Classic Poem

To be continued on TUESDAYS and SATURDAYS.

SATURDAY, October 13, 1750.

--Quid fit pulchrum, quid turpe, quid utile, quid non,
Plenius et melius Chrysippo et Crantore dicit. HOR.


All Joy or Sorrow for the Happiness or Calamities of others is produced by
an Act of the Imagination, that realises the Event however fictitious, or
approximates it however remote, by placing us, for a Time, in the
Condition of him whose Fortune we contemplate; so that we feel, while the
Deception lasts, whatever Motions would be excited by the same Good or
Evil happening to ourselves.

Our Passions are therefore more strongly moved, in proportion as we can
more readily adopt the Pains or Pleasures proposed to our Minds, by
recognising them as once our own, or considering them as naturally
incident to our State of Life. It is not easy for the most artful Writer
to give us an Interest in Happiness or Misery, which we think ourselves
never likely to feel, and with which we have never yet been made
acquainted. Histories of the Downfall of Kingdoms, and Revolutions of
Empires are read with great Tranquillity; the imperial Tragedy pleases
common Auditors only by its Pomp of Ornament, and Grandeur of Ideas; and
the Man whose Faculties have been engrossed by Business, and whose Heart
never fluttered but at the Rise or Fall of Stocks, wonders how the
Attention can be seized, or the Affections agitated by a Tale of Love.

Those parallel Circumstances, and kindred Images to which we readily
conform our Minds, are, above all other Writings, to be found in
Narratives of the Lives of particular Persons; and there seems therefore
no Species of Writing more worthy of Cultivation than Biography, since
none can be more delightful, or more useful, none can more certainly
enchain the Heart by irresistible Interest, or more widely diffuse
Instruction to every Diversity of Condition.

The general and rapid Narratives of History, which involve a thousand
Fortunes in the Business of a Day, and complicate innumerable Incidents in
one great Transaction, afford few Lessons applicable to private Life,
which derives its Comforts and its Wretchedness from the right or wrong
Management of Things that nothing but their Frequency makes considerable,
Parva si non fiunt quotidie, says Pliny, and which can have no Place
in those Relations which never descend below the Consultation of Senates,
the Motions of Armies, and the Schemes of Conspirators.

I have often thought that there has rarely passed a Life of which a
judicious and faithful Narrative would not be useful. For, not only every
Man has in the mighty Mass of the World great Numbers in the same
Condition with himself, to whom his Mistakes and Miscarriages, Escapes and
Expedients would be of immediate and apparent Use; but there is such an
Uniformity in the Life of Man, if it be considered apart from adventitious
and separable Decorations and Disguises, that there is scarce any
Possibility of Good or Ill, but is common to Humankind. A great Part of
the Time of those who are placed at the greatest Distance by Fortune, or
by Temper, must unavoidably pass in the same Manner; and though, when the
Claims of Nature are satisfied, Caprice, and Vanity, and Accident, begin
to produce Discriminations, and Peculiarities, yet the Eye is not very
heedful, or quick, which cannot discover the same Causes still terminating
their Influence in the same Effects, though sometimes accelerated,
sometimes retarded, or perplexed by multiplied Combinations. We are all
prompted by the same Motives, all deceived by the same Fallacies, all
animated by Hope, obstructed by Danger, entangled by Desire, and seduced
by Pleasure.

It is frequently objected to Relations of particular Lives, that they are
not distinguished by any striking or wonderful Vicissitude. The Scholar
who passes his Life among his Books, the Merchant who conducted only his
own Affairs, the Priest whose Sphere of Action was not extended beyond
that of his Duty, are considered as no proper Objects of publick Regard,
however they might have excelled in their several Stations, whatever might
have been their Learning, Integrity, and Piety. But this Notion arises
from false Measures of Excellence and Dignity, and must be eradicated by
considering, that, in the Eye of uncorrupted Reason, what is of most Use
is of most Value.

