except perhaps in having more often the power as well as the
opportunity of rendering a service; and if such an opportunity occurs,
it seems to me that by all means he ought to embrace it. If it is for
an honest man, he should be afraid of letting it slip; but as it is
right to act thus, he should forestall any solicitation, and not be
seen until thanks are due to him for his success: if it is an easy
thing to render such a service, he should not set any value on it; if
he refuses to assist this honest man, I pity them both.
(32.) Some men are born inaccessible, and yet these are the very men
of whom others stand in need, and on whom they depend; they move about
continually, are as restless as quicksilver, turn on their heels,
gesticulate, shout, and are always in motion. Like those cardboard
temples erected for fireworks during public festivals, they scatter
fire and flames, thunder and lightning; and there is no approaching
them until they are extinguished and have fallen down, and then only
they can be handled, but are of no more use, and good for nothing.
(33.) A Swiss hall-porter, a _valet-de-chambre_, a footman, if they
have no more sense than belongs to their station in life, do no longer
estimate themselves by the meanness of their condition, but by the rank
and fortune of those whom they serve, and without discrimination think
that all people who enter by the door or ascend the staircase where
they are in waiting are inferior to them and their masters; so true is
it that we are doomed to suffer from the great and from all who belong
to them.[464]
(34.) A man in office ought to love his prince, his wife, his children,
and, next to them, men of intelligence; he ought to befriend them,
surround himself with them, and never be without them; he cannot
repay, I will not say with too many pensions or kindnesses, but with
too great an intimacy and too many demonstrations of friendship, the
assistance and the services they render him even when he does not
suspect it. What rumours do they not scatter to the winds? How many
stories do they not prove to be but fable and fiction? How well do
they understand to justify want of success by good intentions, and
demonstrate the soundness of a project and the correctness of certain
measures by a prosperous issue; raise their voices against malice and
envy, and prove that good enterprises proceed from the best of motives;
put a favourable construction on wretched appearances, palliate slight
faults, exhibit only virtues and place them in the best light; spread
on innumerable occasions a report of facts and details which redound
to their patronʼs honour, and make a jest of those who dare doubt it
or advance anything to the contrary. I know it is a maxim with great
men to let people speak, while they themselves continue to act as
they think fit; but I also know that it not seldom happens that their
carelessness in paying attention to what people say of them prevents
them from performing the actions they intended.
(35.) To be sensible of merit, and, when known, to treat it well, are
two great steps quickly to be taken one after another, but of which few
great men are capable.
(36.) You are great, you are powerful, but this is not enough; act in
such a manner that I can esteem you, so that I should be sorry to lose
your favour, or sorry I was never able to obtain it.
(37.) You say of a great man or of a person in office, that he is very
obliging, kind, and delights in being serviceable; and you confirm this
by giving details of everything he has done in a certain business, in
which he knew you took some interest. I understand what you mean; you
succeed without any solicitation, you have influence, you are known to
the ministers of state, you stand well with the great. What else would
you have me understand?
A man tells you, “I think I am not very well treated by a certain
personage; he has become proud since he has bettered his position; he
treats me with contempt and no longer knows me.” You answer, “I have
no reason to complain of him; on the contrary, I must commend him; he
even seems to be to be very civil.” I believe I understand you too.
You would let us know that some person in office has a regard for you,
that in the anteroom he selects you from a large number of cultured
gentlemen from whom he turns aside, to avoid the inconvenience of
bowing to them or smiling on them.
“To commend some one, to commend some great man,” is a nice phrase to
start with, and which doubtless means to commend ourselves, when we
relate all the good some great man has done to us, or never thought of
doing to us.
We praise the great to show we are intimate with them, rarely out
of esteem or gratitude; we often do not know the persons we praise;
vanity and levity not seldom prevail over resentment; we are very
dissatisfied[465] with them, and yet we praise them.
