“But it is unpleasant not to answer attacks—not
to retaliate on enemies.”
“Then answer attacks, and retaliate on enemies.”
“But would that be wise?”
“If it give you pleasure—it would
not please me.”
“Come, De Montaigne, you are reasoning Socratically.
I will ask you plainly and bluntly, would you advise
an author to wage war on his literary assailants,
or to despise them?”
“Both; let him attack but few, and those rarely.
But it is his policy to show that he is one whom
it is better not to provoke too far. The author
always has the world on his side against the critics,
if he choose his opportunity. And he must always
recollect that he is ’A STATE’ in himself,
which must sometimes go to war in order to procure
peace. The time for war or for peace must be
left to the State’s own diplomacy and wisdom.”
“You would make us political machines.”
“It would make every man’s conduct more
or less mechanical; for system is the triumph of mind
over matter; the just equilibrium of all the powers
and passions may seem like machinery. Be it so.
Nature meant the world—the creation—man
himself, for machines.”
“And one must even be in a passion mechanically,
according to your theories.”
“A man is a poor creature who is not in a passion
sometimes; but a very unjust, or a very foolish one,
if he be in a passion with the wrong person, and in
the wrong place and time. But enough of this,
it is growing late.”
“And when will Madame visit England?”
“Oh, not yet, I fear. But you will meet
Cesarini in London this year or the next. He
is persuaded that you did not see justice done to his
poems, and is coming here as soon as his indolence
will let him, to proclaim your treachery in a biting
preface to some toothless satire.”
“Satire!”
“Yes; more than one of your poets made their
way by a satire, and Cesarini is persuaded he shall
do the same. Castruccio is not as far-sighted
as his namesake, the Prince of Lucca. Good night,
my dear Ernest.”
“When with much pains this boasted
learning’s got,
’Tis an affront to those who
have it not.”
CHURCHILL: The
Author.
THERE was something in De Montaigne’s conversation,
which, without actual flattery, reconciled Maltravers
to himself and his career. It served less, perhaps,
to excite than to sober and brace his mind. De
Montaigne could have made no man rash, but he could
have made many men energetic and persevering.
The two friends had some points in common; but Maltravers
had far more prodigality of nature and passion about
him—had more of flesh and blood, with the
faults and excellences of flesh and blood. De
Montaigne held so much to his favourite doctrine of
moral equilibrium, that he had really reduced himself
in much to a species of clockwork. As impulses
