But all these
considerations seem insignificant by side of the intrinsic one of the
vulgarity of the thing, and its impudent ignoring of the most sacred
rights of individuals. That there are here and there weak fools who like
to see their names and most trivial movements chronicled in newspapers
cannot be denied. But they are few. And their silly pleasure is very small
in the aggregate compared with the annoyance and pain suffered by
sensitive and refined people from these merciless invasions of their
privacy. No precautions can forestall them, no reticence prevent; nothing,
apparently, short of dying outright, can set one free. And even then it is
merely leaving the torture behind, a harrowing legacy to one's friends;
for tombs are even less sacred than houses. Memory, friendship,
obligation,--all are lost sight of in the greed of desire to make an
effective sketch, a surprising revelation, a neat analysis, or perhaps an
adroit implication of honor to one's self by reason of an old association
with greatness. Private letters and private conversations, which may touch
living hearts in a thousand sore spots, are hawked about as coolly as if
they had been old clothes, left too long unredeemed in the hands of the
pawn-broker! "Dead men tell no tales," says the proverb.
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