Character Writings of the Seventeenth Century Part 1

Character Writings of the 17th Century.

by Various.

EDITED BY HENRY MORLEY, LL.D.

CHARACTER WRITINGS

OF THE

SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.

_Character writing, as a distinct form of Literature, had its origin more than two thousand years ago in the [Greek: aethichoi Chadaaedes]---Ethic Characters--of Tyrtamus of Lesbos, a disciple of Plato, who gave him for his eloquence the name of Divine Speaker--Theophrastus. Aristotle left him his library and all his MSS., and named him his successor in the schools of the Lyceum. Nicomachus, the son of Aristotle, was among his pupils. He followed in the steps of Aristotle. Diogenes Laertius ascribed to Theophrastus two hundred and twenty books. He founded, by a History of Plants, the science of Botany; and he is now best known by the little contribution to Moral Philosophy, in which he gave twenty-eight short chapters to concise description of twenty-eight differing qualities in men. The description in each chapter was not of a man, but of a quality. The method of Theophrastus, as Casaubon said, was between the philosophical and the poetical. He described a quality, but he described it by personification, and his aim was the amending of men's manners. The twenty-eight chapters that have come down to us are probably no more than a fragment of a larger work.

They describe vices, and not all of them. Another part, now lost, may have described the virtues. In a short proem the writer speaks of himself as ninety-nine years old. Probably those two nines were only a poetical suggestion of long experience from which these pictures of the const.i.tuents of human life and action had been drawn. He had wondered, he said, before he thought of writing such a book, at the diversities of manners among Greeks all born under one sky and trained alike. For many years he had considered and compared the ways of men; he had lived to be ninety-nine. Our children may be the better for a knowledge of our ways of daily life, that they may grow into the best. Observe and see whether I describe them rightly. I will begin, he says, with Dissimulation. I will first define the vice, and then describe the quality and manners of the man who dissembles. After that I will endeavour to describe also the other qualities of mind, each in its kind. Then follow the Characters of these twenty-eight qualities: Dissimulation, Adulation, Garrulity, Rusticity, Blandishment, Senselessness, Loquacity, Newsmongering, Impudence, Sordid Parsimony, Impurity, Ill-timed Approach, Inept Sedulity, Stupidity, Contumacy, Superst.i.tion, Querulousness, Distrust, Dirtiness, Tediousness, Sordid or Frivolous Desire for Praise, Illiberality, Ostentation, Pride, Timidity, Oligarchy, or the vehement desire for honour, without greed for money, Insolence, and Evil Speaking. One of these Characters may serve as an example of their method, and show their place in the ancestry of Characters as they were written in England in the Seventeenth Century._

STUPIDITY.

You may define Stupidity as a slowness of mind in word or deed. But the Stupid Man is one who, sitting at his counters, and having made all his calculations and worked out his sum, asks one who sits by him how much it comes to. When any one has a suit against him, and he has come to the day when the cause must be decided, he forgets it and walks out into his field. Often also when he sits to see a play, the rest go out and he is left, fallen asleep in the theatre. The same man, having eaten too much, will go out in the night to relieve himself, and fall over the neighbour's dog, who bites him. The same man, having hidden away what he has received, is always searching for it, and never finds it. And when it is announced to him that one of his intimate friends is dead, and he is asked to the funeral, then, with a face set to sadness and tears, he says, "Good luck to it!" When he receives money owing to him he calls in witnesses, and in midwinter he scolds his man for not having gathered cuc.u.mbers. To train his boys for wrestling he makes them race till they are tired. Cooking his own lentils in the field, he throws salt twice into the pot and makes them uneatable. When it rains he says, "How sweet I find this water of the stars." And when some one asks, "How many have pa.s.sed the gates of death?" [proverbial phrase for a great number]

answers, "As many, I hope, as will be enough for you and me."

_The first and the best sequence of "Characters" in English Literature is the series of sketches of the Pilgrims in the Prologue to Chaucer's "Canterbury Tales" The Characters are so varied as to unite in representing the whole character of English life in Chaucer's day; and they are, written upon one plan, each with suggestion of the outward body and its dress as well as of the mind within. But Chaucer owed nothing to Theophrastus. In his Character Writing he drew all from nature with his own good wit. La Bruyere in France translated the characters of Theophrastus, and his own writing of Characters in the seventeenth century followed a fas.h.i.+on that had its origin in admiration of the wit of those Greek Ethical Characters. La Bruyere was born in 1639 and died in 1696. Our Joseph Hall, whose "Characters of Vices and Virtues" were written in 1608, and translated into French twenty years before La Bruyere was born, said, in his Preface to them, "I have done as I could, following that ancient Master of Morality who thought this the fittest task for the ninety-ninth year of his age, and the profitablest Monument that he could leave for a farewell to his Grecians."

