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THE CHARACTERS OF THEOPHRASTUS
A Translation, with Introduction
by
CHARLES E. BENNETT
and
WILLIAM A. HAMMOND
Professors in Cornell University
Longmans, Green, and Co.
91 and 93 Fifth Avenue, New York
London and Bombay
1902
Copyright, 1902, by
Longmans, Green, and Co.
All rights reserved
[October, 1902]
The University Press
Cambridge, U. S. A.
_To
THOMAS DAY SEYMOUR
In Profound Esteem_
_Preface_
This translation of _The Characters_ of Theophrastus is intended not for
the narrow circle of classical philologists, but for the larger body of
cultivated persons who have an interest in the past.
Within the last century only three English translations of _The
Characters_ have appeared; one by Howell (London, 1824), another by Isaac
Taylor (London, 1836), the third by Professor Jebb (London, 1870). All
of these have long been out of print, a fact that seemed to justify the
preparation of the present work.
The text followed has been, in the main, that of the edition published
in 1897 by the _Leipziger Philologische Gesellschaft_. A few coarse
passages have been omitted, and occasionally a phrase necessary to the
understanding of the context has been inserted. Apart from this the
translators have aimed to render the original with as much precision and
fidelity as is consistent with English idiom.
CHARLES E. BENNETT.
WILLIAM A. HAMMOND.
ITHACA, N.Y., _August, 1902_.
_Contents_
PAGE
INTRODUCTION xi
EPISTLE DEDICATORY 1
THE DISSEMBLER (I.)[1] 4
THE FLATTERER (II.) 7
THE COWARD (XXV.) 11
THE OVER-ZEALOUS MAN (IV.) 14
THE TACTLESS MAN (XII.) 16
THE SHAMELESS MAN (IX.) 18
THE NEWSMONGER (VIII.) 21
THE MEAN MAN (X.) 24
THE STUPID MAN (XIV.) 27
THE SURLY MAN (XV.) 29
THE SUPERSTITIOUS MAN (XVI.) 31
THE THANKLESS MAN (XVII.) 35
THE SUSPICIOUS MAN (XVIII.) 37
THE DISAGREEABLE MAN (XX.) 39
THE EXQUISITE (XXI.) 41
THE GARRULOUS MAN (III.) 46
THE BORE (VII.) 48
THE ROUGH (VI.) 51
THE AFFABLE MAN (V.) 54
THE IMPUDENT MAN (XI.) 56
THE GROSS MAN (XIX.) 58
THE BOOR (IV.) 60
THE PENURIOUS MAN (XXII.) 63
THE POMPOUS MAN (XXIV.) 66
THE BRAGGART (XXIII.) 68
THE OLIGARCH (XXVI.) 71
THE BACKBITER (XXVIII.) 74
THE AVARICIOUS MAN (XXX.) 77
THE LATE LEARNER (XXVII.) 81
THE VICIOUS MAN (XXIX.) 84
[1] Numerals in parenthesis give the corresponding numbers of the
characters as published in the edition of the Leipziger Philologische
Gesellschaft.
_Introduction_
“What stories are new?” asks Thackeray, subtle observer of men.
[Sidenote: _The Antiquity of Modern Character-Types_]
[Sidenote: _Accidental and Essential Types_]
“All types of all characters march through all fables: tremblers and
boasters; victims and bullies: dupes and knaves; long-eared Neddies,
giving themselves leonine airs; Tartuffes wearing virtuous clothing;
lovers and their trials, their blindness, their folly and constancy.
With the very first page of the human story do not love, and lies too,
begin? So the tales were told ages before Æsop; and asses under lions’
manes roared in Hebrew; and sly foxes flattered in Etruscan; and wolves
in sheep’s clothing gnashed their teeth in Sanscrit, no doubt. The sun
shines to-day as he did when he first began shining; and the birds in the
tree overhead, while I am writing, sing very much the same note they have
sung ever since there were finches. There may be nothing new under and
including the sun; but it looks fresh every morning, and we rise with it
to toil, hope, scheme, laugh, struggle, love, suffer, until the night
comes and quiet. And then will wake Morrow and the eyes that look on
it; and so _da capo_.” All this is very true; the changes which may be
observed in human nature are small, and the old types of Theophrastus are
all about us nowadays and really look and act much the same as they did
to the eyes of the ancient Peripatetic. Offices and institutions have
somewhat changed, and many character-types due to new vocations have come
into being since then, _e.g._ the newsboy, the bishop, the reporter,
the hotel-clerk, and the jockey. But these are only accidents of
civilization, and the peculiarities of office or the type or professional
character do not touch the vital essence of human nature, although they
may modify its expression.
