Part 2

As to the serious function of instruction which Theophrastus no doubt aims to combine with that of entertainment, there is no more skilful mode of inducing moral betterment than the discovery and exposure of the ludicrous. Most men would rather incur the charge of immorality than be exposed to the belittling laugh or derision of a community; they would rather be rogues than fools. The portrait-painter of moral life makes use of the ludicrous when he desires to catch the popular attention, and there is nothing, one may safely say, that makes society at large prick up its ears and fall to gossiping so much as a satire in which some well-known person is subjected to ridicule.

[Sidenote: _Moral Folly_]

Moral folly is much the same everywhere; it is only the fool’s costume that changes in different countries. The folly of the miser is seen in his cheating himself of the real goods of life and in robbing himself of the respect of his fellows; the folly of the coward, in gaining personal safety by losing reputation for manliness; the folly of the flatterer, in his shallow self-serving which men see through, while they nudge their fellows and laugh at his weakness; the folly of the vain man, in the way in which he assumes impressive proportions to his own magnifying eye, while to others his personality looks as small as it is; the folly of the tactless man, in consulting his own convenience rather than his neighbor’s, whereby he becomes a butt for his _gaucherie_; the folly of the boor, in his trampling awkwardly on the established usages of the polite world and thereby drawing upon himself the smilingly derisive attention of all observers. Throughout the list these characters represent some type of social foible or folly.

[Sidenote: _The Literary Art of Theophrastus_]

[Sidenote: _The Canons of his Art_]

In regard to the literary art of Theophrastus, as exhibited in these sketches, it must be looked at from the standpoint of an innovation in Greek letters; it is rare that any man both begins and perfects an art. There is nothing in the world so interesting as a character, but there is also nothing that is so difficult to portray briefly. Theophrastus was an acute observer and he was a plain realist. His art consists in the truthfulness of his vision and in the direct simplicity with which he gives it expression. He does not seek to create a laugh by exaggeration or by the trick of a ludicrous situation that has no moral significance. His art is not possible without wit, keenness, and fineness of feeling. There is no exhibition of the satirist’s lash, but his criticism is made with that geniality which is more telling than the severest invective. These are not individual portraits. They lack, therefore, the detailed finish of such a portrait as is given in the much-elaborated modern novel with its varied facilities for exhibiting the individuality of one or several persons. On the contrary, these are merely outline sketches, as Theophrastus himself calls them, and are descriptive of a class, not of an individual. A simple line, however, does not constitute a sketch; to exhibit a character, the sketch must not only be clear but complete. The coward, _e.g._, is sketched in his fear at sea, where his timid imagination invents dangers, and he wishes to be put ashore; he is sketched on the field of battle, where he tries to impress his comrades by a courage that he does not feel; but when he hears the shouts of war and sees the soldiers fall, he shrinks faint-hearted to his tent and there searches for the sword he has himself hid; and again when the danger is over he resumes his bold exterior and proclaims his daring rescue of a comrade. We have here a pictorial sketch which, with its life and action, appeals to the reader’s eye. The coward is shown from various points of view, always in new lights, but he is always the coward. The canons of this species of literary art may be summarized as follows: 1.—_Faithfulness to reality_: The character must be an accurate report of nature and not a caricature. It must be executed in the spirit of realism. 2.—_Brevity_: It must be slight and swift, essentially of the nature of a sketch. 3.—_Humor_: It must have the sprightliness of statement that amuses while it instructs. 4.—_Type_: It must be illustrative of a generic or typical fault. In other words, the character must give embodiment to some fault that touches human nature in an essential and universal way. 5.—_Concreteness_: The fault as an abstraction must be translated by the artist’s power into a concrete personal form. The foible must be revealed in a genre picture of a living personality.

