Si vis me flere dolendum est
Primum ipsi tibi; tunc tua me infortunia lædent,
Telephe, vel Peleu: male si mandata loqueris,
Aut dormitabo, aut ridebo.
Could Horace rise from the dead, he would not wonder a little in finding out, some men still doubting the above uncontrovertible quotation. Our boasting nineteenth century, may be properly called the raging time of scribblers, in which confusion of papers, true men of letters are neglected. When demagogues become the fashionable leading party of a community, the worst scribblers, whose money renders editors good enough to praise what they did not read, or could not understand, are generally read by a plurality of apes, who buy the new works, in order to be able, at the first evening party, to echo in the ears of a belle, the praising criticism of their newspapers. And these individuals sustain before their admirers, that a man may be either philosopher, orator, or poet, and at the same time, be quite a stranger to virtue! And while we call ourselves a civilized people, such empty minds, nursed with empty words, endeavor to confound literary men with demagogues, wisdom with ignorance, piety with hypocrisy, virtue with vice; and place into the asylums of lunatics every one, who would dare to contradict them. Such scribblers who live by writing the interesting murders of the day, and all the awful—excuse the epithet! the interesting calamities, I wanted to say, of this unpitying globe, are the only individuals who can make money out of their pen.
To deprive of virtue an orator, poet, or philosopher, it would be as to entitle a man painter, when he has no perception of colors. Honos alit artes. A boy who drew a pig, while he intended to make a horse, might, likewise, be considered a painter by a still poorer connoisseur, than the boy himself. An artist cannot reach perfection, or eminence, without that which is requisite. Were two men of equal understanding, and ability; but one virtuous, and the other not, the second might appear eloquent, were he not compared with the former; but he cannot be but a pigmy before the noble virtue. The inspiration of heaven cannot emanate but from heaven. A clown cannot be a genius; and a genius, with the feeling of an unprincipled man—stranger to virtue, cannot speak the language of inspiration. Such an axiom wants no other demonstration. We may find knaves proficient in some manual arts; but, not eminent in the fine arts. When we look at the three Graces of Canova, we must acknowledge that, without the inspiration of a divine mind, which he fostered in his breast, through a life spent with integrity, and labor, those three females, delicately sculpted, could not inspire bystanders with purity, innocence, and love, which, like a perennial spring, emanate from that immortal marble. As in seeing a beautiful woman, whose proportions, though perfect in themselves, the almost imperceptible lines of cunning across her thought, and cheeks, repulse from man’s heart any sympathy of love, thus, if the fire of virtue is wanting in the breast of the orator, poet, or philosopher, he will never be able to inspire men of understanding, perspicacity, and sensibility. A spoiled woman may ensnare a weak man, and a soit disant orator ensnare also an ignorant people. Still, the first cannot be a lady, and the second is but a demagogue.
Could Talma impart on the stage those heroic sentiments, had he not been gifted with lofty sentiments, and integrity? A virtuous man is able to delineate the vice he does despise; but a vicious man cannot imitate the heavenly virtue he has not in his breast. Virtue can understand vice; but vice cannot understand virtue. Ardeat qui vult incendere, says the virtuous Roman, whose eminent qualities of character, entitled him the father of eloquence. Where is the enlightened nation, who would suffer, or support the orator, poet, or philosopher, were each of these literary men practically, and hypocritically polluting the temple of Virtue, the only Divinity, dictating order to our society? And here, by enlightened nation, I do not mean nations led by the furies of superstition, false religion, or fanaticism, the shame of mankind. Though virtue is not the only requisite faculty to form an eminent artist; still, like the sun in the planetary system, unless it reflects upon every idea, and sentiments of the man of letters, his ideas, and sentiments would remain without animation.
Because not all the immortal writers had passed an unblemished life, shall we say that virtue is not the essential mover in a man of letters? Yes: Bacon, in some instances of his life, had been a mean wretch; but, because Bacon was bribed in an evil hour, can we sustain that he had been a bad man all his life? Though Bacon had not been always wise, his retirement, repentence, accusation of himself, and studies, evidently prove he was not a stranger to virtue. Still, had Bacon praised virtue at the very moment he was unworthy of the Divinity to whom he burned incense before, or after; such a speech, or writing, could impart neither colors, nor animation to his abortive thoughts. “Virtue is like precious odors, most fragrant, when they are incensed.” And Bacon himself says: “For, he may rely upon it, that he can no more transmit conviction, and sensation, which he himself has not, at the time, sincerely felt, than he can convey a clear title to property in which he himself has no right.”
