realm; he is the laughing-stock of the whole
company, yet the only person who keeps his countenance. He is like a
dog that is driven out of the kingʼs chair and jumps into the pulpit.
He looks with indifference, without any embarrassment or without any
shame, upon the worldʼs opinion; he and a blockhead have the same
feelings of modesty.