Montaigne adverts to this man, or that, having been a miracle to the world, in whom neither his wife nor his servant has ever seen anything remarkable: “Few men have been admired by their own domestics”—a sentence to which point and popularity have been given by the epigrammatic form of it, due to Marshal Catinat. “No one,” Montaigne continues, “has been a prophet, not merely in his own house, but in his own country, as the experience of history shows. It is the same in matters of no consequence.... In my country of Gascony they look upon it as very droll to see me in print. The farther off I am read from my own home, the better I am esteemed; I am fain to purchase printers in Guienne,—elsewhere they purchase me.” Ben Jonson takes note of the greater reverence paid to things remote or strange to us, than to much better, if these be nearer, and fall under our sense. “Men, and almost all sorts of creatures, have their reputation by distance. Rivers, the farther they run, and more from their spring, the broader they are, and greater. And where our original is known, we are the less confident; among strangers we trust fortune.” Lord Evandale, in Scott’s “Old Mortality,” discerns at once the “extraordinary qualities” of Henry Morton, which had escaped the notice of his kinsfolk and friends: “You have not been long in learning all his extraordinary qualities, my lord,” says old Major Bellenden. “I, who have known him from boyhood, could, before this affair, have said much of his good principles and good nature; but as to his high talents”—further on that head deponent saith not. The opinions of relatives as to a man’s power, Dr. Wendell Holmes declares to be very commonly of little value; not so much because they sometimes over-rate their own flesh and blood, as some may suppose; as because, on the contrary, they are quite as likely to underrate those whom they have grown into the habit of considering like themselves. Vile habetur quod domi est, Seneca tersely says.
Edmund Burke, in early life, was not happy at home—there being none among the household on Arran Quay to sympathise with his dreams and his aspirations. “He might think himself a genius,” says one of his many biographers, “but it was not to be expected that his own relations should yet think him one.” Describing his position and influence in Lord Rockingham’s administration, Mr. Macknight observes that it is, after all, a man’s own relations who generally look with the least confidence on his long wrestle with adversity, and are most astonished when the tide turns, and a great victory succeeds to what had seemed to them a mere hopeless toil. “To some of the Irish Nagles on the Blackwater, the news that Edmund had been taken into the confidence of the great Whig Lord Rockingham, ... must have seemed as extraordinary as it did to Joseph’s brethren that he should have become so great a man in hostile Egypt.”
Son pays le crut fou, says La Fontaine, of a Greek sage; mais quoi! aucun n’est prophète chez soi. Of Joan of Arc, and her early mental struggles, a French historian writes: “It behoves her to find in the bosom of her family someone who would believe in her: this was the most difficult part of all.” Non-recognition, disparagement, cold obstruction. Societies and families, as Goethe says, behave in the same way to their dearest members, towns to their worthiest citizens. Consuelo advising Anzoleto to quit Venice, reminds him that “no person is a prophet in his own country. This is a bad place for one who has been seen running about in rags, and where any one may come to say of you, ‘I was his protector, I saw his hidden talent, it was I who recommended him and procured his advance.’” Descartes had to support with philosophic patience the scorn of his family, impatient of a philosopher in it. Jean Bodin, neglected and slighted in his own land, exulted in the welcome accorded to his books in the English Universities, which printed as well as prized them: “il n’est pas rare que nous ayons besoin d’apprendre des étrangers ce que valent nos compatriotes,” observes M. Léon Feugère.
Every rule has its exceptions, and most proverbs too. The case of St. Catharine, of Sienna, is cited by a Protestant biographer as “an exception to the rule that excludes a prophet from honour in his own country.” The biographer of Edward Irving, recounting with enthusiasm the details of his reception in Annandale in 1828, adds that “for once the proverb seems to have failed. He had honour in his own country, where gentle and simple flocked to hear him,”—neighbouring ministers shutting up their kirks on the Sunday when he preached, and going the “long Sabbath-day’s journey” across the Annandale moors to hear him, along with their people. La Bruyère points out on the one side a man recognised by the world at large as a master-mind, honoured and sought after by eager admirers, but at home, of no account at all; petit dans son domestique et aux yeux de ses proches: on the other hand, a man who is a prophet in his own house and country, who enjoys a vogue that is confined to his immediate surroundings, and who s’applaudit d’un mérite rare et singulier qui lui est accordé par la famille dont il est l’idole. But exceptions to a rule are commonly taken in confirmation of it; and the rule as to a prophet’s home acceptance is held to be only confirmed, not disproved, by here and there a stray example in history to the contrary; such as Arnold, of Brescia, being rescued from captivity by some of those partisan nobles of Campania by whom he was honoured as a prophet: “Tanquam prophetam in terrâ suâ cum omni honore habebant.” Or, as the experience, highly exceptional, of young Bernard of Clairvaux, the “strange and irresistible force” of whose character, as the historian of Latin Christianity describes it, enthralled his brothers one after another, and at length his sister. Off to the monastery of Clairvaux they trooped, a complete monastic brotherhood. The youngest boy lingered a short time with his aged father, and then joined the rest. “Even the father died a monk of Clairvaux in the arms of Bernard.” But it was not, we are duly reminded, on his own kindred alone that Bernard wrought with this commanding power. “When he was to preach, wives hurried away their husbands, mothers withdrew their sons, friends their friends, from the resistless magic of his eloquence.” And those that went—what went they out into the wilderness to hear? A prophet? Yea, and almost more than a prophet, by the verdict of his own country and of his father’s house.
DESIRED BOON: REALIZED BANE.
Psalm cvi. 15; lxxviii. 22 sq.
We read of those who tempted God in the desert, that He gave them their request, and sent leanness withal into their soul. So they did eat meat and were well filled, for He gave them their own desire; but while their meat was yet in their mouths, His wrath came upon them and slew the fattest of them, and smote down the chosen men of Israel.
A latter-day poetess, almost masculine in genius, as in out-spoken vigour of diction, tells us that—
“God answers sharp and sudden on some prayers,