beforehand, takes all the right measures, and is on the point of being
as successful as he wishes; some people are to initiate the business
in hand, others are to second it; the bait is already laid, and the
mine ready to be sprung; and then the candidate absents himself from
the court. Who would dare suspect that Artemon ever aimed at so fine
a post when he is ordered to leave his seat or his government to fill
it?[405] Such an artifice and such a policy has become so stale, and
the courtiers have so often employed it, that if I would impose upon
the world and mask my ambition, I should always be about the prince
to receive from his own hand that favour which I had solicited so
passionately.
(44.) Men do not like us to pry into their prospects of bettering
their position, or to find out what post they are anxious to occupy,
because, if they are not successful, they fancy their failure brings
some discredit upon them; and if they succeed, they persuade themselves
it redounds more to their credit that the giver thought them worthy
of it than that they thought themselves worthy of it, and, therefore,
intrigued and plotted; they appear decked in their stateliness as well
as in their modesty.[406]
Which is the greater shame, to be refused the post which we deserve, or
to be put into one we do not deserve?
Difficult as it is to obtain a place at court, it is yet harder and
more difficult to be worthy of filling one.
A man had better be asked by what means he obtained a certain post than
why he did not obtain it.
People become candidates for any municipal office, or try to get a seat
in the French Academy,[407] but formerly they endeavoured to obtain a
consulship. Why should a man not labour hard during the early years of
his life to render himself fit for eminent posts, and then ask openly
and fearlessly, without mystery and without any intriguing, to serve
his fatherland, his prince, and the commonwealth?
(45.) I never yet have seen a courtier whom a prince has appointed
governor of a wealthy province, given a first-rate place, or a large
pension, who does not protest, either through vanity, or to show
himself disinterested, that he is less pleased with the gift than with
the manner in which it was given. What is certain and cannot be doubted
is that he says so.
To give awkwardly denotes the churl; the most difficult and unpleasant
part is to give; then, why not add a smile?
There are, however, some men who refuse with more politeness to grant
you what you ask than others know how to give;[408] and some of whom
it has been said that you have to ask them so long, and they give so
coldly and impose such disagreeable conditions on whatever favour you
have to tear from them, that their greatest favour would be to excuse
us from receiving any.[409]
(46.) There are some men at court so covetous that they catch hold of
any rank or condition to reap its benefits; governments of provinces,
offices, benefices, nothing comes amiss to them; they are so situated
that, by virtue of their official position, they can accept any kind of
favour; they are amphibious, live by the church and the sword, and one
day or other will discover the secret of including the law also.[410]
If you ask what those men do at court, you will be told that they
receive and envy every one to whom anything is given.
(47.) A thousand people at court wear out their very existence by
embracing, caressing, and congratulating all persons who have received
favours, and die without having any bestowed on themselves.
(48.) Menophilus[411] borrows his manners from one profession and his
dress from another; he goes masked all the year, though he does not
conceal his countenance; he appears at court, in town, and elsewhere,
always under a certain name and in the same disguise. He is found out
and known by his face.
(49.) There is a highroad or a beaten road, as it is called, which
leads to grand offices, and there is a cross or bye-way which is much
the shortest.