And why does the unbeliever respect the piety of a Fenelon, and a Fenelon, the morals of an unbeliever? To those, who would be bribed in order to imitate a Bacon, I have only to say, that baboons will never reach immortality, when, instead of imitating Bacon’s fine qualities, they willingly embrace, rather, that wrong side of the writer, which suit best their own rapacious propensities.
Every gentleman, who experienced the scourge of tyranny, will maintain, that it is better to be poor in a free country, than to have a princely state without a country. I say a gentleman: and those, who enjoy in their selfish wealth, without feeling any sympathy towards numerous human beings, struggling in want, are no gentlemen. Freedom is a Divinity, who does not leave in want her dutiful worshippers: and the Fathers’ ashes of this Union are still warm with the truth of this sacred sentiment. It is with sorrow of mind I hear unitedstatians asserting with sophisms, and without shame, that, as the best liberty is wealth, they do not adhere, but to those members of congress, whose speeches benefit right, or wrong, their only direct interest. Hence the contestations of party men, whose advocates are shamefully called orators, because they feel with them the babbling of their private interest.—Liberty for me, and slavery for my neighbor!
Virtue, integrity, justice, and so on, are all ridiculous, and empty words, when pronounced by that merchant, inveighing against the so called Nullifier, who demonstrated the advantages of free havens. And why does the physician hate that philosopher, who demonstrated, that a great quantity of physic impairs our constitution? And why, that printer declines from publishing that article of a true literary man? Had we not heard that divine, speaking badly of that dancing master, and of his art; and while this, should look with respect at another true pious moralist, had not the dancing master called a worthy divine a hypocrite? Is it not, the moderate, and healthy exercise of dancing beneficient to morals? And morals and modesty do they not give a fine, and lovely countenance, to the graceful art of Vestris? Mens sana in corpore sano. That we are not civilized yet, it is sufficient to see how many imperfect professional men flourish in this country, not for their proficiency; but, because they slander their professional superiors. And why those interested contrary parties became to personalities, unless they have forgotten the academical language of freedom, and virtue? That pretended man of letters, is he not displeased to find another man of letters more enlightened than himself; while, instead of wishing to be indicated by an ignorant community, as the first man of his age, he should love arts, and sciences, for the sake, only, of social benefit, and the improvement of his own mind? Thus, every one in turning the stream of water towards his own mill, stops its beneficient course, while they should build their mills one under the other. In our european, and american semi-barbarian societies, almost every one wishes to imitate a Cesar, or a Napoleon, while they call themselves republicans.
With what courage shall we call that public speaker a worthy citizen, while cunningly avoiding every thing, which naturally happen contradictory to his own argument, he magnifies with eternal amplifications, the mites he wishes to represent large as mammoths? Without the ne quid nimis, we cannot expect to reach perfection. Men of letters look to petty envies, and slanderous speeches, as a great obstacle to refinement. Liberty, virtue, integrity, justice, are very pretty words, indeed!—and in the time of Danton, and the Devil; innocent blood ran in the streets of Paris, while those mean tyrants had nothing in their mouths but liberty, and justice. From whence does it come that we feel an inclination to kick an Antonius just, when he pronounces the word Liberty, and when it comes from the mouth of a Cato, we feel a heavenly inspiration, which nobilitates our nature? And why do our tears fall on the pages of greek history, when it simply describes the exiled Aristides, passing through the innumerable, dangerous army of Xerses, in order to rescue his beloved, though ungrateful country? Could Demosthenes, could Cicero be the admiration of their country, and posterity, had their orations been pronounced without the conviction of defending the lawful cause of the worthy citizen?
A want of education causes some people to believe that serious deportment, stiff manners, and thundering voice, are the requisites of a gentleman. Hence derives that custom of answering, sir! with three exclamations, even when the questioned understood, at once, his addresser. In some courts, I saw lawyers speaking with animosity, for no other purpose, but to intimidate their opponents. On the contrary, when a virtuous speaker defends the innocent oppressed, or charges against the criminal; mild, charitable, and plain troth, does it not always touch the heart of an instructed people? The inspiration of heaven is without passion, without anger, without malice. The deceitful will always badly say what he does not feel in himself. “It will come out that which I feel here,” touching his breast, said Patrick Henry, when, after many struggles to conquor his modesty, and bashfulness, astonished, for the first time, an audience, burning with patriotism. Prius afficiamur ipsi ut alios afficiamus.