Deal Me In Lite, Week 3: “My Double; And How He Undid Me” by
Edward Everett Hale
This week’s story was chosen by the four of hearts, my card
suit designated for humor (for some reason), which takes us to The Classic Humor Megapack, and to the
story “My Double; And How He Undid Me” by Edward Everett Hale.
Before I read this story and did some online research, I was
completely unfamiliar with the name and work of Edward Everett Hale. However, according to Wikipedia, he is one of
those authors who was pretty famous in his day, if not so much anymore. He came from a well-connected New England
family, and if his name sounds vaguely familiar, that’s because he had some
famous relatives. Hale’s father was the
nephew of Nathan Hale, the famous Revolutionary War hero executed by the
British for espionage (you probably have heard his most famous quote, “I only
regret that I have but one life to give for my country”). And Hale married into a well-connected New
England family, as his wife’s relatives on her mother’s side included the
famous Beechers (Harriet Beecher Stowe, and Henry Ward Beecher, among
others). He was also a minister in the
Unitarian church, and went on to become a writer of some renown, especially in
the realm of social reforms such as the abolitionist movement and religious
tolerance.
This story was first published in the Atlantic Monthly in 1859, and it was the first short story Hale
ever had published.
BUT.
This is a humorous short story that is not actually that
humorous, although I do worry that humor is one of those things that is very
much a product of the times in which it is produced. Just look at the universe of Internet memes
out there, including the one above, as an example of some of our modern
sensibilities. Of course, I am not
suggesting that humor cannot stand the test of time as other forms of writing
can, but I definitely think that it is a genre that becomes stale much quicker
than other genres.
What, for example, is the reader supposed to do with this
passage from Hale’s story:
The misery was and is,
as we found out, I and Polly, before long, that, besides the vision, and
besides the usual human and finite failures in life (such as breaking the old
pitcher that came over in the Mayflower, and putting into the fire the
alpenstock with which her father climbed Mont Blanc)—besides, these, I say
(imitating the style of Robinson Crusoe), there were pitchforked in on us a
great rowen-heap of humbugs, handed down from some unknown seed-time, in which
we were expected, and I chiefly, to fulfil certain public functions before the
community, of the character of those fulfilled by the third row of
supernumeraries who stand behind the Sepoys in the spectacle of the “Cataract
of the Ganges.”
Wait, what?
There SEEMS to be some humor there, just judging from the
writing style and allusions to things like an old pitcher that came over on the
Mayflower, but I confess I don’t see it.
The premise of this story is funny in itself, and it had the
promise of being pretty funny overall.
The protagonist is a minister who finds himself ever busier and busier
trying to fulfill all of his religious obligations with his congregation as
well as all of his civic obligations. He
wracks his brain trying to figure out some way to do everything he needs to do,
but comes up short – until one day, when he and his wife are on vacation and
they happen to see a man who, remarkably, is the spitting image of the
minister. So he sets about hiring this
man to work for him, and also arranges to have his hair and clothing altered so
as to become a passable double.
However, this man is not a learned minister, but an
uneducated and shiftless day-laborer, so to make sure he will be able to
function in society, the minister teaches him four phrases which, he thinks,
should suffice for all of the social settings in which the double may find
himself. The phrases are:
1. “Very well, thank
you. And you?”
2. “I am very glad you
liked it.”
3. “There has been so
much said, and, on the whole, so well said, that I will not occupy the time.”
4. “I agree, in
general, with my friend on the other side of the room.”
As I mentioned earlier, you can see the humor inherent in
this plot, and you can see how it is going to work out, as well. The double gets tried out at a variety of
functions, each more significant and perilous than the ones before, with fair
success. Then comes the biggest test of
all, in front of a huge gathering at which the Governor will be present, and at
which the minister assumes it will be practically impossible for the double to
get a word in edgewise. Predictably,
this turns out to not be so, and the double is the only one called on to
speak. He starts using the phrases in
awkward and embarrassing ways, gets flustered, and then goes completely “off
script,” causing a huge sensation and leading to the downfall of the minister
as referred to in the title.
You're a better reader than I if you got past THAT paragraph. Wow! That aside, I can see how the premise contained the potential for humor. The standard four phrases are great. I was reminded of how I've jokingly suggested three standard responses to all questions posed by auditors and bank examiners at my job. It's my "Rainman Approach" - each question is answered by either "ye-ah", "I dunno", or simply repeating the last few words of the question. I've never had the guts to try it out in practice, though. :-)
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed the history lesson in your post too. When I heard the name Hale, I was thinking of the famous telescope builder/astronomy benefactor of the ealry 1900's. of course, maybe he was a relation too. :-)
Rainman Approach -- I really have to remember that one. :-)
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