were honest, just to themselves and to others, what would become of
the law, the text and the prodigious amount of commentaries made on
it; what of petitions and actions,[601] and everything people call
jurisprudence? And to what would those persons be reduced who owe
all their importance and pride to the authority with which they are
invested for seeing those laws executed? If those very men were honest
and sincere, and had no prejudices, the wrangles of the schoolmen,
scholasticism, and all controversies would vanish. If all men were
temperate, chaste, and moderate, what would be the use of that
mysterious medical jargon, a gold-mine for those persons who know how
to use it? What a downfall would it be for all lawyers, doctors, and
physicians if we could all agree to become wise!
We would have been obliged to do without many men great in peace and
war. Several arts and sciences have been brought to a high degree
of exquisite perfection, which, so far from being necessary, were
introduced into the world as remedies for those evils only caused by
our wickedness.
How many things have sprung up since Varroʼs[602] times, of which he
was ignorant! Such a knowledge as Plato or Socrates possessed would now
not satisfy us.
(12.) At a sermon, a concert, or in a picture gallery, we can hear in
different parts of the room quite contrary opinions expressed upon the
very same subject; and hence I draw the conclusion that in all kinds of
works we may venture to insert bad things as well as good ones; for the
good please some and the bad others; and we do not risk much more by
putting in the very worst, for it will find admirers.
(13.) The phœnix of vocal poetry rose out of his own ashes, and in
one and the same day saw his reputation lost and recovered. That same
judge so infallible and yet so decided—I mean the public—changed his
views regarding him, and either was, or is now, in error. He who should
say to day that Q ... is a wretched poet would pronounce as bad an
opinion as he who formerly said he was a good one.[603]
(14.) Chapelain was rich and Corneille was not; _La Pucelle_ and
_Rodogune_ deserved a different fate;[604] therefore, it has always
been a question why, in certain professions, one man makes his
fortune and another fails? Men should look for the reason of this in
their own whimsical behaviour, which, on most important occasions, when
their business, their pleasures, their health, and their life are at
stake, often makes them leave what is best and take what is worst.
(15.) The profession of an actor was considered infamous among the
Romans, and honourable among the Greeks: how is it considered amongst
us? We think of them like the Romans, and live with them like the
Greeks.
(16.) It was sufficient for Bathyllus to be a pantomimist to be courted
by the Roman ladies; for Rhoe to dance on the stage, or for Roscia and
Nerina[605] to sing in the chorus to attract a crowd of lovers. Vanity
and impudence, the consequences of being too powerful, made the Romans
lose a taste for pleasures secretly and mysteriously enjoyed; they were
fond of loving actresses, without any jealousy of the audience, and
shared with the multitude the charms of their mistresses; they only
cared to show they loved not a beauty nor an excellent actress, but an
actress.[606]
(17.) Nothing better demonstrates how men regard science and
literature, and of what use they are considered in the State, than
the recompense assigned to them, and the idea generally entertained
of those persons who resolve to cultivate them. There is not a mere
handicraft nor ever so vile a position, that is not a surer, quicker,
and more certain way to wealth. An actor lolling in his coach[607]
bespatters the face of Corneille walking on foot. With many people
learning and pedantry are synonymous.
Often when a rich man speaks and speaks of science, the learned must
be silent, listen, and applaud, at least if they would be considered
something else besides learned.
(18.) A certain boldness is required to vindicate learning before
some persons strongly prejudiced against learned men, whom they call
ill-mannered, wanting in tact, unfit for society, and whom they
send back, stripped in this way, to their study and their books. As
ignorance is easy, and not difficult to acquire, many people embrace
it; and these form a large majority at court and in the city, and
overpower the learned. If the latter allege in their favour the
names of dʼEstrées, de Harlay, Bossuet, Séguier, Montausier, Wardes,
Chevreuse, Novion, Lamoignon, Scudéry, Pellisson,[608] and of many
other personages equally learned and polite; nay, if they dare
mention the great names of Chartres, Condé, Conti, Bourbon, Maine, and
Vendôme,[609] as princes who to the noblest and loftiest acquirements
add Greek atticism and Roman urbanity, those persons do not hesitate
to reply that such examples are exceptional; and the sound arguments
brought forward are powerless against public opinion. However, it seems
that people should be more careful in giving their decisions, and at
least not take the trouble of asserting that intellects producing such
great progress in science, and making persons think well, judge well,
speak well, and write well, could not acquire polite accomplishments.