[Sidenote: _Imitators of Theophrastus_]

[Sidenote: _La Bruyère_]

Since Theophrastus, this form of character-writing has been cultivated at various times, but it flourished most amongst the minor essayists of the seventeenth century. It is of too slight a nature in itself to make a serious impression on any literary epoch. It suited, however, the temper of the seventeenth century, as the sprightly essay possessing no serious depth and aiming to touch life at many points. The chief imitators of Theophrastus and exponents of character-writing at this time were Bishop Hall, Bishop Earle, Sir Thomas Overbury, Nicholas Breton, Samuel Butler, and La Bruyère. Bishop Hall, contrary to the example of Theophrastus, includes virtues as well as vices in his book entitled _Characters of Vertues and Vices_ (London, 1608). In the general structure of his composition he follows the model of Theophrastus closely. In the description of vices, however, he is much more entertaining than in his sketches of virtues, which are rather homilies and, as the panegyrics of a tedious preacher, provoke one to yawn. Virtue is not fitting material for this species of writing. The brilliant but ill-starred Sir Thomas Overbury, in his _Characters or Witty Descriptions of the Properties of Sundry Persons_ (London, 1614; went through eighteen editions), departs from the usage of Theophrastus in depicting for the most part amusing accidents of character and humorous peculiarities of trades and professions. Bishop Earle, on the other hand, in his _Micro-cosmographie_ (London, 1628) confined his character delineation to _mores hominum_, to ethical types of men as such, in a spirit similar to that of his Greek model. The best known of all the imitators of Theophrastus, if he can be called an imitator at all, is La Bruyère, in his _Les caractères ou les mœurs de ce siècle_ (Paris, 1688). The _caractères_ of La Bruyère are really satires on certain thinly disguised contemporaries of his own and are executed in a spirited method totally different from that of Theophrastus, but to which a translation of _The Characters_ of Theophrastus is added. La Bruyère was a lover of the ancient classics, although his translation or paraphrase was hardly more than a pretext for writing down his own description of the manners of his time. It furnished him, perhaps, the first suggestion and the first impulse to the portrayal of the vices and weaknesses of his contemporaries on a much larger scale than Theophrastus had attempted.

[2] “I gather, too, from the undeniable testimony of his [Aristotle’s] disciple, Theophrastus, that there were bores, ill-bred persons, and detractors even in Athens, of a species remarkably corresponding to the English, and not yet made endurable by being classic; and, altogether, with my present fastidious nostril, I feel that I am the better off for possessing Athenian life solely as an inodorous fragment of antiquity.” George Eliot in _Theophrastus Such_, p. 27, Cabinet Edition.

[3] The original name of Theophrastus, according to tradition, was Tyrtamus, but owing to his divine speech Aristotle gave him the name which has come down to us.

[4] The following treatises are extant, either entire or in considerable parts: _On Sensation_, 1 bk.; _On Smells_, 1 bk.; _Moral Characters_, 1 bk.; _History of Plants_, 2 bks.

[5] A character (χαράσσειν “to engrave”) is the individuality which is engraved by habits and temperament on a man or group of men, and in a literary sense (as used by Theophrastus) it is the verbal delineation of this individuality.

_Characters of Theophrastus_

_Epistle Dedicatory_

THEOPHRASTUS TO POLYCLES:

Many a time ere now I have stopped to think and wonder,—I fancy the marvel will never grow less,—why it is that we Greeks are not all one in character, for we have the same climate throughout the country, and our people enjoy the same education. I have studied human nature a long time, my dear Polycles, for I have lived nine and ninety years;[6] I have conversed with many men of divers characters, and have been at great pains to observe both good and bad. I have fancied, therefore, I ought to set down in writing how men live and act. I shall describe their characters, each after its kind, and show you their besetting weaknesses. I dare say, Polycles, our children will be the better, if we leave them memorials of this sort; and as they study these patterns of good[7] and ill, they will elect, I think, to live and hold communion with men of the highest type. In this way they will strive to maintain the level of the highest. I turn now to my task. Yours it is to follow me and see if what I say is true. I begin my book with a description of the _Dissembler_, omitting any preface and details about the word. And first of all I shall lay down a definition of dissembling, and with this in view shall describe the dissembler in his character and manner of life, exhibiting in such clearness, as I can, his various traits.

