Letter on the Deaf and Dumb  

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The Lettre sur les sourds et muets à l'usage de ceux qui entendent & qui parlent (English: "Letter on the Deaf and Dumb for the Use of those who Hear and Talk") is an essay by Denis Diderot published anonymously in 1751.

It is a criticism of Les Beaux-Arts réduits à un même principe by Charles Batteux and a defense of medium specificity.

"Diderot used to call Batteux's book a headless book, because after he had reduced all the fine arts to a single principle that of imitating the beauty of nature, he never explained what the beauty of nature consisted in."[1]

The main question in this essay is "why is it that what appeals to our imagination in poetry will not please our eyes when painted?"

Full text in French[2]

Full text in English translated by Margaret Jourdain[3]

• "Letter on the Deaf and Dumb"

LETTER ON THE DEAF AND DUMB

Letter to Monsieur -

. 1751.

I AM sending, sir, to the author of The Fine Arts reduced to a Single Principle, the Letter revised, corrected, and augmented in accordance with the advice of my friends ; but always with the same title.

I grant that this title is applicable equally to the large number of those who speak without under- standing and the small number of those who under- stand without speaking, and to the very small number of those who speak and understand, and for whose use my letter is solely intended.

I admit that it is an imitation of another Letter 1 which might be better ; but I am tired of hunting for a better title. Whatever importance you attri- bute to the choice of a title, the title of my letter will remain unchanged.

I do not like quotations, and I like Greek quota- tions least of all ; they give a learned air to a book, which is no longer fashionable. They frighten away readers, and if I was deciding from a publisher's

1 Letter on the Blinds/or the Use of those -who See. (D) 158

LETTER ON THE DEAF AND DUMB 159

standpoint I should leave out such scarecrows. But I am not a publisher, so please suffer the Greek quotations to remain where I have placed them. If you care less for a book being good, than that it should be read, I do not agree with you ; what I care for is to make a good book, although it may risk being less read.

As to the number of subjects I touch upon moving from one to another, I would have you know, and tell others, that this is no fault in a letter where one is allowed to converse freely, and where the last word of a phrase is a sufficient link to the next

You may therefore print me, if that is all ; but print me anonymously, if you please. I can always admit the authorship later. I know one to whom people would not attribute it, and another on whom it would be certainly fathered, if it possessed some eccentricity in its ideas, some share of imagination, style, some temerity of thought which I should be sorry to share, a fine display of mathematics, meta- physics, Italian and English ; less Latin and Greek, and more music.

See that no errors creep into the text ; a single mistake is enough to ruin all. You will find in Havercamp's fine edition of Lucretius in the last book the figure I want. Take out the child which half hides her, imagine a wound beneath the breast, and have it copied. My friend Monsieur de S. has undertaken to revise the proofs. His address is ...

I am, etc.

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LETTER ON THE DEAF AND DUMB

FOR THE USE OF THOSE WHO

HEAR AND SPEAK:

Which treats of the origin of inversions in language, of harmony of style, of sublimity of situation, and of some advan- tages which the French language has over most ancient and modern languages, also some thoughts on expression in the fine arts.

I HAD no intention, sir, to take credit for your researches, and you may claim what you please in this letter. If it happens that my ideas are similar to yours, I am like the ivy which mingles its foliage with the oak. I might have addressed my letter to the Abbe de Condillac, or to Monsieur du Marsais, who has also treated of inversions ; but you just came to my mind, and I have made free with you, for I am persuaded that the public will not this time take a happy accident for a deliberate choice. My only fear is, that I may waste your time and snatch from you those hours which you are doubt- less devoting to philosophy, and which you owe to that study.

Now, in order to treat of inversions we must first consider how languages are formed. Objects that strike the senses are those that are first noticed, and those which unite various qualities which strike the senses are named first, *.*. the different objects of which the world is composed Then the various qualities are distinguished and named, and these form most of our adjectives. Afterwards, these sensible

LETTER ON THE DEAF AND DUMB 161

qualities being put aside, some common quality was observed in various objects, such as impenetrability, extension, colour, shape, etc. , and from these abstract and general names were formed and nearly all sub- stantives. Gradually men became accustomed to think that all these names represented real things ; and the sensible qualities were regarded as simple accidents, and thus the adjective was thought to be subordinate to the substantive, although the sub- stantive does not really exist and the adjective is everything. If you are asked to describe an object, you answer that it is a body with a surface, im- penetrable, shaped, coloured, and movable. But subtract all these adjectives from your definition and what is left of that imaginary being you call a body ? If you wished to arrange the terms of your definition in their natural order, you would say a coloured, shaped, extended, impenetrable, movable substance. It seems to me that a man seeing the object for the first time would be affected by the different qualities in this order of terms. The eye would be first struck by the shape, colour, and surface ; touch would then discover its impenetrability, and eye and touch together would discover its mobility. There would, therefore, be no inversion in this definition, and there is an inversion in the definition in its first form. It follows, therefore, that if we wish to maintain that there is no inversion in the French language, or at least that it is much rarer than In the learned tongues, the utmost we can say is that our constructions in French are for the most

ii

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part uniform ; that the substantive is always, or nearly always, placed before the adjective ; and the verb between them. For if we consider the question on its own merits, and ask if the adjective should be placed before or after the noun, it will appear that we frequently reverse the natural order of ideas. The example I have just given is an in- stance of this. I say the natural order of ideas ; for we should distinguish here between the natural order and the acquired^ or what we may term the scientific order ; the latter is a deliberate arrange- ment after a language is fully formed.

As adjectives usually represent sensible qualities, they stand first in the natural order of ideas ; but to a philosopher, or rather to philosophers who are accustomed to regard abstract substantives as realities, substantives will come first in the scientific order, being, in their language, the support which upholds the adjective. Thus of the two definitions of a, body I gave, the first follows the scientific or acquired, the second the natural order.

From this we may conclude that it is perhaps owing to the peripatetic philosophy, which realised all general and abstract entities, that we have in our language hardly any of what we call inversions in the classics. Our Gallic authors had much more than we have, and this philosophy was in the ascendant while our language was being perfected under Louis XIII and Louis XIV. The Ancients, who generalised less, and who studied nature more in detail, were less monotonous in the order of their

LETTER ON THE DEAF AND DUMB 163

tongue, and the word inversion would have perhaps astonished them. You will not raise as an objection here, that the peripatetic philosophy is Aristotle's philosophy, and hence the philosophy of some portion of the Ancients, for you doubtless tell your disciples that our peripatetic philosophy is very different from Aristotle's.

But it is, perhaps, unnecessary to go back as far as the creation of the world and the origin of language to explain why inversions crept into and were preserved in languages. It would be sufficient to make an imaginary journey to a people whose language one was unacquainted with ; or, what comes to almost the same thing, to experiment with a man who would forgo the use of articulate sounds and try to make himself understood by gestures alone. Such a man, who would perfectly understand the questions put to him, would be an excellent subject for experiment ; and from the succession of his gestures definite inferences could be drawn as to the order of ideas which seemed good to the early men in order to communicate their thoughts by gestures, and under what circumstances articulate sounds were invented

I should give my " theoretical mute" plenty of time to compose his replies ; and as to the questions, I would make a point of introducing ideas whose expression by means of gesture I should be most anxious to learn. It would be both useful and entertaining to multiply experiments upon these ideas, and to propound the same questions to a

1 64 DIDEROT 'S PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS

number of persons at once. I believe that a philo- sopher who practised such experiments with some friends, who were intelligent men and good logicians, would not find it a total waste of time. An Aristo- phanes would no doubt turn it to ridicule, but what matter ? One could say what Zeno said to his dis- ciple : ci (pi\ocro<pla$ e-Tnfo/AeF?, vrapa<TKvaov aiJroflej/, a>? /carayeXa&fcroVei'o?, w?, etc. If you wish to become a philosopher, expect to be ridiculed. That is a fine maxim, sir, and one that would elevate souls less courageous than ours above human comment and all frivolous considerations.

You must not confuse the experiment I suggest with ordinary pantomime. To translate an action and a speech into gesture are two very different things. I am sure that there are inversions in the language of our mutes, that each one has his style, and that their inversions denote differences as pro- nounced as those we find in ancient Greek and Latin authors. But as we always most highly approve of our own style, the discussion that would ensue after these experiments would be of the most lively and philosophical nature, for all our theoretical mutes, when they had leave to use their tongues again, would be obliged to justify not only their expres- sion, but also the way they placed such and such an idea in a certain order in their gestures.

This leads me to another idea that is a little alien to the subject of my letter, but in a letter digres- sions are allowed, especially when they lead to useful results. My idea would be to analyse, as it

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were, a man, and to examine what he derives from each of his senses. 1 have sometimes amused myself with this kind of metaphysical anatomy, and I consider that of all the senses the eye was the most superficial, the ear the proudest, smell the most voluptuous, taste the profoundest and most philosophical. It would be amusing to get together a society, of which each should have only one sense ; there can be no doubt that all these persons would look on one another as out of his wits, and I leave you to judge with what reason. And yet this is an example of what happens amongst us every day ; we have, so to speak, only one sense, and we judge of everything. We may remark that this group of five persons, each possessing only one sense, might by their faculty of abstraction have one interest in common that of geometry, and might understand one another on that subject, and that alone. But to return to our theoretical mutes, and to the questions we should put them.

