Chapter XXV: Part II (4)

He, by custom patriarchal,
Loved to see the beaker sparkle;
And he thought the wine improved,
Tasted by the lips he loved,
By the kindly lips he loved.
Friends, I wish this custom pious
Duly were observed by us,
To combine love, song, wine,
And sing as Martin Luther sang,
As Doctor Martin Luther sang:
“Who loves not woman, wine and song,
Remains a fool his whole life long!”

Who refuses this our _Credo_,
And who will not sing as we do,
Were he holy as John Knox,
I’d pronounce him heterodox,
I’d pronounce him heterodox,
And from out this congregation,
With a solemn commination,
Banish quick the heretic,
Who’ll not sing as Luther sang,
As Doctor Martin Luther sang:
“Who loves not woman, wine and song,
Remains a fool his whole life long!”

ITALIAN HUMOR

The humorists of Italy in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries are few and far between. Carlo Goldoni and Count Carlo Gozzi were both dramatists, the latter also a novelist, whose works show humor, but are not available for quotation.

Count Giacomo Leopardi, though himself a gloomy sort of person, left some satirical writings tinged with wit.

_THE ACADEMY OF SYLLOGRAPHS_

The Academy of Syllographs, hold that it would be in the highest degree expedient that men should retire as far as possible from the conduct of the business of the world, and should gradually give place to mechanical agency for the direction of human affairs. Accordingly, resolved to contribute as far as lies in its power to this consummation, it has determined to offer three prizes, to be awarded to the persons who shall invent the best examples of the three machines now to be described.

The scope and object of the first of these automata shall be to represent the person and discharge the functions of a friend who shall not calumniate or jeer at his absent associate; who shall not fail to take his part when he hears him censured or ridiculed; who shall not prefer a reputation for wit, and the applause of men, to his duty to friendship; who shall never, from love of gossip or mere ostentation of superior knowledge, divulge a secret committed to his keeping; who shall not abuse the intimacy or confidence of his fellow in order to supplant or surpass him; who shall harbor no envy against his friend; who shall guard his interests and help to repair his losses, and shall be prompt to answer his call, and minister to his needs more substantially than by empty professions.

In the construction of this piece of mechanism it will be well to study, among other things, the treatise on friendship by Cicero, as well as that of Madame de Lambert. The Academy is of opinion that the manufacture of such a machine ought not to prove impracticable or even particularly difficult, for, besides the automata of Regiomontanus and Vaucanson, there was at one time exhibited in London a mechanical figure which drew portraits, and wrote to dictation; while there have been more than one example of such machines capable of playing at chess. Now, in the opinion of many philosophers human life is but a game; nay, some hold that it is more shallow and more frivolous than many other games, and that the principles of chess, for example, are more in accordance with reason, and that its various moves are more governed by wisdom, than are the actions of mankind; while we have it on the authority of Pindar that human action is no more substantial than the shadow of a dream; and this being so, the intelligence of an automaton ought to prove quite equal to the discharge of the functions which have just been described.

As to the power of speech, it seems unreasonable to doubt that men should have the power of communicating it to machines constructed by themselves, seeing that this may be said to have been established by sundry precedents, such, for example, as in the case of the statue of Memnon, and of the human head manufactured by Albertus Magnus, which actually became so loquacious that Saint Thomas Aquinas, losing all patience with it, smashed it to pieces. Then, too, there was the instance of the parrot Ver-Vert, though it was a living creature; but if it could be taught to converse reasonably how much more may it be supposed that a machine devised by the mind of man, and constructed by his hands, should do as much; while it would have this advantage that it might be made less garrulous than this parrot, or the head of Albertus, and therefore it need not irritate its acquaintances and provoke them to smash it.

The inventor of the best example of such a machine shall be decorated with a gold medallion of four hundred sequins in weight, bearing on its face the images of Pylades and Orestes, and on the reverse the name of the successful competitor, surrounded by the legend, FIRST REALIZER OF THE FABLES OF ANTIQUITY.

The second machine called for by the Academy is to be an artificial steam man, so constructed and regulated as to perform virtuous and magnanimous actions. The Academy is of opinion that in the absence of all other adequate motive power to that end, the properties of steam might prove effective to inspire an automaton, and direct it to the attainment of virtue and true glory. The inventor who shall undertake the construction of such a machine should study the poets and the writers of romance, who will best guide him as to the qualities and functions most essential to such a piece of mechanism. The prize shall be a gold medal weighing four hundred and fifty sequins, bearing on its obverse a figure symbolical of the golden age, and on its reverse the name of the inventor.

The third automaton should be so constituted as to perform the duties of woman such as she was conceived by the Count Baldassar Castiglione, and described by him in his treatise entitled _The Courtier_, as well as by other writers in other works on the subject, which will be readily found, and which, as well as that of the count, will have to be carefully consulted and followed. The construction of a machine of this nature, too, ought not to appear impossible to the inventors of our time, when they reflect on the fact that in the most ancient times, and times destitute of science, Pygmalion was able to fabricate for himself, with his own hands, a wife of such rare gifts that she has never since been equaled down to the present day. The successful inventor of this machine shall be rewarded with a gold medal weighing five hundred sequins, bearing on one face the figure of the Arabian Phenix of Metastasio, couched on a tree of a European species, while its other side will bear the name of the inventor, with the title, INVENTOR OF FAITHFUL WOMEN AND OF CONJUGAL HAPPINESS.

Finally, the Academy has resolved that the funds necessary to defray the expenses incidental to this competition shall be supplemented by all that was found in the purse of Diogenes, its first secretary, together with one of the three golden asses which were the property of three of its former members--namely, Apuleius, Firenzuola, and Machiavelli, but which came into the possession of the Academy by the last wills and testaments of the aforementioned, as duly recorded in its minutes.

