1. CHAPTER I.
Of those who lawfully may, and of those who may not, write such
histories as this
Among other good uses for which I have thought proper to institute
these several introductory chapters, I have considered them as a
kind of mark or stamp, which may hereafter enable a very indifferent
reader to distinguish what is true and genuine in this historic kind
of writing, from what is false and counterfeit. Indeed, it seems
likely that some such mark may shortly become necessary, since the
favourable reception which two or three authors have lately procured
for their works of this nature from the public, will probably serve as
an encouragement to many others to undertake the like. Thus a swarm of
foolish novels and monstrous romances will be produced, either to
the great impoverishing of book-sellers, or to the great loss of
time and depravation of morals in the reader; nay, often to the
spreading of scandal and calumny, and to the prejudice of the
characters of many worthy and honest people.
I question not but the ingenious author of the Spectator was
principally induced to prefix Greek and Latin mottos to every paper,
from the same consideration of guarding against the pursuit of those
scribblers, who having no talents of a writer but what is taught by
the writing-master, are yet nowise afraid nor ashamed to assume the
same titles with the greatest genius, than their good brother in the
fable was of braying in the lion's skin.
By the device therefore of his motto, it became impracticable for
any man to presume to imitate the Spectators, without understanding at
least one sentence in the learned languages. In the same manner I have
now secured myself from the imitation of those who are utterly
incapable of any degree of reflection, and whose learning is not equal
to an essay.
I would not be here understood to insinuate, that the greatest merit
of such historical productions can ever lie in these introductory
chapters; but, in fact, those parts which contain mere narrative only,
afford much more encouragement to the pen of an imitator, than those
which are composed of observation and reflection. Here I mean such
imitators as Rowe was of Shakespear, or as Horace hints some of the
Romans were of Cato, by bare feet and sour faces.
To invent good stories, and to tell them well, are possibly very
rare talents, and yet I have observed few persons who have scrupled to
aim at both: and if we examine the romances and novels with which
the world abounds, I think we may fairly conclude, that most of the
authors would not have attempted to show their teeth (if the
expression may be allowed me) in any other way of writing; nor could
indeed have strung together a dozen sentences on any other subject
whatever. Scribimus indocti doctique passim,[11]
may be more truly said
of the historian and biographer, than of any other species of writing;
for all the arts and sciences (even criticism itself) require some
little degree of learning and knowledge. Poetry, indeed, may perhaps
be thought an exception; but then it demands numbers, or something
like numbers: whereas, to the composition of novels and romances,
nothing is necessary but paper, pens, and ink, with the manual
capacity of using them. This, I conceive, their productions show to be
the opinion of the authors themselves: and this must be the opinion of
their readers, if indeed there be any such.
Hence we are to derive that universal contempt which the world,
who always denominates the whole from the majority, have cast on all
historical writers who do not draw their materials from records. And
it is the apprehension of this contempt that hath made us so
cautiously avoid the term romance, a name with which we might
otherwise have been well enough contented. Though, as we have good
authority for all our characters, no less indeed than the vast
authentic doomsday-book of nature, as is elsewhere hinted, our labours
have sufficient title to the name of history. Certainly they deserve
some distinction from those works, which one of the wittiest of men
regarded only as proceeding from a Pruritus, or indeed rather from a
looseness of the brain.
But besides the dishonour which is thus cast on one of the most
useful as well as entertaining of all kinds of writing, there is
just reason to apprehend, that by encouraging such authors we shall
propagate much dishonour of another kind; I mean to the characters
of many good and valuable members of society; for the dullest writers,
no more than the dullest companions, are always inoffensive. They have
both enough of language to be indecent and abusive. And surely if
the opinion just above cited be true, we cannot wonder that works so
nastily derived should be nasty themselves, or have a tendency to make
others so.
To prevent therefore, for the future, such intemperate abuses of
leisure, of letters, and of the liberty of the press, especially as
the world seems at present to be more than usually threatened with
them, I shall here venture to mention some qualifications, every one
of which are in a pretty high degree necessary to this order of
historians.
The first is, genius, without a full vein of which no study, says
Horace, can avail us. By genius I would understand that power or
rather those powers of the mind, which are capable of penetrating into
all things within our reach and knowledge, and of distinguishing their
essential differences. These are no other than invention and judgment;
and they are both called by the collective name of genius, as they are
of those gifts of nature which we bring with us into the world.
