PORSON’S CHARACTER.
His character will now be given, as it impressed the judgment of one
who studied it much, and knew it well; but the undertaking is somewhat
arduous. There were blended in him very opposite qualities. In some
things he appeared to be of the most unshaken firmness; in others he was
wayward, capricious, and discovered the weakness of a child. Although in
the former part of his life, more particularly, he would not unfrequently
confine himself for days together, in his chamber, and not suffer
himself to be intruded upon by his most intimate acquaintance, he hardly
ever could resist the allurements of social converse, or the late and
irregular hours to which they occasionally lead.
That he was friendly to late hours, and generally, exhibited Dr.
Johnson’s reluctance to go to bed, might naturally arise from the
circumstance of his being from a child, a very bad sleeper. Porson
frequently spent his evenings with the present venerable Dean of
Westminster, with Dr. Wingfield, with the late Bennet Langton, and with
another friend in Westminster, with respect to whom, the following line
used to be facetiously applied from Homer.
Ριψε ποδος τεταγων απο βηλου θεσπεσιοιο
Yet he hardly ever failed passing some hours afterwards, at the Cyder
Cellar, in Maiden-lane.
The above individuals being all of them very regular in their hours, used
to give him to understand, that he was not to stay after eleven o’clock,
with the exception of Bennet Langton, who suffered him to remain till
twelve; corrupted in this instance perhaps, by Doctor Johnson. But so
precise was Porson in this particular, that although he never attempted
to exceed the hour limited, he would never stir before. On one occasion,
when from some incidental circumstance, the lady of the house gave a
gentle hint, that she wished him to retire a little earlier, he looked at
the clock, and observed with some quickness, that it wanted a quarter of
an hour of eleven.
In the former period of his early residence in the metropolis, the
absence of sleep hardly seemed to annoy him. The first evening which he
spent with Horne Tooke, he never thought of retiring till the harbinger
of day gave warning to depart. Horne Tooke, on another occasion,
contrived to find out the opportunity of requesting his company, when he
knew that he had been sitting up the whole of the night before. This,
however, made no difference; Porson sate up the second night also till
the hour of sun-rise.
What shall we call it—waywardness, inconsiderateness, or ungraciousness?
but it is a well known fact, that he spent the day of his marriage with
a very learned friend, now a Judge, without either communicating the
circumstance of his change of condition, or without attempting to stir
till the hour prescribed by the family, obliged him to depart.
The following anecdote he would often relate himself, with the greatest
good humour. It is sufficiently notorious, that our friend was not
remarkably attentive to the decoration of his person; indeed, he was
at times disagreeably negligent. On one occasion, he went to visit the
above-mentioned learned friend, where a gentleman, who did not know
Porson, was waiting in anxious and impatient expectation of the barber.
On Porson’s entering the library where the gentleman was sitting, he
started up, and hastily said to Porson, “Are you the barber?” “No, Sir,”
replied Porson, “but I am a cunning shaver, much at your service.”
When there was considerable fermentation in the literary world on the
subject of the supposed Shakspeare Manuscripts, and many of the most
distinguished individuals had visited Mr. Ireland’s house to inspect
them, Porson, accompanied by a friend, went also. Many persons had been
so imposed upon as to be induced to subscribe their names to a form,
previously drawn up, avowing their belief in the authenticity of the
papers exhibited. Porson was called upon to do so likewise. “No,” replied
the Professor, “I am always very reluctant in subscribing my name, and
more particularly to articles of faith.”
The story of his pertinacity in twice transcribing the perplexed and
intricate manuscript of the Lexicon of Photius, has been well detailed in
the Athenæum, and is perfectly true.
An intimate friend of the Professor had a favourite old dog, whose death
he exceedingly regretted, and asked Porson to give him an inscription,
for the place in the garden where he was buried. After a time, Porson
brought him the following, which was afterwards neatly cut in the antique
manner, without stops, on a white marble stone, and remained for many
years where it was first deposited.
