Read Ebook: History of English Humour Vol. 2 by L Estrange A G K Alfred Guy Kingan

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We very commonly form our opinion of an Author's character from his writings, and there is no doubt that his tendencies can scarcely fail to betray themselves to a careful observer. But experience has generally taught him to curb or quicken his feelings according to the notions of the public taste, so that he often expresses the sentiments of others rather than his own. Hence a literary friend once observed to me that a man is very different from what his writings would lead you to suppose. I think there are certain indications in Sterne's writings that he introduced those passages to which objection was justly taken for the purpose of catching the favour of the public. He had already published some Sermons, which, he says, "found neither purchasers nor readers."

Conscious of his talent, and being no doubt reminded of it by his friends, he wished to obtain a field for it, and determined now to try a different course. He wrote "Tristram Shandy" as he says "not to be fed, but to be famous," and so just was the opinion of what would please the age in which he lived that we find the quiet country rector suddenly transformed into the most popular literary man of the day,--going up to London and receiving more invitations than he could accept. He had made his gold current by a considerable admixture of alloy; and endeavoured to excuse his offences of this kind by a variety of subterfuges. Upon one occasion, he compared them to the antics of children which although unseemly, are performed with perfect innocence.

Of course this was a jest. Sterne was not living in a Paradisaical age, and he intentionally overstept the boundaries of decorum. But granting he had an object in view, was he justified in adopting such means to obtain it? certainly not; but he had some right to laugh, as he does, at the inconsistency of the public, who, while they blamed his books, bought up the editions of them as fast as they could be issued.

If Sterne's humour was often offensive, we must in justice admit it was never cynical. Had it possessed more satire it would have, perhaps, been more instructive, but there was a bright trait in Sterne's character, that he never accused others. On the contrary, he censures men who, "wishing to be thought witty, and despairing of coming honestly by the title, try to affect it by shrewd and sarcastic reflections upon whatever is done in the world. This is setting up trade with the broken stock of other people's failings--perhaps their misfortunes--so, much good may it do them with what honour they can get--the farthest extent of which, I think, is to be praised, as we do some sauces--with tears in our eyes. It has helped to give a bad name to wit, as if the main essence of it was satire."

Sterne had no personal enmities; his faults were all on the amiable side, nor can we imagine a selfish cold-hearted sensualist writing "Dear Sensibility, source inexhausted by all that is precious in our joys, or costly in our sorrows." His letters to his wife before their marriage exhibit the most tender and beautiful sentiments;--

In the course of one of his sermons he writes very characteristically--

"Let the torpid monk seek heaven comfortless and alone, God speed him! For my own part, I fear I should never so find the way; let me be wise and religious, but let me be man; wherever Thy Providence places me, or whatever be the road I take to get to Thee, give me some companion in my journey, be it only to remark to. 'How our shadows lengthen as the sun goes down,' to whom I may say, 'How fresh is the face of nature! How sweet the flowers of the field! How delicious are these fruits!'"

We believe these to have been sincere expressions--inside his motley garb he had a heart of tenderness. It went forth to all, even to the animal world--to the caged starling. Some may attribute the ebullitions of feeling in his works to affectation, but those who have read them attentively will observe the same impulses too generally predominant to be the work of design. The story of the prisoner Le Fevre and of Maria bear the brightest testimony to his character in this respect. What sentiments can surpass in poetic beauty or religious feeling that in which he commends the distraught girl to the beneficence of the Almighty who "tempers the wind to the shorn lamb."

We have no proof that Sterne was a dissipated man. He expressly denies it in a letter written shortly before his death, and in another, he says, "The world has imagined because I wrote 'Tristram Shandy,' that I myself was more Shandean than I really was." In his day many, not only of the laity, but of the clergy, thought little of indulging in coarse jests, and of writing poetry which contained much more wit than decency. Sterne having lived in retirement until 1759, must have had a feeble constitution, for in the Spring of 1762 he broke a blood vessel, and again in the same Autumn he "bled the bed full," owing, as he says, to the temperature of Paris, which was "as hot as Nebuchadnezzar's oven." He complains of the fatigue of writing and preaching, and these dangerous attacks were constantly recurring, until the time of his death.