(50.) We run to get a look at some wretched criminals, we line one side
of the street, and we stand at the windows to observe the features
and the bearing of a man who is doomed and knows he is going to die,
impelled by a senseless, malignant, inhuman curiosity. If men were
wise, they would avoid public executions, and then it would even be
considered infamous to be present at such spectacles.[412] If you
are of such an inquisitorial turn of mind, exercise your curiosity
on a noble subject, and look on a happy man on the very day he has
been appointed to a new post, and when he is congratulated on his
nomination; read in his eyes, through his affected composure and
feigned modesty, his delight and latent exultation; observe how quiet
his heart beats and how serene his countenance looks now that he has
obtained all he wished; how he thinks of nothing but his long life
and health; how, at last, his joy bursts forth and can no longer be
concealed; how he bends beneath the weight of his happiness, and how
coolly and stiffly he behaves towards those who are no longer his
equals; he vouchsafes them no answer, and seems not to see them; the
embraces and demonstrations of friendship of men of high rank, whom
he views now no more from a distance, finish his ruin; he becomes
bewildered, dazed, and for a short time his brain is turned. You who
would be happy and in your princeʼs favour, consider how many things
you will have to avoid.[413]
(51.) When a man has once got into office, he neither makes use of his
reason nor of his intelligence to regulate his behaviour and manners
towards others, but shapes them according to his office and his
position; this is the cause of his forgetfulness, pride, arrogance,
harshness, and ingratitude.[414]
(52.) Theonas having been an _abbé_[415] for thirty years, grows
weary of being so any longer. Others show less anxiety and impatience
in being clad in purple than he displays in wearing a golden cross on
his breast;[416] and because no great festival at court has ever made
any alteration in his position,[417] he rails at the times, declares
the state badly governed, and forebodes naught but ill for the future.
Convinced in his heart that in courts merit is prejudicial to a man
who wishes to better his position, he at last makes up his mind to
renounce the prelacy; but some one hastens to inform him that he has
been appointed to a bishopric, and full of joy and conceit at news so
unexpected he says to a friend, “Youʼll see I shall not remain a bishop
for ever; I shall be an archbishop yet.”
(53.) There must be knaves at court[418] about the great and the
Ministers of State, even if those are animated with the best
intentions; but to know when to employ them is a very difficult
question, and requires a certain amount of shrewdness. There are times
and seasons when others cannot fill their places; for honour, virtue,
and conscience, though always worthy of our respect, are frequently
useless, and therefore in certain emergencies an honest man[419] cannot
be employed.
(54.) An ancient author, whose very words I shall take the liberty
to quote,[420] for fear I should weaken the sense of them by my
translation, says: “To forsake the common herd, nay, oneʼs very equals,
to despise and vilify them; to get acquainted with rich men of rank;
to join them in their private amusements, deceits, tricks, and bad
business; to be brazen-faced, shameless, bankrupt in reputation; to
endure the gibes and jokes of all men, and, in spite of all this, not
to fear to go on, and that skilfully, has been the cause of many a
manʼs fortune.”
(55.) The youth of a prince is the making of many courtiers.
(56.) Timantes,[421] still the same, and possessed of that very merit
which at first got him reputation and rewards, has deteriorated in the
opinion of the courtiers, who are weary of respecting him; they bow to
him coldly, forbear smiling on him, no longer accost nor embrace him,
nor take him into a corner to talk mysteriously about some trivial
affair; they have nothing more to say to him. He receives a pension, or
is honoured by being appointed to a new post; and his virtues, almost
dead in their memories, revive whilst their thoughts are refreshed; now
they treat him as they did at the beginning, and even better.
(57.) How many friends, how many relatives of a new Minister, spring
up in a single night! Some men pride themselves on their former
acquaintance, on their having been his fellow-students or neighbours;
others ransack their genealogy, go back to their great-grandfather, and
recall their father and motherʼs side, for in some way or other every
one wishes to be related to him; several times a day people affirm
they are his relatives, and they would even gladly print it. They say
presently: “The Minister is my friend; I am very glad of his promotion,
and I ought to share in it, for he is a near relative of mine.” Would
those silly men, those servile votaries of fortune, those effete
courtiers, have said this a week ago? Has the Minister become a more
virtuous man, or more worthy of his sovereignʼs choice, or were they
waiting for this appointment to know him better?[422]
(58.) What supports me and comforts me when sometimes men of high rank
or my equals slight me, is the feeling that perhaps those very men only
despise my position; and they are quite right, for it is a very humble
one; but they would doubtless worship me if I were a Minister.
Am I suddenly to obtain some post, and do people know it, or foresee
it, because they forestall me and bow to me first?
