"Eloquence is a picture of thought; and thus those who, after having drawn a picture, still go on, make a tableau and not a likeness.

"Eloquence is the art of saying things in such a manner-first, that those to whom they are addressed can understand them without trouble and with pleasure; and secondly, that they may be interested in them in such a way that their _amour propre_ may lead them gladly to reflect upon them. It consists, therefore, in a correspondence established between the mind and heart of the hearers on the one side, and the thoughts and expressions used on the other, and so implies a close study of the human heart in order to know all its springs, and to find the due measures of speech to address to it. It must confine itself, as far as possible, to the simplicity of nature, and not make great what is small, nor small what is great. It is not enough that a thing be fine, it must be fitting,-neither in excess nor defect."

"Eloquence should prevail by gentle suasion, not by constraint. It should reign, not tyrannise.

"There are some who speak well, and who do not write well. The place-the a.s.sembly-excites them, and draws forth their mind more than they ever experience without such excitement."

"Those who make ant.i.theses by forcing the sense are like men who make false windows for the sake of symmetry. Their rule is not to speak correctly, but to make correct figures."

"There should be in eloquence always what is true and real; but that which is pleasing should itself be the real."

"When we meet with the natural style we are surprised and delighted, for we expected to find an author, and we find a man; whilst those of good taste who in looking into a book think to find a man, are altogether surprised to find an author. _Plus poetice quam humane locutus es_. They honour nature most who teach her that she can speak best on all subjects-even on theology."

"There are men who always dress up nature. No mere king with them, but an august monarch. No Paris, but the capital of the kingdom.

There are places in which it is necessary to call Paris Paris; others, where we must call it the capital of the kingdom."

"When in composition we find a word repeated, and on trying to correct it find it so suitable that a change would spoil the sense, it is better to let it alone. This stamps it as fitting, and it is a stupid feeling which does not recognise that repet.i.tion in such a case is not a fault; for there is no universal rule.

"The meaning itself changes with the words which express it. The meaning derives its dignity from the words, instead of imparting it to them."

"The last thing that we discover in writing a book is to know what to put at the beginning.

"When a discourse paints a pa.s.sion or effect naturally, we find in ourselves the truth of what we hear, which was there without our knowing it, so that we are led to like the man who discovers so much to us. For he does not show us his own good, but ours; and this good turn makes him lovable. Besides that, the community of intelligence we have with him necessarily inclines the heart towards him.

"Let none allege that I have said nothing new. The arrangement of the matter is new. When we play at tennis, both play with the same ball; but one plays better than the other. They might as well accuse me of using old words, as if the same thoughts differently arranged would not form a different discourse; just as the same words differently arranged express different thoughts.

"There is a definite standard of taste and beauty, which consists in a certain relation between our nature-it may be weak or strong, but such as it is-and the thing that pleases us. All that is formed to this standard delights us,-house, song, writing, verse, prose, women, buds, rivers, trees, rooms, dress, etc. All that is not formed by this standard disgusts men of good taste.

"I never judge of the same thing exactly in the same manner. I cannot judge of my work in the course of doing it. I must do as painters do, place myself at a distance from it, but not too far.

How then? You may guess."

We do not look to Pascal especially for worldly insight, or for that sharp knowledge of men that make the sayings of clever social writers like Rochefoucauld or Horace Walpole memorable, if not always wise or kind. But there are many of the Thoughts which show that the penitent of Port Royal had looked with clear observant eyes below the surface of Paris society, and that he had a deep sense not only of the moral but the social weaknesses of humanity.

"When pa.s.sion leads us towards anything, we forget duty; as we like a book we read it, while we ought to be doing something else. In order to be reminded of our duty, it is necessary to propose to do something that we dislike; then we excuse ourselves on the ground that we have something else to do, and so we recollect our duty by this means.

"How wisely are men distinguished by their exterior rather than by their interior qualifications! Which of us two shall take the lead?

Which shall yield precedence? The man of less talent? But I am as clever as he. Then we must fight it out. But he has four lackeys and I have only one. That is a visible difference. We have only to count the numbers. It is my place then to give way, and I am a fool to contest the point. In this way peace is kept, which is the greatest of blessings.

"There is a great advantage in rank, which gives to a man of eighteen or twenty a degree of acceptance, publicity, and respect which another can hardly obtain by merit at fifty. It is a gain of thirty years without any trouble.

"Respect for others requires you to inconvenience yourself. This seems foolish, yet it is very proper. It seems to say, I would gladly inconvenience myself if you really required me to do so, seeing I am ready to do so without serving you.

"'This is _my_ dog,' say children; 'that sunny seat is mine.' There is the beginning and type of the usurpation of the whole earth.

"This _I_ is hateful. You, Miton, {171} merely cover it, you do not take it away; you are therefore always hateful. Not at all, you say; for if we act obligingly to all men, they have no reason to hate us.

So far true, if there was nothing hateful in the _I_ itself but the displeasure which it gives. But if I hate it because it is essentially unjust, because it makes itself the centre of everything, I shall hate it always. In short, this _I_ has two qualities: it is unjust in itself, in that it makes itself the centre of everything; it is an annoyance to others, in that it would serve itself by them.

Each _I_ is the enemy, and would be the tyrant, of all others.

"He who would thoroughly know the vanity of men has only to consider the causes and effects of love. The cause is a _je ne sais quoi_, an indefinable trifle-the effects are monstrous. If the nose of Cleopatra had been a little shorter, it would have changed the history of the world.

"You have a bad manner-'excuse me, if you please.' Without the apology I should not have known that there was any harm done.

Begging your pardon, the 'excuse me,' is all the mischief.

"Do you wish men to speak well of you? Then never speak well of yourself.

"The more mind we have, the more do we observe men of original mind.

