A curious question has more than once been asked: have the most
remarkable works, in the various kinds of literary labour, been
produced in the flush of youth or the calmness of age? Are men
better fitted for vigorous exercise of the mind in the first half
or the second half of their existence? The spring and elasticity of
temperament, the warmth of feeling, the hopeful aspirations, the
activity of vital energy, the longing to throw the thoughts into some
kind of words or of music--all tempt one, at a first glance, to say
that early authorship is more probable than later.
Certainly the examples of young authorship are neither few nor
unimportant. Of course we may take Tristram Shandy's authority with
as many grains of allowance as we please; but the marvels told in his
colloquy are unique. Yorick declared that Vincent Quirinus, before he
was eight years old, pasted up in the public schools of Rome more than
four thousand five hundred theses on abstruse questions, and defended
them against all opponents. Mr Shandy capped this by citing one erudite
man who learned all the sciences and liberal arts without being taught
any of them.
Isaac D'Israeli, in his _Curiosities of Literature_, notices many
curious examples; and the subject was taken up by a pleasant writer
in the _Globe_ newspaper, a few months ago. Pope wrote some of his
_Pastorals_ at sixteen; and a large number of his works, including
the translation of Homer, were thrown off before he reached thirty.
Edgar Poe wrote his _Helen_, remarkable for its beauty of style, when
scarcely more than eleven years old. Cowley at fifteen published
his _Poetic Blossoms_; while his _Pyramus and Thisbe_, though not
published till his sixteenth year, is said to have been written when
he was only ten. Lord Bacon planned his great work, the _Novum Organum
Scientiarum_, when only sixteen, although the writing was the work of
maturer years. The late Bishop Thirlwall wrote his _Primitiæ_ when a
boy of only eleven years of age; he was one of the few who wrote both
early and late, a wonderful example of long-continued mental activity.
Dr Watts almost _thought_ in verse when a boy. Crabbe wrote both early
and late, but not much in middle life; he published his first poem at
twenty, and his _Village_ before thirty; then a silence of twenty years
was followed by a renewal of literary labour. Charlotte Bronté wrote
in very early life, 'because she could not help it.' Chatterton, the
scapegrace who applied so much of his marvellous powers to dishonest
or lying purposes, wrote minor pieces of poetry at fifteen, and soon
afterwards a pretended pedigree of a Bristol family. At sixteen he
published the alleged plays and poems of Rowley, described by him
as a priest or monk of the fifteenth century; at about seventeen he
brought forward some pretended old parchments, made to appear soiled
and timeworn, containing a fictitious description of an old bridge at
Bristol; and then wrote biographies of Bristol artists who never lived.
Coming to London, he wrote many satirical and political papers for the
press; and ended his extraordinary life before he had completed his
eighteenth year.
As a child (never so old as what we should call a 'lad'), Christian
Heineker was one of the most singular of whom we find record. He was
born at Lübeck about a century and a half ago. When only ten months old
he could (if we are to believe the accounts of him) repeat every word
said to him; at twelve months he knew much of Plutarch by heart; at
two years he knew the greater part of the Bible; at three could answer
most questions in universal history and geography (as then taught),
and began to learn French and Latin; before four he began theology and
church history, and expressed argumentative opinions thereon. This
precocious little pedant died before he had completed his fifth year.
The late John Stuart Mill 'had no recollection of the time when he
began to learn Greek;' but was told it was when he was only three years
old. Adanson began at thirteen to write notes on the Natural Histories
of Aristotle and Pliny. The calculating boys--Vito Mangiamele,
Jedediah Buxton, Zerah Colburn, and George Parker Bidder--illustrate a
remarkable phase of early mental activity.
On the other hand, many authors have produced their best works late
in life, and have begun new studies at an age when the majority long
for mental leisure. Izaak Walton wrote some of his most interesting
biographies in his eighty-fifth year, and edited a poetical work at
ninety. Hobbes published his version of the _Odyssey_ at eighty-seven,
and of the _Iliad_ at eighty-eight. Sir Francis Palgrave, under an
assumed name, published at eighty years old a French translation of a
Latin poem.
