I discovered that somehow, in the rush of the mad social whirl that is my existence, I had failed to observe the seventy-fifth anniversary of “The Lottery”. This was a subversive, controversial story which is probably still one of the top ten items which caused people to cancel their subscriptions to The New Yorker. The problem was that in it, Shirley Jackson suggested the American Heartland, the small towns and rural areas, might NOT be the refuge for common sense and folk wisdom we all know it to be.
(It would be an interesting list to see what the top ten reasons for subscription cancellations was for some of our major journals. I believe the Saturday Evening Post had its moment in 1955, when Norman Rockwell did that cover featuring a—kind of—topless mermaid And I had an editor suggest to me once that my editorials were really dragging down readership of…well, why do HIM any publicity?)
So I hurried to the Interwebs to find out what other literary occurrences rippled our ponds in 1948. I was not expecting to be thrown headfirst into Book Fairs of the past. I don’t know if the shelf life of a book is thirty, forty, or fifty years, but book after book from 1948 came in time after time among the donations at the end of the last and beginning of this century.
None of these books were necessarily bad; they were just books which a LOT of people in Chicago decided had taken up shelf space long enough. These included later books by people famous for earlier works–Peony by Pearl S. Buck. Catalina by Somerset Maugham—as well as bestsellers which made a stir in their day but now gather dust (until the next movie version, of course): Ross Lockridge’s Raintree County, or Harry Bellaman’s Parris Mitchel of King’s Row.
Some books went on to land on Required Reading lists: Alan Paton’s Cry, The Beloved Country, or James Michener’s Tales of the South Pacific. William Faulkner’s Intruder in the Dust came out in 1948, as well as Norman Mailer’s The Naked and the Dead. Elizabeth Bowen published The Heat of the Day in 1948, but no one seems to have bothered much with it until the late 1980s, when suddenly everybody had to buy it (and, a decade later, donate it.)
Other books of 1948 seem to have been perennials, books which people will continue to buy whether there’s a movie or a protest movement or a critic touting them: My Father’s Dragon by Ruth Stiles Gannett (illustrated by Ruth Chrisman Gannett) or Marguerite Henry’s King of the Wind. Winston Churchill started publishing his history of World War II in 1948, Thomas Merton produced the Seven Storey Mountain, and Evelyn Waugh gave us The Loved One.
And I was reminded of several running gags, mere expressions of prejudice against certain authors who probably deserved better. For reasons not known to us, virtually every Chicago collection of Thomas Mann’s works (including, always, his 1948 opus Joseph and His brothers) came to the Book Fair in a roughly six year period. All of these treasured volumes were looked up against current book prices, and NONE of them was ever worth more than the average price for HB Literature, M-Z. This led to despairing cries of “Thomas Mann!” every time a box was being unpacked.
The Golden Hawk, possibly our most donated work by Frank Yerby, was published in 1948. One of the most jovial and active of Book Fair volunteers, a constant source of ignored advice, used often to inform me that Yuppies (which she had decided were our core market) would not buy any book more than five years old, and objected to my championing of bygone authors like Frank Slaughter and Frank Yerby. She would generally finish her latest advice with “And I say the hell with Frank Yerby!” (I felt vindicated when a seminar on Frank Yerby’s work was offered at the Library, but this did not move her.)
But then I found IT. This year marks the seventy-fifth anniversary of the publication of one of the top ten best selling books in American history, a book that haunts my dreams, a book that I, personally, have probably dumped into the recycling bin more often than any other book written by man, woman, or computer in this world of toil and tears.
If you get a chance, pour yourself a very dry beverage some time this year and raise a toast to Paul Samuelson, and his immortal textbook “Economics”. I do not know how much Dr. Samuelson had to do with those horizontal stripes on the cover of the book, but I suspect the classic design was at least PART of the reason he won his Nobel Prize.
But the relentless Spirit pinioned him in both his arms, and forced him to observe what happened next.
They were in another scene and place: a room, not very large or handsome, but full of comfort. Near to the winter fire sat a beautiful young girl, so like the last that Scrooge believed it was the same, until he saw HER, now a comely matron, sitting opposite her daughter. The noise in this room was perfectly tumultuous, for there were more children there, than Scrooge in his agitated state of mind could count; and, unlike the celebrated herd in the poem, they were not forty children conducting themselves like one, but every child was conducting itself like forty. The consequences were uproarious beyond belief; but no one seemed to care; on the contrary, the mother and daughter laughed heartily, and enjoyed it very much; and the latter, soon beginning to mingle in the sports, got pillaged by the young brigands most ruthlessly. What would I not have given to be one of them! Though I could never have been so rude, no no! I wouldn’t for all the wealth of the world have crushed that braided hair, and torn it down; and for the precious ;little shoe, I wouldn’t have plucked it off, God bless my soul! To save my life. As to measuring her waist in sport, as they did, bold young brood, I couldn’t have done it; I should have expected my arm to have grown round it doe a punishment, and never come straight again. And yet I should have dearly liked, I own, to have touched her lips; to Have questioned her, that she might have opened them; to have looked upon the lashes of her downcast eyes, ad ever raised a blush; to have let loose waves of hair, a inch of which would be a keepsake beyond price: in short, I should have liked, I do confess, to have had the lightest license of a child, and yet been man enough to know its value.
But now a knocking at the door was heard, and such a rush immediately ensued that she with laughing face and plundered dress was borne towards it the centre of a flushed and boisterous group, just in time to greet the father, who came home attended by a man laden with Christmas toys and presents. Then the shouting and the struggling, and the onslaught that was made on the defenceless porter! The scaling him with chairs for ladders, to dive into his pockets, despoil him of brown-paper parcels, hold on tight by his cravat, hug him round the neck, pummel his back, and kick his legs in irresponsible affection! The shouts of wonder and delight with which the development of every package was received! The terrible announcement that the baby had been taken in the act of putting a doll’s frying-pan into his mouth, and was more than suspected of having swallowed a fictitious turkey, glued on a wooden platter! The immense relief on finding this a false alarm! The joy, and gratitude, and ecstasy! They are all indescribable alike. It is enough that by degrees the children and their emotions got out of the parlor and by one stair at a time, on to the top of the house; where they went to bed, and so subsided.
And now Scrooge looked on more attentively than ever, when the master of the house, having his daughter leaning fondly on him, sat down with her and her mother at his own fireside; and when he thought that such another creature, quite as graceful and full of promise, might have called him father, and been a spring-time in the haggard winter of his life, his sight grew very dim indeed.
“Belle,” said the husband, turning to his wife with a smile, “I saw an old friend of yours this afternoon.”
“Who was it?” “Guess!”
“How can I? Tut, don’t I know?” she added in the dame breath, laughing as he laughed, “Mr. Scrooge.”
:Mr. Scrooge it was. I passed his office window, and as it was not shut up, and he had a candle inside, I could scarcely help seeing him. His partner lies upon the point of death, I hear; and there he sat alone. Quire alone in the world, I do believe.”
“Spirit!” said Scrooge in a broken voice, “remove me from this place.”
“I told you these were the shadows of the things that have been,” said the Ghost. “That they are what they are, do not blame me!”
He turned upon the Ghost, and seeing that it looked upon him with a face, in which in some way there were fragment of all the faces it had shown him, wrestled with it.
“Leave me! Take me back! Haunt me no longer!”
In the struggle, if that can be called a struggle in which the Ghost with no apparent resistance on its own part was undisturbed by any effort of its adversary, Scrooge observed that its light was burning high and bright; and dimly connecting that with its influence over him, he seized on the extinguisher-cap, and by a sudden action pressed it down upon its head.
The Spirit dropped beneath it, so that the extinguisher covered its whole form; but though Scrooge pressed it down with all his force, he could not hide the light: which streamed from under it, in an unbroken flood upon the ground.
He was conscious of being exhausted, and overcome by an irresistible drowsiness; and, further, of being in his own bedroom. He gave the cap a parting squeeze, on which his hand relaxed; and had barely time to reel to bed, before he sank into a heavy sleep.
Young Dickens indulges himself here. You get a touch of personal history (he wrote elsewhere of being the baby who actually did swallow part of his older sister’s toy kitchen), a glimpse of his romantic fancies, and his conviction that a truly jolly Christmas involved being surrounded by as many children as one could muster. Belle, named here for the first time, is celebrating what Dickens regarded as a perfect family Christmas, though she has married someone nowhere near as affluent as Ebenezer Scrooge.
Very little of this achieves screen time. Belle’s lookalike daughter turns up nowhere; only Hicks and Scott bother with this vision of the later Belle at all. (Sim I’s “Alice” does reappear, but in a vision with Christmas Present, as we shall see later.) The others prefer to end the visions of this Spirit with having Scrooge so distraught at the breakup with Belle that he ends the visit.
Hicks comes as close as anyone to Dickens’s version. Belle has at least a dozen children, who dance around two Christmas trees, singing “Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush”. (This song, more a British than an American tradition, does turn up in other Carols.) When their father appears, his pockets are plundered. Then he and Belle discuss the old friend he saw; she grows solemn as he discusses the lone Scrooge in the office. When her husband delivers the line about being all alone in the world, she kissed him. Scrooge orders the Ghost to haunt hi no more. The Ghost replies, “These are the shadows of the things that have been; that they are what they are, do not blame me!” Scrooge lowers an arm violently in the direction of the Ghost. We then see Scrooge snuffing out a candle in his own bedroom. He lies back on the bed.
