CHAPTER XI.

Congreve--Lord Dorset 355

HISTORY OF ENGLISH HUMOUR.

PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS.

Subjective Character of the Ludicrous--The Subject little

Studied--Obstacles to the Investigation--Evanescence--Mental Character

of the Ludicrous--Distinction between Humour and the Ludicrous.

The ludicrous is in its character so elusive and protean, and the field

over which it extends is so vast, that few have ever undertaken the task

of examining it systematically. Many philosophers and literary men have

made passing observations upon it, but most writers are content to set

it down as one of those things which cannot be understood, and care not

to study and grapple with a subject which promises small results in

return for considerable toil. Moreover, the inquiry does not seem

sufficiently important to warrant the expenditure of much time upon it,

and there has always been a great tendency among learned men to

underrate the emotional feelings of our nature. Thus it comes to pass

that a much larger amount of our labour has been expended upon inquiring

into physical and intellectual constitution than upon the inner workings

of our passions and sentiments, for our knowledge of which, though

affecting our daily conduct, we are mostly indebted to the

representations of poets and novelists. Beattie well observes that

nothing is below the attention of a philosopher which the Author of

Nature has been pleased to establish. Investigations of this kind would

not be unrewarded, nor devoid of a certain amount of interest; and I

think that in the present subject we can, by perseverance, penetrate a

little distance into an almost untrodden and apparently barren region,

and if we cannot reach the source from whence the bright waters spring,

can at least obtain some more accurate information about the surrounding

country.

Notwithstanding all the obstructions and discouragements in the way of

this investigation a few great men have given it a certain amount of

attention. Aristotle informs us in his "Rhetoric" that he has dealt

fully with the subject in his Poetics, and although the treatise is

unfortunately lost, some annotations remain which show that it was of a

comprehensive character. Cicero and Quintilian in their instructions in

Oratory, made the study of humour a necessary part of the course, and

in modern days many ingenious definitions and descriptions of it are

found among the pages of general literature. Most philosophers have

touched the subject timidly and partially, unwilling to devote much time

to it, and have rather stated what they thought ought to be in

accordance with some pet theories of their own, than drawn deductions

from careful analysis. They generally only looked at one phase of the

ludicrous, at one kind of humour, and had not a sufficient number of

examples before them--probably from the difficulty of recalling slight

turns of thought in widely scattered subjects. Add to this, that many of

them--constantly immersed in study--would have had some little

difficulty in deciding what did and did not deserve the name of humour.

Most of their definitions are far too wide, and often in supporting a

theory they make remarks which tend to refute it. The imperfect

treatment, which the subject had received, led Dugald Stewart to observe

that it was far from being exhausted.

The two principal publications which have appeared on humour, are

Flögel's "Geschichte der Komischen Litteratur" (1786), and Léon Dumont's

"Les Causes du Rire." The former is voluminous, but scarcely touches on

philosophy, without which such a work can have but little coherence.

The latter shows considerable psychological knowledge, but is written to

support a somewhat narrow and incomplete view. Mr. Wright's excellent

book on "The Grotesque in Literature and Art," is, as the name suggests,

principally concerned with broad humour, and does not so much trace its

source as the effects it has produced upon mankind. Mr. Cowden Clark's

contributions on the subject to the "Gentleman's Magazine," are mostly

interesting from their biographical notices.

To analyse and classify all the vagaries of the human imagination which

may be comprehended under the denomination of humour, is no easy task,

and as it is multiform we may stray into devious paths in pursuing it.

But vast and various as the subject seems to be, there cannot be much

doubt that there are some laws which govern it, and that it can be

brought approximately under certain heads. It seems to be as generally

admitted that there are different kinds of humour as that some

observations possess none at all. Moreover, when remarks of a certain

kind are made, especially such as show confusion or exaggeration, we

often seem to detect some conditions of humour, and by a little change

are able to make something, which has more or less the character of a

jest.

There is in this investigation a very formidable "Dweller on the

Threshold." We contend with great disadvantages in any attempts to

examine our mental constitution. When we turn the mind in upon itself,

and make it our object, the very act of earnest reflection obscures the

idea, or destroys the emotion we desire to contemplate. This is

especially the case in the present instance. The ludicrous, when we

attempt to grasp it, shows off its gay and motley garb, and appears in

grave attire. It is only by abstracting our mind from the inquiry, and

throwing it into lighter considerations, that we can at all retain the

illusion. A clever sally appears brilliant when it breaks suddenly upon

the mental vision, but when it is brought forward for close examination

it loses half its lustre, and seems to melt into unsubstantial air.

Humour may be compared to a delicate scent, which we only perceive at

the first moment, or to evanescent beauty--

"For every touch that wooed its stay

Has brushed its brightest hues away."

This last simile is especially in point here, and the quotations in this

book will scarcely be found humorous, so long as they are regarded as

mere illustrations of the nature of humour.

We need not--taking these matters into consideration--feel much

surprised that some people say the ludicrous cannot be defined; as for

instance, Buckingham,

"True wit is everlasting like the sun,

Describing all men, but described by none;"

and Addison:--"It is much easier to decide what is not humorous than

what is, and very difficult to define it otherwise than Cowley has done,

by negatives"--the only meaning of which is that the subject is

surrounded with rather more than the usual difficulties attending moral

and psychological researches. Similar obstacles would be encountered in

answering the question, "What is poetry?" or "What is love?" We can only

say that even here there must be some surroundings by which we can

increase our knowledge.

Humour is the offspring of man--it comes forth like Minerva fully armed

from the brain. Our sense of the ludicrous is produced by our peculiar

mental constitution, and not by external objects, in which there is

nothing either absurd or serious. As when the action of our mind is

imperceptible--for instance, in hearing and seeing with our "bodily"

senses--we think what we notice is something in the external world,

although it is only so far dependent upon it that it could not exist

without some kind of outer influence, so the result of our not

recognising the amusing action of the mind in the ludicrous is that we

regard it as a quality resident in the persons and things we

contemplate.[1] But it does not belong to these things, and is totally

different from them in kind. Thus, the rose is formed of certain

combinations of earth, air, and water; yet none of these dull elements

possess the fragrance or beauty of the flower. These properties come

from some attractive and constructive power. Not only are there no types

or patterns in things of our emotions, but there are none even of our

sensations; heat and cold, red or blue, are such only for our

constitution. This truth is beautifully set forth by Addison in a

passage in which, as Dugald Stewart justly remarks, "We are at a loss

whether most to admire the author's depth and refinement of thought, or

the singular felicity of fancy displayed in its illustration." "Things,"

he observes, "would make but a poor appearance to the eye, if we saw

them only in their proper figures and motions. And what reason can we

assign for their exciting in us many of those ideas which are different

from anything that exists in the objects themselves (for such are light

and colours) were it not to add supernumerary ornaments to the universe,

and make it more agreeable to the imagination? We are everywhere

entertained with pleasing shows and apparitions. We discover imaginary

glories in the heavens and on the earth, and see some of this visionary

beauty poured out over the whole creation. But what a rough, unsightly

sketch of Nature should we be entertained with, did all her colouring

disappear, and the several distinctions of light and shade vanish! In

short, our souls are delightfully lost and bewildered in a pleasing

delusion, and we walk about like the enchanted hero of a romance, who

sees beautiful castles, woods, and meadows, and at the same time hears

the warbling of birds and the purling of streams; but upon the finishing

of some secret spell, the fantastic scene breaks up, and the

disconsolate knight finds himself on a barren heath, or in a solitary

desert."

I have introduced these considerations, because it is very difficult for

us to realize that what we behold is merely phenomenal, that

"Things are not what they seem;"

but that we are looking into the mirror of Nature at our own likeness.

When we speak of a ludicrous occurrence, we cannot avoid thinking that

the external events themselves contain something of that character.

Thus, the ludicrous has come in our ideas and language to be separated

from the sense in which alone it exists, and it is desirable that we

should clearly understand that the distinction is only logical and not

real.

When the cause of our laughter--be it mind, matter, or imaginary

circumstance--is merely regarded as something incongruous and amusing,

we name it the ludicrous, and a man is called ludicrous as faulty or

contemptible. But when the cause of it is viewed as something more than

this, as coming from some conscious power or tendency within us--a

valuable gift and an element in our mental constitution--we call it

humour, a term applied only to human beings and their productions; and a

man is called humorous as worthy of commendation. Both are in truth

feelings--we might say one feeling--and although we can conceive humour

to exist apart from the ludicrous, and to be a power within us creating

it, there is a difficulty in following out the distinction. The

difference between them is in our regard.

As soon as in course of time it became plainly evident that gay

creations might emanate from man, and not only from the outer world, the

fact was marked by the formation of a distinctive name, and by degrees

several names--among which the most comprehensive in English is Humour.

This kind of gift became gradually known as more or less possessed by

all, and when the operations of the mind came to be recognised, we were

more enlightened on the subject, and acknowledged it to be a mental and

creative power. Such admissions would not be made by men in general

without some very strong evidence, and therefore a humorous man was not

merely one who had an internal sense of the ludicrous, but one who

employed it for the delectation of others. Hence, also, though there is

no consciousness of being amusing in the man who is ludicrous, there is

in one that is humorous. A wit must always be pleasant intentionally. A

man who in sober seriousness recounts something which makes us laugh is

not humorous, although his want of discrimination may not be sufficient

to make him ludicrous. Children are not regarded as humorous, for,

although they enjoy such simple humour as toys afford, they very seldom

notice what is merely ludicrous, and do not reproduce it in any way; and

the same may be said of many grown persons, who require to be fed as it

were, and although they can enjoy what is embellished by others, have no

original observation. Thus, although Herbert Mayo is substantially

correct in saying that "humour is the sentiment of the ludicrous," he

might have added that there is a difference between the two in our

knowledge of them. In the former, the creative mind is more marked, and,

a man though he laughs much, if he be dull in words is only considered

to have mirth, _i.e._, joyousness or a sense of the ludicrous, not

humour. The gift can only be brought prominently forward in speech or

writing, and thus humour comes to be often regarded as a kind of

ingredient or seasoning in a speech or book, if not actually synonymous

with certain sentences or expressions. Still we always confine the name

to human productions, as, for instance, gestures, sayings, writings,

pictures, and plays.

The recognition of the mental character of humour did not necessarily

imply any knowledge as to the authority, instability, or constancy of

the feeling--that could only be acquired by philosophical investigation.

Nor have we yet so far ascertained its character as to be able to form

humorous fancies upon any fixed principle. We are guided by some sense

of the ludicrous which we cannot analyse; or we introduce into new and

similar cases relationships in things which we have observed to be

amusing. Some forms are so general that they will produce a vast number

of jests, and we thus seem to have some insight into the influences that

awaken humour, but we see only approximately and superficially, and can

merely produce good results occasionally--rather by an accident than

with any certainty.

INTRODUCTION.

PART I.

ORIGIN OF HUMOUR.

Pleasure in Humour--What is Laughter?--Sympathy--First Phases--Gradual

Development--Emotional Phase--Laughter of Pleasure--Hostile

Laughter--Is there any sense of the Ludicrous in the Lower

Animals?--Samson--David--Solomon--Proverbs--Fables.

Few of the blessings we enjoy are of greater value than the gift of

humour. The pleasure attendant upon it attracts us together, forms an

incentive, and gives a charm to social intercourse, and, unlike the

concentrating power of love, scatters bright rays in every direction.

That humour is generally associated with enjoyment might be concluded

from the fact that the genial and good-natured are generally the most

mirthful, and we all have so much personal experience of the

gratification it affords, that it seems superfluous to adduce any proofs

upon the subject. "Glad" is from the Greek word for laughter, and the

word "jocund" comes from a Latin term signifying "pleasant." But we can

trace the results of this connection in our daily observation. How comes

it to pass that many a man who is the life and soul of social

gatherings, and keeps his friends in delighted applause, sits, when

alone in his study, grave and sedate, and seldom, if ever, smiles in

reading or meditation? Is it not because humour is a source of pleasure?

We are not joyously disposed when alone, whereas in society we are ready

to give and receive whatever is bright and cheering.

The first question which now presents itself is what is laughter? and

our answer must be that it is a change of countenance accompanied by a

spasmodic intermittent sound--a modification of the voice--but that we

cannot trace its physical origin farther than to attribute it to some

effect produced upon the sympathetic nerve, or rather the system of

nerves termed respiratory. These communicate with every organ affected

in mirth, but the ultimate connection between mind and body is hidden

from our view.

In all laughter there is more or less pleasure, except in that of

hysteria, when by a sudden shock the course of Nature is reversed, and

excessive grief will produce the signs of joy, as extravagant delight

will sometimes exhibit those of sorrow. We should also exclude the

laughter caused by inhalation of gas, and that of maniacs, which arising

from some strange and unaccountable feeling is abnormal and imperfect,

and known by a hollow sound peculiar to itself. None of these kinds of

laughter are primary, they are but imperfect reflections of our usual

modes of expression, and, excepting such cases, we may agree that M.

Paffe is correct in observing that "Joy is an indispensable condition of

laughter." Dr. Darwin refers to the laughter of idiots to prove that it

may be occasioned by pleasure alone. Strangely enough, he quotes as an

instance in point the fact of an idiot boy having laughed at receiving a

black eye.

Proceeding onwards, we next come to inquire why the sense of humour is

expressed by voice and countenance, and does not merely afford a silent

and secret delight? The answer may be given, that one object, at least,

is to increase social communication and multiply pleasure. The

well-being of the animal world largely depends upon the power of each

member of it to communicate with others of the same species. They all do

so by sound and gesture, probably to a larger extent than we generally

imagine. A celebrated physician lately observed to me that "all animals

have some language." How far mere signs deserve so high a name may be

questioned. But man has great powers of intercourse, and it is much

owing to his superior faculties in this respect that he holds his place

so high above the rest of creation. Orators, who make it their study to

be impressive, give full importance to every kind of expression, and say

that a man should be able to make his meaning understood, even when his

voice is inaudible. It has been lately discovered that the mere movement

of the lips alone, without sound, is sufficient to convey

information.[2] Facial expression has been given us as a means of

assisting communication, and smiles and laughter have become the

distinctive manifestations of humour. Thus the electric spark passes

from one to another, and the flashing eye and wreathed lip lights up the

world. Profit also accrues--fear of being laughed at leads us to avoid

numerous small errors, and by laughing at others we are enabled to

detect shortcomings in ourselves.

