Impressions of Theophrastus Such

A Too Deferential Man

A little unpremeditated insincerity must be indulged under the stress of

social intercourse. The talk even of an honest man must often represent

merely his wish to be inoffensive or agreeable rather than his genuine

opinion or feeling on the matter in hand. His thought, if uttered, might

be wounding; or he has not the ability to utter it with exactness and

snatches at a loose paraphrase; or he has really no genuine thought on

the question and is driven to fill up the vacancy by borrowing the

remarks in vogue. These are the winds and currents we have all to steer

amongst, and they are often too strong for our truthfulness or our wit.

Let us not bear too hardly on each other for this common incidental

frailty, or think that we rise superior to it by dropping all

considerateness and deference.

But there are studious, deliberate forms of insincerity which it is fair

to be impatient with: Hinze's, for example. From his name you might

suppose him to be German: in fact, his family is Alsatian, but has been

settled in England for more than one generation. He is the superlatively

deferential man, and walks about with murmured wonder at the wisdom and

discernment of everybody who talks to him. He cultivates the low-toned

_t***-*-t***,_ keeping his hat carefully in his hand and often stroking

it, while he smiles with downcast eyes, as if to relieve his feelings

under the pressure of the remarkable conversation which it is his honour

to enjoy at the present moment. I confess to some rage on hearing him

yesterday talking to Felicia, who is certainly a clever woman, and,

without any unusual desire to show her cleverness, occasionally says

something of her own or makes an allusion which is not quite common.

Still, it must happen to her as to every one else to speak of many

subjects on which the best things were said long ago, and in

conversation with a person who has been newly introduced those

well-worn themes naturally recur as a further development of salutations

and preliminary media of understanding, such as pipes, chocolate, or

mastic-chewing, which serve to confirm the impression that our new

acquaintance is on a civilised footing and has enough regard for

formulas to save us from shocking outbursts of individualism, to which

we are always exposed with the tamest bear or baboon. Considered purely

as a matter of information, it cannot any longer be important for us to

learn that a British subject included in the last census holds Shakspere

to be supreme in the presentation of character; still, it is as

admissible for any one to make this statement about himself as to rub

his hands and tell you that the air is brisk, if only he will let it

fall as a matter of course, with a parenthetic lightness, and not

announce his adhesion to a commonplace with an emphatic insistance, as

if it were a proof of singular insight. We mortals should chiefly like

to talk to each other out of goodwill and fellowship, not for the sake

of hearing revelations or being stimulated by witticisms; and I have

usually found that it is the rather dull person who appears to be

disgusted with his contemporaries because they are not always strikingly

original, and to satisfy whom the party at a country house should have

included the prophet Isaiah, Plato, Francis Bacon, and Voltaire. It is

always your heaviest bore who is astonished at the tameness of modern

celebrities: naturally; for a little of his company has reduced them to

a state of flaccid fatigue. It is right and meet that there should be an

abundant utterance of good sound commonplaces. Part of an agreeable

talker's charm is that he lets them fall continually with no more than

their due emphasis. Giving a pleasant voice to what we are all well

assured of, makes a sort of wholesome air for more special and dubious

remark to move in.

Hence it seemed to me far from unbecoming in Felicia that in her first

dialogue with Hinze, previously quite a stranger to her, her

observations were those of an ordinarily refined and well-educated woman

on standard subjects, and might have been printed in a manual of polite

topics and creditable opinions. She had no desire to astonish a man of

whom she had heard nothing particular. It was all the more exasperating

to see and hear Hinze's reception of her well-bred conformities.

Felicia's acquaintances know her as the suitable wife of a distinguished

man, a sensible, vivacious, kindly-disposed woman, helping her husband

with graceful apologies written and spoken, and making her receptions

agreeable to all comers. But you would have imagined that Hinze had been

prepared by general report to regard this introduction to her as an

opportunity comparable to an audience of the Delphic Sibyl. When she had

delivered herself on the changes in Italian travel, on the difficulty of

reading Ariosto in these busy times, on the want of equilibrium in

French political affairs, and on the pre-eminence of German music, he

would know what to think. Felicia was evidently embarrassed by his

reverent wonder, and, in dread lest she should seem to be playing the

oracle, became somewhat confused, stumbling on her answers rather than

choosing them. But this made no difference to Hinze's rapt attention and

subdued eagerness of inquiry. He continued to put large questions,

bending his head slightly that his eyes might be a little lifted in

awaiting her reply.