Owen argues with the Ghost, who now promises to show him the “black years” of his life, and how he grew into a clutching, ungrateful creature. He appears to extinguish her light by grabbing her skirt and throwing it over her head. “I can’t stand more!” He wakes clutching his bedclothes and drops back onto his pillow.
Sim I covers his face, crying “No no no!” He finds himself saying it in bed.
In March, the Ghost simply fades from sight while Scrooge is looking elsewhere. When he realizes she has disappeared, meaning he has basically lost Belle a second time, he opens the shutters and backs through the window into his bedroom crying “No more! No more!”
Rathbone and the Ghost have returned to Scrooge’s place. “Leave me!” “I told you that these are the shadows of the things that have been. Do not blame me that they were what they were.” With a hand on Scrooge’s shoulder, he disappears.
Magoo cries “Show me no more!” The Ghost replies, “One shadow more.” They stand alone on a featureless plain; Scrooge goes on begging to see no more. The Ghost seems disgusted by this groveling and finally rises into the sky, laughing as though she really does delight to torture him. He is left all alone on the plain to await the next Spirit (who, if you recall, will be the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.)
Haddrick rises with the Ghost and returns to his own room. “Have you learned anything this night?” “Only that as a youth I was an irresponsible fool. You’ve made me regret it and Im grateful.” The Spirit, furious, thumps his crozier on the floor and vanishes. “Ghosts?” Scrooge snaps, “Bah!”
Sim II is told that these are the shadow of things that were, and begins to struggle with the Ghost, forcing the cap down over her. The Ghost shrinks into the cap and vanishes in his hands.
Finney, having pled, “Spirit, remove me from this place!”, is sitting in his bed, clutching his pillow.
In Matthau, we cut to a splitscreen vision of young Scrooge in his office, and a weeping Belle outside. Waves crash to represent the passage of time. Ebenezer ages into the Scrooge we’ve been watching; Belle becomes a thin-faced, despondent old woman in a shabby gray gown, who finally turns her face away from us. Scrooge cries, “I cannot bear it! Haunt me no longer!” He grabs up the cap and shoves it down over the Ghost. Then we watch hi snuff his bedside candle. Lest we think he has dreamed all this, B.A.H. Humbug from the window ledge, exclaims, “My word! How did he get back?”
McDuck sees rain coursing down the windows. He begs to be taken home; he cannot bear these memories. The Ghost tells him, “Remember, Scrooge: you fashioned these memories yourself.” He comes to in his bedroom, demanding, “Why was I so foolish?”
In Scott, we see Belle walking outdoors with a baby. The camera pulls back to show us four older children, who demand that she come admire their snowman. Shortly thereafter, we see four MORE children building another snowman. Their father, apparently rather well-to-do, arrives in a carriage. The children run to him, demanding their presents. While he reminds them that they must wait, Scrooge exclaims, “What a brood! Fancy! They might have been mine.” The Ghost notes smugly that she has thought of that as well. Belle’s husband dares her to guess whom he has seen; laughing, she guesses correctly. He describes Scrooge in the office, “a single candle on his desk.” Belle’s expression goes all tragic; she sighs “Poor Ebenezer! Poor wretched man!” “Spare me your pity,” snaps Scrooge, “I have no need of it.” The Ghost, grinning, reminds him that they can’t hear him. He turns on her, telling her he has seen enough of her “pictures from the past.” “Truth lives,” she tells him, over and over. Smoke erupts as he forces the cap down over her; she vanishes completely, and he finds he is growling as he wrings a bit of his bedroom carpet. “A nightmare. A horrible nightmare.” He crawls exhausted into bed. “Oh, God, let me sleep. Let me sleep in peace.”
Caine is told that these are the shadows of things that were, and that they are what they are, do not blame the Ghost. “Leave me,” he orders. He list left alone on the bridge where Ebenezer ad Belle parted, which becomes his bed. Dickens tells us that “Scrooge was left alone and exhausted.”
Curry cries, “Don’t show me any more!” “I told you: these are the shadows of the things that have passed; don’t go blamin’ me for your choices.” “Why are you torturing me like this, Spirit! Leave me alone, please! Take me back home! Haunt me no longer!” He finds himself pulling at his bedclothes. “Crying in your sleep,” he snorts. “Thickheaded old ninny.” He shouts at the spirits that he will take no more of this (I thought he’d decided it was a dream) and goes back to bed.
Stewart is standing on the stairs to his apartment; he turns to order the Ghost, “Haunt me no longer!” The Ghost shakes its head. Scrooge, rushing back down the stairs, seizes the cap and thrusts it down over the unresisting Ghost. It is a difficult struggle all the same; just when it seems Scrooge has won, and the cap has been forced all the way over the Ghost, the light streams out brighter than ever. Scrooge throws his hands up before his face, and wakes back in bed.
FUSS FUSS FUSS #11: Songs of the Scrooge
What good is a carol without music? A movie needs background at least: ominous chords as Scrooge mount the stairs to his rooms, dance music for the Fezziwig party, and so forth. Many early Scrooges made do with songs involving no royalties: “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” or “Gid Rest ye Merry, Gentlemen,” say, or, in the case of Hicks, “The Mistletoe Bough”. Nowadays even a nonmusical Scrooge requires a theme song to run under the opening and closing credits.
Musical versions do their best to translate the mood and action into song, succeeding to various degrees. March’s songs, for example, are all by the legendary Bernard Herrman. As it happens, though, Herrman was not legendary for writing SONGS, but for his suspenseful and spooky background music. Further, a number of these songs had to be written for the Robert Shaw Chorale. You either like choral music or you find it tedious. (Their best is the opening number, on the street outside Scrooge & Marley’s.)
Jule Styne WAS legendary for his songs, and the numbers he wrote for the Magoo Carol are sprightly, easy to listen to, and contribute much to the overall bright tone of this version. In the number which is repeated most in the soundtrack, he managed to produce a love song (similar to Meredith Willson’s similar achievement in The Music Man) which can double as a march elsewhere in the show.
Haddrick is not a musical Scrooge, but without warning gives us one scene delivered as a musical duet. This is a not unpleasant recitative, but since there is little but background music in the rest of the film, one does wonder how it got there, and whether it isn’t trying to find a way out.
Finney’s songs are hearty, as one might expect from the crowd that also gave us “Oliver!” It was nominated for an Oscar for Best original Score, and oe of the songs, “Thank You Very Much”, was nominated for Best Original Song. This is one of the most exuberantly musical of Scrooges.
Matthau’s songs come from an earlier television version of the same script, but were shortened to fit into the lesser running time allowed for a cartoon. This is a pity, since you not only lose a little of each song, but there seem to be a LOT of them crowded together by the abridging of the non-musical dialogue. The songs are infectious, nearly as bright as Magoo’s numbers.
McDuck was not a musical, but does have a pleasant theme song which, with the right push, could become a minor Christmas standard. Similarly, Scott includes a song about Scrooge which runs under the opening credits, is sung by the street choir Scrooge pushes through, and is even echoed by the chiming watch (repeater) by his bed. It has the same lush feel as the rest of the production.
Caine’s songs are delivered with gusto. Composed by Paul Williams, they include hits as well as misses. They have been criticized: apparently people who do not like Muppets also dislike Paul Williams songs.
Curry’s songs display a certain spirit, and are certainly well-meaning. But they all seem to have wandered in from different Broadway musicals.
There are other uses of music which we will consider later (The Ghost of Christmas Present often includes a montage set to some Christmas standard.) But for now, here follows a list of Scrooge songs. Those I feel are particularly worthy of your notice are marked with an asterisk. (My criterion for this is how likely I am to find myself humming the tune the next day.)
A.Theme Songs
A Christmas Carol (Finney)
A Christmas carol (Matthau)
God Bless Us, Every One (Scott)
Sing a Christmas Carol (Curry)
B.A Clutching, Covetous old Sinner
*Ringle Ringle/ It’s Cold (Magoo; note some of the rhymes)
Spirit of Christmas/Christmas is Humbug (Haddrick)
*I Hate People (Finney; even more amazing rhymes)
When You Say Merry Christmas I Say Humbug (Matthau)
C.Mocking Old Scrooge
*Father Christmas (Finney)
*Nr. Humbug (Caine)
*The Stingiest Man in Town (Matthau)
D.Merry Christmas
*A Very Merry Christmas (March)
The Spirit of Christmas (March)
*This Shall Be Our Christmas Tree (March)
*December the 25th (Finney)
*An Old-Fashioned Christmas (Matthau)
*Listen to the Song of the Christmas Spirit (Matthau)
One More Sleep ‘til Christmas (Caine)
*It Feels Like Christmas (Caine)
*Oh, What a Merry Christmas Day (McDuck)
Christmas Children (Finney)
E.Songs of Love/Disappointed Love
What Shall I give My Lad/Girl for Christmas (March)
Winter Was Warm (Magoo)
Happiness (Finney)
You…You… (Finney)
Golden Dreams (Matthau)
It Might Have Been (Matthau)
The Love is Gone (Caine; a slightly hipper version, played over the closing credits, seems to be “WHEN Love Is Gone”
F. God Bless Us, Every One
God Bless Us, Every One (March)
The Beautiful Day (Finney)
*Bless Us All (Caine)
G.Other Characters
I Wear a Chain (Matthau; Marley and the wandering Spirits)
See the Phantoms (Finney; The wandering Spirits)
All Alone In the World (Magoo; Young Scrooge)
When Shadows Fall (Curry; Young Scrooge)
“The Lord’s Bright Blessing/Razzleberry Dressing (Magoo: The Cratchits)
In the interest of fair play and equal time for opposing views, something I am very serious about if it will bring me another subject to write a blog about, I thought we might consider postcards which present another side of childhood than the cute, well-dressed, well-behaved tots we considered in our last column.
