CHAPTER IX

_Authors, Scientists, Artists, and other Celebrities_

Immanuel Kant and His Hostess

The great philosopher was extremely careful about his dress. One day, having donned a new suit, he went for a walk, and in passing a house a careless servant threw some dish-water on him. He expressed his anger in a very lively fashion and went at once into the house from which the girl had come. The daughter of the house received him with many excuses, assuring him that all damage might be avoided if he would permit her to wash the spots off at once. Kant kept on scolding until the young woman had removed all traces of the mishap. She, who knew him very well, asked his name just for mischief, and when he had told her she said: “I am delighted, to have had this occasion to meet you.”

“I too am pleased to have made your acquaintance,” replied Kant, “but not with the occasion that brought it about.”

“Oh, but it is just the occasion that pleases me so much,” said the young woman, “for if anybody accuses me of vanity after this, because I am very particular about my clothes, I shall tell them that I am following the example of the great Kant.”

The Church Steeples

At an evening company a number of anecdotes were told of some great man. “I remember to have heard similar anecdotes of other great men,” said Kant, “but that is not surprising; great men are like church-steeples, around both is generally a great deal of wind.”

Goethe as a Skater

One day Goethe made one of a skating party. His mother and a friend were sitting in a sleigh watching the skaters. Goethe came up to them, took his mother’s long cloak off, hung it around himself, darted to and fro on the ice, cutting the funniest capers for some time before he brought it back to her.

Goethe as a Ghost

Goethe often bathed at night in the Ilm. One beautiful summer night, when the moon shone full on the poetic swimmer, a countryman on his way to Upper-Weimar, wanted to make a short cut, by climbing over the gate of the castle’s bridge. Goethe saw him and in one of his mad moods, which set Weimar so often in commotion, he uttered the most unearthly yells and shrieks, while jumping up and down in the water. Those terrible sounds coming from a white figure with long, floating black hair, terrified the countryman so much, that he turned and fled as if possessed.

Goethe’s Gallantry

One evening Wieland was reading aloud to a large company, assembled at the country house of the Dowager Duchess Amelia of Tiefurth. The reigning Duke, who had been out hunting, came in during the reading, found the room too warm and opened one of the windows. Some ladies thinly clad sat close to it. Goethe observing that they suffered, tiptoed to the window and shut it softly. The Duke turning around, saw that some one had resisted his wish. “Who has shut the window, that I opened?” he asked the servants, but not one dared to mention the culprit. Goethe however, stepped forward and with an arch gravity said: “Your Highness has the power of life and death over all your subjects. Upon me let judgment and sentence be pronounced.” The Duke laughed, but the window was not opened again.

Goethe or the Devil

Of another evening’s reading, Falk von Muller relates: Goethe had come in, unnoticed by anybody, and sat down close to the reader, with his back turned to the audience. After a while he offered to read. At first everything went beautifully; then he began to extemporize and his exuberant spirits getting the better of him, he put everybody out of countenance in one way or another. In a little fable, in doggerel verses, he likened me wittily enough, to a worthy turkey-hen, that sits on a great heap of eggs of her own and other people’s, and hatches them with great patience, but to whom it sometimes happens to have a china egg put under her instead of a real one, a trick at which she takes no offense.

“That is either Goethe or the devil,” cried I to Wieland, who sat opposite to me at the table.

“Both,” replied he; “he has the devil in him again to-day and he is like a wanton colt, that flings out before and behind, and you do well not to go too near him.” Years after, we often laughed over that evening’s performance.

Schiller’s Witty Reply

When a youth, Schiller learned to play the harp. A neighbor who did not like him, said to him one day: “Herr Schiller, you play the harp like David, only not as well.” “And you,” Schiller replied, quickly, “talk like Solomon, only not so wisely.”

Schiller’s Birthplace

In a company the conversation turned to Schiller. One lady confessed she did not know where Schiller was born. “For goodness sake, keep still, don’t let anybody hear you,” said her friend; “have you not read the poem: ‘I, too, was born in Arcadia’?”

The Difference

Bishop Ross, famous for his brilliant wit and fine humor, was discussing with some friends a new book, “Thoughts about Time and Eternity,” when some one, who found fault with the title, asked him to explain to him the difference between time and eternity. “If I took the time to explain that to you, it would take me an eternity to make you understand it,” was the bishop’s answer.