No very great intelligence is necessary to have polished manners, but a
great deal is needed to polish the mind.
(19.) A politician says: “Such a man is learned, and therefore not
fit for business; I would not trust him to take an inventory of my
wardrobe;” and he is quite right, Ossat, Ximenes, and Richelieu[610]
were learned, but were they men of ability and considered able
ministers? “He understands Greek,” continues our statesman, “he is a
pedant,[611] a philosopher.” According to this argument an Athenian
fruit-woman who probably spoke Greek was a philosopher, and the Bignons
and Lamoignons[612] are mere pedants, and nobody can doubt it, for they
know Greek. How whimsical and crack-brained was the great, the wise,
and judicious Antoninus to say: “That a people would be happy whose
ruler was philosophising, or who should be governed by a philosopher or
a scribbler.”[613]
Languages are but the keys or entrance-gates of sciences, and nothing
more; he that despises the one slights the other. It matters little
whether languages are ancient or modern, dead or living, but whether
they are barbarous or polite and whether the books written in them are
good or bad. Suppose the French language should one day meet with the
fate of the Greek and Latin tongues; would it be considered pedantic to
read Molière or La Fontaine some ages after French had ceased to be a
living language?
(20.) If I mention Eurypilus, you say he is a wit.
You also call a man who shapes a beam a carpenter, and him who builds
a wall a bricklayer. Let me ask you where this wit has his workshop,
and what is his sign? Can we recognise him by his dress? What are his
tools? Is it a wedge, a hammer, an anvil? Where does he rough-hew or
shape his work, and where is it for sale? A workman is proud of his
trade; is Eurypilus proud of being a wit? If he is proud of it, he is
a coxcomb, who debases the natural dignity of his intellect, and has a
low and mechanical mind, which never seriously applies itself to what
is either lofty or intellectual; and if he is not proud of anything,
and this I understand to be his real character, then he is a sensible
and intelligent man. Do you not bestow the title of “wit” on every
pretender to learning and on every wretched poet? Do you not think you
have some intelligence, and if so, no doubt a first-rate and practical
one? But do you consider yourself, therefore, a wit, and would you not
deem it an insult to be called so? However, I give you leave to call
Eurypilus so, and this ironically, as fools do, and without the least
discrimination, or as ignorant people do who console themselves by
irony for the want of a certain culture which they perceive in others.
(21.) I do not wish to hear anything more about pen, ink, or paper,
style, printer, or press! Venture no more to tell me: “Antisthenes, you
are a first-rate author; continue to write. Shall we never see a folio
volume of yours? Speak of all the virtues and vices in one connected
and methodical treatise, without end,” and they should also add,
“without any sale.” I renounce everything that either was, is, or will
be a book! Beryllus swoons when he sees a cat,[614] and I on beholding
a book. Am I better fed or warmer clothed; is my room sheltered against
northern blasts; have I so much as a feather-bed,[615] after having had
my works for sale for more than twenty years? You say I have a great
name and a first-rate reputation: you may just as well tell me that I
have a stock of air I cannot dispose of. Have I one grain of that metal
which procures all things? The low pettifogger[616] swells his bill,
get costs paid which never came out of his pocket, and a count or a
magistrate becomes his son-in-law. A man in a red or filemot-coloured
dress[617] is changed into a secretary, and in a little time is richer
than his master, who remains a commoner whilst he buys a title for
hard cash. B ...[618] enriches himself by some waxwork show; B ...