When one speaks of a coward, one means an intrinsic quality in human
kind which is essentially the same whether found in a hoplite or in a
modern infantryman, but which may express itself differently in the two
cases. The types described by Theophrastus are types of such intrinsic
qualities, and his pictures of ancient vices and weaknesses show men much
as we see them now. They are not merely types of professions or callings.
[Sidenote: _Similarity between Greek and Modern Types_]
[Sidenote: _The Flatterer_]
[Sidenote: _The Officious Man_]
Apart from slight variations of local coloring and institutions, the
descriptions of the old Greek philosopher might apply almost as well
to the present inhabitants of London or Boston as to the Athenians of
300 B.C. Then, as now, the flatterer plied his wily trade, indulging in
smooth compliment of his hero’s person or actions. “As he walks with
an acquaintance, he says: ‘Behold! How the eyes of all men are turned
upon 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.’” “If his friend essay a jest, the flatterer laughs and stuffs his
sleeve into his mouth as though he could not contain himself.” But the
flatterer of old could be subtle too. “He buys apples and pears, carries
them to his hero’s house, and gives them to the children, and in the
presence of their father he kisses them, exclaiming: ‘Chips of the old
block!’” and “while his talk is directed to others in the company, his
eye is ever fixed upon his hero.” Then as now there existed the officious
man, always over-ready to undertake the impossible or to interfere in the
affairs of others. “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 rushes
in between, even though he knows neither one.” “If the doctor leave
instructions that no wine be given the patient, he administers ‘just a
little’ on the plea that he wants to set the sufferer right.”
[Sidenote: _The Tactless Man_]
There existed, of course, then as now, the tactless person, who “selects
a man’s busiest hour for a lengthy conference, and who sings love
ditties under his sweetheart’s window as she lies ill of a fever.” “At
a wedding, he declaims against womankind, and when a friend has just
finished a journey, he invites him to go for a walk.” “If he happens to
be standing by when a slave is flogged, he tells the story of how he once
flogged a slave of his, who then went and hanged himself.”
[Sidenote: _The Mean Man_]
There was the mean man, too, who, if his servant broke a pot or plate,
deducted its value from the poor fellow’s rations. “He permits no one
to take a fig from his garden or cross his field, or even to pick up
windfalls under his fruit trees. He forbids his wife to lend salt or
lamp-wicks or a pinch of cummin, marjoram, or meal, observing that these
trifles make a large sum in a year.”
[Sidenote: _The Thankless Man_]
There was also the thankless man whose pessimism is so gloomy as to
cloud all view of his blessings. “When a friend has sent him something
from his table, he says to the servant who brings it: ‘He grudged me a
dish of soup and a cup of wine, I suppose, and so couldn’t invite me to
dinner.’” “If he secures a slave at a bargain after long dickering with
the owner, he says: ‘I imagine I haven’t got much at this price.’ And to
the person who brings him the glad tidings that a son is born to him, he
retorts, ‘If you only add: “And half your fortune’s gone,” you’ll hit
it.’”
[Sidenote: _Petty Vanity_]
Then we have the man who is ostentatious in trivial things. “When he has
sacrificed an ox, he winds the head and horns with fillets, and nails
them up, opposite the entrance of his house.” “When he parades with the
cavalry he gives all his accoutrements to his squire to carry home, and
throwing back his mantle stalks proudly about the market-place in his
spurs.” When he is master of the prytany, he craves the privilege of
announcing to the people the result of the sacrifice; and as soon as he
has delivered to the people the momentous intelligence that the sacrifice
has resulted well, he hies him home and recounts his triumph to his wife
in an ecstasy of joy.
The foregoing are but illustrations of the happy skill with which
Theophrastus has delineated a number of character-types which are as
universal as human nature and know no limits of age or of country.
Here and there we meet a type in the Greek for which we have no exact
counterpart in our customary modern modes of thought. Such a type may be
seen in Theophrastus’s “The Disagreeable Man,” a person who seems a sort
of general nuisance with a touch of the bore and the braggart. As a rule,
however, the types are singularly like those we know to-day, and it is
not difficult at once to provide them with appropriate modern labels.
