Characters Of Theophrastus — Part 1: The Dissembler; The Flatterer; The Coward; The Over-Zealous Man; The Tactless Man; The Shameless Man; The Newsmonger; The Mean Man; The Stupid Man; The Surly Man.
(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) Stupidity one may define as sluggishness in what a man says or does.
The stupid man computes a sum, sets down the total, and then asks his neighbor: “How much does it all make?
” When he is defendant in a suit and should go to court, he forgets all about it and puts off to his farm.
When he goes to a play at the theatre he is the only spectator that is left behind on the benches asleep.
He gets up in the night to go out, after he has gorged himself, and is bitten by the neighbor’s dog.
He takes a thing and puts it away, but when he comes to look for it he cannot find it.
If the death of a friend is announced to him that he may go to the funeral, with a sorrowful air and tears in his eyes he says: “Thank God!
” When he goes to receive payment of a debt, he takes witnesses with him.
In the winter season he quarrels with his slave because cucumbers have not been provided.
He forces his children to wrestle and to run until they fall into a fever.
When he is roughing it in the country and himself cooks the vegetables, he puts salt in the pot twice and so makes the dish impossible.
When it rains and others declare that the sky is darker than pitch, he exclaims: “How sweet it is to consider the stars!
” And if he is asked, what is the mortality of the city,—how many bodies have passed through the Sacred Gates,—he replies: “Would that you and I had as many.
” X _The Surly Man_ (Αὐθάδεια) Surliness is sullen rudeness of speech.
The surly man is one who, when you ask him, “Who is that gentleman?
” retorts “Don’t bother me!
” and when you greet him on the street refuses to return your salutation.
When he has anything for sale, he will not tell the purchaser what he charges, but instead inquires, “How much do I get for it?
” When one would show him some attention and sends him a gift for the holidays, he says he is not in need of presents.
He accepts no excuse when by accident you smutch his clothes, or push against him in a crowd, or chance to tread upon his foot.
If you ask for his contribution to some object, he refuses to make one, though afterwards he may bring it around, declaring, however, that he’s throwing the money away.
Sometimes he stumbles in the street, and then he curses the stone that tripped him up.
And he’s not a man to tarry many minutes for a friend who has an appointment with him.
Singing, declamation, and dancing are amusements for which he has no taste; and it’s exactly like him to refuse to join even in prayer to the gods.
XI _The Superstitious Man_
