_THE EGOTIST._
"What cracker is this same, that deafs our ears
With this abundance of superfluous breath?"
SHAKESPEARE.
"For none more likes to hear himself converse."
BYRON.
This is a talker whose chief aim is the exhibition of himself in terms
and phrases too fulsome and frequent for the pleasure of his hearers.
_I_ was, _I_ am, _I_ shall be, _I_ have, etc., are the pronouns and
verbs which he chiefly employs. He is all _I_. I is the representative
letter of his name, his person, his speech, and his actions. There is
nothing greater in the universe to him than that of which _I_ is the
type. There is not a more essential letter in the English alphabet to
him than the letter _I_. Destroy this, and he would be disabled in his
conversation; he would lose the only emblem which he has to set himself
off before the eyes of people. He is nothing and can do nothing without
_I_. This stands out in an embossed form, which may be felt by the blind
man, as well as be seen by those who have eyesight. If you tell him of
an interesting circumstance in which a friend of yours was placed,
"_I_" is sure to be the beginning of a similar story concerning himself.
Speak of some success which your friend has made in trade or commerce,
and "_I_" will be the commencement of something similar, in which he has
been more successful. You can inform him of nothing, but "_I_" is
associated with what is equal or far superior. Were one required to give
an etymology of the egotist, it would be in the words of the Rev. J. B.
Owen: "One of those gluttonous parts of speech that gulp down every
substantive in social grammar into its personal pronoun, condensing all
the tenses and moods of other people's verbs into a first person
singular of its own."
* * * * *
Mr. Slack, of the town of Kenton, was egregiously given to egotism. He
was a man of ordinary education, but somewhat elevated above his
neighbours in worldly circumstances. He carried himself with an air of
imposing importance, as though he was lord of the entire county. In his
conversation he assumed much more than others who knew him conceded. It
was a little matter for him to ignore the abilities of other people. His
own prominent self made such demands as almost absorbed the rights of
everybody else. Whenever opportunity occurred, he set himself off as
_most_ learned, _most_ wealthy, _most_ extensively known, numbering
among his acquaintances the _most_ respectable. He rarely talked but to
exhibit himself, alone, or in some aristocratic connections.
Mr. Dredge was a neighbour of Mr. Slack's, but of an opposite turn of
mind. They were accustomed to make occasional calls upon each other.
Dredge was quiet and unassuming, and often allowed Slack to go on with
his egotistic gibberish unchecked, which rather encouraged him in his
personal weakness.
One morning Mr. Slack called upon Mr. Dredge to spend an hour in a
friendly way, as he often did, and, as usual, the conversation was
principally about himself, and things relating to the same important
personage.
"Have you seen the French Ambassador yet, Mr. Dredge?"
"No. Have you?"
"Indeed I should think so. I have been in his company several times, and
had private interviews with him; and do you know, Mr. Dredge, he showed
me more respect and attention than any one else in his company at the
same time. He gave me a most pressing invitation to dine with him
to-morrow afternoon, at six o'clock; but really, Mr. Dredge, my
engagements, you know, are so numerous and important that I was
compelled respectfully to decline the honour."
"You must have felt yourself highly flattered," said Mr. Dredge calmly.
"Not at all! not at all! It is nothing for me, you know, to dine with
ambassadors. I think no more of that than of dining with you."
"Indeed!" said Dredge in a sarcastic tone. "I thank you for the
compliment."
"No compliment at all, Mr. Dredge. It is the truth, I assure you; and
were you to see the heaps of invitations which cover my parlour table,
from persons equally as great as he, and more so, in fact, you would at
once see the thing to be true. I feel it no particular honour to have an
invitation from such a quarter, because so common. The Ambassador took
to me as soon as he saw me. He saw me, you know, to be one of his own
stamp. I put on my best grace, and talked in my highest style, and I saw
at once that he was prejudiced in my favour. It was my ability, you
know, my ability, Mr. Dredge, which made an impression on his mind."
"I see, my friend," said Mr. Dredge, "you have not lost all the egotism
of your former years."
"Egotism, egotism, Mr. Dredge! _I_ am no egotist--and never was. It is
seldom I speak of myself. No man can help speaking of himself sometimes,
you know. If you are acquainted with Squire Clark, he's the man, if you
please, for egotism. Talk of egotism, sir, he surpasses me a hundred per
cent. I am no egotist."