Sympathetic laughter does not arise from any contemplation of ludicrous

circumstances, but is only a sort of reflection of the feelings of

others. There seems to be little intelligence in it, but something

almost physical, just as yawning is infectious, or as on seeing a person

wounded in a limb we instinctively shrink ourselves in the same part of

the body. Even a picture of a man laughing will have some effect upon

us, and so have those songs in which exuberant mirth is imitated. Thus

we often laugh without feeling just cause, as we often feel cause

without laughing. All exhibitions of emotion are infectious. We feel sad

at seeing a man in grief, although the source of his sorrow is unknown

to us; and we are inclined to be joyous when surrounded by the votaries

of mirth. Not unfrequently we find a number of persons laughing, when

the greater part of them have no idea what is the cause of the

merriment. Sometimes we cannot entirely resist the impulse, even when we

ourselves are the object of it, so much are we inclined to enter into

the feelings and views of those who surround us. In this, as well as in

many other cases, the sight and proximity of others exercise over us a

great influence, and sometimes almost a fascination.

To this sympathy we are largely indebted for the diffusion of high

spirits. It is pleasant to laugh and see others laughing, and thus the

one leads to the other. "Laugh and be fat," is a proverb, and it has

been well observed that "we like those who make us laugh," because they

give us pleasure. We may add that we like to see others joyous, because

we feel that we are surrounded by kindly natures. A gallant writer tells

us that he hopes to be rewarded for his labours in the field of

literature by "the sweetest of all sounds in nature--the laughter of

fair women." Macready, speaking of this influence, says:

"The words of Milman would have applied well to Mrs. Jordan, 'Oh, the

words laughed on her lips!' Mrs. Nesbitt, the charming actress of a late

day, had a fascinating power in the sweetly-ringing notes of her hearty

mirth; but Mrs. Jordan's laugh was so rich, so apparently irrepressible,

so deliciously self-enjoying, as to be at all times irresistible."

The agreeable influence of smiles is so well known that many are tempted

to counterfeit them, and assume an expression in which the eye and lip

are in unhappy conflict.[3] On the other hand, painful thoughts are

inimical to mirth. No sally of humour will brighten the countenance of a

man who has lately suffered a severe loss, and even mental reflection

will extinguish every sparkle. But the bed of sickness can often be

better cheered by some gay efflorescence, some happy turn of thought,

than by expressions of condolence. Galen says that Æsculapius wrote

comic songs to promote circulation in his patients; and Hippocrates

tells us that "a physician should have a certain ready humour, for

austerity is repulsive both to well and ill." The late Sir Charles Clark

recognised this so far that one of his patients told me that his visits

were like a bottle of Champagne; and Sir John Byles observes,

"Cheerfulness eminently conduces to health both of body and mind; it is

one of the great physicians of nature.

"Il y a trois médecins qui ne se trompent pas,

La gaité, le doux exercice, et le modeste repas.

Every hour redeemed from despondency and melancholy, and bathed in the

sunshine of cheerfulness, is an hour of true life gained."

Our views with regard to the first appearance of laughter depend on

whether we consider that man was gradually developed from the primeval

oyster, or that he came into the world much in the same condition as

that in which we find him now. If we adopt the former opinion, we must

consider that no outward expressions of feeling originally existed; if

the latter, that they were from the first almost as perfect as they are

at present. But I think that we shall be on tolerably safe ground, and

have the support of probability and history, if we say that, in his

earliest condition, the mental endowments of man were of the very

humblest description, but that he had always a tendency to progress and

improve. This view obtains some little corroboration from the fact that

the sounds animals utter in the early stages of their lives are not

fully developed, and that the children of the poor are graver and more

silent than those of the educated classes. But a certain predisposition

to laughter there always was, for what animal has ever produced any but

its own characteristic sound? Has not everyone its own natural mode of

expression? Does not the dog show its pleasure by wagging its tail, and

the cat by purring? We never find one animal adopting the vocal sounds

of another--a bird never mews, and a cat never sings. Some men have been

called cynics from their whelpish ill-temper, but none of them have ever

adopted a real canine snarl, though it might express their feelings

better than human language. Laughter, so far as we can judge, could not

have been obtained by any mere mental exercise, nor would it have come

from imitation, for it is only found in man, the yelping of a hyena

being as different from it as the barking of a dog, or the cackling of

a goose. We may, however, suppose that the first sounds uttered by man

were demonstrative of pain or pleasure, marking a great primary

distinction, which we make in common with all animals. But our next

expression showed superior sensibility and organism: it denoted a very

peculiar perception of the intermingling of pain and pleasure, a

combination of opposite feelings not possessed by other animals, or not

distinct enough in them to have a specific utterance. There might seem

to be something almost physical in the sensation, as it can be excited

by tickling, or the inhalation of gas. Similar results may be produced

by other bodily causes. Homer speaks of the chiefs laughing after a

sumptuous banquet, and of a man "laughing sweetly" when drunk. Bacon's

term _titillatio_, would seem very appropriate in such cases. There was

an idea, in olden times, that laughter emanated from a particular part

of the body. Tasso, in "Jerusalem Delivered," describing the death of

Ardonio, who was slain by a lance, says that it

"Pierced him through the vein

Where laughter has her fountain and her seat,

So that (a dreadful bane)

He laughed for pain, and laughed himself to death."

This idea probably arose from observing the spasmodic power of

laughter, which was greater formerly than now, and to the same origin we

may attribute the stories of the fatal consequences it has, at times,

produced; of Zeuxis, the painter, having expired in a fit brought on by

contemplating a caricature he had made of an old woman, and of

Franciscus Cosalinus, a learned logician, having thus broken a

blood-vessel, which led to his dying of consumption. Wolfius relates

"that a country bumpkin, called Brunsellius, by chance seeing a woman

asleep at a sermon fall off her seat, was so taken that he laughed for

three days, which weakened him so that he continued for a long time

afterwards in an infirm state."

We must suppose that laughter has always existed in man, at least as

long as he has been physically constituted as he is now, for it might

always have been produced by tickling the papillæ of the nerves, which

are said to be more exposed in man than in other animals. When we have

stated the possibility of this pleasurable sensation being awakened

under such circumstances, we have, in fact, asserted that it was in

course of time thus called into existence. But the enjoyment might have

been limited to this low phase, for the mind might have been so vacant,

so deficient in emotion and intelligence that the moral and intellectual

conditions necessary for a higher kind of laughter might have been

wanting. This seems to be the case among some savages at the present

day, such as the New Zealanders and North American Indians. The earliest

laughter did not arise from what we call the ludicrous, but from

something apparently physical--such as touch--though it does not follow

that it would never otherwise have existed at all, for, as the mind more

fully developed itself, facial expressions would flow from superior and

more numerous causes. Nor can we consider that what is properly called

mirth was shown in this primitive physical laughter, which was such as

may be supposed to have existed when darkness was on the face of the

intellectual world. How great, and of what continuance, was this

primeval stagnation must be for ever unknown to us, but it was not

destined to prevail. Light gradually dawned upon the mental wastes, and

they became productive of beauty and order. As greater sensibility

developed itself, emotion began to be expressed; first, probably at an

adult period of life, by the sounds belonging to the corresponding

feelings in the bodily constitution. Tears and cries betoken mental as

well as physical anguish, and laughter denoted a mixed pleasurable

feeling either in mind or body. There is a remarkable instance of this

transference from the senses to the emotional feelings in the case of

what is called sardonic laughter, in which a similar contortion of

countenance to that caused by the pungency of a Sardinian herb is

considered to denote a certain moral acerbity. Here there is an analogy

established between the senses and emotions in their outward

manifestation, just as there is in language in the double meaning of

such terms as bitter and sweet.

When we consider the fact that matter is that which gives, and mind that

which receives impressions, or that our perceptions do not teach the

nature of external things, but that of our own constitution, we shall

admit that there is not such a fundamental difference between feelings

derived from the sense of touch, and those coming through our other

senses. But we must observe that there is a great practical difference

between them, inasmuch as the one sense remains in its original

primitive state, and is not cultivated as are the others. Physical

laughter requires no previous experience, no exercise of judgment, and

therefore has no connection with the intellectual powers of the mind.

The lowest boor may laugh on being tickled, but a man must have

intelligence to be amused by wit. The senses which are the least

discriminating are the least productive of humour, little is derived

from that of smell or of taste, though we may talk sometimes of an

educated palate and an acquired taste. The finer organs of sight and

hearing are the chief mediums of humour, but the sense of touch might by

education be rendered exquisitely sensitive, and Dickens mentions the

case of a girl he met in Switzerland who was blind, deaf, and dumb, but

who was constantly laughing. Among infants, also, where very slight

complication is required, the sense of humour can be excited by touch.

Thus nurses will sing, "Brow brinky, eye winkey, nose noppy, cheek

cherry, mouth merry," and greatly increase the little one's appreciation

by, at the same time, touching the features named. Contact with other

bodies occasions a sensation, and might, by degrees, awaken an emotion;

and we might thus have such a sense of the ludicrous as that obtained

through eye and ear, which is sometimes almost intuitive, and but

slightly derived from reflection or experience. Of this kind is that

aroused by the rapid changes of form and colour of the kaleidoscope, and

those pantomimic representations which amuse the young and uneducated,

and others who live mostly in the senses.

We have now arrived at the emotional phase of laughter, that in which

emotion far exceeds intellectual action. At this stage, we have a kind

of laughter which we may call that of pleasure, inasmuch as it is the

first that deserves a distinct name. This laughter of pleasure required

very little complication of thought, contained no unamiable feeling, and

expressed the mildest sense of the ludicrous. At the same time, it did

not flow from any mere constitutional joyousness, but only arose upon

certain occasions, in consequence of some remarkable and unusual

occurrence--such as the reception of glad tidings, or the sudden

acquisition of some good fortune. This ancient laughter, now no longer

existing, is alluded to in early writings.

Thus we read in Gen. xxi. 6, that Sarah, on the birth of Isaac, said

"God hath made me to laugh, so that all that hear will laugh with me,"

and in Ps. cxxvi., "When the Lord turned again the captivity of Zion, we

were like them that dream. Then was our mouth filled with laughter, and

our tongue with singing." And in Proverbs we find, "There is a time to

weep, and a time to laugh," contrasting the expression of sorrow with

that of pleasure. Passing into Greek literature, we find laughter

constantly termed "sweet." In Iliad xxi, "Saturn smiled sweetly at

seeing his daughter;" in xxiii. "The chiefs arose to throw the shield,

and the Greeks laughed, _i.e._, with joy." In Odyssey, xx. 390, they

prepare the banquet with laughter. Od. xxii., 542, Penelope laughs at

Telemachus sneezing, when she is talking of Ulysses' return; she takes

it for a good omen. And in the Homeric Hymns, which, although inferior

in date to the old Bard, are still among the earliest specimens of

literature, we find, in that to Mercury, that the god laughs on

beholding a tortoise, "thinking that he will make a beautiful lyre out

of its shell;" and a little further on, Apollo laughs at hearing the

sound of the lyre. In the hymn to Aphrodite, the laughter-loving Venus

laughed sweetly when she thought of men and mortals being intermarried.

The fact that this and the preceding kinds of laughter were not

necessarily regarded as intellectual, is evident from the ancient poets

attributing them to vegetable and inorganic life. Considerable licence

in personification must no doubt be conceded to those who went so far as

to deify the elements, and to imagine a sort of soul in the universe,

and no doubt language as well as feeling was not at the time strictly

limited. But it must be remarked that, while they rarely attribute

laughter to the lower animals, they also never ascribe any other sign of

emotion, nor even that in its higher kinds, to insensate matter. In all

these passages it is of a physical, or merely pleasurable description.

In Iliad xiv. 362, speaking of the Grecian host, Homer says that "the

gleam of their armour was reflected to heaven, and all the earth around

laughed at the brazen refulgence."

In Hesiod's Theogony, v. 40, we read that when the Muses are singing

"the palace of loud-thundering Jove laughs (with delight) at their lily

voice;" and in the Hymn to Ceres we find Proserpine beholding a

Narcissus, from the root of which a hundred heads sprang forth "and the

whole heavens were scented with its fragrance, and the whole earth

laughed and the briny wave of the sea." Theognis writes that Delos, when

Apollo was born, "was filled with the ambrosial odour, and the huge

earth laughed." The poets seemed scarcely to have advanced beyond such a

bold similitude, and we may conclude that while they saw in laughter

something above the powers of the brute creation, they did not consider

that it necessarily expressed the smallest exercise of intellect.

This laughter of pleasure, which cheered the early centuries of the

world, now no longer exists except perhaps in childhood. It belongs to

simpler if not happier natures than our own. If a man were now to say

that his friends laughed on hearing of some good fortune having come to

him, we should suppose that they disbelieved it, or thought there was

something ridiculous in the occurrence. In these less emotional ages, in

which the manifestations of joy and sorrow are more subdued, it is mute,

and has subsided into a smile. It is difficult to say when the change

took place, but our finding smiles mentioned in Homer, though not in

Scripture, might suggest their Greek origin, if they were at first

merely a modification of the early laughter of pleasure, betokening

little more than kindly or joyous emotions. Although not always now

genial, the smile continues to be used for the symbol of pleasure, even

in reference to inanimate Nature, as where Milton writes "Old Ocean

smiled." The smile may have preceded laughter, as the bud comes before

the blossom, but it may, on the other hand, have been a reduction of

something more demonstrative.

We have still a kind of laughter approaching very nearly to that of

pleasure, which contains little reflection, but cannot be regarded as

simply physical. This description seems to be that alluded to in the

Book of Ecclesiastes, "I said of laughter, it is mad, and of mirth, what

good doeth it?" Of the same nature is that to which some excitable and

joyous persons are constitutionally inclined. Their perpetual merriment

seems to us childish and silly. Thus Steele observes to an hilarious

friend, "Sir, you never laughed in your life," and farther on he

remarks, "Some men laugh from mere benevolence."

