Chapter XXI: Appendix

The following collection of Foreign Bulls was given us by a man of letters, who is now father of the French Academy.

* * * * *

RECUEIL DE BÊTISES.

Toutes les nations ont des contes plaisans de bêtises échappées non seulement à des personnes vraiment bêtes, mais aux distractions de gens qui ne sont pas sans esprit. Les Italiens ont leurs _spropositi_, leur arlequin ses balourdises, les Anglois leurs _blunders_, les Irlandois leurs _bulls_.

Mademoiselle Maria Edgeworth ayant fait un recueil de ces derniers, je prends la liberté de lui offrir un petit recueil de nos bêtises qui méritent le nom qu’elles portent aussi bien que les _Irish bulls_. J’ai fait autrefois une dissertation où je recherchois quelle étoit la cause du rire qu’excitent les bêtises, et dans laquelle j’appuyois mon explication de beaucoup d’exemples et peut-être même du mien sans m’en appercevoir; mais la femme d’esprit à qui j’ai adressé cette folie l’a perdue, et je n’ai pas pu la recouvrir.

Je me souviens seulement que j’y prouvois _savamment_ que le rire excité par les bêtises est l’effet du contraste que nous saisissons entre l’effort que fait l’homme qui dit la bêtise, et le mauvais succès de son effort. J’assimilois la marche de l’esprit dans celui qui dit une bêtise, à ce qui arrive à un homme qui cherchant à marcher légèrement sur un pavé glissant, tombe lourdement, ou aux tours mal-adroits du paillasse de la foire. Si l’on veut examiner les bêtises rassemblèes ici, on y trouvera toujours un effort manqué de ce genre.

Un homme, dont la femme avoit été saignée, interrogé le lendemain pourquoi elle ne paroissoit pas à table, répondit:--“Elle garde la chambre: Morand l’a saignée hier, et une saignée affoiblit beaucoup quand elle est faite par un habile homme.”

M. de Baville, intendant du Languedoc, avoit un secrétaire fort bête: il se servoit un jour de lui pour écrire au ministre sur des affaires très importantes et dicta ces mots: “Ne soyez point surpris de ce que je me sers d’une main étrangère pour vous écrire sur cet objet. Mon secrétaire est si bête qu’à ce moment même il ne s’apperçoit pas que je vous parle de lui.”

On demandoit à un abbé de Laval Montmorency quel âge avoit son frère le maréchal dont il étoit l’aîné. “Dans deux ans,” dit-il, “nous serons du même âge.”

On se préparoit à observer une éclipse, et le roi devoit assister à l’observation. M. de Jonville disoit à M. Cassini--“N’attendra-t-on pas le roi pour commencer l’éclipse?”

Une femme du peuple qui avoit une petite fille malade avec le transport au cerveau, disoit au médecin, “Ah, monsieur, si vous l’aviez entendu cette nuit! elle a déraisonnée comme une grande personne.”

Un homme avoit parié 25 louis qu’il traverseroit le grand bassin des Thuileries par un froid très rigoureux; il alla jusqu’au milieu, renonça à son entreprise, et revint par le même chemin en disant, “J’aime mieux perdre vingt-cinq louis que d’avoir une fluxion de poitrine.”

Un homme voyoit venir de loin un médecin de sa connoissance qui l’avoit traité plusieurs années auparavant dans une maladie; il se détourna, et cacha son visage pour n’être pas reconnu. On lui demandoit, “Pourquoi.”--“C’est,” dit-il, “que je suis honteux devant lui de ce qu’il y a fort long temps que je n’ai été malade.”

On demande à un homme qui vouloit vendre un cheval, “Votre cheval est-il peureux?” “Oh, point du tout,” répond-il; “il vient de passer plusieurs nuits tout seul dans son écurie.”

Dans une querelle entre un père et son fils, le père reprochoit à celui-ci son ingratitude. “Je ne vous ai point d’obligations,” disoit le fils; “vous m’avez fait beaucoup de tort; si vous n’étiez point né, je serois à présent l’héritier de mon grand-père.”

Un avare faisant son testament, se fit lui-même son héritier.

Un homme voyoit un bateau si chargé que les bords en étoient à fleur d’eau: “Ma foi,” dit-il, “si la rivière étoit un peu plus haute le bateau iroit à fond.”

M. Hume, dans son histoire d’Angleterre, parlant de la conspiration attribuée aux Catholiques en 1678 sous Charles II. rapporte le mot d’un chevalier Player qui félicitoit la ville des précautions qu’elle avoit prises--“Et sans lesquelles,” disoit-il, “tous les citoyens auroient couru risque de se trouver égorgés le lendemain à leur réveil.”

Le maire d’une petite ville, entendant une querelle dans la rue au milieu de la nuit, se lève du lit, et ouvrant la fenêtre, crie aux passans, “Messieurs, me lèverai-je?”

Un sot faisoit compliment à une demoiselle don’t la mère venoit de se marier en secondes noces avec un ancien ami de la maison--“Mademoiselle,” lui dit-il, “je suis ravi de ce que monsieur votre père vient d’épouser madame votre mère.”