We wish here to look at postcards which consider the child as someone who deliberately does something antisocial, or at least something in contradiction to parental rules. There are plenty of postcards like the one shown here, where children are engaged in things that shock a parent because they just didn’t know any better. That’s not what we’re after here.
You will notice at once that cartoonists’ renderings outnumber the actual photographs this time around. This is because a nasty prank just doesn’t seem as realistic when staged as adorableness does, and few children posed for photographs of themselves doing things which would get them scolded, spanked, or left with no dessert at dinner. (This was, you understand, in the days before Social Media.)
We have discussed theft before, as with the young lady swiping sweets or this lad who knows where his sister keeps her mad money. This is a constant theme: children were EXPECTED to steal fruit (often unripe, leading to a different postcard theme) or jam or pie. (Oddly enough, stealing cookies—a standard gag in comic strips from the 1950s on, seems to be absent. Was it a rarer crime in those days than jam-stealing or just harder to draw?)
But children also engaged in more dangerous games: where they might risk capture and chastisement if seen. Some of these were stealth missions.
While others involved the laying of traps, many of which involved a risk of serious injury to the target.
Some of these pastimes were seasonal, of course. Anyone wearing a tall hat past a boy on a snowy day knew what was likely to happen.
While the use of out and out explosives was centered on the Fourth of July.
And some diversions which are now, alas, a thing of the past. When a train moved into a tunnel in days of lesser technology, the passengers would be plunged into darkness. Amorous couples took advantage of the darkness, and impish tots might, as here, light a match to show them in mid-embrace. (The boys involved in this sort of thing could piously protest that they were merely showing up the misbehavior of their elders. This did NOT prevent them having to make a quick escape into the train corridor.)
The standard upheld by the Katzenjammer Kids (and their opposite numbers in Foxy Grandpa) suggested that some children made a general career of being disobedient, loud, and disruptive. There is not a LOT of evidence to show these stories were so very far from the truth.
Many a parent has sighed with relief and satisfaction when their little bundle of bounce has finally gone off to bed.
So that they can sit back in a comfortable chair and reflect that, after all, people without offspring are missing so much of life.
Any sort of cheap entertainment reflects the interests and dreams of the buying public for whom it is made. As such, postcards show us what appealed (or what the publishers hoped would appeal) to the greatest number of potential buyers. And ONE thing that amused Mr. and Mrs. Consumer was children dressed up.
We speak here not of the rppc, where Dad would take pictures of the kids in their new Sunday-go-to-meeting garb; we mean commercial postcard publishers who showed us children dressed up. And we don’t mean babies, because babies are a whole nother subject.
A baby’s face can always entertain, no matter what the baby is doing. Even if young Cloverblossom doesn’t want to do anything.
Nor do we speak of children posed with adults, something which could be used for any number of fine old jokes.
No, we speak here of children by themselves or in pairs, dressed to impress and to serve as enticers for the person looking for the postcard rack for something to send Cousin Mehitable. (Which do you like better: his buttons or her parasol?)
These were all but designed to be put in albums by their purchasers. If the cute face won no one over, the pretty clothes would. How many girls wore a design that Mom was inspired to improvise so it would look like what this young lady wore for the photographer? (And how many said “I’d rather have the puppet”?)
In the day, there were plenty of child models who appear over and over in postcards, sometimes as part of a traditional tableau for the holidays. One wonders what THEY thought of it, and what the working conditions were. “(Yes, you have to wear that winter coat under these lights until we’re done. And show your dimples when you smile at the pig! I’m NOT telling you again!”)
The French seem to have had an absolute mania for this sort of postcard (although in THEIR New Year postcards, as mentioned hereintofore, the model was supposed to hug a fish instead of a pig.)
You constantly find their cards featuring children posed in balloons or balconies or birdcages, releasing doves or songbirds, or…WHAT is this little girl holding? From her face, she was expecting a kitten but got a black bag of garlic and was told to pretend it was a kitty.
Or flowers: a pretty face and a flower would sell thousands of cards.
The Germans preferred to pose their little girls with pigs, of course. And they did not neglect dressing up little boys, either. (Those pig new year cards were traditional across the continent, by the way, and though I haven’t got an example to hand, little boys AND little girls would be dressed up as chimney sweeps to accompany the pigs. See, it was all about symbols of good luck and…you want to go back and check the previous blog on this subject.)
Oh, and Americans would never neglect a profitable postcard idea. Though, of course, OURS had their own singular flavor.
This was not addressed to Scrooge; nor to anyone whom he could see, but it produced an immediate effect. For again Scrooge was himself. He was older now, a man in the prime of life. His face had not the harsh and rigid lines of later years; but it had begun to wear the signs of care and avarice. There was an eager, greedy, restless action in the eye, which showed the passion that had taken root, and where the shadow of growing trees would fall.
He was not alone, but sat by the side of a fair young girl in a mourning dress: in whose eyes there were tears, which sparkled in the light that shone out of the Ghost of Christmas Past.
“It matters little,” she said, softly, “To you, very little. Another idol has displaced me; and if it can cheer and comfort you in time to come, as I would have tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve.”
“What idol has displaced you?” he rejoined.
“A golden one.”
“This is the evenhanded dealing of the world!” he said. “There is nothing on which it is so hard as poverty, and there is nothing which it professes to condemn with such severity as the pursuit of wealth!”
“You fear the world too much,” she answered, gently. “All your other hopes have merged into the hope of being beyond the chance of its sordid reproach. I have seen your nobler aspirations fall off one by one, until the master-passion, Gain, engrosses you. have I not?”
“What then?” he retorted. “Even if I have grown so much wiser, what then? I have not changed towards you.”
She shook her head.
“Am I?”
“Our contract is an old one. It was made when we were both poor and content to be so, until, in good season, we could improve our worldly fortune by our patient industry. You ARE changed. When it was made, you were another man.”
“I was a boy,” he said impatiently.
“Your own feeling tells you that you were not what you are,” she returned. “I am. That which promised happiness when we were one in heart, is draught with misery now that we are two. How often and how keenly I have thought of this, I will not say. It is enough that I HAVE thought of it, and can release you.”
“Have I ever sought release?”
“In words. No. Never.”
“In what then?”
“In a changed nature; in an altered spirit; in another atmosphere of life; another hope as its great end. In everything that made my love of any worth or value in your sight. Of this had never been between us,” said the girl, looking mildly, but with steadiness, upon him; “tell me, would you seek me out and try to win me now? Ah. No!”
He seemed to yield to the justice of this supposition, in spite of himself. But he said, with a struggle, “You think not.”
“I would gladly think otherwise if I could,” she answered,. “Heaven knows! WhenI have learned a Truth like this, I know how strong and irresistible it must be. But if you were free today, to-morrow, yesterday, can even I believe that you would choose a dowerless girl—you who, in your every confidence with her, weigh everything by Gain, or, choosing her, if for a moment you were false enough to your one guiding principle to do so, do I not know your repentance and regret would surely follow? I do; and I release you, with a full heart, for the love of hm you once were.”
He was about to speak, but with her head turned from him, she resumed.
“You may—the memory of what is past half make me hope you will—have pain in this. A very, very brief time, and you will dismiss the recollection of it, gladly, as an unprofitable dream, from which it happened well that you awoke. May you be happy in the life you have chosen!”
She left him; and they parted.
“Spirit!” said Scrooge, “Show me no more! Conduct me home. Why do you delight to torture me?”
“One shadow more!” exclaimed the Ghost.
“No more!” cried Scrooge. “No more. I don’t wish to see it. Show me no more!”
A whole lot of this never makes it to the screen. Scrooge’s remark about the evenhanded dealing of the world sounds too much like sense to be allowed. Belle is hardly ever dressed in mourning, And many of her speeches are removed, as they are unnecessary if we have been shown the happy couple plighting their troth earlier on.
But the sequence must not be omitted entirely, as it is the only place a musical version can logically slip in a love song (a musical without a love song might as well not even bother.) And it provides a good, solid role for a woman, something the Carol is not replete with. It also serves an important purpose in moving te plot along: this is the first time Scrooge is shown that part of his misery is his own fault. (It is traditional to compare Scrooge’s engagement to Fred’s, claiming that Scrooge kept putting off marriage until he achieved some goal of financial stability, from fear of marrying someone while he was poor. There is only the barest hint of this in the text.)
