"I'm afraid there's a mistake somewhere. What are you
singing?"
HARRIS (PROMPTLY): "Why the Judge's song out of Trial by Jury. Don't you
know it?"
SOME FRIEND OF HARRIS'S (FROM THE BACK OF THE ROOM): "No, you're not, you
chuckle-head, you're singing the Admiral's song from PINAFORE."
[Long argument between Harris and Harris's friend as to what Harris is
really singing. Friend finally suggests that it doesn't matter what
Harris is singing so long as Harris gets on and sings it, and Harris,
with an evident sense of injustice rankling inside him, requests pianist
to begin again. Pianist, thereupon, starts prelude to the Admiral's
song, and Harris, seizing what he considers to be a favourable opening in
the music, begins.]
HARRIS:
" `When I was young and called to the Bar.' "
[GENERAL ROAR OF LAUGHTER, TAKEN BY HARRIS AS A COMPLIMENT. PIANIST,
THINKING OF HIS WIFE AND FAMILY, GIVES UP THE UNEQUAL CONTEST AND
RETIRES; HIS PLACE BEING TAKEN BY A STRONGER-NERVED MAN.
THE NEW PIANIST (CHEERILY): "Now then, old man, you start off, and I'll
follow. We won't bother about any prelude."
HARRIS (UPON WHOM THE EXPLANATION OF MATTERS HAS SLOWLY DAWNED -
LAUGHING): "By Jove! I beg your pardon. Of course - I've been mixing up
the two songs. It was Jenkins confused me, you know. Now then.
[SINGING; HIS VOICE APPEARING TO COME FROM THE CELLAR, AND SUGGESTING THE
FIRST LOW WARNINGS OF AN APPROACHING EARTHQUAKE.
" `When I was young I served a term
As office-boy to an attorney's firm.'
(Aside to pianist): "It is too low, old man; we'll have that over again,
if you don't mind."
[SINGS FIRST TWO LINES OVER AGAIN, IN A HIGH FALSETTO THIS TIME. GREAT
SURPRISE ON THE PART OF THE AUDIENCE. NERVOUS OLD LADY NEAR THE FIRE
BEGINS TO CRY, AND HAS TO BE LED OUT.]
HARRIS (continuing):
"I swept the windows and I swept the door,
And I - `
No - no, I cleaned the windows of the big front door. And I polished up
the floor - no, dash it - I beg your pardon - funny thing, I can't think
of that line. And I - and I - Oh, well, we'll get on to the chorus, and
chance it (SINGS):
`And I diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-de,
Till now I am the ruler of the Queen's navee.'
Now then, chorus - it is the last two lines repeated, you know.
GENERAL CHORUS:
"And he diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-dee'd,
Till now he is the ruler of the Queen's navee."
And Harris never sees what an ass he is making of himself, and how he is
annoying a lot of people who never did him any harm. He honestly
imagines that he has given them a treat, and says he will sing another
comic song after supper.
Speaking of comic songs and parties, reminds me of a rather curious
incident at which I once assisted; which, as it throws much light upon
the inner mental working of human nature in general, ought, I think, to
be recorded in these pages.
We were a fashionable and highly cultured party. We had on our best
clothes, and we talked pretty, and were very happy - all except two young
fellows, students, just returned from Germany, commonplace young men, who
seemed restless and uncomfortable, as if they found the proceedings slow.
The truth was, we were too clever for them. Our brilliant but polished
conversation, and our high-class tastes, were beyond them. They were out
of place, among us. They never ought to have been there at all.
Everybody agreed upon that, later on.
We played MORCEAUX from the old German masters. We discussed philosophy
and ethics. We flirted with graceful dignity. We were even humorous -
in a high-class way.
Somebody recited a French poem after supper, and we said it was
beautiful; and then a lady sang a sentimental ballad in Spanish, and it
made one or two of us weep - it was so pathetic.
And then those two young men got up, and asked us if we had ever heard
Herr Slossenn Boschen (who had just arrived, and was then down in the
supper-room) sing his great German comic song.
None of us had heard it, that we could remember.
The young men said it was the funniest song that had ever been written,
and that, if we liked, they would get Herr Slossenn Boschen, whom they
knew very well, to sing it. They said it was so funny that, when Herr
Slossenn Boschen had sung it once before the German Emperor, he (the
German Emperor) had had to be carried off to bed.
They said nobody could sing it like Herr Slossenn Boschen; he was so
intensely serious all through it that you might fancy he was reciting a
tragedy, and that, of course, made it all the funnier. They said he
never once suggested by his tone or manner that he was singing anything
funny - that would spoil it. It was his air of seriousness, almost of
pathos, that made it so irresistibly amusing.
We said we yearned to hear it, that we wanted a good laugh; and they went
downstairs, and fetched Herr Slossenn Boschen.
He appeared to be quite pleased to sing it, for he came up at once, and
sat down to the piano without another word.
"Oh, it will amuse you. You will laugh," whispered the two young men, as
they passed through the room, and took up an unobtrusive position behind
the Professor's back.
Herr Slossenn Boschen accompanied himself. The prelude did not suggest a
comic song exactly. It was a weird, soulful air. It quite made one's
flesh creep; but we murmured to one another that it was the German
method, and prepared to enjoy it.
I don't understand German myself. I learned it at school, but forgot
every word of it two years after I had left, and have felt much better
ever since.
