"Pedantry, in the common acceptation of the word, means an absurd
ostentation of learning, and stiffness of phraseology, proceeding
from a misguided knowledge of books, and a total ignorance of
men."--MACKENZIE.
The Pedant is a talker who makes an ostentatious display of his
knowledge. His endeavour is to show those within his hearing that he is
a man of study and wisdom. He generally aims higher than he can reach,
and makes louder pretensions than his acquirements will justify. He may
have gone as far as the articles in English Grammar, and attempts to
observe in his speech every rule of syntax, of which he is utterly
ignorant; or he may have learned as far as "_hoc--hac--hoc_" in Latin,
and affect an acquaintance with Horace, by shameful quotations. He may
have reached as far as the multiplication table in arithmetic, and try
to solve the problems of Euclid as though he had them at his
finger-ends. If he has read the "Child's Astronomy," he will walk with
you through the starry heavens and the university of worlds, with as
much confidence as though he was a Ross or a Herschel. He labours at
the sublime and brings forth the ridiculous. He is a giant according to
his own rule of measurement, but a pigmy according to that of other
people. He thinks that he makes a deep impression upon the company as to
his literary attainments; but the fact is, the impression is made that
he knows nothing as he ought to know. He may, perchance, with the lowest
of the illiterate, be heard as an oracle, and looked up to as a Solon;
but the moment he rises into higher circles he loses caste, and falls
down into a rank below that with which he would have stood associated
had he not elevated himself on the pedestal of his own folly. He is
viewed with disgust in his fall; and becomes the object of ridicule for
the display of his contemptible weakness. His silence would have saved
him, or an attempt commensurate with his abilities; but his preposterous
allusions to subjects of which he proved himself utterly ignorant
effected his ruin.
The _Spectator_, in No. 105, gives an illustration of a pedant in _Will
Honeycomb_. "Will ingenuously confesses that for half his life his head
ached every morning with reading of men over-night; and at present
comforts himself under certain pains which he endures from time to time,
that without them he could not have been acquainted with the gallantries
of the age. This Will looks upon as the learning of a gentleman, and
regards all other kinds of science as the accomplishments of one whom he
calls a scholar, a bookish man, or a philosopher.
"He was last week producing two or three letters which he wrote in his
youth to a lady. The raillery of them was natural and well enough for a
mere man of the town; but, very unluckily, several of the words were
wrongly spelt. Will laughed this off at first as well as he could; but
finding himself pushed on all sides, and especially by the Templar, he
told us, with a little passion, that he never liked pedantry in
spelling, and that he spelt like a gentleman, and not like a scholar.
Upon this Will had recourse to his old topic of showing the
narrow-spiritedness, the pride, and arrogance of pedants; which he
carried so far, that upon my retiring to my lodgings, I could not
forbear throwing together such reflections as occurred to me upon the
subject.
"A man who has been brought up among books, and is able to talk of
nothing else, is a very indifferent companion, and what we call a
pedant. But methinks we should enlarge the title, and give it to every
one that does not know how to think out of his profession and particular
way of life.
"What is a greater pedant than a mere man of the town? How many a pretty
gentleman's knowledge lies all within the verge of the court? He will
tell you the names of the principal favourites; repeat the shrewd
sayings of a man of quality; whisper an intrigue that is not yet blown
upon by common fame; or, if the sphere of his observations is a little
larger than ordinary, will perhaps enter into all the incidents, turns,
and resolutions, in a game of _ombre_. When he has gone thus far, he
has shown you the whole circle of his accomplishments; his parts are
drained, and he is disabled from any further conversation. What are
these but rank pedants? and yet these are the men who value themselves
most on their exemption from the pedantry of the colleges.
"I might here mention the military pedant, who always talks in a camp,
and is storming towns, making lodgments, and fighting battles from one
end of the year to the other. Everything he speaks smells of gunpowder;
if you take away his artillery from him, he has not a word to say for
himself. I might likewise mention the law pedant, that is perpetually
putting cases, repeating the transactions of Westminster Hall, wrangling
with you upon the most indifferent circumstances of life, and not to be
convinced of the distance of a place, or of the most trivial point in
conversation, but by dint of argument. The state pedant is wrapped up in
news, and lost in politics. If you mention either of the kings of Spain
or Poland, he talks very notably; but if you go out of the _Gazette_,
you drop him. In short, a mere courtier, a mere soldier, a mere scholar,
a mere anything, is an insipid pedantic character, and equally
ridiculous.