Sterne's sermons went through seven editions. They are not doctrinal, but enjoin benevolence and charity. There is not so much humour in them as in some of the present day, but he sometimes gives point to his reflections.

On the subject of religious fanaticism he says:--

"When a poor disconsolate drooping creature is terrified from all enjoyments--prays without ceasing till his imagination is heated--fasts and mortifies and mopes till his body is in as bad a plight as his mind, is it a wonder that the mechanical disturbances and conflicts of an empty belly, interpreted by an empty head, should be mistaken for the workings of a different kind to what they are? or that in such a situation every commotion should help to fix him in this malady, and make him a fitter subject for the treatment of a physician than of a divine.

"The insolence of base minds in success is boundless--not unlike some little particles of matter struck off from the surface of the dial by the sunshine, they dance and sport there while it lasts, but the moment it is withdrawn they fall down--for dust they are, and unto dust they will return.

"When Absalom is cast down, Shimei is the first man who hastens to meet David; and had the wheel turned round a hundred times. Shimei, I dare say, at every period of its rotation, would have been uppermost. Oh, Shimei! would to heaven when thou wast slain, that all thy family had been slain with thee, and not one of thy resemblance left! but ye have multiplied exceedingly and replenished the earth; and if I prophecy rightly, ye will in the end subdue it."

Dr. Johnson speaks of "the man Sterne," and was jealous of his receiving so many more invitations than himself. But the good Doctor with all his learning and intellectual endowments was not so pleasant a companion as Sterne, and, although sometimes sarcastic, had none of his talent for humour.

Johnson wrote some pretty Anacreontics, but his turn of mind was rather grave than gay. He was generally pompous, which together with his self-sufficiency led Cowper, somewhat irreverently, to call him a "prig." Among his few light and humorous snatches, we have lines written in ridicule of certain poems published in 1777--

"Wheresoe'er I turn my view, All is strange, yet nothing new; Endless labour all along, Endless labour to be wrong:

"Phrase that time has flung away Uncouth words in disarray, Tricked in antique ruff and bonnet Ode, and elegy, and sonnet."

An imitation--

"Hermit poor in solemn cell Wearing out life's evening grey, Strike thy bosom sage and tell Which is bliss, and which the way.

"Thus I spoke, and speaking sighed Scarce repressed the starting tear When the hoary sage replyed 'Come my lad, and drink some beer.'"

The following is an impromptu conceit. "To Mrs. Thrale, on her completing her thirty-fifth year."

"Oft in danger, yet alive, We are come to thirty-five; Long may better years arrive Better years than thirty-five, Could philosophers contrive Life to stop at thirty-five, Time his hours should never drive O'er the bounds of thirty-five. High to soar, and deep to dive, Nature gives at thirty-five, Ladies stock and tend your hive, Trifle not at thirty-five, For howe'er we boast and strive Life declines from thirty-five. He that ever hopes to thrive Must begin by thirty-five, And all who wisely wish to wive Must look on Thrale at thirty-five."

There is a pleasing mixture of wisdom and humour in the following stanza written to Miss Thrale on hearing her consulting a friend as to a dress and hat she was inclined to wear--

"Wear the gown and wear the hat Snatch thy pleasures while they last, Had'st thou nine lives like a cat Soon those nine lives would be past."

Johnson's friends Garrick and Foote, although so great in the mimetic art, do not deserve any particular mention as writers of comedy.

It is said that Garrick went to a school in Tichfield at which Johnson was an usher, and that master and pupil came up to London together to seek their fortunes. But although Garrick became the first of comic actors, he produced nothing literary but a few indifferent farces. The same may be said of Foote, who was also a celebrated wit in conversation. Johnson said, "For loud, obstreperous, broad-faced mirth, I know not his equal."