If these questions were such that more than one answer was possible, it would follow that one mute would give one, and another mute another ; and that the comparison between their replies would become impossible or at any rate difficult This difficulty suggested to me that a speech for transla- tion from French to gesture-language would be better than a question for experimental purposes. The translators must be warned to avoid ellipsis, for the language of gesture is difficult enough without increasing its laconism by the use of this figure.

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By the efforts of those born deaf and dumb to make themselves understood, we see they express all they are able to express. I should therefore recommend our theoretical mutes to copy them, and, as far as is possible, to form no sentence where the subject and the attribute with all their depen- dencies are not expressed. In short, they would only be allowed the choice of the order in which they would present ideas, or rather the gestures representing these ideas.

But there I see a difficulty. As thoughts, I know not by what contrivance, enter our mind very much in the form in which they appear in speech when they are tricked up, it is possible that this will cause some difficulty to our theoretical mutes ; perhaps they would be tempted to imitate the order of the words in the spoken language they are already familiar with a temptation which assails almost everyone who writes in a foreign language. All of our best modern Latinists fall into French constructions, so that perhaps our mutes' construc- tion will not be the construction of a man who had never had any notion of speech. What do you say ? Perhaps this difficulty would be of less frequent occurrence if our theoretical mutes were philosophers or orators ; but if this obstacle arises we might have recourse to one born deaf and dumb.

You will doubtless think this a singular way of obtaining true notions of the formation of a language. But pray consider, how much less far from truth ignorance is than prejudice, and that a

LETTER ON THE DEAF AND DUMB 167

man born deaf and dumb has no prejudices with regard to the manner of communicating his thoughts. Consider that inversions have not passed into his language from another, and that if he uses them it is nature alone which suggests their use ; that he is closely analogous to those beings people have imagined who with no trace of education, very few perceptions, and almost no memory, might easily pass for two-footed or four-footed animals.

I can assure you, sir, that a translation of this gesture language would do the translator great credit, for not only must he have completely under- stood the meaning and the thought, but the order of the words of the translation must faithfully follow the order of the gestures of the original. (To do this a philosopher would have to question his author, hear his replies, and represent them with exactness ; but philosophy is not learnt in a day.) One of these requisites would, however, facilitate the rest ; and if the question was given with a precise explanation of the gestures which are to compose the answer, it would be possible to represent ges- tures as far as possible by words. I say as far as possible, for there are gestures so sublime that the noblest eloquence can never translate them. Such is the scene in Shakespeare's tragedy of Macbeth. Lady Macbeth, walking in her sleep, advances silently with closed eyes (Act v, Scene i), and rubbing her hands together as if she were washing away the stain of the king's blood she had shed twenty years before, I know nothing in speech so

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pathetic as the silence and motion of this woman's hands. What an expression of remorse !

The way in which another woman carried the tidings of his death to her husband, who was still uncertain of his fate, is another example of a gesture unapproached In its vigour by the spoken word. She went with her son in her arms to a spot in the country which her husband could see from the tower in which he was imprisoned ; and, after looking for some time at the tower, she took a handful of earth which she scattered in the form of a cross on the body of her son, whom she had laid at her feet Her husband understood the sign, and starved himself to death. The sublimest thought Is forgotten, but these actions are never effaced from one's memory. I could make many reflections at this point on sublimity of situation, but they would take me too far from my subject.

Many of the fine lines in that magnificent scene in fferaclius, where Phocas does not know which of the two princes is his son, have been justly admired. For my part, the passage in the scene that I prefer is that where the tyrant turns to each of the princes in turn, and calls them by the name of his son, and they both remain cold and motionless :

• ' Martian^ d ce mot aucun ne veut rtpondre* " x

This cannot be put upon paper, and gesture here triumphs over speech.

Epaminondas, at the battle "of Mantinaea, is

1 [" Martian 1 and none will answer to the word." -Corneille, st Act iv, Scene iv.]

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mortally wounded ; the doctors tell him he will die when the spear is drawn from his body. He asks for. his shield, for it is dishonourable to lose the shield in battle ; and when this is brought to him, he draws out the spear-head himself. In the sublime scene at the close of the tragedy of Rhodogune, the most effective moment is certainly when Antiochus lifts the bowl to his lips, and Timagene enters crying " Ah, lord !" (Act v, Scene iv). What a throng of ideas and emotions crowd upon the audience at this gesture and this cry ! But I am digressing. To come back to our man born deaf and mute, I know of one who would be useful for experimental purposes, because he is intelligent and has expressive gestures, as you shall see.

I was playing chess one day, and the dumb man was watching. My opponent fought me to a difficult position, and the dumb man quite understood, and, thinking the game was lost, he closed his eyes, drooped his head, and let fall his arms as a sign that he considered me checkmated, or done for. Consider for a moment how metaphorical is the language of gesture. At first I thought as he did ; but as I had not exhausted the combinations, I was in no hurry to yield, and I looked about for a way out. The dumb man still thought there was none, and he expressed this very clearly by shaking his head and by putting back the lost pieces in the box. His example induced the other spectators to discuss the situation ; they examined it, and, after some fruitless expedients had been tried, a successful one

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was discovered. I made use of it, and explained to the dumb man that he was mistaken, and that I had escaped though he did not expect me to. But he, by pointing his finger at the spectators one after another, and making a motion of the lips, accom- panied by a sweeping movement of his arms in the direction of the door and the tables, replied that it was no credit to me to have got out of my difficulty by calling in all and sundry to my help. His gestures were so significant that no one could mis- understand him, and the popular expression "all and sundry " * occurred to many at the same time : this expression was definitely translated by our dumb man's gestures.

You know, at least you have heard, of a singular machine with which the inventor proposed to give sonatas in colour. I thought that if anyone could appreciate a performance of ocular music, and could judge of it without prejudice, it would be a man born deaf and dumb. I therefore took my friend to the house in the rue St Jacques, where the operator and the machine with colours was exhibited. Ah, sir, you would never guess the kind of impression that it made on him, nor the ideas it suggested.

You see that it was impossible to explain to him beforehand the nature and marvellous powers of the harpsichord; and, having no idea of sound, this instru- ment with colours could not suggest to him any musical impressions. The purpose of the machine

1 [Consumer le fiers, le qitart ct Us peasants; literally, "the third, the quarter, and the passers-by."]

LETTER ON THE DEAF AND DUMB 171

was as incomprehensible to him as the use of our organs of speech. What, then, were his thoughts, and what was the cause of his admiration for Father CastePs coloured fans? Guess, sir, his conjectures about this ingenious machine, 1 which very few people have seen, though many have talked about it, and whose invention would do honour to many of those who ridicule it. Our deaf-and-dumb friend imagined that the inventor was also deaf and dumb, and that his harpsichord was the instrument by which he com- municated with other men ; he imagined also that each shade of colour represented a letter of the alphabet, and that by touching the keys rapidly he combined these letters into words and phrases, and, in fact, spoke in colours.

You may imagine he was pleased with his own perspicacity in finding this out ; but our friend did not rest on his laurels ; the idea suddenly came into his head that he now grasped what music and musical instruments were. He supposed that music was a peculiar manner of communicating thought, and that musical instruments lutes, violins, and trumpets were so many different organs of speech. You will say that only a man who had never heard music or a musical instrument could have happened on such a theory. But please consider that this theory, although obviously false to you, seemed almost proved to a deaf-and-dumb person. When the deaf-

1 [Voltaire ridiculed the machine invented by the Jesuit CastcL Diderot, on the other hand, returned to the idea again and again, and ^mentions it in the Encycfotos&a. (A)]

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and-dumb man calls to mind the attention he has observed us pay to music and to musicians, and the evidences of joy or grief depicted on our countenances and in our gestures as we listen to beautiful music, and when he compares them with the similar effects produced by speech or by visible objects, he cannot imagine that music has no definite meaning and that vocal and instrumental music arouses in us no distinct impressions.

And is not this, sir, an exact symbol of the way in which we form ideas, our theories, and, in a word, the conceptions by which so many philosophers have won fame? Whenever they attempt to explain matters which seem to demand another organ which is lacking before they can be completely understood, they have often shown less penetration and have wandered further from the truth than the deaf mute I have been describing ; for, after all, if we do not express our thoughts as distinctly by means of musical instruments as with our lips, and if musical notes do not convey our ideas as distinctly as speech, yet they do convey something.

The blind man I described in the Letter on the Blind' 1 assuredly displayed great penetration in his conception of the use of the telescope and spectacles, and his definition of a mirror is very remarkable ; but there is more profundity and truth in my deaf- mute's notion of Father CasteFs harpsichord and of our music and musical instruments. Even if he did not hit upon the exact truth, he hit upon a great 1 See Letter on the Blind, pp. 72-73.