[6] This dedication is now thought to be spurious. _The Characters_ were probably written in 319 B.C., at which time Theophrastus was not more than fifty-three years of age.

[7] This allusion to patterns of good men is a further proof of the spuriousness of the _Epistle Dedicatory_; no such types seem to have been written by Theophrastus. See Introduction, p. xxxi f.

I _The Dissembler_

(Εἰρωνεία)

Dissembling, generally speaking, is an affectation, whether in word or action, intended to make things seem other than they really are. The dissembler is a man, for instance, who accosts his enemies and engages readily in talk with them, to show that he bears no grudge, and who praises to their faces the very men he slanders behind their backs; and when these lose a suit at court, he professes sympathy for their misfortune. When men malign him, or the opposition’s loud, he is ever ready with forgiveness.

When others have suffered such ill-treatment as to have just cause for indignation, his comments on their wrongs are couched in non-committal terms. And when a man is anxious to have an interview with him, he bids him come again, pretending that he has just reached home, that the hour is late, or that his health is too feeble to bear the strain.

He never admits anything he is doing, but at most will say that he is considering it. When a friend would borrow of him, or would solicit his contribution, he says “Business is dreadfully dull”; though at other times, when business is really dull, he reports a thriving trade. If he has received a bit of news, he will not admit he has heard it; and when he has witnessed an occurrence, he will not admit he has seen it; or if he does admit it, he protests he can’t recall it. And of one matter, he says he will examine it; of another, that he doesn’t know; of others, that he is amazed; of yet others, that he had thought of that himself before. In short, he is a master of phrases like these: “I can’t believe it”; “I fail to comprehend”; “I’m dumfounded”; “By your account the fellow has become a different man”; “He certainly didn’t tell _me_ that”; “The thing’s improbable”; “Tell that to the marines!”; “I’m at a loss how I can either doubt your story or condemn my friend”; “But see whether you’re not too credulous.”

II _The Flatterer_

(Κολακεία)

Flattery is a cringing sort of conduct that aims to promote the advantage of the flatterer. The flatterer is the kind of man who, as he walks with an acquaintance, says: “Behold! how the people gaze at you! There is not a man in the city who enjoys so much notice as yourself. Yesterday your praises were the talk of the Porch. While above thirty men were sitting there together and the conversation fell upon the topic: ‘Who is our noblest citizen?’ they all began and ended with your name.” As the flatterer goes on talking in this strain he picks a speck of lint from his hero’s cloak; or if the wind has lodged a bit of straw in his locks, he plucks it off and says laughingly, “See you? Because I have not been with you these two days, your beard is turned gray. And yet if any man has a beard that is black for his years, it is you.”

While his patron speaks, he bids the rest be silent. He sounds his praises in his hearing and after the patron’s speech gives the cue for applause by “Bravo!” If the patron makes a stale jest, the flatterer laughs and stuffs his sleeve into his mouth as though he could not contain himself.[8]

If they meet people on the street, he asks them to wait until master passes. He buys apples and pears, carries them to his hero’s house and gives them to the children, and in the presence of the father, who is looking on, he kisses them, exclaiming: “Bairns of a worthy sire!” When the patron buys a pair of shoes, the flatterer observes: “The foot is of a finer pattern than the boot”; if he calls on a friend, the flatterer trips on ahead and says: “_You_ are to have the honor of his visit”; and then turns back with, “I have announced you.” Of course he can run and do the errands at the market in a twinkle.

Amongst guests at a banquet he is the first to praise the wine and, doing it ample justice, he observes: “What a fine cuisine you have!” He takes a bit from the board and exclaims: “What a dainty morsel this is!” Then he inquires whether his friend is chilly, asks if he would like a wrap put over his shoulders, and whether he shall throw one about him. With these words he bends over and whispers in his ear. While his talk is directed to the rest, his eye is fixed on his patron. In the theatre he takes the cushions from the page and himself adjusts them for the comfort of the master. Of his hero’s house he says: “It is well built”; of his farm: “It is well tilled”; and of his portrait: “It is a speaking image.”