There was some aim at short and witty sketches of character in descriptions of the ingenuity of horse-coursers and coney-catchers who used quick wit for beguiling the unwary in those bright days of Elizabeth, when the very tailors and cooks worked fantasies in silk and velvet, sugar and paste. Thomas Harman, whose grandfather had been Clerk of the Crown under Henry VII., and who himself inherited estates in Kent, became greatly interested in the vagrant beggars who came to his door. He made a study of them, came to London to publish his book, and lodged at Whitefriars, within the Cloister, for convenience of nearness to them, and more thorough knowledge of their ways. He first published his book in 1567 as A Caveat or Warning for Common Cursitors, vulgarly called Vagabonds--"A Caveat or Warening for common cursetors, Vulgarely called Vagabones, set forth by Thomas Harman, Esquiere, for the utilite and proffyt of his naturall c.u.n.trey" and he dedicated it to Elizabeth, Countess of Shrewsbury. It contained twenty-four character sketches, gave the names of the chief tramps then living in England, and a vocabulary of their cant words. This is Harman's first character_:--

A RUFFLER.

The Ruffler, because he is first in degree of this odious order, and is so called in a statute made for the punishment of Vagabonds in the twenty-seventh year of King Henry VIII, late of most famous memory, he shall be first placed as the worthiest of this unruly rabblement. And he is so called when he goeth first abroad. Either he hath served in the wars, or else he hath been a serving-man, and weary of well-doing, shaking off all pain, doth choose him this idle life; and wretchedly wanders about the most s.h.i.+res of this realm, and with stout audacity demandeth, where he thinketh he may be bold, and circ.u.mspect enough where he seeth cause, to ask charity ruefully and lamentably, that it would make a flinty heart to relent and pity his miserable estate, how he hath been maimed and bruised in the wars. Peradventure one will show you some outward wound which he got at some drunken fray, either halting of some privy wound festered with a filthy fiery flankard [brand]. For be well a.s.sured that the hardiest soldiers be either slain or maimed, either and [or if] they escape all hazards and return home again, if they be without relief of their friends they will surely desperately rob and steal, and either shortly be hanged or miserably die in prison. For they be so much ashamed and disdain to beg or ask charity, that rather they will as desperately fight for to live and maintain themselves, as manfully and valiantly they ventured themselves in the Prince's quarrel.

Now these Rufflers, the outcasts of serving-men, when begging or craving fails them, they pick and pilfer from other inferior beggars that they meet by the way, as rogues, palliards, morts, and doxes. Yea, if they meet with a woman alone riding to the market, either old man or boy, that he kneweth well will not resist, such they fetch and spoil. These Rufflers, after a year or two at the farthest, become upright men [l.u.s.ty vagrants who beg and take only money, who rob hen roosts, filch from stalls or pockets, and have dens of their own for drinking and receipt of stolen goods], unless they be prevented by twined hemp.

I had of late years an old man to my tenant who customably a great time went twice in the week to London, either with fruit or with peascods, when time served therefor. And as he was coming homeward, on Blackheath, at the end thereof next to Shooter's Hill, he overtook two Rufflers, the one mannerly waiting on the other, as one had been the master and the other his man or servant, carrying his master's cloak. This old man was very glad that he might have their company over the hill, because that day he had made a good market. For he had seven s.h.i.+llings in his purse and an old angel, which this poor man had thought had not been in his purse; for he willed his wife overnight to take out the same angel and lay it up until his coming home again, and he verily thought his wife had so done, which indeed forgot to do it. Thus, after salutations had, this Master Ruffler entered into communication with this simple old man, who, riding softly beside them, communed of many matters. Thus feeding this old man with pleasant talk until they were on the top of the hill, where these Rufflers might well behold the coast about them clear, quickly steps unto this poor man and taketh hold of his horse bridle and leadeth him into the wood, and demandeth of him what and how much money he had in his purse. "Now, by my troth," quoth this old man, "you are a merry gentleman! I know you mean not to take anything from me, but rather to give me some, if I should ask it of you."