Hicks begins with a young couple in the counting house, pleading for more time to pay off their loan. Scrooge refuses brusquely, unaware that Belle has entered and is listening to everything. When the despondent couple depart, she informs him that she has refused to believe what she’s heard about the kind of man he has become. Now she has seen for herself, and she is furious. “But this is business,” Scrooge tells her, “If I were to allow sentiment to enter this counting house, I should be in bankruptcy court within a year.” He explains that the couple she has seen is a worthless, shifty pair who “have spent my good money.” She is adamant; he grows stubborn. She is to leave business affairs to him. “When we are married, I shall insist….” She takes off her ring and plants it on the mantel. “Have you taken leave of your senses?” he demands. This doesn’t serve to win her over, somehow; she grows more and more agitated. He tries to convince her that he has not changed toward her, but she stalks away, hoping he will be happy—alone—in the life he has chosen.
Owen omits this sequence.
Sim I and Alice rearrange the text, but the scene runs very much along the lines Dickens has drawn. At the end, when they have released each other from the engagement, Scrooge snatches up the ring. “You know I’m right,” says Alice. “I bow to your conviction,” he replies. “May you be happy in the life you have chosen.” “Thank you. I shall be.” When she is alone, Alice breaks down; apparently, she expected him to relent. The older Scrooge demands, “Show me no more.”
March redesigns the sequence, putting it right during Fezziwig’s party. The Ghost tells Scrooge “Your happiness was short-lived. Look again.” The happy couple argue; Ebenezer tries to explain, “That is not what I meant.” This does him as much good as it would any man; Belle says she has seen his nobler aspirations fall off, concluding, “You no longer need me.” “Have I ever said so?” “In words, no. In a changed manner” and so on. She finally walks away, declaring that he would never choose a dowerless girl. “Perhaps you will never choose any.”
The Ghost orders Rathbone to “look again”. He gets a much closer look at Belle as she sits on a bench under green trees. Her clothes are rather nice, but not so nice as Ebenezer’s. She explains how another idol has taken her place, and he replies with the line about there being nothing so hard as poverty. The conversation proceeds much as written; Ebenezer seems quite a pleasant, amiable chap, honestly confused by her attitude. She notes that their contract is an old one, made “before I was poor,” and she releases him. Neither of them seem terribly upset by all this, but old Scrooge begs to be taken away.
Magoo is one of the few Scrooges who is actually sitting with Belle when the scene opens. “It matters little,” she is telling him, and the dialogue runs much as written through the declaration that the master passion, Gain, has engrossed him. “True!” he says, “I’ve grown so much wiser!” She offers to release him. “Have I ever sought release?” “In words. No. Never.” “In what, then?” “In the very things you worship. Tell me truthfully: if you were free, now, would you choose a girl whose father left her so little money?” The older Scrooge cries “Yes, Belle! Yes!” while his younger self turns away. Belle wanders to the parlor window for the musical number “Winter was Warm”. Belle finally leaves, with a simple “Goodbye.” (Was it Scrooge’s parlor, then?) The older Scrooge calls after her, pleading, and when she does not turn back, cries “Spirit! Show me no more!”
Haddrick is in a green park with a Bell dressed in poor, drab garments. “It doesn’t matter to you; it doesn’t seem to matter at all. I love you, Ebenezer, but you love something more than me. I take only second place in your life.” “What do I love more than you?” “A golden idol, which you seemingly worship: money.” She leaves; the Ghost turns to the old Scrooge to say “Well?” “Bah! If she’d had sense and stayed with me, she’d be well off now.” “You have a cold heart, Ebenezer Scrooge.” “And a cold body, Spirit! Haunt me no more. Take me back.”
Sim II shows us a couple under a weeping willow; the field is green. This Belle is dressed in mourning, and looks a bit middle-aged. “You ae changed,” she announces, and explains about his nobler aspirations falling off. Ebenezer is now a heftier, harder man, who rolls his eyes impatiently as she speaks what he regards as missish nonsense. They go through the dialogue offering him release; when he fails to answer her question about whether he would do it all over, she concludes, “May you be happy in the life you have chosen.” Old Scrooge demands to be taken home, and wants to know why the Spirit delights in torturing him.
Finney is in the counting house. (This is one of a small number of versions, like hicks, in which young Ebenezer and old Scrooge are played by the same actor.) Isabel enters and calls his name. He grunts acknowledgement, and she announces, “I’ve come to day goodbye. I’m going away, Ebenezer. You will not see me again.” This attracts his attention. “But you’re going to marry me!” “No. You’ve found another love to replace me. She is much more desirable than I am.” He has no idea what she’s talking about, until she runs a hand through his gold coins. “How shall I ever understand this world?” he exclaims. “There is nothing on which it is so hard as poverty, and yet there is nothing it condemns with such severity as the pursuit of wealth!” They work through the dialogue much as written, save for Isabel’s cry of “Yes you are!” when he says he is not changed toward her. This is obviously difficult for them both, but harder on the two spectators. When Isabel asks if Ebenezer thinks he would still seek her out now, old Scrooge cries “I would! I do! I still do!” The Ghost shushes him. “I’m trying to listen.” Ebenezer finally refuses to discuss this any further in the office. Isabel tosses her ring into one pan of his scales, and puts two coins in the other. The coins outweigh the ring. “I am not good enough for you,” she tells him, and goes on with the “I would gladly think otherwise” speech. Ebenezer is silent; his older counterpart shouts, “Say something, you fool” Isabel delivers her last speech; old Scrooge calls “Don’t go! It’s a mistake!” When she leaves, Ebenezer calls after her, and does follow as far as the stairs. Then he returns to his desk. The older Scrooge calls him a fool, and reprises her song from earlier, watching her from the window. Ebenezer joins him for a moment, but then goes back and, resentfully, snatches up the ring from the scales and drops it into a drawer. “Spirit, remove me from this place! I can bear it no more!”
Matthau is informed, “There is another Christmas. You had just formed your partnership with Marley. Your business was new, but your ways were set.” “Oh, Spirit! Spare me the rest!” “You must drink this cup to the dregs.” Belle has just confronted Ebenezer in his office. “Yes! Another idol has taken my place!” Ebenezer is sarcastic. “Oh, really? That’s going a bit far, don’t you think, Belle?” Working on figures, he starts to explain that business is more important than Christmas, which is a humbug. This turns into a song, wherein much of the scene’s dialogue is delivered. As Belle sings about what might have been, we see visions of the possible Mr. and Mrs. Scrooge with two children, next to a Christmas tree. She eventually ends the engagement and flees the room. Ebenezer takes two steps after her, changes his mind, and sits at his desk again.
McDuck is in his counting house, counting. Isabel enters, saying she has been waiting for years in the honeymoon cottage she bought. She must have an answer: has he made up his mind? He has. She was an hour late with her last payment; he’s repossessing the cottage. In case old Scrooge has missed the point, the Ghost gives him a lecture about his failure.
“But you did forget, often,” Scott is told. “Oh?” “Look: another Christmas Eve. Delayed by the pressure of business. Do you remember?” “No!” he shouts, not answering the question but recognizing the scene. The couple are outside in the snow. Belle’s face is tragic as she tells Ebenezer she thought he might not come at all, now that he’s so busy. Ebenezer is brisk, well-dressed, somewhat after the manner of his father. He tries to explain about business; she exclaims, “Another idol has taken my place!” “What idol has replaced you?” “A golden one. You fear the world too much.” The scene goes on as written. She asks if he would seek her out, and, after a long pause, he answers as in the text. “Oh, Ebenezer,” she cries, “What a safe and terrible answer!” Both faces show great pain. “Ebenezer, I release you! You are a free man! I let you go with a full heart. May you be happy, etc.” The music swells; she walks away, still tragic. Old Scrooge remarks to the Spirit, “I almost went after her.” “Almost carries no weight,” the Ghost informs him, “Especially in matters of the heart.” She asks why he didn’t follow, and he explains how his father’s death left him a small inheritance, which he had invested toward their future. He was laying the foundation for success, which he has achieved. “Congratulations.” “I’ll thank you not to sneer, Spirit, show me no more. Conduct me home.” “You have explained what you gained. Now I will show you what you have lost.”
Caine is told, “There was, of course, another Christmas with this young woman, some years later.” “Oh, please. Do not show me that Christmas.” The Spirit concentrates; her eyes are all that show in the flash of white that follows. Then they are outdoors. Belle explains that Ebenezer has put off their wedding again, but that he is, after all, a partner in his own firm now. He keeps setting higher standards for his business before they can marry; he points out that he is doing this for her. “I love you,” he tells her. “you did once.” This leads to a song, “The Love Is Gone”. She moves to a bridge. Every time Ebenezer joins her, she moves farther along. He finally quits trying. The old Scrooge steps up behind her, joining the song until he is weeping too much to continue. Dickens and Rizzo are crying as well. “Spirit! Show me no more! Why do you delight in torturing me?”
