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is more venomous than the asp and the cobra. It is a shame
that I am ignorant, otherwise I would quote to you a mass
of things; but I know nothing. For instance, I have always
been witty; when I was a pupil of Gros, instead of daub-
ing wretched little pictures, I passed my time in pilfering
apples; rapin[24] is the masculine of rapine. So much for
myself; as for the rest of you, you are worth no more than
I am. I scoff at your perfections, excellencies, and qualities.
Every good quality tends towards a defect; economy borders
on avarice, the generous man is next door to the prodigal,
the brave man rubs elbows with the braggart; he who says
very pious says a trifle bigoted; there are just as many vices
in virtue as there are holes in Diogenes’ cloak. Whom do
you admire, the slain or the slayer, Caesar or Brutus? Gen-
erally men are in favor of the slayer. Long live Brutus, he
has slain! There lies the virtue. Virtue, granted, but mad-
ness also. There are queer spots on those great men. The
Brutus who killed Caesar was in love with the statue of a
little boy. This statue was from the hand of the Greek sculp-
tor Strongylion, who also carved that figure of an Amazon
known as the Beautiful Leg, Eucnemos, which Nero carried
with him in his travels. This Strongylion left but two statues
which placed Nero and Brutus in accord. Brutus was in love
with the one, Nero with the other. All history is nothing
but wearisome repetition. One century is the plagiarist of
the other. The battle of Marengo copies the battle of Pydna;
the Tolbiac of Clovis and the Austerlitz of Napoleon are as
like each other as two drops of water. I don’t attach much
importance to victory. Nothing is so stupid as to conquer;