Diderot and the Encyclopaedists Volume II Part 18

Can you teach well without method? And method, whence comes that? I vow to you, my dear philosopher, I have a notion that physics will always be a poor science, a drop of water raised by a needle-point from the vast ocean, a grain loosened from an Alpine chain. And then, seeking the reasons of phenomena! In truth, one might every whit as well be ignorant, as know so little and know it so ill; and that was exactly my doctrine when I gave myself out for a music-master. What are you musing over?

_I._--I am thinking that all you have told me is more specious than solid. But that is no matter. You taught, you say, accompaniment and composition.

_He._--Yes.

_I._--And you knew nothing about either.

_He._--No, i' faith; and that is why there were worse than I was, namely those who fancied they knew something. At any rate, I did not spoil either the child's taste or its hands. When they pa.s.sed from me to a good master, if they had learnt nothing, at all events they had nothing to unlearn, and that was always so much time and so much money saved.

_I._--What did you do?

_He._--What they all do! I got there, I threw myself into a chair.

"What shocking weather! How tiring the streets are!" Then some gossip: "Mademoiselle Lemierre was to have taken the part of Vestal in the new opera, but she is in an interesting condition for the second time, and they do not know who will take her place.

Mademoiselle Arnould has just left her little Count: they say she is negotiating with Bertin.... That poor Dumesnil no longer knows either what he is saying or what he is doing.... Now, Miss, take your book." While Miss, who is in no hurry, is looking for her book, which is lost, while they call the housemaid and scold and make a great stir, I continue--"The Clairon is really incomprehensible. They talk of a marriage which is outrageously absurd: 'tis that of Miss ... what is her name? a little creature that used to live with so and so, etcetera, etcetera:--Come, Rameau, you are talking nonsense; it is impossible.--I don't talk nonsense at all; they even say it is done. There is a rumour that Voltaire is dead, and so much the better.--And pray, why so much the better?--Because he must be going to give us something more laughable than usual; it is always his custom to die a fortnight before." What more shall I tell you? I used to tell certain naughtinesses that I brought from houses where I had been, for we are all of us great fetchers and carriers. I played the madman, they listened to me, they laughed, they called out: How charming he is! Meanwhile Missy's book had been found under the sofa, where it had been pulled about, gnawed, torn by a puppy or a kitten. She sat down to the piano. At first she made a noise on it by herself; then I went towards her, after giving her mother a sign of approbation.

The mother: "That is not bad; people have only to be in earnest, but they are not in earnest; they would rather waste their time in chattering, in disarranging things, in gadding hither and thither, and I know not what besides. Your back is no sooner turned, M.

Rameau, than the book is shut up, not to be opened until your next visit; still you never scold her." Then, as something had to be done, I took hold of her hands and placed them differently; I got out of temper, I called out "_Sol, Sol, Sol_, Miss, it is a _Sol_."

The mother: "Have you no ear? I am not at the piano, and I can't see your book, yet I know it ought to be a _Sol_. You are most troublesome to your teacher; I can't tell how he is so patient; you do not remember a word of what he says to you; you make no progress...." Then I would lower my tone rather, and throwing my head on one side, would say: "Pardon me, madam, all would go very well if the young lady liked, if she only studied a little more; but it is not bad." The mother: "If I were you, I should keep her at one piece for a whole year." "Oh, as for that, she shall not leave it before she has mastered every difficulty, and that will not be as long as you may think." "Monsieur Rameau, you flatter her, you are too good. That is the only part of the lesson which she will keep in mind, and she will take care to repeat it to me upon occasion...." And so the time got over; my pupil presented me my little fee, with the curtsey she had learnt from the dancing master. I put it into my pocket while the mother said: "Very well done, mademoiselle; if Favillier were here, he would applaud you."

I chattered a moment or two for politeness' sake, and behold, that was what they call a music lesson.

_I._--Well, and now it is quite another thing?