Racine, qui avoit été toute sa vie courtisan très attentif, étoit enterré à Port Royal des Champs dont les solitaires s’étoient attirés l’indignation de Louis XIV. M. de Boissy, célèbre par ses distractions, disoit, “Racine n’auroit pas fait cela de son vivant.”

On racontait dans une conversation que Monsieur de Buffon avoit disséqué une de ses cousines, et une femme se récrioit sur l’inhumanité de l’anatomiste. M. de Mairan lui dit, “Mais, madame, elle étoit morte.”

On parloit avec admiration de la belle vieillesse d’un homme de quatre-vingt dix ans, quelqu’un dit--“Cela vous étonne, messieurs; si mon père n’étoit pas mort, il auroit à présent cent ans accomplis.”

Mouet, de l’opera comique, conte qu’arrivant de Lyon, et ne voulant pas qu’on sut qu’il étoit à Paris, il recommanda à son laquais, supposé qu’il fut rencontré, de dire qu’il étoit à Lyon. Le laquais trouve un ami de son maitre, qui lui en demande des nouvelles. “Il est à Lyon,” dit-il, “et il ne sera de retour que la semaine prochaine.” “Mais,” continue le questionneur, “que portez-vous là?” “Ce sont quelques provisions qu’il m’a envoyé chercher pour son diner.”

Un homme examinoit un dessin représentant la coupe d’un vaisseau construit en Hollande; quelqu’un lui dit, “Est-ce que monsieur entend le Hollandois?”

Un homme de loi disoit qu’on ne pouvait pas faire une stipulation valable avec un muet. Un des écoutans lui dit, “Monsieur le docteur, et avec un boiteux, seroit-elle bonne?”

Un homme se plaignoit que la maison de son voisin lui ôtoit la vue d’une de ses fenêtres; un autre lui dit, “Vous avez un remède; faites murer cette fenêtre.”

Un homme ayarit écrit à sa maitresse, avoit glissé le billet sous la porte, et puis s’avisant que la fille ne pourroit pas s’en appercevoir il en écrivit un autre en ces termes, “J’ai mis un billet sous votre porte; prenez-y garde quand vous sortirez.”

_Un homme étant sur le point de marier sa fille unique, se brouille avec le prétendant, et dans sa colere il dit, “Non, monsieur, vous ne serez jamais mon gendre, et quand j’aurois cent filles uniques, je ne vous en donnerois pas une.”

On avoit reçu à la grande poste une lettre avec cette adresse, _à Monsieur mon fils, Rue, &c_. On alloit la mettre au rebut; un commis s’y oppose, et dit qu’on trouvera à qui la lettre s’adresse. Dix ou douze jours se passent. On voit arriver un grand benêt, qui dit, “Messieurs, je viens savoir si on n’auroit pas garde ici une lettre de mon cher père?” “Oui, monsieur,” lui dit le commis, “la voilà.” On prête ce trait à Bouret, fermier général.

Milord Albemarle étant aux eaux d’Aix-la-Chapelle, et ne voulant pas être connu, ordonna a un negre qui le servoit, si on lui demandoit qui étoit son maitre, de dire qu’il étoit Frangois. On ne manqua pas de faire la question an noir, qui répondit, “_Mon maître est Franpois, et mot aussi_.”

Un marchand, en finissant d’écrire une lettre à un de ses correspondans, mourut subitement. Son commis ajouta en P.S. “Depuis ma lettre écrite je suis mort ce matin. Mardi an soir _7ème_,” &c.

Un petit marchand prétendoit avoir acheté trois sols ce qu’il vendoit pour deux. On lui représente que ce commerce le ruinera--“Ah,” dit-il, “je me sauve sur la quantité.”

Le chevalier de Lorenzi, étant à Florence, étoit allé se promener avec trois de ses amis à quelques lieues de la ville, à pied. Ils revenoient fort las; la nuit approchoit; il veut se reposer: on lui dit qu’il restoit quatres milles à faire--“Oh,” dit-il, “nous sommes quatres; ce n’est qu’un mille chacun.”

On pretend qu’un fermier général voulant s’éviter l’ennui ou s’épargner les frais des lettres dont on l’accabloit au nouvel an, écrivoit au mois de Décembre à tous les employés de son département qu’il les dispensoit du cérémonial, et que ceux-ci lui réponderoient pour l’assurer qu’ils se conformeroient à ses ordres.

Maupertuis faisoit instruire un perroquet par son laquais, et vouloit qu’on lui apprit des mots extraordinaires. Depuis deux ans le laquais, enseignoit à l’animal à dire _monomotapa_, et le perroquet n’en disoit que des syllabes séparées. Maupertuis faisoit des reproches au laquais; “Oh, monsieur,” dit celui-ci, “cela ne va pas si vîte; je lui ai d’abord appris _mo_ et puis _no_.” “Vous êtes un bête,” dit Maupertuis, “il faut lui dire le mot entier.” “Monsieur,” reprend le laquais, “il faut lui donner le temps de comprendre.”

Il y a en Italien une lettre pleine de _spropositi_ assez plaisans. Un homme écrit à son ami, “Abbiamo avuto un famosissimo tremoto, che se per la misericordia de Dio avesse durato una mezza hora di piu, saremmo tutti andati al paradiso, che Dio ce ne liberi. Vi mando quatordici pere, e sono tutti boni cristiani. A questa fiéra i porci sono saliti al cielo. O ricevete, o non ricevete questa, datemene aviso.”