The pleasure accompanying the perception of the ludicrous has been by

some attributed to the exercise of certain muscles in the face, and by

others to the acquisition of new ideas. But we may safely discard both

theories, for the former derives the enjoyment from physical instead of

mental sources, and the latter gives us credit for too great a delight

in knowledge, even were it thus generally obtained. The enjoyment seems

partly to arise from stimulation and activity of mind, excitement being

generally agreeable, whereas inaction is monotonous and wearisome. But

it seems also partly to be derived from sources which are, or appear to

be, collateral. Thus, in the early laughter of pleasure, some solid

advantage or gratification, present or future, was always in view, and

from men being delighted at their own success, which must often have

been obtained at the expense of others, it was an easy transition to

rejoice at the failure of rivals. In those primitive times, when people

felt themselves insecure, and one tribe was constantly at war with

another, there was nothing that gave them so much joy as the misfortunes

of their enemies. They exhibited their exultation by indulging in

extravagant transports, in shouting, in singing and dancing, and when

there appeared some strangeness or peculiarity, something sudden or

unaccountable in such disasters, laughter broke forth of that rude and

hostile character which we may occasionally still hear among the

uneducated classes. It accorded with the age in which it prevailed--a

period when men were highly emotional and passionate, while their

intellectual powers were feeble and inactive.

The two early phases of the ludicrous--those of pleasure and of

hostility--containing small complexity, and a large proportion of

emotion, are to a certain extent felt by the lower animals. Dr. Darwin

has observed an approximation to the laughter of pleasure in monkeys,

but he does not connect it with intelligence, and would not, I believe,

claim for them any sense of the ludicrous. I have, however, seen a dog,

on suddenly meeting a friend, not only wag his tail, but curl up the

corners of his lips, and show his teeth, as if delighted and amused. We

may also have observed a very roguish expression sometimes in the face

of a small dog when he is barking at a large one, just as a cat

evidently finds some fun in tormenting and playing with a captured

mouse. I have even heard of a monkey who, for his amusement, put a live

cat into a pot of boiling water on the fire. These animals are those

most nearly allied to man, but the perception of the ludicrous is not

strong enough in them to occasion laughter. The opinion of Vives that

animals do not laugh because the muscles of their countenances do not

allow them, can scarcely be regarded as philosophical. Milton tells us

that,

"Smiles from reason flow, To brutes denied;"

a statement which may be taken as generally correct, although we admit

that there may be some approximation to smiling among the lower animals,

and that it does not always necessarily proceed from reason.

The pleasure found in hostile laughter soon led to practical jokes.

Although now discountenanced, they were anciently very common, and

formed the first link between humour and the ludicrous. They were not

imitative, and did not show any actual power to invent what was

humorous, but a desire to amuse by doing something which might cause

some ludicrous action or scene, just as people unable to speak would

point to things they wish to designate. These early jokes had severer

objects coupled with amusement, and were what we should call no joke at

all. The first character in the records of antiquity that seems to have

had anything quaint or droll about it is that of Samson. Standing out

amid the confusion of legendary times, he gives us good specimens of the

fierce and wild kind of merriment relished in ancient days; and was fond

of making very sanguinary "sport for the Philistines." He was an

exaggeration of a not very uncommon type of man, in which brute strength

is joined to loose morals and whimsical fancy. People were more inclined

to laugh at sufferings formerly, because they were not keenly sensitive

to pain, and also had less feeling and consideration for others. That

Samson found some malicious kind of pleasure and diversion in his

reprisals on his enemies, and made their misfortunes minister to his

amusement, is evident from the strange character of his exploits. "He

caught three hundred foxes, and took fire-brands, and turned tail to

tail, and put a fire-brand in the midst between two tails, and when he

had set the brands on fire, he let them go into the standing corn of the

Philistines, and burnt up both the shocks and also the standing corn of

the Philistines, with the vineyards and olives." On another occasion he

allowed himself to be bound with cords, and thus apparently delivered

powerless into the hands of his enemies; he then broke his bonds "like

flax that was burnt with fire," and taking the _jaw-bone of an ass_,

which he found, slew a thousand men with it. His account of this

massacre shows that he regarded it in a humorous light: "With the

jaw-bone of an ass heaps upon heaps, with the jaw of an ass I have slain

a thousand men." We might also refer to his carrying away the gates of

Gaza to the top of a hill that is before Hebron, and to his duping

Delilah about the seven green withes.

In the above instances it will be observed that destruction or

disappointment of enemies was the primary, and amusement the secondary

object. It must be admitted that all such jokes are of a very poor and

severe description. They have not the undesigned coincidence of the

ludicrous nor the fanciful invention of true humour. Samson was

evidently regarded as a droll fellow in his day, but beyond his jokes

the only venture of his on record is a riddle, which showed very little

ingenuity, and can not be regarded as humorous now, even if it were so

then.

It would, perhaps, be going too far to assert that no laughter of a

better kind existed before the age at which we are now arrived; some

minds are always in advance of their time, as others are behind it, but

they are few. The only place in which there is any approach in early

times to what may be called critical laughter is recorded where Abraham

and Sarah were informed of the approaching birth of Isaac. Perhaps this

laughter was mostly that of pleasure. Sarah denied that she laughed, and

Abraham was not rebuked when guilty of the same levity.[4]

With the exception of the above-mentioned riddle, and rough pranks of

Samson, we have no trace of humour until after the commencement of the

Monarchy. The reigns of David and Solomon seemed to have formed the

brightest period in the literary history of the Jews. The sweet Psalmist

of Israel was partly the pioneer to deeper thought, partly the

representative of the age in which he lived. It is the charm of his

poetry that it is very rich and recondite--a mine of gold, which the

farther it is worked, the more precious its yield becomes. But it

everywhere bears the stamp of passion and religious ardour, and does not

bespeak the critical incisiveness of a highly civilised age.

Argumentative acumen would have been as much below the poetic mind of

David in one respect as it was above it in another, and while his

rapturous language of admiration and faith seems above the range of

human genius; his bitter denunciations of his enemies remind us of his

date, and the circumstances by which he was surrounded. Such immaturity

would be sufficient to account for the non-existence of humour. It may

be urged that David had no tendency in that direction. His thoughts were

turned towards the sublime, and his religious character, his royal

estate, and the vicissitudes of his early life, all inclined him to

serious reflection. But we do not find that David was invariably grave

and solemn. He indulged in laughter at the misfortunes of his

adversaries, as we may conclude from a passage in Psalm lii, 6. "God

shall likewise destroy thee for ever; he shall take thee away and pluck

thee out of thy dwelling-place, and root thee out of the land of the

living. Selah. The righteous also shall see and fear, and shall laugh at

him."

He also considered that, in turn, his enemies would deride him, if he

were unsuccessful. Psalm xxii, 7--"All they that see me laugh me to

scorn; they shoot out the lip and shake the head, saying, 'He trusted in

the Lord.'"

He evidently thought there was nothing wrong in such laughter, for he

even considers it compatible with Divine attributes,[5] Psalm ii, 4,

"He that sitteth in Heaven shall laugh; the Lord shall have them in

derision;" and Psalm xxxvii, 13, "The Lord shall laugh at him, for he

seeth that his day is coming."

Nothing can make it more certain than such expressions that the prophets

interpreted the intimations they received from above by clothing them

with their own mundane similitudes.

On the other hand, although David laughed at his enemies, he never seems

to have done so at anything else. He frequently mentions fools, but

always with detestation. To him the term did not convey any idea of

frivolity or eccentricity, but of crime and wickedness. All these

considerations tend to convince us that we can see in the writings of

David a fairly good reflection of the mirth common in his day. Add to

this that there is no trace in any contemporary work of an attempt

beyond the emotional phases of the ludicrous, and we do not at this time

read of any performance of Jewish plays, or of any kind of amusing

representations.

A more advanced, but less faithful age is represented by another man.

The soldier-king passed away to make room for one educated under milder

influences. He inherited not the piety or warlike virtues of his father,

but turned the same greatness of mind into a more luxurious and learned

channel. In his writings we find little that approaches the sublime, but

much that implies analytical depth and complexity of thought. His tone

bespeaks a settled and civilized period favourable to art and

philosophy, in which subtlety was appreciated, while the old feelings of

acerbity had become greatly softened.

In the intellectual and moral state at this date, there were many

conditions favourable to the development of humour. But we do not find

it yet actually existing, although we must suppose that a mind capable

of forming proverbs could not have been entirely insensible to it. We

may define a proverb to be a moral statement, instructive in object, and

epigrammatically expressed. It is always somewhat controversial, and

when it approaches a truism scarcely deserves the name.

A great many of Solomon's proverbs may be regarded in two lights, and I

think a comparison between some of them will show that he was aware of

the fact, and if so he could scarcely have avoided feeling some sense

of the ludicrous, and even of having a slight idea of humour in its

higher phases. I shall allude in illustration of this to a proverb often

quoted ironically at the present day. "In the multitude of counsellors

there is wisdom," and which we have combated and answered by a common

domestic adage.

Again Solomon is rather hard upon the failings of the ladies, "The

contentions of a wife," he says, "are a continual dropping." "It is

better to dwell in the corner of a housetop than with a brawling woman

in a wide house." "It is better to dwell in the wilderness than with a

contentious and angry woman." The meaning of all these sayings must be

that women are of a very irritable and vexatious character. But did

Solomon really believe in the strong terms he used towards them. We

should say not to judge by his life, for he had "seven hundred wives,

and three hundred concubines;" and although he says that, "as a jewel of

gold in a swine's snout, so is a fair woman that is without

discretion"--a very strong comparison--we may be sure that he had a

great many of these despicable creatures domiciled in his own palace.

Solomon's strictures with regard to money may also be regarded as of

somewhat uncertain value:--"How much better is it to get wisdom than

gold," sounds very well, although Solomon must have known that many men

would prefer the latter, and history seems to say that he was not averse

from it himself. "He that is despised and hath a servant is better than

he that honoureth himself, and lacketh bread," shows at least some

appreciation of the usefulness of wealth. Ecclesiastes makes a more

decided statement. "Money answereth all things." I should imagine

Solomon was as much alive to the two sides of the question, as was the

Greek who on being asked scoffingly "why philosophers followed rich men,

but rich men never followed philosophers," replied, "Because

philosophers know what they want, but rich men do not."

In one place Solomon shows his consciousness that his proverbs may be

viewed as true or false. He gives two opposite propositions--"Answer not

a fool according to his folly, lest thou also be like unto him," and,

"Answer a fool according to his folly, lest he be wise in his own

conceit." Shortly afterwards, he observes, as if the idea of perverting

and turning proverbs was in his mind, "The legs of a lame man are not

equal, so is a parable in the mouth of fools."

There was another form besides that of Proverbs, in which during

earlier ages moral and political teachings were expressed. One of the

first comparisons man learned to draw was that between himself and the

lower animals; and the separation between reason and instinct would not

appear to be at first so clearly defined as it is at present. Before the

growth of cities, and the increased intercourse and accumulated

experience resulting from their formation, the mental development of man

was so small as not to offer any very strong contrast to the sagacity of

other animals. The greatest men of ancient times were merely nomad

chiefs living on the wild pasture plains, often tending their own

flocks, and, no doubt, like the Arabs of the present day, making

companions of their camels and horses. By the rivers and in the jungles,

they often encountered beasts of prey, became familiar with their

habits, and formed a higher opinion of their intelligence than we

generally hold. At that time, when strength was more esteemed than

intellectual gifts, there was sometimes a tendency to consider them as

rather above than below the human race. The lion, the eagle, and the

stag possessed qualities to which it was man's highest ambition to

aspire, and, in some cases, he even went so far as to worship them. In

the ancient civilisation of Egypt we find the most numerous traces of

this culture and feeling--gods, kings, rulers, and disembodied spirits

being represented entirely or partially under the forms of what we call

the lower animals. The strange allegorical figures found at Nineveh may

also be considered illustrations in point. There was evidently no

caricature intended in these representations, and it is worthy of notice

that such as are grotesque are not earlier than Roman times.

It is unnecessary to recapitulate the beautiful comparisons of this

character which are profusely scattered through Holy Writ, but we should

especially notice the blessing given by Jacob to his sons on his

death-bed; in which we seem almost to discover the first origin of

heraldry. Another remarkable comparison is that of Nathan, aptly made,

and likely to sink with weight into the heart of the Shepherd-King. The

same respect for animals survived in the time of the earliest Greek

writers.

Homer in his solemn epic has numerous instances of it:--Hector in

"Iliad" xi, 297, is setting the Trojans on "like dogs at a wild boar or

lion." In xi, 557, Ajax retreating slowly from the Trojans is compared

to an ass who has gone to feed in a field, and whom the boys find great

difficulty in driving out, "though they belabour him well with cudgels."

Agamemnon is compared to a bull, Sarpedon and Patroclus in deadly

combat to two vultures, and Diomed and Ulysses pursue Dolon as two fleet

hounds chase a hare. All these were evidently intended to be most

poetical, if not elevating similes; their dignity would have been lost

could they possibly have been regarded as humorous.

Simonides of Amorgos in the seventh century B.C., is remarkable

for this kind of illustration. After some lamentations about human life,

he observes that nothing is better than a good wife, or worse than a bad

one, and he proceeds to compare women to various animals. He is also

evidently very serious over the subject, and regards it as no joke at

all. Perhaps there was also something to be said on the other side, for

he remarks that a gadding wife cannot be cured, even if you "knock out

her teeth with a stone." He likens them to pigs and polecats, horses

and apes; and only praises the descendant of the bee. In a passage

undoubtedly of early date, and attributed to Xenophanes, the founder of

the Eleatic school of philosophy, (540-500) the writer enumerates the

various ways, in which other animals are superior to man. "If by the

will of God there were an equality and community in life, so that the

herald of the Olympian games should not only call men to the contest,

but also bid all animals to come, no man would carry off a prize; for

in the long race the horse would be the best; the hare would win the

short race; the deer would be best in the double race. No man's

fleetness would count for anything, and no one since Hercules would seem

to have been stronger than the elephant or lion; the bull would carry

off the crown in striking, and the ass in kicking, and history would

record that an ass conquered men in wrestling and boxing."