(38.) If it is dangerous to be concerned in a suspicious affair, it is
much more so when you are an accomplice of the great; they will get
clear and leave you to pay double, and for them and for yourself.[466]
(39.) A princeʼs fortune is not large enough to pay a man for a base
complacency, if he considers what it costs the man whom he would
reward; and all his power is not sufficient to punish him, if he
measures the punishment by the injury done to him.
(40.) The nobility expose their lives for the safety of the state and
the glory of their sovereign, and the magistrates relieve the prince of
part of the burden of administering justice to his people. Both these
functions are sublime and of great use, and men are scarcely capable
of performing higher duties; but why men of the robe and the sword
reciprocally despise each other is beyond my comprehension.
(41.) If it be true that the great venture more in risking their lives,
destined to be spent in gaiety, pleasure, and plenty, than a private
person who ventures only a life that is wretched, it must also be
confessed that they receive a wholly different compensation, namely,
glory and a grand reputation. The common soldier entertains no thoughts
of becoming known, and dies unnoticed, among many others; he lived
indeed very much in the same way, but still he was alive; this is one
of the chief causes of the want of courage in people of low and servile
condition. On the contrary, those personages whose birth distinguishes
them from the common people, and who are exposed to the gaze of all
men, to their censures and praises, exert themselves more than they
were predisposed to do, even if they are not naturally courageous;[467]
and this elevation of heart and mind, which they derive from their
ancestors, is the cause of courage being usually found among persons of
noble birth, and is perhaps nobility itself.
Press me into the service as a common soldier, I am Thersites; put
me at the head of an army for which I am responsible to the whole of
Europe, and I am Achilles.[468]
(42.) Princes, without any science or rules, can form a judgment by
comparison; they are born and brought up amidst the best things, with
which they compare what they read, see, and hear. Whoever does not
approach Lulli, Racine, and Le Brun[469] they condemn.
(43.) To talk to young princes of nothing but their rank is an excess
of precaution, while all courtiers consider it their duty and part
and parcel of their politeness to respect them; so that they are less
apt to ignore the regard due to their birth than to confound persons,
and treat all sorts of ranks and conditions of men indifferently, or
without distinction. They have an innate pride which they show when
needed; they only have to be taught how to regulate it, and how to
acquire kindness of heart, culture, gentlemanly manners, and sound
discrimination.
[Illustration: L.F. BRUN]
(44.) It is downright hypocrisy in a man of a certain position not at
once to take the rank due to him, and which every one is willing to
yield; he need not trouble himself to be modest, to mingle with the
crowd that opens and makes way for him, to take the lowest seat at a
public meeting, so that every one may see him there and run to lead him
to a higher place. Modesty in men of ordinary condition is more trying;
if they push themselves into a crowd, they are almost crushed to death,
and if they choose an uncomfortable seat, they may remain there.[470]
(45.) Aristarchus hies to the market-place with a herald and a
trumpeter, who blows on his instrument, so that a crowd comes running
and gathers round him: “Oyez! Oyez! people!”[471] exclaims the herald,
“be attentive; silence! silence! This very Aristarchus, whom you see
before you, is to do a good action to-morrow.” I would have said, in
more simple and less ornate style: “Aristarchus has done well; is he
now going to do better? If so, let me not know that he does well, or at
least let me not suspect that I should be told it.”[472]
(46.) The best actions of men are spoiled and weakened by their
manner of doing them, which sometimes leaves even a suspicion of the
purity of their intentions. Whoever protects or commends virtue for
virtueʼs sake, or condemns and blames vice for the sake of vice,
acts without design, naturally, without any artifice or peculiarity,
pomp or affectation; he neither replies demurely and sententiously,
and still less makes sharp and satirical remarks;[473] he never acts
a part for the benefit of the public, but he shows a good example and
acquits himself of his duty; he is not a subject to be talked about
when ladies visit one another, nor for the _cabinet_,[474] nor amongst
the newsmongers;[475] he does not provide an amusing gentleman with a
subject for a funny story. The good he does is, indeed, a little less
known, but good he does, and what more could he desire?
