Various
Bentley's Miscellany, Volume II
A CHAPTER ON LAUGHING
"And Laughter holding both his sides." – Milton
If you were to ask a learned physician to explain to you the peculiar sensation termed laughter, it is more than likely he would astonish you with an amazing profundity of erudition, ending in the sage conclusion that he knows nothing more about the matter than that it is a very natural emotion of the senses, generally originating with a good joke, and not unfrequently terminating in a fit of indigestion. If he happened to be (as there are many) a priggish quack, it is not unlikely he would add as a sequel, that it was a most injurious and unmannerly indulgence, particularly favouring a determination of blood to the head, and decidedly calculated to injure the fine nerves of the facial organ! If, on the contrary, he should be a good, honest follower of Galen, he would not fail to pronounce it the most fearful enemy to his profession, as being altogether incompatible with physic and the blues, and, by way of illustration, he might go so far as to read a chapter of Tom Hood's best, in order to prove the strength of his position.
Laughter – good, hearty, cheerful-hearted laughter – is the echo of a happy spirit, the attribute of a cloudless mind. Life without it were without hope, for it is the exuberance of hope. It is an emotion possessed by man alone, – the happy light that relieves the dark picture of life.
We laugh most, when we are young; the thoughts are then free and unfettered, there is nothing to bind their fierce impulse, and we sport with the passions with the bold daring of ignorance. Smiles and tears, it has been observed, follow each other like gloom and sunshine; so the childish note of mirth treads on the heels of sorrow. It was but yesterday we noticed a little urchin writhing apparently in the agony of anguish; he had been punished for some trivial delinquency, and his little spirit resented it most gloriously. How the young dog roared! His little chest heaved up and down; and every blue vein on his pure forehead was apparent, – bursting with passion. Anon, a conciliatory word was addressed to him by the offended gouvernante; a smile passed over the boy's face; his little eyes, sparkling through a cloud of tears, were thrown upwards; a short struggle between pride and some other powerful feeling ensued; and then there burst forth such a peal of laughter, so clear, so full, so round, it would have touched the heart of a stoic!
Our natural passions and emotions become subdued, or altogether changed, as we enter the world. The laugh of the schoolboy is checked by the frown of the master. He is acquiring wisdom, and wisdom (ye Gods, how dearly bought!) is incompatible with laughter. But still, at times, when loosened from his shackles, the pining student will burst forth as in days gone by: but he has no longer the cue and action for passion he then had; the cares of the world have already mingled themselves in his cup, and his young spirit is drooping beneath their influence. The laughter of boyhood is a merry carol; but the first rich blush has already passed away. The boy enters the world, full of the gay buoyancy of youth. He looks upon those he meets as the playmates of other hours. But Experience teaches him her lessons; the natural feelings of his heart are checked; he may laugh and talk as formerly, but the spell, the dreams that cast such a halo round his young days, are dissipated and broken.
There are fifty different classes of laughers. There is your smooth-faced politic laugher, your laugher by rule. These beings are generally found within the precincts of a court, at the heels of some great man, to whose conduct they shape their passions as a model. Does his lordship say a bon mot, it is caught up and grinned at in every possible manner till, the powers of grimace expended, his lordship is pleased to change the subject, and strike a different chord. And it is not astonishing. Who would refuse to laugh for a pension of two hundred a year? Common gratitude demands it.
There is, then, your habitual laugher, men who laugh by habit, without rhyme or reason. They are generally stout, piggy-faced gentlemen, who eat hearty suppers, and patronise free-and-easys. They will meet you with a grin on their countenance, which, before you have said three sentences, will resolve itself into a simper, and terminate finally in a stentorian laugh. These men may truly be said to go through life laughing; but habit has blunted the finer edges of their sympathies, and their mirth is but the unmeaning effusion of a weak spirit. These personages generally go off in fits of apoplexy, brought on by excessive laughter on a full stomach!
