all; but what _that_ is
is more than I know, or any body else."

But had he known himself, he would have found that he realized one of
the finest types of character that humanity can offer; for his two
characteristic faculties were, his attraction toward truth and
benevolence. And in ceasing to calumniate himself, he would have
snatched from the hands of the envious and the enemies of truth, the
principal weapon they made use of to defame him.

When one reflects on all this, one questions with astonishment how it is
that all his biographers should have remained outside of truth. But it
is useless insisting thereupon, for we have given sufficient
answer.[105]

I will, then, confine myself to remarking here that one characteristic
peculiar to the biographers of great men in general, is the extreme
repugnance they feel toward praising their own subjects. What is the
cause? Do they fear being told they have made a panegyric, passing for
flatterers, appearing to get through a task? Do they believe that, in
order to show cleverness, perspicacity, and deep knowledge of the human
heart, it is necessary to put in place of simple truth a sort of malice,
not very intelligible, and often contradictory? All that may well be,
but I believe that what they especially feel is, that if their books
were only written for noble minds, possessing such qualities as only
belong to the minority of the human race, they might run the risk of
being less sought after and less bought. Thus they search for faults
with ardor, just as miners do for diamonds; and when they think they
have discovered a vice in their hero, they look upon it as the "Mogul"
of their book. They make it shine, polish it up, show it in a thousand
lights, bring it out as the striking part of their work,--the chief
quality of their hero, who, unable to defend himself, is handed down,
disfigured, to posterity. Such are the strange perils incurred, as
regards truth and justice, and the wrong done toward the great departed;
and this is why their surviving friends are called on to protest against
the false assertions of biographers. Those who have written on Lord
Byron, unable to find this great "Mogul" (for Lord Byron had no vices),
have all, more or less, sought at least to draw the attention of their
readers to a thousand little weaknesses, mostly devoid of reality. Upon
what basis, indeed, do they rest?--Almost always on Lord Byron's words.
Now we know what account should be