ΤΗΝΤΡΙΒΟΝΟϹΠΑΡΑΓΕΙϹΗΝΠΩϹΤΟΔΕϹΗΜΑΝΟΗϹΕΙS
ΜΗΔΕΟΜΑΙΓΕΛΑϹΗϹΕΙΚΥΝΟϹΕϹΤΙΤΑΦΟϹ
ΕΚΛΑΥϹΘΗΝΧΕΙΡΕϹΔΕΚΟΝΙΝϹΥΝΕΘΗΚΑΝΑΝΑΚΤΟϹ
ΟϹΜΟΥΚΑΙϹΤΗΛΗΤΟΝΔΕΧΑΡΑΞΕΛΟΓΟΝ.
A great many people, and learned people too, thought it an ancient
inscription, and so it is, but the Professor omitted to say where he
met with it. It is however to be found among the Επιγραμματα ἀδεσποτα
of Brunck and Jacobs, No. 755, and has been published in many other
collections; but first by J. Vossius on Pomponius Mela, p. 129.
He was not easily provoked to asperity of language by contradiction in
argument, but he once was. A person of some literary pretensions, but who
either did not know Porson’s value, or neglected to show the estimate of
it which it merited, at a dinner party, harassed, teazed, and tormented
him, till at length he could endure it no longer, and rising from his
chair, exclaimed with vehemence, “It is not in the power of thought to
conceive or words to express the contempt I have for you, Mr. ⸺.”
On his being appointed to the Greek Professorship, a gentleman who in
his boyish days had shewn him great kindness, and who indeed being the
agent of his first patron, was the dispenser also of that personage’s
liberality to Porson, wrote him a kind letter of congratulation. At
the same time, not being acquainted with the nature of such things, he
offered, if a sum of money was required to discharge the fees, or was
necessary on his first entrance upon the office, to accommodate him
with it. Of this letter, Porson took no notice. A second letter was
dispatched, repeating the same kind offer; of this also, no notice was
taken. The gentleman was exasperated, and so far resented the neglect,
that it is more than probable, his representation of this matter, was one
of the causes of Porson’s losing the very handsome legacy intended for
him, to which allusion has before been made.
It is exceedingly difficult to explain the motive of Porson’s behaviour
on the above occasion. He was not insensible of the kindness, for he
mentioned it to him who has recorded the fact, in terms of respect and
thankfulness, and as an act which merited his gratitude. It might arise
first from his extreme reluctance to letter-writing, which induced him
to defer his reply till the time was past, and notice of it might seem
unseasonable; or he might not exactly like the terms in which the offer
was conveyed, for it is more than probable that the letter commenced
with something like reproach, for the long and continued neglect of his
earlier friends. Whatever might be the cause, it did him incalculable
injury; the person in question never forgave the neglect, nor would
he ever afterwards endure to hear his name mentioned. He was moreover
the legal adviser of the old lady, Mrs. Ann Turner, of whose early
impressions in Porson’s favour, mention has already been made.
It must be acknowledged, that there was an occasional waywardness about
Porson, which defied the utmost sagacity of his friends to explain. No
example of this can perhaps be more striking, than his behaviour with
respect to Sir G⸺ B⸺. Sir G⸺ was among his earliest as well as warmest
friends. He was trustee for the money raised for his education at Eton
and the University; his house was always open to him, and being an
excellent scholar himself, he naturally watched, incited, and encouraged
the progress of him whom he protected. Nay, Porson himself would always
and willingly render his patron ample justice in all these particulars;
yet all at once he ceased to go to his house. From what motive, Sir G⸺
always avowed himself entirely ignorant, nor in all probability was it
ever known. The writer of this Memoir had once a conversation with Sir
G⸺ on the subject; he spoke of Porson without the smallest asperity or
reproach, but declared that his behaviour in this respect was perfectly
unaccountable.
De ingenio ejus qui satis nostis, de interitu paucis
cognoscite. Ad etiam de ingenio pauca vultis?