* * * * *

Antonio Ghislanzoni, an Italian journalist was possessed of a sort of humor that would be a credit to any nation. It is not far removed from the style of the early American jocularists.

Ghislanzoni was an opera singer, but, losing his voice, he quitted the stage, and founded a comic paper, _L’Uomo di Pietra._

His paper on Musical Instruments is so entertaining we quote it all.

_ON MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS_

_The Clarinet_

This instrument consists of a severe cold in the head, contained in a tube of yellow wood.

The clarinet was not invented by the Conservatory, but by Fate.

A chiropodist may be produced by study and hard work; but the clarinet-player is born, not made.

The citizen predestined to the clarinet has an intelligence which is almost obtuse up to the age of eighteen--a period of incubation, when he begins to feel in his nose the first thrills of his fatal vocation.

After that his intellect--limited even then--ceases its development altogether; but his nasal organ, in revenge, assumes colossal dimensions.

At twenty he buys his first clarinet for fourteen francs; and three months later his landlord gives him notice. At twenty-five he is admitted into the band of the National Guard.

He dies of a broken heart on finding that not one of his three sons shows the slightest inclination for the instrument through which he has blown all his wits.

_The Trombone_

The man who plays on this instrument is always one who seeks oblivion in its society--oblivion of domestic troubles, or consolation for love betrayed.

The man who has held a metal tube in his mouth for six months finds himself proof against every illusion.

At the age of fifty he finds that, of all human passions and feelings, nothing is left him but an insatiable thirst.

Later on, if he wants to obtain the position of porter in a gentleman’s house, or aspires to the hand of a woman with a delicate ear, he tries to lay aside his instrument, but the taste for loud notes and strong liquors only leaves him with life.

_The Harmoniflute_

This instrument, on account of the nature of its monotonous sounds and its tremendous plaintiveness, acts on the nerves of those who hear it, and predisposes to melancholy those who play it.

The harmoniflautist is usually tender and lymphatic of constitution, with blue eyes, and eats only white meats and farinaceous food.

If a man, he is called Oscar; those of the other sex are named Adelaide.

At home, he or she is in the habit of bringing out the instrument at dessert, and dinner being over, and the spirits of the family therefore more or less cheerfully disposed, will entertain the company with the “Miserere” in _Il Trovatore_, or some similar melody.

The harmoniflautist weeps easily. After practising on the instrument for fifteen years or so, he or she dissolves altogether, and is converted into a brook.

_The Organ_

This complicated and majestic instrument is of a clerical character, and destined, by its great volume of sound, to drown the flat singing of clergy and congregation in church.

The organist is usually a person sent into the world for the purpose of making a great noise without undue expenditure of strength, one who wants to blow harder than others without wearing out his own bellows.

At forty he becomes the intimate friend of the parish priest, and the most influential person connected with the church. By dint of repeating the same refrains every day at matins and vespers, he acquires a knowledge of Latin, and gets all the anthems, hymns, and masses by heart. At fifty he marries a devout spinster recommended by the priest.

He makes a kind and good-tempered husband, his only defect in that capacity being his habit of dreaming out loud on the eve of every church festival. On Easter Eve, for instance, he nearly always awakens his wife by intoning, with the full force of his lungs, _Resurrexit_. The good woman, thus abruptly aroused, never fails to answer him with the orthodox _Alleluia_.

At the age of sixty he becomes deaf, and then begins to think his own playing perfection. At seventy he usually dies of a broken heart, because the new priest, who knows not Joseph, instead of asking him to dine at the principal table with the clergy and other church authorities, has relegated him to an inferior place, and the society of the sacristan and the grave-digger.

_The Flute_

The unhappy man who succumbs to the fascinations of this instrument is never one who has attained the full development of his intellectual faculties. He always has a pointed nose, marries a short-sighted woman, and dies run over by an omnibus.

The flute is the most deadly of all instruments. It requires a peculiar conformation and special culture of the thumb-nail, with a view to those holes which have to be only half closed.

The man who plays the flute frequently adds to his other infirmities a mania for keeping tame weasels, turtle-doves, or guinea-pigs.

_The Violoncello_

To play the ’cello, you require to have long, thin fingers; but it is still more indispensable to have very long hair falling over a greasy coat-collar.

In case of fire, the ’cellist who sees his wife and his ’cello in danger will save the latter first.

His greatest satisfaction, as a general thing, is that of “making the strings weep.” Sometimes, indeed, he succeeds in making his wife and family do the same thing in consequence of a diet of excessive frugality. Sometimes, too, he contrives to make people laugh or yawn, but this, according to him, is the result of atmospheric influences.

He can express, through his loftily attuned strings, all possible griefs and sorrows, except those of his audience and his creditors.

_The Drum_

An immense apparatus of wood and sheepskin, full of air and of sinister presages. In melodrama the roll of the drum serves to announce the arrival of a fatal personage, an agent of Destiny, in most cases an ill-used husband. Sometimes this funereal rumbling serves to describe silence--sometimes to indicate the depths of the operatic heroine’s despair.

The drummer is a serious man, possessed with the sense of his high dramatic mission. He is able, however, to conceal his conscious pride, and sleep on his instrument when the rest of the orchestra is making all the noise it can. In such cases he commissions the nearest of his colleagues to awaken him at the proper moment.