One of Dr. Johnson's friends was Mrs. Charlotte Lennox to whom he gives the palm among literary ladies. Up to this time there were few lady humorists, and none of an altogether respectable description. But Mrs. Lennox appeared as a harbinger of that refined and harmless pleasantry which has since sparkled through the pages of our best authoresses. She wrote a comedy, poems, and novels, her most remarkable production being the Female Quixote. Here a young lady who had been reading romances, enacts the heroine with very amusing results. In plan the work is a close imitation of Don Quixote but the character is not so natural as that drawn by Cervantes.

Dodsley--"A Muse in Livery"--"The Devil's a Dunce"--"The Toy Shop"--Fielding--Smollett.

Robert Dodsley was born in 1703. He was the son of a schoolmaster in Mansfield, but went into domestic service as a footman, and held several respectable situations. While in this capacity, he employed his leisure time in composing poetry, and he appropriately named his first production "A Muse in Livery." The most pleasant and interesting of these early poems is that in which he gives an account of his daily life, showing how observant a footman may be. It is in the form of an epistle:--

"Dear friend, Since I am now at leisure, And in the country taking pleasure, It may be worth your while to hear A silly footman's business there; I'll try to tell in easy rhyme How I in London spent my time. And first, As soon as laziness would let me I rise from bed, and down I sit me To cleaning glasses, knives, and plate, And such like dirty work as that, Which is what I hate! This done, with expeditious care To dress myself I straight prepare, I clean my buckles, black my shoes, Powder my wig and brush my clothes, Take off my beard and wash my face, And then I'm ready for the chase. Down comes my lady's woman straight, 'Where's Robin?' 'Here!' 'Pray take your hat And go--and go--and go--and go-- And this and that desire to know.' The charge received, away run I And here and there, and yonder fly, With services and 'how d'ye does,' Then home return well fraught with news. Here some short time does interpose Till warm effluvias greet my nose, Which from the spits and kettles fly, Declaring dinner time is nigh. To lay the cloth I now prepare With uniformity and care; In order knives and forks are laid, With folded napkins, salt, and bread: The sideboards glittering too appear With plate and glass and china-ware. Then ale and beer and wine decanted, And all things ready which are wanted. The smoking dishes enter in, To stomachs sharp a grateful scene; Which on the table being placed, And some few ceremonies past, They all sit down and fall to eating, Whilst I behind stand silent waiting. This is the only pleasant hour Which I have in the twenty-four. For whilst I unregarded stand, With ready salver in my hand, And seem to understand no more Than just what's called for out to pour, I hear and mark the courtly phrases, And all the elegance that passes; Disputes maintained without digression, With ready wit and fine expression; The laws of true politeness stated, And what good breeding is, debated. This happy hour elapsed and gone, The time for drinking tea comes on, The kettle filled, the water boiled, The cream provided, biscuits piled, And lamp prepared, I straight engage The Lilliputian equipage, Of dishes, saucers, spoons and tongs, And all the et cetera which thereto belongs; Which ranged in order and decorum I carry in and set before 'em, Then pour the green or bohea out, And as commanded hand about."

After the early dinner and "dish" of tea, his mistress goes out visiting in the evening, and Dodsley precedes her with a flambeau.

Another fancy was entitled "The Devil's a Dunce," was directed against the Pope. Two friends apply to him for absolution, one rich and the other poor. The rich man obtained the pardon, but the poor sued in vain, the Pope replying:--

"I cannot save you if I would, Nor would I do it if I could."

A PIPE OF TOBACCO.

Little tube of mighty power, Charmer of an idle hour, Object of my warm desire Lip of wax, and eye of fire, And thy snowy taper waist With my finger gently braced, And thy pretty smiling crest With my little stopper pressed, And the sweetest bliss of blisses Breathing from thy balmy kisses, Happy thrice and thrice again Happiest he of happy men, Who, when again the night returns, When again the taper burns, When again the cricket's gay, , Can afford his tube to feed With the fragrant Indian weed. Pleasures for a nose divine Incense of the god of wine, Happy thrice and thrice again, Happiest he of happy men.

