XI. One of the greatest mistakes which men commit in their confidences, is that of trusting those, whom they have known to be unfaithful to others. This is an error which all men condemn, and which almost every one falls into. I confide my secret to him, who has recommended himself to my favour, by revealing that of another person. I give my friendship to the man, who in compliment to me has abandoned the patron who before protected him. This is the effect of our love for, and the superior conceit we entertain of ourselves. Every one fancies, that he has in himself a most powerful attraction, that will keep the heart of a person fixed and attached to him, who has been unfaithful to other people. He thinks, that it was the power of his singular merit, which made the man abandon his benefactor or friend, for the sake of allying himself to him. He is so full of his own consequence and rare qualities, that it never enters his imagination, nor does he even harbour the least suspicion, that this very person may see, or pretend to see, a higher degree of merit in another man, to which he might make the same sacrifice of his friendship. Princes and great men, whom the habit of being flattered is apt to make the most presumptuous, are those who are most liable to fall into this snare. How often do we see in courts, treachery rewarded with promotion! The maxim that we love the treason, but hate the traitor, is received by all the world in theory, but has very few votaries in practice. The traitor is displeasing to him, who dislikes the treason; but he who interests himself in the treason, looks on the traitor with favourable eyes. This is derived in a great measure, from calling things by wrong names. Treason is termed obsequiousness, and a traitor called friend; and jointly with this, they are apt to interpret, that some honest motive intervened to excite to the action; and in case they can’t find out any other than that of interest or convenience, they applaud the ability displayed in chusing the most beneficial side. Queen Elizabeth of England was a striking exception to this rule. An unfaithful Spaniard, sold to her for a stipulated price, a town in the Low Countries; and after he had so done, to avoid the punishment due to his demerit, went over to, and resided in England, where he offered his service to the Queen as an able military officer; to which she replied, “Go your ways, when I have occasion for any one to commit an act of treachery, I will make use of you.”
SECT. II.
XII. The perfect hypocrites are few in number. I call those perfect hypocrites, whose outside is all devotion, and who within, are all baseness and iniquity, or such as answer the description of the satyrist:
Qui curios simulant, et bacchanalia vivunt.
Upon serious reflection, it will not appear wonderful these are so few, for notwithstanding the road of hypocrisy is the shortest a man can pursue, to arrive at the temple of Fortune; still we rarely see men endued with a sufficient degree of perseverance, to engage in so laborious an undertaking; for conceive the practice of virtue to be ever so arduous, the pursuit of the feigned, is much more painful than that of the true. In order to carry it on, there is need of a constant studiousness, joined to a continual anxiety, and also an indefatigable watchfulness, to suppress the sallies of the soul, which without intermission is making efforts to disclose herself. There is no passion, which, like a wild beast chained, strives more forcibly to break its confinement, than that of dissimulation. The animal faculty of the heart is as plainly reflected on the countenance, as the vital is manifested in the artery. The tokens of their internal movements, may be compared to those of a clock, which has a bell that proclaims them, and a hand that points them out. There is not a word, nor an action, if not restrained by a contrary impetus, which would not follow the impulse of that animated machine. Curiosity and lust, importune and tempt a man’s eyes by turns; he is anxious to give vent to his bosom by his voice, and his brow manifests his impatience to do it; a pleasant jest provokes to laughter; an injury calls for vengeance; and the tongue and the ear are averse to silence. There is not a member which is not put under painful restrictions, nor a faculty that is not constrained, by being thus compelled to wear the forced appearance of composure. The strings, of which the harmony of an exterior modesty are composed, are infinite, and ought always to be kept violently on the stretch; the desires also of possessing beloved objects, are continually tapping at the doors of the senses. What force is sufficient to resist so many impulses? or what address, equal to managing so many reins at a time?
XIII. Add to this, the apprehension of their deceit being detected; for they look upon all the eyes that surround them as so many spies of their enemies; and they are very well aware, with all their caution, of the difficulty of always preserving their souls impenetrable to foreign inspection; for let them be never so careful in shutting up their windows, there will ever remain, by imperceptible omissions, innumerable crevices; and although they may succeed in deceiving the multitude, there are never wanting transcendent spirits, who can discern and distinguish, whereever they meet with it, the natural from the artificial. Let affection strive to imitate reality never so industriously; one or another will make his remarks, which, although they cannot be explained, may be conceived, and may be compared to the character of a language, which, notwithstanding you comprehend it, you can’t pronounce. The very means that are taken to conceal the soul, manifest and disclose it, because the reserve or caution that is used for this purpose is visible, and it is also visible and well known, that innocent people have no need of this disguise. Every man who uses great circumspection, makes himself suspected. He who is confirmed that he possesses a good conscience, acts and speaks with openness; nor would it avail a hypocrite, to endeavour at imitating that native frankness; for he never could hit upon the true criterion of the character. Those of experience and penetration, would always be able to distinguish the copy from the original; therefore I believe, that to this day, there never was a hypocrite who succeeded in deceiving all the world.
XIV. O how much less toilsome would it be, for hypocrites to tread the path of true virtue, than to pursue that of false! The first affords intervals of ease and tranquillity to the mind, and also administers to it many comforts; but the fiction of virtue, demands a constant labour of thought, and a continual stretch of invention to save appearances. It is like a fabric built in the air, which would fall to the ground, if you neglect to keep it propped up a minute.
XV. I may be told, that with time and practice, fiction would become habitual, and then a man would find no difficulty in dissembling. Truly I doubt whether habit has power to effect so much. When art fights against the whole bent or force of nature, I don’t think the case ever happened, of the first obtaining a complete triumph; but judge rather, that the last always remains with a residue of strength, sufficient to renew the combat. It sometimes falls out with a consummate hypocrite, as it happened to the cat converted to a fine lady in the fable of Æsop. She continued to sit with much studied composure at the table, till a rat entered the room; but instantly upon the animal’s appearing, hurried away by that native impulse which supersedes all caution, she with all her might threw herself on her beloved prey, and exposed her nature to the bye-standers.
XVI. But admitting, that, by long practice in deceit, a man could overcome all difficulties; this does not obviate the mistake of the hypocrites; for with a great deal less labour, and in a much less time, he could have made virtue more familiar to him than dissimulation. The first is most conformable to the inclination of man as a rational creature, and he only acts in contradiction to this principle as a sensitive one; the last is a violence on his nature, both as a rational and as a sensitive one. In a land of virtue, the soul may be said to live at home; in that of deceit, she resides as a total stranger. She certainly then must find more fatigue and trouble in familiarizing herself to deceit, and more difficulty in making dissimulation seem natural to her than virtue.