There is, then, your discontented cynical laugher, who makes a mask of mirth to conceal the venom of his mind. It is a dead fraud that ought not to be pardoned. Speak to one of these men of happiness, virtue, &c. he meets you with a sneer, or a bottle-imp kind of chuckle; talk to him of any felicitous circumstance, he checks you with a sardonic grin, that freezes your best intentions. He is a type of the death's head the Egyptians placed at their feasts to check exuberant gaiety.
There is, then, your fashionable simperer, your laugher à-la-mode, your inward digester of small jokes and tittle-tattle. He never laughs, – it is a vulgar habit; the only wonder is, that he eats. People, he will tell you, should overcome these vulgar propensities; they are abominable. A young man of this class is generally consumptive, his lungs have no play, he is always weak and narrow-chested; he vegetates till fifty, and then goes off, overcome with a puff of eau de rose, or millefleur, he has encountered accidentally from the pocket-handkerchief of a cheesemonger's wife!
Last of all, there is your real, good, honest laugher; the man who has a heart to feel and sympathize with the joys and sorrows of others; who has gone through life superior to its follies, and has learnt to gather wisdom even from laughter. Such are the men who do honour to society, who have learnt to be temperate in prosperity, patient in adversity; and, who, having gathered experience from years, are content to drink the cup of life mingled as it is, to enjoy calmly the sweeter portion, and laugh at the bitter.
There is a strange affinity in our passions. The heart will frequently reply to the saddest intelligence by a burst of the most unruly laughter, the effigy of mirth. It seems as though the passion, like a rude torrent, were too strong to pursue its ordinary course; but, breaking forth from the narrow channel that confined it, rushed forth in one broad impetuous stream. It is the voice of anguish that has chosen a different garb, and would cheat the sympathies. But we have ourselves been demonstrating the truth of our last proposition; for we have been writing on laughter till we have grown sad. But what says the old song?
"To-night we'll merry, merry be,
To-morrow we'll be sober."
So sadness, after all, is but joy deferred.
A MUSTER CHAUNT
FOR THE MEMBERS OF THE TEMPERANCE SOCIETIES
Wine! wine! fill up
The sparkling cup
With champagne hissing to the brim;
For wit, and joy, and rapture, swim
In bumpers. The grape's blood is mine;
I'll steep my heart in it till it shine
With the warm flush
The purple blush
Of wine!
Wine! wine! the frown
Of Care we'll drown
In deep libations to the God
Who planted first on Nysa's sod
The branches of the illustrious vine.
Bacchus, we worship at thy shrine!
In Pleasure's bowers
Swift fly the Hours
Whose wings are wash'd with wine!
Wine! wine! the brow
Is mantling now;
The eye is flashing with "the flow
Of soul," the cheek has caught its glow;
The lips are breathing words divine,
While wreaths of song around them twine
In glorious lays,
Chaunting the praise
Of racy wine!
Wine! wine! fill up
And quaff the cup
To lovely woman! Drink again
To all bold festive souls who drain
The crystal bowl, and wear the sign
Of bacchanals. Hurrah! we're there,
Thou soul of joy!
Immortal boy!
God of immortal wine!
REMAINS OF HAJJI BABA
CHAPTER IX
I alighted with my friend at the caravanserai where the coach had stopped, and there he advised me to put up for the night, promising to come on the following morning to assist me in procuring a lodging.
"But first tell me," said I, "who are the two persons who were so violently opposed to each other."
"The fair man," said he, "is one of our omrahs or lords; the other is one of the middle ranks, who has made himself conspicuous by advocating the cause of the people. Our whole country is principally divided into two factions, holding their opinions. There is also a moderate set who do not partake of their violence, but unfortunately their voice is not sufficiently heard. But we will talk more upon these matters again," said he, and then left me.
The next day he came, and without much difficulty succeeded in settling me in a lodging, where I found everything prepared to receive me, as well as if the Shah's chief tent-pitcher had preceded me to give the requisite orders. The English habits, which I had acquired when here before in the days of our embassy, returned as fast as I recognised the objects which before had been familiar to my sight, but which had been much obliterated by my absence in Persia. I again sat upon chairs instead of my heels; again I ate with knives and forks instead of my fingers; and once more I found myself called upon to walk about upon my own legs with the activity of a Franc, instead of making use of a horse to take me daily to attend the Shah's selam, or to sit at the Royal Gate in attendance upon the Grand Vizier.