But the light in which the lower animals were regarded, produced other

fanciful combinations. Not only were men given the attributes of

animals, but animals were endowed with the gifts peculiar to man. All

things were then possible. Standing as he seemed in the centre of a

plain of indefinite or interminable extent, how could any man limit the

productions or vagaries of Nature, even if he possessed far more than

the narrow experience of those days? Moreover, the boundary lines were

vague between the natural and supernatural, and the latter was supposed

to be constantly interposing in the ordinary affairs of life. Among

other beliefs then prevalent, was one in the existence of a kind of half

nature, such as that in Centaurs, dragons, and griffins. In the Assyrian

cuneiform inscriptions lately deciphered, we read, of one Heabani, a

semi-bovine hermit, supposed to have lived 2,200 B.C. Thus the

accounts in Scripture of the serpent accosting Eve, and of Balaam

arguing with his ass, would not have seemed so remarkable then as they

do to us. In an Egyptian novel--the oldest extant, cir. 1,400

B.C.--a cow tells Bata that his elder brother is standing

before him with his dagger ready to kill him. He understood, we are

told, the language of animals, and was afterwards transformed into a

bull. Greek tradition as recorded by Plato, Xenophon, Babrius, and

others, speaks of an early golden age in which men and animals held

colloquies together "as in our fables;" whence we should conclude this

much--that there was a time when poets very commonly introduced them as

holding conversations, and when philosophers illustrated their doctrines

from the animal world.

The fable, we are told, was "an invention of ancient Assyrian men in the

days of Ninus and Belus," and in confirmation of its Eastern origin, we

may observe that the apologues of Lokman are of Indian derivation. He is

supposed, by Arabian writers, to have been either a nephew of Abraham or

Job, or a counsellor of David or Solomon.

The first specimen we have of an ordinary fable, _i.e._, of one in which

the interlocutors are lower animals, is found in Hesiod, who is placed

about a century after Homer. It runs thus:--

"Now I will tell the kings a fable, which they will understand of

themselves. Thus spake the hawk to the nightingale, whom he was carrying

in his talons high in air, 'Foolish creature! why dost thou cry out? One

much stronger than thou hath seized thee, though thou art a songster. I

can tear thee to pieces, or let thee go at my pleasure.'"

But fables do not come fully under our view until they are connected

with the name of Æsop, who is said to have introduced them into Greece.

In general his fables pretend to nothing more than an illustration of

proverbial wisdom, but in some cases they proceed a step farther, and

show the losses and disappointments which result from a neglect of

prudent considerations. It cannot be denied that there is something

fanciful and amusing in these fables, still there is not much in them to

excite laughter--they are not sufficiently direct or pungent for that.

The losses or disappointments mentioned, or implied, give a certain

exercise to the feelings of opposition in the human breast, and if they

are supposed to be such as could not easily have been foreseen, we

should regard the narratives as humorous. But this is scarcely the

case; the mishaps arise simply and directly from the situations, and

are related with a view to the inculcation of truth, rather than the

exhibition of error. Hence the basis is different from that in genuine

humour, and the complication is small. Still the object evidently was to

allure men into the paths of wisdom through the pleasure grounds of

imagination.

Addison has justly observed that fables were the first kind of humour.

As the days of Athenian civilization advanced, their light chaff was

thought more of than their solid matter. Two hundred years of progress

in man caused the animals to be truly considered "lower," natural

distinctions were better appreciated, and there seemed to be something

absurd in the idea of their thinking or talking. Hence Æsop's fables are

spoken of by Aristophanes as something laughable, and the fabulist came

to be regarded as a humorist. This feeling gained ground so much

afterwards that Lucian makes Æsop act the part of a buffoon in "The

Isles of the Blessed." Such views no doubt influenced the traditions

with regard to the condition and characteristics of their composer.

There was the more field for this, inasmuch as even the fables were only

handed down orally. Some biographer, formerly supposed to have been

Planudes the monk, seems to have fertilized with his own inventive

genius many tales which had themselves no better foundation than the

conjectures derived from the tone and nature of the fables. Æsop was

represented as droll, as a sort of wit, and by a development of the

connection in the mind between humour and the ludicrous, they gave him

an infirm body, hesitating speech, and servile condition. Improving the

story, they said his figure frightened the servants of the merchant who

bought him. At the same time many clever tricks and speeches were

attributed to him. What we really glean from such stories is, that

animal fables soon came to be regarded as humorous. It is probable that

some fabulist of the name of Æsop at one time existed, but we know

nothing with certainty about his life, and many of the fables attributed

to him were perhaps of older date.

The advance in the direction of humour, which was manifested in Æsop's

fictions, was also found in the opulent Ionian Sybaris. This city,

situated on the lovely Bay of Tarentum, was now at the height of its

fame, the acknowledged centre of Greek luxury and civilization. A

reflection of oriental splendour seems to have been cast upon it, and we

read of all kinds of extravagant and curious arrangements for the

indulgence of ease and indolence. Amid all this luxury and leisure,

fancy was not unemployed. We find that, like the former leaders of

fashion in this country, they kept a goodly train of monkeys,[6] and

anticipated our circus performances by teaching their horses to dance on

their hind legs, an advance above practical joking and below pictorial

caricature. Moreover, intellectual entertainment was required at their

sumptuous feasts, and genius was tasked to find something light and

racy, maxims of deep significance interwoven with gay and fanciful

creations. There was not sufficient subtlety about these inventions to

entitle them to the name of humour in our modern sense of the word; much

complication was not then required, nor much laughter expected. The

"fables" of Sybaris seem to have been of a similarly philosophical cast

to those of Æsop. The following specimen is given in the Vespæ, 1427.

"A man of Sybaris fell from a chariot, and, as it happened, had his head

broken--for he was not well acquainted with driving--and a friend who

stood by, said, 'Let every man practise the craft, which he

understands.'"

We observe that these fables are not carried on through the assistance

of our four-footed friends. At Sybaris, conversation between men and the

lower animals had begun to appear not only absurd, but to be improved

upon and made with the evident intention of being humorous. Hence,

inanimate things were sometimes made to speak, and in succeeding

fictions birds and beasts were given such special characteristics and

requirements of men as could least have belonged to them. As an example

of this, we may refer to the Batrachomyomachia--a production called

Homeric but proved by the very length of its name to belong to a later

date. It is ascribed by Plutarch to Pigres, the brother of the

Halicarnassian Queen, Artemisia, contemporary with the Persian War. This

poem, which is a parody on Homer, reminds us, in its microscopic

representation of human affairs, of the travels of Gulliver in Lilliput.

A frog offers to give a mouse a ride across the water on his back.

Unfortunately, a water-snake lifts up its head when they are in the

middle passage, and the frog diving to avoid the danger, the mouse is

drowned. From this trifling cause there arises a mighty war between the

frogs and the mice. The contest is carried on in true Homeric style; the

mice-warriors are armed with bean-pods for greaves, lamp-bosses for

shields, nutshells for helmets, and long needles for spears. The frogs

have leaves of willow on their legs, cabbage leaves for shields,

cockle-shells for helmets, and bulrushes for spears. Their names are

suggestive, as in a modern pantomime. Among the mice we have

Crumb-stealer, Cheese-scooper, and Lick-dish; among the frogs,

Puff-cheeks, Loud-croaker, Muddyman, Lovemarsh, &c.

PART II.

GREEK HUMOUR.

Birth of Humour--Personalities--Story of Hippocleides--Origin of

Comedy--Archilochus--Hipponax--Democritus, the Laughing

Philosopher--Aristophanes--Humour of the

Senses--Indelicacy--Enfeeblement of the Drama--Humorous

Games--Parasites, their Position and

Jests--Philoxenus--Diogenes--Court of Humour--Riddles--Silli.

There is every reason to suppose that a very considerable period elapsed

before any progress was made in advance of the ludicrous, but at length

by those who appreciated it strongly, and saw it in things in which it

did not appear to others, humorous devices were invented from a growing

desire to multiply the occasions for enjoyment. Observation and our

power of imitation provided the means, and men of humour employed

themselves in reproducing some ludicrous situations; and thus, instead

of things derided being as previously wholly separate from those who

derided them, a man could laugh, and yet be the cause of laughter to

others. This discovery was soon improved upon, and by aid of imagination

and memory, as opportunities offered, certain connections and

appearances were represented under a great variety of forms. As the mind

enlarged, the exciting causes of laughter were not mainly physical or

emotional, but assumed a higher and more rational character.

At the period at which we have now arrived, we find humour dawning

through various channels. We have traced approximations towards it in

proverbs and fables, and, in a coarse form, in practical jokes; and as

from historical evidences we are ready to admit that civilization had an

Eastern origin, so we shall feel little difficulty in assigning Greece

as the birthplace of humour. A greater activity of mind now begins to

prevail, reflection has gradually given distinctness to emotion, and the

ludicrous is not only recognised as a source of pleasure, but

intentionally represented in literature.

Before the time of Æsop, though not perhaps of his fables, Homer related

a few laughable occurrences of so simple a character as to require

little ingenuity. In this respect he is not much better than a man who

recounts some absurd incident he has witnessed without adding sufficient

to it to show that he has a humorous imagination. His mirth, except

when merely that of pleasure, is of the old hostile character. In Iliad,

xi, 378, Paris, having hit Diomed, from behind a pillar with an arrow in

the foot, springs forth from his concealment and laughs at him, saying

he wished he had killed him. In Iliad, xxi, 407, where the gods descend

into the battle, Minerva laughs at Mars when she has struck him with a

huge stone so that he fell, his hair was draggled in the dust, and his

armour clanged around him. In the Odyssey, Ulysses speaks of his heart

laughing within him after he had put out Polyphemus' eye with a burning

stick without being discovered. And in Book xviii, Ulysses strikes Irus

under the ear and breaks his head, so that blood pours from his mouth,

and he falls gnashing and struggling on the ground, at which, we are

told, the suitors "die with laughter."

From this hostile phase the transition was easy to ridiculing personal

defects, and so Homer tells us that when the gods at their banquet saw

Vulcan, who was acting as butler, "stumping about on his lame leg," they

fell into "unextinguishable laughter."

Thersites is described as "squint-eyed, lame-legged, with bent shoulders

pinched over his chest, a pointed head, and very little hair on it."

Homer may merely have intended to represent the reviler of kings as

odious and despicable, but there seems to be some humour intended.

Ridicule of personal defects must always be of an inferior kind, being a

matter of sight, and of small complexity. As the first advance of the

ludicrous was from the hostile to the personal, so the beginning of

humour seems to have been the representation of personal defects.[7]

In accordance with this, we find that the only mention of laughter made

by Simonides of Amorgos is where he says that some women may be compared

to apes, and then gives a very rude description of their persons. This

subservience to the eye can also be observed in the appreciation of

monkeys and dancing horses, already mentioned, the latter forming a

humorous exhibition, as the animals were trained with a view to amuse.

We have marks of the same optical tendencies in the appreciation of

antics and contortions of the body, either as representing personal

deformity, or as a kind of puzzling and disorderly action. A little

contemporary story related by Herodotus shows that these pantomimic

performances were now becoming fashionable in Athens. Cleisthenes,

tyrant of Sicyon, was even at this date so much in favour of competitive

examinations, that he determined to give his daughter to the most

proficient and accomplished man. On the appointed day the suitors came

to the examination from every quarter, for the fair Agariste was heiress

to great possessions. Among them was one Hippocleides, an Athenian, who

proved himself far superior to all the rest in music and dissertation.

Afterwards, when the trial was over, desiring to indulge his feelings of

triumph and show his skill, he called for a piper, and then for a table,

upon which he danced, finishing up by standing on his head and kicking

his legs about. Cleisthenes, who was apparently one of the "old school,"

and did not appreciate the manners and customs of young Athens, was much

offended by this undignified performance of his would-be son-in-law, and

when he at last saw him standing on his head, could no longer contain

himself, but cried out, "Son of Tisander, thou hast danced away thy

marriage." To which the other replied with characteristic unconcern:

"It's all the same to Hippocleides,"--an expression which became

proverbial. In this story we see the new conception of humour, though

of a rude kind, coming into collision with the old philosophic contests

of ingenuity, which it was destined to survive if not to supersede.

We have another curious instance about this date of an earnest-minded

man being above the humour of the day, (which, no doubt, consisted

principally of gesticulation), and he was probably voted an unsociable,

old-fashioned fellow. Anacharsis, the great Scythian philosopher, when

jesters were introduced into his company maintained his gravity, but

when afterwards a monkey was brought in, he burst into a fit of

laughter, and said, "Now this is laughable by Nature; the other by Art."

That amusement should be thus excited by natural objects denotes a very

eccentric or primitive perception of the ludicrous, seldom now found

among mature persons, but it is such as Diodorus, quoting no doubt from

earlier histories, attributed to Osiris--"to whom," he says, "when in

Ethiopia, they brought Satyrs, (who have hair on their backs,) for he

was fond of what was laughable."

But a further development of humour was in progress. As people were at

that time easily induced to regard sufferings as ludicrous, the idea

suggested itself of creating mirth by administering punishment, or by

indulging in threats and gross aspersions. A very slight amount of

invention or complexity was here necessary. The origin of the comic

drama furnishes an illustration of this. It commenced in the harvest

homes of Greece and Sicily--in the festivals of the grape-gatherers at

the completion of the vintage. They paraded the villages, crowned with

vine-leaves, carrying poles and branches, and smeared with the juice of

grapes. Their aim was to provoke general merriment by dancing, singing,

and grotesque attitudes, and by giving rein to their coarse and

pugnacious propensities. Spectators and passers by were assailed with

invectives, pelted with missiles, and treated to all that hostile humour

which is associated with practical joking. So vile was their language

and conduct that "comedy" came to signify abuse and vilification. As the

taste for music and rhythm became general in that sunny clime, even

these rioters adopted a kind of verse, by which rustic genius could give

additional point to scurrility. Thus arose the Iambic measure used at

the festivals of Ceres and Bacchus, and afterwards fabled to have been

invented by Iambe, the daughter of the King of Eleusis. Hence, also,

came the jesting used in celebrating the rites of Ceres in Sicily, and

the custom for people to post themselves on the bridge leading to

Eleusis in Attica, and to banter and abuse those going to the festivals.

The story of Iambe only marks the rural origin of the metre, and its

connection with Ceres, the Goddess of Harvest. Eleusis was her chosen

abode, and next in her favour was Paros; and here we accordingly find

the first improvement made upon these uncouth and virulent effusions.