It is your commonplace people that find no difference betwixt one man and another.

"It is the contest that delights us, and not the victory. It is the same in play, and the same in search for truth. We love to watch in argument the conflicts of opinion; but the plain truth we do not care to look at. To regard it with pleasure, we must see it gradually emerging from the contest of debate. It is the same with pa.s.sions: the struggle of two contending pa.s.sions has great interest, but the dominance of one is mere brutality.

"The example of chast.i.ty in Alexander has not availed in the same degree to make men chaste, as his drunkenness has to make them intemperate. Men are not ashamed not to be so virtuous as he; and it seems excusable not to be more vicious. A man thinks he is not altogether sunk in the mud when he follows the vices of great men.

"I have spent much time in the study of the abstract sciences, but the paucity of persons with whom you can communicate on such subjects, gave me a distaste for them. When I began to study man, I saw that these abstract studies are not suited to him, and that in diving into them I wandered farther from my real object than those who were ignorant of them, and I forgave men for not having attended to these things. But I thought at least I should find many companions in the study of mankind, which is the true and proper study of man. I was mistaken. There are yet fewer students of man than of geometry.

"People in general are called neither poets nor geometers, although they have all that in them, and are capable of being judges of it.

They are not specifically marked out. When they enter a room, they speak of the subject on hand. They do not show a greater apt.i.tude for one subject than another, except as circ.u.mstances call out their talents. . . .

"It is poor praise when a man is pointed out on entering a room as being a clever poet; a bad mark that he should only be referred to when the question is as to the merit of some verses. . . .

"Man is full of wants, and likes those who can satisfy them. 'Such a one is a good mathematician,' it may be said. But then I must be doing mathematics; he would turn me into a proposition. Another is a good soldier; he would take me for a besieged place. Give me your true man of general talents, who can adapt himself to all my needs.

"If a man sets himself at a window to see the pa.s.sers-by, and I happen to pa.s.s, can I say that he set himself there to see me? No; for he does not think of me in particular. But if a man loves a woman for her beauty, does he love _her_? No; for the smallpox, which will destroy her beauty without killing her, will cause him to love her no more. And if any one loves me for my judgment or my memory, does he really love _me_? No; for I may lose those qualities without ceasing to be. Where, then, is this _me_, if it is neither in soul nor body?

"How is it that a lame man does not anger us, but a blundering mind does? Is it that the cripple admits that we walk straight, but a crippled mind accuses us of limping? Epictetus asks also, Why are we not annoyed if any one tells us that we are unwell in the head, and yet are angry if they tell us that we reason falsely or choose unwisely? The reason is, that we know certainly nothing ails our head, or that we are not crippled in body. But we are not so certain that we have chosen correctly.

"All men naturally hate one another.

"Desire and force are the source of all our actions-desire of our voluntary, force of our involuntary actions.

"Men are necessarily such fools, that it would be folly of another kind not to be a fool.

"To make a man a saint, grace is absolutely necessary; and whoever doubts this does not know what a saint is, nor what a man is.

"The last act is always tragedy, whatever fine comedy there may have been in the rest of life-We must all die alone."

"There can only be two kinds of men: the righteous, who believe themselves sinners; and sinners, who believe themselves righteous.

"Unbelievers are the most credulous; they believe the miracles of Vespasian to escape believing the miracles of Moses.

"Atheists should speak only of things perfectly clear, but it is not perfectly clear that the soul is material.

"Atheism indicates force of mind, but only up to a certain point."

Some of the foregoing Thoughts {174} may appear to our readers sufficient to warrant the charge of scepticism, already adverted to. Pascal certainly speaks at times both of human life and human reason in a contemptuous manner. Even Rochefoucauld could hardly express himself more bitterly than he does now and then when he fixes his clear gaze upon the folly, the vanity, the weaknesses which make up man's customary life, and the deceits which he practises upon himself and his fellows. All the world seems to him at such times "in a state of delusion." If there is truth, it "is not where men suppose it to be." The majority are to be followed, not "because they have more reason, but because they have more force."

"The power of kings is founded on the reason and on the folly of the people, but chiefly on their folly. The greatest and most important thing in the world has weakness for its basis, and the basis is wonderfully secure, for there is nothing more certain than that people will be weak. . . . Our magistrates well understand this mystery. . . . Save for their crimson robes, ermine, palaces of justice, fleur-de-lis, they would never have duped the world. Where would the physician be without his 'ca.s.sock and mule,' and the theologian without his 'square cap and flowing garments'? These vain adornments impress the imagination, and secure respect. We cannot look at an advocate in his gown and wig without a favourable impression of his abilities. The soldier alone needs no disguise, because he gains his authority by actual force, the others by grimace."

In such sentences, as well as in some previously quoted, the cynicism of both Hobbes and Montaigne seems to speak. Man is really a fool, and society rests upon force. The further down we go, we come, not to any natural rights, or essential principles of justice, which reason is capable of judging, but only to a ma.s.s of customs built up out of selfish instincts, and controlled by external influence. Pascal repeats Montaigne over and over again, and seems to make many of his cynicisms his own. This is not to be denied. "Montaigne is right. Custom should be followed because it is custom, and because it is found to be established, without inquiry whether it be reasonable or not." Yet he puts in a caveat, as we shall see more fully afterwards, just when he seems most to have identified himself with the representative of scepticism. In blindly following custom, he reserves "those matters which are not contrary to natural or divine right;" and the root of custom, even in the popular mind, he believes to be a dim sense of justice. Again, in a similar vein, he asks, "Why follow ancient laws and ancient opinions? _Are they wiser_? _No_. But they stand apart from present interests; and _thus take away the root of difference_." Here, as so often, the moralist supplants the sceptic, and suggests a higher thought, while seeming to approve of a superficial Pyrrhonism.