Character — Ch 10b - Companionship of Books, cont.

Among the great writers of the past, probably the two that have been most influential in forming the characters of great men of action and great men of thought, have been Plutarch and Montaigne--the one by presenting heroic models for imitation, the other by probing questions of constant recurrence in which the human mind in all ages has taken the deepest interest.

And the works of both are for the most part cast in a biographic form, their most striking illustrations consisting in the exhibitions of character and experience which they contain.

Plutarch's 'Lives,' though written nearly eighteen hundred years ago, like Homer's 'Iliad,' still holds its ground as the greatest work of its kind.

It was the favourite book of Montaigne; and to Englishmen it possesses the special interest of having been Shakspeare's principal authority in his great classical dramas.

Montaigne pronounced Plutarch to be "the greatest master in that kind of writing"--the biographic;

and he declared that he "could no sooner cast an eye upon him but he purloined either a leg or a wing."

Alfieri was first drawn with passion to literature by reading Plutarch.

"I read," said he, "the lives of Timoleon, Caesar, Brutus, Pelopidas, more than six times, with cries, with tears, and with such transports, that I was almost furious....

Every time that I met with one of the grand traits of these great men, I was seized with such vehement agitation as to be unable to sit still."

Plutarch was also a favourite with persons of such various minds as Schiller and Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon and Madame Roland.

The latter was so fascinated by the book that she carried it to church with her in the guise of a missal, and read it surreptitiously during the service.

It has also been the nurture of heroic souls such as Henry IV.

of France, Turenne, and the Napiers.

It was one of Sir William Napier's favourite books when a boy.

His mind was early imbued by it with a passionate admiration for the great heroes of antiquity; and its influence had, doubtless, much to do with the formation of his character, as well as the direction of his career in life.

It is related of him, that in his last illness, when feeble and exhausted, his mind wandered back to Plutarch's heroes; and he descanted for hours to his son-in-law on the mighty deeds of Alexander, Hannibal, and Caesar.

Indeed, if it were possible to poll the great body of readers in all ages whose minds have been influenced and directed by books, it is probable that--excepting always the Bible--the immense majority of votes would be cast in favour of Plutarch.

And how is it that Plutarch has succeeded in exciting an interest which continues to attract and rivet the attention of readers of all ages and classes to this day?

In the first place, because the subject of his work is great men, who occupied a prominent place in the world's history, and because he had an eye to see and a pen to describe the more prominent events and circumstances in their lives.

And not only so, but he possessed the power of portraying the individual character of his heroes; for it is the principle of individuality which gives the charm and interest to all biography.

The most engaging side of great men is not so much what they do as what they are, and does not depend upon their power of intellect but on their personal attractiveness.

Thus, there are men whose lives are far more eloquent than their speeches, and whose personal character is far greater than their deeds.

It is also to be observed, that while the best and most carefully-drawn of Plutarch's portraits are of life-size, many of them are little more than busts.

They are well-proportioned but compact, and within such reasonable compass that the best of them--such as the lives of Caesar and Alexander--may be read in half an hour.

Reduced to this measure, they are, however, greatly more imposing than a lifeless Colossus, or an exaggerated giant.

They are not overlaid by disquisition and description, but the characters naturally unfold themselves.

Montaigne, indeed, complained of Plutarch's brevity.

"No doubt," he added, "but his reputation is the better for it, though in the meantime we are the worse.

Plutarch would rather we should applaud his judgment than commend his knowledge, and had rather leave us with an appetite to read more than glutted with what we have already read.

He knew very well that a man may say too much even on the best subjects....

Such as have lean and spare bodies stuff themselves out with clothes; so they who are defective in matter, endeavour to make amends with words."

[195] Plutarch possessed the art of delineating the more delicate features of mind and minute peculiarities of conduct, as well as the foibles and defects of his heroes, all of which is necessary to faithful and accurate portraiture.

"To see him," says Montaigne, "pick out a light action in a man's life, or a word, that does not seem to be of any importance, is itself a whole discourse."

He even condescends to inform us of such homely particulars as that Alexander carried his head affectedly on one side; that Alcibiades was a dandy, and had a lisp, which became him, giving a grace and persuasive turn to his discourse;

that Cato had red hair and gray eyes, and was a usurer and a screw, selling off his old slaves when they became unfit for hard work; that Caesar was bald and fond of gay dress; and that Cicero [19like Lord Brougham] had involuntary twitchings of his nose.

Such minute particulars may by some be thought beneath the dignity of biography, but Plutarch thought them requisite for the due finish of the complete portrait which he set himself to draw; and it is by small details of character--personal traits, features, habits, and characteristics--that we are enabled to see before us the men as they really lived.

Plutarch's great merit consists in his attention to these little things, without giving them undue preponderance, or neglecting those which are of greater moment.

Sometimes he hits off an individual trait by an anecdote, which throws more light upon the character described than pages of rhetorical description would do.

In some cases, he gives us the favourite maxim of his hero; and the maxims of men often reveal their hearts.

Then, as to foibles, the greatest of men are not visually symmetrical.

Each has his defect, his twist, his craze; and it is by his faults that the great man reveals his common humanity.

We may, at a distance, admire him as a demigod; but as we come nearer to him, we find that he is but a fallible man, and our brother.

[196] Nor are the illustrations of the defects of great men without their uses; for, as Dr. Johnson observed, "If nothing but the bright side of characters were shown, we should sit down in despondency, and think it utterly impossible to imitate them in anything."

Plutarch, himself justifies his method of portraiture by averring that his design was not to write histories, but lives.

"The most glorious exploits," he says, "do not always furnish us with the clearest discoveries of virtue or of vice in men.