"I hope no offence, Mr. Slack," said Mr. Dredge.
"None at all, sir; I am not so easily offended. I am a man too
good-tempered for that. I and you understand each other, you know."
"Have you been to the City lately?" inquired Mr. Dredge.
"I was there only last week; and whom do you think I travelled with in
the train? His Grace the Duke of Borderland. He was delighted to see
me, you know, and gave me a pressing invitation to call on him at his
London residence. Did you not know that I and the Duke were old cronies?
We went to school together; and he was never half so clever as I was in
the sciences and classics. He was a dull scholar compared with me."
"You must have felt yourself somewhat honoured with his presence and
attention."
"Well, you know, Mr. Dredge, it is just here. I am so much accustomed to
high life, that the presence of dukes, lords, etc., is little more to me
than ordinary society. Had my friend Mr. Clarke been thus honoured, he
would have blazed it all about the country. _I_ would not have mentioned
it now, only your question called it up."
The fact is, Mr. Dredge had heard of it before from a number of people
to whom Mr. Slack had already told it.
At this stage of the talk between Messrs. Dredge and Slack a rap was
heard at the front door. It was Mr. Sweet, a friend of Mr. Dredge, who
had called on his way to an adjacent town.
Mr. Dredge introduced his friend to Mr. Slack, who gave him one of his
egotistic shakes of the hand, and said, "How are you this morning?"
"Mr. Sweet," observed Mr. Dredge to Mr. Slack, "is an intimate friend of
mine, and a professor in Hailsworth College."
"Indeed! I am very happy, extremely happy, to make his acquaintance,"
said Mr. Slack, with an air and voice which made the Professor open his
eyes as to who he was. And without any more ceremony, Mr. Slack
observed, "I know all the professors in that seat of learning. Drs.
Jones, Leigh, Waller, I am intimately acquainted with--special friends
of mine."
To be candid, he had met with them on one occasion, and had received a
formal introduction to them; but since then had not seen them.
"Are you at all acquainted with music, Professor Sweet?" asked Mr.
Slack.
"I know a little of it, but am no adept."
"O, sir, music is a noble science. It is the charm of my heart; it is
enchantment to my inmost soul. Ah, sir, I have been nearly ruined by it
many times! I carried it too far, you know. Not content with one
instrument, I procured almost all kinds; and, sir, there is scarcely an
instrument but I am perfectly at home with. And, sir, there is not a
hymn or song but I can play or sing. Would you believe it, sir, that I
stood first in the last grand oratorio which took place in the great
metropolis? I sang the grand solo of the occasion. Allow me, sir, to
give you a specimen of it." And here he struck off with the solo, much
to the amusement of the Professor. "Ah, sir, that is a noble piece. Does
not go so well in this room, you know, as it did in Exeter Hall. The
audience was so enraptured, sir, with my performance, that they encored
me again and again."
"Indeed, sir!" observed the Professor in a tone of keen sarcasm and
strong unbelief.
"Of course, Professor, you are familiar with the classics," said Mr.
Slack.
"Somewhat," replied the Professor, in a manner which indicated his
disgust at the impertinence of the man.
"The classics, sir, are a fine study--hard, but interesting to those who
have the taste--so refining--give such a polish to the mind, sir. I once
had a great taste for the classics--studied them fully; and even now,
sir, I know as much about them as many who profess to teach them. Would
you believe me, sir, that I have the entire list of the classics in my
library?"
The Professor smiled at the man's preposterous egotism.
"The sciences," continued Mr. Slack, "are grand studies for the mind.
Geology, astronomy, astrology, phrenology, psychology, and so on, and so
on--you know the whole list of them, Professor. Why, sir, I do not know
the first science that I did not study at college; and even now, sir,
after the lapse of years spent in the stir of a political life, there
are few with whom I would be willing to stand second in my knowledge of
them."
In this style of impertinent egotism he continued to waste the precious
moments and to torment the company, until the Professor could bear it no
longer, and suggested to his friend Mr. Dredge that he had some
business of importance upon which he would like to see him, if he could
spare a short time alone. Mr. Slack took the hint, and made his
departure, much gratified at the impression he thought he had made of
himself upon the mind of his new acquaintance, Professor Sweet.