"Of all the species of pedants which I have mentioned, the book pedant
is much the most supportable; he has at least an exercised
understanding, a head which is full, though confused--so that a man who
converses with him may often receive from him hints of things that are
worth knowing, and what he may possibly turn to his own advantage,
though they are of little use to the owner. The worst kind of pedants
among learned men are such as are naturally endued with a very small
share of common sense, and have read a great number of books without
taste or distinction.
"The truth of it is, learning, like travelling, and all other methods of
improvement, as it finishes good sense, so it makes a silly man ten
thousand times more insufferable, by supplying variety of matter to his
impertinence, and giving him an opportunity of abounding in absurdities.
"Shallow pedants cry up one another much more than men of solid and
useful learning. To read the titles they give an editor or a collator of
a manuscript, you would take him for the glory of the commonwealth of
letters, and the wonder of his age; when perhaps upon examination you
find that he has only rectified a Greek particle, or laid out a whole
sentence in proper commas.
"They are obliged to be thus lavish of their praises that they may keep
one another in countenance; and it is no wonder if a great deal of
knowledge, which is not capable of making a man wise, has a natural
tendency to make him vain and arrogant."
* * * * *
Arthur Bell was a young man of excellent qualities; and generally
respected by all who knew him. He had received his education, which was
of a superior order, at one of the Oxford colleges. Nevertheless, he
was modest and unassuming; shunning any display of his learning,
excepting under circumstances which justified him from vanity and
self-importance. Sidney Rose was a young man of the same village as
Arthur, but of different origin and training. In early boyhood they were
often playmates together; and the acquaintance thus formed continued
more or less up to manhood. Sidney was of another spirit to Arthur,
naturally high-minded, blustering, and self-conceited. His education was
only such as he had received in a country classical academy, and in this
he had not succeeded to the extent his pretensions led one to suppose.
Arthur and Sidney once met in an evening party at the house of Mr.
Grindell. The company consisted mostly of young ladies and young
gentlemen. During the conversation of the evening, in which Sidney took
a prominent part, he made an attempt to quote the following line from
Ovid, with no other intention than to exhibit his learning:--
"Dulcia non ferimus; succo renovamur amaro,"
in which he made the most glaring blunders.
"Dulcam non farimas, succor amarum reno,"
he said, with the most ostentatious air and bombastic confidence. Two or
three of the company could not refrain from laughing at his airs, not to
say his blunders.
"What are you laughing at?" inquired Sidney, in his independent tone,
and as though he was highly insulted.
"I beg your pardon, Sidney, but I think they were smiling at a mistake
or two which you have made in that Latin quotation," said Arthur,
quietly.
"Mistake, indeed! I have made no mistake," said Sidney, in an angry
tone.
"I think you have," observed Arthur, modestly.
"Show me, then, if you can. I guess that is out of your power," said
Sidney, more excited.
"Don't be excited, my friend," said Arthur; "I think I can give the line
correctly."
Arthur quoted the line as it occurs in the book. The difference appeared
to Sidney; but he would make no acknowledgment. Nor would he give up the
exhibition of his academic learning. He thought he would be a match for
Arthur and the young gentlemen who seemed to ridicule what _he_ knew
they could not mend, so he made another attempt.
"Which of you," he inquired, "can tell me in what part of Horace the
following line occurs:--
'Amor improbe non quid pectora mortalia cogis'?"
A faint smile passed over the countenance of Arthur, while Bonner, an
educated young collegian, could not restrain his risible powers, and
broke out in a loud laugh, at the expense of his good manners.
"What's that Bonner laughing at?" asked Sidney, in a manner which
betrayed his indignation and chagrin.
"It strikes me," said Skinner, "that that line is very much corrupted in
its quotation. It does not seem to be such Latin as is found in the
classics, even from what I know of them."
"And with all my study of Horace," observed Judson, "I never met with
the line in him, even if it was given correctly. And then I think, with
Skinner, that it is not correctly quoted. What do you think, Arthur?"
"Of course it is not in Horace," replied Arthur; "nor is it correctly
quoted. If Sidney has no objection, I will give the correct words from
the right author."
Sidney was sullenly silent.
"In Virgil's 'Aeneid,' Book iv., line 412," said Arthur, "the words of
which Sidney intends his to be a quotation may be found. They are as
follows:--
'Improbe amor, quid non mortalia pectora cogis.'"
