such a manner, that to them it seems to be of no use whatever; we
therefore deem it no small commendation of any man to say he thinks;
this has become a common eulogy, and yet it places a man only above a
dog or a horse.
(104.) “How do you amuse yourself? How do you pass your time?” fools
and clever people ask you. If I answer, in opening my eyes, in seeing,
hearing, and understanding, in enjoying health, rest, and freedom, that
is nothing; the solid, the great, and the only advantages of life are
of no account. “I gamble, I intrigue,” are the answers they expect.
Is it good for a man to have too great and extensive a freedom, which
only induces him to wish for something else, which would be to have
less liberty?
Liberty is not indolence; it is a free use of time; it is to choose
our labour and our relaxation; in one word, to be free is not to do
nothing, but to be the sole judge of what we wish to do and to leave
undone; in this sense liberty is a great boon.
(105.) Cæsar was not too old to think of conquering the entire world;
his sole happiness was to lead a noble life and to leave behind him a
great name; being naturally proud and ambitious, and enjoying robust
health, he could not better employ his time than in subjugating all
nations. Alexander was very young for so serious a design; it is
surprising that women or wine did not sooner ruin the undertaking of a
man of such tender years.[662]
(106.) A young prince, of an august race,[663] the love and hope of
his people, granted by Heaven to prolong the felicity of this earth,
greater than his ancestors, the son of a hero who is his exemplar,
has by his divine qualities and anticipated virtues already convinced
the universe that the sons of heroes are nearer being so than other
men.[664]
(107.) If the world is only to last a hundred million years, it is
still in all its freshness, and has but just begun; we ourselves are so
near the first men and the patriarchs, that remote ages will not fail
to reckon us among them. But if we may judge of what is to come by what
is past, what new things will spring up in arts, sciences, in nature,
and, I venture to say, even in history, which are as yet unknown to us!
What discoveries will be made! What various revolutions will happen in
states and empires! What ignorance must be ours, and how slight is an
experience of not above six or seven thousand years!
(108.) No way is too tedious for him who travels slowly and without
being in a hurry; no advantages are too remote for those who have
patience.
(109.) To court nobody, and not to expect to be courted by any one, is
a happy condition, a golden age, and the most natural state of man.[665]
(110.) Those who follow courts or live in towns only care for the
world; but those who dwell in the country care for nature, for they
alone live, or at least know that they live.
(111.) Why this coldness, and why do you complain of some expressions
which escaped me about some of our young courtiers? You are not
vicious, Thrasyllus? If you are, it is unknown to me; but you yourself
tell me so; what I do know is that you are no longer young.
You are personally offended at what I said of some great men, but you
should not cry out when other people are hurt. Are you haughty, wicked,
a buffoon, a flatterer, or a hypocrite? I protest I was ignorant of it,
and did not think of you; I was speaking of men of high rank.
(112.) Moderation and a certain prudent behaviour leave men unknown; in
order to be known and admired they must have great virtues, or perhaps
great vices.
(113.) Whether men are of a superior or of an inferior condition, as
soon as they are successful, their fellow-men are prejudiced in their
favour, delighted and in raptures; a crime which has not failed is
almost as much commended as real virtue, and luck supplies the place
of all qualities; it must be an atrocious action, a foul and nefarious
attempt indeed, which success cannot justify.[666]
(114.) Men, led away by fair appearances and specious pretences, are
easily induced to like and approve an ambitious scheme contrived by
some great man; they speak feelingly of it; its boldness or novelty
pleases them; it is already familiar to them, and they expect naught
but its success. But should it happen to miscarry, they confidently,
and without any regard for their former judgment, decide that the plan
was rash and could never succeed.[667]
(115.) Certain designs are of such great splendour and of such enormous
consequence, that people talk about them for a long time; that they
lead nations to fear or to hope, according to their various interests,
and that a man stakes his glory and his entire fortune on them. After
appearing on the worldʼs stage with such pomp he cannot slink away in
silence; whatever terrible dangers he foresees will be the consequences
of his undertaking; he must commence it; the smallest evil he has to
expect will be a failure.