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possibility. This penetration will surprise you less, perhaps, if you fancy that everyone who walks through a picture gallery is really unconsciously acting the part of a deaf man who is amusing him- self by examining the dumb who are conversing on subjects familiar to him. This is one of the points of view with which I always look at pictures ; and I fancy it a sure means of divining ambiguous actions and equivocal movements ; of being at once aware of the frigidity and confusion of an ill-arranged action or of conversation ; and of seeing at once, in a scene rendered in painting, all the faults of languid or exaggerated acting. The term " acting " which I have just used, because it expresses what I mean, calls to my mind another mode of studying which I often employed and which taught me more about actions and gestures than all the books in the world. I used to frequent the theatre, and 1 knew by heart most of our best plays. On the days when I meant to examine actions and gestures I would climb to the gallery, for the further I was from the actors the better. As soon as the curtain was raised, and the rest of the audience disposed themselves to listen, I put my fingers in my ears, much to the astonishment of my neighbours ; not knowing my motives, they looked on me as a madman who only came to the play to miss it. I paid no attention to their remarks, and kept my fingers obstinately in my ears as long as the gestures and actions of the actor corresponded with the dialogue which I remembered. When I was

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puzzled by the gestures I took my fingers from my ears and listened. Ah, how few actors there are who can stand such a test, and how humiliated the majority would be if I were to give the world my criticisms ! But judge of my neighbours' surprise when they saw me shed tears at the pathetic passages, though I had my fingers in my ears. That was too much for them, and even the least inquisitive began to question me. But I coolly answered that * ' everybody had his own way of listening, and mine was to shut my ears to hear the better," and found some silent amusement in the comments caused by my real or apparent eccen- tricity and in the simplicity of some young people who also tried putting their fingers in their ears to hear as I did, and were surprised at their lack of success.

Whatever you may think of my expedient, pray consider that if, to judge correctly of intonation, we must listen to an actor without looking at him, it is very natural to watch an actor without hear- ing him, if we are to judge correctly of his gestures and action. I may add that the celebrated writer of plays, Le Sage, the author of The Lame Devil, The BacJielor of Salamanca, Gil Bias of Santillana, Turcaret^ and a number of plays and comic operas in which his son, the inimitable Montmeny, took part, became so deaf in his old age that people had to shout into his ear-trumpet. Yet he was in the habit of frequenting the theatre to see his pieces played, and could follow them almost word for

LETTER ON THE DEAF AND DUMB 175

word ; indeed, he said he was a better judge of his plays and their action when he could no longer hear the actors ; and I am certain, from my own personal experience, that he was right.

In studying gesture language it appears to me the principal idea should be presented first, because it throws light on the rest as indicating what the succeeding gestures refer to. When the subject of a proposition in oratory or gesticulation is not announced, the significance of the other gestures or words remains uncertain. This is certainly the case in Greek or Latin phrases, but not in the language of gesture when properly constructed. Suppose I am at table with a deaf-mute, and he wishes to tell his servant to give me some wine. He first beckons to his servant, then looks at me, then he imitates the action of a man pouring out wine. In this sentence it hardly matters which of the last two signs comes first : the deaf mute, after beckoning to his servant, may either begin with the sign representing his order or that denoting the person whom the order concerns ; but the position of the first gesture cannot be altered. Only an illogical mute could displace it. For this displacement would be as absurd as a man speaking without knowing whom he was addressing. As to the order of the two other gestures, it is a matter of taste, fancy, suitability, and harmony of style, and does not affect the sense. As a rule, the more ideas there are in a sentence, and the more possible arrangement of gestures or other signs there are, the greater

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danger of falling into contradictions, ambiguities, and other faults of construction. I do not know if we can justly estimate a man's opinions and morals by his writings, but I think we can form a good judgment of his intellectual abilities from his style, or rather his manner of constructing sentences. I can at least say that I have never found myself mistaken in my judgment. I have observed that every writer whose sentences had to be completely re- written would also have required an entirely new brain before he was fit for anything.

But how is it possible in a dead language to use correct constructions when there are so many pos- sible ways of arranging words? Our language is so simple and uniform that I venture to say it will be easier to write and speak French correctly, if it were to die, than it is possible to write Latin and Greek now. How many inversions do we use to-day in Latin and Greek which would not have been permitted in the days of Cicero and Demos- thenes and which the refined ears of those orators would have rejected ?

But, people will tell me, have we not in our language adjectives which are only used before a substantive, and others which are only used after ? How can our posterity learn these fine distinctions ? Reading good authors is not enough. I agree with you ; and if the French language dies, future savants, who care enough for our literature to learn and write our language, will be sure to write indifferently blanc bonnet or bonnet blanc^ ml chant auteur or auteur

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m chant, homme galant and galant homme, and a vast number of similar phrases which would make non- sense of their writings were we to rise up to read them, but which would not prevent their ignorant contemporaries from exclaiming when they read some such piece : {< Racine did not write more correctly/' or " That is just like Despreaux ; Bossuet could not have said it better ; this prose has the music, the force, the elegance and ease of Voltaire's. " But if a limited number of difficulties may cause those who come after us to stumble, what are we to think of our modern Greek and Latin authors and of the admiration they obtain?

In talking to a deaf-mute it is found to be almost impossible to describe to him indefinite portions of quantity, number, space, or time, or to make him grasp any abstract idea. One can never be sure that he realises the difference in tense between I made, I have made, I was making, and / should have made. It is the same with conditional propositions. If, then, I was right in saying that at the origin of language men first named the principal objects of sense, such as fruit, water, trees, animals, serpents, etc., and then named passions, places, and persons, qualities, seasons, etc., I may add that signs for periods of time and tenses were invented last of all. I imagine that for long centuries men had no other tenses than the present indicative and the infinitive, which became, according to the circumstances, either a future or a past.

I am supported in this conjecture by the present

12

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state of the lingua franca the language spoken by the various Christian nations trading with Turkey and the Levant ports. I believe it is the same to- day that it has always been, and that it will never develop. Its base is a corrupt Italian. The present infinitive is used for every tense, and its meaning is modified by guessing and by the other words of the sentence. Thus, / love thee, I was loving thee, I shall love thee, are all in lingua franca, "miamarti." All have sung, Let each one sing, All will sing, are ' ' tutti cantara. " / wish, I was wishing, I have 'wished, I should like to marry you, are "mi voleri sposarti* "

I imagine that inversions have crept into a language and been preserved in it because gesture language gave rise to the language of oratory, and that they naturally retained the position thus as- signed to them in the sentence. I also think that, for the same reason, as tense was not accurately defined even after conjunctions were formed, some languages, like Hebrew, which has no present or imperfect, did without certain tenses. They said Credidi propter quod locutus sum instead of Credo et ideo loquor: I Jiave believed, and therefore I have spoken, instead of / believe, and therefore I speak.

In other languages the same tense had two different meanings, as in the Greek language, where the aorist is at one time expressive of the present, at another of the past. Let me quote as an illustra- tion there are many others a passage in the EncJuridion, which is perhaps not so familiar to you

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as some. Epictetus says : QeXovcri KOL avrol <J>L\O- <ro<pelv. A.v6p<*)7Ti TTptoTOv ex/ovce^cu, otrolov <TTL TO 7T/>ay/xa ' efra KOL Trjv a-eavrov <j>vviv /cara/^aSe, el Svvaa-ai ftaa-Tdarai. TLevTaOXog etvat f3ou\et, rj TraXai 0-7-779 ; tSe a-eavrov TOVS /3paxiova$, TOI/? fjLrjpovs, Ttjv 6<r<f>vv /cara- jj.aQe (ch. xxix). A close translation is : " These men also wish to be philosophers ; O man, first have learnt what it is that you wish to be, have studied your strength and the burden, have considered your arms and thighs, have tried your loins if you intend to be a pentathlete or a wrestler." This can be much better translated by substituting the present for the first and second aorists ; thus : "These men also wish to be philosophers. Man, first learn what it is you wish to be ; .study your strength, and the burden ; consider your arms and thighs ; try your loins if you intend to be a pentathlete or a wrestler. " The pentathlete, as you know, was one who intended to enter for all the gymnastic exercises.

I consider these eccentricities of tense as the result of the original imperfection of languages and the traces of their original rudimentary state, against which common sense (which does not allow one and the same expression to render different ideas) vainly strove in after times. It was in vain ; the usage was fixed, and use won a victory over common sense. But there was, perhaps, not a single Latin and Greek author who was aware of this defect. I go further, and .maintain that every Greek and Latin author probably imagined in their speeches and writings that their words exactly

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followed the order of their ideas. But evidently it was not so. When Cicero begins his oration pro Marcello by Diuturni silentii, Patres conscripti, quo eram his temporibus usus, etc., we can see that he was thinking of something before his c ' long silence " an idea which was to follow and break in upon his "long silence," and which caused him to say Diuturnt silentii instead of Diuturnum silentium. This remark upon the inversion of the beginning of this oration applies equally to all cases of inversion ; as a rule, in all Greek and Latin periods, however long they may be, we observe at once that the writer had some reason for preferring to use certain cases, and that there was not the same inversion in his ideas as in the order of his words. In the above sentence of Cicero's, what made him use the genitive case in Diuturni silentii^ the ablative in quo y the imperfect tense m eram, and so on, was the order of ideas pre-existing in his mind which did not coincide with the order of the words an order he obeyed unconsciously, from a long practice in trans- position. Why should Cicero not have used in- version unconsciously, since we, who think our language follows the natural order of ideas, do so too? I was therefore justified in distinguishing between the natural and the acquired or scientific order of ideas and signs.