Sometimes a matter of much less moment, an expression or a jest, better informs us of their characters and inclinations than battles with the slaughter of tens of thousands, and the greatest arrays of armies or sieges of cities.

Therefore, as portrait-painters are more exact in their lines and features of the face and the expression of the eyes, in which the character is seen, without troubling themselves about the other parts of the body, so I must be allowed to give my more particular attention to the signs and indications of the souls of men; and while I endeavour by these means to portray their lives, I leave important events and great battles to be described by others."

Things apparently trifling may stand for much in biography as well as history, and slight circumstances may influence great results.

Pascal has remarked, that if Cleopatra's nose had been shorter, the whole face of the world would probably have been changed.

But for the amours of Pepin the Fat, the Saracens might have overrun Europe; as it was his illegitimate son, Charles Martel, who overthrew them at Tours, and eventually drove them out of France.

That Sir Walter Scott should have sprained his foot in running round the room when a child, may seem unworthy of notice in his biography; yet 'Ivanhoe,' 'Old Mortality,' and all the Waverley novels depended upon it.

When his son intimated a desire to enter the army, Scott wrote to Southey, "I have no title to combat a choice which would have been my own, had not my lameness prevented."

So that, had not Scott been lame, he might have fought all through the Peninsular War, and had his breast covered with medals; but we should probably have had none of those works of his which have made his name immortal, and shed so much glory upon his country.

Talleyrand also was kept out of the army, for which he had been destined, by his lameness; but directing his attention to the study of books, and eventually of men, he at length took rank amongst the greatest diplomatists of his time.

Byron's clubfoot had probably not a little to do with determining his destiny as a poet.

Had not his mind been embittered and made morbid by his deformity, he might never have written a line--he might have been the noblest fop of his day.

But his misshapen foot stimulated his mind, roused his ardour, threw him upon his own resources--and we know with what result.

So, too, of Scarron, to whose hunchback we probably owe his cynical verse; and of Pope, whose satire was in a measure the outcome of his deformity--for he was, as Johnson described him, "protuberant behind and before."

What Lord Bacon said of deformity is doubtless, to a great extent, true.

"Whoever," said he, "hath anything fixed in his person that doth induce contempt, hath also a perpetual spur in himself to rescue and deliver himself from scorn; therefore, all deformed persons are extremely bold."

As in portraiture, so in biography, there must be light and shade.

The portrait-painter does not pose his sitter so as to bring out his deformities; nor does the biographer give undue prominence to the defects of the character he portrays.

Not many men are so outspoken as Cromwell was when he sat to Cooper for his miniature: "Paint me as I am," said he, "warts and all."

Yet, if we would have a faithful likeness of faces and characters, they must be painted as they are.

"Biography," said Sir Walter Scott, "the most interesting of every species of composition, loses all its interest with me when the shades and lights of the principal characters are not accurately and faithfully detailed.

I can no more sympathise with a mere eulogist, than I can with a ranting hero on the stage."

[197] Addison liked to know as much as possible about the person and character of his authors, inasmuch as it increased the pleasure and satisfaction which he derived from the perusal of their books.

What was their history, their experience, their temper and disposition?

Did their lives resemble their books?

They thought nobly--did they act nobly?

"Should we not delight," says Sir Egerton Brydges, "to have the frank story of the lives and feelings of Wordsworth, Southey, Coleridge, Campbell, Rogers, Moore, and Wilson, related by themselves?

--with whom they lived early;

how their bent took a decided course; their likes and dislikes; their difficulties and obstacles; their tastes, their passions; the rocks they were conscious of having split upon; their regrets, their complacencies, and their self-justifications?"

[198] When Mason was reproached for publishing the private letters of Gray, he answered, "Would you always have my friends appear in full-dress?"

Johnson was of opinion that to write a man's life truly, it is necessary that the biographer should have personally known him.

But this condition has been wanting in some of the best writers of biographies extant.

[199] In the case of Lord Campbell, his personal intimacy with Lords Lyndhurst and Brougham seems to have been a positive disadvantage, leading him to dwarf the excellences and to magnify the blots in their characters.

Again, Johnson says: "If a man profess to write a life, he must write it really as it was.

A man's peculiarities, and even his vices, should be mentioned, because they mark his character."

But there is always this difficulty,--that while minute details of conduct, favourable or otherwise, can best be given from personal knowledge, they cannot always be published, out of regard for the living; and when the time arrives when they may at length be told, they are then no longer remembered.

Johnson himself expressed this reluctance to tell all he knew of those poets who had been his contemporaries, saying that he felt as if "walking upon ashes under which the fire was not extinguished."

For this reason, amongst others, we rarely obtain an unvarnished picture of character from the near relatives of distinguished men; and, interesting though all autobiography is, still less can we expect it from the men themselves.

In writing his own memoirs, a man will not tell all that he knows about himself.

Augustine was a rare exception, but few there are who will, as he did in his 'Confessions,' lay bare their innate viciousness, deceitfulness, and selfishness.

There is a Highland proverb which says, that if the best man's faults were written on his forehead he would pull his bonnet over his brow.

"There is no man," said Voltaire, "who has not something hateful in him--no man who has not some of the wild beast in him.

But there are few who will honestly tell us how they manage their wild beast."

Rousseau pretended to unbosom himself in his 'Confessions;' but it is manifest that he held back far more than he revealed.

Even Chamfort, one of the last men to fear what his contemporaries might think or say of him, once observed:--"It seems to me impossible, in the actual state of society, for any man to exhibit his secret heart, the details of his character as known to himself, and, above all, his weaknesses and his vices, to even his best friend."