ed; the difficulty, the great difficulty, is to prune
it of its thorns and to present it under a prepossessing aspect. Truth,
they say, rises naked from a well. Agreed; but admit that she is all
the better for being decently clothed. She craves, if not the gaudy
furbelows borrowed from rhetoric's wardrobe, at least a vine leaf. The
geometers alone have the right to refuse her that modest garment; in
theorems, plainness suffices. The others, especially the naturalist, are
in duty bound to drape a gauze tunic more or less elegantly around her
waist.

Suppose I say: 'Baptiste, give me my slippers.'

I am expressing myself in plain language, a little poor in variants. I
know exactly what I am saying and my speech is understood.

Others--and they are numerous--contend that this rudimentary method is
the best in all things. They talk science to their readers as they might
talk slippers to Baptiste. Kaffir syntax does not shock them. Do not
speak to them of the value of a well selected term, set down in its
right place, still less of a lilting construction, sounding rather well.
Childish nonsense they call all that; the fiddling of a short sighted
mind!

Perhaps they are right: the Baptiste idiom is a great economizer of time
and trouble. This advantage does not tempt me; it seems to me that
an idea stands out better if expressed in lucid language, with sober
imagery. A suitable phrase, placed in its correct position and saying
without fuss the things we want to say, necessitates a choice, an often
laborious choice. There are drab words, the commonplaces of colloquial
speech; and there are, so to speak, colored words, which may be compared
with the brushstrokes strewing patches of light over the gray background
of a painting. How are we to find those picturesque words, those
striking features which arrest the attention? How are we to group them
into a language heedful of syntax and not displeasing to the ear?

I was taught nothing of this art. For that matter, is it ever taught
in the schools? I greatly doubt it. If the fire that runs through our
veins, if inspiration do not come to our aid, we shall flutter the pages
of the thesaurus in vain: the word for which we seek will refuse to
come. Then to what masters shall we have recourse to quicken and develop
the humble germ that is latent within us? To books.

As a boy, I was always an ardent reader; but the niceties of a
well-balanced style hardly interested me: I did not