21 January: Boreham on Henry Hallam

The Spirit of History
It was on January 21, 1859 that Henry Hallam, the eminent historian, passed away. The anniversary suggests an inquiry as to the value and interest of such chronological records. In one of his clever essays, the Hon. Augustine Birrell tells of an old lady who, on being asked to a certain historical lecture, promptly declined the invitation on the ground that she believed in letting bygones be bygones. The good dame, if she still survives, must have chuckled over a recent statement by Dr. G. M. Trevelyan, himself a member of a famous family of historians. A little history, Dr. Trevelyan affirms, is a dangerous thing. The imposing pageant of the past cannot be justly appreciated by fastening the attention on one or two splashes of colour that catch the eye as the splendid procession sweeps by. The average schoolboy is familiar with the penchant of Henry the Eighth for divorcing or beheading his wives, but a question as to the abiding influence of Henry the Eighth on the Constitution of England and on the destinies of Europe would be answered with much more difficulty.

Walter Bagehot used to say that the fame of the historian is the cheapest kind of fame that the literary world can offer. Anybody, he argued, can write history. The world always contains a certain number of people, Bagehot maintains, who are animated by a mania for writing, but who are at their wits' end for a subject. Feeling the capacity for authorship singing within their brain, such a man sits with his elbows on the desk, his face buried in his hands, and his virgin paper spread out temptingly before them. He feels that he has it in him to write, yet now that he comes to think of it, what on earth is there left for him to write about? He would write a novel, but he cannot conjure up a plot. He would give the world a new poem, but, unfortunately the classic minstrels have taken the words out of his mouth. Science is beyond him. Such a man, Bagehot points out, is driven to history by force of the circumstance that history is ready-made.

Historian's Task Not So Easy As It Looks
Yet, simple as the undertaking seems, the fact remains that, of those who have embarked upon it, nine out of every ten have failed, and failed ignominiously. They have failed because they have misconstrued and underrated the character of their task. The apparent simplicity of the work is an optical illusion. Like so many of the fine arts, it looks easy until a man sets his hand to it. In point of fact, the historian needs the vivid imagination of the novelist; he needs the meticulous accuracy of the scientist; he needs the penetrating insight of the philosopher, and he needs the musical temper and graceful diction of the poet. It is because so few of those who are able to write can bring to their task such a wealthy equipment that most of our histories lie in repose amidst the cobwebs of our topmost shelves.

The historian is beset by two fatal tendencies; he must avoid both Scylla and Charybdis. On the one hand, he is tempted to make his pages a wearisome recital of uninteresting and unimportant events, giving the precise dates on which they happened. And, on the other hand, he is tempted to make his chronicle readable by spicing it with the irrelevant amours of princes and the ghastly atrocities of tyrants. Mr. J. B. Black insists that history, to be worthy the name, must be human, colourful, imposing, and must be recorded with sprightly charm and literary grace. Mr. Black sets before the aspiring historian four models—Voltaire, Hume, Robertson and Gibbon. On the whole, all four of them are accurate and careful chroniclers, but they are very much more. Each is a brilliant and masterly writer whose folios it is a pleasure to read, quite apart from one's interest in the subject with which they happen to be dealing.

An Eye For Causes As Well As Effects
In order to make history attractive, there is no need to turn it into a charnel house, a school for scandal, or a chamber of horrors. History is a reflection of life and we have a right to demand that it shall be life-like. "I know history isn't true, Hinnissy," observed Mr. Dooley, "because it ain't like what I see every day in Halsted St.!" Mr. Dooley felt that history savoured of unreality, and had no hesitation in tossing the ponderous tomes aside with withering contempt. It is the supreme business of the historian to tell his stirring story in such a way that we clearly discern the general trend and practical significance of events. His stately Yesterdays must be so presented that they enable us to build a still finer Tomorrow. His work must be distinguished, not only by factual accuracy and verbal clarity but by lofty outlook, discriminating interpretation, and prophetic insight.

He must write with vision, bringing anointed eyes to his stupendous task. He must not only see impressive movements in progress; he must discover and reveal the hidden forces that caused those things to move.

What propels the billiard balls?
The cue, say you. Ah, yes, the cue, say I;
But what hand off the cushion moves the cue?

As the eighteenth century was dying, two historians—Macaulay and Bancroft—were born within a few days of each other. As they slept the wide Atlantic watching between them crooned their lullaby. Macaulay crawled out of his cradle to tell the world that History is Philosophy teaching by Examples. "I prefer," retorted Bancroft from across the seas, "I prefer to say that History is God teaching by Examples. It is because the ways of the Most High are so clearly revealed in history," he adds, "that the office of the historian is so incomparably noble." The historian thrids the maze of the centuries, not only seeing the puppets moving, but discerning the Hand that first fashions the puppets and then manipulates the strings.

F W Boreham

Image: Henry Hallam