Few humorous writers have attained to a greater celebrity than Fielding. He was born in 1707, was a son of General Fielding, and a relative of Lord Denbigh. In his early life, his works, which were comedies, were remarkable for severe satire, and some of them so political as to be instrumental in leading to the Chamberlain's supervision of the stage. His turn of mind was decidedly cynical.

In the "Pleasures of the Town," we have many songs, of which the following is a specimen:--

"The stone that always turns at will To gold, the chemist craves; But gold, without the chemist's skill, Turns all men into knaves.

"The merchant would the courtier cheat, When on his goods he lays Too high a price--but faith he's bit-- For a courtier never pays.

"The lawyer with a face demure, Hangs him who steals your pelf, Because the good man can endure No robber but himself.

"Betwixt the quack and highwayman, What difference can there be? Tho' this with pistol, that with pen, Both kill you for a fee."

His plays were not very successful. They abounded in witty sallies and repartee, but the general plot was not humorous. The jollity was of a rough farcical character. It was said he left off writing for the stage when he should have begun. He took little care with his plays, and would go home late from a tavern, and bring a dramatic scene in the morning, written on the paper in which he had wrapped his tobacco.

In many of his works he shows a mind approaching that of the Roman satirists. Speaking of "Jonathan Wild," he says:--

"I think we may be excused for suspecting that the splendid palaces of the great are often no other than Newgate with the mask on; nor do I know anything which can raise an honest man's indignation higher than that the same morals should be in one place attended with all imaginary misery and infamy, and in the other with the highest luxury and honour. Let any impartial man in his senses be asked, for which of these two places a composition of cruelty, lust, avarice, rapine, insolence, hypocrisy, fraud, and treachery is best fitted? Surely his answer will be certain and immediate; and yet I am afraid all these ingredients glossed over with wealth and a title have been treated with the highest respect and veneration in the one, while one or two of them have been condemned to the gallows in the other. If there are, then, any men of such morals, who dare call themselves great, and are so reputed, or called at least, by the deceived multitude, surely a little private censure by the few is a very moderate tax for them to pay."

There is a considerable amount of humour in Fielding's "Journey from this World to the Next." He represents the spirits as drawing lots before they enter this life as to what their destinies are to be, and he introduces a sort of migration of souls, in which Julian becomes a king, fool, tailor, beggar, &c. As a tailor, he speaks of the dignity of his calling, "the prince gives the title, but the tailor makes the man." Of course his reflections turn very much upon his bills.

"Courtiers," he says, "may be divided into two sorts, very essentially different from each other; into those who never intend to pay for their clothes, and those who do intend to pay for them, but are never able. Of the latter sort are many of those young gentlemen whom we equip out for the army, and who are, unhappily for us, cast off before they arrive at preferment. This is the reason why tailors in time of war are mistaken for politicians by their inquisitiveness into the event of battles, one campaign very often proving the ruin of half-a-dozen of us."

Julian also gives his experience during his life as a beggar, showing that his life was not so very miserable.

"I married a charming young woman for love; she was the daughter of a neighbouring beggar, who with an improvidence too often seen, spent a very large income, which he procured from his profession, so that he was able to give her no fortune down. However, at his death he left her a very well-accustomed begging hut situated on the side of a steep hill, where travellers could not immediately escape from us; and a garden adjoining, being the twenty-eighth part of an acre well-planted. She made the best of wives, bore me nineteen children, and never failed to get my supper ready against my return home--this being my favourite meal, and at which I, as well as my whole family, greatly enjoyed ourselves."

"No profession," he observes, "requires a deeper insight into human nature than a beggar's. Their knowledge of the passions of men is so extensive, that I have often thought it would be of no little service to a politician to have his education among them. Nay, there is a much greater analogy between these two characters than is imagined: for both concur in their first and grand principle, it being equally their business to delude and impose on mankind. It must be admitted that they differ widely in the degree of advantage, which they make of their deceit; for whereas the beggar is contented with a little, the politician leaves but a little behind."

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