FOOTNOTES:

[24] Natural History, century iii. p. 191.--_Bacon produces it to show that echoes will not readily return the letter S._.

[25] “Un savant écrivoit à un ami, et un importun étoit à côté de lui, qui regardoit par dessus l’épaule ce qu’il écrivoit. Le savant, qui s’en apperçut, écrivit ceci à la place: ‘Si un impertinent qui est à mon côté ne regardoit pas ce que j’écris, je vous écrirois encore plusieurs choses qui ne doivent être sues que de vous et de moi.’ L’importun, qui lisoit toujours, prit la parole et dit: ‘Je vous jure que je n’ai regardé ni lû ce que vous écriviez.’ Le savant repartit, ‘Ignorant, que vous êtes, pourquoi me dites-vous done ce que vous dites?’” _Les Paroles Remarquables des Orientaux; traduction de leurs ouvrages en Arabe, en Persan, et en Turc (suivant la copie imprimée à Paris), à la Haye, chez Louis et Henry Vandole, marchands libraires, dans le Pooten, à l’enseigne du Port Royal, M.DC.XCIV._

[26] “Le bailli nous donne an diable, et nous nous recommandons à vous, monseigneur.”

[27] On faisoit compliment à madame Denis de la façon dont elle venoit de jouer Zaïre. “Il faudroit,” dit elle, “être belle et jeune.” “Ah, madame!” reprit le complimenteur naïvement, “vous êtes bien la preuve du contraire.”

[28] Locke’s Essay concerning the Human Understanding, fifteenth edit. vol. i. p. 292.

[29] “De moi je commence à douter tout de ben.
Pourtant quand je me tâte, et quand je me rappelle,
Il me semble que je suis moi.”

[30] “So Indian murd’rers hope to gain
The powers and virtues of the slain,
Of wretches they destroy.”

[31] Vide Mémoires du Cardinal de Retz.

[32] Vide Sir W. Hamilton’s account of an eruption of Mount Vesuvius.

[33] This fact, _we believe_, is mentioned in a letter of Mrs. Cappe’s on parish schools.

[34] Vide Mrs. Piozzi’s English Synonymy.

[35] John Lydgate.

[36] Iliad, 6th book, l. 432, Andromache says to Hector, “You will make your son an orphan, and your wife a widow.”

[37] Lord Chesterfield.

[38] Essay on Chemical Nomenclature, by S. Dickson, M.D.; in which are comprised observations on the same subject, by R. Kirwan, Pres. R.I.A,--Vide pages 21, 22, 23, &c.

[39] This conjuror, whose name was Broadstreet, was a native of the county of Longford, in Ireland: he by this hit pocketed 200_l._, and proved himself to be more knave than fool.

[40] A gripe or fast hold.

[41] An oak stick, supposed to be cut from the famous wood of Shilala.

[42] This is nearly verbatim from a late Irish complainant.

[43] “Pleurez, pleurez, mes yeux, et fondez vous en eau,
La moitié de ma vie a mis l’autre au tombeau.”

[44] “Il pover uomo che non sen’ era accorto,
Andava combattendo, ed erà morto.”

[45] See his account of the siege of Gibraltar.

[46] Life of Hyder Ali Khan, vol. ii. p. 231.

[47] See the advice of Cleomenes to Crius. HERODOTUS EBATO.

[48] It is said that the waters of the Garonne are famed for a similar virtue.

[49] The stomach.

[50] This ancient old man, we fear, was more knave than fool. History informs us, that the Bishop of Rochester had diverted the revenue, appropriated for keeping Sandwich harbour in repair, to the purpose of building a steeple.--Vide Fuller’s Worthies of England, page 65.

[51] Baskets.

[52] Vide Robertson’s History of Scotland.

[53] Slink calf.

[54] This was written down a few minutes after it had been spoken.

[55] James Adams, S.R.E.S., author of a book entitled, “The Pronunciation of the English Language vindicated from imputed Anomaly and Caprice; with an Appendix on the Dialects of Human Speech in all Countries, and an analytical Discussion and Vindication of the Dialect of Scotland.”

[56] Vide Illustrations on Sublimity, in his Essays.

[57] The glossary to the Lancashire dialect informs us, that _‘lieve me_ comes from _beleemy_, believe me; from _belamy_, my good friend, _old French_.

[58] Gawmbling (_Anglo-Saxon_, gawmless), stupid.

[59] “Every thing speaks against us, even our silence.”

[60] Lord Chatham.

[61] Your hands alone have a right to conquer the unconquerable.

[62] And when Caesar was the only emperor within the dominion of Rome, he suffered me to be another.

[63] This bull was really made.

[64] Castle Rackrent.

[65] Il y a des nations dont l’une semble faite pour être soumise à l’autre. Les Anglois ont toujours eu sur les Irlandois la superiorite du génie, des richesses, et des armes. _La supériorite que les blancs ont sur les noirs_.