"What, may I ask, is your opinion as to the state of Art in England?"

"Oh," said Felicia, with a light deprecatory laugh, "I think it suffers

from two diseases--bad taste in the patrons and want of inspiration in

the artists."

"That is true indeed," said Hinze, in an undertone of deep conviction.

"You have put your finger with strict accuracy on the causes of decline.

To a cultivated taste like yours this must be particularly painful."

"I did not say there was actual decline," said Felicia, with a touch of

_brusquerie_. "I don't set myself up as the great personage whom nothing

can please."

"That would be too severe a misfortune for others," says my

complimentary ape. "You approve, perhaps, of Rosemary's 'Babes in the

Wood,' as something fresh and _na***_ in sculpture?"

"I think it enchanting."

"Does he know that? Or _will_ you permit me to tell him?"

"Heaven forbid! It would be an impertinence in me to praise a work of

his--to pronounce on its quality; and that I happen to like it can be of

no consequence to him."

Here was an occasion for Hinze to smile down on his hat and stroke

it--Felicia's ignorance that her praise was inestimable being peculiarly

noteworthy to an observer of mankind. Presently he was quite sure that

her favourite author was Shakspere, and wished to know what she thought

of Hamlet's madness. When she had quoted Wilhelm Meister on this point,

and had afterwards testified that "Lear" was beyond adequate

presentation, that "Julius Caesar" was an effective acting play, and

that a poet may know a good deal about human nature while knowing little

of geography, Hinze appeared so impressed with the plenitude of these

revelations that he recapitulated them, weaving them together with

threads of compliment--"As you very justly observed;" and--"It is most

true, as you say;" and--"It were well if others noted what you have

remarked."

Some listeners incautious in their epithets would have called Hinze an

"ass." For my part I would never insult that intelligent and

unpretending animal who no doubt brays with perfect simplicity and

substantial meaning to those acquainted with his idiom, and if he feigns

more submission than he feels, has weighty reasons for doing so--I would

never, I say, insult that historic and ill-appreciated animal, the ass,

by giving his name to a man whose continuous pretence is so shallow in

its motive, so unexcused by any sharp appetite as this of Hinze's.

But perhaps you would say that his adulatory manner was originally

adopted under strong promptings of self-interest, and that his absurdly

over-acted deference to persons from whom he expects no patronage is the

unreflecting persistence of habit--just as those who live with the deaf

will shout to everybody else.

And you might indeed imagine that in talking to Tulpian, who has

considerable interest at his disposal, Hinze had a desired appointment

in his mind. Tulpian is appealed to on innumerable subjects, and if he

is unwilling to express himself on any one of them, says so with

instructive copiousness: he is much listened to, and his utterances are

registered and reported with more or less exactitude. But I think he

has no other listener who comports himself as Hinze does--who,

figuratively speaking, carries about a small spoon ready to pick up any

dusty crumb of opinion that the eloquent man may have let drop. Tulpian,

with reverence be it said, has some rather absurd notions, such as a

mind of large discourse often finds room for: they slip about among his

higher conceptions and multitudinous acquirements like disreputable

characters at a national celebration in some vast cathedral, where to

the ardent soul all is glorified by rainbow light and grand

associations: any vulgar detective knows them for what they are. But

Hinze is especially fervid in his desire to hear Tulpian dilate on his

crotchets, and is rather troublesome to bystanders in asking them

whether they have read the various fugitive writings in which these

crotchets have been published. If an expert is explaining some matter on

which you desire to know the evidence, Hinze teases you with Tulpian's

guesses, and asks the expert what he thinks of them.

In general, Hinze delights in the citation of opinions, and would

hardly remark that the sun shone without an air of respectful appeal or

fervid adhesion. The 'Iliad,' one sees, would impress him little if it

were not for what Mr Fugleman has lately said about it; and if you

mention an image or sentiment in Chaucer he seems not to heed the

bearing of your reference, but immediately tells you that Mr Hautboy,

too, regards Chaucer as a poet of the first order, and he is delighted

to find that two such judges as you and Hautboy are at one.