It seems to be autumn. Curry is also late for a meeting with Belle; they are outside, and meet on a bridge. “Good news, mt darling! Guess what I’ve got!” “Give me a hint, Ebenezer.” “It’s small and round and gold, and holds the future.” “A ring?” “No. The profits from my first business venture.” Belle’s eyes dim as Ebenezer tells her all about it; Scrooge snaps at his younger self, “Stop talking, you mindless bump!” The song “I’ll Cross This bridge with You” presents the debate between Love/Passion and Gold/Security. Old Scrooge grows depressed; as belle leaves, he tells his younger self, “Go after her, you fool!” he then turns to the Ghost. “Stop. Don’t show me any more.”
We are outdoors with Stewart as well; it is snowing. Recognizing the place, Scrooge turns to the Ghost. “The years change people. I don’t wish to look, Sir.” “You must.” Ebenezer is complaining about the condemnation od the pursuit of wealth; the dialogue moves through Belle’s offer to release him. Old Scrooge cries “No! No!” Ebenezer asks if he has ever sought release, and they continue through the question of whether Ebenezer would seek Belle out now. Old Scrooge tries to answer for him, but Ebenezer is silent until Belle concludes “No.” “You think not,” Ebenezer counters. As belle goes through the next speech, Scrooge desperately coaches his younger self. “Speak to her! Why doesn’t he speak to her?” Belle explains that if he did choose her, “There’d be no profit in it, and if you forgot your principle of profit and did marry me, you’d regret it, my love.” She walks away; old Scrooge commands, “Go after her!” Ebenezer starts to rise from the bench, but sits again. “Don’t be afraid!” Old Scrooge implores, “Go after her!” Belle does look back twice to see if he is following; Old Scrooge watches her move on, until she disappears in snow and mist. “No more. Show me no more. Take me home. Why do you delight in torturing me?”
20 ½: Interlude
Sim I now interpolates some business episodes in the life of our protagonist. Having been ordered by Old Scrooge to take him away, the Spirit replies, “Very well. But we are not done yet, Ebenezer Scrooge. We do but turn another page.”
The Board of the firm managed by Mr. Jorkens has conducted an inquiry, turning up a deficit of 3200 pounds. Jorkens is not only a bankrupt, but an embezzler. This does not worry him much apparently, though it is a hanging offense. He warns the Board that if he prosecuted, they will gain only the eleven pounds, eight shillings, and tenpence left in the till, and a panic on the part of the shareholders which will put an end to any hope of a recovery. His young associates, however, have a proposition which offers a way out. Scrooge and Marley will make up the deficit from their savings, provided they can purchase shares to give them 51% od the enterprise. The Board expostulates; Scrooge and Marley sit back, knowing the Board members have no other choice.
The movie then jumps some years forward. Marley’s housekeeper, Mrs. Dilber, hurries to the counting house on Christas Eve. She tells a young Bob Cratchit that Mr. Marley lies dying; he is calling for Mr. Scrooge. Scrooge, however, refuses to leave the office before closing time. Business is business.
At seven, he deliberately takes his leave, declining Bob’s attempt to discuss Martley’s impending demise, and growling, “You’ll want all day tomorrow, I suppose.”
“If quite convenient, sir.”
“Every Christmas you say the same thing,” Scrooge replies, almost smiling, “And every Christmas it’s just as inconvenient as the Christmas before.”
He eventually reaches Marley’s quarters, where Mrs. Dilber and a man he mistakes for a doctor are waiting. The man turns out to be an undertaker, whom a grimly amused Scrooge apparently regards as a fellow businessman. “Is he dead yet?” he inquires
The undertaker and housekeeper offer to check, but he marches back to see for himself. A little uncertain, he leans warily over to listen for signs of life. Marley opens one eye.
“Have they seen to you properly?” asks a hearty Scrooge. “Last rites and all that, hmmm? There’s nothing I can do, hmmmm?” This last is not so much a question as a statement.
But Marley does want something. As we saw at the start of the picture, Marley has had some kind of deathbed vision of his fate; he desperately tries to warn Scrooge. Scrooge cannot figure out from what he is supposed to save himself. It seems to involve some moral principle, and he explains to Marley that they have been as good as the next man; probably better. Marley dies before he can explain. Scrooge walks out leaving the undertaker to pull the sheet up over his old partner.
“One shadow more,” says the Ghost. “No. Mo more. I cannot bear it.” The Ghost lectures him on his lack of feeling at the death of the man he worked with for eighteen years, and shows the Scrooge of seven years ago signing the register as he takes possession of Marley’s property. Scrooge, signing the book, does look a bit smug; the Ghost calls him a wretched, grasping, scraping, covetous old sinner. Scrooge replies “nonononono.”
If anyone within traveling distance did not already know, you should be visiting the Newberry Library Book Fair this weekend, at 60 W. Walton Pl., Chicago (about six blocks west of the John Hancock Building.) It is an improvement over last year’s Covid-afflicted venture and open from 10 A.M. to 6 P.M. There may be a line to get in if you go early, but it moves quickly. Efficiency seems to be their watchword (they’re not taking cash, for one thing) but there are books galore and plenty of fun to be had. (In the Grand Renovation, the drinking fountains and vending machines went away, so bring your own hydration source or visit the Walgreen’s or Potash Brothers Market within a few blocks).
So we are in full vacation season now, in spite of heat and smoke and the decision whether to boycott states which are too blue or too red in their politics. People are flocking to places where they can kick back and forget about that alarm clock telling them to get dressed and go to work. (An alarm clock telling you to get up for your tee time or the best fishing spots are a whole nother matter.)
So perhaps it is time to consider once more how postcards, which were often designed just to be sent home from your vacation paradise, treated the whole subject with suspicion. Here, for example, is a vacationer setting off.
And here is that same vacationer on arrival.
Naturally, postcards reminded you, finding a place to stay during peak season could be a challenge.
But most people could find a way to adapt to this difficulty.
This made them free to enjoy the usual trials and tribulations of the vacation-minded. You will recall our discussion of mosquito postcards.
And, as ever, the dangers of sunburn.
The heat generally was a topic of concern.
But even the minor accidents of a vacation were fair game for the postcard cartoonists. Don’t you just hate it when someone peeks in on you at the beach just when you’re changing?
Still, negativity does not sell products. So the emphasis was more often on how this chance to get away let you forget some of the requirements of your daily job, say, as an officer in the cavalry.
It provided a chance to view the beauties of nature (whether you wanted to or not.)
And the constant daily routine of housework could always do with a carefree, lighthearted interruption as you pursued the simple life.
Yes, said the cartoonists, there were challenges in planning a restful vacation. But if you had the ingenuity, you would find a way.
If you have been following along (and why should you?) you will recall our discussions of the role of postcards in the life of the general public. Originally regarded as the text message of the day, they could be used to issue or accept an invitation, let someone know you’d gotten home safely, etc. This was possible in the era of two mail deliveries a day.
Gradually, the pictures became more and more important. A mere product is nothing without new and improved new improvements, and companies vied for great pictures, either things which told a story related to something the sender might be doing, or simply pictures of a place. These doubled as souvenirs for the buyer and advertisements for the seller: a description of the beauties of Zap, South Dakota might lure more tourist trade.
So, eventually, this being the world of commerce and marketing, some postcard companies tried to do both, producing funny postcards which had a blank spot where the name of a town (or, less common, a hotel or a resort or a beach) could be printed. This ALSO being the era when pennants for your wall were a major souvenir, this spot frequently took the form of a pennant.
Any store that wanted to promote its community (as well as provide tourists with proof they’d been there) could lead through cards extolling the adventures a person could have, and order a few gross with the name of the town printed in. For a lower price, some companies would simply provide the blanks, and these could be taken to a local job printer for the same addition. (Not a GREAT job of centering here, but it serves its purpose.)
Here’s an example from World War I which has NOT yet been through the localization process.
How fancy these pennants became was limited only by the ingenuity of the seller, and the buyer’s desire to pay extra.
Look carefully at this item. See that the pennant has TWO points (which officially makes it a pennon or something instead of a pennant; missed that episode of Fun With Flags.) Actually, this was an extra deluxe item on which a felt pennant was pasted over the pennant blank on the card. The glue has just let go toward the end, so the felt point has drooped below the printed one.
If you look even more carefully here, you can see this one had no blank pennant at all, but DID, at one point, have a felt one, possibly removed to keep in a scrapbook by itself. (The white triangle shows that the pennant WAS there once, rather than this being another example of an unfinished card.)
Publishers were not limited to pennants for the purpose of adding a town name. Here, logically, they used a postcard on their postcard.
A newspaper was another useful prop.
As well as, of course, a camel.
This fashion started to wither away in the 1920s or thereabouts. Not that stores were uninterested in publicizing the towns they inhabited. But as far ack as the earliest days of the postcard, some companies would just print “Greetings from Elizabeth, Illinois” on any blank space on the picture. This was a lot easier, as it involved less alignment of the press and the picture. Still, some daring souls continued to use props well into the 1940s, using, say, a signpost.
Or a picture on the wall.
Or, adventurously, the sails of a sailboat.