An Appropriate Text

During a celebration at Berlin, followed by the distribution of some orders, an old general asked Count Ross whether it was not very hard for clergymen always to find an appropriate Bible text, for sermons on special occasions. “Not as hard as you think,” replied the bishop, “we have our concordance and other books of help, which never fail us.”

“What text would be proper for the present celebration?”

“Oh, that is not hard; you will find it at the beginning of St. Matthew, at the birth of Christ, where the evangelist says of the three wise men: ‘And when they saw _the star_, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy.’”

A Flash of Wit

Carl Lachmann was famed for his witty answers. In 1828 he was called to Berlin as rector of the University. One time he was presiding at a meeting of the faculty. It had grown late and pretty dark, when H., the dean of the theological department, entered. On seeing him, Lachmann called to the usher: “Herr Schade, have the lights brought; darkness has entered.”

The Other Half

A colleague, who had married a wealthy woman, and who liked to show off, asked Lachmann: “What do you think the addition to my house has cost me?”

“Half,” was the dry, curt answer.

A Grave Joke

When a friend informed him of the death of the minister of finances, Lachmann said seriously: “Yes, death comes easy enough to such as he, but the likes of us must first give up his soul.”

Linné’s Revenge

Linné, the great naturalist, followed the principle of never taking notice of criticism. His bitterest opponent was Browall—a small light beside the great scientist. At first Browall’s behavior was very humble and modest, so Linné called a plant, of which only one species was known at that time “Browallia demissa” (demure or modest Browallia). Later on, after Browall had been advanced, he acted the high and mighty towards Linné, and he, having found a second species of his plant called it, “Browallia elata” (elated Browallia). At this Browall was very angry and wrote a great number of excited articles against Linné, who avenged himself further by naming a third species of the plant “Browallia alienata” (alienated Browallia). In this way he certainly took a lasting revenge, for this anecdote will live as long as botany lives.

Never Drank Water

When the poet Hagedorn was mortally ill, he asked his physician, what his illness was.

“Water, my dear Hagedorn, too much water in your breast.”

“Why, that’s entirely impossible,” replied Hagedorn; “I never drank, in all my life, a whole glass of water.”

A Great Advantage

A professor once undertook the hard task of translating Virgil into Greek and publishing it. In the announcement of his work he said: “_In gratiam corum, qui Latinam linguam non callent_” (For the benefit of those who do not understand Latin).

Thorwaldsen’s Teeth

A well-known sculptor quarreled one day with Thorwaldsen, and went so far as to place his own works above those of the latter. “You may tie my hands,” said Thorwaldsen, “and I will bite the marble with my teeth better than you can chisel it!”

Gone Crazy

A scientist asserts that all effervescent drinks, such as champagne, are nothing but fluids, gone crazy over the treatment they received at the factories, and foaming with rage.

Anything But His Medicine

Gottfried Kneller, a celebrated portrait painter, had a beautiful flower-garden. His neighbor, Dr. Ratcliff’s servant, came in so often to get flowers, that Kneller grew angry, and sent word to the doctor that he felt obliged to close up the gate. Ratcliff sent answer that he could do with it what he pleased, only he would not advise him to paint on it.

“Good,” said Kneller, “I’ll take anything of his as long as it is not medicine.”

Failed to Appreciate the Laugh

When the celebrated Professor Gesenius announced a lecture on the first book of Moses (Genesis) his always well-filled auditorium was crowded. All the students were waiting impatiently for what was to come. Punctual to the minute, Gesenius appeared, and opened his lecture with these words: “Gentlemen, the Genesis is not as old as you think.” This was the signal for shouts of laughter from his entire audience, but which was not meant to offend their honored lecturer, and we do not know whether he ever heard the reason for this merriment. Gesenius had five daughters, whom the students designated by the names of the five books of Moses—Genesis, Exodus, etc. The oldest was Genesis. Hinc ille risus! (Hence that laughter.)

Crebillon’s Choice

Crebillon was once asked why he chose the terrifying for the subjects of his tragedies. “I had no other choice left,” he replied. “Corneille took Heaven from me; Racine the Earth (world); so all that was left for me was Hades.”

