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