(59.) A man who tells us he has dined the day before at Tibur, or
is going to have supper there tonight, and repeats it often, who
brings in the name of Plancus[423] about a dozen times during a few
minutesʼ conversation, such as, “Plancus asked me....” or “I said to
Plancus....” is told that very moment that his hero has been snatched
away by sudden death. He starts off at a tangent, gathers around him
the people in the market-place or underneath the porticoes; accuses
the deceased, rails at his conduct, and blackens his administration;
he even denies him a knowledge of those details which the public own
he had mastered, will not allow him to have had a good memory, refuses
to praise him for his steadiness of character and power of work, and
will not do him the honour to believe that among all the enemies of the
State there was one who was Plancusʼ enemy.
(60.) I think it must be a pretty sight for a man of merit to observe
at a meeting, or at a public entertainment, that the very seat which
has been refused him is given up before his face to a man who has
neither eyes to see nor ears to hear,[424] nor sense to know and to
judge, and who has nothing to recommend him but his court-dress as a
favourite,[425] which now he himself is above wearing.
(61.) Theodotus[426] is staid in dress, whilst his countenance, as
theatrical as an actorʼs who has to appear on the stage, harmonises
with his voice, his carriage, gestures, and attitude. He is cunning,
cautious, insinuating, mysterious; he draws near you and whispers, “It
is fine weather; it is thawing.” If he has no grand qualifications,
he has all the little ones, even those which would scarcely become
a youthful _précieuse_.[427] Imagine the application of a child
building a house of cards or catching a butterfly; such is Theodotus,
engaged on an affair of no consequence, and which is not worth any
oneʼs attention; he, however, treats it seriously, and as if it were
of the greatest importance; he moves about, bestirs himself, and is
successful; then he takes breath and rests awhile, as indeed he should,
for he has given himself a good deal of trouble. Some people are
intoxicated, and bewitched with the favour of the great; they think of
them all day, and dream of them all night; they are always trotting
up and down the stairs of a Ministerʼs apartment, go in and come out
of his ante-chamber, but they have nothing to say to him, though they
speak to him; they speak to him a second time, and they are highly
pleased, for they have spoken. Press them, squeeze them, and nothing
will be got from them but pride, arrogance, and presumption; address
them, and they do not answer; they know you not, they look bewildered,
and their brain is turned; their relatives should take care of them and
lock them up, lest in time their folly should drive them frantic, and
make them harm some one. Theodotus has a gentler hobby; he immoderately
loves favour, but his passion is less impetuous, and he worships it
secretly, and fosters and serves it mysteriously; he is ever on the
watch to discover who are the new favourites of the king;[428] if these
wish for anything, he offers to serve them, and to intrigue for them;
and stealthily sacrifices to them merit, connections, friendship,
engagements, and gratitude. If the place of Cassini[429] were vacant,
and a Swiss porter or postillion of a favourite were applying for
it, he would support his pretensions, judge him worthy of the place,
and think him capable of making observations and calculations, and
of discussing about parhelions and parallaxes.[430] Should you like
to know whether Theodotus be an author or a plagiary, original or a
copyist, I will give you one of his works, and bid you read and judge.
Who can decide, from the picture I have drawn, whether he is really
pious, or merely a courtier?[431] I can with more assurance proclaim
whether the stars will be propitious to him. Yes, Theodotus, I have
calculated your nativity; you will obtain an appointment, and that
very soon; so abandon your lucubrations, and print no more any of your
writings; the public begs for quarter.