The treatment, though almost invariably brief, is invariably vigorous
and trenchant. With a few bold strokes the character is drawn. There is
absolutely no pretense of style, as we ordinarily understand it; yet each
type is in its way a gem. Through them all runs that fidelity to truth
which was the unfailing inspiration of all Greek art. It is this which
makes _The Characters_ a unique creation and vindicates their position as
a part of the world’s literature.
[Sidenote: _The Earliest Attempt at Character-writing_]
It is largely for this reason that these slight sketches are here
produced in English, exhibiting as they do, when we compare them with
what we see around us, the essential identity of human nature in
ages widely separated from each other in time and manners.[2] There
is, furthermore, an accidental interest in the work of Theophrastus,
due to the fact that it is the first recorded attempt at systematic
character-writing. Characters, to be sure, are portrayed in Homer and
in the tragedians, but they are incidental to the narrative or to
the dramatic plot, whereas in Theophrastus the business is with the
delineation of a character as such.
[Sidenote: _The Influence of Theophrastus_]
He tells us what a man does, simply as an illustration of what he is, and
this method of writing had a very intimate bearing on the evolution of
the New Comedy under the leadership of Menander. There is a tradition,
in fact, that Theophrastus was the teacher of Menander, who in turn
furnished models for Terence in his delineation of conventional dramatic
types. The influence of Theophrastus was further directly and potently
exerted on the so-called character-writers of the seventeenth century in
England and France. The simple methods of these character-writers and
their uninvolved sketches were succeeded by the more elaborate art of the
novelists, in whose works individuals rather than types are described
by exhibiting their development in long periods of time and under great
diversity of circumstances.
[Sidenote: _The Youth of Theophrastus_]
[Sidenote: _Theophrastus and Aristotle_]
[Sidenote: _Theophrastus Chosen by Aristotle to be President of the
Lyceum_]
[Sidenote: _Death of Theophrastus_]
[Sidenote: _His Writings and Genius_]
[Sidenote: _His Will_]
We have little information as to the personal history of Theophrastus,
beyond what we learn from the extant fragments of his writings and from
the meagre biography of Diogenes of Laërte. He was born at Eresus, a
village on the island of Lesbos, in 371 B.C., and his father was one
Melantas, a fuller by trade. He first went to school to Alcippus in his
native island, but afterwards travelled to Athens, the intellectual
metropolis, and became a pupil of Plato at the Academy, with whom he
appears to have studied until the Master’s death. Theophrastus was then
in his twenty-fifth year. At that time he attached himself to Aristotle,
who was some twelve years his senior and who had also been a member of
the Academy, until Plato died _scribens_. During the twelve years which
elapsed from the death of Plato until Aristotle established the new
school of the Lyceum (in 335 B.C.), Theophrastus was probably with his
new leader, at least part of the time, in Stagira or at the Macedonian
court, where the youthful Alexander was under the tutorial discipline
of Aristotle. Theophrastus was an intimate friend of Callisthenes,
the unfortunate fellow-student and companion of Alexander, and it is
probable that the two studied together at Pella. The story is told that
Aristotle, in speaking of these two pupils, said: “Callisthenes needs a
spur, but Theophrastus,[3] a bridle.” Many years later, when Aristotle
was dead and Cassander (see _Character_ VII.) had gained control of
Alexander’s throne, Theophrastus was invited to an office at the court
where he had spent his student days, and Ptolemy Soter, Cassander’s
political ally, sent him an invitation to the court of Egypt. But he
declined these calls into the social and political world, and maintained
steadfastly his devotion to philosophy. It was a fashion for the rectors
or presidents of the great schools of Athens, such as the Cynosarges,
the Academy, and the Lyceum, before their death to name their successors
in office. And so when Aristotle was asked who should succeed him in
the presidency of the Lyceum, tradition tells of the delicate way in
which he left record of his wish. His two most distinguished pupils were
Theophrastus of Lesbos and Eudemus of Rhodes. Aristotle replied to the
question as to his successor by asking for two sorts of wine,—Lesbian and
Rhodian. After tasting of them he said: “They are both excellent; but
the Lesbian is the sweeter.” Thereby it was known that he had decided
in favor of Theophrastus, who on the death of Aristotle (322 B.C.)
succeeded to the presidency of the Lyceum, over which he continued to
preside for thirty-five years. His administration was one of almost
unparalleled success. Diogenes Laertius reports that two thousand
students thronged to him. Although not born at Athens, he was one of the
most popular and beloved members of that somewhat exclusive community.