Concerning each of which many seem to have fallen into very great
errors; for by invention, I believe, is generally understood a
creative faculty, which would indeed prove most romance writers to
have the highest pretensions to it; whereas by invention is really
meant no more (and so the word signifies) than discovery, finding out;
or to explain it at large, a quick and sagacious penetration into
the true essence of all the objects of our contemplation. This I
think, can rarely exist without the concomitancy of judgment; for
how we can be said to have discovered the true essence of two
things, without discerning their difference, seems to me hard to
conceive. Now this last is the undisputed province of judgment, and
yet some few men of wit have agreed with all the dull fellows in the
world in representing these two to have been seldom or never the
property of one and the same person.
But though they should be so, they are not sufficient for our
purpose, without a good share of learning; for which I could again
cite the authority of Horace, and of many others, if any was necessary
to prove that tools are of no service to a workman, when they are
not sharpened by art, or when he wants rules to direct him in his
work, or hath no matter to work upon. All these uses are supplied by
learning; for nature can only furnish with capacity; or, as I have
chose to illustrate it, with the tools of our profession; learning
must fit them for use, must direct them in it, and lastly, must
contribute part at least of the materials. A competent knowledge of
history and of the belleslettres is here absolutely necessary; and
without this share of knowledge at least, to affect the character of
an historian, is as vain as to endeavour at building a house without
timber or mortar, or brick or stone. Homer and Milton, who, though
they added the ornament of numbers to their works, were both
historians of our order, were masters of all the learning of their
times.
Again, there is another sort of knowledge, beyond the power of
learning to bestow, and this is to be had by conversation. So
necessary is this to the understanding the characters of men, that
none are more ignorant of them than those learned pedants whose
lives have been entirely consumed in colleges, and among books; for
however exquisitely human nature may have been described by writers,
the true practical system can be learnt only in the world. Indeed, the
like happens in every other kind of knowledge. Neither physic nor law are
to be practically known from books. Nay, the farmer, the planter,
the gardener, must perfect by experience what he hath acquired the
rudiments of by reading. How accurately soever the ingenious Mr.
Miller may have described the plant, he himself would advise his
disciple to see it in the garden. As we must perceive, that after
the nicest strokes of a Shakespear or a Jonson, of a Wycherly or an
Otway, some touches of nature will escape the reader, which the
judicious action of a Garrick, of a Cibber, or a Clive,[12]
can convey to
him; so, on the real stage, the character shows himself in a
stronger and bolder light than he can be described. And if this be the
case in those fine and nervous descriptions which great authors
themselves have taken from life, how much more strongly will it hold
when the writer himself takes his lines not from nature, but from
books? Such characters are only the faint copy of a copy, and can have
neither the justness nor spirit of an original.
Now this conversation in our historian must be universal, that is,
with all ranks and degrees of men; for the knowledge of what is called
high life will not instruct him in low; nor, è converso, will his
being acquainted with the inferior part of mankind teach him the
manners of the superior. And though it may be thought that the
knowledge of either may sufficiently enable him to describe at least
that in which he hath been conversant, yet he will even here fall
greatly short of perfection; for the follies of either rank do in
reality illustrate each other. For instance, the affectation of high
life appears more glaring and ridiculous from the simplicity of the
low; and again, the rudeness and barbarity of this latter, strikes
with much stronger ideas of absurdity, when contrasted with, and
opposed to, the politeness which controls the former. Besides, to
say the truth, the manners of our historian will be improved by both
these conversations; for in the one he will easily find examples of
plainness, honesty, and sincerity; in the other of refinement,
elegance, and a liberality of spirit; which last quality I myself have
scarce ever seen in men of low birth and education.
Nor will all the qualities I have hitherto given my historian
avail him, unless he have what is generally meant by a good heart, and
be capable of feeling. The author who make me weep, says Horace,
must first weep himself. In reality, no man can paint a distress well which
he doth not feel while he is painting it; nor do I doubt, but that the
most pathetic and affecting scenes have been writ with tears. In the
same manner it is with the ridiculous. I am convinced I never make my
reader laugh heartily but where I have laughed before him; unless it
should happen at any time, that instead of laughing with me he
should be inclined to laugh at me. Perhaps this may have been the case
at some passages in this chapter, from which apprehension I will
here put an end to it.
[[11]]
--Each desperate blockhead dares to write:
Verse is the trade of every living wight.- FRANCIS
[[12]]
There is a peculiar propriety in mentioning this great
actor, and these two most justly celebrated actresses, in this place, as
they have all formed themselves on the study of nature only, and not on
the imitation of their predecessors. Hence they have been able to excel
all who have gone before them; a degree of merit which the servile herd of
imitators can never possibly arrive at.