An opinion on this subject in the preceding article has led me to a
further investigation. It may be right to acknowledge that so attractive
is this critical and moral amusement of comparing great characters with
one another, that, among others, Bishop Hurd once proposed to write _a
book of Parallels_, and has furnished a specimen in that of Petrarch and
Rousseau, and intended for another that of Erasmus with Cicero. It is
amusing to observe how a lively and subtle mind can strike out
resemblances, and make contraries accord, and at the same time it may
show the pinching difficulties through which a parallel is pushed, till
it ends in a paradox.
Hurd says of Petrarch and Rousseau--"Both were impelled by an equal
enthusiasm, though directed towards different objects: Petrarch's
towards the glory of the Roman name, Rousseau's towards his idol of a
state of nature; the one religious, the other _un esprit fort_; but may
not Petrarch's spite to Babylon be considered, in his time, as a species
of free-thinking"--and concludes, that "both were mad, but of a
different nature." Unquestionably there were features much alike, and
almost peculiar to these two literary characters; but I doubt if Hurd
has comprehended them in the parallel.
I now give a specimen of those parallels which have done so much
mischief in the literary world, when drawn by a hand which covertly
leans on one side. An elaborate one of this sort was composed by
Longolius or Longuel, between Budaeus and Erasmus.[269] This man, though
of Dutch origin, affected to pass for a Frenchman, and, to pay his court
to his chosen people, gives the preference obliquely to the French
Budaeus; though, to make a show of impartiality, he acknowledges that
Francis the First had awarded it to Erasmus; but probably he did not
infer that kings were the most able reviewers! This parallel was sent
forth during the lifetime of both these great scholars, who had long
been correspondents, but the publication of the parallel interrupted
their friendly intercourse. Erasmus returned his compliments and thanks
to Longolius, but at the same time insinuates a gentle hint that he was
not overpleased. "What pleases me most," Erasmus writes, "is the just
preference you have given Budaeus over me; I confess you are even too
economical in your praise of him, as you are too prodigal in mine. I
thank you for informing me what it is the learned desire to find in me;
my self-love suggests many little excuses, with which, you observe, I am
apt _to favour my defects_. If I am careless, it arises partly from my
ignorance, and more from my indolence; I am so constituted, that I
cannot conquer my nature; I precipitate rather than compose, and it is
far more irksome for me to revise than to write."
This parallel between Erasmus and Budaeus, though the parallel itself was
not of a malignant nature, yet disturbed the quiet, and interrupted the
friendship of both. When Longolius discovered that the Parisian
surpassed the Hollander in Greek literature and the knowledge of the
civil law, and worked more learnedly and laboriously, how did this
detract from the finer genius and the varied erudition of the more
delightful writer? The parallelist compares Erasmus to "a river swelling
its waters, and often overflowing its banks; Budaeus rolled on like a
majestic stream, ever restraining its waves within its bed. The
Frenchman has more nerve, and blood, and life, and the Hollander more
fulness, freshness, and colour."
The taste for _biographical parallels_ must have reached us from
Plutarch; and there is something malicious in our nature which inclines
us to form _comparative estimates_, usually with a view to elevate one
great man at the cost of another, whom we would secretly depreciate.
Our political parties at home have often indulged in these fallacious
parallels, and Pitt and Fox once balanced the scales, not by the
standard weights and measures which ought to have been used, but by the
adroitness of the hand that pressed down the scale. In literature, these
comparative estimates have proved most prejudicial. A finer model exists
not than the _parallel of Dryden and Pope_, by Johnson; for, without
designing any undue preference, his vigorous judgment has analysed them
by his contrasts, and has rather shown their distinctness than their
similarity. But literary _parallels_ usually end in producing _parties_;
and, as I have elsewhere observed, often originate in undervaluing one
man of genius, for his deficiency in some eminent quality possessed by
the other man of genius; they not unfrequently proceed from adverse
tastes, and are formed with the concealed design of establishing some
favourite one. The world of literature has been deeply infected with
this folly. Virgil probably was often vexed in his days by a parallel
with Homer, and the _Homerians_ combated with the _Virgilians_. Modern
Italy was long divided into such literary sects: a perpetual skirmishing
is carried on between the _Ariostoists_ and the _Tassoists_; and feuds
as dire as those between two Highland clans were raised concerning the
_Petrarchists_, and the _Chiabrerists_. Old _Corneille_ lived to bow his
venerable genius before a parallel with _Racine_; and no one has
suffered more unjustly by such arbitrary criticisms than _Pope_, for a
strange unnatural civil war has often been renewed between the
_Drydenists_ and the _Popeists_. Two men of great genius should never be
depreciated by the misapplied ingenuity of a parallel; on such occasions
we ought to conclude _magis pares quam similes_.