by selling some bottled river-water.[619] Another quack[620] arrives
with one trunk from the other side of the Pyrenees; it is scarcely
unpacked when pensions rain on him, and he is ready to return whence
he came with plenty of mules and cartloads full of property. Mercury
is Mercury,[621] and nothing else; and as gold alone cannot pay
his go-betweens and his intrigues, he obtains, moreover, favour and
distinctions. To confine myself to lawful gain, you pay a tiler for his
tiles and a workman for his time and labour; but do you pay an author
for his thoughts and writings? and if his thoughts are excellent, do
you pay him liberally? Does he furnish his house or become ennobled by
thinking or writing well? Men must be clothed and shaved,[622] have
houses with doors that shut close; but where is the necessity of their
being well informed? It were folly, simplicity, stupidity, continues
Antisthenes, to set up for an author or a philosopher! Get me, if
possible, some lucrative post which may make my life easy, enable me to
lend some money to a friend, and give to those who cannot return it;
and then I can write for recreation or indolently, just as Tityrus[623]
whistles or plays on the flute; Iʼll have that or nothing, and will
write on those conditions; I will yield to the violence of those who
take me by the throat and exclaim, “You shall write!” I have the title
of my new book ready for them: “Of beauty, goodness, truth, ideas, of
first principles, by Antisthenes, a fishmonger.”
(22.) If the ambassadors of some foreign princes[624] were apes who had
learned to walk on their hind-legs, and to make themselves understood
by interpreters, it could not surprise us more than the correctness
of their answers, and the common sense which at times appears in their
discourse. Our prepossession in favour of our native country and our
national pride makes us forget that common sense is found in all
climates, and correctness of thought wherever there are men. We should
not like to be so treated by those we call barbarians; and if some
barbarity still exists amongst us, it is in being amazed on hearing
natives of other countries reason like ourselves.
All strangers are not barbarians, nor are all our countrymen civilised;
in like manner every country is not savage,[625] nor every town
polished. There exists in Europe, in a large kingdom, a certain place
in a maritime province where the villagers are gentle and affable,
and, on the contrary, the burgesses and the magistrates coarse, with a
boorishness inherited from their ancestors.[626]
(23.) In spite of our pure language, our neatness in dress, our
cultivated manners, our good laws and fair complexion, we are
considered barbarians by some nations.
(24.) If we should hear it reported of an Eastern nation that they
habitually drink a liquor which flies to their head, drives them mad,
and makes them very sick, we should say they are barbarians.
(25.) This prelate seldom comes to court, lives retired, and is never
seen in the company of ladies: he neither plays grand nor little
_primero_,[627] is not present at feasts or spectacles, is not a party
man, and does not intrigue; he is always in his diocese, where he
resides, devotes himself to instructing his people by preaching and
edifying them by his example; spends his wealth in charity, and wastes
away through doing penance; he is strict in the observance of his
duties, but his zeal and piety are like those of the apostles. Times
are changed, and in the present reign he is threatened with a higher
clerical dignity.[628]
(26.) Persons of a certain position, and members of a profession of
great dignity, to say no more,[629] should understand that they are
not to gamble, sing, and be as jocular as other men, so that the world
may talk about them; if they see them so pleasant and agreeable, it
will not be believed that they are elsewhere staid and severe. May
we venture to hint that by acting in such an undignified manner they
offend against those polished manners upon which they pride themselves,
and which, on the contrary, modify outward behaviour and make it suit
any condition of life, cause them to avoid strong contrasts, and never
show the same man in these various shapes as a compound of eccentricity
and extravagance.
(27.) At a first and single glance we ought not to judge of men as
of a picture or statue; there is an inner man, and a heart to be
searched; a veil of modesty covers merit, and a mask of hypocrisy
covers wickedness. Few there are whose discernment authorises them to
decide; it is but gradually, and even then, perhaps, compelled by time
and circumstances, that perfect virtue or absolute vice show themselves
in their true colours.