On awaking, he seizes the two drumsticks and begins to beat; but, should his neighbor forget to rouse him, he prolongs his slumbers till the fall of the curtain. Then he shakes himself, perceives that the opera is over, and rubs his eyes. If it happens that the conductor reprimands him for his remissness at the _attack_, he shrugs his shoulders and replies, “Never mind, the tenor died, all the same. A roll of the drum, more or less, what difference would it have made?”

* * * * *

Edmondo de Amicis, soldier and writer of books of travel, often gives amusing descriptions of scenes or incidents.

_TOOTH FOR TOOTH_

An English merchant of Mogador was returning to the city on the evening of a market-day, at the moment when the gate by which he was entering was barred by a crowd of country people driving camels and asses. Although the Englishman called out as loud as he could, “Make way!” an old woman was struck by his horse and knocked down, falling with her face upon a stone. Ill fortune would have it that in the fall she broke her last two front teeth. She was stunned for an instant, and then rose convulsed with rage, and broke out into insults and ferocious maledictions, following the Englishman to his door. She then went before the governor, and demanded that in virtue of the law of talion he should order the English merchant’s two front teeth to be broken. The governor tried to pacify her, and advised her to pardon the injury; but she would listen to nothing, and he sent her away with a promise that she should have justice, hoping that when her anger should be exhausted she would herself desist from her pursuit. But, three days having passed, the old woman came back more furious than ever, demanded justice, and insisted that a formal sentence should be pronounced against the Christian.

“Remember,” said she to the governor, “thou didst promise me!”

“What!” responded the governor; “dost thou take me for a Christian, that I should be the slave of my word?”

Every day for a month the old woman, athirst for vengeance, presented herself at the door of the citadel, and yelled and cursed and made such a noise, that the governor, to be rid of her, was obliged to yield. He sent for the merchant, explained the case, the right which the law gave the woman, the duty imposed upon himself, and begged him to put an end to the matter by allowing two of his teeth to be removed--any two, although in strict justice they should be two incisors. The Englishman refused absolutely to part with incisors, or eye-teeth, or molars; and the governor was obliged to send the old woman packing, ordering the guard not to let her put her foot in the palace again.

“Very well,” said she, “since there are none but degenerate Mussulmans here, since justice is refused to a Mussulman woman against an infidel dog, I will go to the sultan, and we shall see whether the prince of the faithful will deny the law of the Prophet.”

True to her determination, she started on her journey alone, with an amulet in her bosom, a stick in her hand, and a bag round her neck, and made on foot the hundred miles which separate Mogador from the sacred city of the empire. Arrived at Fez, she sought and obtained audience of the sultan, laid her case before him, and demanded the right accorded by the Koran, the application of the law of retaliation. The sultan exhorted her to forgive. She insisted. All the serious difficulties which opposed themselves to the satisfaction of her petition were laid before her. She remained inexorable. A sum of money was offered her, with which she could live in comfort for the rest of her days. She refused it.

“What do I want with your money?” said she; “I am old, and accustomed to live in poverty. What I want is the two teeth of the Christian. I want them; I demand them in the name of the Koran. The sultan, prince of the faithful, head of our religion, father of his subjects, cannot refuse justice to a true believer.”

Her obstinacy put the sultan in a most embarrassing position. The law was formal, and her right incontestable; and the ferment of the populace, stirred up by the woman’s fanatical declamations, rendered refusal perilous. The sultan, who was Abd-er-Rahman, wrote to the English consul, asking as a favor that he would induce his countryman to allow two of his teeth to be broken. The merchant answered the consul that he would never consent. Then the sultan wrote again, saying that if he would consent he would grant him, in compensation, any commercial privilege that he chose to ask. This time, touched in his purse, the merchant yielded. The old woman left Fez, blessing the name of the pious Abd-er-Rahman, and went back to Mogador, where, in the presence of many people, the two teeth of the Nazarene were broken. When she saw them fall to the ground she gave a yell of triumph, and picked them up with a fierce joy. The merchant, thanks to the privileges accorded him, made in the two following years so handsome a fortune that he went back to England toothless, but happy.

SPANISH HUMOR

The only illustrious name of a writer of humor in Spain in the eighteenth century is that of the justly celebrated Thomas Yriarte.

He is best known to English readers through his Literary Fables, which have been frequently translated.

_THE ASS AND THE FLUTE_

You must know that this ditty,
This little romance,
Be it dull, be it witty,
Arose from mere chance.

Near a certain inclosure,
Not far from my manse,
An ass, with composure,
Was passing by chance.

As he went along prying,
With sober advance,
A shepherd’s lute lying,
He found there by chance.

Our amateur started,
And eyed it askance,
Drew nearer, and snorted
Upon it by chance.

The breath of the brute, sir,
Drew music for once;
It entered the flute, sir,
And blew it by chance.

“Ah!” cried he, in wonder,
How comes this to pass?
Who will now dare to slander
The skill of an ass?

And asses in plenty
I see at a glance,
Who, one time in twenty,
Succeed by mere chance.

