my discovery of england-第24节

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　（which　is　where　the　philosophical　societies　flourish）　there　is　always　a　drizzling　rain　and　wet　slop　underfoot；　a　bedraggled　poverty　in　the　streets；　and　a　dimness　of　lights　that　contrasts　with　the　glare　of　light　in　an　American　town。　　There　is　no　visible　sign　in　the　town　that　a　lecture　is　to　happen；　no　placards；　no　advertisements；　nothing。　The　lecturer　is　conducted　by　a　chairman　through　a　side　door　in　a　dingy　building　（The　Institute；　established　1840）；　and　then　all　of　a　sudden　in　a　huge；　dim　hallthere　sits　the　Philosophical　Society。　There　are　a　thousand　of　them；　but　they　sit　as　quiet　as　a　prayer　meeting。　They　are　waiting　to　be　fedon　information。

Now　I　don't　mean　to　say　that　the　Philosophical　Society　are　not　a　good　audience。　In　their　own　way　they're　all　right。　Once　the　Philosophical　Society　has　decided　that　a　lecture　is　humorous　they　do　not　stint　their　laughter。　I　have　had　many　times　the　satisfaction　of　seeing　a　Philosophical　Society　swept　away　from　its　moorings　and　tossing　in　a　sea　of　laughter；　as　generous　and　as　whole…hearted　as　anything　we　ever　see　in　America。

But　they　are　not　so　willing　to　begin。　With　us　the　chairman　has　only　to　say　to　the　gaily　dressed　members　of　the　Ladies'　Fortnightly　Club；　〃Well；　ladies；　I'm　sure　we　are　all　looking　forward　very　much　to　Mr。　Walpole's　lecture；〃　and　at　once　there　is　a　ripple　of　applause；　and　a　responsive　expression　on　a　hundred　charming　faces。

Not　so　the　Philosophical　Society　of　the　Midlands。　The　chairman　rises。　He　doesn't　call　for　silence。　It　is　there；　thick。　〃We　have　with　us　to…night；〃　he　says；　〃a　man　whose　name　is　well　known　to　the　Philosophical　Society〃　（here　he　looks　at　his　card）；　〃Mr。　Stephen　Leacock。〃　（Complete　silence。）　〃He　is　a　professor　of　political　economy　at〃　Here　he　turns　to　me　and　says；　〃Which　college　did　you　say？〃　I　answer　quite　audibly　in　the　silence；　〃At　McGill。〃　〃He　is　at　McGill；〃　says　the　chairman。　（More　silence。）　〃I　don't　suppose；　however；　ladies　and　gentlemen；　that　he's　come　here　to　talk　about　political　economy。〃　This　is　meant　as　a　jest；　but　the　audience　takes　it　as　a　threat。　〃However；　ladies　and　gentlemen；　you　haven't　come　here　to　listen　to　me〃　（this　evokes　applause；　the　first　of　the　evening）；　〃so　without　more　ado〃　（the　man　always　has　the　impression　that　there's　been　a　lot　of　〃ado；〃　but　I　never　see　any　of　it）　〃I'll　now　introduce　Mr。　Leacock。〃　（Complete　silence。）

Nothing　of　which　means　the　least　harm。　It　only　implies　that　the　Philosophical　Society　are　true　philosophers　in　accepting　nothing　unproved。　They　are　like　the　man　from　Missouri。　They　want　to　be　shown。　And　undoubtedly　it　takes　a　little　time；　therefore；　to　rouse　them。　I　remember　listening　with　great　interest　to　Sir　Michael　Sadler；　who　is　possessed　of　a　very　neat　wit；　introducing　me　at　Leeds。　He　threw　three　jokes；　one　after　the　other；　into　the　heart　of　a　huge；　silent　audience　without　effect。　He　might　as　well　have　thrown　soap　bubbles。　But　the　fourth　joke　broke　fair　and　square　like　a　bomb　in　the　middle　of　the　Philosophical　Society　and　exploded　them　into　convulsions。　The　process　is　very　like　what　artillery　men　tell　of　〃bracketing〃　the　object　fired　at；　and　then　landing　fairly　on　it。

