But I know not how it is, and it is undoubtedly the case, that there is as much vanity and as little intelligence in those men who lay claim to the highest abilities, who meddle with literary pursuits and bookish occupations, as in any other class of people; whether it is that more is required and expected of them, and common defects are inexcusable in them, or, perhaps, because the conceit they have of their learning makes them bolder to show off and push themselves too far forward, the result being that they betray and give themselves away.
Mais je ne sçay comment il advient, et si advient sans doubte, qu'il se trouve autant de vanité et de foiblesse d'entendement, en ceux qui font profession d'avoir plus de suffisance, qui se meslent de vacations lettrées, et de charges qui despendent des livres, qu'en nulle autre sorte de gens: ou bien par ce que lon requiert et attend plus d'eux, et qu'on ne peut excuser en eux les fautes communes: ou bien que l'opinion du sçavoir leur donne plus de hardiesse de se produire, et de se descouvrir trop avant, par où ils se perdent, et se trahissent.
"A peculiar anthologic maze, an amusing literary chaos, a farrago of quotations, a mere olla podrida of quaintness, a pot pourri of pleasant delites, a florilegium of elegant extracts, a tangled fardel of old-world flowers of thought, a faggot of odd fancies, quips, facetiae, loosely tied" (Holbrook Jackson, Anatomy of Bibliomania) by a "laudator temporis acti," a "praiser of time past" (Horace, Ars Poetica 173).
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Friday, December 23, 2005
The Intelligentsia
Montaigne, Essays 2.17 (tr. E.J. Trechmann):