Rica to Usbek, at * * *
MY room is, as you know, separated from the others only by a slim
partition, which is broken here and there, so that one can hear what is
said next door. This morning I overheard a man, pacing rapidly up
and down, and saying to another, "I don't know how it is, but everything
seems to go against me. For more than three days I have said nothing
which can do me honour; and I find myself entirely lost among the crowd
of talkers; no one pays the least attention to me, no one speaks to me
twice. I had prepared some brilliant passages to lighten my conversation;
not once was I allowed to get them off. I had a charming story to
tell; but always when I found an opportunity for it, people evaded it,
as if on purpose. I have nursed some witticisms in my head for four
days without being able to make the least use of them. If this continues,
it will end in my becoming a fool; I cannot avoid it; it seems to be my
fate. Yesterday I had hoped to shine in the company of four old ladies,
who certainly had no idea of imposing on me. I had some of the most
charming things to say imaginable; but it took me more than a quarter of
an hour to bring the conversation round, and even then they failed to follow
me; like the fatal sisters, they cut the thread of my discourse.
Shall I tell you? It is most difficult to support the character of
a man of wit. I fail to comprehend how you obtained it."
"I have an idea," replied the other. "Let
us help each other to gain this reputation: suppose we form a partnership
for the purpose. Every day we shall tell each other what we intend
to say; and we shall help each other so well, that if anyone attempts to
interrupt the flow of our ideas, we shall inspire him with admiration;
and if he refuses to be fascinated, then he will be coerced. We shall
have the points fixed at which to approve; and where to smile, and where
to burst out into a roar of laughter, will all be arranged beforehand.
You will see that we shall give the tone to conversation, and that everybody
will admire the nimbleness of our wit, and the felicity of our repartees;
and we shall have a code of head-shakes for our mutial protection.
To-day you will shine, to-morrow you will be my foil. We shall go
together to a house, and I shall exclaim, indicating you, 'I must tell
you the delightful reply my friend made just now to a man we met in the
street.' I shall then turn towards you, and say, 'He did not expect
this. You see how astonished he is.' I shall repeat some of
my verses, and you will say, 'I was present when he made them; at a supper,
it was; he turned them off in an instant.' Sometimes we shall rally
each other, and then people will exclaim, 'Look, how they attack each other,
how they defend themselves; this is no child's play; let us see how he
will come out of that. Wonderful, what presence of mind! Why,
this is a downright battle!' But no one will dream how we practised
it all beforehand. We shall have to buy certain books, repositories
of wit composed for the use of those who, having none, would fain appear
as if they had: all depends on the pattern. I should say, that before
six months are out we should be able to keep up a conversation of an hour's
length, entirely consisting of bon-mots . But we shall have
to be careful of one thing, and that is, the fate of our witticisms: it
is not enough to make a brilliant remark, it must be sown broadcast; without
that, it is as good as lost; and I confess there is nothing so heartrending
as to see a smart thing that one has said die in the ear of the fool who
hears it. For misfortunes of that kind we have often, it is true,
a sort of compassion in the speedy oblivion which overtakes the foolish
things we say. Here, my dear sir, is the part we must play.
Do as I have suggested, and I promise you, before six months, a place in
the Academy. You see the time of toil will not be long; and then
you can abandon your art as soon as you like; but you will always be a
man of wit, no matter what you do. They say, that in France, when
a man enters any circle of society, he catches at once what is called
l'esprit
du corps: this you will do, and the only thing I dread is, that you
will be overwhelmed with applause."