1896.] on the Theory of the Ludicrous. 105 



may be abused. There is notbing more diabolical — in the strictest 

 sense of the word — than to turn into ridicule " whatsoever things are 

 true, w^hatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, what- 

 soever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever 

 things are of good report." There is no more detestable occupation 

 than that of " sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer." But it 

 is a maxim of jurisprudence, Ahusus non tollit usum. And this 

 holds universally. No; the abuse of the Ludicrous does not take 

 away its uses. Those proper, healthy and legitimate uses are 

 obvious. And very few words will suffice for such of them as I can 

 here touch on. Now one office of the Ludicrous is to lighten " the 

 burden and the mystery of all this unintelligible world." Beaumar- 

 chais has indicated it in his well-known saying : " I make haste to 

 laugh at everything for fear of being obliged to weep." I remember 

 a story of the late Lord Houghton meeting some obscure author who 

 had given to the world a play, and exclaiming, with his usual bon- 

 homie, " Ah ! Mr. So-and-So, I am so glad to make your acquaintance : 

 I remember reading your tragedy with great interest." " Tragedy ! " 

 the other explained in dismay : " no, no ; it was a comedy." " God 

 bless my soul," Houghton replied, " I thought it was a tragedy ; 

 please forgive me." Well, " life's poor play " is tragedy or comedy, 

 as you take it. It is best not to take it a? tragedy, at all events too 

 habitually. A certain novelist, I forget who, says of a certain lady 

 who adorns his pages, I forget her name, that on a certain occasion, 

 I forget what, " not knowing whether to laugh or cry, she chose the 

 better part, and laughed." It is the better part. And one office of 

 Humour — to speak only of that variety of the Ludicrous — is to show 

 us the folly of quarrelling with such life as we have here. Ah, it is 

 so easy to strip oif the illusions of human existence ! And so foolish ! 

 Yes ; and may we not add, so ungrateful ? For, assuredly, the 

 Almighty Hand which has hung the veil of Maya over the darker 

 realities of life, was impelled by pity for the "purblind race of 

 miserable men." Illusions ! what would the world be without them ? 

 And it is the function of the humourist to teach us to enjoy them 

 wisely ; to lead us to make the most of life's poor play, while it lasts ; 

 which assuredly we shall not do if we are for ever examining too 

 curiously the tinsel and tawdry which deck it out, if we are for ever 

 thinking of the final droj) of the curtain upon " the painted simulation 

 of the scene," and the extinguishment of the lights for ever. Memento 

 mori is undoubtedly a most wholesome maxim. So is Disce vivere. 

 " Ah, mon enfant," said the old priest, touching lightly with his 

 withered hand the blooming cheek of the young girl, too vain of her 

 pretty face, " Ah, mon enfant, tout cela pourrira." " Oui, mon pere," 

 she replied, naively, " mais ce n'est pas encore pourri." Well, they 

 were both right, the sage confessor and the silly coquette. And we 

 may learn a lesson from them both. There is an admirable saying of 

 Joubert, " L'illusion et la sagessc reunics sout le charmc dc la vie et 

 de I'art." 