_THE EGGS_

Beyond the sunny Philippines
An island lies, whose name I do not know;
But that’s of little consequence, if so
You understand that there they had no hens;
Till, by a happy chance, a traveler,
After a while, carried some poultry there.
Fast they increased as any one could wish;
Until fresh eggs became the common dish.
But all the natives ate them boiled--they say--
Because the stranger taught no other way.
At last the experiment by one was tried--
Sagacious man!--of having his eggs fried.
And, O! what boundless honors for his pains,
His fruitful and inventive fancy gains!
Another, now, to have them baked devised--
Most happy thought!--and still another, spiced.
Who ever thought eggs were so delicate!
Next, some one gave his friends an omelette:
“Ah!” all exclaimed, “what an ingenious feat!”
But scarce a year went by, an artiste shouts,
“I have it now--ye’re all a pack of louts!--
With nice tomatoes all my eggs are stewed.”
And the whole island thought the mode so good,
That they would so have cooked them to this day,
But that a stranger wandered out that way,
Another dish the gaping natives taught,
And showed them eggs cooked _à la Huguenot_.
Successive cooks thus proved their skill diverse;
But how shall I be able to rehearse
All of the new, delicious condiments
That luxury, from time to time, invents?
Soft, hard, and dropped, and now with sugar sweet,
And now boiled up with milk, the eggs they eat;
In sherbet, in preserves; at last they tickle
Their palates fanciful with eggs in pickle.
All had their day--the last was still the best.
But a grave senior thus, one day, addressed
The epicures: “Boast, ninnies, if you will,
These countless prodigies of gastric skill--
But blessings on the man who brought the hens!”

Beyond the sunny Philippines
Our crowd of modern authors need not go
New-fangled modes of cooking eggs to show.

_THE COUNTRY SQUIRE_

A country squire, of greater wealth than wit
(For fools are often bless’d with fortune’s smile),
Had built a splendid house, and furnish’d it
In splendid style.

“One thing is wanted,” said a friend; “for, though
The rooms are fine, the furniture profuse,
You lack a library, dear sir, for show,
If not for use.”

“’Tis true; but, zounds!” replied the squire with glee,
“The lumber-room in yonder northern wing
(I wonder I ne’er thought of it) will be
The very thing.

“I’ll have it fitted up without delay
With shelves and presses of the newest mode
And rarest wood, befitting every way
A squire’s abode.

“And when the whole is ready, I’ll despatch
My coachman--a most knowing fellow--down,
To buy me, by admeasurement, a batch
Of books in town.”

But ere the library was half supplied
With all its pomp of cabinet and shelf,
The booby Squire repented him, and cried,
Unto himself:--

“This room is much more roomy than I thought;
Ten thousand volumes hardly would suffice
To fill it, and would cost, however bought,
A plaguy price.

“Now, as I only want them for their looks,
It might, on second thoughts, be just as good,
And cost me next to nothing, if the books
Were made of wood.

“It shall be so. I’ll give the shaven deal
A coat of paint--a colourable dress,
To look like calf or vellum and conceal
Its nakedness.

“And gilt and letter’d with the author’s name,
Whatever is most excellent and rare
Shall be, or seem to be (’tis all the same)
Assembled there.”

The work was done; the simulated hoards
Of wit and wisdom round the chamber stood,
In bindings some; and some, of course, in _boards_,
Where all were wood.

From bulky folios down to slender twelves,
The choicest tomes in many an even row,
Display’d their letter’d backs upon the shelves,
A goodly show.

With such a stock, which seemingly surpass’d
The best collection ever form’d in Spain,
What wonder if the owner grew at last
Supremely vain?

What wonder, as he paced from shelf to shelf,
And conn’d their titles, that the Squire began,
Despite his ignorance, to think himself
A learned man?

Let every amateur, who merely looks
To backs and bindings, take the hint and sell
His costly library; for painted books
Would serve as well.

There were other Spaniards, doubtless, who possessed humor or wit, but the only available translations of their plays or stories are too long for quotation.

RUSSIAN HUMOR

A glance at Russia in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries shows the great popularity of the Fable as a means of expressing the wit and wisdom of the philosophers.

The two greatest Fabulists were Ivan Chemnitzer or Khemnitzer and Ivan Kryloff.

Alexander Griboyedoff was a writer of comedies.

IVAN CHEMNITZER

_THE PHILOSOPHER_

A certain rich man, who had heard it was an advantage to have been at school abroad, sent his son to study in foreign parts. The son, who was an utter fool, came back more stupid than ever, having been taught all sorts of elaborate explanations of the simplest things by a lot of academical windbags. He expressed himself only in scientific terms, so that no one understood him, and everyone became very tired of him.

One day, while walking along a road, and gazing at the sky in speculating upon some problem of the universe to which the answer had never been found (because there was none), the young man stepped over the edge of a deep ditch. His father, who chanced to be near by, ran to get a rope. The son, however, sitting at the bottom of the ditch, began to meditate on the cause of his fall. He concluded that _an earthquake had superinduced a momentary displacement of his corporeal axis, thus destroying his equilibrium, and, in obedience to the law of gravity as established by Newton, precipitating him downward until he encountered an immovable obstacle_--namely, the bottom of the ditch.

When his father arrived with the rope, the following dialogue took place between them:

“I have brought a rope to pull you out with. There, now, hold on tight to that end, and don’t let go while I pull.”

“A rope? Please inform me what a rope is before you pull.”

“A rope is a thing to get people out of ditches with, when they have fallen in and can’t get out by themselves.”

“But how is it that no mechanical device has been constructed for that purpose?”

“That would take time; but you will not have to wait until then. Now, then----”

“Time? Please explain first what you mean by time.”

“Time is something that I am not going to waste on a fool like you. So you may stay where you are until I come back.”

Upon which the man went off, and left his foolish son to himself.

Now, would it not be a good thing if all eloquent windbags were gathered together and thrown into the ditch, to keep him company? Yes, surely. Only it would take a much larger ditch than that to hold them. --_The Fables._

_THE LION’S COUNCIL OF STATE_

A Lion held a court for state affairs.
Why? That is not your business, sir--’twas theirs.
He called the elephants for councilors. Still
The council-board was incomplete,
And the king deemed it fit
With asses all the vacancies to fill.
Heaven help the state, for lo! the bench of asses
The bench of elephants by far surpasses.
“He was a fool, th’ aforesaid king,” you’ll say;
“Better have kept those places vacant, surely,
Than to have filled ’em up so very poorly.”