Absent-minded

Neander, the great church historian, wanted a book that was on top of a high book shelf in his study. The step-ladder was not high enough, so he climbed from that to the top of the high, square porcelain stove to reach the coveted treasure. He dived into it at once, and grew so absorbed in the contents that he forgot to come down from his perch. His sister, Neander’s Hannchen, waited in vain for him to come to the afternoon coffee. Anxiously she hurried to the study but she did not discover him. Seeing the step-ladder leaning against the stove, and being of an orderly turn of mind, she put it in its place. Concluding that her brother must have gone out, she went back to her room.

But when hour after hour went by, and evening came, and Neander had not appeared, she grew quite alarmed. What dreadful thing might have happened to him! In the meantime he—who was so painfully missed—found that it was getting too dark on top of the stove to read any longer, so he concluded to come down from his high seat. But, alas! his retreat was cut off! In a distressed voice he called for his Hannchen, who delightedly hurried to his relief.

A Hard “Not”

A young author once handed to Professor Engel a drama, whose title was, “Such is Humanity,” asking him to give his opinion of it. Engel returned it shortly, saying: “I wrote my opinion down on it.” The author for some time looked in vain for the written criticism, but at last he found that Engel had added to the title the little word “not.”

A Frank Answer

Emperor Karl V, once asked Michel Angelo what he thought of Albrecht Dürer. The great painter answered: “If I were not Michel Angelo, I would rather be Albrecht Dürer than Karl V.”

Unbiased Opinion

Count D., a collector and somewhat conceited connoisseur of paintings, had a landscape in his gallery which he considered a great masterpiece. He showed it to a celebrated painter, asking his opinion of it, with these words: “Several people to whom I have shown it insist that it is a copy, but I’m blessed if I don’t horsewhip the next fellow who says so. Now, my dear friend, I want you to give me your candid opinion of it!”

An Interesting Pose

A young man wished to have his portrait painted.

“How do you wish to pose?” asked the artist.

“With a book in my hand, reading aloud.”

Altruism

A critic once boasted in company, of the power of his pen, and said, among other bright things, that artists owed their fame to him, as he distributed it.

“Indeed you do,” replied a witty woman, “and so generously, that there is not a particle left for yourself.”

Both May Be Mistaken

Voltaire, while living at Berlin, once praised the poet Haller very much. A gentleman present said: “You praise Haller, while he expresses himself very differently about you.”

“You are right,” returned Voltaire, “but possibly we are both mistaken.”

Very Slow

“What,” cried a young physician, seeing Voltaire drink coffee late at night, “you drink coffee? Why, coffee is a slow poison!”

“I believe you are right there; it must be a slow poison,” replied Voltaire, pouring out another cup, “since I have enjoyed it daily, for about sixty years.”

Stars in the Wrong Places

The great but timid astronomer, Schubert, once acted very awkwardly at a court function. Some one remarked how strange it was to see a great man like that act so strangely. A wag said sarcastically: “It, no doubt, confuses him to see so many stars in the wrong places,” referring to the medals on the gentlemen’s breasts.

All Score

Gellert, the writer of a number of our most beautiful hymns, wrote the following, of Haller’s poem “The Origin of Evil”:

“I read The Origin of Evil, in our Haller’s works, And determined, with some scores, To mark all interesting places. I read, I scored, read on, enjoyed it more, And when I finished, lo, it was all—score.”

Grillparzer and Hebbel

It would be hard to find two more different natures than those two authors and poets. Hebbel was a giant, full of self-consciousness and spiritual pride, classing himself with Shakespeare. Grillparzer was simple, painfully modest and retiring.

While both were at Vienna, Grillparzer was invited to meet Hebbel, at an evening company, which honor he declined with the following words:

“I have a great respect for what he writes, but, you see, I don’t feel at home near him. I am truly afraid of him. He is too clever for me. He often starts queer subjects to converse about. He is, for instance, fully capable of asking you: ‘What is God?’ Well, I don’t know, but he does. Now, since I cannot argue with him, I should have to sit there like a mute.”

A Sad Waste

Kästner once criticised a book like this:—“This book is printed on the worst kind of paper. What a pity to waste so much good paper!”

Slightly Misunderstood

A stranger in München asked a gentleman where the painter Kaulbach lived.