In　what　I　have　just　written　about　audiences　I　have　purposely　been　using　the　word　English　and　not　British；　for　it　does　not　in　the　least　apply　to　the　Scotch。　There　is；　for　a　humorous　lecturer；　no　better　audience　in　the　world　than　a　Scotch　audience。　The　old　standing　joke　about　the　Scotch　sense　of　humour　is　mere　nonsense。　Yet　one　finds　it　everywhere。

〃So　you're　going　to　try　to　take　humour　up　to　Scotland；〃　the　most　eminent　author　in　England　said　to　me。　〃Well；　the　Lord　help　you。　You'd　better　take　an　axe　with　you　to　open　their　skulls；　there　is　no　other　way。〃　How　this　legend　started　I　don't　know；　but　I　think　it　is　because　the　English　are　jealous　of　the　Scotch。　They　got　into　the　Union　with　them　in　1707　and　they　can't　get　out。　The　Scotch　don't　want　Home　Rule；　or　Swa　Raj；　or　Dominion　status；　or　anything；　they　just　want　the　English。　When　they　want　money　they　go　to　London　and　make　it；　if　they　want　literary　fame　they　sell　their　books　to　the　English；　and　to　prevent　any　kind　of　political　trouble　they　take　care　to　keep　the　Cabinet　well　filled　with　Scotchmen。　The　English　for　shame's　sake　can't　get　out　of　the　Union；　so　they　retaliate　by　saying　that　the　Scotch　have　no　sense　of　humour。　But　there's　nothing　in　it。　One　has　only　to　ask　any　of　the　theatrical　people　and　they　will　tell　you　that　the　audiences　in　Glasgow　and　Edinburgh　are　the　best　in　the　British　Islespossess　the　best　taste　and　the　best　ability　to　recognise　what　is　really　good。

The　reason　for　this　lies；　I　think；　in　the　well…known　fact　that　the　Scotch　are　a　truly　educated　people；　not　educated　in　the　mere　sense　of　having　been　made　to　go　to　school；　but　in　the　higher　sense　of　having　acquired　an　interest　in　books　and　a　respect　for　learning。　In　England　the　higher　classes　alone　possess　this；　the　working　class　as　a　whole　know　nothing　of　it。　But　in　Scotland　the　attitude　is　universal。　And　the　more　I　reflect　upon　the　subject；　the　more　I　believe　that　what　counts　most　in　the　appreciation　of　humour　is　not　nationality；　but　the　degree　of　education　enjoyed　by　the　individual　concerned。　I　do　not　think　that　there　is　any　doubt　that　educated　people　possess　a　far　wider　range　of　humour　than　the　uneducated　class。　Some　people；　of　course；　get　overeducated　and　become　hopelessly　academic。　The　word　〃highbrow〃　has　been　invented　exactly　to　fit　the　case。　The　sense　of　humour　in　the　highbrow　has　become　atrophied；　or；　to　vary　the　metaphor；　it　is　submerged　or　buried　under　the　accumulated　strata　of　his　education；　on　the　top　soil　of　which　flourishes　a　fine　growth　of　conceit。　But　even　in　the　highbrow　the　educated　appreciation　of　humour　is　thereaway　down。　Generally；　if　one　attempts　to　amuse　a　highbrow　he　will　resent　it　as　if　the　process　were　beneath　him；　or　perhaps　the　intellectual　jealousy　and　touchiness　with　which　he　is　always　overcharged　will　lead　him　to　retaliate　with　a　pointless　story　from　Plato。　But　if　the　highbrow　is　right　off　his　guard　and　has　no　jealousy　in　his　mind；　you　may　find　him　roaring　with　laughter　and　wiping　his　spectacles；　with　his　sides　shaking；　and　see　him　converted　as　by　magic　into　the　merry；　clever　little　school…boy　that　he　was　thirty　years　ago；　before　his　education　ossified　him。