(28.) A FRAGMENT.... “He said that the intelligence of this fair lady
was like a diamond in a handsome setting,” and, continuing to speak
of her, he added: “Her common sense and agreeable manners charm the
eyes and hearts of all who converse with her, so that they do not know
whether to love or to admire her most; she can be a perfect friend,
or produce such an impression that her admirers feel inclined to
transgress the bounds of friendship. Too young and healthy-looking not
to please, but too modest to affect it, she esteems men only for their
merit, and believes she has only friends; her vivacity and sentiment
surprise and interest us, and though she knows perfectly the delicacies
and niceties of conversation, she sometimes suddenly makes some happy
observations, which give a great deal of pleasure and need not be
answered. She speaks to you like one who is not learned, who is not
certain of anything, and wants to be informed; and she listens to you
as a person who knows a great deal, highly values what you say, and
on whom nothing of what you say is lost. Far from pretending to be
witty by contradicting you, and by imitating Elvira, who had rather
be thought sprightly than a woman of sense and sound judgment, she
adopts your thoughts, thinks they are her own, enlarges on them, and
embellishes them; and makes you pleased you have thought so correctly
and expressed yourself better than you believed you did. She shows her
contempt for vanity in her conversation and in her writings, and never
employs witticisms instead of arguments, for she is aware that true
eloquence is always unaffected. If it is to serve any one and to induce
you to do the same, Arténice leaves to Elvira all pretty speeches and
literary phraseology, and only tries to convince you by her sincerity,
ardour, and earnestness. What she likes above everything is reading, as
well as conversing with persons of merit and reputation, and this not
so much to be known to them, as to know them. We may already commend
her for all the wisdom she will have one day, and for all the merit
she will have in time to come; her behaviour is without reproach; she
has the best intentions, and principles which cannot be shaken, and
are very useful to those who, like her, are exposed to be courted and
flattered. She rather likes to be alone, without, however, altogether
shunning society, and indeed without even being inclined to retirement,
so that perhaps she wants nothing but opportunities, or, as some would
call it, a large stage for the display of all her qualities.[630]
(29.) The more natural a handsome woman is, the more amiable she
appears; she loses nothing by being not in full dress, and without any
other ornaments than her beauty and her youth. An artless charm beams
on her countenance and animates every little action, so that there
would be less danger in seeing her adorned in splendid and fashionable
apparel. Thus an honest man is respected for his own sake, independent
of any outward deportment by which he endeavours to give himself a
graver appearance and to make his virtue more apparent. An austere
look, an exaggerated modesty, eccentricity in dress, and a large
skull-cap, add nothing to his probity nor heighten his merit;[631] they
conceal it, and perhaps make it appear less pure and ingenuous than it
is.
Gravity too affected becomes comical; it is like extremities which join
one another, and of which the centre is dignity; this cannot be called
being grave, but acting the part of a grave man; a person who studies
to assume a serious appearance will never succeed. Either gravity is
natural, or there is no such thing, and it is easier to descend from it
than to attain it.
(30.) A man of talent and of good repute, if he is peevish and austere,
frightens young people and gives them a bad opinion of virtue, as they
are afraid it requires too much austerity, and is too tiresome. If,
on the contrary, he is cheerful and easily accessible, his example
is instructive to them, for it teaches them that men may live happy,
do a good deal of work, and yet be serious without giving up decent
diversions; he thus is an exemplar they can follow.
(31.) We should not judge of men by their countenance; but it may serve
to make a guess at their character.
(32.) A clever look in men is the same as regularity of features among
women; it is a kind of beauty which the vainest endeavour to acquire.
(33.) When a man is known to have merit and intelligence, he is
never ugly, however plain he may be; or if even he is ugly, it leaves
no bad impression.[632]
(34.) A good deal of art is needed to return to nature; a good deal of
time, practice, attention, and labour to dance with the same freedom
and ease we walk with; to sing as we speak; to throw as much vivacity,
passion, and persuasion in a studied speech to be publicly delivered as
in one which we sometimes naturally use, without any preparation, and
in familiar conversation.
(35.) They who without sufficient knowledge have a bad opinion of us,
do not wrong us; they do not attack us, but a phantom of their own
imagination.
(36.) Some trifling regulations have to be followed in certain places,
some duties have to be fulfilled at certain times, and some decorum has
to be observed by certain persons, which could not be divined by the
most intelligent people, and which custom teaches without any trouble:
we should, therefore, not condemn men who omit these things, as they
have not been taught them, neither should we decide their characters by
the shape of their nails or the curl of their hair; if we do form such
a judgment we shall soon find out our error.
(37.) I doubt whether it be lawful to judge of some men by a single
fault, or if extreme necessity, a violent passion, or a sudden impulse
prove anything.
(38.) If we wish to know the truth about certain affairs or certain
persons, we should believe the very opposite of the reports circulated
about them.
(39.) Unless we are very firm and pay continual attention to what we
utter, we are liable to say “yes” and “no” about the same thing or
person in an hourʼs time, induced to do this merely by a sociable and
friendly disposition, which naturally leads a person not to contradict
men who hold different opinions.
