"Counsel stated that the prisoner's mother was in court. Later
he informed the Judge that he had made a mistake; it was the
prisoner's mother-in-law. A general laugh throughout the court
followed this 'correction.'"
We have here in a nutshell the case for traditional communal humour,
and once again we are set to wondering why--except possibly to allay
some whimsical twinges of self-respect--dramatists ever try to
invent new jokes at all. Even more are we set to wondering why this
particular joke never fails.
In the present case the injustice done to an honourable class of
women--that is to say, those who provide lovers with their loves (for
that is how these relationships begin)--was the greater because no
doubt, when the laughter had subsided a little, every eye sought
for the lady in question. Normally we have not the opportunity
of visualising the butt at all. It is enough that she should
be mentioned. Nor would any grotesque details in her costume or
physiognomy make the joke appreciably better. It requires no such
assistance; it is rich enough without them; to possess a married
daughter is all that is necessary to cause gusts of joyful mirth.
That it is not the lady herself who is funny could--no matter how
Gothic her figure--be proved in a moment by placing her in the
witness-box and asking her to state her relationship to the prisoner's
wife. She would say, "I am her mother," and nothing would happen. But
if the question were, "What is your relationship to the prisoner?" and
she replied, "I am his mother-in-law," sides would split. Similarly
one can imagine that if the husband's reply to the counsel's question,
"Who was with you?" had been, "My wife was with me," there would have
been no risible reaction whatever; but if the reply had been, "My
wife's mother was with me," the place would have been convulsed. Of
course the true artist in effect would never say, "My wife's mother,"
but "My mother-in-law." It is the "in-law" that is so exquisitely
amusing and irresistible.
But both would be the same person: the gravest thing on earth,
it might be, in every other respect--even sad and dignified--but
ludicrous because her daughter happened to have found a husband.
To inquire why the bare mention of the mother of a man's wife should
excite merriment is to find oneself instantly deep in sociology--and
in some of its seamiest strata too. While exploring them one would
make the odd discovery that, whereas the humour that surrounds
and saturates the idea of a wife possessing a maternal relative
is inexhaustible, there is nothing laughable about the mother of a
husband. A wife can talk of her husband's mother all day and never
have the reputation of a wit, whereas her husband has but to mention
her mother and he is the rival of the Robeys.
As for fathers-in-law, low comedians would starve if they had to
depend on the help that fathers-in-law give them. Fathers-in-law do
not exist. Nor do brothers-in-law or sisters-in-law, except as facts;
but the joke is that they can be far more interfering (interference
being at the root of the matter, I take it) than anyone in the world.
It is the brother-in-law who knows of absolutely safe gilt-edged
investments (which rarely succeed), and has to be helped while waiting
for something to turn up; it is the sister-in-law who is so firmly
convinced that dear Clara (her brother's wife) is spoiling the
children. But both escape; while many really charming old ladies,
to whom their sons-in-law are devoted, continue to be riddled by the
world's satirical bullets.
What is to be done about it? Nothing. Only the destruction of the
institution of marriage could affect it.