(116.) You cannot make a great man of a wicked man; you may commend
his plans and contrivances, admire his conduct, extol his skill in
employing the surest and shortest means to obtain his end; but if his
purpose be bad, prudence has no share in it, and where prudence is
wanting no greatness can ever exist.
(117.) An enemy is dead who was at the head of a formidable army, and
intended to cross the Rhine; he understood the art of war, and his
experience might have been seconded by fortune. What bonfires were lit,
and what rejoicings took place! But there are other men, naturally
odious, who are disliked by every one; it is therefore not on account
of their success, nor because people fear they might be successful,
that the voice of the public is lifted up, and that the very childrenʼs
hearts leap for joy as soon as it is rumoured abroad that the earth is
at length rid of them.[668]
(118.) “O times! O morals!”[669] exclaims Heraclitus.[670] “O
unfortunate age, rich in bad examples, when virtue is persecuted and
crime is predominant and triumphant!” I will turn a Lycaon or an
Ægistheus,[671] for I can never meet with a better opportunity nor a
more favourable conjuncture; if, at least, I desire to be prosperous
and to flourish. A certain personage[672] says, “I will cross the sea;
I will dispossess my father of his patrimony; I will drive him, his
wife, and his heir from their territory and kingdom;” and he not only
says it but does it. What he had reason to dread was the resentment of
many kings, insulted in the person of one monarch. But they side with
him; they almost have said to him: “Cross the sea, rob your father; and
let the entire world witness how a king can be driven from his kingdom,
as if he were a petty lord turned out from his castle, or a farmer from
his farm; show them that there is no longer any difference between
private persons and ourselves. We are tired of these distinctions;
teach the world that the nations whom God has placed underneath our
feet may abandon us, betray us, and give us up, and themselves as well,
into the hands of the stranger, and that they have less to fear from
us than we have to dread them and their power.”[673] What person can
behold such a sad scene without shedding tears or being deeply moved!
Every office has its privileges, and every official speaks, pleads,
and agitates to defend them; the royal dignity alone enjoys no longer
such privileges, and the kings themselves have renounced them. Only
one among them, ever kind-hearted and magnanimous, opens his arms
to receive an unhappy family;[674] all the others league themselves
against him as if to avenge the assistance he lends to a cause which
is theirs as well; spite and jealousy have more weight with them than
considerations for their honour, religion, and rule, and even than
domestic and personal interests; they do not perceive that, I will
not say their election, but their very succession, and even their
hereditary rights are at stake. Finally, in every one of them personal
feelings prevail over those of a sovereign. One prince was going to
set Europe free, and free himself as well from an ominous enemy; he was
just on the point of reaping the glory of having destroyed a mighty
empire when he abandoned his plan, and joined in a war in which success
is far from certain.[675] Those rulers who by virtue of their position
are arbitrators and mediators temporise; and when they could already
have interfered and done some good, they only promise they will do
so.[676] “O shepherds,” continues Heraclitus, “O ye rustics who dwell
in hovels and cottages; if the course of events does not affect you, if
your hearts are not pierced by the malice of men, if man is no longer
mentioned among you, but foxes and lynxes are the only subjects of your
conversation, allow me to dwell with you, to appease my hunger with
your black bread, and to quench my thirst with the water from your
wells.”
