Erat homo ingeniosus, acutus, acer, et qui plurimum et salis haberet et
fellis, nec candoris minus.--Pliny.
I do not know a more difficult character to describe than Lord
Vincent’s. Did I imitate certain writers, who think that the whole art
of pourtraying individual character is to seize hold of some prominent
peculiarity, and to introduce this distinguishing trait, in all times
and in all scenes, the difficulty would be removed. I should only have
to present to the reader a man, whose conversation was nothing but
alternate jest and quotation--a due union of Yorick and Partridge. This
would, however, be rendering great injustice to the character I wish
to delineate. There were times when Vincent was earnestly engrossed
in discussion in which a jest rarely escaped him, and quotation
was introduced only as a serious illustration, not as a humorous
peculiarity. He possessed great miscellaneous erudition, and a memory
perfectly surprising for its fidelity and extent. He was a severe
critic, and had a peculiar art of quoting from each author he reviewed,
some part that particularly told against him. Like most men, in the
theory of philosophy he was tolerably rigid; in its practice, more than
tolerably loose. By his tenets you would have considered him a very
Cato for stubbornness and sternness: yet was he a very child in his
concession to the whim of the moment. Fond of meditation and research,
he was still fonder of mirth and amusement; and while he was among the
most instructive, he was also the boonest of companions. When alone
with me, or with men whom he imagined like me, his pedantry (for more or
less, he always was pedantic) took only a jocular tone; with the savan
or the bel esprit, it became grave, searching, and sarcastic. He was
rather a contradicter than a favourer of ordinary opinions: and this,
perhaps, led him not unoften into paradox: yet was there much soundness,
even in his most vehement notions, and the strength of mind which
made him think only for himself, was visible in all the productions
it created. I have hitherto only given his conversation in one of its
moods; henceforth I shall be just enough occasionally to be dull, and to
present it sometimes to the reader in a graver tone.
Buried deep beneath the surface of his character, was a hidden, yet a
restless ambition: but this was perhaps, at present, a secret even
to himself. We know not our own characters till time teaches us
self-knowledge: if we are wise, we may thank ourselves; if we are great,
we must thank fortune.
It was this insight into Vincent’s nature which drew us closer
together. I recognized in the man, who as yet was only playing a part,
a resemblance to myself, while he, perhaps, saw at times that I was
somewhat better than the voluptuary, and somewhat wiser than the
coxcomb, which were all that at present it suited me to appear.
In person, Vincent was short, and though not ill--yet ungracefully
made--but his countenance was singularly fine. His eyes were dark,
bright and penetrating, and his forehead (high and thoughtful) corrected
the playful smile of his mouth, which might otherwise have given to his
features too great an expression of levity. He was not positively
ill dressed, yet he paid no attention to any external art, except
cleanliness. His usual garb was a brown coat, much too large for him,
a coloured neckcloth, a spotted waistcoat, grey trowsers, and short
gaiters: add to these gloves of most unsullied doeskin, and a curiously
thick cane, and the portrait is complete.
In manners, he was civil, or rude, familiar, or distant, just as the
whim seized him; never was there any address less common, and less
artificial. What a rare gift, by the by, is that of manners! how
difficult to define--how much more difficult to impart! Better for a
man to possess them, than wealth, beauty, or talent; they will more than
supply all. No attention is too minute, no labour too exaggerated, which
tends to perfect them. He who enjoys their advantages in the highest
degree, viz., he who can please, penetrate, persuade, as the object
may require, possesses the subtlest secret of the diplomatist and the
statesman, and wants nothing but opportunity to become “great.”