I had always a memory for localities; places which I had once seen I scarcely ever forgot; thus I was at no loss to find my way about the city. Of the language I remembered enough to make myself understood; and so far I felt independent, and needed not the attendance of a mehmander. I thanked my friend Jan for all his kindness; and assured him, whenever I was in any difficulty, or whenever I required information upon matters relating to his country, I would not fail to call upon him.
The lodgings in which I had taken up my abode were situated in a large house that looked upon a garden inclosed by iron spikes. It was a better sort of caravanserai, greatly resorted to by people of all nations; Francs, from different parts of Frangistan, who spoke each their different language, and adapted themselves as well as they could to the manners of the English. I was visited by the landlord, a well-looking, well-spoken man, and his wife, an elderly lady, who, having come once to see, as the English frequently say, that I was comfortable, did not again trouble me by their presence. I occupied two rooms; one to sit in and receive my guests, the other to sleep in. My servant, Mahboob, slept in another room close to mine.
My first care was to walk out to take a survey of the city, in order to discover those symptoms of ruin and poverty which I had so frequently been assured were spreading over England, and marking her downfall. I soon found myself in a street, of whose magnificence I had no recollection. It seemed composed of entirely new houses. The shops, which were opened on each side, were so brilliant, and seemed to be so overflowing with merchandise and riches of all sorts, that my senses seemed to have escaped from my head as I looked on in astonishment; and ever and anon I found myself standing with my finger in my mouth, exclaiming, "Bah! bah! bah!" "Is this decay?" thought I. "Can this people be really on the brink of ruin? There must be something more in this than I can understand." The street was positively more thronged with men and women than even one of the most crowded bazars of Ispahan. I saw more carriages, more horses, more carts, and more stir, than I recollected to have seen when here before. Every one seemed busy, and bustled along, as if all depended upon their haste. Whence they were coming, whither going, who could say? Were they all thinking of ruin, or were they bent upon happiness? I was longing to stop and ask each person what had happened, so very uncommon was this state of things compared with what I had been accustomed to witness in my own country, or even in the European countries through which I had travelled. I continued to walk through this astonishing street, thinking I should never come to the end of it, when I reached a magnificent opening, where, to my still greater astonishment, I discovered an unbounded prospect of dazzling white palaces, standing amidst gardens and fields, and looking like the habitations of the blessed in the seventh heaven promised to us by the Prophet. "Can this be decay?" again I exclaimed. "These people must have a different way of going to ruin, to the one which I have been accustomed to contemplate. In my country ruin speaks for itself. At Ispahan we see whole districts of broken walls which once were houses, tottering mosques, deserted baths, and untenanted caravanserais. But here, in the short space of twelve years, here is a new creation; unbounded prosperity seems here to speak for itself; and, if this be a country of paupers, what are we to call riches?"
As I was turning my steps homewards, I was struck all at once with the conviction that I was near the spot (a spot which had never left my imagination) where, enamoured as I then was of the moonfaced Bessy, I proposed marriage to that heart-enslaver. I looked about me, and recognised the very portal where, under a mutual umbrella, – as it poured with rain, – I told her of my love. I recollected that, not very far off, in this same street, lived her father, and mother, and family; and I determined forthwith to seek them out, and to renew my acquaintance. I paced along the street, looking upon every house with uplifted eyes, in the hope of discovering some sign by which I might recognise it; but the buildings were all so hopelessly alike that I began to despair of hitting upon the right knocker. It came to my mind that a lion's head held the knocker, because I had compared it in former days to the face of the mamma Hogg herself; but, upon inspecting the knockers, they all had lions' heads. What was to be done? "I will try what Fate will do for me," thought I. So, judging that I was somewhere near the spot, I boldly walked up to a door, and gave a knock which, I remembered to have been told, indicated a man of consequence, and, as it turned out, I was not mistaken. The door was opened, not by a well-dressed servant, as it used to be, but by an old woman, who was so surprised at seeing my strange figure that she would have shut it in my face had I not quickly exclaimed,
"Is Mr. Hogg at home?"