“Kaulbach? The painter Kaulbach?” said he. “I don’t know the man, but if you need a painter, I can recommend painter X. very much; he painted my landlord’s doors and windows very well and very cheap.”

Gotthold Ephraim Lessing

“Your book is full of donkey ears again,” said his father to the little Lessing.

“Why father, that book has a perfect right to donkey ears,” answered the future great dramatist and critic.

Forgot to Count the Money

Lessing once had a servant, of whose honesty he was warned repeatedly. For a long time he paid no attention to this, but finally he concluded to test the man. He told a friend that he had left some money on the table, to see whether their suspicions were well founded. “But did you count how much you put there?” asked the friend who knew Lessing’s absent-mindedness. Lessing looked at him startled; the need of counting it had never occurred to him.

Who He Was

One day Lessing entered an inn and sat down to write. The host came and asked him who he was. Lessing, intent on his writing, did not answer. Then the landlord came close to his side, looked over his paper and asked again harshly: “Who are you, sir; I wish to know!” Lessing turned around and said very seriously: “I am Lucas the Evangelist.” The saint, be it remembered, is always painted with an ox at his side.

Called Him Names

While Lessing was with Lichtenberg in Göttingen, they talked one time about genius. Lichtenberg said: “You are a genius!” To which Lessing replied: “I feel tempted to box the ears of anybody who calls me names like that.”

Absent-minded Men

Theodor Mommsen, the genial historian, when working, was oblivious to everything that happened about him. Once he had a servant who knew well how to take advantage of this. He served his master’s dinner in the study, and asked him to come to the table, but the professor paid not the slightest attention to him. A bright idea came to the man. He served the second course, took away the first, and ate it himself. He did the same with the second and third courses.

A few hours later, the professor began to feel the want of food, and going to the kitchen he asked, angrily: “Am I not to have anything to eat to-day?” “Why the professor has dined long ago,” answers the servant unblushingly, and Mommsen, cursing his absent-mindedness, went back to his work again.

Force of Habit

There are absent-minded physicians too. The physician of one of the princes was so busy, that he never found time to take care of his own health. Finally a virulent fever took hold of him. Absent-mindedly he felt his own pulse and muttered: “The fellow is lost; that comes from the stupidity of people who never will call in a doctor till it is too late.”

Will Call Again

The great Lessing too was often absent-minded in the last years of his life. One evening he knocked at his own house door. The servant not recognizing him in the dark called from a window: “The professor is not at home.”

“All right, it does not matter,” returned Lessing, “I’ll call again some other time.”

Saphiriana

(_How the great humorist came by his name._)

Saphir’s grandfather’s name was Israel Israel. Emperor Joseph ordered that all Jews should take a permanent surname. Old Israel, when summoned before the magistrate was very undecided, so the man of law and justice, in order to make short work of it, said: “You are wearing a ring with a sapphire. Your name shall be Saphir. That settles it. No contradicting or——”

This “or” was accompanied by a certain look at two policemen. So this “or” is the cause of the humorist’s name.

Lend and Forget

Saphir was once asked by Baron Rothschild to write something in his album. Saphir wrote: “Lend me 100 Louis d’or and forget, forever your friend,

M. G. SAPHIR.”

Saphir’s Witty Reply

An indifferent, but very arrogant author said once:—“My works will be read when Schiller and Goethe are long forgotten.”

“Certainly, not before that,” was Saphir’s quick reply.

Case Not Parallel

Once an author came to Saphir with the manuscript of a comedy he wished to read to him, and said:—“You know, sir, that whenever Molière finished one of his comedies, he read it to an old woman in his service, thinking that whatever would make her laugh, would have the same effect on an audience. So in reading mine to you, I have no doubt that if it pleases you, it will please the public.” “Thanks for your compliment, but since you are not Molière, permit me to decline to play your old woman,” was Saphir’s reply.

A Painter’s Stick

Some one spoke of a clever young woman, who had great talent for painting, and who had recently married a fool. “If she does a great deal of painting,” said Saphir, “I am not surprised that she took a stick!”

According to His Need

Saphir once had a wordy battle with an author. The latter, who envied the famous humorist, said: “You write for money only, while I write for honor.” “Every one of us writes for what he needs most,” was Saphir’s rejoinder.