You thought, sir, it might be argued, that there was no inversion in that period of Cicero's ; you are mistaken, but two considerations which have escaped your notice will convince you. The first is, that as

LETTER ON THE DEAF AND DUMB 181

inversion proper, or the acquired, scientific and gram- matical order, is really an order in words which does not correspond to the order in ideas, what is inver- sion for one is not so for another, for different minds may put their words in different order. For in- stance, in the sentence serpent em fuge I would ask you which is the principal idea. You may say that it is the serpent, but another will say it is flight ; and both ot you may be right. A timid man thinks only of the serpent ; but the man who fears my danger more than he fears the serpent thinks only of my flight : one is overwhelmed by terror, the other gives me warning. The second thing I would remark is, that when we are presenting a series of ideas to others, and the main idea we wish to im- press upon them is not the one by which we our- selves are most impressed (because we and our hearers are differently situated), it is this former idea which we should present first, and such an in- version is but a matter of oratory. Let us apply these observations to the first period of the oration $ro Marcello. I picture to myself Cicero mounting the tribune to speak to the people ; and I see that the first idea that will strike his audience is that it is a long time since he spoke to them ; hence diulurni silentii, his prolonged silence, is the first idea he must present to them, although the principal idea in his mind is rather hodiernus dies finem attulit ; for the orator's main preoccupation is the speech he is about to make, not his past silence. I notice another reason for the use of the genitive case in diuturni silentii ;

1 82 DIDEROT 'S PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS

the audience could not realise the fact of Cicero's prolonged silence without seeking for the cause of it, and why he was at last breaking it. Now the genitive, being a case incomplete in itself, induces the minds of his hearers to travel onwards to meet the ideas that the orator could not present at once.

These are, sir, the remarks upon the passage in question which you might have made. I am sure Cicero would have arranged this period quite differently, if, instead of speaking at Rome, he had been suddenly transported to Africa to plead at Carthage. This will show that what was not an inversion for Cicero's hearers would be and must be one for the orator himself.

But to go a little further: I hold that when a phrase only contains very few ideas, it is very diffi- cult to determine the natural order of these ideas in relation to the speaker ; for if they are not all pre- sented at once, their succession is so rapid that it is often impossible to decide which strikes us first. Who can say if the mind cannot embrace a certain number at one and the same instant ? Perhaps you will call this paradoxical ; but let us examine to- gether how the article 7#V, tlle y le came to be intro- duced into Latin and into our language. It will not be a long .or difficult matter, and may induce you to accept a position that you find distasteful at present.

Let us first transport ourselves to the period when Latin adjectives and substantives which denoted the qualities perceived by sense in various natural objects

LETTER ON THE DEAF AND DUMB 183

were almost all invented, but when no expression had yet been found for those intellectual subtilties which philosophy has even to-day much difficulty in distinguishing. Next imagine two hungry men, one of whom could see no food, while the other stood beneath a tree so very tall that he could not reach its fruit. Their sensations make both these men speak ; the first would say : / am hungry, I would like to eat ; and the second, What beautiful fruit / / am hungry ', I would like to eat. Now, it is obvious that the former has adequately expressed in words all that passed in his mind ; while the latter has left something unexpressed a portion of his thought must be supplied. The expression I would like to eat, when no food is to be seen, applies generally to all food that could appease hunger ; but the same expression is limited in its application, and refers only to a fine fruit when that fruit is to be seen. Thus, though they both said 7 am hungry, I would like to eat, the man who exclaimed "What a fine fruit ! " returned in thought to this fruit, and I make no doubt that if the article le had been in use he would have said : WJiat fine fruit ! I am hungry ; I would like to eat this (or this I would like to eat). The article le or celuim this case and in other similar cases denotes that the mind reverts to an object which it had previously considered, and the inven- tion of this symbol is, I think, a proof of the progress of the mind.

Do not raise difficulties about the position this word ought to occupy in the sentence in accordance

1 84 DIDEROTS PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS

with the natural order of ideas, for though these statements, What fine fruit ! I am hungry, I would like to eat that, are each expressed by two or three words, each only denotes a single notion ; the mid- most sentence, I am Iwngry, is expressed in Latin by a single word esurio. The fruit and its quality are perceived at the same time ; and when a Roman said esurio he only imagined he was expressing a single idea. / would much like to eat that are only modes of single sensation. / denotes the person who experiences it ; would like to eat, the desire and the nature of the sensation experienced ; much, its intensity ; it, the presence of the desired object But in the mind there is not the successive development we observe in speech ; if it had twenty mouths, and each mouth able to say a word, all the above ideas would be expressed at once. This could be ex- cellently executed on Father Castel's harpsichord, if our dumb friend's theory were in practice and each colour combined to form words. No tongue would approach it in the rapidity of its speech. But as we have not many mouths, people have attached several ideas to a single term. If there were more of these vigorous terms, instead of the tongue panting after the mind, such a number of ideas could be expressed at once that the mind would lag after the tongue which hastened in advance of it. What would then be the fate of inversion, which implies a disintegration of many simultaneous mental impressions and a number of words? Al- though we have few words equivalent to a long

LETTER ON THE DEAF AND DUMB 185

speech, we have some, and Greek and Latin are full of them ; they are at once understood when used, and this is a proof that the mind experiences a multitude of sensations, if not simultaneously, yet in such rapid succession that it is impossible to distinguish their order.

If I had to explain this system of the human understanding to one who found it difficult to grasp abstract ideas, I should say, "Consider man as a walking clock ; the heart as its mainspring, the contents of the thorax as the principal parts of the works ; look on the head as a bell furnished with little hammers attached to an infinite number of threads which are carried to all corners of the clock- case. Fix upon the bell one of those little figures with which we ornament the top of our clocks, and let it listen, like a musician who listens to see if his instrument is in tune : this little figure is the soul. If many of these little threads are pulled at once, the bell will be struck several times, and the little figure will hear several notes simultaneously. Imagine that there are some of these threads that are always being pulled ; and just as we only notice the noise of Paris by day when it ceases at night, we shall be unconscious of some sensations which are continuous, such as of our existence. The mind, especially in health, is unconscious of its own existence, unless it deliberately examines Itself. When we are well, we are unconscious of any part of our body ; and if any part draws attention to itself by pain, we are certainly not well ; and if it is by a pleasurable

186 DIDEROTS PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS

sensation, it is by no means certain that we are the better for it."

I could pursue my analogy still further, and add that the sounds produced by the bell do not die away at once, but have some duration ; that they produce chords with the sounds that follow, and the little figure that listens compares them, and pronounces them harmonious or dissonant ; that memory, which we need to form opinions and to speak, is the resonance of the bell ; the judgment, the formation of chords ; and speech, a succession of chords. It is not without reason that some brains are said to be "cracked," like a bell. And is not the law, which is so necessary in a series of harmonies, of having at least one note common to the chord and that following it, also applicable? Does not this common note resemble the middle term of a syllogism ? And what else is the likeness we observe in certain minds but the result of some freak of nature by which two intervals are marked, one a fifth and the other a third, in relation to another note? By this fertile analogy, and with all the madness of Pythagoras, I might demonstrate the wisdom of that Scythian law which prescribed one friend as a necessity, permitted two, and forbade three. Among the Scythians, I might say, a man was "out of tune" if the note which he gave forth found no harmonic among his fellow-men ; three friends would make a perfect accord ; while a fourth superadded would be but a repetition of one of the former three, or would introduce a discordant note, '

LETTER ON THE DEAF AND DUMB 187

But enough of this language of metaphor, which at best is but fitted to amuse and arrest the volatile mind of a child ; let us come back to philosophy, which requires arguments and not analogies.

When people examined the various utterances called forth by the sensations of hunger and thirst, they observed that the same terms were used to express different notions ; and the symbols you y he, me, the, and many others, were invented for the sake of precision. A mental state during an indivisible moment of time was expressed by a number of words which divided the complete expression into a number of parts ; and because these words were uttered one after another, and were only understood in the order they were spoken, it was thought that the sensations they expressed were experienced by the mind in the same order. But this is not the case. Our mental state is one thing, our analysis of it quite another. This is so, whether we analyse it to ourselves or to others. The complete and instantaneous perception of this state is one thing ; the detailed and continuous effort of attention we make to analyse it, state it, and explain it to others, another. Our mind is a moving scene, which we are perpetually copying. We spend a great deal of time in rendering it faith- fully ; but the original exists as a complete whole, for the mind does not proceed step by step, like expression. The brush takes time to represent what the artist's eye sees in an instant In the growth of language, decomposition was a necessity ; but to see an object, to admire it, to experience an

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agreeable sensation, and to desire to possess it, is but an instantaneous emotion, rendered in Greek and Latin by a single word. This word once uttered, all is said and understood. Ah, how our understand- ing is modified by words, and how cold a copy of reality is the most vigorous utterance !

Les ronces degouttantes Portent de ses cheveux les depouilles sanglantes. 1

This is one of the most life-like pictures I know, but yet how far is it from my imagination I

I beg of you, sir, to consider these points if you wish for a juster notion of this complex question of inversion. For my part, I am fitter to gather a cloud than to scatter it, to suspend my judgment than to give a verdict ; and I am going to prove that if the paradox that I have just advanced does not hold good, and if our mind does not allow of several perceptions at one and the same time, it would be impossible to think and speak ; for thought and speech consist in the comparison ot two or more ideas. Now, how is it possible to compare ideas which are not both at once present in the mind ? You allow that we can experience more than one sensation at a time ; for example, we can perceive the colour and shape of a body at the same time ; why not also abstract ideas ? Does not memory employ two ideas present at the same time in the mind the actual idea, and the remembrance of the former ? For my part, I think that is why a good judgment and a good memory are rarely found

1 Racine, Ph^dre l Acte v, Scfcne vu

LETTER ON THE DEAF AND DUMB 189

together. A good memory presupposes a great facility in embracing various ideas at one and the same moment or in rapid succession ; and this gift interferes with the tranquil examination of a small number of ideas which the mind ought to contem- plate with fixed attention. A mind stored with a huge variety of things is like a library of odd volumes ; it is like one of these German compila- tions bristling with Hebrew, Arabic, Greek, or Latin quotations put together without judgment or taste ; which are ponderous as it is, and which will grow more and more ponderous, and grow none the better ; a store full of analyses and appreciations and ill-digested works, and shops of mixed goods where the memorandum alone is in order ; a commentary where we scarcely ever find what we want, but often what we don't want, and almost always what we want is lost in a heap of rubbish.