[66] “On lisait dans les premières éditions, _la supèrioritè que les blancs ont sur les négres_. M. de Voltaire effaça cette expression injurieuse. L’état presque sauvage ou étoit l’Irlande lorsqu’elle fut conquise, la superstition, l’oppression exercée par les Anglois, le fanatisme religieux qui divise les Irlandois en deux nations ennemies, telles sont les causes qui ont retenues ce peuple dans l’abaissement et dans la foiblesse. Les haines religieuses se sont assoupies, et elle a repris sa liberté. _Les Irlandois ne le cédent plus aux Anglois, ni en industrie ni en lumières_.”

[67] See O’Halloran’s History of Ireland.

[68] Author of Chiysal, or Adventures of a Guinea.

[69] Author of the beautiful moral tale Nourjahad.

AN ESSAY ON THE NOBLE SCIENCE OF SELF-JUSTIFICATION.

* * * * *

“For which an eloquence that aims _to vex_,
With native tropes of anger arms the _sex_.”--_Parnell._

* * * * *

Endowed as the fair sex indisputably are, with a natural genius for the invaluable art of self-justification, it may not be displeasing to them to see its rising perfection evinced by an attempt to reduce it to a science. Possessed, as are all the fair daughters of Eve, of an hereditary propensity, transmitted to them undiminished through succeeding generations, to be “soon moved with slightest touch of blame;” very little precept and practice will confirm them in the habit, and instruct them in all the maxims of self-justification.

Candid pupil, you will readily accede to my first and fundamental axiom--that a lady can do no wrong.

But simple as this maxim may appear, and suited to the level of the meanest capacity, the talent of applying it on all the important, but more especially on all the most trivial, occurrences of domestic life, so as to secure private peace and public dominion, has hitherto been monopolized by the female adepts in the art of self-justification.

Excuse me for insinuating by this expression, that there may yet be amongst you some novices. To these, if any such, I principally address myself.

And now, lest fired by ambition you lose all by aiming at too much, let me explain and limit my first principle, “That you can do no wrong.” You must be aware that real perfection is beyond the reach of mortals, nor would I have you aim at it; indeed it is not in any degree necessary to our purpose. You have heard of the established belief in the infallibility of the sovereign pontiff, which prevailed not many centuries ago:--if man was allowed to be infallible, I see no reason why the same privilege should not be extended to woman;--but times have changed; and since the happy age of credulity is past, leave the opinions of men to their natural perversity--their actions are the best test of their faith. Instead then of a belief in your infallibility, endeavour to enforce implicit submission to your authority. This will give you infinitely less trouble, and will answer your purpose as well.

Right and wrong, if we go to the foundation of things, are, as casuists tell us, really words of very dubious signification, perpetually varying with custom and fashion, and to be adjusted ultimately by no other standards but opinion and force. Obtain power, then, by all means: power is the law of man; make it yours. But to return from a frivolous disquisition about right, let me teach you the art of defending the wrong. After having thus pointed out to you the glorious end of your labours, I must now instruct you in the equally glorious means.

For the advantage of my subject I address myself chiefly to married ladies; but those who have not as yet the good fortune to have that common enemy, a husband, to combat, may in the mean time practise my precepts upon their fathers, brothers, and female friends; with caution, however, lest by discovering their arms too soon, they preclude themselves from the power of using them to the fullest advantage hereafter. I therefore recommend it to them to prefer, with a philosophical moderation, the future to the present.

Timid brides, you have, probably, hitherto been addressed as angels. Prepare for the time when you shall again become mortal. Take the alarm at the first approach of blame; at the first hint of a discovery that you are any thing less than infallible:--contradict, debate, justify, recriminate, rage, weep, swoon, do any thing but yield to conviction.

I take it for granted that you have already acquired sufficient command of voice; you need not study its compass; going beyond its pitch has a peculiarly happy effect upon some occasions. But are you voluble enough to drown all sense in a torrent of words? Can you be loud enough to overpower the voice of all who shall attempt to interrupt or contradict you? Are you mistress of the petulant, the peevish, and the sullen tone? Have you practised the sharpness which provokes retort, and the continual monotony which by setting your adversary to sleep effectually precludes reply? an event which is always to be considered as decisive of the victory, or at least as reducing it to a drawn battle:--you and Somnus divide the prize.

Thus prepared for an engagement, you will next, if you have not already done it, study the weak part of the character of your enemy--your husband, I mean: if he be a man of high spirit, jealous of command and impatient of control, one who decides for himself, and who is little troubled with the insanity of minding what the world says of him, you must proceed with extreme circumspection; you must not dare to provoke the combined forces of the enemy to a regular engagement, but harass him with perpetual petty skirmishes: in these, though you gain little at a time, you will gradually weary the patience, and break the spirit of your opponent. If he be a man of spirit, he must also be generous; and what man of generosity will contend for trifles with a woman who submits to him in all affairs of consequence, who is in his power, who is weak, and who loves him?

“Can superior with inferior power contend?” No; the spirit of a lion is not to be roused by the teasing of an insect.

But such a man as I have described, besides being as generous as he is brave, will probably be of an active temper: then you have an inestimable advantage; for he will set a high value upon a thing for which you have none--time; he will acknowledge the force of your arguments merely from a dread of their length; he will yield to you in trifles, particularly in trifles which do not militate against his authority; not out of regard for you, but for his time; for what man can prevail upon himself to debate three hours about what could be as well decided in three minutes?