[8] “A piece of witte bursts him with an overflowing laughter, and hee remembers it for you to all companies.” Earle’s _Micro-cosmographie_, “The Flatterer.”

III _The Coward_

(Δειλία)

Cowardice is a certain shrinking of the heart. A coward is a man who, as he sails along, imagines that the cliffs in the distance are pirate ships; if the waves are high, he asks if there’s anybody in the ship’s company who has not been initiated into the mysteries.[9] He bends over toward the helmsman and inquires whether he intends to keep to the high sea, and what he thinks of the weather; and to his companion says that he is in terror in consequence of a dream he has had; and he takes off his tunic and gives it to his slave, and begs to be set on shore.

In a campaign, when the infantry march forth, he bids his comrades stand by him and look sharp, urging the importance of finding out whether yonder object be the foe or not. When he hears the sound of battle, and sees men fall, he says to those about him that, in his haste, he has forgotten to take his sword; then he runs back to his tent, sends his servant out and bids him see where the enemy are; meanwhile he hides his weapon[10] under his pillow, and then wastes a long time hunting for it. While in his tent, seeing one of his companions brought wounded from the field, he runs out, bids the fellow “Cheer up!” and lends a hand to carry the stretcher. And then he stays to tend the sufferer, washes his wounds, and sits by his side driving away the flies,—anything but fight the enemy.

When the trumpeter sounds the signal for a fresh onset, he exclaims as he sits in his tent: “Plague take him! He won’t let the poor fellow get to sleep with his eternal bugling.” Then, staining himself with blood from the other’s wound, he meets the troops as they return from battle, and pretending to have been in the thick of the fight, he exclaims, “I’ve saved a comrade!” And then he takes his demesmen and tribesmen into the tent, and assures each one of them that he himself brought the wounded man to the tent with his own hands.

[9] Apparently the reference is to the Samothracian mysteries, initiation in which was thought to ensure protection at sea in time of danger.

[10] “The sight of a sword wounds him more sensibly than the stroke, for before that comes hee is dead already.” Earle’s _Micro-cosmographie_, “The Coward.”

IV _The Over-zealous Man_

(Περιεργία)

Over-zealousness is an excess in saying or doing,—with good intentions, of course. The over-zealous man is one who gets up in public and engages to do things which he cannot perform. In cases where no doubt exists in the mind of anyone else, he raises some objection—only to be refuted.

At a banquet, he forces the servants to mix more wine than the guests can drink. If he sees two men in a quarrel, he strives to part them though he knows neither one. Leaving the main road he leads his friends upon a by-path and presently cannot find his way. He accosts his commander and inquires when he is going to draw up the troops for battle, and what orders he intends to issue for day after to-morrow.

He goes and tells his father that his mother is already asleep in her chamber. If the doctor gives instructions that no wine be given a patient, he administers “just a little,” on the plea that he wants to set the sufferer right. And when a woman dies, he has carved on the tombstone her husband’s name, and her father’s and her mother’s, along with the woman’s own name and her native place, and adds: “Worthy people, all of them.” In court, as he takes the oath, he remarks to the bystanders, “I have done this many a time before.”

V _The Tactless Man_

(Ἀκαιρία)

Tactlessness is the faculty of hitting a moment that is unpleasant to the persons concerned. The tactless man is the sort of person who selects a man’s busy hour to go and confer with him. He serenades his sweetheart when she has a fever. If an acquaintance has just lost bail-money on a friend, he hunts him up and asks him to be his surety. After a verdict has been rendered he appears at the trial to give evidence. At a wedding where he is a guest he declaims against womankind.