"Mr. Hogg!" she exclaimed, in an astonished voice. "Mr. Hogg has been dead ever so long. Can't you see by the hatchment?" Upon which she pointed to a painting fixed upon the outside of the house, which explained to me, what I had never known before, that, when an Englishman dies, it is the custom to make a painting, as I supposed, explanatory of the history of his life; for, afterwards, in contemplating the said performance, I remarked a boar's head at the top, whilst certain little swine seemed to be scattered about, evidently indicating the name and origin of the family.
"But Mrs. Hogg is not dead too?" said I; "where is she, and Mrs. Figsby?"
"La! sir; you're the Persian prince, I declare," said the old woman, "of whom we all talk so much about." Upon which, she immediately undertook to give me a history of the family since I had left England. The father Hogg, it seems, had died not many months ago of apoplexy; his widow was living in a neighbouring street, in a small house, with her eldest daughter, who was still unmarried. Mrs. Figsby (alas! my own Bessy!) occupied a handsome house nearly opposite to the one at the door of which I now stood, and which the old woman pointed out to me; the youngest daughter had married, and lived in the country.
Leaving the old woman, I immediately crossed the street, and knocked at the Figsby gate, not without a certain palpitation of the heart. It was opened by a brilliantly-dressed servant in a gaudy kalaat, with a thick paste of white dust upon his head, and a bunch of ropes as thick as tent-ropes at his shoulder. Two others stood in the hall.
"Is Mrs. Figsby at home, by the blessing of the Prophet?" said I.
He said "Yes," with hesitation, eyeing me well from head to foot; and, delivering me over to the keeping of another man without a kalaat, I was walked up stairs. When we came to the head of the stairs, he stopped, and asked,
"Who shall I say?"
"Mirza Hajji Baba," I answered, recollecting well the whole ceremonial.
Upon which he opened the door, and exclaimed aloud, as well as I could understand, "Mister Hatchababy," – or some such name.
"Mister who?" exclaimed a female within, whom, when I entered, I immediately recognised to be my former love, the moonfaced Bessy. But, oh! now different from the lovely Bessy I had known her! Instead of that light cypress-waisted figure which had charmed me so much, she was now grown into a woman fat enough to be a Turk's wife. Her cheeks were rounded into coarse cushions, behind which reposed her almost secluded eyes. The beautiful throat of former days was scolloped into graduated ridges; and those arms, which formerly were lovely by themselves, were now so bound over with broad belts of golden bracelets, that they looked like the well-fitted hoops of a wine-cask. The hair, which flowed in ringlets over her brow and down her cheeks, was now confined to two lumps of curls, which were placed in a dense cluster on either side of her forehead; and her whole person, which formerly gave her the appearance of a Peri, now exhibited a surface agreeable only to the silk-mercer and the milliner who were called upon to clothe it.
A faint blush threw itself out over her forehead when she perceived me, and she immediately came forward with her hand extended, and welcomed me back to her country with great sincerity. She expressed all sorts of surprises at seeing me, particularly as I had never been announced in the public newspapers; assured me that Mr. Figsby, who was not at home, would be delighted to see me; sent for her children, and exhibited a vast number to me of all sizes, boys and girls; and repeated to me what I had just heard from the old woman, the circumstances in which her family were placed.
I expressed my satisfaction at seeing her so richly circumstanced in the world, and that she should have made a marriage with a man who seemed to be a favourite of Fortune, and whose luck appeared to be ever on the rise. At this she sighed, and her features assumed a saddened expression.
"'Twas true," she said, "that Figsby could not complain, and that, as long as it lasted, it was all very well. But, prince!" she exclaimed, "this is not the country you once knew it to be! Things are sadly altered! The people have got a reform, 'tis true; and Figsby is rejoiced, and hopes to be returned for Marylebone, and, who knows whether he may not sit in the cabinet one of these days? But the aristocracy they won't be quiet, do what you will, and they will drive us on to a revolution at last, and oblige us to put them down, and divide all their property amongst us; and, you know, that will be sad work, particularly if Figsby should be made a lord before it takes place."
