Read Online The Table Talk of Samuel Marchbanks by Robertson Davies - Free Book Online
Authors: Robertson Davies
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high-class adrenalin-rationalizing party. I wish psychologists wouldn’t fill women up with such stuff; I am slopping over with adrenalin all the time and it doesn’t seem to hurt me—very much.
• O F U NIVERSAL D EMOCRACY •
I WENT FOR A WALK this afternoon and pondered about democracy. Good as it is, no one can pretend that we have carried it out to its logical conclusion. The equality of man and man is now pretty well established, but what is being done to spread democracy among animals? Is the junk-wagon horse treated as the equal of the race-horse? Does the thoroughbred Boxer receive the same treatment as the mongrel? There is not even equality of opportunity within such fairly homogeneous groups as dogs and horses, much less among all beasts. Is a duck ever given a chance to run in the Grand National? And yet who is to say that a duck, given the proper education, and the right food and housing, might not some day win that famous race? And this question of equality among animals brings up the greater question: what is Man that he should consider himself the Lord of Creation? Will we not realize that all life is sacred and all animals—man included—equals (or “on all fours” if you prefer the expression)? There will be no real equality until our Parliament is filled with fowls, rodents, and horned cattle, as well as men. Then we will have earned the right to talk about Democracy.
• O F P ROFESSIONALISM IN G RAMMAR •
I HAD A WRANGLE today with a man who said that therewas no such thing as grammar, and that “the living speech” was good speech. He talked about “Everyman’s grammar”—meaning anything anybody cares to say—as the only guide to usage. Humph! I wouldn’t particularly like to trust myself to Everyman’s medicine, or Everyman’s ideas about the law. Why should I accept Everyman’s grammar?
• O F F RENCH D RAMA •
Y ESTERDAY I SAW a play done in French by an excellent group of actors from Quebec. When this happens a synopsis of the play is printed for dullards like me, but these synopses are of very little assistance, being written, I suppose, by a Frenchman whose knowledge of English is about on a par with my knowledge of French. They generally run something like this: “Alphamet, the lover of Pheenaminte, is eager to break off his intrigue with Flanelette, ward of the miser Planchette, whose earlier affair with a woman of the town, Clitore, has been discovered by the wily notary Bidet. To achieve his end he disguises himself as a country cousin, Merde, and seeks the assistance of the maid, Vespasienne, who is in reality the disguised Comtesse de Blancmange. Meanwhile the miser has altered his will, leaving everything to the poet Tisane, whose love for the beautiful Parapluie is made known to her supposed father (but in reality her ward) Derrière, bringing the whole merry business to an end with a sextuple marriage and the birth of the triplets, Un, Deux and Trois.”
• A B OON TO P UBLIC S PEAKERS •
I HAD TO MAKE a speech today, and was not in the mood for it. In consequence I lay in the bathtub and invented Marchbanks’ Rhetorical Robot, a type of recordingmachine for the use of public speakers. You prepare your speech, and record it when you feel at your best. You then go to the meeting, and when the time for your address comes you turn on the Robot, which delivers the speech for you, while you loll at ease, picking your teeth, laughing uproariously at your own jokes, and leading the applause.
•T HE H ORROR OF G RACIOUS L IVING •
I HEARD SOMEBODY use the expression “gracious living” today. Until now I have only seen it in print. It is a phrase I dislike. To my mind it suggests a horrible daintiness—salads made of cream cheese and pineapple, doilies scattered over everything and plaster book-ends supporting five books bound in imitation suede. People who go in for “gracious living” call beer “ale,” when it isn’t ale, because they think “ale”
• O F U NIVERSAL D EMOCRACY •
I WENT FOR A WALK this afternoon and pondered about democracy. Good as it is, no one can pretend that we have carried it out to its logical conclusion. The equality of man and man is now pretty well established, but what is being done to spread democracy among animals? Is the junk-wagon horse treated as the equal of the race-horse? Does the thoroughbred Boxer receive the same treatment as the mongrel? There is not even equality of opportunity within such fairly homogeneous groups as dogs and horses, much less among all beasts. Is a duck ever given a chance to run in the Grand National? And yet who is to say that a duck, given the proper education, and the right food and housing, might not some day win that famous race? And this question of equality among animals brings up the greater question: what is Man that he should consider himself the Lord of Creation? Will we not realize that all life is sacred and all animals—man included—equals (or “on all fours” if you prefer the expression)? There will be no real equality until our Parliament is filled with fowls, rodents, and horned cattle, as well as men. Then we will have earned the right to talk about Democracy.
• O F P ROFESSIONALISM IN G RAMMAR •
I HAD A WRANGLE today with a man who said that therewas no such thing as grammar, and that “the living speech” was good speech. He talked about “Everyman’s grammar”—meaning anything anybody cares to say—as the only guide to usage. Humph! I wouldn’t particularly like to trust myself to Everyman’s medicine, or Everyman’s ideas about the law. Why should I accept Everyman’s grammar?
• O F F RENCH D RAMA •
Y ESTERDAY I SAW a play done in French by an excellent group of actors from Quebec. When this happens a synopsis of the play is printed for dullards like me, but these synopses are of very little assistance, being written, I suppose, by a Frenchman whose knowledge of English is about on a par with my knowledge of French. They generally run something like this: “Alphamet, the lover of Pheenaminte, is eager to break off his intrigue with Flanelette, ward of the miser Planchette, whose earlier affair with a woman of the town, Clitore, has been discovered by the wily notary Bidet. To achieve his end he disguises himself as a country cousin, Merde, and seeks the assistance of the maid, Vespasienne, who is in reality the disguised Comtesse de Blancmange. Meanwhile the miser has altered his will, leaving everything to the poet Tisane, whose love for the beautiful Parapluie is made known to her supposed father (but in reality her ward) Derrière, bringing the whole merry business to an end with a sextuple marriage and the birth of the triplets, Un, Deux and Trois.”
• A B OON TO P UBLIC S PEAKERS •
I HAD TO MAKE a speech today, and was not in the mood for it. In consequence I lay in the bathtub and invented Marchbanks’ Rhetorical Robot, a type of recordingmachine for the use of public speakers. You prepare your speech, and record it when you feel at your best. You then go to the meeting, and when the time for your address comes you turn on the Robot, which delivers the speech for you, while you loll at ease, picking your teeth, laughing uproariously at your own jokes, and leading the applause.
•T HE H ORROR OF G RACIOUS L IVING •
I HEARD SOMEBODY use the expression “gracious living” today. Until now I have only seen it in print. It is a phrase I dislike. To my mind it suggests a horrible daintiness—salads made of cream cheese and pineapple, doilies scattered over everything and plaster book-ends supporting five books bound in imitation suede. People who go in for “gracious living” call beer “ale,” when it isn’t ale, because they think “ale”
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