Lest amongst infinite variety the difficulty of immediate selection should at first perplex you, let me point out, that matters of _taste_ will afford you, of all others, the most ample and incessant subjects of debate. Here you have no criterion to appeal to. Upon the same principle, next to matters of taste, points of opinion will afford the most constant exercise to your talents. Here you will have an opportunity of citing the opinions of all the living and dead you have ever known, besides the dear privilege of repeating continually:--“Nay, you must allow _that_.” Or, “You can’t deny this, for it’s the universal opinion--every body says so! every body thinks so! I wonder to hear you express such an opinion! Nobody but yourself is of that way of thinking!” with innumerable other phrases, with which a slight attention to polite conversation will furnish you. This mode of opposing authority to argument, and assertion to proof, is of such universal utility, that I pray you to practise it.

If the point in dispute be some opinion relative to your character or disposition, allow in general, that “you are sure you have a great many faults;” but to every specific charge reply, “Well, I am sure I don’t know, but I did not think _that_ was one of my faults! nobody ever accused me of that before! Nay, I was always remarkable for the contrary; at least before I was acquainted with you, sir: in my own family I was always remarkable for the contrary: ask any of my own friends; ask any of them; they must know me best.”

But if, instead of attacking the material parts of your character, your husband should merely presume to advert to your manners, to some slight personal habit which might be made more agreeable to him; prove, in the first place, that it is his fault that it is not agreeable to him; ask which is most to blame, “she who ceases to please, or he who ceases to be pleased”[70]--His eyes are changed, or opened. But it may perhaps have been a matter almost of indifference to him, till you undertook its defence: then make it of consequence by rising in eagerness, in proportion to the insignificance of your object; if he can draw consequences, this will be an excellent lesson: if you are so tender of blame in the veriest trifles, how impeachable must you be in matters of importance! As to personal habits, begin by denying that you have any; or in the paradoxical language of Rousseau,[71] declare that the only habit you have is the habit of having none: as all personal habits, if they have been of any long standing, must have become involuntary, the unconscious culprit may assert her innocence without hazarding her veracity.

However, if you happen to be detected in the very fact, and a person cries, “Now, now, you are doing it!” submit, but declare at the same moment--“That it is the very first time in your whole life that you were ever known to be guilty of it; and therefore it can be no habit, and of course nowise reprehensible.”

Extend the rage for vindication to all the objects which the most remotely concern you; take even inanimate objects under your protection. Your dress, your furniture, your property, every thing which is or has been yours, defend, and this upon the principles of the soundest philosophy: each of these things all compose a part of your personal merit (Vide Hume); all that connected the most distantly with your idea gives pleasure or pain to others, becomes an object of blame or praise, and consequently claims your support or vindication.

In the course of the management of your house, children, family, and affairs, probably some few errors of omission or commission may strike your husband’s pervading eye; but these errors, admitting them to be errors, you will never, if you please, allow to be charged to any deficiency in memory, judgment, or activity, on your part.

There are surely people enough around you to divide and share the blame; send it from one to another, till at last, by universal rejection, it is proved to belong to nobody. You will say, however, that facts remain unalterable; and that in some unlucky instance, in the changes and chances of human affairs, you may be proved to have been to blame. Some stubborn evidence may appear against you; still you may prove an alibi, or balance the evidence. There is nothing equal to balancing evidence; doubt is, you know, the most philosophic state of the human mind, and it will be kind of you to keep your husband perpetually in this sceptical state.

Indeed the short method of denying absolutely all blameable facts, I should recommend to pupils as the best; and if in the beginning of their career they may startle at this mode, let them depend upon it that in their future practice it must become perfectly familiar. The nice distinction of simulation and dissimulation depends but on the trick of a syllable; palliation and extenuation are universally allowable in self-defence; prevarication inevitably follows, and falsehood “is but in the next degree.”

Yet I would not destroy this nicety of conscience too soon. It may be of use in your first setting out, because you must establish credit; in proportion to your credit will be the value of your future asseverations.

In the mean time, however, argument and debate are allowed to the most rigid moralist. You can never perjure yourself by swearing to a false opinion.

I come now to the art of reasoning: don’t be alarmed at the name of reasoning, fair pupils; I will explain to you my meaning.

If, instead of the fiery-tempered being I formerly described, you should fortunately be connected with a man, who, having formed a justly high opinion of your sex, should propose to treat you as his equal, and who in any little dispute which might arise between you, should desire no other arbiter than reason; triumph in his mistaken candour, regularly appeal to the decision of reason at the beginning of every contest, and deny its jurisdiction at the conclusion. I take it for granted that you will be on the wrong side of every question, and indeed, in general, I advise you to choose the wrong side of an argument to defend; whilst you are young in the science, it will afford the best exercise, and, as you improve, the best display of your talents.

If, then, reasonable pupils, you would succeed in argument, attend to the following instructions.