By and by [immediately] this servant thief casteth the cloak that he carried on his arm about this poor man's face that he should not mark or view them, with sharp words to deliver quickly that he had, and to confess truly what was in his purse. This poor man then all abashed yielded, and confessed that he had seven s.h.i.+llings in his purse; and the truth is, he knew of no more. This old angel was fallen out of a little purse into the bottom of a great purse. Now this seven s.h.i.+llings in white money they quickly found, thinking indeed that there had been no more; yet farther groping and searching, found this old angel. And with great admiration this gentleman thief began to bless him, saying--

"Good Lord, what a world is this! How may," quoth he, "a man believe or trust in the same? See you not," quoth he, "this old knave told me that he had but seven s.h.i.+llings, and here is more by an angel! What an old knave and a false knave have we here!" quoth this Ruffler. "Our Lord have mercy on us, will this world never be better?" and therewith went their way and left the old man in the wood, doing him no more harm.

But sorrowfully sighing this old man, returning home, declared his misadventure with all the words and circ.u.mstances above showed. Whereat for the time was great laughing, and this poor man, for his losses, among his loving neighbours well considered in the end.

_Such character-painting simply came of the keen interest in life that was at the same time developing an energetic drama. But at the end of Elizabeth's reign a writing of brief witty characters appears to have come into fas.h.i.+on as one of the many forms of ingenuity that pleased society, and might be distantly related to the Euphuism of the day.

Ben Jonson's "Cynthia's Revels," first acted in 1600, two or three years before the end of Elizabeth's reign, has little character sketches set into the text. Here are two of them_:--

A TRAVELLER.

One so made out of the mixture of shreds and forms that himself is truly deformed. He walks most commonly with a clove or pick-tooth in his mouth, he is the very mint of compliment, all his behaviours are printed, his face is another volume of essays, and his beard is an Aristarchus. He speaks all cream skimmed, and more affected than a dozen waiting-women. He is his own promoter in every place. The wife of the ordinary gives him his diet to maintain her table in discourse; which, indeed, is a mere tyranny over her other guests, for he will usurp all the talk; ten constables are not so tedious. He is no great s.h.i.+fter; once a year his apparel is ready to revolt. He doth use much to arbitrate quarrels, and fights himself, exceeding well, out at a window.

He will lie cheaper than any beggar, and louder than most clocks; for which he is right properly accommodated to the whetstone, his page. The other gallant is his zany, and doth most of these tricks after him; sweats to imitate him in everything to a hair, except a beard, which is not yet extant. He doth learn to make strange sauces, to eat anchovies, maccaroni, bovoli, f.a.gioli, and caviare, because he loves them; speaks as he speaks, looks, walks, goes so in clothes and fas.h.i.+on: is in all as if he were moulded of him. Marry, before they met, he had other very pretty sufficiencies, which yet he retains some light impression of; as frequenting a dancing-school, and grievously torturing strangers with inquisition after his grace in his galliard. He buys a fresh acquaintance at any rate. His eyes and his raiment confer much together as he goes in the street. He treads nicely, like the fellow that walks upon ropes, especially the first Sunday of his silk stockings; and when he is most neat and new, you shall strip him with commendations.

THE TRUE CRITIC.

A creature of a most perfect and divine temper: one in whom the humours and elements are peaceably met, without emulation of precedency. He is neither too fantastically melancholy, too slowly phlegmatic, too lightly sanguine, nor too rashly choleric; but in all so composed and ordered, as it is clear Nature went about some full work, she did more than make a man when she made him. His discourse is like his behaviour, uncommon, but not unpleasing; he is prodigal of neither. He strives rather to be that which men call judicious, than to be thought so; and is so truly learned, that he affects not to show it. He will think and speak his thought both freely; but as distant from depraving another man's merit, as proclaiming his own. For his valour, 'tis such that he dares as little to offer any injury as receive one. In sum, he hath a most ingenuous and sweet spirit, a sharp and seasoned wit, a straight judgment and a strong mind. Fortune could never break him, nor make him less. He counts it his pleasure to despise pleasures, and is more delighted with good deeds than goods. It is a competency to him that he can be virtuous. He doth neither covet nor fear; he hath too much reason to do either; and that commends all things to him.

_The play that preceded "Cynthia's Revels" was "Every Man Out of his Humour." It was first printed in 1600, and Ben Jonson amused himself by adding to its list of Dramatis Personae this piece of Character Writing_:--

THE CHARACTER OF THE PERSONS.

_Asper_. He is of an ingenious and free spirit, eager and constant in reproof, without fear controlling the world's abuses. One whom no servile hope of gain, or frosty apprehension of danger, can make to be a parasite, either to time, place, or opinion.

_Macilente_. A man well parted, a sufficient scholar, and travelled; who, wanting that place in the world's account which he thinks his merit capable of, falls into such an envious apoplexy, with which his judgment is so dazzled and distasted, that he grows violently impatient of any opposite happiness in another.