[Illustration: WILLIAM III]
(119.) Ye little men, only six feet high, or at most seven, who, as
soon as you have reached eight feet, are to be seen for money in
booths at the fairs, as giants and wonders; who, without blushing,
give yourselves the titles of “highnesses” and “eminences,” which
is the utmost that can be granted to those mountain-tops so near
the sky that they see the clouds form underneath them; ye haughty,
vain-glorious animals who despise all other creatures, and who cannot
even be compared to an elephant or a whale, draw near, ye men, and
answer Democritus. Do you not commonly speak of “hungry wolves,
furious lions, and mischievous monkeys?” Pray, who are you? “Man is
a rational creature” is continually dinned in my ears. Who gave you
this appellation? Did the wolves, or the lions, or the monkeys do so,
or did you take it yourselves? It is already very ridiculous that you
should bestow on animals, your fellow-creatures, all the bad epithets,
and take the best for yourselves; leave it to them to give names, and
you will see that they will not forget themselves, and how you will
be treated. I do not mention, O men, your frivolities, your follies
and caprices, which place you lower than the mole or the tortoise,
who wisely move along quietly and follow invariably their own natural
instinct; but listen to me for a moment: You say of a goshawk if it be
very swift-winged and swoops well down on a partridge, that it is a
good bird; of a greyhound following a hare very close and catching it,
that it is a first-rate dog; it is also quite right that you should
say of a man who hunts the wild boar, brings it to bay, walks up to it
and kills it with a spear, that he is a courageous man. But if you see
two dogs barking at each other, provoke, bite, and tear one another to
pieces, you say they are foolish creatures, and take a stick to part
them. If any one should come and tell you that all the cats of a large
country met in a plain in their thousands and tens of thousands, and
that after they had squalled to their heartsʼ content they had fallen
upon each other tooth and nail; that about ten thousand of them had
been left dead on the spot and infected the air for ten leagues round
with their evil-smelling carcasses; would you not say that it was the
most disgraceful row you ever heard? And if the wolves acted in the
same way, what a butchery would there be, and what howls would be
heard! Now, if these two kind of animals were to tell you they love
glory, would you come to the conclusion that this glory consists in
their meeting together in such a way to destroy and annihilate their
own species; and if you have come to such a conclusion, would you
not laugh heartily at the folly of these poor animals? Like rational
creatures, and to distinguish yourselves from those which only make
use of their teeth and claws, you have invented spears, pikes, darts,
sabres, and scimitars, and, in my opinion, very judiciously; for what
could you have done to one another merely with your hands, except
tearing your hair, scratching your faces, and, at best, gouging one
anotherʼs eyes out; whilst now you are provided with convenient
instruments for making large wounds and for letting out the utmost drop
of your blood, without there being any fear of your remaining alive?
But as you grow more rational from year to year, you have greatly
improved the old fashion of destroying yourselves; you use certain
little globes[677] which kill at once, if they but hit you on the head
or chest; you have other globes, heavier and more massive,[678] which
cleverly cut you in two or disembowel you, without counting those
falling on your roof,[679] breaking through the floors from the garret
to the cellar, which they destroy, and blowing up your wife who is
lying-in, and the child, the nurse, and the house as well. And yet this
is glory, which delights in all this hurly-burly and mighty hubbub! You
have also defensive arms, and according to the rules and regulations,
when waging war, you should put on a suit of iron, no doubt a pretty
becoming dress, which always puts me in mind of those four famous
fleas, formerly shown by a cunning artist, a quack, who knew how to
keep them alive in a glass phial; each of those little animals wore a
helmet, their bodies were covered by a breastplate; they had vambraces,
knee-pieces, and a spear at their side; their accoutrements were quite
perfect, and thus they skipped and jumped about in their bottle. Fancy
a man of the size of Mount Athos,[680] and why not? Would a soul be
puzzled to animate such a body, for it would have plenty of room to
move about in? If such a manʼs sight were piercing enough to discover
you somewhere upon earth, with your offensive and defensive arms, what
do you think would be his opinion of a parcel of little marmosets thus
equipped, and of what you call war, cavalry, infantry, a memorable
