observers, thinking more of their own wit than of what they observe,
sometimes gain a little reputation. Even the coxcombs, self-duping
knaves, simpletons, braggarts, and other evil or pitiful types whom he
selects, are drawn with unstrained and simple conformity to reality.
The pictures have no moral label pinned on to them. Yet Vauvenargues
took life seriously enough, and it was just because he took it
seriously, that he had no inclination to air his wit or practise a
verbal humour upon the stuff out of which happiness and misery are made.

One or two fragments will suffice. Take the Man of the World, for
instance:

'A man of the world is not he who knows other men best, who has most
foresight or dexterity in affairs, who is most instructed by experience
and study; he is neither a good manager, nor a man of science, nor a
politician, nor a skilful officer, nor a painstaking magistrate. He is a
man who is ignorant of nothing but who knows nothing; who, doing his own
business ill, fancies himself very capable of doing that of other
people; a man who has much useless wit, who has the art of saying
flattering things which do not flatter, and judicious things which give
no information; who can persuade nobody, though he speaks well; endowed
with that sort of eloquence which can bring out trifles, and which
annihilates great subjects; as penetrating in what is ridiculous and
external in men, as he is blind to the depths of their minds. One who,
afraid of being wearisome by reason, is wearisome by his extravagances;
is jocose without gaiety, and lively without passion.'[51]

Or the two following, the Inconstant Man, and Lycas or the Firm Man:

'Such a man seems really to possess more than one character. A powerful