I have found a translation in English. The following comes from The
Story of Civilization Volume 10 – The Age of Voltaire, by Will and
Ariel Durant. We jump into the middle of their biography on Buffon.
The Durants have some commentary before and after the speech, which
I’ve left in place. Enjoy!
…[Buffon] was quite conscious of his literary flair. He delighted to
read to his visitors melodious passages from his volumes; and when he
was elected to the French Academy he took as his theme, on the day of
his reception (August 25, 1753), not some marvel of science, but an
analysis of style. That illustrious Discours, as Cuvier said, “gave at
once the precept and the example,”… for it was itself a gem of style.
From all but the French it is hidden in the mountain of his works, and
little of it has come to us but its famous, pithy, cryptic judgment
that “the style is the man.” Therefore let us spread it out here, and
look at it leisurely. Its brilliance is dulled in translation, but even
so, and though cruelly syncopated for our ignoble haste, it can adorn
any page.
After some introductory compliments to an audience that included many
masters of style. Buffon proceeded:
~~~~~
It is only in enlightened ages that men have written and spoken well.
True eloquence … is quite different from that natural facility of
speech which is . . . given to all whose passions are strong, . . . and
whose imagination is quick. . . . But in those few men whose head is
steady, whose taste is delicate, and whose sense is exquisite— and who,
like you, messieurs, count for little the tone, the gestures, and the
empty sound of words— there must be substance, thought, and reason;
there must be the art of presenting these, of defining and ordering
them; it is not enough to strike the ears and catch the eyes; one must
act upon the soul and touch the heart while speaking to the mind. . . .
The more substance and force we give to our thought by meditation, the
easier it will be to realize them in expression.
All this is not yet style, but is its base; it sustains style, directs
it, regulates its movement, and submits it to laws. Without this the
best writer loses himself, his pen wanders without a guide, and throws
out at hazard formless sketches and discordant figures. However
brilliant the colors that he uses, whatever beauties he scatters in the
details, he will be choked by the mass of his ideas; he will not make
us feel; his work will have no structure. … It is for this reason that
those who write as they speak, however well they speak, write badly;
and those who abandon themselves to the first fire of their imagination
take a tone which they cannot sustain. . . .
Why are the works of Nature so perfect? It is because each work is a
whole, because Nature works on an eternal plan which she never forgets.
She prepares in silence the germs of her production, she sketches by a
single stroke the primitive form of every living thing; she develops
it, she perfects it by a continuous movement and in a pre- scribed
time. . . . The mind of man can create nothing, produce nothing, except
after having been enriched by experience and meditation; its
experiences are the seeds of its productions. But if he imitates Nature
in his procedure and his labor, if he raises himself by contemplation
to the most sublime truths, if he reunites them, links them on a chain,
forms of them a whole, a thought-out system, then he will establish,
upon unshakable foundations, immortal monuments.
It is for lack of plan, for not having sufficiently reflected on his
purpose, that even a man of thought finds himself confused, and knows
not where to begin to write; he perceives at the same time a great
number of ideas; and since he has neither compared nor arranged them in
order, nothing determines him to prefer some to others; he remains
perplexed. But when he has made a plan, when once he has assembled and
placed in order all the essential thoughts on his subject, he will
perceive at once and with ease at what point he should take up his pen;
he will feel his ideas ripening in his mind; he will hurry to bring
them to light, he will find pleasure in writing, his ideas will follow
one another readily, his style will be natural and easy; a certain
warmth will arise from this pleasure, will spread over his work, and
give life
to his expression; animation will mount, the tone will be elevated,
objects will take color, and feeling, joined to light, will increase
and spread, will pass from that which we say to that which we are about
to say; the style will become interesting and luminous. . . .
Only those works that are well written will pass down to posterity. The
quantity of knowledge, the singularity of the facts, even the novelty
of discoveries, will not be sure guarantees of immortality; if the
works that contain them are concerned with petty objects, or if they
are written without taste or nobility, . . . they will perish; for the
knowledge, the facts, the discoveries are easily removed and carried
off, and even gain by being placed in more able hands. Those things are
outside the man, but the style is the man himself [Le style c'est
l'homme même]; the style cannot be stolen, transported, or altered; if
it is elevated, noble, and sublime, the author will be admired equally
in all times, for only truth is durable and everlasting.
~~~~~
[The book ends its quotation of the speech and returns to the
discussion on Buffon]
“This discourse,” said Villemain, “so admired at the time, seems to
surpass all that had yet been thought on the subject; and we cite it
even today as a universal rule.”
Perhaps some deductions must be made. Buffon’s description holds better
for prose than for poetry. It does more justice to the “classic” than
to the “romantic” style; it is in the tradition of Boileau, and rightly
elevates reason; but it leaves too little room for the Rousseaus, the
Chateaubriands, and the Hugos of French prose, or for the enticing
confusion of Rabelais and Montaigne, or for the moving, artless
simplicity of the New Testament. It could with difficulty explain why
Rousseau’s Confessions, so poor in reason, so rich in feeling, remains
one of the greatest books of the eighteenth century. Truth can be a
fact of feeling as well as a structure of reason or a perfection of
form.
Buffon’s style was the man, a robe of dignity for an aristocratic soul.
Only in the absorption of his studies did Buffon forget that he was a
seigneur as well as a scientist and scribe. He took in his stride the
multiplying honors that crowned his old age. Louis XV made him Comte de
Buffon in 177 1, and invited him to Fontainebleau. The learned
academies of Europe and America offered him honorary membership. He
contemplated without qualm the statue that his son raised to him in the
Jardin du Roi. His tower at Montbard became in his lifetime a goal of
pilgrimage rivaling Voltaire’s Ferney; there Rousseau came, knelt at
the threshold, and kissed the floor. Prince Henry of Prussia called;
and though Catherine the Great could not manage this, she sent him word
that she counted him second only to Newton.
John Z L
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-----Original Message-----
From: Alexander Wragge-Morley <[log in to unmask]>
To: MERSENNE <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Fri, 9 Aug 2013 19:16
Subject: Fwd: Buffon Question
Dear All,
Apologies for polluting the mailing list with this brief question -
Is anyone aware of the existence of an English translation of Buffon's
'Discours sur le Style'? It would save me a great deal of time if such
a thing existed in any form whatsoever.
All good wishes,
Alex Wragge-Morley
--
Alexander Wragge-Morley
Departmental Lecturer in History
Somerville College
University of Oxford
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http://alexwraggemorley.wordpress.com/
http://oxford.academia.edu/AlexanderWraggeMorley
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