Heinrich Heine

The first great wave of admiration brought to Heine also a host of cavillers and doubters of his genius.

Young Levin, brother of Rahel Varnhagen, once told Heine, partly in fun, partly seriously, that his poems particularly, did not deserve the extravagant praise everybody bestowed on them, and that their chief charm lay in the quick transition from the highly pathetic to the trivial, and that anybody who had caught the trick could imitate them very easily.

“Well, compose a poem à la Heine,” said the poet laughingly. “I am not afraid of your competition.”

Next day his friend returned, handing him the manuscript of a lyric poem:

“Sie gab mir bei ihren Tode Ein blasses, blaues Band— Es liegt in meiner Commode Im Schube rechter hand.”

(“She gave me while dying A pale blue bow— In my desk it is lying To this day, just so!”)

This was what Heine read, and falling on his friend’s neck in comical despair, cried:—“If you publish that I am lost!” declaring himself vanquished by this pretended take-off.

To the End

During the last days of his life, a friend visited him at Paris, and entered just as two nurses carried him to a fresh bed.

“How are you, Heinrich?” asked his friend.

“Very well,” replied Heine; “you see the women still carry me on their hands.”

Alexander von Humboldt

When Humboldt was made honorary citizen of Berlin, he made the customary visits of thanks to all the city fathers. In his round he came to the house of an elderly councilman, who hurried down-stairs in his lounging robe and received his distinguished guest at the carriage door, with the explanation that he would never permit the venerable gentleman to climb the stairs in his behalf. At the same time, he was not going to deny himself the honor of a conversation. So he climbed into the carriage, exchanged with Humboldt for a quarter of an hour the usual courtesies, and ended his visit by slipping back into his house, calling to the coachman “to go on.”

A Famous Climber

While living at Paris, Heine’s apartments were on the fifth floor. One day on returning home, his wife met him at the door and told him reproachfully that an old gentleman had been there to see him; she was very sorry that the poor old man had climbed all those stairs for nothing. Heine looked at the visiting card. “You may comfort yourself, dear child; that man has climbed way above us.” It was the card of Alexander von Humboldt.

An Unexpected Find

One afternoon Humboldt was walking through one of the markets at Berlin, when his eye was attracted to one of the stalls, where a pair of beautiful pistols, inlaid with mother of pearl and of rare old workmanship, were exhibited. He bought them at the price of ten thalers, and on his return home he made the interesting discovery that one of the papers used for wrapping was a leaf from an old “book on herbs,” the work of one of the earliest printers. To save from utter destruction a priceless treasure, Humboldt returned at once into the region of second-hand clothes-shops. For some time he could not find the man who had sold him the pistols, as all the dealers thought he had come to return them. Only when he declared that he had come to return a thaler given to him above his change, they all came from their shops, surrounded him and clamored for the money. They grew so offensive that Humboldt raised his pistols, which had the effect of making them take to their heels and also brought the real former owner, who told him to put the old shooting irons in his pocket, as they were not loaded, and to give him the money. Humboldt followed him into his shop and asked for the book from which the leaf was torn. He soon discovered that with the exception of a few leaves, the book bound in pigskin was intact, and one of the rarest of its kind. Asked for the price of the book, the dealer in old clothes took a pair of patched trousers from a hook and said:—“Give me four thalers and you shall have this beautiful pair of trousers into the bargain. You will look swell in them next Sunday.” The bargain was closed, but Humboldt declined the addition of old clothes. Whenever the great naturalist afterwards showed the treasures of his library to his friends, he never omitted to tell the story of how he acquired the “book on herbs.”

Murder Will Out

Having just recovered from a severe illness, the amiable author of fairy tales, Musäus, was invited out to a dinner. Everybody there was pleased to see him looking so well, and congratulated him on his recovery; but at last his wife could keep silent no longer and confessed that he only looked so well, because he had used her rouge when dressing.

“Well, the murder is out,” said Musäus; “do you feel better now? Yes, I did paint myself red, because I dislike being pitied on account of my illness, and would rather be envied for my healthy looks. But since my wife is such a tell-tale, I shall not keep silent either, and will tell you of a bright remark she made, a short time ago, while we were driving to Erfurt. We were passing a field of flax in full bloom and I said: ‘See how beautifully blue the flax is!’ At this my wife points to the field next to it and says, just to show her extraordinary knowledge of farming: ‘Yes, but the _tow_ in the next field is looking fine too.’”