It follows from the foregoing statements there is not, and perhaps there cannot be, inversion in the mind, especially if the object contemplated be an abstract one ; and though a Greek may say : w/ciycrcu okufj.'Tna. 6e\eis*, /cayo>, vrj rov$ 8eov$' KOJJ^SOV yap <TTIV (Epictetus, Enchiridion^ ch. xxix) and a Roman Honores flurimum valent apud prudentes , st sibi collates intelligant^ French syntax and common sense find this Greek and Latin syntax embarrassing, and say without any inversion : You would like to belong to tlie French Academy? So should I ; for it is an honourable distinction, and the wise man may value a distinction which he feels he deserves.

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I would not therefore care to maintain without distinction the general statement that the Romans did not use inversion, whereas we do. I should merely say, if instead of comparing our sentence with the order of ideas we compared it with the order of the inversion of words, with gesture- language, for which spoken language has been gradually substituted, it would appear that we invert ; and we use more inversions than any other nation in the world. But if our construction is com- pared with that of a mind influenced by Greek and Latin syntax, we have the fewest possible inversions. We express things In French in the order the mind has to consider them, whatever the language. Cicero, if we may say so, followed the French order before obeying the Latin.

It follows that, since the communication of thought is the principal object of a language, French is of all languages the best organised, the most precise, and the most excellent, for it retains less than any other the negligences, or what I may call the lispings, of the childhood of the race : in other words, by having no inversions we have gained in clearness and precision, which are essential qualities in writing ; but on the other hand we have lost in warmth, in energy, and in eloquence. I may add that the orderly and didactic movement of our language makes it peculiarly suitable for science ; but the Latin, Italian, and English languages, which allow of inversion, are more suited for literature. We can express the intellect better than any other

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nation, and common sense will choose French for its utterances ; but imagination and the passions will prefer the ancient tongues, and that of our neighbours, to ours. French should be the language of society and of the schools of philosophy ; Greek, Latin, and English, the language of our lecture- halls, pulpits, and theatres ; but if truth return to earth, I believe French would be her chosen speech, while Greek, Latin and the other tongues will be the language of fables and falsehoods. French is the language for teaching, enlightening, and con- vincing ; Greek, Latin, Italian and English for persuading, stirring the passions, and hoodwinking ; talk Greek or Latin or Italian to the multitude, but talk French to the wise.

Another drawback to languages with inversions is that the attention of the reader or hearer is taxed. How many cases, tenses, and termina- tions are there not to bear in mind in a long Greek or Latin sentence ? It is almost incomprehen- sible until one reaches the last word ; while in French there is none of this strain, and we can understand as we go along. Ideas in our language are presented in the order they presented themselves to the mind, whether the mind be Greek or Latin. La Bruyere is less fatiguing to read in the long run than Livy, though the former is a profound moralist, the latter a simple historian ; but the historian sets his sentences and phrases so artificially, that we are continually removing them from their sockets, and restoring them to their clear and natural order,

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and Insensibly weary of the toil, just as the strongest arm wearies of a small weight which is constantly carried. So, take it all in all, our pedestrian language has the advantage of utility over the others.

But there is a motive which both in French and in the ancient tongues disturbs the natural order of ideas, and that is the desire for harmony of style a desire which is now become so imperative that we are ready to sacrifice a great deal to it. For we must distinguish between three phases that all languages pass through when they have left that earliest stage when they were merely a confusion of cries and gestures which we may call the animal phase. These three phases are birth, development, and perfection. The newly-born language was made up of words and gestures in which adjectives - without gender or case and verbs without tenses and not governing cases preserved the same terminations throughout. In the developed language there were words, cases, genders ; and verbs were conjugated and governed cases. In fact, there were all the necessary signs for expressing thought, but nothing more. In the perfected language, beauty was required ; for people thought the ear must be pleased as well as the mind. But as the subsidiary is often thus set before the principal thing in the sentence, the order of ideas is often disturbed to procure this harmony of style. This is what Cicero has done in part of his opening period in the pro Mar cello \ for the first Idea that "he should have

LETTER ON THE DEAF AND DUMB 193

presented to his hearers, after that of his long silence, was the reason for this silence. He should therefore have said : Diuturni silentii, quo, non timore aliquO) sed partim dolor e, partim verecundia, eram his temporibus usus> fineni^ Jiodierxus dies attulit. Compare this sentence with the original, and you will find no reason why it should not have been used by him, except that of harmony. Another instance is the great orator's phrase, Mors terrorque civium ac sociorum Romanorum* where it is evident that the natural order required terror morsque. There are a number of other examples I could quote. This leads us to the question whether the natural order should be sacrificed for the sake of harmony. I think this is permissible when the inverted ideas are so close to one another that they strike the ear and mind almost at the same moment ; just as we transpose the fundamental bass into a higher clef to make it more tuneful, although the transposed bass will only be agreeable so long as the ear can distinguish the natural progressions of the funda- mental bass which suggested it. Do not think from this remark that I am a great musician ; it is only two days ago that I began to be one ; but you know how one likes to parade some new accomplishment. I think we might discover several analogies between musical harmony and harmony of style. When, for instance, we are about to describe some great or wonderful events, the harmony of style must be sacrificed or at least disturbed. So we say:

1 " The death and panic of the Roman citizens and their allies."

13

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Magnum Jovis incrementitml

Nee brachia longo

Margin* terrarum porrexerat Amphitrite? Ferte titiferrum, date tela, scandite muros*

Vita quoquc omnis

Omnibus e nervis atque ossibus exsolvatur* Longo sedproximus intervallo?

In a similar manner in music we must sometimes shock the ear in order to surprise and please the imagination. We may also observe, that though these licences in the order of words are only per- mitted for the sake of the harmony of style, licences in harmony, on the other hand, are chiefly taken to arouse and give rise in the most natural order to the ideas which the musician wishes to express.

In speech we must distinguish between thought arid expression ; if thought is expressed with purity, clarity, and precision, this is quite sufficient for ordinary conversation ; if you add to these a certain distinction in the use of words and a certain rhythm and harmony, you will have a style well fitted for an orator, but you will still be far removed from poetry, especially from the grand style of the epic and the ode. There is a spirit in the poet's lan- guage which moves there and breathes life into each syllable. What is this spirit ? I have felt its pres- ence, but find it difficult to describe. I may say that it states and paints objects at the same time ;

1 Virgil, BucoL, Eclog. iv, v. 49.

2 Ovid, Afefam., lib. i, vv. 13-14.

3 Virgil, Mncid, lib. ix, v. 37.

4 Lucretius, De rerum nat., lib. i, vv. 810-811.

5 Virgil, ^neid^ lib. v, v. 320.

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it appeals not only to the understanding, but to the soul which it stirs and the imagination that sees and the ear that hears. The lines are not merely a chain of vigorous words which express the thought both forcibly and nobly, but a series of hieroglyphs, one after another, which picture the thought to us vividly. I might say that all poetry is symbolic.

But it is not everyone who can understand these symbols. In order to feel their full force we must be, as it were, in the creative mood. The poet says :

JSt des fleuves franfaises les eaux ensanglantses Ne portaient que dts marts aux mers epouvaniees^

Does everybody appreciate the value of the first syllable of the word portaient, which paints us the waters swollen with corpses and the stream choked, as it were, by this obstacle? And in the second syllable of the word, does everyone see the mass of waters and dead bodies subsiding and moving out to sea ? The terror of the sea is brought before us all in the word tpouvanttes, but the stress laid on the third syllable brings before me the vast extent of the ocean. Again, the poet says :

Soupire^ 'etend les bras, ferme fosil tt fend&rt?

All exclaim, ' ' How fine ! " but it is not by counting the syllables on one's fingers that we can judge how fortunate the poet was, when expressing a sigh, to have such a word as soupire with its long-drawn sound. We read t end les frras, but we hardly realise

1 Voltaire, Hcnriade, chant ii, v. 357.

2 Boileau, Lutrin, chant ii, v. 164.

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how the impression of length and lassitude is ex- pressed by the long monosyllable bras y and the

• * outstretched arms " fall so reposefully on the ear

at the close of the first hemistich of the line. Do we notice the rapid movement of the eyelid in ferine Vml and the almost imperceptible change from wakefulness to sleep at the close of the second hemistich ferine fceil et s'endoitt

The cultivated reader will of course observe that the poet has four actions to represent, and that his line is divided into four parts ; that the two last actions are closely interrelated, and that they have scarcely an interval between them ; and that the two last and corresponding parts of the line are also closely linked, united as they are by the rapidity of the movement of the penultimate part and by a conjunction ; that each of the actions takes only its proper proportion of time in the verse ; and that as all four actions are comprised in this small space, the poet has expressed their rapid succession in nature. That is the kind of problem that the poet's genius solves unconsciously ; but do his readers realise his skill? Certainly not; and I shall not therefore be surprised if those readers of Boileau (and there are many) who have not understood the meaning of his symbols laugh at my commentary, and, remembering the Chef-d?ceuvre <pun inconnu^ treat me as a visionary.