Begin by preventing, if possible, the specific statement of any position, or if reduced to it, use the most general terms, and take advantage of the ambiguity which all languages and which most philosophers allow. Above all things, shun definitions; they will prove fatal to you; for two persons of sense and candour, who define their terms, cannot argue long without either convincing, or being convinced, or parting in equal good-humour; to prevent which, go over and over the same ground, wander as wide as possible from the point, but always with a view to return at last precisely to the same spot from which you set out. I should remark to you, that the choice of your weapons is a circumstance much to be attended to: choose always those which your adversary cannot use. If your husband is a man of wit, you will of course undervalue a talent which is never connected with judgment: “for your part, you do not presume to contend with him in wit.”

But if he be a sober-minded man, who will go link by link along the chain of an argument, follow him at first, till he grows so intent that he does not perceive whether you follow him or not; then slide back to your own station; and when with perverse patience he has at last reached the last link of the chain, with one electric shock of wit make him quit his hold, and strike him to the ground in an instant. Depend upon the sympathy of the spectators, for to one who can understand _reason_, you will find ten who admire _wit._

But if you should not be blessed with “a ready wit,” if demonstration should in the mean time stare you in the face, do not be in the least alarmed--anticipate the blow. Whilst you have it yet in your power, rise with becoming magnanimity, and cry, “I give it up! I give it up! La! let us say no more about it; I do so hate disputing about trifles. I give it up!” Before an explanation on the word trifle can take place, quit the room with flying colours.

If you are a woman of sentiment and eloquence, you have advantages of which I scarcely need apprize you. From the understanding of a man, you have always an appeal to his heart, or, if not, to his affection, to his weakness. If you have the good fortune to be married to a weak man, always choose the moment to argue with him when you have a full audience. Trust to the sublime power of numbers; it will be of use even to excite your own enthusiasm in debate; then as the scene advances, talk of his cruelty, and your sensibility, and sink with “becoming woe” into the pathos of injured innocence.

Besides the heart and the weakness of your opponent, you have still another chance, in ruffling his temper; which, in the course of a long conversation, you will have a fair opportunity of trying; and if--for philosophers will sometimes grow warm in the defence of truth--if he should grow absolutely angry, you will in the same proportion grow calm, and wonder at his rage, though you well know it has been created by your own provocation. The by-standers, seeing anger without any adequate cause, will all be of your side.

Nothing provokes an irascible man, interested in debate, and possessed of an opinion of his own eloquence, so much as to see the attention of his hearers go from him: you will then, when he flatters himself that he has just fixed your eye with his _very best_ argument, suddenly grow absent:--your house affairs must call you hence--or you have directions to give to your children--or the room is too hot, or too cold--the window must be opened--or door shut--or the candle wants snuffing. Nay, without these interruptions, the simple motion of your eye may provoke a speaker; a butterfly, or the figure in a carpet may engage your attention in preference to him; or if these objects be absent, the simply averting your eye, looking through the window in quest of outward objects, will show that your mind has not been abstracted, and will display to him at least your wish of not attending. He may, however, possibly have lost the habit of watching your eye for approbation; then you may assault his ear: if all other resources fail, beat with your foot that dead march of the spirits, that incessant tattoo, which so well deserves its name. Marvellous must be the patience of the much-enduring man whom some or other of these devices do not provoke: slight causes often produce great effects; the simple scratching of a pick-axe, properly applied to certain veins in a mine, will cause the most dreadful explosions.

Hitherto we have only professed to teach the defensive; let me now recommend to you the offensive part of the art of justification. As a supplement to reasoning comes recrimination: the pleasure of proving that you are right is surely incomplete till you have proved that your adversary is wrong; this might have been a secondary, let it now become a primary object with you; rest your own defence on it for further security: you are no longer to consider yourself as obliged either to deny, palliate, argue, or declaim, but simply to justify yourself by criminating another; all merit, you know, is judged of by comparison. In the art of recrimination, your memory will be of the highest service to you; for you are to open and keep an account-current of all the faults, mistakes, neglects, unkindnesses of those you live with; these you are to state against your own: I need not tell you that the balance will always be in your favour. In stating matters or opinion, produce the words of the very same person which passed days, months, years before, in contradiction to what he is then saying. By displacing, disjointing words and sentences, by mis-understanding the whole, or quoting only a part of what has been said, you may convict any man of inconsistency, particularly if he be a man of genius and feeling; for he speaks generally from the impulse of the moment, and of all others can the least bear to be charged with paradoxes. So far for a husband.

Recriminating is also of sovereign use in the quarrels of friends; no friend is so perfectly equable, so ardent in affection, so nice in punctilio, as never to offend: then “Note his faults, and con them all by rote.” Say you can forgive, but you can never forget; and surely it is much more generous to forgive and remember, than to forgive and forget. On every new alarm, call the unburied ghosts from former fields of battle; range them in tremendous array, call them one by one to witness against the conscience of your enemy, and ere the battle is begun take from him all courage to engage.

There is one case I must observe to you in which recrimination has peculiar poignancy. If you have had it in your power to confer obligations on any one, never cease reminding them of it: and let them feel that you have acquired an indefeasible right to reproach them without a possibility of their retorting. It is a maxim with some sentimental people, “To treat their servants as if they were their friends in distress.”--I have observed that people of this cast make themselves amends, by treating their friends in distress as if they were their servants.