(62.) Never more expect candour, frankness, justice, good offices,
services, kindness, generosity, steadiness from a man who for some time
has spent all his days at court, and secretly wishes to better his
fortunes. Do you know him by his face or conversation? He no longer
calls things by their proper names; for him there exist no longer any
knaves, rogues, fools, or impertinent people; if by chance he
should say of any man what he thinks of him, that very man might come
to know it, and prevent him from getting on.[432] Though he thinks
ill of everybody, he speaks ill of none, for he only wishes success
to himself, but would make believe that he wishes it to everybody, so
that all may assist him, or at least that nobody may oppose him. Not
satisfied with being insincere himself, he cannot endure that any one
should be otherwise; truth offends his ear; he is indifferent, and
does not care what remarks are made about the court and courtiers, but
because he knows what they mean, he fancies himself an accomplice, and
answerable for them. A tyrant in society and a martyr to his ambition,
he is mournfully circumspect in his conduct and in his language; his
raillery is innocent, but cold and constrained; his laughter is forced,
his demonstrations of friendship deceptive, his conversation desultory,
and his absence of mind frequent: he is profuse in his praises, and,
if I may say so, pours out torrents of them whenever any man in office
and a favourite does or says the smallest thing; but for any other
person he is as sparing with his words as if he were consumptive. He
has different formulas for complimenting people on entering or leaving
a room, as well when he visits as when he is visited, and none of those
who are satisfied with mere appearances and forms of speech ever leaves
him discontented. He aims at getting patrons as well as partisans,
and is a mediator, a confidant, and a go-between; he wishes to rule;
he is as anxious as a novice to do every trifling thing that has to
be observed at court; he knows where a man must stand to be seen; he
can embrace you, share in your joy, ask you one question after another
about your health and your affairs; and while you are answering him,
he loses the thread of his curiosity, interrupts you, and begins
another subject; or if he happens to see some one whom it is necessary
to address in a different way, he finishes his congratulations to you
whilst condoling with the other person; he weeps with one eye and
laughs with the other. Sometimes, in imitation of the Ministers or the
favourite, he speaks in public of trivial things, such as the wind or
the frost, but, on the contrary, is silent and very mysterious about
some important things he does know, and still more so about some he
does not know.
(63.) There is a country[433] where all joy is conspicuous but false,
and all grief hidden but real. Who would imagine that the anxiety to
be present at entertainments, the raptures and applause at Molièreʼs
or Harlequinʼs comedies,[434] the banquets, the chase, the ballets,
and _carrousels_,[435] conceal so much uneasiness, so many cares and
such various interests, so many fears and expectations, so many ardent
passions, and such serious matters of business.
(64.) Court life is a serious, sad game, requiring application; a man
must arrange his pieces and his plans, have a design, pursue it, thwart
his adversaries, now and then venture something, and play capriciously;
yet after all those fancies and contrivances he may be kept in check,
and not seldom be checkmated; whilst often with well-handled men he
may queen it and win the game; the most skilful or the most fortunate
player obtains the victory.
(65.) The wheels, the springs, the movements of a watch are hidden, and
only the hands can be seen gradually going round and finishing their
course. This is a true image of a courtier, who goes over a great deal
of ground, but often returns to the very same point whence he started.
(66.) “Two-thirds of my life are already gone; why, then, should
I perplex myself so much about the remainder? The most brilliant
career neither deserves the anxiety I suffer, nor the meannesses I
accidentally commit, nor the humiliations and mortifications I have to
bear. In thirty years those giants of power whom we can hardly perceive
without raising our heads will be destroyed; I, who am so small, and
those to whom I looked up with so much anxiety and from whom I expected
all my greatness, will have disappeared. The best of all good things,
if such there be in this world, is repose, retirement, and a place you
can call your own.” N ... was of this opinion when he was in disgrace,
but he forgot it in his prosperity.[436]
(67.) A nobleman who resides in his own province, lives free, but
without patronage; if he lives at court he will be patronised, but is a
slave; so one thing compensates for another.
(68.) Xantippus,[437] at the uttermost end of his province, under
an old roof and in a wretched bed, dreamt one night that he saw his
prince, spoke to him, and felt great joy at this; when he awoke he was
melancholy, told his dream, and exclaimed, “What strange fancies a man
may have in his sleep!” Xantippus some time afterwards went to court,
saw the prince, and spoke to him; and then his dream was more than
realised, for he became a favourite.
(69.) Nobody is a greater slave than an assiduous courtier, unless it
be a courtier who is more assiduous.
(70.) A slave has but one master; an ambitious man has as many masters
as there are people who may be useful in bettering his position.
(71.) A thousand men scarcely known appear every day in crowds at the
levée,[438] to be seen by their prince, who cannot see a thousand at a
time; if to-day he only sees those whom he saw yesterday and will see
to-morrow, how many must be unhappy![439]
(72.) Of all those persons who dangle after men of rank, and pay their
respects to them, a few honour them in their hearts, a great number
follow them out of ambition or interest, but the motive of the largest
number is a ridiculous vanity or a silly impatience to be noticed.