About the commencement of the 7th century, Archilochus, a native of this

place, harnessed his ribaldries better, and put them into a "light horse

gallop." He raised the Iambic style and metre so as to obtain the

unenviable notoriety of having been the first to dip his pen in viper's

gall. Good cause had he for his complaints, for a young lady's father,

one Lycambes, refused to give him his daughter's hand. There was

apparently some difficulty about the marriage gifts--the poet having

nothing to give but himself. Rejected, he took to writing defamatory

verses on Lycambes and his daughters, and composed them with so much

skill and point that the whole family hanged themselves. Allusions,

which led to such a catastrophe, could not now be regarded as

pleasantries; but at that time he obtained a high reputation, and

perhaps the suicide of the wretched Lycambes was considered the best

joke of all.[8] The fragments which remain to us of Archilochus'

productions seem melancholy enough, and the only place where he speaks

of laughter is where he calls Charilaus "a thing to be laughed at,"--an

expression which would seem to point to some personal deformity--we are

told, however, by later writers, that he was a glutton. In another

remaining passage Archilochus says that "he is not fond of a tall

general walking with his legs apart, with his hair carefully arranged,

and his chin well shaven;" where we still detect the same kind of

caricature, and in default of any adequate specimen of his "gall," we

may perhaps be excused for borrowing an illustration from Alcæus, who

lived slightly later; and who, speaking of his political opponent

Pittacus, calls him a "bloated paunch-belly," and a "filthy

splay-footed, crack-footed, night fellow."

Archilochus lived in the fable age, and the most perfect of the small

fragments remaining of his works are of that allegorical description.

But he may be regarded as a representative of the dull and bitter humour

of his time--a large proportion of which, as in his writings, and those

of Simonides and Hesiod, was ungallantly directed against the "girls of

the period."[9]

But Archilochus' humour, though rude and simple, opened a new mine of

wealth, and if it was not at first very rich, it was enough to indicate

the golden treasure beneath. Sonorous narratives about heroes and

demi-gods were to be gradually supplanted by the bright contrasts of

real life. Archilochus' ingenuity had introduced light metres suited for

flippant and pointed allusions. The conceit was generally approved, and

though the new form could not exactly be called humorous, it occurred to

Hipponax, in the next century, that he could make it so by a slight

alteration. Perhaps this "Father of Parody" intended to mimic

Archilochus; at any rate, by means of a change in termination, he

manufactured "limping" Iambics. We must suppose that he produced

something better than this, but look in vain into his lines for any

instances of real pungency. He was a sort of Greek Samson, his best

jokes seem to have been connected with great strength, and to judge from

what remains of his works, we should conclude that he was more justly

famous for "tossing an oil cruise" than for producing anything which we

should call humour. But, were we asked whether in that age his sayings

would have been amusing, we may reply in the affirmative; they certainly

had severity, for his figure having been caricatured by the sculptors of

Chios, Bupalus and Anthermus, he repaid them so well in their own coin,

that they also duly hanged themselves. It must be admitted that the fact

of the same kind of death having been chosen by them, and by the objects

of Archilochus' derision, does not increase greatly the credibility of

the stories.

We now come to consider what we may call a serious source of humour.

Already we have noticed the tendency in ancient times to exercises of

ingenuity in answering hard questions. These led to deeper thought, to

the aphoristic wisdom of the seven wise men, and the speculations of

those who were in due time to raise laughter at the follies of mankind.

This introduces the era of the philosophers--a remarkable class of men,

who grew up in the mercurial atmosphere of Greece. One of the most

distinguished of them was Democritus, born 460 B.C. He came of

noble descent, and belonged to so wealthy a family of Abdera that his

father was able to entertain Xerxes on his return to Asia. The King left

some Chaldean Magi to instruct his son, who, early in life, evinced a

great desire for the acquisition of knowledge, and after studying under

Leucippus, travelled to Egypt, Persia, and Babylon. He almost seemed a

compound of two different characters, uniting the intellectual energy of

the sage with the social feelings of a man of the world. Living in ease

and opulence, he was not inclined to be censorious or morose; having

mingled much in society, he was not very emotional or sympathetic; not

tempted to think life a melancholy scene of suffering, but callous

enough to find amusement in the ills he could not prevent. He regarded

man, generally, as a curious study, as remarkable for not exercising the

intellect with which he was endowed--not so much from censurable causes

as from some obliquity in mental vision. Not that he regarded him as

unaccountable--a fool in the ordinary acceptation of the word, is always

a responsible being, and not synonymous with an idiot.

The humour of this laughing sage, grounded upon deep philosophy, was so

little understood in his day that none were able to join in his

merriment, nor did he expect that they should be; if he was humorous to

himself, he was not so, and did not aim at being so, to others. On the

contrary, he was thought to be mad, and Hippocrates was directed to

inquire into his disorder, but the learned physician returned answer

that not he, but his opponents were deranged. Whether this story be a

fabrication or not, we may regard it as a testimony that wise men saw

much truth in his philosophy. Montaigne, in his Essay on Democritus and

Heraclitus, gives his preference to the former, "Because," he observes,

"men are more to be laughed at than hated," showing that he regarded him

as imputing folly to men rather than vice.

Even Socrates, whom we are accustomed to regard as the most earnest of

philosophers was by no means a melancholy man. Fully aware of the

influence exercised by humour, he often put his teachings into an

indirect form, and he seems to have first thus generally attracted

attention. He introduced what is called irony[10]--the using expressions

which literally mean exactly the opposite to what is intended. A man may

be either praised or blamed in this way, but Socrates' intention was

always sarcastic. He put questions to men, as if merely desiring some

information they could easily give him, while he knew that his inquiries

could not be answered, without overthrowing the theories of those he

addressed. Thus, he gave instruction whilst he seemed to solicit it. In

various other ways he enlivened and recommended his doctrines by

humorous illustration. It is said that he even went to the theatre to

see himself caricatured, laughed as heartily as any, and stood up to

show the audience how correctly his ill-favoured countenance had been

reproduced. This story may be questioned, and it has been observed that

he was not insensible to ridicule, for he said shortly before his death

that no one would deride him any longer. We are told that he spent some

of his last days in versifying the fables of Æsop.

We now return from theoretical to practical life, from the philosophers

to the public. Nothing exhibits more forcibly the variable character of

humour than that, while philosophers in their "thinking shops" were

laughing at the follies of the world, the populace in the theatre were

shaking their sides at the absurdities of sages. Ordinary men did not

appreciate abstract views, nor understand abstruse philosophic humour,

indeed it died out almost as soon as it appeared, and was only

contemporary with a certain epoch in the mental history of Greece. Every

popular man is to a great extent a reflection of the age in which he

lives, "a boat borne up by a billow;" and what, in this respect is true

generally, is especially so with regard to the humorist, who seeks a

present reward, and must be in unison with the characters of those he

has to amuse. He depends much on hitting the current fancies of men by

small and subtle allusions, and he must have a natural perception of

fitness, of the direction in which he must go, and the limits he must

not transgress. The literature of an epoch exhibits the taste of the

readers, as well as that of the authors.

We shall thus be prepared to find that the mind of Aristophanes,

although his views were aristocratic, harmonized in tone with that of

the people, and that his humour bears the stamp of the ancient era in

which he lived. The illustrations from the animal world in which he

constantly indulges remind us of the conceits of old times, when

marvellous stories were as much admired as the monstrous figures upon

the Persian tapestry. Would any man at the present day produce comedies

with such names as "The Wasps," "The Frogs," and "The Birds."[11] But we

here meet with our feathered and four-footed companions at every corner.

The building of the bird's city is a good illustration of this. Thirty

thousand cranes brought stones for the foundations from Libya, and ten

thousand storks made bricks, the ducks with aprons on carried the

bricks, and the swallows flew with trowels behind them like little boys,

and with mortar in their beaks.

We also notice in Aristophanes a simple and rude form of the ludicrous,

scarcely to be called humour, much in favour with his immediate

predecessors. I refer to throwing fruits and sweatmeats among the

audience. Trygæus (Vintner), celebrating a joyous country festival in

honour of the return of peace and plenty, takes occasion to throw barley

among the spectators. In another place Dicæpolis, also upon pacific

deeds intent, establishes a public treat, and calls out, "Let some one

bring in figs for the little pigs. How they squeak! will they eat them?

(throws some) Bless me! how they do munch them! from what place do they

come? I should say from Eaton."

In this scrambling fun there would be good and bad fortune, and much

laughter would be occasioned, but mostly of an emotional character. Some

of the jokes of Hegemon, who first introduced dramatic parody, were of a

similar description, but more unpleasant. On one occasion he came into

the theatre with his robe full of stones, and began to throw them into

the orchestra, saying, "These are stones, and let those who will throw

them." Aristophanes makes great use of that humour which is dependent

upon awakening hostile and combative feelings. Personal violence and

threats are with him common stage devices. We have here as much "fist

sauce," and shaking of sticks, and as many pommellings, boxings of ears,

and threats of assault and battery as in any modern harlequinade.

Next in order, we come to consider some of the many instances in

Aristophanes of what may be called optical humour--that in which the

point principally depends upon the eye. Thus he makes Hercules say he

cannot restrain his laughter on seeing Bacchus wearing a lion's skin

over a saffron robe. A Megarian reduced to extremities, determines to

sell his little daughters as pigs, and disguises them accordingly.[12]

In the Thesmophoriazusæ, there is a shaving scene, in which the man

performed upon has his face cut, and runs away, "looking ridiculous with

only one side of his face shaven." In another play where the ladies have

stolen the gentlemen's clothes, the latter come on the stage in the

most ludicrous attire, wearing saffron-coloured robes, kerchiefs, and

Persian slippers. In another, the chorus is composed of men representing

wasps, with waists pinched in, bodies striped with black and yellow, and

long stings behind. The piece ends with three boys disguised as crabs,

dancing a furious breakdown, while the chorus encourages them with,

"Come now, let us all make room for them, that they may twirl themselves

about. Come, oh famous offsprings of your briny father!--skip along the

sandy shore of the barren sea, ye brothers of shrimps. Twirl, whirl

round your foot swiftly, and fling up your heels in the air like

Phrynicus, until the spectators shout aloud! Spin like a top, pass along

in circle, punch yourself in the stomach, and fling your leg to the sky,

for the King himself, who rules the sea, approaches, delighted with his

children!"

The greater the optical element in humour, the lower and more simple it

becomes, the complexity being more that of the senses than of intellect.

It may be said there is always some appeal to both, but not in any equal

proportions, and there is manifestly a great difference between the

humour of a plough-boy grinning through a horse-collar, and of a sage

observing that "when the poor man makes the rich a present, he is

unkind to him." Caricature drawings produce little effect upon educated

people, unless assisted by a description on which the humour largely

depends. We can see in a picture that a man has a grotesque figure, or

is made to represent some other animal; by gesticulation we can

understand when a person is angry or pleased, or hungry or thirsty; but

what we gain merely through the senses is not so very far superior to

that which is obtained by savages or even the lower animals, except

where there has been special education.

Next to optical humour may be placed acoustic--that of sound--another

inferior kind. The ear gives less information than the eye. In music

there is not so much conveyed to the mind as in painting, and although

it may be lively, it cannot in itself be humorous. We cannot judge of

the range of hearing by the vast store of information brought by words

written or spoken, because these are conventional signs, and have no

optical or acoustic connection with the thing signified. We can

understand this when we listen to a foreign language.

Hipponax seems to have been the first man who introduced acoustic humour

by the abrupt variation in his metre. Exclamations and strange sounds

were found very effective on the stage, and were now frequently

introduced, especially emanating from slaves to amuse the audience.

Aristophanes commences the knights with a howling duet between two

slaves who have been flogged,

"Oh, oh--Oh, oh--Oh, oh--Oh, oh--"

In another play, there is a constant chorus of frogs croaking from the

infernal marshes.

"Brekekekex, coax, coax, brekekekex, coax, coax."

In "The Birds," the songsters of the woods are frequently heard trilling

their lays. As they were only befeathered men, this must have been a

somewhat comic performance. The king of birds, transformed from Tereus,

King of Thrace, twitters in the following style.

"Epopopopopopopopopopoi! io! io! come, come, come, come, come. Tio, tio,

tio, tio, tio, tio, tio! trioto, trioto, totobrix! Torotorotorotorolix!

Ciccabau, ciccabau! Torotorotorotorotililix."

Rapidity of utterance was also aimed at in some parts of the choruses,

and sometimes very long words had to be pronounced without pause--such

as green-grocery-market-woman, and garlic-bread-selling-hostesses. At

the end of the Ecclesiazusæ, there is a word of twenty-seven

syllables--a receipt for a mixture--as multifarious in its contents as a

Yorkshire pie.

We may conclude that there was a humour in tone as well as of rhythm in

fashion before the time of Aristophanes, and we read that there was a

certain ventriloquist named Eurycles; but Aristophanes must be content

to bear the reproach of having been the first to introduce punning. He

probably had accomplices among his contemporaries, but they have been

lost in obscurity. Playing with words seems to have commenced very

early. The organs of speech are not able to produce any great number of

entirely different sounds, as is proved by the paucity of the vowels and

consonants we possess. To increase the vocabulary, syllables are grouped

together by rapid utterance, and distinctions of time were made.

Similarities in the length and flow of words began soon to be noticed,

and hence arose the idea of parallelism, that is of poetry--a similarity

of measure. A likeness in the tone of words, in the vowel and consonant

sounds, was afterwards observed, and became the foundation of punning.

The difference between rhythm and puns is partly that of degree--and the

latter were originally regarded as poetical. Simonides of Ceos called

Jupiter Aristarchus, _i.e._, the best of rulers; and Æschylus spoke of

Helen as a "hell,"[13] but neither of them intended to be facetious.

Aristotle ranked such conceits among the ornaments of style; and we do

not until much later times find them regarded as ludicrous.

With Aristophanes they are humorous, and his ingenuity in representing

things as the same because their names were so, would not have been

unworthy of a modern burlesque writer. They, perhaps, were more

appreciated at that time from their appearing less common and less

easily made. But there is a worse direction than any above mentioned, in

which Aristophanes truckled to the low taste of his day. The modern

reader is shocked and astounded at the immense amount of indelicacy

contained in his works. It ranges from the mild impropriety of saying

that a girl dances as nimbly as a flea in a sheepskin, or of naming

those other industrious little creatures he euphemistically calls

"Corinthians," to a grand exhibition of the blessings of Peace under the

form of a young lady, the liberal display of whose charms would have

petrified a modern Chamberlain. In one place, Trygæus is riding to

heaven on a dung-beetle, and of course a large fund of amusement is

obtained from the literal and metaphorical manipulation of its food.

Socrates' disciples are discovered in a kneeling posture, with their

heads on the ground. "What are they doing?" inquires the visitor. "They

are in search of things below the earth." "And why are their backs up in

the air?" "With them they are studying astronomy."