Johann Heinrich Pestalozzi

One day the great pedagogue was obliged to borrow five hundred gulden from his friend, the burgomaster of Aarau. On his way home to Neuhof, he met a poor man, who told him that his barn had burned down and that he had been to Aarau to borrow the money to rebuild it, but had met with no success. What was the philanthropist to do! He gave the man the five hundred gulden. Of course it was necessary to return to his friend and borrow the same sum over again, and also to ask him to look the family up, but—now he came to think of it—he had never even asked the man’s name.

Taken for a Tramp

Several times Pestalozzi, on account of his negligent appearance, was taken for a tramp and locked up, once at Bern, and later on at Solothurn; at both places he was taken to the hospital. At Bern, Baron von Fellenberg, to whom he sent a note, hastened to the hospital to explain the error made and secure his release. Pestalozzi comforted his distressed friend by telling him that he had had a very good bed and an excellent soup. In Solothurn, they put him in a room with a barred window, from which, luckily, he saw the friend he was to visit, and by calling to him, told him of his plight. “But, for goodness’ sake, Pestalozzi, what did they lock you up for?” asked his liberator.

“Oh well,” replied he, “they took me for a fool or a rogue.”

Caught for a Thief

Another time Pestalozzi was caught by a guard, just as he had climbed into an orchard and picked up a fallen pear. The looks of the poorly dressed stranger justified the man’s action, who collared him and took him to the village lock-up which was in the schoolhouse. As luck would have it, the magistrate had read Pestalozzi’s “Lienhart and Gertrud,” and set the author at liberty with many excuses. On leaving the great pedagogue said: “In future, do not lock up old rogues in your schoolhouse or you will have young ones come from it.”

His Awkwardness

One day Pestalozzi was at a large dinner. He wished to be gallant, and, on offering a dish to his neighbor on the right, a lady dressed very elaborately, emptied the contents of it over her silk dress. To excuse himself he rose, and his hasty movement caused his spur to catch in the dress of his neighbor to the left, tearing it badly. This was more than he could stand. With one bound he rushed to the door, hurried down-stairs, out to the stable, mounted his horse and galloped off.

Melanchthon’s Hobby

Philipp Melanchthon’s hobby was palmistry. One day he dined with one of Wittenberg’s councilmen. The infant of the family was shown to him, and Melanchthon was ready at once to prove his skill. He took the tiny hand and said: “This child will be a great theologian.”

“What a pity that it is a girl!” exclaimed the father, while all present smiled.

Invited Himself to Dinner

Superintendent Lohmann once visited his friend, the song writer, Pastor Hülsemann, of Elsey, Westphalia. Lohmann finding the door open entered the house. The parson was not in his study, but down-stairs in the kitchen he heard the parson’s wife. Lohmann, full of fun, as usual, called down-stairs in his friend’s voice, imitated to perfection: “Riekchen!”

“What is it?”

“Lohmann, from Wesel, is here; see that we have a good dinner.”

“What, is that slow old fellow here again? I wish the idiot would stay at home!”

Lohmann said nothing, but went back to the study. Soon after, his friend returned home and was very glad to see his dear friend, the visitor. Having no idea, of course, of what had happened, he went down-stairs to tell his wife Riekchen, that there would be a guest for dinner. Entering the kitchen, he said: “Lohmann is here.”

“You’ve told me that once before.”

“What! I told you? Why, I have only just now entered the house.”

One can imagine the greetings at dinner when the parties met; one rather embarrassed; the other ready to burst with merriment.

Sedan and Ses Dents

Pius IX possessed a fondness for humor, even when the occasion was a disagreeable one. When the news was brought to him that the French had lost Sedan, he cried: “Hélas, Napoleon a perdu ses dents!” Napoleon has lost his teeth (meaning, he will bite no more).

The Rothschilds

During the panic in the money market of 1866, the agent of a money-lending concern came to Baron Rothschild and begged him to advance them some money; but was promptly refused.

“Oh, but you have always helped us before,” wailed the agent.

“I know it.”

“You lent us some money only a few days ago.”

