Giacomo Leopardi

The surest way to conceal from others the limits of our knowledge is, never to transgress them.

If the few men of true worth who seek fame only knew separately and individually all those persons who compose that public whose esteem they court with such infinite pains, it is pretty certain that the ardour of their pursuit would be greatly cooled, if indeed they did not entirely abandon it. But the human mind has difficulty in releasing itself from the influence which is exercised on the imagination by mere numbers. Thus we often find ourselves full of deference, if not of positive respect, not for a multitude only, but for a dozen people assembled in a room, each one of whom we know to be, on his own merits, unworthy of consideration.

Laughter seems also to win regard and command respect even from those with whom we are unacquainted, and it appears to imply a sort of sense of superiority on the part of the laugher. So much so that if, as sometimes occurs, you should happen to find yourself at any time in any company where you are treated with indifference or hauteur, or even with discourtesy, you have only got to pick out a likely-looking person from among those present, and laugh heartily and demonstratively with him, and in such a way as to give the idea that your laughter is genuine; and if any of the company be inclined to laugh at you, laugh louder than the laughers. It will be odd if, when they see your merriment, the proudest and most petulant of the party, and those most inclined to frown you down, do not, after a brief resistance, either beat a retreat, or come of their own accord to make terms with you, to court your conversation, and offer you their friendship. Great and formidable among men is the power of laughter—no man is proof against its spell. He who has the courage to laugh is master of the world nearly as much as he who is prepared to die.

In any social gathering if two or three persons are seen laughing together in a marked manner, and for some cause unknown to the rest of the company, all present seem to become filled with apprehension; their conversation grows serious; some become silent; some withdraw; and only the more intrepid approach the laughers, and try to be admitted to a share of the joke. It is just as if near discharges of artillery were suddenly heard proceeding from a party in ambush; all would disperse in confusion, not knowing where the shots might take effect, supposing the pieces to be loaded with ball.

In this world nothing is more rare than a person who is habitually endurable.

In its attitude towards great men, and especially towards those who display a great force and virility of character, the world resembles women. It does not merely admire such, it adores them. That force of character of theirs captivates it. And often, as we observe in women towards the objects of their admiration, the devotion of mankind towards such persons increases in proportion to the arrogance they may exhibit, the evil which they may commit, and the very fear which they inspire. Thus Napoleon was beloved by France, and was the idol of his soldiers, whom he called “food for powder,” and treated as such. Similarly, many great leaders, who viewed and used men in the same way, were in life endeared to their armies, and to this day their histories enchant the world. Indeed it may almost be said that their very brutality and extravagance seem to have a sort of charm for mankind, just as women are sometimes dazzled by these qualities in those whom they love. Achilles is always adored; whereas the amiability of Æneas, or the generosity of Godfrey de Bouillon, and the wisdom of both, or of Ulysses himself, almost arouse dislike.

There is a well-known letter from Cicero to Lucceius, in which he seeks to induce the latter to write the history of the conspiracy of Catiline; and there is another letter, not so well known, but no less curious, in which the Emperor Verus requests his preceptor Fronto to write, as he accordingly did, an account of his imperial pupil’s expedition against the Parthians. These two documents are, in character and purport, not at all unlike many letters which are nowadays addressed to journalists; the chief difference being that the modern self-advertisers want leading articles written in their glorification, while those of antiquity, since there were then no newspapers, wanted books. And from both of these two letters we may infer how little credit is often to be attached to history, even when written by men who lived at the time of the events which they relate, and who enjoyed a great reputation in their time.

In the present century it is held that the negro is of a race and origin absolutely distinct from that of the white man, and yet that he is absolutely equal to the latter as regards the rights of man. In the sixteenth century it was held that he sprang from the same source as do the whites, and belonged to the same family; and yet it was then maintained, especially by the Spanish theologians, that, in the matter of rights, the negro was, by nature and by the divine will, immeasurably inferior to us. In both of these centuries the blacks were, and are, bought and sold, and forced to labour in chains under the scourge of the task-master. Such are ethics, and such and no more is the influence exercised over the actions of men by theories of moral duty!

No society is calculated long to please, save that of persons by whom we desire to be esteemed. Therefore, if women desire that their society should not soon pall on men, it behoves them to endeavour so to mould their characters that men may have an enduring desire for their esteem.

The estimation which any artist has of his art, or any scientist of his science, is generally in inverse ratio to the estimation which he has of his own skill or proficiency in the same.