_Puntarvolo_. A vainglorious knight, over-Englis.h.i.+ng his travels, and wholly consecrated to singularity; the very Jacob's staff of compliment; a sir that hath lived to see the revolution of time in most of his apparel. Of presence good enough, but so palpably affected to his own praise, that for want of flatterers he commends himself, to the floutage of his own family. He deals upon returns, and strange performances, resolving, in despite of public derision, to stick to his own particular fas.h.i.+on, phrase, and gesture.

_Carlo Buffone_. A public, scurrilous, and profane jester, that more swift than Circe, with absurd similes, will transform any person into deformity. A good feast-hound or banquet-beagle, that will scent you out a supper some three miles off, and swear to his patrons, d.a.m.n him! he came in oars, when he was but wafted over in a sculler. A slave that hath an extraordinary gift in pleasing his palate, and will swill up more sack at a sitting than would make all the guard a posset. His religion is railing, and his discourse ribaldry. They stand highest in his respect whom he studies most to reproach.

_Fastidious Brisk_. A neat, spruce, affecting courtier, one that wears clothes well, and in fas.h.i.+on; practiseth by his gla.s.s how to salute; speaks good remnants, notwithstanding the base viol and tobacco; swears tersely, and with variety; cares not what lady's favour he belies, or great man's familiarity; a good property to perfume the boot of a coach.

He will borrow another man's horse to praise, and backs him as his own.

Or, for a need, on foot can post himself into credit with his merchant, only with the jingle of his spur, and the jerk of his wand.

_Deliro_. A good doting citizen, who, it is thought, might be of the common-council for his wealth; a fellow sincerely besotted on his own wife, and so wrapt with a conceit of her perfections, that he simply holds himself unworthy of her. And, in that hoodwinked humour, lives more like a suitor than a husband; standing in as true dread of her displeasure, as when he first made love to her. He doth sacrifice twopence in juniper to her every morning before she rises, and wakes her with villainous out-of-tune music, which she out of her contempt (though not out of her judgment) is sure to dislike.

_Fallace_. Deliro's wife, and idol; a proud mincing peat, and as perverse as he is officious. She dotes as perfectly upon the courtier, as her husband doth on her, and only wants the face to be dishonest.

_Saviolina_. A court-lady, whose weightiest praise is a light wit, admired by herself, and one more, her servant Brisk.

_Sordido_. A wretched hobnailed chuff, whose recreation is reading of almanacks; and felicity, foul weather. One that never prayed but for a lean dearth, and ever wept in a fat harvest.

_Fungoso_. The son of Sordido, and a student; one that has revelled in his time, and follows the fas.h.i.+on afar off, like a spy. He makes it the whole bent of his endeavours to wring sufficient means from his wretched father, to put him in the courtiers' cut; at which he earnestly aims, but so unluckily, that he still lights short a suit.

_Sogliardo_. An essential clown, brother to Sordido, yet so enamoured of the name of a gentleman, that he will have it though he buys it. He comes up every term to learn to take tobacco, and see new motions. He is in his kingdom when he can get himself into company where he may be well laughed at.

_s.h.i.+ft_. A threadbare shark; one that never was a soldier, yet lives upon lendings. His profession is skeldring and odling, his bank Paul's, and his warehouse Picthatch. Takes up single testons upon oath, till doomsday. Falls under executions of three s.h.i.+llings, and enters into five-groat bonds. He waylays the reports of services, and cons them without book, d.a.m.ning himself he came new from them, when all the while he was taking the diet in the bawdy-house, or lay p.a.w.ned in his chamber for rent and victuals. He is of that admirable and happy memory, that he will salute one for an old acquaintance that he never saw in his life before. He usurps upon cheats, quarrels, and robberies, which he never did, only to get him a name. His chief exercises are, taking the whiff, squiring a c.o.c.katrice, and making privy searches for imparters.

_Clove_ and _Orange_. An inseparable case of c.o.xcombs, city born; the Gemini, or twins of foppery; that, like a pair of wooden foils, are fit for nothing but to be practised upon. Being well flattered they'll lend money, and repent when they have done. Their glory is to invite players, and make suppers. And in company of better rank, to avoid the suspect of insufficiency, will enforce their ignorance most desperately, to set upon the understanding of anything. Orange is the most humorous of the two, whose small portion of juice being squeezed out, Clove serves to stick him with commendations.

_Cordatus_. The author's friend; a man inly acquainted with the scope and drift of his plot; of a discreet and understanding judgment; and has the place of a moderator.

_Mitis_. Is a person of no action, and therefore we have reason to afford him no character.

_Of this kind are the

CHARACTERS