siege, a famous battle? Shall I never hear any other sound buzz in
my ears? Is the world only filled with regiments and companies? Has
everything been changed to battalions and squadrons?—He takes a town,
then a second, then a third; he wins a battle, two battles, he drives
away the enemy, he conquers by sea, by land.—Do you say these things
of one of you, or of a giant, a Mount Athos? There is a remarkable
man amongst you, pale and livid,[681] with not ten ounces of flesh on
his bones, and who would be blown down by the least gust of wind, one
would think, and yet he makes more noise than half-a-dozen men, and
sets everything in a blaze; he has just now been fishing in troubled
waters, and caught a whole island at once; in another place, it is
true, he is beaten and pursued, but escapes into the bogs,[682] and
will hearken neither to peace nor to truce. He began betimes to show
what he could do, and so severely bit his nurseʼs breast[683] that the
poor woman died of it; I know what I mean, and that is sufficient. To
conclude: he was born a subject and is no longer one; on the contrary,
he is now the master, and those whom he has overcome and brought under
his yoke are harnessed to the plough and till the ground with might and
main; those good people seem even afraid of being unyoked one day and
of becoming free, for they have pulled out the thong and lengthened the
handle of the whip of the man who drives them; they forget nothing that
can increase their slavery; they let him cross the water so that he may
get new vassals and acquire fresh territories; and to succeed in this
he has, it is true, only to take his father and mother by the shoulders
and throw them out of doors, and they aid him in this virtuous
undertaking. The people on this side and that side of the water
subscribe, and each pays his share, to render him every day more and
more formidable to all; the Picts and the Saxons compel the Batavians
to be silent, and the latter act in the same manner to the Picts and
Saxons; they may all boast of being his humble slaves, as they wished
to be. But what do I hear of certain personages who wear crowns? I do
not mean counts or marquesses, who swarm on this earth, but princes and
sovereigns. This man does but whistle, and they come at his call; they
uncover as soon as they are in his anteroom, and never speak but when
he asks them a question.[684] Are these the same princes who cavil so
much and are so precise about rank and precedence, and who spend whole
months in regulating such questions whilst some Diet is assembled? What
shall this new ruler[685] do to reward so blind a submission, and to
satisfy the high opinion they have of him? If a battle is to be fought,
he must win it, and in person; if the enemy besieges a town, he must
go raise the siege and drive him away with ignominy, unless the ocean
be between him and the enemy;[686] it is the least he can do to please
his courtiers. Cæsar[687] himself comes and swells their number; at
least he expects important services from him; for either the “archon”
and his allies will fail, which is more difficult than impossible to
conceive, or, if he succeeds, and nothing resists him, he is ready
with his allies, who are jealous of Cæsarʼs religion and greatness, to
rush upon him, snatch away his eagle, and reduce him and his heir to
the “fasces argent”[688] and to his hereditary dominions. But there is
no use saying anything more; they have all voluntarily given themselves
up to the man whom they should perhaps have distrusted the most.
Would Esop not have told them that “the feathered tribe of a certain
country got alarmed and frightened at being near a lion, whose mere
roar terrified them; they went to the animal, who persuaded them he
would come to some arrangement, and take them under his protection. The
end of it was that he gobbled them all up one after another.”
[Illustration]
XIII
OF FASHION.
(1.) It is very foolish, and betrays what a small mind we have, to
allow fashion to sway us in everything that regards taste, in our way
of living, our health, and our conscience. Game is out of fashion, and
therefore insipid, and fashion forbids to cure a fever by bleeding.
This long while it has also not been fashionable to depart this life
shriven by Theotimus; now none but the common people are saved by his
pious exhortations, and he has already beheld his successor.[689]
(2.) To have a hobby is not to have a taste for what is good and
beautiful, but for what is rare and singular, and for what no one
else can match; it is not to like things which are perfect, but those
which are most sought after and fashionable. It is not an amusement
but a passion, and often so violent that in the meanness of its object
it only yields to love and ambition. Neither is it a passion for
everything scarce and in vogue, but only for some particular object
which is rare, and yet in fashion.