Oh, no, that’s not the royal way;
Things have been done for ages thus, and we
Have a deep reverence for antiquity.
Naught worse, sir, than to be, or to appear,
Wiser and better than our fathers were!
The list must be complete, e’en though you make it
Complete with asses--for the lion saw
Such had through all the ages been the law.
He was no radical to break it;

“Besides,” said he, “my elephants’ good sense
Will soon my asses’ ignorance diminish,
For wisdom has a mighty influence.”
They made a pretty finish!
The asses’ folly soon obtained the sway:
The elephants became as dull as they!

IVAN KRYLOV

_THE SWAN, THE PIKE, AND THE CRAB_

Whene’er companions don’t agree,
They work without accord;
And naught but trouble doth result,
Although they all work hard.

One day a swan, a pike, a crab,
Resolved a load to haul;
All three were harnessed to the cart,
And pulled together all.
But though they pulled with all their might,
The cart-load on the bank stuck tight.
The swan pulled upward to the skies;
The crab did backward crawl;
The pike made for the water straight--
It proved no use at all!

Now, which of them was most to blame,
’Tis not for me to say;
But this I know: the load is there
Unto this very day.

_THE MUSICIANS_

The tricksy monkey, the goat, the ass, and bandy-legged Mishka, the bear, determined to play a quartet. They provided themselves with the necessary instruments--two fiddles, an alto, and a bass. Then they all settled down under a large tree, with the object of dazzling the world by their artistic performance. They fiddled away lustily for some time, but only succeeded in making a noise, and no music.

“Stop, my friends!” said the monkey, “this will not do; our music does not sound as it ought. It is plain that we are in the wrong positions. You, Mishka, take your bass and face the alto; I will go opposite the second fiddle. Then we shall play altogether differently, so that the very hills and forests will dance.”

So they changed places, and began over again. But they produced only discords, as before.

“Wait a moment!” exclaimed the ass; “I know what the matter is. We must get in a row, and then we shall play in tune.”

This advice was acted upon. The four animals placed themselves in a straight line, and struck up once more.

The quartet was as unmusical as ever. Then they stopped again, and began squabbling and wrangling about the proper positions to be taken. It happened that a nightingale came flying by that way, attracted by their din. They begged the nightingale to solve their difficulty for them.

“Pray be so kind,” they said, “as to stay a moment, so that we may get our quartet in order. We have music and we have instruments; only tell us how to place ourselves.”

To which the nightingale replied:

“To be a musician, one must have a better ear and more intelligence than any of you. Place yourselves any way you like; it will make no difference. You will never become musicians.”

* * * * *

Fedor Dostoevsky was a celebrated Russian novelist and journalist.

We quote a small extract, which, it may be, depends in part for its fun on its excellent English rendition of the German patter.

_FROM KARLCHEN, THE CROCODILE_

At this moment an appalling, I may even say supernatural, shriek suddenly shook the room. Not knowing what to think, I stood for a moment rooted to the spot; then, hearing Elyona Ivanovna shrieking, too, I turned hastily round; and what did I see! I saw--oh, heavens!--I saw the unhappy Ivan Matvyeich in the fearful jaws of the crocodile, seized across the middle, lifted horizontally in the air, and kicking despairingly. Then--a moment--and he was gone!

I cannot even attempt to describe the agitation of Elyona Ivanovna. After her first cry she stood for some time as petrified, and stared at the scene before her, as if indifferently, though her eyes were starting out of her head; then she suddenly burst into a piercing shriek. I caught her by the hands. At this moment the keeper, who until now had also stood petrified with horror, clasped his hands, and raising his eyes to heaven cried aloud:

“Oh, my crocodile! Oh, mein allerliebstes Karlchen! Mutter! Mutter! Mutter!”

At this cry the back door opened, and “Mutter,” a red-cheeked, untidy, elderly woman in a cap, rushed with a yell toward her son.

Then began an awful tumult. Elyona Ivanovna, beside herself, reiterated one single phrase, “Cut it! Cut it!” and rushed from the keeper to the “Mutter,” and back to the keeper, imploring them (evidently in a fit of frenzy) to “cut” something or some one for some reason. Neither the keeper nor “Mutter” took any notice of either of us; they were hanging over the tank, and shrieking like stuck pigs.

“He is gone dead; he vill sogleich burst, because he von ganz official of der government eat up haf!” cried the keeper.

“Unser Karlchen, unser allerliebstes Karlchen wird sterben!” wailed the mother.

“Ve are orphans, vitout bread!” moaned the keeper.

“Cut it! Cut it! Cut it open!” screamed Elyona Ivanovna, hanging on to the German’s coat.

“He did teaze ze crocodile! Vy your man teaze ze crocodile?” yelled the German, wriggling away. “You vill pay me if Karlchen wird bersten! Das war mein Sohn, das war mein einziger Sohn!”

“Cut it!” shrieked Elyona Ivanovna.

“How! You vill dat my crocodile shall be die? No, your man shall be die first, and denn my crocodile. Mein Vater show von crocodile, mein Grossvater show von crocodile, mein Sohn shall show von crocodile, and I shall show von crocodile. All ve shall show crocodile. I am ganz Europa famous, and you are not ganz Europa famous, and you do be me von fine pay shall!”

“Ja, ja!” agreed the woman savagely; “ve you not let out; fine ven Karlchen vill bersten.”