(47.) The great ought not to like the early ages of the world, for they
are not favourable to them, and they must feel mortified to see that
we are all descended from one brother and sister. All mankind form but
one family, and the whole difference is merely in the nearer or remote
degree of relationship.
(48.) Theognis[476] is very dandified in his dress, and goes abroad
decked out like a lady; he is scarcely out of the house, and already
his looks and countenance are arranged in a studied manner, so that
he is fit to appear in public, and that the passers-by may behold him
gracefully bestowing his smiles on them. If he enters any apartments at
court, he turns to the right, where there is a large number of people,
and to the left, where there are none; he bows to those who are there
and to those who are not; he embraces the first man he meets, presses
his head against his bosom, and then asks his name. Some one wants his
assistance in a very easy matter of business; he waits on Theognis, and
presents his request, to which the latter kindly listens, is delighted
in being of use to him, and entreats him to procure him opportunities
of serving him; but when the other comes to the point, Theognis tells
him it lies not in his power to help him, begs him to fancy himself in
his position, and to judge for himself. The postulant leaves, is seen
to the door and caressed by Theognis, and becomes so embarrassed that
he is almost satisfied with his request being refused.
(49.) A man must have a very bad opinion of mankind and yet know them
well to believe he can impose on them with studied demonstrations of
friendship and long and useless embraces.
(50.) Pamphilus[477] does not converse with the people he meets in the
apartments at court or in the public walks; but some persons would
think by his serious mien and his loud voice that he admits them into
his presence, gives them audience, and then dismisses them. He has a
stock of phrases, at once civil and haughty; an imperious, gentlemanly
kind of civility, which he makes use of without any discrimination; a
false dignity which debases him, and is very troublesome to his friends
who are loth to despise him.
A true Pamphilus is full of his own merit, keeps himself always
in view, and never forgets his ideas about his grandeur, alliances,
office, and dignity; he takes everything belonging to his escutcheon,
and produces it when he wants to show off; he speaks of his order
and his blue ribbon,[478] which he displays or hides with equal
ostentation. A Pamphilus, in a word, would be a great man, and believes
he is one; but he really is not, and is only an imitation one. If
at any time he smiles on a person of the lower orders, or a man of
intelligence, he chooses his time so well that he is never caught in
the fact; and were he unfortunately caught in the least familiarity
with a person neither rich, powerful, nor the friend of a minister of
state, his relative, nor one of his household,[479] he would blush up
to his ears; he is very severe, and shows no mercy to a man who has not
yet made his fortune. One day he sees you in a public walk and avoids
you; the next day he meets you in a less public place, or, if it be
public, in the company of some great man, and he takes courage, comes
up to you, and says, “Yesterday you pretended not to see me.” Sometimes
he will leave you abruptly to go and speak to some lord and to the
secretary of some minister,[480] and sometimes, finding that you are in
conversation with them, he will pass between you and them[481] and take
them away. Meet him at any other time and he will not stop; you must
run and then heʼll speak so loud as to expose you and him to all within
hearing. Thus the Pamphiluses live, as it were, always on a stage;
they are a class nurtured in dissimulation, who hate nothing more than
to be natural, and who are real actors as much as ever Floridor and
Mondori[482] were.
We can never say enough of the Pamphiluses; they are servile and
timorous before princes and ministers; proud and overbearing to people
who are merely virtuous; dumbfounded and embarrassed before the
learned; brisk, forward, and positive before the ignorant. They talk of
war to a lawyer and of politics to a financier; they pretend to know
history among women, are poets among doctors, and mathematicians among
poets. They do not trouble themselves about maxims, and less about
principles; they live at random, are wafted onward and carried away by
a blast of favour and the attractions of wealth; they have no feelings
of their own, but they borrow them as they want them, and the person to
whom they apply is neither a wise, able, nor virtuous man, but a man of
fashion.