The lover of flowers has a garden in the suburbs, where he spends all
his time from sunrise till sunset. You see him standing there, and
would think he had taken root in the midst of his tulips before his
“Solitaire;” he opens his eyes wide, rubs his hands, stoops down and
looks closer at it; it never before seemed to him so handsome; he is
in an ecstasy of joy, and leaves it to go to the “Orient,” then to the
“Veuve,” from thence to the “Cloth of Gold,” on to the “Agatha,” and at
last returns to the “Solitaire,” where he remains, is tired out, sits
down, and forgets his dinner; he looks at the tulip and admires its
shade, shape, colour, sheen, and edges, its beautiful form and calix;
but God and nature are not in his thoughts, for they do not go beyond
the bulb of his tulip, which he would not sell for a thousand crowns,
though he will give it to you for nothing when tulips are no longer in
fashion, and carnations are all the rage. This rational being, who has
a soul and professes some religion, comes home tired and half-starved,
but very pleased with his dayʼs work; he has seen some tulips.[690]
Talk to another of the healthy look of the crops, of a plentiful
harvest, of a good vintage, and you will find he only cares for fruit,
and understands not a single word you say; then turn to figs and
melons; tell him that this year the pear-trees are so heavily laden
with fruit that the branches almost break, that there are abundance of
peaches, and you address him in a language he completely ignores, and
he will not answer you, for his sole hobby is plum-trees. Do not even
speak to him of your plum-trees, for he only is fond of a certain kind,
and laughs and sneers at the mention of any others; he takes you to his
tree and cautiously gathers this exquisite plum, divides it, gives you
one half, keeps the other himself, and exclaims: “How delicious! do you
like it? is it not heavenly? You cannot find its equal anywhere;” and
then his nostrils dilate, and he can hardly contain his joy and pride
under an appearance of modesty. What a wonderful person, never enough
praised and admired, whose name will be handed down to future ages! Let
me look at his mien and shape whilst he is still in the land of the
living, that I may study the features and the countenance of a man who,
alone amongst mortals, is the happy possessor of such a plum.[691]
Visit a third, and he will talk to you about his brother collectors,
but especially of Diognetes.[692] He admits that he admires him,
but that he understands him less than ever. “Perhaps you imagine,”
he continues, “that he endeavours to learn something of his medals,
and considers them speaking evidences of certain facts that have
happened, fixed and unquestionable monuments of ancient history. If
you do, you are wholly wrong. Perhaps you think that all the trouble
he takes to become master of a medallion with a certain head on it is
because he will be delighted to possess an uninterrupted series of
emperors. If you do, you are more hopelessly wrong than ever. Diognetes
knows when a coin is worn, when the edges are rougher than they ought
to be, or when it looks as if it had been newly struck; all the drawers
of his cabinet are full, and there only is room for one coin; this
vacancy so shocks him that in reality he spends all his property and
literally devotes his whole lifetime to fill it.”
“Will you look at my prints?” asks Democedes,[693] and in a moment he
brings them out and shows them to you. You see one among them neither
well printed nor well engraved, and badly drawn, and, therefore, more
fit on a public holiday to be stuck against the wall of some house
on the “Petit-Pont” or in the “Rue Neuve”[694] than to be kept in a
collection. He allows it to be badly engraved and worse drawn; but
assures you it was done by an Italian who produced very little, and
that hardly any of these prints have been struck off, so that he has
the only one in France, for which he paid a very heavy price, and would
not part with it for the very best print to be got. “I labour under
a very serious affliction,” he continues, “which will one day or
other cause me to give up collecting engravings; I have all Callotʼs
etchings,[695] except one, which, to tell the truth, so far from
being the best, is the worst he ever did, but which would complete my
collection; I have hunted after this print these twenty years, and now
I despair of ever getting it; it is very trying!”
Another man criticises those people who make long voyages either
through nervousness or to gratify their curiosity; who write no
narrative or memoirs, and do not even keep a journal; who go to see
and see nothing, or forget what they have seen; who only wish to get a
look at towers or steeples they never saw before, and to cross other
rivers than the Seine or the Loire; who leave their own country merely
to return again, and like to be absent, so that one day it may be said
they have come from afar; so far this critic is right and is worth
listening to.