1 Le chef-tfcrunre d*un inconnu, ccoec des remarques savantes, par M. le docteur Chrysostome Mathanasius, La Haye, 1714. This little jeu flf esfrit was the work of Themiseul de Saint llyacinthe, S'Grave-

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I used to think, like everybody else, that one poet could translate another, but I have found out my mistake. The thought can be rendered, and perhaps by good fortune the equivalent expression. Homer said : eK\aygav S ap otcrrol (Iliad, Cant i, v. 46) and lela sonant humeris is Virgil's version (^Eneid y lib. iv, v. 149). That is something, but not all ; the suggestive symbolism, the subtle hieroglyphs which pervade a long description, and which depend on the distribution of long and short syllables in an unaccented language and on the distribution of vowels between consonants in all languages, disappear even in the best translation.

Virgil writes of Euryalus stricken by a mortal

wound :

Pulchrosque per artus

It cruor^ inque humeros cervix collapsa recumMt : Purpureus vduti quum flos^ sucdsus aratro, Languesdt moriens ; lassovc papavera collo Demisere caput^ pluviam qitum forte gravcuitur^

I should just as soon expect these lines to have sprung from letters scattered at haphazard, as that

sand, Sallengre, Prosper Marchand, and others, who wrote admiring comments in all languages upon the words of a song beginning : " L/autre jour Colin malade

Dedans son lit D'une grosse maladie

Pensant mourir."

The authors were ridiculing German scholarship. (A) d, lib. ix, w. 433-437

Blood trickles o'er his limbs of snow, His head sinks gradually low ; Thus severed by the ruthless plough,

Dim fades a purple flower : Their weary necks so poppies bow O'erladen by the shower.

(Trs. Conington.)

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a translation could render all the suggestive beauties : the gush of blood, it cruor ; the drooping head of the dying lad, cervix collapsa recumbit \ the sound of the scythe, 1 succisus ; the languor of death, languescit moriens ; the softness of the poppystalk, lassove papavera collo ; and the demisere caput zxidgravantur suitably complete the picture. Demisere is as soft as the stalk of a flower ; gravantur is as heavy as its cup heavy with rain ; collapsa expresses effort and relapse. The same symbolic suggestion is to be found in papavera ; the first two syllables show the poppy with head erect, and in the last two it droops. All these pictures are compressed in these four lines of Virgil. You have been affected by the happy parody in Petronius 2 of Virgil's lassove pap aver a collo applied to the exhaustion of Ascyltus when he quits Circe ; and you would not have so keenly appreciated Petronius' use of the phrase if you did not recognise in it a faithful picture of the plight of Ascyltus.

This analysis of Virgil ought to be enough for me ; and after drawing attention to more beauties than are perhaps to be found in the original certainly more than the poet deliberately thought of, my imagination and taste ought to be completely satisfied. No, sir ; I am about to expose myself to two criticisms of having seen beauties that were

1 Aratrum does not mean a scythe, but the reason for this rendering will appear a little further on. (D)

2 Ilia solo fixos oculos aversa tenebat

Nee prius incepto vultum sermone movelur Quam lentae salices, lassove papavera collo.

Satyricon. (Br)

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not there, and criticised defects that were also non- existent. Now for it. I think the word gravantur is a little too heavy for the light poppy flower, and the aratro following succisus does not to me complete the suggestive picture. I am convinced Homer would have concluded his line with a word that would have continued the sound of a cutting imple- ment, or have depicted to my imagination the soft drooping of a flower.

It is the recognition of, or rather the vivid feeling for these symbolic expressions which are lost on the ordinary reader, that discourages men of genius from attempting a translation. That is why Virgil said that it is as difficult to take a line from Homer as to snatch a nail from the club of Hercules. The more a poet uses this symbolism, the more difficult he is to translate, and Homer is full of such suggestive symbols. Let me quote those lines where Jupiter with his dark brows confirms to ivory-shouldered Thetis his promise to avenge the injustice done to her son :

• H S /cat KvaverfVLV r* o^pvcri vevcre

"Aju./3pocr4<u 8* cipa ^olraj. 7Tpp<ikravTO K/oaros owr* adavdroLo ' p.eyav 8" cXcXefcp *QXvfjurov.

Iliad, i, 528-530.!

How many images there are in these three lines ! We see Jupiter's frown in eV otypvcrt, In vev&e K/oowW, and especially in the happy repetition of the letter k "in ?, teat icvaverja-w ; his flowing loclcs are expressed in eTrefiptocravTO avaicro?l the immortal head of the

1 * He spake and nodded with his dark-hued brows ; and the ambrosial locks from his immortal head shook ; and great Olympus trembled."

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god is majestically lifted by the elision of OTTO in Kparos rV aQavdroto ; the shaking of Olympus is expressed in the two first syllables of eXeXtgev ; the size and sound of Olympus in .the last syllables of fj.eyav and \\igev and in the last word where all Olympus trembles with its close.

The line which I have just written is the feeble rendering of two symbols one from Virgil, the other from Homer ; one of shock, the other of fall : And all Olympus trembles with its close.

..... Procumbit humi bos. 1

It is the repetition of the letter / in \e\igev

• Q\vfj.Trov which gives the idea of trembling and

shock. The same repetition of fs is found in my " Olympus trembles " ; but as the Fs are not so close together as in .Xe\igv 3f O\vju.7roi> y the shaking is less rapid and also less like the movement of frowning brows. " Trembles with its close" represents pro- cumbit humi bos fairly well, though the last word of my line is less heavy and emphatic than bos y which is a greater contrast with the word humi than close is with the short words immediately preceding it. Virgil's monosyllable is thus more isolated than mine, and the fall of his ox heavier and more com- plete than the close of my line.

An observation I may make here, which is just as apposite as the, speech of the Emperor of Mexico .in the chapter about coaches in Montaigne, 2 is that people had a singular veneration for the ancients,

1 .'Knfirf lib. v, v. 481. 2 Essais, liv. iii, ch. vi.

LETTER ON THE DEAF AND DUMB 201

and a great fear of Boileau, when they asked him if the three following lines of Homer,

Zeu irdrep, dAAo, cru pvcrcu {JIT yepos vtas *A^ata>j/ * TLofya-ov S* aWp-qv, Sos S* o^OaXj^OifTLV iBecrQai ' 'Ev Se <at /cat oAccro-oi/, 7ret vv roi cuaSev OTJTW?.

(Iliad, Cant, xvii, v. 645.)

were to be interpreted as Longinus 1 had inter- preted them, and as Boileau and La Motte had translated them, or not.

These are the true feelings of a warrior, cry Boileau 2 and the orator Longinus. He does not ask for his life to be spared, for a hero is above such a weakness ; but as he sees no opportunity of showing his courage in the midst of darkness, he is provoked at not 'fighting ; he therefore is anxious to ask for daylight, so that his end may at least be worthy of him, even if he has to fight with Jupiter himself.

Well, sir, I shall answer Longinus and Boileau : it is not a question here of the feelings of a warrior, nor what he would say in the circumstances in which Ajax is placed (Homer apparently knew these things as well as you), but of translating these lines of Homer correctly. And if it turns out that there are none of these sentiments you praise in these lines, what becomes of your praises and reflections ? What must we think of Longinus, La Motte, and Boileau, if we find they have invented and inserted

1 Treatise on the Sublime^ section ix.

2 Grand Dieu I chasse la nuit qui nous couvre les yeux Et combats contre nous a la clart des cieux.

Boileau, translating the Treatise on the Sublime ; ch. vii.

202 DIDEROT S PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS

Impious boasting in the place of a sublime and touching prayer ? Now, this is just what has hap- pened. Read these three lines of Homer as many times as you please, and you will find nothing but " Father of gods and men, drive away the dark- ness which covers our eyes, and, since you have resolved to slay us, let us die in the light."

And must we thus without a struggle die ? Great God, drive off the darkness from our eyes, And let us perish under open skies.

This translation does not give the pathos of Homer's lines, but at any rate it avoids the nonsense of La Motte and Boileau.

There is no defiance of Jupiter here, nothing but a hero ready for death, if it be the will of Jupiter, and asking no grace but to die fighting. Zeu Wrep, Jupiter , Pater ! Is that how the philosopher Men- ippus addresses Jupiter?

At the present day, when we are no longer at the mercy of the lines of the redoubtable Boileau, and the philosophic spirit has taught us to see in things only what is actually there and to praise only what is truly beautiful, I appeal to the learned men and men of taste, to Monsieur de Voltaire, to Monsieur de Fontenelle, and others, and I ask them if Boileau and La Motte have not spoilt Homer's Ajax, and Longinus vainly attempted to add to Homer's beauties. I recognise the greatness of Longinus, Boileau, and La Motte; but I am not attacking them, only defending Homer.

This passage of Jupiter's oath and many others I

LETTER ON THE DEAF AND DUMB 203

could quote are sufficient evidence that it is useless to try to add to Homer's beauties ; and Ajax' * speech is proof positive that in trying to add beauties to him there is a risk of destroying the genuine beauties of the original. However talented we are, we cannot write better than Homer, when he is at his best. At any rate, let us understand him before trying to outdo him. But he is so full of that poetic symbolism I was just now speaking of, that we cannot claim that we have completely understood him when we have only read him ten times. We might say that Boileau in literature has suffered the same fate as Descartes in philosophy, and it is through them we have learnt to correct their minor errors.

