SECTION II.. _spirit--Wit._

Spirit--Wit.

The word "spirit," when it signifies "a quality of the mind," is one of those vague terms to which almost every one who pronounces it attaches a different sense; it expresses some other thing than judgment, genius, taste, talent, penetration, comprehensiveness, grace, or subtlety, yet is akin to all these merits; it might be defined to be "ingenious reason."

It is a generic word, which always needs another word to determine it; and when we hear it said: "This is a work of spirit," or "He is a man of spirit," we have very good reason to ask: "Spirit of what?" The sublime spirit of Corneille is neither the exact spirit of Boileau, nor the simple spirit of La Fontaine; and the spirit of La Bruyère, which is the art of portraying singularity, is not that of Malebranche, which is imaginative and profound.

When a man is said to have "a judicious spirit," the meaning is, not so much that he has what is called spirit, as that he has an enlightened reason. A spirit firm, masculine, courageous, great, little, weak, light, mild, hasty, etc., signifies the character and temper of the mind, and has no relation to what is understood in society by the expression "spirited."

Spirit, in the ordinary acceptation of the word, is much akin to wit; yet does not signify precisely the same thing; for the term, "man of spirit," can never be taken in a bad sense; but that of "a wit," is sometimes pronounced ironically.

Whence this difference? It is that "a man of spirit" does not signify "superior wit," "marked talent"; and "a wit" does. This expression, "man of spirit," announces no pretensions; but "wit" is a sort of advertisement; it is an art which requires cultivation; it is a sort of profession; and thereby exposes to envy and ridicule.

In this sense, Father Bouhours would have been right in giving us to understand that the Germans had no pretensions to wit; for at that time their learned men occupied themselves in scarcely any works but those of labor and painful research, which did not admit of their scattering flowers, of their striving to shine, and mixing up wit with learning.

They who despise the genius of Aristotle should, instead of contenting themselves with condemning his physics--which could not be good, inasmuch as they wanted experiments--be much astonished to find that Aristotle, in his rhetoric, taught perfectly the art of saying things with spirit. He states that this art consists in not merely using the proper word, which says nothing new; but that a metaphor must be employed--a figure, the sense of which is clear, and its expression energetic. Of this, he adduces several instances; and, among others, what Pericles said of a battle in which the flower of the Athenian youth had perished: "The year has been stripped of its spring."

Aristotle is very right in saying that novelty is necessary. The first person who, to express that pleasures are mingled with bitterness, likened them to roses accompanied by thorns, had wit; they who repeated it had none.

Spirited expression does not always consist in a metaphor; but also in a new term--in leaving one half of one's thoughts to be easily divined; this is called "subtleness," "delicacy"; and this manner is the more pleasing, as it exercises and gives scope for the wit of others.

Allusions, allegories, and comparisons, open a vast field for ingenious thoughts. The effects of nature, fable, history, presented to the memory, furnish a happy imagination with materials of which it makes a suitable use.

It will not be useless to give examples in these different kinds. The following is a madrigal by M. de la Sablière, which has always been held in high estimation by people of taste:

Églé tremble que, dans ce jour, L'Hymen, plus puissant que l'Amour, N'enlève ses trésors, sans quelle ose s'en plaindre Elle a négligé mes avis; Si la belle les eût suivis, Elle n'aurait plus rien à craindre.

Weeping, murmuring, complaining, Lost to every gay delight, Mira, too sincere for feigning, Fears th' approaching bridal night.

Yet why impair thy bright perfection, Or dim thy beauty with a tear? Had Mira followed my direction, She long had wanted cause of fear.--GOLDSMITH.

It does not appear that the author could either better have masked, or better have conveyed, the meaning which he was afraid to express. The following madrigal seems more brilliant and more pleasing; it is an allusion to fable:

Vous êtes belle, et votre sœur est belle; Entre vous deux tout choix serait bien doux L'Amour était blonde comme vous, Mais il amait une brune comme elle.

You are a beauty, and your sister, too; In choosing 'twixt you, then, we cannot err; Love, to be sure, was fair like you; But, then, he courted a brunette like her.

There is another, and a very old one. It is by Bertaut, bishop of Séez, and seems superior to the two former; it unites wit and feeling:

Quand je revis ce que j'ai tant aimé, Pen s'en fallut que mon coeur rallumé N'en fît le charme en mon âme renaître; Et que mon cœur, autrefois son captif, Ne ressemblât l'esclave fugitif, À qui le sort fit recontrer son maître.

When I beheld again the once-loved form, Again within my heart the rising storm Had nearly cast the spell around my soul, Which erst had bound me captive at her feet, As some poor slave, escaped from rude control, His master's dreaded face may haply meet.