These passages will give some faint idea, though not an adequate one, of

the coarseness of Aristophanes' humour. The primitive character of it is

marked by the fact that the greater portion has no reference to the

sexes.

It is a crumb of comfort to know that women were not generally present

at performances of comedies, and Aristotle says that young men should

not be allowed to attend them until they are old enough to sit at table

and get drunk. Moreover, to be humorous the comedian must necessarily

have exceeded the bounds of ordinary usage. Aristophanes occasionally

deplores the degeneracy of his times,--the youth of the period making

"rude jests," but his own writings are the principal evidence of this

depravity. His allusions are not excusable on the ground of ignorance;

they are intentionally impure. There was once an age of innocence--still

reflected in childhood, and among some unprogressive races--in which a

sort of natural darkness hung over the thoughts and actions of men,--but

it was in reality an age of ignorance. When light broke forth delicacy

sprang up, and when by degrees one thing after another had been

forbidden and veiled from sight by the common consent of society, there

was a large borderland formed outside immorality upon which the

trespasser could enter and sport; and much could be said which was

objectionable without giving serious offence. Before the days of

Aristophanes and the comic performances for which he wrote, very little

genius or enterprise was directed into the paths of humour, but now

every part of them was explored. Indelicacy would here afford great

assistance, from the attraction it possesses for many people and the

ease with which it is understood. Something perhaps is due to the fact

that Greece had now reached the highest point of her prosperity, and

that a certain amount of lawlessness prevailed as her brilliancy began

to tremble and fade. From whatever cause it arose, Aristophanes stands

before us as one of the first to introduce this base ornamentation. The

most remarkable circumstance connected with it is that he assigns a

large part of his coarse language to women. His object was to amuse a

not very refined audience, and one that relished something

preposterous.

Thus Aristophanes lowered his style to the level of his audience, but in

his brighter moments, forgetting his failings and exigencies, he disowns

expedients unworthy of the comic art. He says he has not like

"Phrynicus, Lycis, and Amisias" introduced slaves groaning beneath their

burdens, or yelping from their stripes; he comes away, "a year older

from hearing such stage tricks." "It is not becoming," he observes in

another place for a dramatic poet to throw figs and sweetmeats to the

spectators to force a laugh, and "we have not two slaves throwing nuts

from a basket." In _his_ plays "the old man does not belabour the person

next him with a stick." He claims that he has made his rivals give up

scoffing at rags and lice, and that he does not indulge in what I have

termed optical humour. He has not, like some of his contemporaries,

"jeered at the bald head," and not danced the Cordax. He seems in the

following passage even to despise animal illustrations--

_Bdelycleon._ Tell me no fables, but domestic stories about men.

_Philocleon._ Then I know that very domestic story, "Once on a time

there was a mouse and a weazel."

_Bdel._ "Oh, thou lubberly and ignorant fellow," as Theogenes said

when he was abusing the scavenger. Are you going to tell a story of

mice and weazels among men?

Like most humorists he blames in one place what he adopts in another.

Plato had so high an opinion of Aristophanes that, in reply to Dionysius

of Syracuse, he sent him a copy of his plays as affording the best

picture of the commonwealth of Athens. This philosopher is also said to

have introduced mimes--a sort of minor comedy--from Sicily, and to have

esteemed their composer Sophron so highly that he kept a copy of his

works under his pillow. Plato appreciated humour, was fond of writing

little amatory couplets, and among the epigrams attributed to him is the

following dedication of a mirror by a fading beauty, thus rendered by

Prior:--

"Venus, take this votive glass,

Since I am not what I was!

What I shall hereafter be,

Venus, let me never see!"

Plato objected to violent laughter as indicative of an impulsive and

ill-regulated temper, observing "that it is not suitable for men of

worth, much less for the gods," the first part of which remark shows

that he was not emotional, and the second that a great improvement in

critical taste had taken place since the early centuries of Homer and

David.

As youth is romantic, and old age humorous, so in history sentiment

precedes criticism and poetry attained a high degree of excellence,

while humour was in its infancy. Comedy is said to have been produced

first in Sicily by Susarion in 564 B.C., but we have only two

or three lines by which to judge of his work, and they are on the old

favourite topic. "A wife is an evil, but you can't live in a house

without one." As it is said his wife left him, it must be considered

doubtful whether this was not meant seriously. He was succeeded by

Epicharmus, whose humour seems to have been of a very poor description.

His subjects were mostly mythological, and he was fond of representing

the gluttony of Hercules, and Bacchus making Vulcan drunk. In the more

intellectual direction his taste was entirely philosophical, so much so

that Plato adopted many of his views. We may safely assert that no comic

performance worthy of the name took place until towards the end of the

fifth century,[14] though in the meantime the tragic drama had reached

its highest point of excellence. One _Satyric_ play, so called because

the chorus was formed of Satyrs, was put on the stage with three

tragedies by those competing for the dramatic prize. It seems to have

been mythological and grotesque rather than comic, but in the Cyclops

of Euripides, the only specimen extant, we have feasting and wine

drinking, the chorus tells Polyphemus he may swallow any milk he pleases

so that he does not swallow them--which the Cyclops says he would not do

because they might be dancing in his stomach--and Silenus recommends the

Cyclops to eat Ulysses' tongue, as it will make him a clever talker.

After the time of Aristophanes, the literary, and, we may say, the

social humour of Greece altered. It grew less political as liberty

became more restricted, and men's minds were gradually diverted by

business and foreign trade from that philosophical and artistic

industry, which had made Athens the centre of the world. The brighter

part of the country's genius descended to effeminate pursuits, and

employed itself in the development of amorous fancies. In the comedies

which came into favour, the dramatis personæ represented a strange

society of opulent old men, spendthrift sons, intriguing slaves, and

courtezans. If we did not know what temptation there is to make literary

capital out of the tender passion, we might suppose that the youth of

that day were entirely occupied in clandestine amours, and in buying and

selling women as if they were dogs and parrots. No wonder that "to live

like the Greeks" became a by-word and reproach. Beyond this, the authors

throw the whole force of their genius into the construction of the plot,

upon the strength and intricacy of which their success depends; and the

management of the various threads of the story so as to meet together in

the conclusion, shows a great improvement in art since the days of

Aristophanes. Advancing time seems also to have brought a greater

refinement in language. The indelicacy we now meet with is almost

entirely of an amatory character, and not quite of so low a description

as that previously in use. But in quantity it was greater. Philemon, who

is said to have died from a fit of laughter caused by seeing an ass eat

figs, wrote much that was objectionable; and Diphilus was probably

little better. Philemon found coarseness answer, and was more often

crowned, and a greater favourite than Menander, who is reported to have

said to him, "Do you not blush to conquer me?" but it may be doubted

whether even the latter was as free from indelicacy as is generally

supposed. Plautus and Terence both complain that they cannot find a

really chaste Greek play.

The age of Greek fables, that is the period when they were in common use

in writing and conversation, was now drawing to a close. A few remain

in Callimachus, and Suidas quotes some of perhaps the same date. At this

time Demetrius Phalareus made a prose collection of what were called

Æsop's Fables--as we seek to perpetuate the memory of that which is

passing away. Babrius, also, who performed the same charitable office in

"halting iambics," like those of Hipponax, may be supposed to have

flourished about this period, although it has been contended that he was

a Roman and lived in the Augustan age. However this may be, fabular

illustrations began to drop out of fashion soon after this time, and by

degrees were so far disallowed, that the man, who would have related

such stories, would have been regarded as ludicrous rather than

humorous. Although Phædrus Romanized Æsop's Fables, and gave them a

poetical meaning, he never gained any fame or popularity by them.

Martial calls him "improbus," _i.e._, a rascal.

In these and earlier days, besides the humour exhibited in comedies, a

considerable amount was displayed at public festivals and private

entertainments. In the Homeric hymn to Mercury, we read that the god

extemporized a song, "just as when young men at banquets slily twit each

other." When the cups flowed, and the conversation sparkled, men

indulged in repartee, or capped each other in verses. One man, for

instance, would quote or compose a line beginning and ending with a

certain letter, and another person was called upon for a similar one to

complete the couplet. Sometimes the line commenced with the first

syllable of a word, and ended with the last, and a corresponding conceit

was to be formed to answer it. The successful competitors at these games

were to be kissed and crowned with flowers; the unsuccessful to drink a

bowl of brine. These verbal devices were too simple and far-fetched to

be humorous, but were, to a certain extent, amusing, and no doubt the

forfeits and rewards occasioned some merriment.

A coarser kind of humour originated in the market-place, where professed

wags of a low class were wont to congregate, and amuse themselves by

chaffing and insulting passers-by. Such men are mentioned centuries

afterwards by St. Paul as "lewd fellows of the baser sort,"--an

expression which would be more properly rendered "men of the

market-place." Such centres of trade do not seem to have been improving

to the manners, for we read of people "railing like bread-women," and of

the "rude jests" of the young men of the market.[15] Lysistratus was

one of these fellows in Aristophanes' days, and his condition seems to

have been as miserable as his humour, for his garment had "shed its

leaves,"[16] and he was shivering and starving "more than thirty days in

the month."

By degrees, as wealth increased, there came a greater demand for

amusement. Jesters obtained patrons, and a distinct class of men grew

up, who, having more humour than means were glad to barter their

pleasantries for something more substantial. Wit has as little tendency

to enrich its possessor as genius--the mind being turned to gay and idle

rather than remunerative pursuits, and into a destructive rather than a

constructive channel. Talent does not imply industry, and where the

stock in trade consists of luxuries of small money value, men make but a

precarious livelihood. One of them says that he will give as a fortune

to his daughter "six hundred _bon mots_--all pure Attic," which seems to

suggest that they were to be puns. No doubt it was the demand that led

to the supply, for jesters were in request at convivial meetings, and

the jealousy of their equally poor, but less amusing neighbours, not

improbably led to some of the ill-natured reflections upon them. Society

was to blame for encouraging the parasite, who seems to have become an

institution in Greece. He is not mentioned by Aristophanes, but figures

constantly in the plays of later writers, where he is a smooth-tongued

witty varlet, whose aim is to make himself agreeable, and who is ready

to submit to any humiliation in order to live at other people's expense.

Thus Gelasimus--so called, as he avers, because his mother was a

droll--laments the changed times. He liked the old forms of expression,

"Come to dinner--make no excuse;" but now it is always, "I'd invite you,

only I'm engaged myself." In another place a parasite's stomach is

called a "bottomless pit," and they are said to "live on their juices"

while their patrons are away in the country. Their servility was, of

course, exaggerated in comedy to make humorous capital, but as they were

poor and of inferior social standing to those with whom they consorted,

they were sure occasionally to suffer indignities varying in proportion

to the bad taste and insolence of their patrons. Thus we read that they

not only sat on benches at the lower end of the table, but sometimes had

their faces daubed and their ears boxed. In the ambiguous position they

occupied, they were no doubt exposed to temptations, but we are not to

suppose that they were generally guilty of such short-sighted treachery

as that attributed to them by the dramatists. Still, they certainly were

in bad repute in their generation, and hence we are enabled to

understand Aristotle's observation that he who is deficient in humour is

a boor, but he who is in culpable excess is a _bomolochos_, or thorough

scoundrel. He would connect the idea of great jocosity with unprincipled

designs.

Philoxenus, had a more independent spirit than most parasites, and the

history of his sojourn in Syracuse gives us an amusing insight into the

state of Court life in Sicily 400 years B.C. He was an Athenian

dithyrambic poet and musician; and as Dionysius affected literature, he

was welcomed at his palace, where he wrote a poem entitled "The

Banquet," containing an account of the luxurious style of living there

adopted. Philoxenus was probably the least esteemed guest at these

feasts, of which, but for him no record would survive. He was a man of

humour, and some instances of his quaintness remain. On one occasion,

when supping with the tyrant, a small mullet was placed before him, and

a large one before Dionysius. He thereupon took up his fish and placed

it to his ear. Dionysius asked him why he did so, to which he replied

that he was writing a poem, called "Galatæa," and wanted to hear some

news from the kingdom of Nereus. "The fish given to him," he added,

"knew nothing about it, because it had been caught so young; but no

doubt that set before Dionysius would know everything." The tyrant, we

are told, laughed and sent him his mullet. As might have been

anticipated, he soon greatly offended Dionysius, who actually sent him

to work in the stone-quarries; but the cause of his misfortune is

uncertain. Athenæus attributes it to his falling in love with a

favourite "flute-girl" of Dionysius, and says that in his "Galatæa," he

caricatured his rival as the Cyclops. According to another account, his

disgrace was owing to his having, when asked to revise one of Dionysius'

poetical compositions, crossed out the whole of it from beginning to

end. He was, however, restored to favour, and seated once more at the

royal table; but, unfortunately, the tyrant had again been perpetrating

poetry, and recited some of his verses, which were loudly applauded by

all the courtiers. Philoxenus was called upon to join in the

commendation, but instead of complying, he cried out to the guards,

"Take me back to the quarries." Dionysius, took the joke and pardoned

him. He afterwards left the Syracusan Court, and went to his native

place, Cythera; and it was characteristic of his bluntness and wit,

that, on being invited by the tyrant to return, he replied by only one

letter of the alphabet signifying "NO."

And now a most grotesque figure stands before us--it is that of

Diogenes, who was a youth at the time of Aristophanes' successes, and

was, no doubt by many, classed with those rude idlers of the

market-place of whom we have already spoken. Some people have questioned

his claim to be regarded as a philosopher. He does not appear to have

been learned, or deeply read; but he was meditative and observant, and

that which in an anchorite, or hermit, would have been a mere sentiment,

and in an ordinary man a vague and occasional reflection, expanded in

his mind into a general and practical view of life. Observing that the

things we covet are not only difficult of attainment, but unsatisfactory

in possession, he thought to solve the problem of life by substituting

contempt for admiration. He was, probably, somewhat influenced by his

own condition in this vain attempt to draw sweetness from sour grapes.

He was poor, and we find that this despiser of the goods of this world,

who considered money to be the "metropolis of all evils"--in his youth

coined false money, and was banished to Sinope in consequence. Among his

recorded sayings, he expresses his surprise that the slaves attending

at banquets could keep their hands off their master's dainties.

But we should be doing Diogenes an injustice, if we set him down as a

mere discontented misanthrope. In giving due weight to unworthy motives,

we have looked only at one side--and that the worst--of his character.