This is illustrated by the story of Agonides, who preferred against him
a charge of atheism,—a charge similar to that which brought Socrates to
martyrdom and drove Aristotle into exile and caused his early death; but
instead of injuring Theophrastus, Agonides narrowly escaped paying a
fine for his folly. Amongst his contemporaries Theophrastus was a great
personal force by reason of his amiable character, his charities and
lavish benefactions, the amenity of his manners, his great erudition, and
gifts of oratory. He died in 287 B.C. in the eighty-fifth year of his
age, and Diogenes Laertius says that “the whole population of Athens,
honoring him greatly, followed him to the grave.” Theophrastus was one
of the greatest polygraphs of antiquity. Two hundred and twenty-seven
works[4] are attributed to him. The range of his learning is similar
to that of Aristotle’s, with the emphasis laid rather more strongly
on the side of natural science. His genius, however, is not marked by
Aristotle’s profundity. He served his age rather as a great popularizer
of science; he was not an originator of epoch-making ideas or theories.
Yet as a local and popular force he surpassed Aristotle. His influence on
subsequent ages, however, is less marked. Of the 227 works (containing
232,908 lines) attributed to Theophrastus, fragments of nine only are
now extant, excluding certain insignificant remains.
It is doubtless true, however, that he influenced his own time as much
by his administrative ability in the conduct of the Lyceum and by his
oral utterances as by his written treatises. His prodigious industry
was no doubt partially inspired by Aristotle as well as by the swift,
stirring movement of the age immediately preceding and following the
death of Alexander, in which his literary manhood was passed. “Time,”
he says, “is the most valuable thing a man can spend.” He expressed
his sense of the value of order in the apothegm: “Better trust a horse
without bridle than a discourse without arrangement.” His estimate of
oral converse at table is recorded in a rather brusque and un-Athenian
remark said to have been made by him to a silent neighbor at dinner:
“Sir, if you are an ignorant man, your conduct shows wisdom; but if you
are a wise man, you act like a fool.” The genuinely kind character of
Theophrastus, however, is amply illustrated by the provisions of his
will, which evidences also his very considerable wealth. He had inherited
from Aristotle the largest private library then known. This library, to
which he had himself made notable additions, he bequeathed to Neleus,
his nephew (Theophrastus never married), and by Neleus it was taken to
Asia Minor, where it was hidden in a cellar to avoid the rapacity of the
agents of the Attalid dynasty, who were seizing all available books for
the Royal Library at Pergamon. And hereby hangs the curious old story of
the loss of Aristotle’s works for one hundred and fifty years, until they
were rediscovered, worm eaten, in the cellar of Neleus at Scepsis. A
Museum,—temple of the muses,—had been built by Theophrastus as the home
of the Lyceum. In his will he provided that this should be maintained
and beautified, that statues of the illustrious dead (particularly
of Aristotle) should be completed, for which commissions had already
been given to the renowned sculptor Praxiteles; further, that tablets
with maps of the world engraved on them should be erected in the lower
colonnade. In acknowledgment of the claims of religion, he also directed
that an altar should be placed there. He devised the garden, promenade,
and houses adjoining the garden to the joint control of Hipparchus,
Neleus, Strato, and their successors, as a trust, enjoining that a school
of philosophy should be maintained in them, and that the property should
never be alienated from this purpose nor claimed as private possession.
After piously making provision for certain friends and the support of
faithful attendants, he further directed that he should be buried in the
school garden without unnecessary expense or ceremony.
[Sidenote: _The Characters_]
[Sidenote: _A Fragment from a Larger Work_]
[Sidenote: _Mimetic Delineations of Moral and Social Defects_]
[Sidenote: _Realism_]
Theophrastus is more generally known for his character sketches than
for his scientific work, although his treatises on botany represented
the highest attainments made by science in that field during antiquity
and the Middle Ages. The treatise here translated (ἠθικοὶ χαρακτῆρες)
sets forth thirty types of character striking to the Greek mind. They
are probably a fragment or extract made by some epitomator from a
larger treatise which was suggested by the abstract ethical analyses of
Aristotle, as exhibited in the _Nicomachean Ethics_, and by the concrete
dramatic representations of the New Comedy. The stage suggests the form,
and Aristotle’s treatise the content. They represent moral and social
defects and weaknesses, though not revolting vices, but they do this in
a mimetic way by exhibiting persons as acting or speaking. Theophrastus
was a contemporary of Philemon and Menander, and his life was spent in
the era of the revival of comedy and the elaboration of current moral
types for humorous presentation on the stage. So the characters of
Theophrastus are, as it were, _dramatis personae_ of his time. He shows
us how a given type of man speaks and acts; the dramatization of his
characters would require scarcely anything more than stage setting. His
portrayal is not satire, but imitation; not caricature, but realistic
delineation from life. Moreover, this description of generic types rather
than of individuals belongs to the literary fashion of his age. Looked
at from this mimetic point of view, _The Characters_ of Theophrastus are
historically all the more important, because our knowledge of Menander,
the “tenth muse,” is so meagre, resting, as it does, upon scanty Greek
fragments and a few Latin adaptations.
