ARTEMUS WARD.

Auckland Star, Volume LXV, Issue 147, 23 June 1934, Page 1 (Supplement)

ARTEMUS WARD.

AN AMERICAN "ORIGINAL"

CHANGES IN TASTE,

(By CYRANO.)

From time to time one comes upon curious illustrations of changes in popular taste, end the waxing and waning of reputations. A few -weeks ago I prepared to write an article on the centenary of Charles Farrar Browne, once known to all the world as Artemus Ward, but to my surprise I could not lay my hands on the material I wanted. Neither private nor public libraries nor book ehop3 yielded any books by a man whose name was once a household word. When I was young everybody knew the name of Artemus Ward, and at least scraps of his -writings. Many of us colonials became acquainted with him through "Cole's Fun Doctor." I put the idea of an article aside, to have it revived when tho "Times Literary Supplement" came with a frpnt page article upon him, and the correspondence columns of the daily "Times" furnished memories of thd far-off days when his lectures -were the talk of London.

His "Onparaleled Show." Nothing dates so markedly as humour. Burnand's punning articles of the 'eighties are boring to-day. Probably this accounts mostly for the decline in Artemus Ward's reputation. He was, in "The Times'" phrase, the earliest missionary among the British of that particular form of humour called American in the nineteenth century, a form provided by Mark Twain, Max Adeler and Josh Billings. It was in some respects a primitive form of humour and it came from a nation that was largely in the pioneering stage. Artemus Ward purported to write like an illiterate American villager—from the sort of back-woods community that was immortalised in "Tom Sawyer" and "Huckleberry Finn," but he was a man of some education, and he did not look the villager at all. Tom Robertson, the dramatist, described him as a 'slim gentleman ia evening dress, polished manners, and gentle voice, with a tone of good breeding that hovered between deference and jocosity." The sharp contrast between his appearance and his manner on the one hand, and his bad spelling and droll sayings, accounted for a good deal of his immense success as a lecturer. He pretended to have an "Onparaleled Show," which included

three moral Bares, a Kangaroo (an amoozin little Uaskal —'twould make you larf yerself to deth to see the little cuss jump up and squeal) wax Aggers of O. Washington Gen Tayler John Bunyan Capt Kidd and Dr 'Webster in the act of kUlin Dr. Tarkmii'n besides several miscellanyus moral wax'staloots el' celebrated pi ruts & murderers, &c., ckallcd by few & exceld by none.

A good deal of popular humour lias depended, among other things, on atrocious spelling. This doesn't seem very funny after all these years, but Ward was a genuine humorist. He exploited the public's liking for nonsense. Like Mark Twain, he graduated in newspaper work, and must have picked up in the raw, yeasty life of the time a good many ideas. One of his early stories concerned a boy who, having murdered his parents, begged the judge to consider the feelings of a poor orphan. Within tho last few days "The Times" has applied this story to Germany's latest attempt at financial default. The letter announcing the progress of his "show" towards a town is typical. He asks the editor of the local paper to print his hand-bills. "My perlitical sentiments agree with yourn exactly. I know they do, becawz I never saw a man whoos didn't. P.S.: You scratch my back. lie scratch your back." And look at the engaging humour in the description of a young man skilled in the use of a clasp-knife.

With that simple weapon he could make, from soft wood, horses, dogs, cats, etc. He carved excellent soldiers, also. I remember his masterpiece. It was "Napoleon crossing the Alps." Looking at it critically, X should say it was rather short of Alps. An Alp or two more would have Improved it; but, 11s a whole, it was a wonderful piece of work; and what a wonderful piece of work is a wooden man, when his legs and arms are all right. "The Times'" remark that the solemn generalisation at the end of this passage is idiotic, but so are the nonsense verses of Lewis Carroll. Artemus Ward called his first lecture "The Babes in the Wood." He explained that this sounded best, but he had thought of calling it "My Seven Grandmothers." A Word About Liberty. Artemus Ward disliked humbug in any form, but, as the "Times" remarks, he lacked the earnestness that made the "Biglow Papers" a permanent arsenal of brickbats. That he could be serious, however, the following passage shows: Iluv the Union—it is a Big thing—and It makes my hart bleed to see a lot of ornery people a-movin' heaven—no, not heaven, but the other place—and earth to bust it up. Too much good blud wa-s spilt in courtin and marryln that liily respectable female the Goddess of Liberty to git a divorce from her now. ... I tell you, feller citizens, it would have bin ten dollars in Jeff Davis' pocket if he'd never bin born !

How good :s the second sentence in this passage, and how applicable to-day! But, of course, we miss . in these quotations from a past age the personality of the author. It is this that must account for the enormous popularity of Artemus Ward on the platform. Harry Lauder helps one to realise what his presence must have been like. Harry has only to come tripping on to the stage and say, with that amazing chuckle of his, "Has anybody here seen McKay?" and the house is in a roar. " 'Ar-re ye a tour-r-ist?' he says. 'No,' I says, 'I'm a ploomber.'" That doesn't sound very funny in cold print, but it is really very funny as Harry says it. Artemus Ward's droll sayings, uttered with the gravest of countenances, and backcd by absurdities in sccncry and

properties, must have been equally diverting. He took London, including the aristocracy and the intelligentsia, by storm. "All London had gone mad over the now famous Mormon lecture, and the Egyptian Hall was literally mobbed all day long by men and women of all classes wanting tickets." So writes a survivor from that time. He also says that when tho lecturer advanced, hesitatingly, to meet the packed house, the audience burst into laughter. "I never understood why until many years later, when I saw Dan Leno looking at his audience in the same way and, like Artemus Ward, saying nothing." It is recorded of the great John Bright that he listened to Artemus Ward with grave attention, lightened only by a rare smile, and afterwards observed that many of the young man's statements appeared to be overdrawn and open to question. This seems as funny as any of the lecturer's quips. But Artemus Ward did more than amuse; he inspired real affection. When he died, James Bhoadcs wrote a poem with the haunting opening:—

Is he gone to a land of no laughter— l'his roan that made mirth for us all? and closed with these lines: For the man in our heart lingered after, When the merriment died I'rom our ears, And those who were loudest in laughter Are silent in tears. A Short Life. It was a short life. Charles Farrar Browne was born in 1834, and was not quite 33 when consumption carried him off. But he lived long enough to pass on tho torch to a greater man. Travelling in the Western States, he came upon Mark Twain, then a young journalist with no more than a local public. The two became friends, and Artemus Ward urged Mark Twain to try a wider field. As a result of an invitation to contribute to Artemus Ward's book of travels, Mark Twain wrote "The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County," the jest that gave him national recognition.

Time goes and taste changes. The humorous lecture as a form of entertainment has well-nigh disappeared. It belonged to an age that was not so lavishly provided with amusement as is thjs. The serious lecture by a celebrity has also declined in favour. Both Mark Twain and H. M. Stanley lectured in New Zealand, but to-day it does not seem to be worth while to send famous men to entertain us in this manner. American humour has changed. It is not the backwoodsmen who conquer the world now, but the comedians of Hollywood and the writers of comic strips. In literature the sophisticates have taken the place of Mark Twain and Bret Harte. Tho very title of Edith Wharton's "House of Mirth" is significant. The modem school has its humour, but its brew is generally bitter. A century and a half of Fourth of July orations and long draughts of heady prosperity and luxury have produced corrosive satire and relentless realism. "Mr. Doolcy" was tho last of the American humorists of the old school, and his books are out of print.