The postwar world, however, saw a decline in the use of postcards generally and, gradually, a decreasing interest in humorous postcards for local advertisements. For those stores which were still willing to offer more than just sunsets, autumn leaves, and sailboats to advertise, companies produced more cards like these, with a blank bar across the top or bottom with room for the seller’s address and ad. (They could also simply get a rubber stamp and stamp “Greetings from File’s Grocery” somewhere in the message section. But those folks, like the gentleman seen above, were really cheating.)
Although they had but that moment left the school behind them, they were now in the busy thoroughfares of a city, where shadowy passengers passed and repassed; where shadowy carts and coaches battled for the way, and all the strife and tumult of a real city were. It was made plain enough, by the dressing of the shops, that here it was Christmas again; but it was evening, and the streets were lighted up.
The Ghost stopped at a certain warehouse door, and asked Scrooge if he knew it.
“Know it!” said Scrooge. “Was I apprenticed here?”
They went in. At the sight of an old gentleman in a welch wig, sitting behind such a high desk, that if he had been two inches taller, he must have knocked his head against the ceiling, Scrooge cried in great excitement.
“Why, it’s old Fezziwig! Bless his heart; it’s Fezziwig alive again!”
Old Fezziwig aid down his pen, and looked up at the clock, which pointed to the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands; adjusted his capacious waistcoat; laughed all over himself, from his shoes to his organ of benevolence; and called out in a comfortable, oily, rich, fat, jovial voice: :Ho ho, there! Ebenezer! Dick!”
Scrooge’s former self, now grown a young man, came briskly in, accompanied by his fellow-‘prentice.
“Dick Wilkins, to be sure!” said Scrooge to the Ghost. “Bless me, yes. There he is. He was very much attached to me, was Dick. Poor Dick! Dear, dear!”
“Ho ho, my boys!” said Fezziwig. “No more work tonight. Christmas Eve, Dick. Christmas, Ebenezer! Let’s have the shutters up,” cried old Fezziwig, with a sharp clap of his hands, “before a man can say, Jack Robinson!”
You wouldn’t believe hoe those two fellows went at it! They charged into the street with the shutters—one, two, three—had ‘e, up in their places—four, five, six—barred ‘em and pinned ‘em—seven, eight, nine—and came back before you could have got to twelve, panting like racehorses.
“Hilli-ho!” cried old Fezziwig, skipping down from the high desk, with wonderful agility. “Clear away, my lads, and let’s have lots of room here! Hill-ho, Dick! Chirrup, Ebenezer!”
Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn’t have cleared away, or couldn’t have cleared away, with old Fezziwig looking on. It was done in a minute. Every moveable was pushed off, as if it were dismissed from public life for evermore; the floor was swept and watered, the lamps were trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire; and the warehouse was as snug, and warm, and dry, and bright a ball-room as you would desire to see upon a winter’s night.
In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk, and made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In came Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three Miss Fezziwigs, beaming and lovable. In came the six young followers whose hearts they broke. In came all the young men and women employed in the business. In came the housemaid, with her cousin, the baker. In came the cook, with her brother’s particular friend, the milkman. In came the boy from over the way, who was suspected of not having board enough from his master; trying to hide himself behind the girl from next door but one, who was proved to have had her ears pulled by her mistress. In they all came, one after another; some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling; in they all came, anyhow and everyhow. Away they all went, twenty couples at once, hands half round and back again the other way; down the idle and up again; rund and round in various stages of affectionate grouping, old top couple always turning up in the wrong place; new top couple starting off again, as soon as they got there; all top couples at last, and not a bottom one to help them. When this result was brought about, old Fezziwig, clapping his hands to stop the dance, cried out, “Well done!” and the fiddler plunged his face into a pot of porter, especially provided for that purpose. But scorning rest upon his reappearance, he instantly began again, though there were no dancers yet, as if the other fiddler had been carried home, exhausted, on a shutter; and he were a bran-new man resolved to best him out of sight, or perish.
There were more dances, and there were forfeits, and more dances, and there was cake, and there was negus, and there was a great piece of Cold Roast, and there was a great piece of Cold NBoiled, and there were mince-pies, and plenty of beer. But the great effect of the evening came after the Roast and the Boiled, when the fiddler (an artful dog, mind! The sort of man who knew his business better than you or I could have told him!) struck up “Sir Roger de Coverley”. Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top couple, too; with a good stiff piece of work cut out for them; three or four and twenty pair of partners; people who were not to be trifled with; people who WOULD dance, and had no notion of walking.
But if they had been twice as many: ah, four times: old Fezziwig would have been a match for them, and so would Mrs. Fezziwig. As to HER, she was worthy to be his partner, in every sense of the term. If that’s not high praise, tell me higher, and I’ll use it. A positive light appeared to issue from Fezziwig’s calves. They shone in every part of the dance like moons. You couldn’t have predicted at any given time, what would become of ‘em next. And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig had gone all through the dance: advance and retire, hold hands with your partner; bow and curtsey; corkscrew, thread-the-needle, and back again to your place; Fezziwig “cut”—cut so deftly, that he appeared to wink with his legs, and came down upon his feet without a stagger.
When the clock struck eleven, this domestic ball broke up. Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig took their stations, one on either side of the door, and shaking hands with every person individually as he or she went out, wished him or her a Merry Christmas. When everybody had retired but the two ‘prentices, they did the same to them, and thus the cheerful voices died away, and the lads were left to their beds; which were under a counter in the back-shop.
During the whole of this time, Scrooge had acted like a man out of his wits. His heart and soul were in the scene, and with his former self. He corroborated everything, remembered everything, enjoyed everything, and underwent the strangest agitation. It was not until now, when the bright faces of his former self and Dick were turned from them, that he remembered the Ghost, and became conscious that it was looking full on him, while the light upon its head burnt very clear.
“A small matter,” said the Ghost, “to make these silly folks so full of gratitude.”
“Small!” echoed Scrooge.
The Spirit signed to him to listen to the two apprentices, who were pouring out their hearts in praise of Fezziwig: and, when he had done so, said
“Why? Is it not? He has spent but a few pounds of your mortal money: three or four, perhaps. Is that so much that he deserves this praise?”
“It isn’t that,” said Scrooge, heated by the remark, and speaking unconsciously like his former, not his latter, self. “It isn’t that, Spirit. He has the power to render us happy or unhappy, to make our service light or burdensome; a pleasure or a toil. Say that his power lies in words and looks; in things so slight and insignificant that it is impossible to add and count ‘em up: what then? The happiness he gives, is quite as great as if it cost a fortune.”
He felt the Spirit’s glance, and stopped.
“What is the matter?” asked the Ghost.
“Nothing particular,” said Scrooge.
“Something, I think?” the Ghost insisted.
“No,” said Scrooge. “No. I should like to be able to say a word or two to my clerk just now! That’s all.”
His former self turned down the lamps as he gave utterance to the wish; and Scrooge and the Ghost again stood side by side in the open air.
“My time grows short,” observed the Spirit, “Quick!”
And what shall we say about the Fezziwig Christmas Party? It is the joy of the illustrator, the prize of the anthologist, the great and grand opportunity for the songwriter. The film-maker gets a glorious chance to slip in a production number, or display an array of painstakingly accurate props and costumes, or set up an elaborate and joyful set piece, with a cast of, anyhow, dozens.
And, at that, some versions cut it, while others give it a mere glance in passing. Quite a lot rewrite it to remove the very reason Dickens set it here, to show us that Ebenezer was not always the mind-on-business loner he became. In these, young Ebenezer is already dour, his mind often on the waste of time and expense of such an event (though Dickens has the Ghost point out that it was NOT expensive.) Belle is usually inserted into these, as a brief brightness in Ebenezer’s dim worldview, so that her removal from his life later becomes Scrooge’s excuse to become so fatally cranky.
What is odder, though, is the omission, in many versions, of the punchline, when Scrooge realizes how short of Fezziwig he falls as a manager. Just about everyone, though, whatever has been planned to follow it, uses “My time grows short.”
It’s just a thought in passing, by the way, but scriptwriters have elaborated the role of just about everyone else in this story, so why has nobody really definitively given us the story of “poor” Dick Wilkins? Beyond Owen, who shows Dick at school with Ebenezer, and Scott, who gives him a couple of lines after the party, no one does much more with Dick than Dickens, when Scrooge notes that Dick used to be quite fond of him. Sim II, indeed, drops Dick entirely, and has Scrooge use this line about Fezziwig.
Hicks, sticking to a rule of one vision per spirit, omits this scene.