"What a prodigious egotist your friend is, Mr. Dredge," observed the
Professor, as soon as he had gone out of hearing. "He exceeds anything I
ever heard. It is perfectly nauseous to hear him. He appears more like a
fool to me than a wise man. I have not felt so repulsed and disgusted in
the presence of a man for a long time. From the first moment of my
entrance into your house until the last second of his departure he has
talked about nothing except himself in the most bombastic way. I would
rather dwell in mountain solitude than be compelled to live in his
society."
"I am accustomed to him," replied Mr. Dredge, "and do not think so much
of it as you, being a stranger; but he is without doubt an exceedingly
vain man and brimful of egotism. I am sorry you were obliged to hear so
much of him."
"I am very pleased he is gone, and hope never to meet him in company
again, excepting as a reformed character. He may be a good neighbour; he
may be wealthy; he may be a little wise and educated; but none of these
things justify the excessive vanity and self-setting-off which are so
prominent in his conversation."
The views of the Professor were such as others entertained who knew Mr.
Slack. Few cared for his company; and those who did, _endured_ more than
_enjoyed_ it. Himself occupied so much space in conversation, that other
persons and things were crowded out. He thought so much of himself, that
it was unnecessary for other people to think anything of him. He filled
up so much room in society, that others could scarcely move their
tongues. In fact, the ego within him was so enormous that those around
him were Liliputians in his estimation. The _U_ of other people was
absorbed in his great _I_. He was known generally by the name of "_Great
I_;" and when one repeated anything that Mr. Slack of K---- had said,
the answer was, "_O, Mr. Great I said it, did he?_" and so it passed
away as vapour. Some called him a "fool." Others said, "Pity he knew no
better." The universal sentiment was that he spoke a hundred per cent.
too much of himself, when of all men he should be last to say anything.
* * * * *
Mr. Snodgrass is a man who, without any injustice to him, may be
referred to as an egotist.
I once waited upon him to consult him in his professional capacity
respecting a matter in which I had a deep interest. But ere I could
possibly reach the question, he occupied the greater part of the time I
was in his company in making known to me the multiplicity of his labours
in the past; his engagements for the time to come; what invitations he
was obliged to decline; how for years he had kept up his popularity in
one particular town; how he was busy studying the mathematics; how he
had succeeded in a critical case, in which the most eminent men in the
city had failed; how he had been written to concerning questions of the
most vital importance. In fine, his great _I_ stood out so full and
prominent that my little _i_ was scarcely allowed to make its
appearance, and when it did it was despatched with an off-handedness
which amounted to, "Who are you to presume to stand in the way of Me, so
much your superior?" Of course my little _i_ had to be silent until his
great _I_ was pleased to give permission for him to speak.
I have been with him in company when he has spoken in such tones of
egotism as have made me feel pity for him. He had acquirements which no
one else could lay claim to. He had attained professional honours which
put every one of his class in the shade. He could give information which
no one present had heard before from any of their ministers or teachers.
He criticised every one, but no one could criticise _him_. He put every
one right in politics, divinity, medicine, exegesis of Scripture. What
had he not read? Where had he not been? Was not he a philosopher? an
historian? a theologian? a physician? In fact, was not he _the_ wise man
from the East? and when he died, would not wisdom die with him?
* * * * *
Mr. Fidler is a young man given to egotism in his own peculiar way. He
is fond of putting himself forward in company by telling tales and
repeating jests as original and of his own creation, when they had an
existence before he was born, and are perhaps as well or better known by
some to whom he repeats them than they are to himself. It would not be
so objectionable did he not exhibit himself in such airs of
self-conceit, and speak in a manner which indicated that he was in his
own estimation the chief personage of the company. On one occasion he
was apparently gulling his hearers with a tale as new to them, with all
the egotism he could command, when, as soon as he had done, one present,
disgusted with his vanity, quietly observed, "That is an old thing which
I remember hearing in my childhood." But, nothing daunted by this, he
still went on with his egotistic talk and manner, until another
gentleman well read in books recommended him when he reached home to
procure a certain book of jests and read it, and he would find every one
of his pleasantries which he had told on that occasion there inserted.
This advice being taken, he found that all his jokes and puns which he
thought were new, or wished to pass as new, had been published and gone
through several editions before he or his friends were ever heard of.
* * * * *
When a man's conversation is principally about himself, he displays
either ignorance of men and things, or is inflated with vanity and
self-laudation. He must imagine himself and his doings to be of such
consequence that if not known it will be an irreparable loss to the
world. He shows himself in the social circle in an air which indicates
that he would, were he able, either compel others to retire, or eclipse
them with his own moonshine glare.