What is the reason of all this subdued ecstasy, moving about, hat in

hand, with well-dressed hair and attitudes of unimpeachable correctness?

Some persons conscious of sagacity decide at once that Hinze knows what

he is about in flattering Tulpian, and has a carefully appraised end to

serve though they may not see it They are misled by the common mistake

of supposing that men's behaviour, whether habitual or occasional, is

chiefly determined by a distinctly conceived motive, a definite object

to be gained or a definite evil to be avoided. The truth is, that, the

primitive wants of nature once tolerably satisfied, the majority of

mankind, even in a civilised life full of solicitations, are with

difficulty aroused to the distinct conception of an object towards which

they will direct their actions with careful adaptation, and it is yet

rarer to find one who can persist in the systematic pursuit of such an

end. Few lives are shaped, few characters formed, by the contemplation

of definite consequences seen from a distance and made the goal of

continuous effort or the beacon of a constantly avoided danger: such

control by foresight, such vivid picturing and practical logic are the

distinction of exceptionally strong natures; but society is chiefly made

up of human beings whose daily acts are all performed either in

unreflecting obedience to custom and routine or from immediate

promptings of thought or feeling to execute an immediate purpose. They

pay their poor-rates, give their vote in affairs political or parochial,

wear a certain amount of starch, hinder boys from tormenting the

helpless, and spend money on tedious observances called pleasures,

without mentally adjusting these practices to their own well-understood

interest or to the general, ultimate welfare of the human race; and when

they fall into ungraceful compliment, excessive smiling or other

luckless efforts of complaisant behaviour, these are but the tricks or

habits gradually formed under the successive promptings of a wish to be

agreeable, stimulated day by day without any widening resources for

gratifying the wish. It does not in the least follow that they are

seeking by studied hypocrisy to get something for themselves. And so

with Hinze's deferential bearing, complimentary parentheses, and

worshipful tones, which seem to some like the over-acting of a part in a

comedy. He expects no appointment or other appreciable gain through

Tulpian's favour; he has no doubleness towards Felicia; there is no

sneering or backbiting obverse to his ecstatic admiration. He is very

well off in the world, and cherishes no unsatisfied ambition that could

feed design and direct flattery. As you perceive, he has had the

education and other advantages of a gentleman without being conscious of

marked result, such as a decided preference for any particular ideas or

functions: his mind is furnished as hotels are, with everything for

occasional and transient use. But one cannot be an Englishman and

gentleman in general: it is in the nature of things that one must have

an individuality, though it may be of an often-repeated type. As Hinze

in growing to maturity had grown into a particular form and expression

of person, so he necessarily gathered a manner and frame of speech which

made him additionally recognisable. His nature is not tuned to the pitch

of a genuine direct admiration, only to an attitudinising deference

which does not fatigue itself with the formation of real judgments. All

human achievement must be wrought down to this spoon-meat--this mixture

of other persons' washy opinions and his own flux of reverence for what

is third-hand, before Hinze can find a relish for it.

He has no more leading characteristic than the desire to stand well with

those who are justly distinguished; he has no base admirations, and you

may know by his entire presentation of himself, from the management of

his hat to the angle at which he keeps his right foot, that he aspires

to correctness. Desiring to behave becomingly and also to make a figure

in dialogue, he is only like the bad artist whose picture is a failure.

We may pity these ill-gifted strivers, but not pretend that their works

are pleasant to behold. A man is bound to know something of his own

weight and muscular dexterity, and the puny athlete is called foolish

before he is seen to be thrown. Hinze has not the stuff in him to be at

once agreeably conversational and sincere, and he has got himself up to

be at all events agreeably conversational. Notwithstanding this

deliberateness of intention in his talk he is unconscious of falsity,

for he has not enough of deep and lasting impression to find a contrast

or diversity between his words and his thoughts. He is not fairly to be

called a hypocrite, but I have already confessed to the more

exasperation at his make-believe reverence, because it has no deep

hunger to excuse it.