His mind was of an inquiring speculative cast, and in youth he aspired

to join the disciples of Zeno. So persistent indeed was he that the

stoic, unwilling to have such a questionable pupil, one day forgot his

serene philosophy, and set upon him with a cudgel. Such arguments did

not tend to soften Diogenes' disposition, and although he accused man of

folly rather than malignity, he went so far to say that a man should

have "reason or a rope." He probably thought it easier than Democritus

to follow wisdom, because he did not see quite so far. Still he showed

that he took an interest in social life, and had he been less of a

moralist, he would have had better claims to be regarded as a "wit" than

any other character in Grecian history. Many examples could be adduced

in which his principal object was evidently to be amusing:--

Entering a school in which he saw many statues of the Muses, but few

pupils, "You have many scholars among the gods," he said to the master.

On being asked at what time it was proper to dine, "If you are rich,

when you will; if poor, when you can," he replied, perhaps a little

sadly; and to "What wine do you like to drink?" he quickly responded

"Another man's." Meeting one, Anaximenes, a very fat man, he called out,

"Give us poor fellows some of your stomach; it will be a great relief to

you, and an advantage to us."

That Diogenes recognised humour as a means of drawing attention and

impressing the memory, is shown by the story that on one occasion, when

he was speaking seriously and found no one attending, he began to

imitate the singing of birds, and when he had thus collected a crowd,

told them they were ready to hear folly but not wisdom. There was also,

probably, in adopting this form a desire to preclude the possibility of

his being contradicted. He was thus proof against criticism--if his

statements were said to be false--well, they were intended to be so;

while, if they raised a laugh, there was an admission that they

contained some seeds of truth. The following are examples of his

disguised wisdom:--

On being asked when a man should marry, "A young man not yet; an old man

not at all," he replied. "Why men gave money to beggars and not to

philosophers?" "Because they think they may themselves become blind and

lame, but never philosophers." When Perdiccas threatened that unless he

came to him he would kill him, "You would do no great thing," he

replied, "even a beetle or a spider could do that."

We can scarcely suppose that all the sayings attributed to Diogenes are

genuine. There has always been a tendency to attribute to great men

observations made in accordance with their manner.

Philosophers have generally been to a certain extent destructive, and

seldom spared the religion of their times. Diogenes, who was called

"Socrates gone mad," was no exception to this rule. Humour, which is

seasoned with profanity, is most telling when there is not too large an

amount either of faith or scepticism; very few could find any amusement

in the sneers of an utter infidel. Diogenes was almost as deficient in

ordinary religious belief as in most other kinds of veneration.

Sometimes he may have had the good effect of checking the abuse of

sacerdotal power, as when he observed to some who were admiring the

thank offerings at Samothracia, "There would have been many more, had

those made them, who had not been cured." He also said that the

Dionysian festival was a great sight for fools, and that when he heard

prophets and interpreters of dreams, he thought nothing was so silly as

man. His blaming men for making prayers, because they asked not that

which was good, but only what seemed desirable to them, may be taken in

a favourable sense.

Before the end of Diogenes' life fanciful conceits became so much

appreciated in Greece, that a regular "Court of Humour" was held at

Heracleum, a village near Athens, and it is to be feared that many of

the racy sayings attributed to eminent men, originated in the sessions

of this jocund assembly. It was composed of sixty members, and their

sayings came forth with the stamp of "The Sixty" upon them. Their

reputation became so great, that Philip of Macedon gave them a talent to

write out their jokes, and send them to him. He was himself fond of

gaiety, invented some musical instruments, and kept professed jesters.

Soon after this time, we read of amateur jesters or rather practical

jesters called _planoi_. Chrysippus, who was not only a philosopher, but

a man of humour--a union we are not surprised to find common at that

date--and who is said, perhaps with equal truth, to have died like

Philemon in a fit of laughter, on seeing an ass eat figs off a silver

plate--mentions a genius of this kind, one Pantaleon, who, when at the

point of death told each of his sons separately that he confided to him

alone the place where he had buried his gold. When he was dead, they all

betook themselves to the same spot, where they laboured for some time,

before discovering that they had all been deceived.

From this period we are mostly indebted to epigrams for any knowledge of

Greek humour. They originated in inscriptions or offerings in temples;

afterwards came to be principally epitaphial or sarcastic; and grew into

a branch of literature.

We can scarcely understand some of the fancies indulged in at the time,

which contain no salt at all--"Sports," Hephæstio calls them. Of these

devices may be mentioned the "Wings of Love" by Simmias, a Rhodian, who

lived before 300 B.C. The verses are graduated so as to form a

pair of wings. "The first altar," written by Dosiadas of Rhodes, is the

earliest instance of a Greek acrostic, or of any one which formed words.

An acrostic is a play upon spelling, as a pun is upon sound; and in both

cases the complication is too slight for real humour. They are rather to

be considered as ingenious works of fancy. The first specimens are those

in the Psalms--twelve of which have twenty-two verses beginning with the

twenty-two letters of the Hebrew alphabet. The 119th Psalm is a curious

specimen of this conceit; it is divided into twenty-two stanzas, and a

letter of the alphabet in regular order begins each of them. The initial

letters of "The First Altar" of Dosiadas of Rhodes, form four words, and

seem to be addressed to some "Olympian," who, the dedicator hopes "may

live to offer sacrifice for many years." The altar states that it is not

stained with the blood of victims, nor perfumed with frankincense, that

it is not made of gold and silver; but formed by the hand of the Graces

and the Muses. In the "Second Altar," also usually attributed to

Dosiadas of Rhodes, we find not only a fanciful outline formed by long

and short verses, but also a studious avoidance of proper names. Not one

is mentioned, although thirteen persons are designated. It is evident

that this "Altar" was a work of ingenuity, and intended to be

enigmatical. Probably the substitutions were also considered to be

somewhat playful and amusing, as in Antiphanes--a comic poet, said to

have died from an apple falling on his head--we read,

_A._ Shall I speak of rosy sweat

From Bacchic spring?

_B._ I'd rather you'd say wine.

_A._ Or shall I speak of dusky dewy drops?

_B._ No such long periphrasis--say plainly water.

_A._ Or shall I praise the cassia breathing fragrance

That scents the air.

_B._ No, call it myrrh.

Another conceit in the form of a Sphinx or Pandean pipe has been

attributed to Theocritus--perhaps without good foundation.

In the "Egg" there is not only the form of the lines, which gradually

expand and then taper downwards, but there is also a great amount of

similitude--the literary egg being compared to a real egg, and the poet

to the nightingale that laid it. There is also a remarkable involution

in form--the last line succeeding the first, and so on; and this

alternation of the verses is compared to the leaping of fawns. The Axe

or Hatchet is apparently a sort of double axe, being nearly in the form

of wings; and is supposed to be a dedicatory inscription written to

Minerva on the axe of Epeus, who made the wooden horse by which Troy was

taken.

The ancient riddles seem to have been generally of a descriptive

character, and not to have turned upon quibbles of words, like those of

the present day. They more corresponded to our enigmas--being

emblematic--and in general were small tests of ingenuity, some being

very simple, others obscure from requiring special knowledge or from

being a mere vague description of things. Of the learned kind were

doubtless those hard questions with which the Queen of Sheba proved

Solomon, and those with which, on the authority of Dius and Menander,

Josephus states Solomon to have contended with Hiram. The riddle of

Samson also required special information; and the same characteristics

which marked the early riddles of Asia, where the conceit seems to have

originated, is also found in those of Greece. Who could have guessed the

following "Griphus" from Simonides of Ceos, without local knowledge, or

with it, could have failed,

"I say that he who does not like to win

The grasshopper's prize, will give a mighty feast,

To the Panopeiadean Epeus."

This means, we are told, that when Simonides was at Carthea he used to

train choruses, and there was an ass to fetch water for them. He called

the ass "Epeus," after the water-carrier of the Atridae; and if any

member of the chorus was not present to sing, _i.e._, to win the

grasshopper's prize, he was to give a choenix of barley to the ass.

Well might Clearchus say "the investigation of riddles is not

unconnected with philosophy, for the ancients used to display their

erudition in such things."

Somewhat of the same character is found in the following from

Aristophanes.

_People._ How is a trireme a "dog fox?"

_Sausage Seller._ Because the trireme and the dog are swift.

_People._ But why fox?

_Sausage Seller._ The soldiers are little foxes, for they eat up

the grapes in the farms.

The simplicity of some of the ancient riddles may be conjectured from

the fact that the same word "griphus" included such conceits as verses

beginning and ending with a certain letter or syllable.

An instance of the emblematic character of early riddles is seen in that

proposed by the Sphinx to OEdipus. "What is that which goes on four

legs in the morning, on two in the middle of the day, and on three in

the evening?" And in the riddle of Cleobulus, one of the seven wise men:

"There was a father, and he had twelve daughters; each of his daughters

had thirty children; some were white and others black, and though

immortal they all taste of death."

Also in the following griphi, which are capable of receiving more than

one answer.

The first two are respectively by Eubulus and Alexis--writers of the

"New Comedy"--who flourished in the first half of the 4th century,

B.C.

"I know a thing, which while it's young is heavy,

But when it's old, though void of wings, can fly,

With lightest motion out of sight of earth.

"It is not mortal or immortal either

But as it were compounded of the two,

So that it neither lives the life of man

Nor yet of god, but is incessantly

New born again, and then again

Of this its present life invisible,

Yet it is known and recognised by all."

From Hermippus:--

"There are two sisters, one of whom brings forth,

The other and in turn becomes her daughter."

Diphilus, in his Theseus, says, there were once three Samian damsels,

who on the day of the festival of Adonis delighted themselves with

riddles. One of them proposed, "What is the strongest of all things?"

Another answered, "Iron, because it is that with which men dig and cut."

The third said, "The blacksmith, for he bends and fashions the iron."

But the first replied, "Love, for it can subdue the blacksmith himself."

The following is from Theadectes, a pupil of Isocrates, who lived about

300 B.C., and wrote fifty tragedies--none of which survive.

"Nothing which earth or sea produces,

Nought among mortals hath so great increase.

In its first birth the largest it appears,

Small in its prime, and in old age again,

In form and size it far surpasses all."[17]

To make a riddle, that is a real test of ingenuity for all, and which

but one answer satisfies, shows an advanced stage of the art. The

ancient riddles were almost invariably symbolical, and either too vague

or too learned. They seem to us not to have sufficient point to be

humorous, but no doubt they were thought so in their day.

It may not be out of place here to advert to those light compositions

called Silli, about which we have no clear information, even with regard

to the meaning of the name. From the fragments of them extant, we find

that they were written in verse, and contained a considerable amount of

poetical sentiment; indeed, all that has come down to us of Xenophanes,

the first sillographer, is of this character. We are told that he used

parody, but his pleasantry, probably, consisted much of after-dinner

jests and stories, for we find that although he praises wisdom, and

despises the fashionable athletic games, he rejoiced in sumptuous

banquets, and said that the water should first be poured into the cup,

then the wine. But the most celebrated sillographer was Timon the

Phliasian--intimate with Antigonus and Ptolemy Philadelphus--who wrote

three books of Silli, two in dialogues, and one in continuous narrative.

He was a philosopher, and the principal object of his work was to bring

other sects into ridicule and discredit. A few reflections of general

application are scattered through it, but they are in general quite

subsidiary and suggested by the subject matter.

PART III.

ROMAN HUMOUR.

Roman Comedy--Plautus--Acerbity--Terence--Satire--Lucilius--Horace--Humour

of the Cæsar Family--Cicero--Augustus--Persius--Petronius--Juvenal

--Martial--Epigrammatist--Lucian--Apuleius--Julian the Apostate--The

Misopogon--Symposius' Enigmas--Macrobius--Hierocles and Philagrius.

The light of genius which shone in Greece was to some extent reflected

upon Rome, where there was never an equal brilliancy. As for humour,

such as was indigenous in the country, it was only represented by a few

Saturnian snatches, some Fescennine banterings at weddings and

harvest-homes, and rude pantomimic performances also originating in

Etruria. Intellectual pleasantry was unknown, except as an exotic, and

flourished almost exclusively among those who were imbued with the

literature of Greece.

About the date at which we arrived at the end of the last chapter--the

middle of the third century, B.C.--the first regular play was

introduced at Rome by Livius Andronicus. He was a Greek slave, having

been taken prisoner at the capture of Tarentum. Scarcely anything

remains by which to judge of his writings, but we know that he copied

from Greek originals. His plays were, no doubt, mostly appreciated by

the better educated classes of the audience. He had a rival in

Noevius, a Campanian by birth, who also copied from the Greek, but

retained something of the Fescennine licence, or rather, we should say,

had much of the hostile humour common to the earlier periods of Greece

and Rome. So violent were his attacks upon the leading men of the day,

that he was imprisoned, and finally died in exile at Utica. This early

connection of comedy with abuse and buffoonery was probably one cause of

professional actors being held in contempt in Rome. We read that they

were frequently slaves, who were whipped if they came late. At the same

time native scurrility was allowed. Freeborn Romans might act for

amusement in the Atellane plays, which were considered to be Italian,

and were accompanied by broad "Exodia" or pantomimic interludes

containing regular characters such as Maccus the clown, Buccones the

chatterers, Pappus the pantaloon, and Simus, the ape. But these

productions came from Campania, and it is probable that the better

parts of them were Greek in spirit, though not in form.

Some fifty years later brings us to Plautus--the most remarkable of the

Roman comic writers. Little is known of his origin, except that he was

born in Umbria. There is a story that at one time he was in so humble a

position that he was employed in grinding corn for a baker; but, if so,

he must have possessed extraordinary ability and perseverance to acquire

such a thorough knowledge of Greek and Latin. The fact of his adopting

the stage as a profession, and acting in his own dramas, proves that he

was not encumbered with rank or wealth. His plays were numbered among

the classics, and were produced upon the stage till the time of

Diocletian, five hundred years after his death; he generally copied from

the Greek, often naming the author to whom he was indebted.