Apply this maxim--you may do it a thousand ways, especially in company. In general conversation, where every one is supposed to be on a footing, if any of your humble companions should presume to hazard an opinion contrary to yours, and should modestly begin with, “I think;” look as the man did when he said to his servant, “You think, sir--what business have you to think?”

Never fear to lose a friend by the habits which I recommend: reconciliations, as you have often heard it said--reconciliations are the cement of friendship; therefore friends should quarrel to strengthen their attachment, and offend each other for the pleasure of being reconciled.

I beg pardon for digressing: I was, I believe, talking of your husband, not of your friend--I have gone far out of the way.

If in your debates with your husband you should want “eloquence to vex him,” the dull prolixity of narration, joined to the complaining monotony of voice which I formerly recommended, will supply its place, and have the desired effect: Somnus will prove propitious; then, ever and anon as the soporific charm begins to work, rouse him with interrogatories, such as, “Did not you say so? Don’t you remember? Only answer me that!”

By-the-by, interrogatories artfully put may lead an unsuspicious reasoner, you know, always to your own conclusion.

In addition to the patience, philosophy, and other good things which Socrates learned from his wife, perhaps she taught him this mode of reasoning.

But, after all, the precepts of art, and even the natural susceptibility of your tempers, will avail you little in the sublime of our science, if you cannot command that ready enthusiasm which will make you enter into the part you are acting; that happy imagination which shall make you believe all you fear and all you invent.

Who is there amongst you who cannot or who will not justify when they are accused? Vulgar talent! the sublime of our science is to justify before we are accused. There is no reptile so vile but what will turn when it is trodden on; but of a nicer sense and nobler species are those whom nature has endowed with antennas, which perceive and withdraw at the distant approach of danger. Allow me another allusion: similes cannot be crowded too close for a female taste; and analogy, I have heard, my fair pupils, is your favourite mode of reasoning.

The sensitive plant is too vulgar an allusion; but if the truth of modern naturalists may be depended upon, there is a plant which, instead of receding timidly from the intrusive touch, angrily protrudes its venomous juices upon all who presume to meddle with it:--do not you think this plant would be your fittest emblem?

Let me, however, recommend it to you, nice souls, who, of the mimosa kind, “fear the dark cloud, and feel the coming storm,” to take the utmost precaution lest the same susceptibility which you cherish as the dear means to torment others should insensibly become a torment to yourselves.

Distinguish then between sensibility and susceptibility; between the anxious solicitude not to give offence, and the captious eagerness of vanity to prove that it ought not to have been taken; distinguish between the desire of praise and the horror of blame: can any two things be more different than the wish to improve, and the wish to demonstrate that you have never been to blame?

Observe, I only wish you to distinguish these things in your own minds; I would by no means advise you to discontinue the laudable practice of confounding them perpetually in speaking to others.

When you have nearly exhausted human patience in explaining, justifying, vindicating; when, in spite of all the pains you have taken, you have more than half betrayed your own vanity; you have a never-failing resource, in paying tribute to that of your opponent, as thus:--

“I am sure you must be sensible that I should never take so much pains to justify myself if I were indifferent to your opinion.--I know that I ought not to disturb myself with such trifles; but nothing is a trifle to me which concerns you. I confess I am too anxious to please; I know it’s a fault, but I cannot cure myself of it now.--Too quick sensibility, I am conscious, is the defect of my disposition; it would be happier for me if I could be more indifferent, I know.”

Who could be so brutal as to blame so amiable, so candid a creature? Who would not submit to be tormented with kindness?

When once your captive condescends to be flattered by such arguments as these, your power is fixed; your future triumphs can be bounded only by your own moderation; they are at once secured and justified.

Forbear not, then, happy pupils; but, arrived at the summit of power, give a full scope to your genius, nor trust to genius alone: to exercise in all its extent your privileged dominion, you must acquire, or rather you must pretend to have acquired, infallible skill in the noble art of physiognomy; immediately the thoughts as well as the words of your subjects are exposed to your inquisition.

Words may flatter you, but the countenance never can deceive you; the eyes are the windows of the soul, and through them you are to watch what passes in the inmost recesses of the heart. There, if you discern the slightest ideas of doubt, blame, or displeasure; if you discover the slightest symptoms of revolt, take the alarm instantly. Conquerors must maintain their conquests; and how easily can they do this, who hold a secret correspondence with the minds of the vanquished! Be your own spies then; from the looks, gestures, slightest motions of your enemies, you are to form an alphabet, a language intelligible only to yourselves, yet by which you shall condemn them; always remembering that in sound policy suspicion justifies punishment. In vain, when you accuse your friends of the high treason of blaming you, in vain let them plead their innocence, even of the intention. “They did not say a word which could be tortured into such a meaning.” No, “but they looked daggers, though they used none.”

And of this you are to be the sole judge, though there were fifty witnesses to the contrary.

How should indifferent spectators pretend to know the countenance of your friend as well as you do--you, that have a nearer, a dearer interest in attending to it? So accurate have been your observations, that no thought of their souls escapes you; nay, you often can tell even what they are going to think of.