“For that matter,” I put in calmly, in the hope of getting Elyona Ivanovna home without further ado, “there’s no use in cutting it open, for in all probability our dear Ivan Matvyeich is now soaring in the empyrean.”

“My dear,” remarked at this moment the voice of Ivan Matvyeich, with startling suddenness, “my advice, my dear, is to act through the bureau of police, for the German will not comprehend the truth without the assistance of the police.”

These words, uttered with firmness and gravity, and expressing astonishing presence of mind, at first so much amazed us that we could not believe our ears. Of course, however, we instantly ran to the crocodile’s tank and listened to the speech of the unfortunate captive with a mixture of reverence and distrust. His voice sounded muffled, thin, and even squeaky, as though coming from a long distance.

“Ivan Matvyeich, my dearest, are you alive?” lisped Elyona Ivanovna.

“Alive and well,” answered Ivan Matvyeich; “and, thanks to the Almighty, swallowed whole without injury. I am only disturbed by doubt as to how the superior authorities will regard this episode; for, after having taken a ticket to go abroad, to go into a crocodile instead is hardly sensible.”

“Oh, my dear, don’t worry about sense now; first of all we must somehow or other dig you out,” interrupted Elyona Ivanovna.

“Tig!” cried the German. “I not vill let you to tig ze crocodile! Now shall bery mush Publikum be come, and I shall fifety copeck take, and Karlchen shall leave off to burst.”

“Gott sei Dank!” added the mother.

“They are right,” calmly remarked Ivan Matvyeich; “the economic principle before everything.”

* * * * *

Nikolai Nekrasov wrote light verse of a whimsical trend.

_A MORAL MAN_

A strictly moral man have I been ever,
And never injured anybody--never.
I lent my friend a sum he could not pay;
I jogged his memory in a friendly way,
Then took the law of him th’ affair to end;
The law to prison sent my worthy friend.
He died there--not a farthing for poor me!
I am not angry, though I’ve cause to be;
His debt that very moment I forgave,
And shed sad tears of sorrow o’er his grave.
A strictly moral man have I been ever,
And never injured anybody--never.

I sent a serf of mine to learn the dressing
Of meat. He learned it--a good cook’s a blessing--
But strangely did neglect his occupation,
And gained a taste not suited to his station:
He liked to read, to reason, to discuss.
I, tired of scolding, without further fuss
Had the rogue flogged--all for the love of him.
He went and drowned himself--what a strange whim!
A strictly moral man have I been ever,
And never injured anybody--never.

My silly daughter fell in love, one day,
And with a tutor wished to run away.
I threatened curses, and pronounced my ban;
She yielded, and espoused a rich old man.
Their house was splendid, brimming o’er with wealth,
But suddenly the poor child lost her health,
And in a year consumption wrought her doom;
She left us mourning o’er her early tomb.
A strictly moral man have I been ever,
And never injured anybody--never.

* * * * *

Ivan Turgenieff, the celebrated novelist, wrote also delightfully witty _Poems in Prose_.

_BENEFICENCE AND GRATITUDE_

One day the Supreme Being took it into His head to give a great banquet in His azure palace.

All the virtues were invited. Men He did not ask--only ladies.

There was a large number of them, great and small. The lesser virtues were more agreeable and genial than the great ones; but they all appeared to be in good-humor, and chatted amiably together, as was only becoming for near relations and friends.

But the Supreme Being noticed two charming ladies who seemed to be totally unacquainted.

The Host gave one of the ladies His arm, and led her up to the other.

“Beneficence!” He said, indicating the first.

“Gratitude!” He added, indicating the second.

Both the virtues were amazed beyond expression. Ever since the world had stood--and it had been standing a long time--this was the first time they had met.

_PRAYER_

Whatever a man prays for, he prays for a miracle. Every prayer reduces itself to this: “Great God, grant that twice two be not four.”

Anton Chekov, writer of humorous stories, is also happy in epigrammatic wit.

_PROVERBIAL WISDOM_

The worst brandy is better than water.

The path to the law court is wide; the path away from it is narrow.

Even when drowning, a man wants company.

Cherish your wife as you would your salvation, and beat her as you would your coat.

A bad peace is superior to a good quarrel.

Spare the peasant your lash, but not his rubles.

Poverty is not a sin, but it’s a great deal worse.

In a storm, pray to the Lord and keep on rowing as hard as you can.

A sparrow is small; still, it’s a bird.

If your wife were a guitar, you could hang her up after playing.

* * * * *

Casting about for other foreign countries that might offer bits of humor written in the eighteenth or nineteenth century, we come across this from a Polish author named Kajetan Wengierski.

_THE DREAM-WIFE_

Strangely ’wildered must I seem;
I was married--in a dream.
Oh, the ecstasy of bliss!
Brother, what a joy is this!
Think about it, and confess
’Tis a storm of happiness,
And the memory is to me
Sunbeams. But fifteen was she:
Cheeks of roses red and white;
Mouth like Davia’s; eyes of light,
Fiery, round, of raven hue,
Swimming, but coquettish too;
Ivory teeth; lips fresh as dew;
Bosom beauteous; hand of down;
Fairy foot. She stood alone
In her graces. She was mine,
And I drank her charms divine.

* * * * *

Yet, in early years our schemes
Are, alas! but shadowy dreams.
For a season they deceive,
Then our souls in darkness leave.
Oft the bowl the water bears,
But ’tis useless soon with years;
First it cracks, and then it leaks,
And at last--at last it breaks.
All things with beginning tend
To their melancholy end:
So her beauty fled.