(51.) We nourish a fruitless jealousy and an impotent hatred against
the great and men in power, which, instead of avenging us for their
splendour and position, only adds to our own misery the galling load of
anotherʼs happiness. What is to be done against such an inveterate and
contagious disease of the mind? Let us be satisfied with little, and,
if possible, with less; let us learn to bear those losses which may
occur; the prescription is infallible, and I will try it. Then I shall
refrain from bribing a doorkeeper or from mollifying a secretary;[483]
from being driven from the door by a large crowd of candidates and
courtiers which a ministerʼs house[484] disgorges several times a
day; from repining in an ante-chamber, from presenting to him, whilst
trembling and stammering, a well-founded request; from bearing with his
stateliness, his bitter laugh and his laconism. Now I neither hate nor
envy him any more; he begs nothing of me, nor I of him; we stand on the
same footing, unless perhaps that he is never at rest, and that I am.
(52.) If the great have frequent opportunities of doing us good, they
seldom wish to do so; and if they wanted to injure us it lies not
always in their power; therefore the sort of worship we pay them may
frustrate our expectations, if rendered from other motives but hope or
fear. A man may sometimes live a long while without depending on them
in the least, or being indebted to them for his good or bad fortune.
We ought to honour them, as they are great and we little, and because
there are others less than ourselves who honour us.
(53.) The same passions, the same weaknesses, the same meannesses, the
same eccentricities, the same quarrels in families and among relatives,
the same jealousies and antipathies prevail at court and in town.[485]
You find everywhere daughters-in-law, mothers-in-law, husbands
and wives; divorces, separations, and patched-up reconciliations;
everywhere fancies, fits of passion, partialities, tittle-tattle, and
what is called evil-talking. An observer would easily imagine that the
inhabitants of a small town or of the Rue Saint-Denis were transported
to V ... or to F....[486] In these two last places people display,
perhaps, more pride, haughtiness, and perhaps more decorum in hating
one another; they injure one another with more skill and refinement;
their outbursts of rage are more eloquent, and they insult one another
with more politeness and in a more select phraseology; they do not
defile the purity of the language, they only offend men or blast their
reputations; the outside of vice is handsome, but in reality, I say it
again, it is the same as in the most abject conditions, for whatever is
base, weak, and worthless is found there. These men so eminent by their
birth, by favour, or by their position, these minds so powerful and so
sagacious, these women so polished and so witty, are themselves but
common people, though they despise common people.
The words “common people” include several things; they are a
comprehensive expression, and we may be surprised to see what they
contain and how far they extend. The common people, in opposition to
the great, signify the mob and the multitude; but, as opposed to wise,
able, and virtuous men, they include the great as well as the little.
(54.) The great are governed by sensations; their minds are unoccupied,
and everything makes immediately a strong impression on them. If
anything happens, they talk about it too much; soon after they talk
about it but little, and then not at all, nor ever will; actions,
conduct, execution, incidents are all forgotten; expect from them
neither amendment, foresight, reflection, gratitude, nor reward.
(55.) We are led to two opposite extremes with regard to certain
persons. After their death satires about them are current among the
people, while the churches re-echo with their praises. Sometimes they
deserve neither those libels nor these funeral orations, and sometimes
both.
(56.) The less we talk of the great and powerful the better; if we say
any good of them, it is often almost flattery; it is dangerous to speak
ill of them whilst they are alive, and cowardly when they are dead.
[Illustration]
X.
OF THE SOVEREIGN AND THE STATE.[487]
(1.) When we have cursorily examined all forms of government without
partiality to the one of our fatherland, we cannot decide which to
choose; they are all a mixture of good and evil; it is, therefore, most
reasonable to value that of our native land above all others, and to
submit to it.