Isaac D'Israeli notes that Socrates learned to play a musical
instrument in his old age; that Cato learned Greek at eighty; that
Plutarch entered upon the study of Latin almost as late in life;
that Theophrastus began his _Characteristics_ at ninety; that Sir
Henry Spelman, a gentleman-farmer until fifty, at that age began to
study law, and became an eminent jurist and antiquary; that Colbert,
the distinguished statesman, resumed the study of Latin and of law
at sixty; that the Marquis de Saint Audaire began to write poetry
at seventy, 'verses full of fire, delicacy, and sweetness;' that
Chaucer did not finish his _Canterbury Tales_ till he had reached
sixty-one; that Dryden felt his powers sufficiently in their strength
at sixty-eight to plan a complete translation of Homer's _Iliad_ into
English verse, although circumstances prevented him from giving effect
to his intentions; and (but this we must leave to the investigators who
advise us to disbelieve most of the stories we hear or read concerning
persons exceeding a century old) that Ludovico Monaldeschi wrote his
_Memoirs_ of his own times at the extraordinary age of a hundred and
fifteen!
Dipping into the literary annals of different ages and different
countries, there are not wanting abundant additional examples of men
continuing their literary work to an advanced period of life, or else
beginning _de novo_ at an age when most men would prefer to lay down
the pen and let the mind and the brain rest. Montfauçon, the learned
authority on artistic antiquities, continued his custom of writing for
eight hours a day nearly till his death at the age of eighty-seven.
His labours, too, had been of a very formidable kind; for he was
seventy-nine when he put the finishing touch to his _Monumens de la
Monarchie Française_, in five folio volumes; and eighty-five when he
published the _Bibliotheca Bibliothecarum_, in two tomes of similar
magnitude. John Britton and John Nichols, artistic and antiquarian
writers, both continued to drive the quill till past eighty. Sir
Isaac Newton worked on till death, in his eighty-fourth year, but did
not make scientific discoveries in the later period of his career.
Euler worked on at his abstruse mathematical writings till past
eighty. William Cowper, although he wrote a few hymns and letters in
early life, did not till after fifty begin those works on which his
fame chiefly rests--beginning with _Truth_, and going on to _Table
Talk_, _Expostulation_, _Error_, _Hope_, _Charity_, _Conversation_,
_Retirement_, _The Task_, _John Gilpin_, and the translation of Homer.
Gray wrote late and little, devoting seven years to polishing and
perfecting his famous _Elegy_. Alfieri, who was taught more French
than Italian when a boy, studied his native language sedulously late
in life, in order to be able to read the great Italian poets; and
wrote his own principal works afterwards. Goethe gave advice, which is
certainly not followed by the majority of novelists--namely, not to
write novels till past forty; because until then we have scarcely an
adequate knowledge of the world and of the human heart. Necker said in
his old age: 'The era of threescore and ten is an agreeable age for
writing; your mind has not lost its vigour, and envy leaves you in
peace.' This corresponds in substance to a reply given by the hale and
hearty old premier, Lord Palmerston, to a question 'When is a man in
his prime?' 'At seventy.'