* * * * *

Then did anger, care, and malice
Mingle up their bitter chalice.
Riches like the whirlwind flew,
Honors, gifts, and friendships too;
And my lovely wife, so mild,
Fortune’s frail and flattered child,
Spent our wealth, as if the day
Ne’er would dim or pass away;
And--oh, monstrous thought!--the fair
Scratched my eyes and tore my hair.
Naught but misery was our guest.
Then I sought the parish priest:
“Father, grant me a divorce.
Nay, you’ll grant it me, of course;
Reasons many can be given--
Reasons both of earth and heaven.”

“I know all you wish to say.
Have you wherewithal to pay?
Money is a thing, of course--
Money may obtain divorce.”
“Reverend father, hear me, please ye--
’Tis not an affair so easy.”
“Silence, child! Where money’s needed,
Eloquence is superseded.”
Then I talked of morals, but
The good father’s ears were shut.
With a fierce and frowning look
Off he drove me--And I woke.

And lacking adequate translation for any more of the humorous literature of far away lands, we conclude this portion of our Outline with some Epigrams of the people of Hayti.

You can’t catch a flea with one finger.

* * * * *

The snake that wants to live does not keep to the highroad.

* * * * *

You should never blame the owner of a goat for claiming it.

* * * * *

The ears do not weigh more than the head.

* * * * *

Wait till you are across the river before you call the alligator names.

* * * * *

If the tortoise that comes up from the bottom of the water tells you an alligator is blind, you may believe him.

* * * * *

A frog in want of a shirt will ask for a pair of drawers.

* * * * *

The ox never says “Thank you” to the pasture.

* * * * *

Joke with a monkey as much as you please, but don’t play with its tail.

What business have eggs dancing with stones?

* * * * *

If you insist on punishing an enemy, do not make him fetch water in a basket.

* * * * *

The wild hog knows what tree he is rubbing against.

* * * * *

Hang your knapsack where you can reach it.

* * * * *

The pumpkin vine does not yield calabashes.

* * * * *

Every jack-knife found on the highway will be lost on the highway.

* * * * *

All wood is wood, but deal is not cedar.

* * * * *

It is the frog’s own tongue that betrays him.

* * * * *

The spoon goes to the tray’s house, but the tray never goes to the spoon’s house.

* * * * *

If you want your eggs hatched, sit on them yourself.

AMERICAN HUMOR

There may have been previous mute, inglorious Miltons, but doubtless the first American to be recognized as a true humorist was Benjamin Franklin.

In fact, one of the foremost essayists of the present day opines that the reason Franklin was not called upon to write the Declaration of Independence was because he was too fond of his joke.

“They were acute,” our essayist remarks, “those leaders of the Continental Congress, and they knew that every man has the defect of his qualities, and that a humorist is likely to be lacking in reverence, and that the writer of the Declaration of Independence had a theme which demanded most reverential treatment.”

It is generally conceded that the Americans are a humorous nation, is even said that we have a way of living humorously, and are conscious of the fact.

Aside from the annual work known as _Poor Richard’s Almanack_, Franklin wrote much prose and verse of a witty character.

A letter of his gave rise to the well known saying, “He paid too much for his whistle.”

Part of the letter is here given.

“When I was a child of seven years old, my friends on a holiday filled my pocket with coppers. I went directly to a shop where they sold toys for children; and, being charmed with the sound of a _whistle_ that I met by the way in the hands of another boy, I voluntarily offered and gave all my money for one. I then came home, and went whistling all over the house, much pleased with my _whistle_, but disturbing all the family. My brothers and sisters and cousins, understanding the bargain I had made, told me I had given four times as much for it as it was worth; put me in mind what good things I might have bought with the rest of the money, and laughed at me so much for my folly, that I cried with vexation; and the reflection gave me more chagrin than the _whistle_ gave me pleasure.

“This, however, was afterward of use to me, the impression continuing on my mind, so that often, when I was tempted to buy some unnecessary thing, I said to myself, _Don’t give too much for the whistle_; and I saved my money.

“As I grew up, came into the world, and observed the actions of men, I thought I met with many, very many, who _gave too much for the whistle_.

“When I saw one too ambitious to court favor, sacrificing his time in attendance on levees, his repose, his liberty, his virtue, and perhaps his friends, to attain it, I have said to myself, _This man gives too much for his whistle_.

“When I saw another fond of popularity, constantly employing himself in political bustles, neglecting his own affairs and ruining them by that neglect, _He pays, indeed_, said I, _too much for his whistle_.

“If I knew a miser, who gave up any kind of a comfortable living, all the pleasure of doing good to others, all the esteem of his fellow-citizens, and the joys of benevolent friendship, for the sake of accumulating wealth, _Poor man_, said I, _you pay too much for your whistle_.

“When I met with a man of pleasure, sacrificing every laudable improvement of the mind, or of his fortune, to mere corporal sensations, and ruining his health in their pursuit, _Mistaken man_, said I, _you are providing pain for yourself instead of pleasure! you give too much for your whistle_.

“If I see one fond of appearance, or fine clothes, fine houses, fine furniture, fine equipages, all above his fortune, for which he contracts debts, and ends his career in a prison, _Alas!_ say I, _he has paid dear, very dear, for his whistle_.

“When I see a beautiful, sweet-tempered girl married to an ill-natured brute of a husband, _What a pity_, say I, _that she should pay so much for a whistle_!

“In short, I conceive that great part of the miseries of mankind are brought upon them by the false estimates they have made of the value of things, and by their _giving too much for their whistles_.

“Yet I ought to have charity for these unhappy people, when I consider, that with all this wisdom of which I am boasting, there are certain things in the world so tempting, for example, the apples of King John, which happily are not to be bought; for if they were put up to sale by auction, I might very easily be led to ruin myself in the purchase, and find that I had once more given too much for the _whistle_.

