§ 28. There may have been times and nations where conversation was
regarded as so serious and important an engine of education, that sound
argument, brilliant illustration, and ample information, took the
highest place as qualities of talk. Perhaps they do in some cases now,
as, for example, everybody who knows him will concede to Mr. Gladstone
the palm as a very charming man in society by reason of these qualities.
But among hard-working and somewhat fatigued people, who have been
pursuing information of various kinds in all their working hours,
conversation must be of the nature of relaxation; it must be amusing
first, instructive afterwards, and so it is that nowadays no qualities,
however valuable, rank so high in popular estimation for social
purposes, as wit and humour.
I will not ascend to a philosophical analysis of these terms, or attempt
to answer the obscure and difficult question: What is it that makes us
laugh, and why we seem to have in this somewhat trivial point a special
feature distinguishing us from all the lower animals? They may have the
faculty of reason; they seem entirely devoid of the faculty of ridicule.
Nay, even in the scale of civilisation, it is remarkable that the savage
and the ignorant laugh less and understand less of this great fund of
enjoyment than civilised people. There are also, of course, national
differences. The English boor seldom laughs, and then at very coarse
fun; the Italian or the Irishman often, and very innocently; the modern
Greek, though highly intelligent and keen, very seldom, apparently from
want of taste for the ridiculous.
As regards the distinction between wit and humour, all I need here
insist upon is that the former consists in quick flashes, in prompt
repartee, in quaint comparison; while the latter is sustained; it is a
comic way of looking at serious things, a flavouring of narrative, a
perception of a ludicrous vein in human life and character. Both these
are now esteemed very highly, perhaps beyond their value, in society,
but they are so specially natural gifts, and are so impossible to attain
by practice, that they cannot be enjoined as conditions to which every
talker must conform; they can only be described, and their force or
weakness illustrated.
§ 29. There is nothing that requires to _appear_ spontaneous more
stringently than either of these qualities, and yet we read of great
wits, like Sheridan, who carefully prepared their sallies, and even
suborned some one to lead up to them. The effect of knowing this is to
detract greatly from the enjoyment of the company, and still more from
the reputation of the speaker. Most of us would say, that however
brilliant in writing comedies, Sheridan must have been distinctly
wanting in that gift of spontaneous and ready wit which flashes out at
the least provocation, and is mere intellectual playfulness, like the
playfulness of a young and happy animal.
So strongly do we feel this in Irish society, where wit is less uncommon
than elsewhere, and where it is no less highly prized, that a kind of
social religion warns us not to study it beforehand, and any one
suspected of coming out with prepared smart things is received by the
company with ridicule. Yet for all that, it cannot possibly be denied
that as most of the brilliant things which a man uses in any
conversation must be at second hand—to invent such things one after
another at the moment being beyond the power of human genius—they must
depend upon a good memory, and this may best be aided by having things
written down, which would else escape and be lost.
We should therefore conclude that every man who goes into society, and
has an inclination for that kind of conversation, ought to keep some
record of the happy trifles he hears upon various occasions. But it
seems, at least in Ireland, as if the repugnance to doing this amounted
to a conclusive argument against it. It is assumed that as surely as a
man has such a store, which he looks up beforehand, so surely will he
force the conversation towards his points, or bring them in when
irrelevant; and an irrelevant joke is hardly a real joke. I have known,
indeed, of a college Don having a note-book of wit in his pocket, and
peeping at it under the table to refresh his memory. This was regarded
as far the best joke about him, and the laughter before he spoke was
always greater than when he had sped his shaft. In actual society it has
never occurred to me to meet any one who has sustained a reputation for
wit in this way. We think that if the suggestion of the current
conversation is not strong enough to bring up a smart point naturally,
and without effort, it is better that it should be forgotten or unsaid.
Let me add the significant fact, that in spite of endless attempts, no
printed collection of jokes has ever attained even a decent position in
literature.[8]
Footnote 8:
I believe I should mention Dean Ramsay’s well-known book as an
exception.
So much for wit; the case of humour is slightly different.
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