_He._--Another thing! I should think so, indeed. I get there. I am deadly grave; I take off my cuffs hastily, I open the piano, I run my fingers over the keys, I am always in a desperate hurry. If they keep me waiting a moment, I cry out as if they were robbing me of a crown piece: in an hour from now I must be so and so; in two hours, with the d.u.c.h.ess of so and so; I am expected to dine with a handsome marchioness, and then, on leaving her, there is a concert at the baron's....

_I._--And all the time n.o.body is expecting you anywhere at all?

_He._--No.

_I._--What vile arts!

_He._--Vile, forsooth! Why vile? They are customary among people like me; I don't lower myself in doing like everybody else. I was not the inventor of them, and it would be most absurd and stupid in me not to conform to them. Of course, I know very well that if you go to certain principles of some morality or other, which all the world have in their mouths, and which none of them practise, you will find black is white, and white will become black. But, my philosopher, there is a general conscience, just as there is a general grammar; and then the exceptions in each language that you learned people call--what is it you call them?

_I._--Idioms.

_He._--Ah, exactly; well, each condition of life has its exceptions to the general conscience, to which I should like to give the t.i.tle of idioms of vocation.

_I._--I understand. Fontenelle speaks well, writes well, though his style swarms with French _idioms_.

_He._--And the sovereign, the minister, the banker, the magistrate, the soldier, the man of letters, the lawyer, the merchant, the artisan, the singing master, the dancing master, are all most worthy folk, though their practice strays in some points from the general conscience, and abounds in moral idioms. The older the inst.i.tution, the more the idioms; the worse the times, the more do idioms multiply. The man is worth so much, his trade is worth the same; and reciprocally. At last, the trade counts for so much, the man for the same. So people take care to make the trade go for as much as they can.

_I._--All that I gather clearly from this twisted stuff is, that there are very few callings honestly carried on, and very few honest men in their callings.

_He._--Good, there are none at all; but in revenge, there are few rogues out of their own shops; and all would go excellently but for a certain number of persons who are called a.s.siduous, exact, fulfilling their strict duty most rigorously, or, what comes to the same thing, for ever in their shops, and carrying on their trade from morning until night, and doing nothing else in the world. So they are the only people who grow rich and are esteemed.

_I._--By force of idioms.

_He._--That is it; I see you understand me. Now, an idiom that belongs to nearly all conditions--for there are some that are common to all countries and all times, just as there are follies that are universal--a common idiom, is to procure for one's self as many customers as one possibly can; a common folly is to believe that he is cleverest who has most of them. There are two exceptions to the general conscience, with which you must comply.

There is a kind of credit; it is nothing in itself, but it is made worth something by opinion. They say, _good character is better than golden girdle_: yet the man who has a good character has not a golden girdle, and I see nowadays that the golden girdle hardly stands in much need of character. One ought, if possible, to have both girdle and character, and that is my object when I give myself importance by what you describe as vile arts, and poor unworthy tricks. I give my lesson and I give it well; behold the general rule. I make them think I have more lessons to give than the day has hours; behold the idiom.

_I._--And the lesson; you do give it well?

_He._--Yes, not ill; pa.s.sably. The thorough ba.s.s of the dear master has simplified all that. In old days I used to steal my pupil's money. Yes, I stole it, that is certain; now I earn it, at least like my neighbours.

_I._--And did you steal it without remorse?

_He._--Oh, without remorse. They say that if one thief pilfers from another, the devil laughs. The parents were bursting with a fortune, which had been got the Lord knows how. They were people about the court, financiers, great merchants, bankers. I helped to make them disgorge, I and the rest of the people they employed. In nature, all species devour one another; so all ranks devour one another in society. We do justice on one another, without any meddling from the law. The other day it was Deschamps, now it is Guimard, who avenges the prince of the financier; and it is the milliner, the jeweller, the upholsterer, the hosier, the draper, the lady's-maid, the cook, the saddler, who avenge the financier of Deschamps. In the midst of it all, there is only the imbecile or the sloth who suffers injury without inflicting it. Whence you see that these exceptions to the general conscience, or these moral idioms about which they make such a stir, are nothing, after all, and that you only need to take a clear survey of the whole.