Musical genius, or at anyrate musical aptitude, has often developed
itself in very early life. Sometimes this aptitude is hereditary in
a notable degree. Veit Bach, a miller and baker at Hamburg about
the middle of the sixteenth century, turned his attention to music,
becoming a guitar-player and teacher; his son cultivated music
generally, and lived by it as a profession; the grandson devoted
himself to church music; the representative of the next generation was
music director to the court and town of Eisenach. The fifth generation
was marked by the renowned John Sebastian Bach, grandson's grandson
of old Veit; he had to earn his living as a choir-boy, and lived to
become one of the greatest of composers and organists. There were no
fewer than fifty-eight of these Bachs between 1520 and 1750, every one
of them musical. As an example of musical precocity, however, Mozart
was far more remarkable than any of the Bachs. At three years old he
experienced great pleasure in finding out chords on the pianoforte; at
four he learned short pieces of music; and at six composed a pianoforte
concerto, methodically arranged. He was then taken as a musical prodigy
by his father (who was also a musician) to Munich, Venice, Paris,
Milan, Bologna, Naples, Hamburg, London, and other cities, where the
performances of the boy excited universal astonishment. In London, when
only eight years old, Mozart composed six pianoforte sonatas, which
he dedicated to Queen Charlotte. His first opera, _Mithridate_, was
composed when he was fourteen; and about the same time he was appointed
director of the Archbishop of Salzburg's concerts. He was quite an old
musician by the time he became a young man--twenty-four years old when
he composed _Idomeneo_; at thirty, _Le Nozze di Figaro_; at thirty-one,
_Don Giovanni_; at thirty-five, _Il Flauto Magico_; and at thirty-six
(shortly before his death) the _Requiem_--the magnificent series of
masses, motets, symphonies, concertos, &c., coming in between at
intervals. Mendelssohn was another great composer whose life-work was
wholly finished by the age of thirty-eight. He gave a public concert
at Berlin at the age of nine; and while yet a youth composed numerous
instrumental pieces--the remarkable _Isles of Fingal_, and the still
more striking music to the _Midsummer Night's Dream_. How he poured
forth, as a young man, his oratorios, cantatas, _Lieder ohne Worte_,
overtures, symphonies, concertos, sonatas, quartettes, _Athalie_,
_Antigone_, _Œdipus_, _Walpurgisnacht_, &c., musical biography has told
at full length.
One musical phenomenon is noticeable, not for his skill as a musical
performer or composer, but for the way in which music seems to have
formed part of his very being. This was Carl Anton Eckert, son of a
sergeant of the Guards in the Prussian service, and born in 1820. While
in his cradle, he was affected to tears by any music in the minor key.
At the age of one year and a half, hearing his father play _Schöne
Minka_ with one hand on an old pianoforte, he immediately played it
with both hands, employing his knuckles to aid his tiny fingers. He
retained in his ear every tune he heard; and in his fourth year could
name the pitch of any note on hearing it played.
Somewhat similar to Eckert in musical sensibility was Charles Wesley,
nephew of the famous founder of the Wesleyan Methodists. As a child, he
could always be pacified by his mother playing the harpsichord. Tied on
a chair, he could be left alone for hours amusing himself by _making_
music on the instrument. Before he was three years old he could play
tunes in correct time, treble and bass; and soon afterwards was able
to put a tolerably good bass to any tune he heard, without study or
premeditation. Much flattered as a prodigy, he nevertheless failed to
rise at any period of his life above a mediocre standard as a player
or composer. Samuel Wesley, Charles's brother, was like him imbued
with music from the cradle. Before he was three years old he could
play a tune on the harpsichord; he made a correct bass before knowing
musical notation; and learned to read from the words of songs in the
music-books. He composed music before he could write, and was only
eight years old when he composed an oratorio on the subject of Ruth.
Some of our famous composers, on the other hand, have not commenced
their best works until middle life, and have produced their very best
at a somewhat advanced age.
On careful collation of known facts, we shall probably arrive at the
conclusion that a medium position is better than either extreme; that
a judicious diffusion of mental labour throughout a series of years
is the best course for mind and body. Precocity is considered by some
physicians as partaking of the nature of disease; very few 'infant
prodigies' live to become distinguished men and women. Dr Richardson,
in his _Diseases of Modern Life_, maintains the thesis that an average
activity of mind throughout the whole of life is better than forcing
it abnormally at the beginning. Another writer has observed that, by
crowding the main business of life into the first forty years, with the
design of taking things cosily by an early retirement and a long rest,
the vital springs are dried up, the brain becomes prematurely withered
by the excessive demands made upon it. The brain requires exercise like
any other organ, but also, like any other organ, should not be worked
to excess in early life. Many of our best writers have wrought well
alike in early, middle, and advanced age, simply because they utilised
their mental and vital resources judiciously. Sir Walter Scott is cited
as a good instance in point. He wrote his poems in early life; produced
in his maturity the wonderful series of novels and romances that will
never die; and would probably have written his later works in masterly
style if he had allowed himself time for the purpose. But adverse
fortune decided otherwise; he exhausted himself by working intensely
and earning enormously to pay off a debt: it virtually killed him.