If you ask me when this hieroglyphic use of syllables was introduced into a language, whether it is a peculiarity of a language in its early stage or in the formative period, or of the perfected period, I make answer that when men contrived their primitive language they were apparently only influenced by the facility or difficulty of pronounc- ing certain syllables, and this facility (or difficulty) was conditioned by the conformation of the organs of speech. They did not seem to have considered .what relation the elements of these words might have from their quantity or sound to the physical characteristics of the objects they stood for. The vowel A, which is the easiest to pronounce, was first used, and it was modified in various ways before another sound was employed. The Hebrew Ian-

204 DIDEROTS PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS

guage supports this conjecture ; most of its words are modifications of the vowel A, and this pecu- liarity is in harmony with the traditions of this people's antiquity. If we examine Hebrew closely, we shall incline to consider it the language of the primitive inhabitants of the earth. As for the Greeks, they must have had the use of speech for a long time and have thoroughly practised the subtilties of pronunciation before they introduced quantity, harmony, and syllabic imitation of noises and actions. On the analogy of children, who, when they wish to denote an object whose name is not known to them, substitute for the name some of the object's sensible peculiarities, 1 conjecture that it was during the tran- sition from the primitive stage to the formative that language became enriched with syllabic harmony, and that rhythmic harmony was introduced into writings as the language passed from the formative to the perfected stage.

Whether these periods correspond to the actual development of language or no, one who has no feeling for the symbolic significance of words will often only appreciate the definite significance of epithets, and will be apt to call them superfluous ; he will criticise ideas as loose, and images as far- fetched, because he is blind to their subtle relation to the subject ; he will not see that in Virgil's it cruor the word it resembles in sound a gush of blood and the falling of rain-drops on the leaves of a flower, and so he will lose one of the trifles which are all-important among the best writers.

LETTER ON THE DEAF AND DUMB 205

Reading the most lucid poets, therefore, is not without its difficulties ; and I can assure you there are a thousand men who can understand a geome- trician for one who can understand a poet ; since there are a thousand men who have common sense for one man who has,. taste, and a thousand men of taste for one whose taste is exquisite.

I am told that in the Abbe de Bernis' discourse when Monsieur de Bissy was received into the French Academy, Racine was blamed for want of taste in the passage where he speaks of Hippolytus :

// suivait, fout pens if, le ckemin de Mycenes ; Sa main sur les chevaux laissait flatter les renes ; Ses superbes counters, qrfon voyait aufrefois Pleins tfune ardeur si noble oblir a sa voix, I? ail morne mainten<int et la t&te baissee, Se jnb latent se conformcr a sa

If the Abbe is criticising the actual description, and not its suitability in the context, it would be diffi- cult to find a better and more modern instance of the difficulty I just now spoke of, of reading poets.

There is nothing in these lines but speaks of depression and sorrow :

// suivait, tout pensif) le chtmin de Mycenes ; Sa main sur les chevaux laissait flatter les renes.

Les cJtevaux is better than ses chevaux ; and how well the picture of what these superb horses once were

1 "All pensive, he followed the road to Mycenae; his hands loosed the reins on his horses' necks ; and his superb horses, that used to obey his voice with a noble fire, now with bent head and lack-lustre eye seemed in sympathy with their master's sadness.'* Ptedre> Acte v, Scene vl

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contrasts with their present condition I The nodding of a horse's head, as it jogs wearily along, is imitated in a certain syllabic nutation in the line itself :

E&il morne maintenant et la fete baisste. But see how the poet brings all these details round to his hero :

Ses superbes coursiers^ etc. . . . Semblafent se conformtr a sa triste pcnste.

The word " seemed" seems too cautious for a poet, for it is well known that animals attached to man are affected by the signs of his joy or sorrow : the elephant is affected by the death of his driver, the dog mingles his voice with his master's, and the horse is affected if his driver is sad. Racine's description is therefore true to life : it is a noble description and a poetic picture which a painter might reproduce successfully. Poetry, painting, good taste, and truth are all united for Racine and against the Abb6 de Bernis' critique. 1

But if we were taught at Louis le Grand to notice all the beauties of this passage of Racine's tragedy, we were also told that they were out of place in the mouth of Theram&ne, and that Th6se would have had some excuse for stopping him and saying : cc Enough of my son's chariot and horses; tell me

1 [In an addendum to this Letter Diderot apologises for his criticism of the Abb de Bernis. He was at first told by a friend, who was present at the meeting of the French Academy, that the Abb6 de Bernis had criticised these lines of Racine's as both misplaced and bad in them- selves. He was afterwards informed that the Abb merely criticised them as misplaced ; and, far from claiming this criticism as original, he quoted the lines as one of the most familiar instances of such mis- placed eloquence.]

LETTER ON THE DEAF AND DUMB 207

about him. " It was not thus, the celebrated Poree told us, that Antilochus announced the death of Patroclos to Achilles. Antilochus approaches the hero with tears in his eyes, and tells him the terrible news in a few words : < Patroclos is no more. They are fighting for his body. Hector has his armour." There is more of the sublime in these two lines of Homer than in all the pompous declamation of Racine. c * Achilles, you have no longer a friend, and your armour is lost." At these words we all feel that Achilles must rush into the fray. When a passage sins against truth and propriety, it is not beautiful, either in tragedy or in epic. The details in Racine's lines would only be suitable in the mouth of a poet describing the death of one of his heroes.

So our learned professor of rhetoric taught us. He possessed both taste and intelligence, and it might be said of him that he was the "last of the Greeks." But this Philopcemen fell into the same mistake as people make to-day : he filled his works too full of cleverness, and kept his taste for other people's works.

To return to the Abb6 de Bernis. Did he only wish to maintain that Racine's description was out of place ? That is exactly what Father Poree taught us thirty pr forty years ago. Or did he wish to hold up the passage I have quoted as an example of bad taste ? That is an original idea, but is it justified ?

I am told that there are many well-expressed and well-reasoned passages in the Abb6 de Bernis' dis- course : you are more likely to know this than I, as

208 DIDEROTS PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS

you always take the opportunity of hearing such things. If it happens the Abbe de Bernis' discourse does not contain the offending passage I have just spoken of, and I have received an imperfect account of it, that will make another instance of the utility of a letter for the use of those who hear and speak.

Wherever the language of signs is to be seen, whether in a line of poetry or on an obelisk, whether in a work of imagination or of mystery, it requires a high degree of imagination and penetration to understand it. But if it is so difficult to understand poetry, why is it not more difficult to write poetry ? I shall be told that c * everyone writes poetry," but I shall reply, * * Hardly anyone writes poetry. " Every imitative art has its own alphabet of signs, and I much wish some man of taste and intelligence would make a study of them and compare them. The beauties of one poet have oftentimes been com- pared with those of another. But one task is still un- attempted to collect the beauties of poetry, paint- ing and music, and show their analogies with one another ; to explain how the poet, the painter anc the musician will express the same idea; to seize upon their most fleeting images of expression and examine the likeness, if there is a likeness, between the imagery of the different arts. I should advise you to add this as a chapter to your Fine Art reduced to a Single Principle, and I should also like you to include, at the beginning of your book, chapter to define in what the beauty of nature consists. 1 For some people are of opinion that for lack of one of these chapters your treatise is without a firm foundation, and for lack of the other of little practical use. Tell them, sir, the different methods of the arts in treating the same subject, and tell them it is false that nature is only ugly when out of place. They ask me why an old gnarled and twisted oak, with its branches lopped, and which I should have felled if it grew near my door, is just the tree a painter would set by my cottage door, if he had to paint it ? Is the oak beautiful or ugly ? Which is right the owner or the painter ? There is no subject of imitative art which does not arouse this and other difficulties. They also want to know why a scene which is admirable in a poem is not at all suitable for a painting? In those fine lines of Virgil :

Interea magno misceri murmure pontum

Emissamque hiemem sensit Neptunus, et imis

Stagna refusa vadis ; graviter commotus et alto

Prospiciens, summa placidum caput extulit unda

they ask why it is the painter cannot seize the striking moment when Neptune raises his head

1 Diderot used to call Batteux* book a headless book, because after he had reduced all the fine arts to a single principle that of imitating the beauty of nature, he never explained what the beauty of nature consisted in. Naigeon, Memoires*

2

Meantime the turmoil of the main

The Tempest loosened from its chain ;

The waters of the nether deep

Upstarting from their tranquil sleep

On Neptune broke : disturbed he hears,

And, quickened by a monarch's fears,

His calm broad brow o'er ocean rears.

d^ lib. i, v. 128 (frs. Conington).

14

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above the waves ? Why should the god, who then looks like a decapitated man, cut such a poor figure on the water, when the effect in the poem was so impressive? Why is it that what appeals to our imagination in poetry will not please our eyes when painted ? Perhaps there is one beauty of nature for the painter and another for the poet ? Heaven knows what conclusions they will draw from this theory. I hope you will deliver me from these busy bodies ; meantime, I am going to give you a single example of the imitation of one subject in nature by poetry, painting and music.

