Tristano. Yes. Certainly I have.
Friend. Then what shall you do with your book? Will you allow it to go down to posterity, conveying doctrines so contrary to the opinions you now hold?
Tristano. To posterity? Permit me to laugh, since you are no doubt joking; if I thought otherwise, I should laugh all the more. For it is not a personal matter, but one relating to the individuals and individual things of the nineteenth century; about whom and which there is no fear of the judgment of posterity, since they will know no more about the matter than their ancestors knew. "Individuals are eclipsed in the crowd," as our modern thinkers elegantly say; which means, that the individual need not put himself to any inconvenience, because, whatever his merit, he can neither hope for the miserable reward of glory, in reality, nor in his dreams.
Leave therefore the masses to themselves; although I would ask the wiseacres who illumine the world in the present day, to explain how the masses can do anything without the help of the individuals that compose them.
But to return to my book, and posterity. Books now are generally written in less time than is necessary for reading them. Their worth is proportioned to their cost, and their longevity to their value. It is my opinion that the twentieth century will make a very clean sweep of the immense bibliography of the nineteenth. Perhaps however it will say something to this effect: "We have here whole libraries of books which have cost some twenty, some thirty years of labour, and some less, but all have required very great exertion; let us read these first, because it is probable there is much to be learnt from them. These at an end, we will pass to lighter literature."
My friend, this is a puerile age, and the few men remaining are obliged to hide themselves for very shame, resembling, as they do, a well-formed man in a land of cripples. And these good youths of the century are desirous of doing all that their ancestors did. Like children they wish to act on the spur of the moment, without any laborious preparation. They would like the progress of the age to be such as to exempt them and their successors from all fatiguing study and application in the acquirement of knowledge. For instance, a commercial friend of mine told me the other day that even mediocrity has become very rare. Scarcely any one is fit to fulfil properly the duty which devolves upon him, either by necessity or choice. This seems to me to mark the true distinction between this century and the preceding ones. At all times greatness has been rare; but in former centuries mediocrity prevailed, whereas in our century nullity prevails. All people wish to be everything. Hence, there is such confusion and riot, that no attention is paid to the few great men who are still to be found, and who are unable to force a way through the vast multitude of rivals. Thus, whilst the lowest people believe themselves illustrious, obscurity and success in nothing is the common fate both of the highest and lowest.
But, long live statistics! Long live the sciences, economical, moral, and political; the pocket encyclopædias; the manuals of everything; and all the other fine creations of our age! And may the nineteenth century live for ever! For though poor in results, it is yet very rich and great in promise, which' is well known to be the best of signs. Let us therefore console ourselves that for sixty-six[1] more years this admirable century will have the talking to itself, and will be able to utter its own opinions.
Friend. You speak, it seems, somewhat ironically. But you ought at least to remember that this is a century of transition.
Tristano. What do you infer from that? All centuries have been, and will be, more or less transitional; because human society is never stationary, and will never at any time attain to a fixed condition. It follows therefore that this fine word is either no excuse for the nineteenth century, or is one common to all the centuries. It remains to be seen whether the transition now in progress is from good to better, or from bad to worse.
But perhaps you mean to say that the present age is especially transitional, inasmuch as it is a rapid passage from one state of civilisation to another, absolutely different. In which case I would ask your permission to laugh at this rapidity. Every transition requires a certain amount of time, and when too rapidly accomplished, invariably relapses, and the progress has to recommence from the very beginning. Thus it has always been. For nature does not advance by leaps; and when forced, no durable result is obtained. In short, precipitous transitions are only apparent transitions, and do not represent genuine progress.