When a friend has just finished a long journey he invites him to go for a walk. He has a faculty for fetching a higher bidder for an article after it has been sold; and in a group of companions he gets up and explains from the beginning a story which the others have just heard and have completely understood. He is anxious to give himself the trouble to do what nobody wants done, and yet what nobody likes to decline.

When men are in the midst of religious offerings and are making outlay of money, he goes to collect his interest. If he happens to be standing by when a slave is flogged, he tells the story of how he once flogged a slave, who then went away and hanged himself. If he is arbitrator in a dispute, he sets both contestants by the ears just at the moment when they are ready to settle their differences. When he wants to dance he takes a partner who is not yet merry.

VI _The Shameless Man_

(Ἀναισχυντία)

Shamelessness may be defined as contempt for decency, joined with meanness of purpose. Your shameless fellow is one who robs a man and then returns to borrow money of him. He sacrifices a victim to the gods, and instead of making his supper from it, he salts the meat down and then gets a meal at the house of a friend. He calls a servant, and, taking bread and meat from the table, says in a voice that all can hear: “Try that, Tibios!”

When he goes to market, he reminds the butcher of all the patronage he has given him, and as he stands by the scales, throws in an extra piece, if he can, or if not, a soup-bone. If he secures these, he rests content. If he fails, he snatches a piece of tripe from the bench and makes off with it laughing. He buys theatre tickets for friends that are staying in town and goes along with them to the performance, but does not contribute his share of the expense; and the next day you’ll find him taking his children and their tutor, too.

When anybody has found a bargain in any line, he demands to have a share. He goes to the neighbors and borrows barley, or sometimes even bran, and actually endeavors to make those who lend him these articles deliver them at his house. A favorite trick of his is to march up to the tubs in a private bath-house, draw a bucket of warm water, dash it over his head, despite the loud protests of the attendant, and then say, as he leaves: “That’s a good bath; no thanks to you!”

VII _The Newsmonger_

(Λογοπολιία)

Newsmaking is the concoction of false stories of what people say and do, at the gossip’s caprice. The newsmonger is one who straightway strikes an attitude and assumes a smiling air when he meets a friend, and asks: “Where have you been? What news? How is the situation? Have you any fresh word about it?” and then going straight on, he asks: “Is there no later report? Well! the current rumors are good.”

And without letting his friend reply, he keeps right on: “What! you haven’t heard a word about it! Then I think I have a feast of news for you.” He always has in readiness some unheard-of soldier or a slave belonging to one Asteus, a piper, or Lycon, an obscure contractor, just back from the battle-field; and it is from one of these that he has heard the tidings. The authorities for his reports are of the sort that you can never get hold of. Such are the men he quotes when he tells how Polyperchon and the king carried the day and Cassander was taken prisoner.

If anybody asks: “Do _you_ believe this?” he replies, “Why the story is noised all about the city, is constantly gaining ground, and the whole population is of one mind; everybody is agreed about the battle; it must have been a regular Death’s feast.” He reads a proof of it too in the faces of men in authority; for they all wear a changed look. He says he overheard that a man had come from Macedonia who knows the whole history of the battle, and that he has been concealed now five days in a house with the authorities. There is a convincing pathos in his voice—you can imagine it!—as he tells his story and exclaims: “Luckless Cassander![11] ill-starred hero! Lo! the fickleness of fortune! Vain it was that he rose to power. But what I say is strictly between ourselves.” Then he trips off and repeats the story to every man in town.

[11] Cassander, the son of Antipater (died 319 B.C.) became involved in a struggle with Polyperchon, whom Antipater on his deathbed had appointed regent. Cassander met with many reverses, but finally (301 B.C.) secured undisputed possession of Macedonia and Greece.

VIII _The Mean Man_

(Μικρολογία)

Meanness is undue sparing of expense. The mean man is the sort of person who will go to a creditor’s house and demand a half-penny interest before the month is up. At dinner he counts the glasses each guest drinks, and amongst his fellow banqueters he pours the smallest offering to Artemis.