The subject is a dying woman. The poet will say :

Illa, graves oculos conata adtollere, rursus

Deficit. Infixum stridit sub pectore vulnus

Ter sese adtollens cubitoque adnixa levavit ;

Ter revoluta toro est oculisque errantibus alto

Quaesivit coelo lucem, ingenuitque referta ; 1

or

Vita quoque omnis

Omnibus e nervis atque ossibus exsofoatur?

The musician will begin by descending a semitone (a) : Ilia, graves oculos conata adtollere^ rursus deficit ; then he will go up a fifth, and after a rest, by the still more difficult interval of a tritone (ft).

1 The dull eyes ope, as drowned by sleep,

Then close ; the death wound gurgles deep

Thrice on her arm she raised her head,

Thrice sank exhausted on "the bed.

Stared with blank gaze aloft, around

For light, and groaned as light she found.

Virgil, Mneid, lib. iv, v. 688 (trs. Conington).

2 ' And life break wholly up out of all the sinews and bones.

Lucretius, de Rerum Nat** lib. i, w. 810, Su.

LETTER ON THE DEAF AND DUMB 211

Ter sese adtollens will go up a semitone (c) : Oculis errantibus alto quasivit ccelo lucem. This little interval will express the ray of light This is the

iLxemple

=J=t

me -nuzinrs & m&ryeiix if

^f

tjf.

\j 7 ^ ;

f e.

FIG. 8.

dying woman's last effort. After this she will sink by scale (d) : Revoluta tore est. She will expire at last, and breathe her last by an interval of a semitone (e) : Vita quoque omnis omnibus e nervis atquc ossibus

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exsolvatur. Lucretius expresses the dying away of her strength by the weight of the two spondees exsolvatur ; and the musician will express it by two minims, tied (/) : and the cadence on the second of the minims will give a very striking imitation of the vacillating motion of a dying lamp.

Now look at the painter's method of expression, and you will recognise the exsolvatur of Lucretius in the legs, the right arm, and the left hand. The painter who can express but a moment in time has not been able to represent so many symptoms of dissolution as the poet, but they are much more affecting; the painter shows *us reality, whereas the expressions of the poet and the musician are but symbols. When the musician is an artist, the ac- companiment either emphasises and strengthens the melody, or brings in new ideas which the subject demands and which the melody cannot express. Thus the first bars of the bass express a gloomy harmony, made up by a superfluous chord of the seventh, placed as it were outside the ordinary rules and followed by another chord, discordant in sound and of a diminished fifth (g\ The rest will consist of a series of minor sixths and thirds (A), which are descriptive of exhaustion of strength and prepare the mind for its total extinction.

It Is the equivalent of Virgil's spondees :

Alto qu&sivit c<xlo lucem.

This is but the rough sketch, which I leave for a more accomplished hand to complete. 1 make no

LETTER ON THE DEAF AND DUMB 213

doubt that, in this very subject I selected, instances could be found in our painters, poets, and musicians which would offer more and more striking analogies between the different arts. But I leave it to you, sir, to look for them and utilise them, for you must be painter and poet, philosopher and musician ; for you would not have attempted to reduce the fine arts to a single principle, if you had not been equally well acquainted with them all.

The poet and the orator gain by studying harmony of style, and the musician finds his compositions are improved by avoiding certain chords and certain intervals, and I praise their efforts ; but at the same time I blame that affected refinement which banishes from our language a number of vigorous expressions. The Greeks and Romans were strangers to this false refinement, and said what they liked in their own language, and said it as they liked. By over- refining we have impoverished our language ; and though there may be only one term which expresses an idea, we prefer rather to weaken the idea than to express it by some vulgar word or expression. How many words are thus lost to our great. imagina- tive writers, words which we find with pleasure in the pages of Amyot and Montaigne ! They were at first rejected from a refined style, because they were commonly used by the people ; later on they were rejected by the common people, who always ape their betters, and they are become entirely obsolete. I believe we shall soon become like the Chinese, and have a different written and spoken language.

314 DIDEROTS PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS

This, sir, is almost my last observation ; we journeyed on together, and I feel it is time to quit one another. If I detain you for a moment longer as we are leaving this maze in which I have led you, it is but to recapitulate in a few words its turnings and windings.

/ believed that, in order to clearly understand the nature of inversions, we should examine the forma- tion of spoken language.

/ inferred from this examination (i) that our language was full of inversions when compared with the animal language, or with the first stage of spoken language, when it existed without cases, declensions, conjugations, and syntax ; (2) that if we have in French hardly any of what we call inversion in ancient languages, this is perhaps due to modern peripateticism, which by realising abstractions gave them the place of honour in speech.

As a consequence of these truths I thought that we could, without studying the origin of spoken language, obtain results by the study of gesture- language alone.

/ suggested two methods of learning the language of gesture experiments with a " theoretical mute," or long conversations with one born deaf and dumb. The idea of a theoretical mute, or taking (hypotheti- cally) speech from a man, to get a clearer idea of the formation of language, has led me to consider man as divided into as many distinct and separate entities as he has senses ; and I think that if, to form a correct judgment of an actor's intonation, we must

LETTER ON THE DEAF AND DUMB 215

listen to him without seeing him, it is natural that we should look at him without listening to him if ' we are to form a correct opinion of his gestures.

In reference to energetic gesture-language ', I related some striking examples of this, which led me to dis- cuss a variety of the sublime which I call sublimity of situation.

The order that existed in the gestures of one born deaf and dumb (whose informal conversation seemed to me more valuable than experimenting with a ( ' theoretical mute "), and the difficulty in transmit- ting certain ideas to this deaf-mute, led me to dis- tinguish in spoken language between those symbols which were first introduced and those of later introduction.

/ saw that the symbols which in speech denoted indefinite divisions of quantity and time were among the last to be introduced, and I realised why some languages were without several tenses, and why other languages used one tense with two meanings. This lack of tenses in one language, and this mis- use of tenses in another, led me to distinguish three stages in the formation of a language its primitive \ its formative, and its perfected state.

/ saw, when language was formed, that men's minds were hampered by syntax, and by the im- possibility of thinking in the order which reigns in Greek and Latin periods. Hence I concluded (i) that, whatever the order of words in an ancient or modern language, the writer's mind followed the order of French syntax ; (2) that, as this syntax is the

216 DIDEROT S PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS

simplest of all, the French language had the advan- tage in this and many other respects of the ancient languages.

Moreover, / proved by the introduction and the utility of the article hie and tile in Latin and le in French, and by the fact that we have to experience several perceptions simultaneously in order to form a judgment or make a speech, that when the mind is not hampered by Greek and Latin syntax the order of its ideas is not dissimilar to our syntax.

In tracing the transition of language from the formative to the perfected state we meet with harmony of style.

f compared harmony of style with musical harmony, and / am convinced (i) that the first harmony in words was the result of quantity and a certain com- bination of vowels and consonants, suggested by instinct ; and that in sentences it was the result of the order of words ; (2) that this periodic and syllabic harmony produced a sort of language of symbols which is peculiar to poetry ; and I then treated this symbolic language, and analysed several passages of the greatest poets.

As a result of this analysis I ventured to maintain that it is impossible to translate a poet into another language, and that it is an easier thing to understand a geometrician than a poet.

I proved by two examples the difficulty of clearly understanding a poet : by the example of Longinus, Boileau, and La Motte, who misunderstood a passage in Homer; and by the example of the Abb de

LETTER ON THE DEAF AND DUMB 217

Bernis, who seemed to me to misunderstand a passage of Racine.

After I had defined the date when syllabic symbolism was introduced into a language, / observed that every imitative art had its own language of signs, and that it would be a good thing if a man of taste and learning would under- take to compare them.

Here I have hinted that this work is expected of you ; and that those of us who have read your Fine Arts reduced to the Imitation of Beauty in Nature demand that you should define in what beauty in nature consists.

I expect you to compare the language of signs in poetry, painting, and music ; meantime, I have ventured to make some observations of my own upon this subject.

Musical harmony ', which was necessarily included in the discussion, led my thought to the harmony of speech. I said that the limitations imposed by each were much more supportable than an affected refine- ment which tends daily to impoverish our language ; and I emphasised this point until I came to that passage where I took leave of you.

But do not suppose, from my last observation, that I withdraw my preference for French above all the languages of antiquity and the majority of modern languages. This is still my feeling, and I still think that French is superior in utility (if not in beauty) to Greek, Latin, Italian and English.

The objection may be perhaps raised that if, as I

2iS DIDEROTS PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS

submit, the languages of antiquity and those of our neighbours are superior in beauty, we all know that these languages do not play us false when we wish to treat of ordinary practical matters.

But I make answer that if our language is admir- able for its utility, it can also lend itself to the pur- poses of art. There is no role it has not successfully assumed. It has been gay and fanciful with Rabelais, narve with La Fontaine and Brantdme, musical in Malherbe and Flechier, sublime in Corneille and Bossuet. What an instrument it is in Boileau, in Racine, in Voltaire, and in a host of other writers of poetry and prose ! Do not let us waste our pity on it. If we know how to use it, our works will be as precious in the eyes of posterity as the works of classical antiquity are in our own. In the hands of a commonplace man, Greek, Latin, English and Italian will utter only commonplaces, while the pen of a man of genius will work miracles with French. Whatever language it is written in, a work inspired and sustained by genius never falls or flags.

See also

• Lettre sur les aveugles à l'usage de ceux qui voient
• Deaf
• Dumb