The science of divination certainly claims your attention; beyond the past and the present, it shall extend your dominion over the future; from slight words, half-finished sentences, from silence itself, you shall draw your omens and auguries.

“I know what you were going to say;” or, “I know such a thing was a sign you were inclined to be displeased with me.”

In the ardour of innocence, the culprit, to clear himself from such imputations, incurs the imputation of a greater offence. Suppose, to prove that you were mistaken, to prove that he could not have meant to blame you, he should declare that at the moment you mention, “You were quite foreign to his thoughts; he was not thinking at all about you.”

Then in truth you have a right to be angry. To one of your class of justificators, this is the highest offence. Possessed as you are of the firm opinion that all persons, at all times, on all occasions, are intent upon you alone, is it not less mortifying to discover that you were thought ill of, than that you were not thought of at all? “Indifference, you know, sentimental pupils, is more fatal to love than even hatred.”

Thus, my dear pupils, I have endeavoured to provide precepts adapted to the display of your several talents; but if there should be any amongst you who have no talents, who can neither argue nor persuade, who have neither sentiment nor enthusiasm, I must indeed--congratulate them;--they are peculiarly qualified for the science of Self-justification: indulgent nature, often even in the weakness, provides for the protection of her creatures; just Providence, as the guard of stupidity, has enveloped it with the impenetrable armour of obstinacy.

Fair idiots! let women of sense, wit, feeling, triumph in their various arts: yours are superior. Their empire, absolute as it sometimes may be, is perpetually subject to sudden revolutions. With them, a man has some chance of equal sway: with a fool he has none. Have they hearts and understandings? Then the one may be touched, or the other in some unlucky moment convinced; even in their very power lies their greatest danger:--not so with you. In vain let the most candid of his sex attempt to reason with you; let him begin with, “Now, my dear, only listen to reason:”--you stop him at once with, “No, my dear, you know I do not pretend to reason; I only say, that’s my opinion.”

Let him go on to prove that yours is a mistaken opinion:--you are ready to acknowledge it long before he desires it. “You acknowledge it may be a wrong opinion; but still it is your opinion.” You do not maintain it in the least, either because you believe it to be wrong or right, but merely because it is yours. Exposed as you might have been to the perpetual humiliation of being convinced, nature seems kindly to have denied you all perception of truth, or at least all sentiment of pleasure from the perception.

With an admirable humility, you are as well contented to be in the wrong as in the right; you answer all that can be said to you with a provoking humility of aspect.

“Yes; I do not doubt but what you say may be very true, but I cannot tell; I do not think myself capable of judging on these subjects; I am sure you must know much better than I do. I do not pretend to say but that your opinion is very just; but I own I am of a contrary way of thinking; I always thought so, and I always shall.”

Should a man with persevering temper tell you that he is ready to adopt your sentiments if you will only explain them; should he beg only to have a reason for your opinion--no, you can give no reason. Let him urge you to say something in its defence:--no; like Queen Anne,[72] you will only repeat the same thing over again, or be silent. Silence is the ornament of your sex; and in silence, if there be not wisdom, there is safety. You will, then, if you please, according to your custom, sit listening to all entreaties to explain, and speak--with a fixed immutability of posture, and a pre-determined deafness of eye, which shall put your opponent utterly out of patience; yet still by persevering with the same complacent importance of countenance, you shall half persuade people you could speak if you would; you shall keep them in doubt by that true want of meaning, “which puzzles more than wit;” even because they cannot conceive the excess of your stupidity, they shall actually begin to believe that they themselves are stupid. Ignorance and doubt are the great parents of the sublime.

Your adversary, finding you impenetrable to argument, perhaps would try wit:--but, “On the impassive ice the lightnings play.” His eloquence or his kindness will avail less; when in yielding to you after a long harangue, he expects to please you, you will answer undoubtedly with the utmost propriety, “That you should be very sorry he yielded his judgment to you; that he is very good; that you are much obliged to him; but that, as to the point in dispute, it is a matter of perfect indifference to you; for your part, you have no choice at all about it; you beg that he will do just what he pleases; you know that it is the duty of a wife to submit; but you hope, however, you may have an _opinion_ of your own.”

Remember, all such speeches as these will lose above half their effect, if you cannot accompany them with the vacant stare, the insipid smile, the passive aspect of the humbly perverse.

Whilst I write, new precepts rush upon my recollection; but the subject is inexhaustible. I quit it with regret, though fully sensible of my presumption in having attempted to instruct those who, whilst they read, will smile in the consciousness of superior powers. Adieu! then, my fair readers: long may you prosper in the practice of an art peculiar to your sex! Long may you maintain unrivalled dominion at home and abroad; and long may your husbands rue the hour when first they made you promise _“to obey!”_

[_Written in 1787--published in 1795._]

FOOTNOTES:

[70] Marmontel.

[71] Emilius and Sophia.

[72] Vide Duchess of Marlborough’s Apology.

TALES OF FASHIONABLE LIFE.

Tutta la gente in lieta fronte udiva
Le graziose e finte istorielle,
Ed Ì difetti altrui tosto scopriva
Ciascuno, e non i proprj espressi in quelle;
O se de’ proprj sospettava, ignoti
Credeali a ciascun altro, e a se sol noti.