It is, indeed, not improper to take honest Advantages of Prejudice, and to
gain Attention by a great Name; but the Business of the Biographer is
often to pass slightly over those Performances and Incidents, which
produce vulgar Greatness, to lead the Thoughts into domestick Privacies,
and display the minute Details of daily Life, where exterior Appendages
are cast aside, and Men excel each other only by Prudence, and by Virtue.
The Life of Thuanus is, with great Propriety, said by its Author to have
been written, that it might lay open to Posterity the private and familiar
Character of that Man, cujus Ingenium et Candorem ex ipsius Scriptis sunt
olim simper miraturi, whose Candour and Genius his Writings will to the
End of Time preserve in Admiration.

There are many invisible Circumstances, which whether we read as Enquirers
after natural or moral Knowledge, whether we intend to enlarge our
Science, or encrease our Virtue, are more important than publick
Occurrences. Thus Salust, the great Master, has not forgot, in his
Account of Catiline, to remark that his Walk was now quick, and again
slow, as an Indication of a Mind revolving something with violent
Commotion. Thus the Story of Melancthon affords a striking Lecture on
the Value of Time, by informing us that when he made an Appointment, he
expected not only the Hour, but the Minute to be fixed, that Life might
not run out in the Idleness of Suspense; and all the Plans and Enterprizes
of De Wit are now of less Importance to the World, than that Part of his
personal Character which represents him as careful of his Health, and
negligent of his Life.

But Biography has often been allotted to Writers who seem very little
acquainted with the Nature of their Task, or very negligent about the
Performance. They rarely afford any other Account than might be collected
from publick Papers, and imagine themselves writing a Life when they
exhibit a chronological Series of Actions or Preferments; and so little
regard the Manners or Behaviour of their Heroes, that more Knowledge may
be gained of a Man's real Character, by a short Conversation with one of
his Servants, than from a formal and studied Narrative, begun with his
Pedigree, and ended with his Funeral.

If now and then they condescend to inform the World of particular Facts,
they are not always so happy as to select those which are of most
Importance. I know not well what Advantage Posterity can receive from the
only Circumstance by which Tickell has distinguished Addison from the
Rest of Mankind, the Irregularity of his Pulse: nor can I think myself
overpaid for the Time spent in reading the Life of Malherb, by being
enabled to relate, after the learned Biographer, that Malherb had two
predominant Opinions; one, that the Looseness of a single Woman might
destroy all the Boast of ancient Descent; the other, that the French
Beggers made use very improperly and barbarously of the Phrase noble
Gentleman, because either Word included the Sense of both.

There are, indeed, some natural Reasons why these Narratives are often
written by such as were not likely to give much Instruction or Delight,
and why most Accounts of particular Persons are barren and useless. If a
Life be delayed till all Interest and Envy are at an End, and all Motives
to Calumny or Flattery are suppressed, we may hope for Impartiality, but
must expect little Intelligence; for the Incidents which give Excellence
to Biography are of a volatile and evanescent Kind, such as soon escape
the Memory, and are rarely transmitted by Tradition. We know how few can
portray a living Acquaintance, except by his most prominent and observable
Particularities, and the grosser Features of his Mind; and it may be
easily imagined how much of this little Knowledge may be lost in imparting
it, and how soon a Succession of Copies will lose all Resemblance of the
Original.

If the Biographer writes from personal Knowledge, and makes haste to
gratify the publick Curiosity, there is Danger left his Interest, his
Fear, his Gratitude, or his Tenderness, overpower his Fidelity, and tempt
him to conceal, if not to invent. There are many who think it an Act of
Piety to hide the Faults or Failings of their Friends, even when they can
no longer suffer by their Detection; we therefore see whole Ranks of
Characters adorned with uniform Panegyrick, and not to be known from one
another, but by extrinsick and casual Circumstances. "Let me remember,
says Hale, when I find myself inclined to pity a Criminal, that there is
likewise a Pity due to the Country." If there is a Regard due to the
Memory of the Dead, there is yet more Respect to be paid to Knowledge, to
Virtue, and to Truth.