(40.) A partial man is exposed to frequent mortifications; for it is
as impossible for his favourites always to be happy or wise as for
those who are out of his favour always to be at fault or unfortunate;
and, therefore, he often is put out of countenance either through the
failure of his friends, or some glorious deed done by those whom he
dislikes.
(41.) A man liable to be prejudiced who ventures to accept an
ecclesiastical or civil dignity is like a blind man wishing to be an
artist, a dumb man who would be an orator, or a deaf man desiring
to judge a symphony; these are but faint comparisons imperfectly
expressing the wretchedness of prejudice. Besides, prejudice is a
desperate and incurable disease, contaminating all who approach the
patient, so that his equals, inferiors, relatives, friends, and even
the doctors abandon him; it is past their skill to work any cure if
they cannot make him confess what is his disease, and acknowledge that
the remedies to heal it are to listen, to doubt, to inquire, and to
examine. Flatterers, rogues, and slanderers, those who never open their
mouths but to lie or to advance their own interests, are the quacks in
whom he trusts, and who make him swallow all they please; they thus
poison and kill him.
(42.) Descartesʼ rule never to decide on the slightest truth before it
is clearly and distinctly understood is sufficiently grand and correct
to extend to the judgment we form of persons.
(43.) Some men have a bad opinion of our intellect, morals, and
manners; but we are well revenged when we see the worthless and base
character of their favourites.
On this principle a man of merit is neglected and a blockhead admired.
(44.) A blockhead is a man without enough intelligence to be a coxcomb.
(45.) A blockhead thinks a coxcomb a man of merit.
(46.) An impertinent man is an egregious coxcomb; a coxcomb wearies,
bores, disgusts, and repels you; an impertinent man repels, embitters,
irritates, and offends; he begins where the other ends.
A coxcomb is somewhat of an impertinent man and of a blockhead, and is
a medley of both.
(47.) Vices arise from a depraved heart; faults from some defect in our
constitution; ridicule from want of sense.
A ridiculous man is one who, whilst he is so, has the appearance of a
blockhead.
A blockhead is always ridiculous, for that is his character; an
intelligent man may sometimes be ridiculous, but will not be so long.
An error in conduct makes a wise man ridiculous.
Foolishness is a criterion of a blockhead, vanity of a coxcomb, and
impertinence of an impertinent man; ridicule seems sometimes to dwell
in those who are really ridiculous, and sometimes in the imagination of
those who believe they perceive ridicule where it neither is nor can be.
(48.) Coarseness, clownishness, and brutality may be the vices of an
intelligent man.
(49.) A stupid man is a silent blockhead, and is more bearable than a
talkative blockhead.
(50.) What is often a slip of the tongue or a jest from a man of sense
is a blunder when said by a blockhead.
(51.) If a coxcomb would be afraid of saying something not exactly
right he would no longer be a coxcomb.
(52.) One proof of a commonplace intellect is to be always relating
stories.
(53.) A blockhead does not know what to do with himself; a coxcomb is
free, easy, and confident in his manners; an impertinent man becomes
impudent; and merit is always modest.
(54.) A conceited man is one in whom a knowledge of certain details,
dignified by the name of business, is added to a very middling
intellect.
One grain of sense and one ounce[633] of business more than there are
in a conceited man, make the man of importance.
While people only laugh at a man of importance he has no other name;
but when they begin to complain of him he may be called arrogant.
(55.) A gentleman is between a clever man and an honest man, though not
as distant from the one as from the other.[634]
The difference between a gentleman and a clever man diminishes each
day, and will soon disappear altogether.
A clever man does not blaze forth his passions, understands his own
interests, sacrifices many things to them, has acquired some wealth,
and knows how to keep it.
A gentleman is not a highwayman, commits no murders, and, in one word,
has no flagrant vices.
It is very well known that an honest man is a gentleman; but it is
comical to think that every gentleman is not an honest man.
An honest man is neither a saint nor a pretender in religion, but has
only confined himself to being virtuous.
(56.) Genius, taste, intelligence, good sense, are all different, but
not incompatible.
Between good sense and good taste there is as much difference as
between cause and effect.
Intelligence is to genius as the whole is in proportion to its part.