(73.) There are certain families who, according to the ways of the
world, and what we call decency, ought never to be reconciled to one
another; however, now they are good friends, for those whom religion
could not induce to lay aside their feuds, interest, without much
trouble, has linked together.
(74.) People say there exists a certain country where old men are
gallant, well-mannered, and polite, young men, on the contrary,
unfeeling, rude, ill-mannered, and impolite; they no longer entertain
a passion for the fair sex at an age when, in other countries, young
men begin to entertain it; and prefer to that sex feasts, revelry, and
ridiculous amours. Amongst those people a man is considered sober and
moderate who is never intoxicated with anything but wine, the excessive
use of which makes it appear insipid; they endeavour by brandy, and by
the strongest liquors, to revive their taste, which is already gone,
and want nothing to complete their excesses but to drink _aquafortis_.
The women of that country hasten the decay of their beauty by their
artifices to preserve it; they paint their cheeks, eyebrows, and
shoulders, which they bare, together with their breasts, arms, and
ears, as if they were afraid of concealing those parts which they think
will please, or of not showing enough of themselves. The countenance of
the inhabitants of this country is not clear, but blurred and shrouded
with a mass of hair that does not belong to them, but which they prefer
to their own, and which is woven into a something to cover their heads,
hanging down half way their bodies, altering all their features, and
preventing people from being known by their natural faces. This nation
has, besides, its God and its king: the high and mighty among them go
at a fixed time every day to a temple they call a church; at the upper
end of that temple stands an altar consecrated to their God, where a
certain priest celebrates some mysteries, called by them holy, sacred,
and formidable. The high and mighty men stand in a large circle at
the foot of the altar, with their back to the priest and the holy
mysteries, and their faces towards their king, who is seen kneeling in
a raised and open pew, and towards whom all minds and all hearts seem
directed. However, a certain kind of subordination is to be observed
whilst this is going on; for this people seem to adore their prince,
and their prince appears to worship God. The natives of this country
call it.... It is situated about forty-eight degrees northern latitude,
and more than eleven hundred leagues by sea from the Iroquois and the
Hurons.[440]
(75.) Whoever will consider that a kingʼs presence constitutes
the entire happiness of courtiers, that their sole occupation and
satisfaction during the whole course of their lives is to see and be
seen by him,[441] will in some measure understand how to behold God may
constitute the glory and felicity of the saints.[442]
(76.) Great noblemen show their respect for their prince; this concerns
them, as they have also their dependants. Courtiers of inferior rank
are more relaxed in those duties, assume a kind of familiarity, and
live like men whose examples none will follow.
(77.) What is there wanting in the youth of the present time? They can
do and they know everything; or at least if they do not know as much as
it is possible to know, they are as positive as if they did.
(78.) How weak are men! A great lord says of your friend Timagenes
that he is a blockhead, but he makes a mistake. I do not require you to
reply that Timagenes is a clever man, but only dare think he is not a
blockhead.
He says also that Iphicrates is a coward; and you have seen him perform
an act of bravery. But do not be uneasy. I do not insist you should
relate it, but, after what you have heard this lord say, still remember
that you saw him perform it.
(79.) To know how to speak to a king is perhaps the sole art of a
prudent and pliant courtier. One word escapes him, which the prince
hears, recollects, and sometimes lodges in his heart; there is no
recalling it; all the care and skill that can be used to explain or
soften it, serves only to impress it the more and to bite it in deeper.
If the courtier has only spoken against himself, though this misfortune
is very unusual, the remedy is at hand; he must take warning by his
fault, and bear the punishment of his levity; but if another be the
victim, he ought to feel dejected and contrite. Is there a better
rule in such a dangerous conjuncture than to talk to our sovereign
of others, of their persons, works, actions, manners, or conduct, at
least with the same reserve, precaution, and care with which we talk of
ourselves?