Owen is led through the streets until he stands before “J. Fezziwig & Co.” The Ghost asks Scrooge if he remembers the place. “Fezziwig’s warehouse! I was apprenticed here!” Fezziwig is short and jolly, youngish, with a dark wig, and dressed in the style of the late eighteenth century. Dick and Ebenezer are extremely young. Looking eagerly to the clock, Fezziwig sprinkles sand to blot what he’s been writing, and shuts his book. Calling his apprentices, he orders them in a sharp voice to look at the clock themselves. “Do you know I’ve let you work five minutes after closing time?” Laughing, he orders them to put up the shutters. When they’ve finished, he tells them, “About tomorrow: it’s a holiday, of course, but I shall expect you to spend some part of it, at least, with me.” He pauses to watch their faces fall, and goes on, “Eating Christmas dinner! And as probably you’ll eat too much to be of any good next day, we’ll make that a holiday too.” He hands them their Christmas bonuses; each is rendered breathless by the discovery that this is a gold sovereign. “Solid gold is old Fezziwig,” they declare, once he has left. The Ghost asks Scrooge what the matter is, and persists until the old man admits that something is bothering him. “Old Fezziwig was very kind to me.” “Yes, he was. But he’s dead now.” She then lectures him on how he should repay old Fezziwig’s kindness by being kinder to his own clerk. Scrooge rejects this at once. “Business is business. I’m a good businessman.”
With Sim I, we arrive at an evocation of the dance, performing the dialogue about Scrooge remembering this place. Scrooge bounces in time to the music, elated to be here. His Fezziwig is rather young, and short, but very round, as is his wife. “Was there ever a kinder man?” Scrooge exclaims. The Ghost points out that the man has spent only three or four pounds of mortal money, and Scrooge snaps back as in the text. He stops abruptly at the word “fortune” and finally admits that he’d like to have a word or two with his clerk. Out of Scrooge’s sight, the Ghost nods approval.
With March, we enter Fezziwig’s home; some sort of country dance is in progress. This is a mannered exercise, but everyone is clearly having a good time. Wigged servants carry trays through the assembly; Fezziwig has clearly done well for himself. A governess conducts a small girl to dance with a heavyset older man, perhaps her grandfather. “There’s old Fezziwig, bless his heart, alive again! And Mrs. Fezziwig!” “Not alive again,” the literal-minded Ghost reminds him, “This is Christmas Past.” Scrooge spots Dick Wilkins, his fellow apprentice. “You haven’t forgotten,” notes the Ghost. Scrooge has not; he rhapsodizes “No more work tonight!’, he’d say, ‘It’s Christmas Eve!’ What a jolly old fellow he was. Look! There I am! Just as I used to be!” Young Ebenezer is filling the punch glass of a young lady who tells him not to be so stingy. Another asks why he isn’t dancing. He’s waiting for belle, who had to work late. When she arrives, we see she is indeed the very image (being played by the same actress) of the Ghost of Christmas past. At a call for a song, belle and Ebenezer oblige with “What Shall I Give My Lad/My Girl for Christmas?” Old Fezziwig holds mistletoe over their heads, and then calls for a polka. “He made us happy, did old Fezziwig. I wish….” At this critical moment, the Ghost interrupts to take us to the next scene.
The Spirit leads Rathbone to a tall metal door with a row of bricks on each side but no walls. A brass plate shows this to be the “Fezziwig & Co. Emporium.” “Do you know this door?” the Ghost inquires. “Know it?” Scrooge chuckles, “I was apprenticed here.” The Ghost gestures and the door swings open. We move to an office which has windows but no walls, and three counting desks. The two nearest us are occupied by Ebenezer and Dick Wilkins; the proprietor sits at the desk along the far open-space-not-wall. This man, a chap in late middle age, announces in a gravelly voice that it is time to clear away these desks to make room for the dancing. While the young men are about this, Belle enters, bearing a cake. When Fezziwig takes this, Belle seizes Ebenezer’s hands, dancing him round and round just as Fan did in the classroom, singing “La la la la”. Fezziwig commands that Ebenezer hang the mistletoe, and calls him a rogue when Ebenezer instead holds it over Belle’s head and kisses her. The Ghost notes that this is a small matter. “What?” demands Scrooge. “He has spent but a few pounds, but the happiness he gives is as great as if he had spent a fortune.” Scrooge admits this. The ghost goes on, “My time grows short. Quickly.”
Magoo and the Ghost stand outside a shop. The Ghost asks if he remembers it. Scrooge replies with joy that he was apprenticed here. Next he cries out at swing old Fezziwig, alive again. This Fezziwig is a jolly, roly-poly old soul in a white wig. He calls to the two apprentices, who rush into the room; Scrooge is touched to see Dick Wilkins again. Fezziwig gives his orders; we watch the apprentices put up the shutters and cheerfully clear away the stock to make room for dancing. Much food and greenery, including a Christmas tree, is put into place. The fiddler strikes up a tune; we find a Mrs. Fezziwig who is indeed a good match for her husband. Scrooge watches them, recalling, “Oh, he does love to dance! Oh, look at him dance!” In another part of the room, Belle is turning away suitors, hiding coyly behind her fan. “She won’t dance with ‘em,” Scrooge confides to the Ghost, slapping the Spirit on the back when Belle picks the young Ebenezer. Then to scrooge’s disappointment, the happy group fades away. Only Dick and Ebenezer are left, obviously after the party, locking up and praising old Fezziwig. The Ghost makes a disparaging remark about small matters; Scrooge replies with the “It isn’t that” speech, but draws no moral therefrom. The Ghost notes “My time grows short.”
Haddrick is asked by the Ghost if he remembers this place. He does. Young Ebenezer sits at a high desk. “Ah, such loneliness!” exclaims the Ghost. “That’s what made me what I am today,” Scrooge objects. “Lonely?” “No! Successful. Comfortably off. Because I chose to spend my time in more useful pursuits than pleasure and enjoyment.” Then he spots old Fezziwig, alive again. This Fezziwig is stout, with dark receding hair. Scrooge cries “Bless my soul!” orn seeing him, and again when he sees Dick Wilkins. The fiddler arrives; the two apprentices dash out to put up the shutters. The food is set out; for once this is pretty much limited to what is described in the text. Mrs. Fezziwig is plump, and taller than her husband. “They seem happy enough on Christmas Eve,” the Ghost observes. Scrooge steals the Ghost’s dialogue, grumbling “It takes little to make these people happy.” “You were one of them.” “I was young, but I’ve grown wiser.” “Have you, though?” “I have no time for making people merry. That’s humbug.” “My time grows short.”
Sim II’s Fezziwig is exuberantly rotund, with a dark wig, mustache, and monocle. Scrooge admits to knowing the place, and cries out on seeing his old boss alive again; he laughs. Fezziwig orders the lads to clear away, clapping Ebenezer on the shoulder. “He was very much attached to me.” There is a fiddler, lots of food, and a very plump Mrs. Fezziwig; we are given just a brief vision of the dancers. The Ghost makes her remark about small matters and silly folks; Scrooge responds as in the text. But instead of proceeding to the punchline, he experiences a brief vision of his treatment of Bob Cratchit at closing time. The Ghost notes “My time grows short.”
Finney’s is one of the oldest, thinnest, most serious-looking Fezziwigs, a Fezziwig that looks like George Arliss by way od Woodrow Wilson. Scrooge exclaims to see him alive again, and explains, “I was his apprentice!” Fezziwig, in a state of excitement, cries out to his apprentices, who hurry to put up the shutters and clear the room; only now does Scrooge recognize Dick Wilkins. Outside, the fiddlers leads the guests, dancing, up the street to the tune of “I Saw Three Ships”. Mrs. Fezziwig is rather petite; she and her husband rush into each other’s arms. The Ghost and Scrooge take up a position in the loft. Fezziwig, by now having proven his businesslike mien was but the mask of a Christas fanatic, leads the throng in the musical number “December the Twenty-Fifth”. The Ghost inquires “Why didn’t you join the dance?” Scrooge snaps “Because I couldn’t do it!” “Tsk tsk tsk tsk.” There is a lively dancing game, which Fezziwig loses, to his own great amazement. “What a marvelous man!” Scrooge declares. “What’s so marvelous? He’s merely spent but a few pounds of your mortal money.” This irritates Scrooge, who exclaims, “You don’t understand! He had the power to make us happy or unhappy, to make our work a pleasure or a burden. It’s nothing to DO with money!” The dancers prance on, but after a moment are moving in slow motion. We watch Fezziwig’s daughter Isabel draw Ebenezer into the dance. Old Scrooge recalls his love, singing “You…you….” We watch the pair on a summer picnic, chaperoned by Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig,.
Matthau sees himself with Belle, his fiancée. There is no mention whatever of Fezziwig, though we do see the old man and his wife dancing in a room dotted with Christmas trees. Scrooge recalls that the dance was so lively that the couple had to step out into the winter weather to cool themselves. Ebenezer explains to Belle why they can’t marry right away; old Scrooge shouts at him. The lovers sing about their different dreams, Belle being willing to settle for love in a cottage while Ebenezer wants to surround her with comforts in a rich man’s mansion.
McDuck stands outside the Fezzywig (sic) Tea Company. “I couldn’t have worked for a kinder man.” Mr. Toad plays Fezzywig AND the fiddler. Scrooge notes, “That shy lad in the corner: that’s me.” “That’s before you became a miserable miser, consumed by greed.” “Well, nobody’s perfect.” Lovely Isabella has to drag him into the dance; under the mistletoe, she kisses him. Scrooge recalls how much in love he was.