“That is true also.”

“Then, why do you refuse it now?”

“Well, you see, the Jewish law forbids to lend money to any one in extremity.”

Wanted to Keep on Growing Old

Frau Rothschild lived to be eighty-nine years old, and, to the last, she retained not only her faculties, but also her much-dreaded wit. In her last illness she whispered to her physician: “Dear Doctor, do try to do something for me.”

“What can I do?” replied the physician, “I can’t make you young again.”

“I don’t want you to; I only want to keep on growing old.”

Risked Life for Wealth

In 1820, the head of the house of Rothschild, at Paris, was severely injured by a fall from his horse. In order to save the wealthy man’s life the celebrated surgeon, Dupuytren, was called upon to perform a difficult and dangerous operation.

The operation was successful, and was barely finished, when a letter was brought to the surgeon, who, on reading it, gave a cry of astonishment.

“What is it?” asked Rothschild, in a weak voice.

“I must leave you at once!” cried Dupuytren; “you will excuse me; the Duke de Berry has just been assassinated at the opera!” With these words he rushed off.

Against the surgeon’s order, Rothschild managed to drag himself from his bed; reached, by great exertion, the bell-rope; and rang.

Servants came running from all directions, and he ordered them to send at once for his bookkeeper, his cashier, his agents. Several appeared within a few minutes. He cried: “Sell! Sell everything, and at once!”

His prompt action saved his house from a catastrophe, as stocks went way down. But his imprudence made his recovery very slow, as it confined him to his bed for weeks longer.

Saved His New Hat

The famous sculptor, Schadow, and Minister von Schuckmann were both frequent visitors at a Berlin club. The former always went home early, while the minister was generally the last to leave, and had his carriage call for him.

One evening the minister was the very last one again, and found in the dressing-room only one hat. Now his own hat was old and worn and this one was brand new. There was nothing to do—as he did not wish to drive home bare-headed—but to wear the strange hat. Although the rain was pouring down hard, it would not hurt the hat in the carriage.

Early the next morning, while the minister was still in bed, his footman brought him his old hat and a note. It was from Schadow, saying: “I bought a new hat yesterday morning. When I was leaving the club last night it rained hard, and as I did not wish to spoil my new hat, I took yours, knowing that your Excellency would drive mine home unharmed.”

No Great Art

At a company, some one mentioned that a famous Dutch painter could, with one stroke of his brush, change a laughing child’s face into a crying one. “Pshaw, that’s no great art; I can do that with a broomstick!” was another’s dry remark.

Style Neutral

A Jewish country merchant was in Frankfurt on business, and decided to have a new suit made while there. The tailor took his measure and asked: “Do you wish the coat made English, French, or German style?” “Make it nice and modern, but quite neutral; I wish to live with the whole world in peace,” was the Jew’s reply.

A Bit of Diplomacy

A rich Jew asked a poor Jew to dinner. Fish was served, and the rich man gave the poor man the smallest. He picked at them with his fork, without eating any, and mumbled the while in his beard. The rich man watched him for some time, and then asked:

“Why don’t you eat? What are you doing with the fishes?”

“Excuse me,” said the other, “I was talking to the fish.”

“Well, what about?”

“I had a brother who was drowned some years ago, and we could not find him in the water; so I was asking the fishes if they could tell me something about him.”

“What do they say?”

“That they were still too small to know anything about it; that I should ask the big ones.”

Ashamed, the rich man filled his plate with large fish.

No Cause for Weeping

A Jew cried bitterly, when during the day of atonement, the rabbi, chanting the psalm of penitence, came to the place: “Dust thou art, to dust thou shalt return.”

“Schmul, why dost thou weep?” asked his neighbor, trying to comfort him. “If thou wert gold, and had to turn to dust, thou would’st lose one hundred per cent. But since thou art dust and returnest to dust, thou gainest nothing and losest nothing.”

Her Private Voice

A wealthy Jewish society man, of Frankfurt, sat one evening at the opera, in which a foreign singer made her _début_. Next to him sat a lady whom he knew slightly. He asked her very soon, how she liked the singer, and to her favorable comment said: “Oh, I have heard her sing better; she dined at my house yesterday and sang afterwards. Ah; if you could hear her beautiful _private_ voice!”