I have left myself scant space to speak of Thackeray’s third phase in
writing—his work as a moralist. But perhaps this is well, for, as he
himself said, (and as I have always tried to practise), the preacher must
be brief if he wishes to be heard. Five words that go home are worth more
than a thousand that wander about the subject.
Thackeray’s direct moralizings are to be found chiefly in his lectures
on “The Four Georges,” “The English Humourists,” and in the “Roundabout
Papers.” He was like Lowell: as a scholastic critic he was far from
infallible, but as a vital interpreter he seldom missed the mark.
After all, the essential thing in life for us as real men is to have a
knowledge of facts to correct our follies, an ideal to guide our efforts,
and a gospel to sustain our hopes.
That was Thackeray’s message as moralist. It is expressed in the last
paragraph of his essay “_Nil Nisi Bonum_,” written just after the death
of Macaulay and Washington Irving:
“If any young man of letters reads this little sermon—and to him, indeed,
it is addressed—I would say to him, ‘Bear Scott’s words in your mind, and
_be good, my dear_.’ Here are two literary men gone to their account,
and, _laus Deo_, as far as we know, it is fair, and open, and clean.
Here is no need of apologies for shortcomings, or explanations of vices
which would have been virtues but for unavoidable, etc. Here are two
examples of men most differently gifted—each pursuing his calling; each
speaking his truth as God bade him; each honest in his life; just and
irreproachable in his dealings; dear to his friends; honoured by his
country; beloved at his fireside. It has been the fortunate lot of both
to give incalculable happiness and delight to the world, which thanks
them in return with an immense kindliness, respect, affection. It may
not be our chance, brother scribe, to be endowed with such merit, or
rewarded with such fame. But the rewards of these men are rewards paid to
_our service_. We may not win the bâton or epaulettes; but God give us
strength to guard the honour of the flag!”
With this supplication for myself and for others, I leave this essay on
Thackeray, the greatest of English novelists, to the consideration of
real men.