Such a talker must necessarily be a person at great discount in all
well-informed and respectable society. They resent his disgusting
trespasses upon their general rights; and they are just in so doing.
What authority has he for his intrusions? He has none, either in himself
or in his associations. His inventions, of which he speaks, will not
sustain the test of examination. His great and numerous acquaintances of
which he boasts are not all of the genuine stamp. The cards which lie on
his table, thick as autumnal leaves, and to which he points for your
particular observation, are not of the kind he would lead you to
believe.
"I was to dine with the Admiral to-night," said a naval lieutenant once;
"but I have so many invitations elsewhere that I can't go."
"I am going, and I'll apologise," said a brother officer.
"O, don't trouble yourself."
"But I must," said the officer, "for the Admiral's invitation, like that
of the Queen, is a command."
"Never mind; pray don't mention my name," rejoined the lieutenant.
"For your own sake I certainly will," was the reply.
At length the hero of a hundred cards stammered out, "Don't say a word
about it; I had a hint to stay away."
"A hint to stay away! Why so?"
"The fact is, I--wasn't invited."
The man who prides himself in his aristocratic acquaintances betrays
little respect for himself. A wise man knows that if he have true
distinction, he must be indebted to himself for it. The shadow of his
own body is more valuable to him than the _substance_ of another man's.
In the mirror of self-examination he beholds the imperfections of his
own doings and virtues, which will not for conscience' sake allow him to
parade his small apparent excellencies or acquisitions before society.
Lord Erskine was a great egotist; and one day in conversation with
Curran he casually asked what Grattan said of himself.
"Said of himself!" was Curran's astonished reply. "Nothing. Grattan
speak of himself! Why, sir, Grattan is a great man. Sir, the torture
could not wring a syllable of self-praise from Grattan; a team of six
horses could not drag an opinion of himself out of him. Like all great
men, he knows the strength of his reputation, and will never condescend
to proclaim its march like the trumpeter of a puppet-show. Sir, he
stands on a national altar, and it is the business of us inferior men to
keep up the fire and incense. You will never see Grattan stooping to do
either the one or the other." Curran objected to Byron's talking of
himself as a great drawback on his poetry. "Any subject," he said, "but
that eternal one of self. I am weary of knowing once a month the state
of any man's hopes or fears, rights or wrongs. I would as soon read a
register of the weather, the barometer up to so many inches to-day and
down so many inches to-morrow. I feel scepticism all over me at the
sight of agonies on paper--things that come as regular and notorious as
the full of the moon."
"In company," says Charron, "it is a very great fault to be more forward
in setting one's-self off and talking to show one's parts than to learn
the worth and to be truly acquainted with the abilities of other men. He
that makes it his business not to know, but to be known, is like a
tradesman who makes all the haste he can to sell off his old stock, but
takes no thought of laying in any new."
"A man," says Dr. Johnson, "should be careful never to tell tales of
himself to his own disadvantage; people may be amused and laugh at the
time, but they will be remembered and brought up against him upon
subsequent occasions."
"Speech of a man's self," says Bacon, "ought to be seldom and well
chosen. I knew one who was wont to say in scorn, 'He must needs be a
wise man, he speaks so much of himself;' and there is but one case
wherein a man may commend himself with good grace, and that is in
commending virtue in another especially if it be such a virtue
whereunto himself pretendeth."
Solomon says of the egotist, "Seest thou a man wise in his own conceit?
There is more hope of a fool than of him" (Prov. xxvi. 12). That is, he
thinks he knows so much that you can teach a fool more easily than him.
He be taught indeed! Who is so wise as he? If he want knowledge, has he
not funds yet untouched, or powers equal to any discovery? Nevertheless,
it is an old saying, "He that is his own pupil shall have a fool for his
tutor."
How suitable are the words of Divine Wisdom spoken to such: "Look not
every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others"
(Phil. ii. 4). That is, whatever you have of your own, be not vain and
proud of, to boast of and trust in; but rather look upon what others
have to learn from, wisely to commend, and never to covet. Study the
well-being of others rather than the exhibition of yourself. Again, it
is said, "Be not wise in your own conceits." "Be not high-minded, but
fear." "He that humbleth himself shall be exalted, but he that exalteth
himself shall be abased."