In times of yore, Diogenes, with a lantern in his hand, went through all the streets of Athens in broad day to seek a man: what could he find now in our great capital? breathing skeletons, women, children, horses, and that multitude of wheel carriages, the incommodious use of which crushes some to pieces and deprives others of the little strength they had left. Would he find men among these reverend gentry, whose toilet is their chief employment? Their chief merit is a mind fraught with borrowed trifles. Look at this modern Chrysostom, powdered and close shaved, repairing to an old coquet’s, a girl’s of the town, or the minister’s. Every where he repeats the same flattering phrases. With the one, an intriguer or base flatterer; with the other, an absolute libertine or a ridiculous puppy, he becomes every where necessary animal; in short, a downright plaything and piece of toilet furniture. Nothing gives this charming fellow any uneasiness; he is any thing they will have him, and will think just what they please: in a word, he performs the dapper parson admirably.
Would our wise Athenian have found men among our Parisians? The children are men, and the men, old men, and they persist in fleeing from nature, which begins to be tired of pursuing them. By their weak, frivolous minds, and pale effeminate looks, one would take them for women in disguise. Cloyed with all sorts of enjoyments, they know no other virtue than the talent of being agreeable, nor other vice than its reverse.
Would he at length find men in these delicate warriors who daily give their subalterns the example of effeminacy?
But do you, French soldiers, the precious remains of patriotism and national valour, always preserve the outward appearance of it; be particularly attentive to keep in your countenances this sign of valour, vigour, and intrepidity; retain those fierce looking whiskers which are the attribute of heroes; and remember that they were the ornament of Turenne, Condé, &c.
It would therefore be advantageous for those, who, by their situation or dignity, are intended to command others, to instruct them, or to merit their confidence, to let their beards grow out quite, whilst the soldier should only wear whiskers, which give a man a martial, brisk look.
Should the example of some great men, or some political event, at length revive the mode of long beards, our delicateness and urbanity might again be reconciled with the majesty of man. Would it not be possible for people of good taste to give the beard an agreeable form, in the same manner as was done some centuries ago? This attention, employing those who take a great deal of pains about adorning their pretty persons, would divert them perhaps from a more dangerous luxury. Besides the respect of one man to another, and of one sex to that which is its superior; this custom would produce another advantage. The resemblance of the two sexes seems to incline men to those shameful debaucheries which formerly soiled the glory of Greece and Rome, debaucheries that one hardly dares mention, and which a more particular distinction between men and women would greatly contribute to destroy.
It can never be denied; a man should appear what nature made him: this is the opinion of an illustrious philosopher and profound moralist.[[102]] I cannot better conclude than with his own words. “A perfect man and a perfect woman should no more be alike in mind than in face: these silly imitations of sex are the height of folly; they make the wise man laugh and the lover run away.... In short, I take it, that, unless one be five feet six inches high, have a firm, tenor voice, and a beard on his chin, he should not pretend to be a man.”
[102]. John James Rousseau.
THE END.