It was not till some time after that the truth came to be known. The scene then changed. Pélisson became the object of general admiration, and of enthusiastic esteem, that bordered on veneration; but he still preserved the same serenity of mind, and displayed the same indifference to merited praise, as he had before shewn to unmerited censure. Whenever his friends expatiated on his unshaken firmness, and extraordinary heroism, the worthy stoic replied—“That man must appear of little consequence in his own eyes, whose moral existence depends merely on the opinion of others! It is our place to fix a just value on ourselves before others attempt to appreciate us. I did but fulfil my duty in serving a man to whom I did not chuse to be an impotent or useless friend: the title of friend imposes on those who bear it essential obligations, which I have endeavoured to discharge; I have given more than my life: I have suffered myself to be polluted by the imputation of vice and dishonour; because it was the only means of serving the friend I loved. What made me amends for the mean opinion which the public entertained of me?—The good opinion I entertained of myself. That paid me amply for the effects of prejudice which was founded in injustice. Virtue is but mental fortitude; and I exerted the whole of mine, to be able to brave the opinion of all mankind. You now see, there are occasions which require a man to raise himself above that solemn judgment to which every human being must generally submit. You must permit me, however, to give you one piece of advice. Another time be less prompt to decide on the merits of a man who enjoys some reputation for probity; and be assured, that he can never be on a sudden converted into the vilest of rogues. The friend of Fouquet could not act in a manner so contrary to his natural disposition.”
Philosophy—adds the relator of this anecdote—will have attained to its highest degree of perfection, when it shall have enforced the conviction. That virtue is infinitely superior to talents. By virtue alone can the duties we owe to society, and to ourselves, be properly discharged.
[*] The reader must recollect that these are the sentiments of a Frenchman, before the late revolution! The character of Lewis the Fourteenth, as a promoter of the arts and sciences, is certainly respectable—but as a monarch—who should prefer the welfare and felicity of his subjects to the gratification of his own ambitious views—it is DETESTABLE!
[†] It is certain that the famous painter, Le Brun, having lost the favour of Lewis the Fourteenth, who had been particularly kind to him, died thro’ despair, at the Gobelins. The death of Racine, the celebrated dramatic poet, which happened not long after the production of Athalia, one of his best pieces, was owing to the same cause; and the haughty Louvois only survived his disgrace three days.
GLEANINGS.
Man is not more superior to a brute, than one man is to another by the mere force of wisdom. Wisdom is the sole destroyer of equality, the fountain of honour, and the only mark by which one man, for ten minutes together, can be known from another.
Were men always skilful they would never use craft or treachery. That men are so cunning, arises from the littleness of their minds, which, if it can conceal itself in one place, quickly discovers itself in another.
Cunning men, like jugglers, are only versed in two or three little tricks, while wisdom excels in the whole circle of action.
The cunning man and the wise man differ not only in point of honesty, but ability. He that can pack the cards, does not always play well.