But　with　the　illiterate　and　the　rustic　no　such　process　is　possible。　His　sense　of　humour　may　be　there　as　a　sense；　but　the　mechanism　for　setting　it　in　operation　is　limited　and　rudimentary。　Only　the　broadest　and　most　elementary　forms　of　joke　can　reach　him。　The　magnificent　mechanism　of　the　art　of　words　is；　quite　literally；　a　sealed　book　to　him。　Here　and　there；　indeed；　a　form　of　fun　is　found　so　elementary　in　its　nature　and　yet　so　excellent　in　execution　that　it　appeals　to　all　alike；　to　the　illiterate　and　to　the　highbrow；　to　the　peasant　and　the　professor。　Such；　for　example；　are　the　antics　of　Mr。　Charles　Chaplin　or　the　depiction　of　Mr。　Jiggs　by　the　pencil　of　George　McManus。　But　such　cases　are　rare。　As　a　rule　the　cheap　fun　that　excites　the　rustic　to　laughter　is　execrable　to　the　man　of　education。

In　the　light　of　what　I　have　said　before　it　follows　that　the　individuals　that　are　findable　in　every　English　or　American　audience　are　much　the　same。　All　those　who　lecture　or　act　are　well　aware　that　there　are　certain　types　of　people　that　are　always　to　be　seen　somewhere　in　the　hall。　Some　of　these　belong　to　the　general　class　of　discouraging　people。　They　listen　in　stolid　silence。　No　light　of　intelligence　ever　gleams　on　their　faces；　no　response　comes　from　their　eyes。

I　find；　for　example；　that　wherever　I　go　there　is　always　seated　in　the　audience；　about　three　seats　from　the　front；　a　silent　man　with　a　big　motionless　face　like　a　melon。　He　is　always　there。　I　have　seen　that　man　in　every　town　or　city　from　Richmond；　Indiana；　to　Bournemouth　in　Hampshire。　He　haunts　me。　I　get　to　expect　him。　I　feel　like　nodding　to　him　from　the　platform。　And　I　find　that　all　other　lecturers　have　the　same　experience。　Wherever　they　go　the　man　with　the　big　face　is　always　there。　He　never　laughs；　no　matter　if　the　people　all　round　him　are　convulsed　with　laughter；　he　sits　there　like　a　rockor；　no；　like　a　toadimmovable。　What　he　thinks　I　don't　know。　Why　he　comes　to　lectures　I　cannot　guess。　Once；　and　once　only；　I　spoke　to　him；　or；　rather；　he　spoke　to　me。　I　was　coming　out　from　the　lecture　and　found　myself　close　to　him　in　the　corridor。　It　had　been　a　rather　gloomy　evening；　the　audience　had　hardly　laughed　at　all；　and　I　know　nothing　sadder　than　a　humorous　lecture　without　laughter。　The　man　with　the　big　face；　finding　himself　beside　me；　turned　and　said；　〃Some　of　them　people　weren't　getting　that　to…night。〃　His　tone　of　sympathy　seemed　to　imply　that　he　had　got　it　all　himself；　if　so；　he　must　have　swallowed　it　whole　without　a　sign。　But　I　have　since　thought　that　this　man　with　the　big　face　may　have　his　own　internal　form　of　appreciation。　This　much；　however；　I　know：　to　look　at　him　from　the　platform　is　fatal。　One　sustained　look　into　his　big；　motionless　face　and　the　lecturer　would　be　lost；　inspiration　would　die　upon　one's　lipsthe　basilisk　isn't　in　it　with　him。

Personally；　I　no　sooner　see　the　man　with　the　big　face　than　instinctively　I　turn　my　eyes　away。　I　look　round　the　hall　for　another　man　that　I　know　is　always