[Sidenote: _Greek Notion of Vice_]
These thirty sketches at the beginning of the post-classical age do not
represent, properly speaking, vices, and yet they were vices to the mind
of the Greek, who measured his morality largely by the canons of good
form. Any violation of good taste or breach of courtesy was morally
vicious. The disposition was to maintain in close unity the natures of
beauty and goodness (καλοκἀγαθία); moderns discriminate sharply between
the æsthetic and the moral. The social virtues of gentle breeding and
the graces of politeness toward their fellow men had for the classical
Greeks an ethical nature, as is witnessed in Aristotle’s _Ethics_.
Manners and morals were not sundered. What we call a social weakness, or
defect, or boorish crudity, Theophrastus called a vice. It is necessary
to bear this in mind when one reads the “_moral_ characters,”[5] as they
are called in the Greek title.
[Sidenote: _Virtues not Delineated_]
[Sidenote: _The Subject-matter of the Sketches_]
Amongst these characters there are no virtues, and one may ask: Why is it
that in his portrayal of types Theophrastus has altogether omitted any
description of good men? The answer is not to be found in the supposition
that such characters were originally included in the work, but have since
perished. The real ground for the omission is probably to be discovered
in the nature of the conditions under which Theophrastus wrote. These, as
we have already indicated, were closely connected with the development of
the New Comedy. The portrayal of a good character may be edifying, and
may serve the conditions of tragedy, but it does not suit the purposes or
surroundings of the comic stage, where the ludicrous elements of weak,
eccentric, or faulty personalities are the materials employed. The aim
of Theophrastus is both to amuse and to instruct, but his instruction
is given by exposing to ridicule certain faults which he elevates into
the striking tangibility of concrete character. The serious dignity and
excellence of the good man, while it may suit the heroic conditions of
the epic, the grave purpose of tragedy, or the aims of moral allegory,
offers no material for such sketches as these. Theophrastus has no
concern either with the grossly immoral or with the helplessly weak; the
former awaken only disgust and hate, while the latter stir only feelings
of pity, and neither of these emotions can be kept active in the true
art of comedy. Rightly speaking, the art of Theophrastus has to do only
with folly or with such eccentricities and weaknesses as have a humorous
aspect. And it is only moral imperfections of this sort that we actually
find in _The Characters_.
[Sidenote: _Ridicule as an Instrument of Instruction_]
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.
He counts up the price a friend pays for a cheap purchase, exclaiming
that it takes his last penny. If a servant breaks a pot or plate he
deducts its value from his rations. If his wife has lost a three-farthing
piece, he turns the furniture, beds, and cupboards round and round, and
hunts between the boards of the floor. When he has anything to sell he
puts the price so high that the buyer gets no bargain. He permits no one
to take a fig from his garden or to cross his field, or even pick up an
olive or a date that has fallen to the ground. He examines his boundary
marks every day to see that they have not been touched.
And he is always ready in case of default to use the right of seizure and
to collect compound interest. When he gives a banquet to his townsmen
he cuts the meat in small pieces and sets a portion before each guest.
He goes to market, but buys nothing. He forbids his wife to lend salt
or a lamp-wick or a pinch of cummin, marjoram, or meal, a fillet or a
sacrificial wafer, observing that these trifles make a large sum in the
course of a year.
In a word, one may see that the mean man’s money chest is mouldy from
being unopened, the key rusty, his cloak too scant to reach his thigh;
that he uses a mean little oil jar, has his hair cropped to the scalp;
he does not wear his boots until midday, and charges the fuller to use
plenty of earth on his coat to keep it from soon getting soiled again.
IX _The Stupid Man_
(Ἀναισθησία)