(2.) Tyranny has no need of arts or sciences, for its policy, which
is very shallow and without any refinement, only consists in shedding
blood; it prompts us to murder every one whose life is an obstacle
to our ambition; and a man naturally cruel has no difficulty in doing
this. It is the most detestable and barbarous way of maintaining power
and of aggrandisement.
(3.) It is a sure and ancient maxim in politics that to allow the
people to be lulled by festivals, spectacles, luxury, pomp, pleasures,
vanity, and effeminacy, to occupy their minds with worthless things,
and to let them relish trifling frivolities, is efficiently preparing
the way for a despotism.
(4.) Under a despotic government the love for oneʼs native land does
not exist; self-interest, glory, and serving the prince supply its
place.
(5.) To innovate or introduce any alterations in a state is more
a question of time than of action; on some occasions it would be
injudicious to attempt anything against the liberties of the people,
and on others it is evident that everything may be ventured on. To-day
you may subvert the freedom, rights, and privileges of a certain town,
and to-morrow you must not so much as think of altering the signboards
of their shops.[488]
(6.) In public commotions we cannot understand how the people can ever
be appeased, nor in quiet times imagine as little what can disturb them.
(7.) A government connives at certain evils in order to repress or
prevent greater ones. There are others which are only evils because
they originally sprang from abuses or bad customs, but these are less
pernicious in their consequences and practice than would be a juster
law or a more reasonable custom. Some kind of evils, which indeed are
very dangerous, are curable by novelty and change: other evils are
hidden and under ground, as filth in a common sewer; these are buried
in shame, secrecy, and obscurity, and cannot be stirred up or raked
about, without exhaling poison and infamy; so that the ablest men
sometimes doubt whether it be more judicious to take notice of them or
to ignore them. The State not seldom tolerates a comparatively great
evil to keep out millions of lesser ills and inconveniences which
otherwise would be inevitable and without remedy. Some there are,[489]
which are greatly complained of by private persons, but which tend to
benefit the public, though the public be only an aggregate of those
self-same private persons; other ills a person suffers which turn to
the good and advantage of every household; others, again, afflict,
ruin, and dishonour certain families, but tend to benefit and preserve
the working of the machinery of the State and of the government.
Finally, there are some which subvert governments and cause fresh ones
to arise on their ruins; and instances can be quoted of others which
have undermined the foundations of great empires, and utterly destroyed
them, merely to diversify and renew the surface of the globe.
(8.) What does the State care whether Ergastes be rich, has a good pack
of hounds, invents new fashions in carriages and dress, and wantons in
superfluities? Is the interest of a private person to be considered
when the interest and convenience of the public are in question? When
the burdens of the people weigh a little heavy, it is some comfort for
them to know that they relieve their prince and enrich him alone; but
they do not think they are obliged to contribute to the fortune of
Ergastes.
(9.) Even in the most remote antiquity, and in all ages, war has
existed, and has always filled the world with widows and orphans,
drained families of heirs, and destroyed several brothers in one
and the same battle. Young Soyecourt![490] I mourn your loss, your
modesty, your intelligence, already so developed, so clear, lofty, and
communicative; I bewail that untimely death which carried you off, as
well as your intrepid brother, and removed you from a court where you
had barely time to show yourself; such a misfortune is not uncommon,
but nevertheless should be deplored! In every age men have agreed to
destroy, burn, kill, and slaughter one another, for some piece of
land more or less; and to accomplish this with the greater certainty
and ingenuity, they have invented beautiful rules, which they call
“strategy.” When any one brings these rules into practice, glory and
the highest honours are his reward, whilst every age improves on the
method of destroying one another reciprocally. An injustice committed
by the first men was the primary occasion for wars, and made the
people feel the necessity of giving themselves masters to settle their
rights and pretensions. If each man could have been satisfied with his
own property and had not infringed on that of his neighbours, the world
would have enjoyed uninterrupted peace and liberty.