Strokes like these please every one, and characterize the delicate spirit of an ingenious nation. The great point is to know how far this spirit is admissible. It is clear that, in great works, it should be employed with moderation, for this very reason, that it is an ornament. The great art consists in propriety.

A subtle, ingenious thought, a just and flowery comparison, is a defect when only reason or passion should speak, or when great interests are to be discussed. This is not false wit, but misplaced; and every beauty, when out of its place, is a beauty no longer.

This is a fault of which Virgil was never guilty, and with which Tasso may now and then be charged, admirable as he otherwise is. The cause of it is that the author, too full of his own ideas, wishes to show himself, when he should only show his personages.

The best way of learning the use that should be made of wit, is to read the few good works of genius which are to be found in the learned languages and in our own. False wit is not the same as misplaced wit. It is not merely a false thought, for a thought might be false without being ingenious; it is a thought at once false and elaborate.

It has already been remarked that a man of great wit, who translated, or rather abridged Homer into French verse, thought to embellish that poet, whose simplicity forms his character, by loading him with ornaments. On the subject of the reconciliation of Achilles, he says:

Tout le camp s'écria dans une joie extrême, Que ne vaincra-t-il point? Il s'est vaincu lui-même.

Cried the whole camp, with overflowing joy-- What still resist him? He's o'ercome himself.

In the first place it does not at all follow, because one has overcome one's anger, that one shall not be beaten. Secondly, is it possible that a whole army should, by some sudden inspiration, make instantaneously the same pun?

If this fault shocks all judges of severe taste, how revolting must be all those forced witticisms, those intricate and puzzling thoughts, which abound in otherwise valuable writings! Is it to be endured, that in a work of mathematics it should be said: "If Saturn should one day be missing, his place would be taken by one of the remotest of his satellites; for great lords always keep their successors at a distance?" Is it endurable to talk of Hercules being acquainted with physics, and that it is impossible to resist a philosopher of such force? Such are the excesses into which we are led by the thirst for shining and surprising by novelty. This petty vanity has produced verbal witticisms in all languages, which is the worst species of false wit.

False taste differs from false wit, for the latter is always an affectation--an effort to do wrong; whereas the former is often a habit of doing wrong without effort, and following instinctively an established bad example.

The intemperance and incoherence of the imaginations of the Orientals, is a false taste; but it is rather a want of wit than an abuse of it. Stars falling, mountains opening, rivers rolling back, sun and moon dissolving, false and gigantic similes, continual violence to nature, are the characteristics of these writers; because in those countries where there has never been any public speaking, true eloquence cannot have been cultivated; and because it is much easier to write fustian than to write that which is just, refined, and delicate.

False wit is precisely the reverse of these trivial and inflated ideas; it is a tiresome search after subtleties, an affectation of saying enigmatically what others have said naturally; or bringing together ideas which appear incompatible; of dividing what ought to be united; of laying hold on false affinities; of mixing, contrary to decency, the trifling with the serious, and the petty with the grand.

It were here a superfluous task to string together quotations in which the word spirit is to be found. We shall content ourselves with examining one from Boileau, which is given in the great dictionary of Trévoux: "It is a property of great spirits, when they begin to grow old and decay, to be pleased with stories and fables." This reflection is not just. A great spirit may fall into this weakness, but it is no property of great spirits. Nothing is more calculated to mislead the young than the quoting of faults of good writers as examples.

We must not here forget to mention in how many different senses the word "spirit" is employed. This is not a defect of language; on the contrary, it is an advantage to have roots which ramify into so many branches.

"Spirit of a body," "of a society," is used to express the customs, the peculiar language and conduct, the prejudices of a body. "Spirit of party," is to the "spirit of a body," what the passions are to ordinary sentiments.

"Spirit of a law," is used to designate its intention; in this sense it has been said: "The letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life." "Spirit of a work," to denote its character and object. "Spirit of revenge," to signify desire and intention of taking revenge. "Spirit of discord," "spirit of revolt," etc.

In one dictionary has been quoted "spirit of politeness"; but from an author named Bellegarde, who is no authority. Both authors and examples should be selected with scrupulous caution. We cannot say "spirit of politeness," as we say "spirit of revenge," of "dissension," of "faction"; for politeness is not a passion animated by a powerful motive which prompts it, and which is metaphorically called spirit.

"Familiar spirit," is used in another sense, and signifies those intermediate beings, those genii, those demons, believed in by the ancients; as the "spirit of Socrates," etc.

Spirit sometimes denotes the more subtle part of matter; we say, "animal spirits," "vital spirits," to signify that which has never been seen, but which gives motion and life. These spirits, which are thought to flow rapidly through the nerves, are probably a subtile fire. Dr. Mead is the first who seems to have given proofs of this, in his treatise on poisons. Spirit, in chemistry, too, is a term which receives various acceptations, but always denotes the more subtile part of matter.