"You are quite right, Arthur," said Bonner.
Here the subject ended. A short time after, during the evening, Sidney
was observed holding conversation with Miss Boast, a young lady of some
pretensions, but of no more than ordinary education. Sidney seemed to be
much at home with her in conversation. She gave a willing ear to all his
pedantic talk; and he used the opportunity much to his own
gratification. He was repeating to Miss Boast a list of his studies in
the classics, mathematics, history, geology, astronomy, etc., when
Arthur walked into that part of the room where they were sitting. He saw
that Sidney was recovered from his temper shown in the former
conversation, and had subsided into his own natural element, and was
pouring into the credulous ear of the young lady his pedantic effusions.
"Are you at all acquainted with Milton's 'Paradise Lost'?" inquired
Sidney of Miss Boast.
"I have read a little of it, but it is not my favourite book," she
replied.
"But it is an admirable book," said Sidney; "I have read it again and
again. Why, I know it almost line by line. It is a grand poem, of course
of the tragic style, full of strong sentiment and bold figure. Milton,
you know, wrote that poem in German. The translation into English is a
good one--incomparably good. I forget who the translator was. Do you not
remember those exquisitely fine lines which run thus,--
'Ah, mighty Love----'
Why, now, it is strange I should forget them. Let me see (with his hand
to his forehead). Now I have them,
'Ah, mighty Love, that it were inward heat
Which made this precious limbeck sweet!
But what, alas! ah, what does it avail!'
I need not repeat any more. This will give you an idea of the style and
sentiment of that wonderful poem."
"It is certainly very fine," said the young lady, innocently. "Did you
not hear those beautiful lines, Arthur, which Sidney has just quoted
from Milton?" asked Miss Boast.
"Yes, I heard them."
"Are they not fine?" said Sidney to Arthur.
He evaded an answer.
"Are you sure that the quotation is from Milton?" inquired Mr. Smith,
who was listening to the conversation.
"Certainly," said Sidney.
"Are they, Arthur?" asked Smith, who had his suspicions, and apprehended
another display of Sidney's pedantry, and was determined if possible to
put a check on his folly.
"If you require me to be candid in my answer," said Arthur, quietly, "I
do not think that they do belong to Milton at all."
"Whose are they, then?" asked Sidney, rather petulantly.
"They are Cowley's, to be found in vol. i., p. 132, of his works."
"I never knew that Milton's poem was tragedy, and that he wrote it in
German until now," observed Mr. Smith, ironically.
"Who said he did?" asked Arthur.
"Sidney."
"That is new historical fact, if fact it be," said Arthur. "I always
thought he wrote it in English, and that the poem was of the epic
order."
"I always thought so too," said Smith.
Sidney sat confounded, but not conquered in his fault. He would not
admit his error, nor would he cease his pedantic exhibitions. He gave
two or three more displays before the party separated, and with similar
results. Enough, however, has been given here to show the excessive
folly of this habit, and the just ridicule to which it is exposed.
* * * * *
"What a pity that Sidney makes such preposterous pretensions to learning
in his conversation," said Smith the next day to Arthur.
"It certainly is," answered Arthur; "but he is generally so when in the
company of any he thinks educated. He aims at equality with them, and
even to rise above them, with his comparatively limited acquirements. He
rarely, or ever, attains his end. His folly almost invariably meets with
an exposure in one way or another. I have met with him on several
occasions previous to last night, and he was the same on every one."
"It is to be hoped he will grow wiser as he grows older," said Smith.
"I hope so," said Arthur. "If he do not, he will always be contemptible
in the eyes of the wise and learned; and they will do their utmost to
shun his society and keep him out of their reach. Were his professions
of learning to accord with his real abilities there would be no
objection--nothing unseemly; but he aims at that which he has little
competency to reach, and so makes himself ludicrous in his attempts.
And then he does it withal in such self-confidence and ostentation as is
perfectly revolting to good taste. As his friend, I feel very much for
him, and wish he may get a knowledge of his real acquirements, and make
no display of his learning beyond what he can honourably sustain, and in
which he will be justified by wisdom and propriety. In this way he might
obtain a position in which he would receive the respect of society
according to the real merits of which he gave obvious proof."
"Those are exactly my views," said Smith, "and I wish they were the
views of Sidney too."