All this was new language to me, and brought to my mind the conversation which I had heard in the coach. "What news is this?" thought I, "that women should thus talk the language of viziers, and mix themselves in the business of state!"
"I thought that Figsby Sahib was a grocer," said I, to his much-altered wife.
"A grocer, indeed!" said she, with considerable angry emphasis. "He is a West-India merchant! A grocer, indeed!"
"How long is it," said I, "since he has left his private business for public life?"
"Don't you know," said she, "the changes which have taken place since you were here last? Rotten boroughs and nomination boroughs have been abolished. Schedule A. and schedule B. have been all the fashion of late; we talk of nothing else; and there are to be members for Marylebone, and Figsby is canvassing as hard as he can; and I am sure, prince, if you can help him with a vote, you will."
"A vote!" said I, "what does that mean?"
"It means," she answered, with some hesitation, "that you wish Figsby may become a member of parliament, and sit in the house, and make speeches, and give franks, and all that."
"If it is only to wish your husband may be all you desire," said I, "in the name of the Imams you shall have my vote, and welcome."
"That's right!" said Bessy; "that's right! that's being an old friend in truth. I knew that you would be on the right side, and stick up for the people."
"But who is the people? is he a new Shah, or what?"
"Oh, the people!" said she; "the people! they are the sovereign people! They are all the men and women you see walking about; they want their rights – their rights – that's all!"
"All the men and women walking about!" exclaimed I. "What news is this? They have got a king already. What do they want more?"
"They have, 'tis true," said she; "but what is that without their rights?"
"I don't know what you mean about their rights," said I; "but we have a Shah, and I know that if any Persian wanted anything more, and talked about his rights, all that he would get for his pains would be the felek– a good bastinado on the soles of his feet; that's what he would get."
"Oh, la!" said Mrs. Figsby, "that may do for Persians, but it won't do for Englishmen. They must be fairly represented; and, if such men as Figsby are not elected, it is a great shame, and the country will go to rack and ruin."
At this stage of our conversation a knocking at the door was heard, and soon after entered the moonfaced Bessy's husband. I immediately recognised my former rival, but great changes had taken place in his person also. In former days he was happy to be allowed to take the lowermost place in the mejlis or assembly; now he walked in with an air of consequence and protection. He came into the room with a noise and bustle; his boots creaked most independently; he was all over chains; and seemed strangled from the tightness of his clothes. He soon got over his surprise at seeing me; and, before he had done shaking my hand, he exclaimed,
"All is going as it ought to be! I have been at the meeting. I made such a speech, Bessy, you would have been quite charmed. There is no doubt of my coming in. We shall beat the Tories hollow."
"That is charming!" said his overjoyed wife. "Then you will be an M.P., and who knows what else! And here is the prince," said she, "who is ready to give you his vote."
"That's right!" said the entranced grocer. "That's very kind of him! But stop! let me see; are you a ten-pound householder? is your name stuck up against the church-door? and have you paid your shilling?"
"Allah! Allah!" I exclaimed. "What do I know of all this? I am nothing but a Persian Mirza. I am ignorant of your ten-pounds, your church-doors, and your shillings. Do leave off this child's play, and let us talk of other things."
"Other things!" cried one.
"Child's play!" exclaimed the other.
"It is the only thing now thought of," said the man.
"It is of the greatest consequence to the state, and to Marylebone, that Figsby should be elected!" vociferated the lady.
I found that I had put my unlucky leg foremost on this occasion, and so I thought of making my retreat; but, before I did so, after having observed a look of recognition between husband and wife, Mr. Figsby stept up to me, and said,
"We shall have a few of my political friends to dine with me in a few days; I hope, prince, that we may be honoured with your company?"
I said, "Inshallah! please Allah!" and then returned to my home.