_I._--I admire yours.

_He._--And then misery! The voice of conscience and of honour is terribly weak, when the stomach calls out. Enough to say that if ever I grow rich I shall be bound to restore, and I have made up my mind to restore in every possible fas.h.i.+on, by eating, drinking, gambling, and whatever else you please.

_I._--I have some fears about your ever growing rich.

_He._--I have suspicions myself.

_I._--But if things should fall so, what then?

_He._--I would do like all other beggars set on horseback: I would be the most insolent ruffler that has ever been seen. Then I should recall all that they have made me go through, and should pay them back with good interest all the advances that they have been good enough to make me. I am fond of command, and I will command. I am fond of praise, and I will make them praise me. I will have in my pay the whole troop of flatterers, parasites, and buffoons, and I'll say to them, as has been said to me: "Come, knaves, let me be amused," and amused I shall be; "Pull me some honest folk to pieces," and so they will be, if honest folk can be found. We will be jolly over our cups, we will have all sorts of vices and whimsies; it will be delicious. We will prove that Voltaire has no genius; that Buffon, everlastingly perched upon his stilts, is only a turgid declaimer; that Montesquieu is nothing more than a man with a touch of ingenuity; we will send D'Alembert packing to his fusty mathematics. We will welcome before and behind all the pigmy Catos like you, whose modesty is the prop of pride, and whose sobriety is a fine name for not being able to help yourselves.

_I._--From the worthy use to which you would put your riches, I perceive what a pity it is that you are a beggar. You would live thus in a manner that would be eminently honourable to the human race, eminently useful to your countrymen, and eminently glorious for yourself.

_He._--You are mocking me, sir philosopher. But you do not know whom you are laughing at. You do not suspect that at this moment I represent the most important part of the town and the court. Our millionaires in all ranks have, or have not, said to themselves exactly the same things as I have just confided to you; but the fact is, the life that I should lead is precisely their life. What a notion you people have; you think that the same sort of happiness is made for all the world. What a strange vision! Yours supposes a certain romantic spirit that we know nothing of, a singular character, a peculiar taste. You adorn this incongruous mixture with the name of philosophy; but now, are virtue and philosophy made for all the world? He has them who can get them, and he keeps them who can. Imagine the universe sage and philosophical; agree that it would be a most diabolically gloomy spot. Come, long live philosophy! The wisdom of Solomon for ever! To drink good wines, to cram one's self with dainty dishes, to rest in beds of down: except that, all, all is vanity and vexation of spirit.

_I._--What, to defend one's native land?

_He._--Vanity; there is native land no more; I see nought from pole to pole but tyrants and slaves.

_I._--To help one's friends?

_He._--Vanity; has one any friends? If one had, ought we to turn them into ingrates? Look well, and you will see that this is all you get by doing services. Grat.i.tude is a burden, and every burden is made to be shaken off.

_I._--To have a position in society and fulfil its duties?

_He._--Vanity; what matters it whether you have a position or not, provided you are rich, since you only seek a position to become rich? To fulfil one's duties, what does that lead to? To jealousy, trouble, persecution. Is that the way to get on? Nay, indeed: to see the great, to court them, study their taste, bow to their fancies, serve their vices, praise their injustice--there is the secret.

_I._--To watch the education of one's children?

_He._--Vanity; that is a tutor's business.

_I._--But if this tutor, having picked up his principles from you, happens to neglect his duties, who will pay the penalty?

_He._--Not I, at any rate, but most likely the husband of my daughter, or the wife of my son.

_I._--But suppose that they both plunge into vice and debauchery?

_He._--That belongs to their position.

_I._--Suppose they bring themselves into dishonour?

_He._--You never come into dishonour, if you are rich, whatever you do.