Plautus is interesting, not only as giving us an insight into the Greek

mode of life before his time, and preserving many of the works of

Philemon, Diphilus, and others, but as being the only Latin writer of

his date whose productions have survived. He wrote one hundred and

thirty plays, of which thirty are extant, and show an orthography very

different from that of the Augustan age. His style was forcible, and

like that of all the Latin comic writers, highly complex. He sometimes

coins words, (such as Trifurcifur, gugga,[18] parenticida,) and he is

constantly giving new metaphorical senses to those already in use--as

when he speaks of a man being a "hell of elms," _i.e._, severely flogged

with elm-rods--calls cooks "briars," because they take fast hold of

everything they touch, and threatens a slave with "memorials of oxen,"

_i.e._, a thrashing that will make him remember the thong.

We may possibly trace the Greek original in a few references to

conversations of animals--although no plays are now called after

them--and the names, places, and money he introduces are generally

Greek. Still, we cannot regard him as a mere servile imitator--much of

his own genius is doubtless preserved in the plays. In some, we can

clearly recognise his hand, as where he alludes to Roman customs, or

indulges in puns. For instance, where a man speaks of the blessing of

having children, (liberi,) another observes he would rather be _free_

(liber). In "The Churl," we read that it is better to fight with minæ

than with menaces, and a lover says that Phronesium has expelled her own

name (wisdom) from his breast.

An old man says he has begun to go to school again, and learn his

letters. "I know three already," he continues, "What three?" is asked,

"A M O."

While we are glad to mark an advancement in less pleasures being derived

from personal threats and conflicts on the stage, we are pained to find

such an entire want of sympathy with the sufferings of those in a

servile condition. The severity with which slaves were treated in

previous times was not mitigated under the Roman rule, and at the

present day it is difficult to realise the moral state of those who

could derive amusement from hearing men threatened with bull-hidings,

and flogged on the stage. Such terms as "whip-knave" became stale from

repetition, and so many jokes were made even about crucifixion, that we

might suppose it to be a very trifling punishment. Chrysalus, a slave,

facetiously observes, that when his master discovers he has spent his

gold, he will make him "cruscisalus" _i.e._ "cross jumper." In "The

Haunted House," Tranio, who, certainly seems to have been a great scamp,

soliloquises as follows on hearing of his master's return:--

"Is there any one, who would like to gain a little money, who could

endure this day to take my place in being tortured? Who are those

fellows hardened to a flogging, who wear out iron chains, or those who

for three didrachmas[19] would get beneath besieging towers, where they

might have their bodies pierced with fifteen spears? I'll give a talent

to that man who shall be the first to run to the cross for me, but on

condition that his feet and arms are doubly fastened there. When that is

done, then ask the money of me."

Acoustic humour appears not only in puns, but under the form of long

names of which Plautus was especially fond, Periplecomenus,

Polymacharoplagides, and Thesaurochrysonicocræ are specimens of his

inventive genius in this direction.

In the "Three Coins," Charmides asks the sharper's name.

_Sh._ You demand an arduous task.

_Charmides._ How so?

_Sh._ Because if you were to begin before daylight at the first

part of my name 'twould be dead of night before you could reach the

end of it. I have another somewhat less, about the size of a wine

cask.

In the "Persian," Toxilus gives his name as follows,

"Vaniloquidorus Virginisvendonides

Nugipolyloquides Argentiexterebronides

Tedigniloquides Nummorumexpalponides

Quodsemelarripides

Nunquamposteareddides."

There are a few other cases in which there is a playing upon sound, as

where Demipho remarks that if he had such a good-looking girl as

Pasicompsa for a servant, all the people would be "staring, gazing,

nodding, winking, hissing, twitching, crying, annoying, and serenading."

The failings of the fair seems always to have been a favourite subject

for men's attack, but reflections of this kind have decreased in number

and acerbity since the days of Aristophanes. We find, however, some in

Plautus, such as the following:--

"Love is a fawning flatterer. For he that is in love, soon as ever he

has been smitten with the kisses of the object he loves, forthwith his

substance vanishes out of doors, and melts away. 'Give me this, my

honey, if you love me.' And then Gudgeon says, 'Oh apple of my eye, both

that and still more, if you wish.' He who plunges into love perishes

more dreadfully than if he leapt from a rock. Away with you, Love, if

you please."

He is fully alive to the power of this destructive passion. In one place

Philolaches half mad with love and jealousy sees his mistress looking

into a mirror. "Ah, wretched me," he exclaims passionately, "she gave

the mirror a kiss. I wish I had a stone to break the head of that

mirror."[20]

The love of money has always been a stock subject with humorists. This

common weakness of human nature can be played upon even by those who can

produce no other wit, and many worse jokes have been made on it than the

following,--

Calidorus asks his servant, Pseudolus, to lend him a drachma.

_P._ What for?

_C._ To buy a rope to hang myself.

_P._ Who then will pay me back? Do you wish to hang yourself to

cheat me out of my drachma?

The "Concealed Treasure" turns on an old man having found a pot of gold.

He conceals it, and his nervousness lest some one should discover it is

brought out with excellent humour. He drives the cooks out of the place

with his stick. He has a battle-royal with a dunghill cock, who, he

imagines is trying to scratch for it, then thinks Strobilus has stolen

it, and calls on him to show one hand, and the other, and then the

third.

We are the more inclined to lament the utter destruction of ancient

African literature on finding that the most refined Roman dramas were

placed upon the stage by a Carthaginian, when Plautus, whose enterprize

and perseverance had given the great impetus to Latin comedy, was

approaching the end of his long life. Terence was born the last, and as

some think the greatest master in this branch of Art. He was at one time

a slave, but his literary talent was so remarkable that his master set

him free, and he became the friend of distinguished men, especially of

Scipio the younger. It must seem strange that this brilliancy should

have flashed up for a moment, and then been for ever quenched, but it

was derived from Greece and not in its nature enduring. The genius of

Menander fed the flame of Terence, as that of Diphilus and others gave

power to Plautus, and it may well be supposed that men of their talent

appropriated all that was most excellent, and left their successors to

draw from inferior sources. It may, moreover, be doubted, whether the

regular drama was ever popular among the lower classes in Rome, who

preferred the more exciting scenes of the circus. Such plays as were

intended for them were coarser and more sensational.

Terence has not the rough power and drollery of Plautus; his whole

attraction lies in the subtlety of his amorous intrigues. Steele,

speaking of one of the plays, "The Self-Tormentor," observes, "It is

from the beginning to the end a perfect picture of human life, but I did

not observe in the whole one passage that could possibly raise a laugh."

It was for this reason, no doubt, that Cæsar spoke of him as only "half

a Menander," and as deficient in comic force. Ingenious complexity is so

exclusively his aim, that we have neither the coarseness nor the sparkle

of earlier writers. He was the first to introduce Comedies, which were

not comic, and whatever humour he introduces is that of situation.

We now come to consider a kind of humour of which the Romans claim to

have been the originators, and which they certainly developed into a

branch of literature. Satire first signified a basket of first fruits

offered to Ceres; then a hotchpot or olla podrida, then a medley; and so

the name was given to poems written without any definite design. We

might therefore conclude that they possessed no uniform character, but

merely contained a mixture of miscellaneous matter. But we find in them

no allusions to politics or war, and but few to the literature and

philosophy of the day--their variety being due to their social

complexion. One feeling and character pervades them all--they were

called forth by a scornful indignation at the degeneracy of the age as

represented by the rich and powerful, or even by certain leading

individuals. The appearance of such a kind of literature denoted greater

activity in society, an increase of profligacy among some, and of moral

sensibility among others. Satire was a social scourge. It was not a

philosophical investigation into the nature and origin of vice, but a

denunciation of it as inimical to the interests of society. It was

practical not theoretical--and sought to bring vice into contempt, by

making it both odious and ridiculous. In the latter attempt, the

satirists may have had more success than we credit them with, for in our

day such virulent attacks would be distasteful, immorality being

regarded as essentially a matter for grave and serious condemnation.

Satire differs from abuse, not only in being declamatory, but in being

deserved. The amusement in it mostly depends upon the deformity of the

sensual, the failures of the wicked, and the exposure of guilt in a kind

of moral pillory. It did not aim at mere accidental losses or

imperfections, and made no fanciful accusations merely to amuse, but it

was often lightened by metaphor, by coined words, and especially by

exaggeration.

The satire of Rome, though in a certain sense new, seems to have been

somewhat derived from Greece. Ennius, who commenced it, a man younger

than Plautus and older than Terence, was himself half a Greek. He wrote

epic poems and comedies, and also introduced this comic literature for

private reading. Lucilius, who was the first eminent Roman satirist, is

said to have imitated the old Greek comedies. His attacks are very

severe and personal, reminding us a little of Archilochus, though

apparently not written to gratify any private spleen. The tendency to

personalities marked a time when the range of society and the tone of

thought were equally narrow. Moral depravity was considered to be

centred in a few individuals, and in the broken fragments of Lucilius'

rage, which have descended to us, we find a man stigmatised as an

"ulcer," "gangrene," a "poison," "jibber," "shuffler," "a hard-mouthed

obstinate brute." Sometimes he ridicules the bodily infirmities of the

depraved; but Lucilius' attacks seem less ill-natured and more justly

humorous from being always directed against the vicious and demoralised.

Occasionally he indulges in such uncomplimentary expressions as "There

is no flummery-maker equal to you," while some are hailed with "Long

life to you, glutton, gormandizer, and belly-god." He might truly say in

his metaphorical language, "I seize his beak and smash his lips,

Zopyrus' fashion, and knock out all his front teeth."

The satire of Horace was exceptionally mild; with him its social

character was much more marked than its acerbity. In many places he

shows Greek reflections, for he had received a liberal education, duly

completed at Athens. But his philosophy did not consist of dreamy

theories and arbitrary rules--it was directed to practical ends, to the

harmonizing of the feelings, and the elevation of society. As a man of

the world, he was not carried away by fancies, nor given to exaggerated

views; and as a companion of the great, he was not inclined to inveigh

bitterly against the degeneracy of the times. On the contrary, so kindly

were his feelings, that he tells us that we should overlook the vices of

our friends. His teaching, both in spirit and range, was broader than

that of his predecessors; his shafts were directed against classes

rather than individuals, and wherever he is more pointed, his object is

not to gratify personal spite, but to make his warning more forcible by

illustration. Moreover, his names are generally unreal. In this way he

attacks Nasidienus on the excessive luxury of the table, and his advice

was applicable not only to the rich and great, but to more ordinary men.

Thus, he shows the bad tendencies of avarice and love-intrigues, and the

meanness of sycophantism and legacy-hunting. Many of the faults he

condemns are rather errors in taste than serious moral delinquencies.

Sometimes he criticises merely trivial matters, such as a costume or a

scent. "Rufillus smells all perfumes, Gorgonius like a goat," and the

most humorous of his pieces is that in which he ridicules the ignorance

and impudence of a manoeuvring chatterer. But in this line he is not

very successful, and his contests of rival jesters are as much beneath

the notice of any good writer of the present day, as his account is of

Porcius, the jack-pudding "swallowing cakes whole."

Horace says that men are more impervious to slashing reproach than to

fine ridicule, and he was unusually adroit in hitting foibles without

inflicting pain. He was not a man who held strong opinions on subjects.

This is especially evident where he speaks of his own fickleness; and

while he reiterates his dislike of Rome, with its noise and bustle, he

makes his slave say that this is but affectation, and when an invitation

comes from Mecænas, "Mulvius and the 'scurræ' are turned out," from

which we learn that parasites had their parasites, and that Horace in

the country played the patron to the rustic wits.

Although the Romans generally have no claim to be called a humorous

people, many of them became celebrated for their talent in repartee.

Scipio Africanus Æmilianus above mentioned, was remarkable in this way,

as was Crassus, Granius, Vargula, and others. There was a good old joke

that Nasica having called at the house of the poet Ennius, and the

maid-servant having told him that Ennius was not at home, he perceived

she had said so by her master's order; and when, a few days afterwards,

Ennius called at Nasica's house, and inquired for him, Nasica cried out

that he was "not at home." "What!" says Ennius, "do I not know your

voice?" "You are an impudent fellow," replied Nasica, "I believed your

servant when she said you were not at home, and you will not believe

me."

A vein of humour seems to have run through the Cæsar family. Caius

Julius Cæsar Strabo Vopiscus was so noted for the gift that Cicero in

his work on Oratory makes him deliver his observations on the subject.

Julius Cæsar himself was as remarkable for pleasantry as for clemency.

His "Veni, vidi, vici," in which his enemies saw so much arrogance, was

no doubt intended and understood by his friends to be humorous. In his

youth he was accused of effeminate habits, and when on his obtaining the

entire command of Gaul, he said that he would now make his enemies his

suppliants, and a senator replied sarcastically, "That will not be an

easy task for a woman." He rejoined with gaiety, "Semiramis reigned in

Assyria, and the Amazons possessed a great part of Asia." We have

already seen him lamenting over the loss of comic force in Terence as

compared with Menander, and in the triumphal games given in his honour

in the year 45, he commanded Decimus Laberius, though a man of sixty, to

appear on the stage in the contest of wit. This knight was a composer of

mimes--a light kind of comedy, somewhat to be compared to the

"entertainments" given by humorists at the present day. Julius Cæsar

obliged him to perform in person--an act of degradation--but afterwards

gave him 500,000 sesterces, and restored him to his rank. This act of

Cæsar's has been regarded as having a political significance, but it may

merely have shown his love of humour. He may have wished to bring out

the talent of the new mime, Publius, a young Syrian, who had acquired

great celebrity both for beauty and wit. It is said that when his master

first took Publius to see his patron, the latter observed one of his

slaves, who was dropsical, lying in the sunshine, and asking him angrily

what he was doing there, Publius answered for him "Warming water." On

the same visit, in jesting after supper, the question was asked, "What

is a disagreeable repose?" When many had attempted answers, Publius

replied, "That of gouty feet."

Some of the sayings of Publius, have been preserved.

"He receives a benefit who gives to a worthy person."

"He to whom more than is just is allowed, wishes for more than he gets."

"A man who talks well on the road is as good as a carriage."

"He unjustly accuses Neptune who is ship-wrecked twice."

"By overlooking an old injury you invite a new one."

These sayings are of a worldly-wise and proverbial character, and,

therefore, as has been already observed, although not actually humorous,

are easily capable of being so regarded.

Cæsar awarded the prize to Publius instead of Laberius, because, as it

is supposed, of some reflections the latter made upon him. But it may

have been that Cæsar was right, and Publius' wit was the most salient.

Scarcely any specimens remain of Laberius' talent. Aulus Gellius says

that he coined many strange words, and he seems to have made

considerable use of alliteration.