“Adieu, my dear friend, and believe me ever yours, very sincerely and with unalterable affection.”

B. FRANKLIN.

_PAPER_

Some wit of old--such wits of old there were--
Whose hints show’d meaning, whose allusions care,
By one brave stroke to mark all human kind,
Call’d clear blank paper every infant mind;
Where still, as opening sense her dictates wrote,
Fair virtue put a seal, or vice a blot.

The thought was happy, pertinent, and true;
Methinks a genius might the plan pursue.
I (can you pardon my presumption?) I--
No wit, no genius, yet for once will try.

Various the papers various wants produce,
The wants of fashion, elegance, and use.
Men are as various; and if right I scan,
Each sort of _paper_ represents some man.

Pray note the fop--half powder and half lace--
Nice as a band-box were his dwelling-place:
He’s the _gilt paper_, which apart you store,
And lock from vulgar hands in the ’scrutoire.

Mechanics, servants, farmers, and so forth,
Are _copy-paper_, of inferior worth;
Less prized, more useful, for your desk decreed,
Free to all pens, and prompt at every need.

The wretch, whom avarice bids to pinch and spare,
Starve, cheat, and pilfer, to enrich an heir,
Is coarse _brown paper!_ such as pedlars choose
To wrap up wares, which better men will use.

Take next the miser’s contrast, who destroys
Health, fame, and fortune, in a round of joys.
Will any paper match him? Yes, throughout,
He’s true _sinking-paper_, past all doubt.

The retail politician’s anxious thought
Deems _this_ side always right, and _that_ stark naught;
He foams with censure; with applause he raves--
A dupe to rumors, and a tool of knaves;
He’ll want no type his weakness to proclaim,
While such a thing as _foolscap_ has a name.

The hasty gentleman, whose blood runs high,
Who picks a quarrel, if you step awry,
Who can’t a jest, or hint, or look endure:
What is he? What? _Touch-paper_ to be sure.

What are our poets, take them as they fall,
Good, bad, rich, poor, much read, not read at all?
Them and their works in the same class you’ll find;
They are the mere _waste-paper_ of mankind.

Observe the maiden, innocently sweet,
She’s fair _white-paper_, an unsullied sheet;
On which the happy man, whom fate ordains,
May write his _name_, and take her for his pains.

One instance more, and only one I’ll bring;
’Tis the _great man_ who scorns a little thing,
Whose thoughts, whose deeds, whose maxims are his own,
Form’d on the feelings of his heart alone:
True genuine _royal-paper_ is his breast:
Of all the kinds most precious, purest, best.

Francis Hopkinson, a writer of miscellaneous essays, wrote “The Battle of the Keys,” which was founded upon a real historic incident.

_THE BATTLE OF THE KEYS_

Gallants attend and hear a friend
Trill forth harmonious ditty,
Strange things I’ll tell which late befell
In Philadelphia city.

’Twas early day, as poets say,
Just when the sun was rising,
A soldier stood on a log of wood,
And saw a thing surprising.

As in amaze he stood and gazed,
The truth can’t be denied, sir,
He spied a score of kegs or more
Come floating down the tide, sir.

A sailor, too, in jerkin blue,
This strange appearance viewing,
First damned his eyes, in great surprise,
Then said, “Some mischief’s brewing.

“These kegs, I’m told, the rebles hold,
Packed up like pickled herring;
And they’re come down to attack the town,
In this new way of ferrying.”

The soldier flew, the sailor too,
And scared almost to death, sir,
Wore out their shoes, to spread the news,
And ran till out of breath, sir.

Now up and down throughout the town,
Most frantic scenes were acted;
And some ran here, and others there,
Like men almost distracted.

Some “fire” cried, which some denied,
But said the earth had quaked;
And girls and boys, with hideous noise,
Ran through the streets half-naked.

Sir William he, snug as a flea,
Lay all this time a-snoring,
Nor dreamed of harm as he lay warm,
In bed with Mrs. Loring.

Now in a fright he starts upright,
Awaked by such a clatter;
He rubs both eyes, and boldly cries,
“For God’s sake, what’s the matter?”

At his bedside he then espied,
Sir Erskine at command, sir,
Upon one foot he had one boot,
And th’ other in his hand, sir.

“Arise, arise!” Sir Erskine cries,
“The rebels--more’s the pity,
Without a boat are all afloat,
And ranged before the city.

“The motley crew, in vessels new,
With Satan for their guide, sir,
Packed up in bags, or wooden kegs,
Come driving down the tide, sir.

“Therefore prepare for bloody war,
The kegs must all be routed,
Or surely we despised shall be,
And British courage doubted.”

The royal band now ready stand,
All ranged in dead array, sir,
With stomach stout to see it out,
And make a bloody day, sir.

The cannons roar from shore to shore,
The small arms make a rattle;
Since wars began I’m sure no man
E’er saw so strange a battle.

The rebel dales, the rebel vales,
With rebel trees surrounded,
The distant woods, the hills and floods,
With rebel echoes sounded.

The fish below swam to and fro,
Attacked from every quarter;
Why sure, thought they, the devil’s to pay
’Mongst folks above the water.

The kegs, ’tis said, though strongly made
Of rebel staves and hoops, sir,
Could not oppose their powerful foes,
And conquering British troops, sir.

From morn to night these men of might
Displayed amazing courage;
And when the sun was fairly down,
Retired to sup their porridge.

A hundred men with each a pen,
Or more, upon my word, sir,
It is most true would be too few,
Their valor to record, sir.