Scott’s Fezziwig is a cheerful old chap with dark hair; he also has an establishment which supports a large staff, including a couple of female clerks, all busy about some kind of work with dry goods. Fezziwig calls out, “Pens down! No more work tonight, boys!” and goes on to order the shutters up and things cleared away. He also makes a point of ordering young Ebenezer to enjoy himself; he appreciates how much Ebenezer puts into the work, but there is more to life. Ebenezer promises to try, while the old Scrooge exclaims at seeing Mrs. Fezziwig. And her three daughters! And…Belle. “I’d forgotten how beautiful she was.” Ebenezer invites her to dance; Belle is breathlessly excited at being in love. At length, they slip away from the group. The Ghost suddenly inquires, “How long since you danced, Ebenezer?” The smiling Scrooge turns dour. “Waste of time, dancing.” “You didn’t think so then.” “There was a reason then.” Meanwhile, Belle is telling Ebenezer how much less gloomy he seems since coming to Fezziwig’s. He replies that he is of a serious turn of mind, but will try henceforth to go through life with a grin. Old Scrooge smiles at the recollection. Fezziwig slips up behind the couple, making little jokes to embarrass the young lovers, and draws them back into the group, declaring all the while the joys of a happy marriage. The Ghost observes “Old Fezziwig: a silly man.” Scrooge is startled. “Silly? Why silly?” “What has he done? Spent a few pounds? Danced like a monkey? Beamed a great smile?” Scrooge leaps to Fezziwig’s defense, but his voice slows as he realizes how he compares to his old boss. “Just…small things,” he concludes. Dick, in the previous era, demands, “Are you in love, Ebenezer?” “The thought had occurred to me.” “She’s too good for you.” “One day, “Ebenezer muses, “When I’ve made my fortune, then I’ll deserve her.” “It was a night,” the Ghost notes, “Never to be forgotten.” “Never,” says Scrooge.
Caine flies through a flash of light. “Do you know this place?” “Know it? My first job was here!” This is Fozziewig’s Rubber Chicken factory; at the sight of his old boss, Scrooge laughs and describes the businessman as being “as hard and as ruthless as a rose petal.” He realizes with excitement that they have arrived in time for the Fozziewig Christmas Party. Fozziewig makes a welcoming speech, jeered by the young Marley brothers. A severe young Ebenezer asks if Fozziewig understands how much this party is costing. Fozziewig reproves him, ordering him to enjoy himself. Later, Fozziewig introduces Ebenezer to a distant relative, one Belle. Ebenezer is transfixed, and we hear the rest of the dialogue in echoes as love clouds his senses. “Do you remember this meeting?” the Ghost inquires. “Remember? Yes, I remember.”
With Curry, we see the warehouse and its four or five employees. “Bust my buttons!” Scrooge exclaims, on spotting Fezziwig, “He hasn’t changed a bit!” His boss is an elderly gent in late Victorian garb, a bit short of breath. Checking a pocket watch, he calls for his apprentices to put up the shutters and clear away. “I was an apprentice here,” Scrooge explains, “A good one, too. Old Fezziwig treated me like his own son.” He reaches to pet Debit, who shies away. There is a fiddler, a modest spread of food, and some dancing. Mrs. Fezziwig is younger than her husband. Scrooge, his expression mild, taps his feet to the music and laughs, “Good old Fezziwig! Show me a better boss than that, eh?” The Ghost is unimpressed. “So he spent a bit of coin on some song and dance.” “Bit of coin? You couldn’t buy that happiness with a fortune! He had the power to render us happy or unhappy; to make our jobs a pleasure or a drudgery.” “He must have set quite an example for you.” Scrooge does not reply; the Ghost demands, “Now what?” “Oh, nothing particular. I’d like to be able to say something to Bob Cratchit, that’s all.” “My time grows short.”
Stewart is asked whether he knows this place; he is so obviously excited to be here that the Ghost chuckles. He pauses at the door, yanks it open, and cries out at seeing old Fezziwig alive again. This old Fezziwig is a stout fellow indeed, with a pronounced double chin and a high dark wig. Scrooge spots Dick Wilkins just before Fezziwig rushes over to sprinkle sand on their books, ordering them over and over to do no more work tonight. The older Scrooge takes it all in hungrily, nodding. The food arrives followed by a suitably plump Mrs. Fezziwig. There is a great deal of laughter. Scrooge names the Fezziwig children as they arrive; there is a bit of business with young Eli Fezziwig, whom Ebenezer delights by drawing a coin from behind the small boy’s ear. A band (flutes, clarinet, and serpent) plays for the dancing. Scrooge is now watching his younger self with apparent passivity until the camera pans down to show his feet bouncing to the music. He is breathless as Ebenezer and Dick Wilkins compete in a dancing contest; Ebenezer is then called upon to talk (the not unwilling) Fezziwig into performing a comic song. The Ghost’s hope rises with old Scrooge’s excitement. Belle arrives late. Ebenezer takes her cloak, kissing her. Scrooge takes this all in, murmuring that Fezziwig once told him “When happiness shows up, always give it a comfortable seat.” The Ghost responds with a variant of the speech about silly folk, and how little was spent. Scrooge answers fiercely, nbut slows as he realizes what he is exposing about his own managerial style. In reply to questioning, he mumbles, “Looking back, perhaps things seem better than they really were.” “All this was a lie, then?” “The world changes. You can’t trust anything,” growls Ebenezer Scrooge. But that is as far as he can go in that direction; he cannot resist going on, “But no. It was just like this, down to the last mince pie and dance.” Regret is obvious in his face; we se snow falling on the waltzing Belle and Ebenezer, which leads us into the next scene.
19 ½: Interlude
At this point, Sim I veers away from the text into three episodes, all bridging the gap between Fezziwig’s apprentice and the hard young man who rejects or is rejected by Belle in the next scene. We begin with the eager young apprentice sitting with Alice (the name Belle goes by in this production.) He hands her an engagement ring which cost him a shilling. She hands it back.
Dismayed, Ebenezer asks if the ring is not good enough, or he not rich enough.
“You’re still so young,” she tells him. “You may have a change of heart one day.”
“Dearest Alice, if ever I have a change of heart towards you, it will be because my heart has ceased to beat.” Scrooge always did have a way with words.
She asks if it makes no difference to him that she is so poor. He says he loves her BECAUSE she’s poor, and not proud. “Will you always feel like that?” she inquires.
“As long as I live. Forever and ever.”
She accepts him then, and they vow to love each other to eternity.
“I’ve seen enough,” snarls old Scrooge.
“But more awaits you,” the Ghost informs him.
“I won’t look.” “You shall. Now see yourself in business.”
The devil enters Fezziwig’s in the form of the elegant Mr. Jorkens. He wants to buy out old Fezziwig, at considerable profit to both himself and the old man. Fezziwig declines to sell; he may be old-fashioned, but money isn’t everything. When he leaves the room to check on something, young Scrooge tries to stick up for Fezziwig’s point of view. Jorkens offers him twice his current salary to come work for the firm Jorkens represents.
We shift to Fan’s deathbed; Ebenezer is devastated, leaving before Fan’s last words, pausing for a moment to glower in the direction of a crying baby. A man (his brother-in-law?) tries to prevent him from leaving; Scrooge jerks away and marches out. After he is gone, Fan murmurs a plea that Ebenezer look after her boy. (Nice commentary on her husband.) The old scrooge, sobbing, begs her forgiveness.
Fan’s death seems to have resulted from a lack of ready cash; Ebenezer is immediately moved to go accept Jorkens’s offer. (He mentions that Fezziwig wished him well as he left.) Here he meets the older and somewhat world-weary senior clerk, Jacob Marley, who voices some of Jorkens’s philosophy, noting the industrial revolution has made the world a tougher place. Mr. Scrooge replies that the world is hard and cruel; one must steel oneself or be crushed with the weak and infirm. Mr. Marley notes they have much in common.
At length, we see the sign for “J. Fezziwig & Co., est. 1765” being removed from its building. The new managers, Scrooge and Marley, walk by as Fezziwig watches from inside a carriage; he is obviously the victim of a hostile takeover. A clerk asks if he will be kept on in the new firm, and is informed that his job is secure if he takes a twenty percent cut in salary. Scrooge, recognizing Fezziwig, almost takes a step forward. When he pauses, the carriage pulls away.
We shift to Alice,. Looking out a window; then we step inside, where Ebenezer is saying “Then you no longer love me.”
“You no longer love me,” says Alice, before we move into the next section.
(Finney has a briefer interlude to cover this period, as we watch the Fezziwigs, Belle, and Ebenezer on their picnic. The Ghost looks touched ass Ebenezer gives Alice a ring. “I did love her, you know,” Scrooge tells the Ghost. “Did you? Why did you let her go?” “I’ve never been quite sure.” “Then let us go see.”
FUSS FUSS FUSS #10: In the Matter of Fezziwig, Ltd.
So here is Mr. Fezziwig, his face and figure set down forever by John Leech: boss of all bosses, a man who really knows how to handle staff relations and throw a mean Christmas party. That is really all Dickens tells us about him, so whoever wants more will need to make it up as they go along.
So Owen gives us J. Fezziwig, Sim I has S. Fezziwig, McDuck Fezzywig, Stewart one Albert Fezziwig, and Caine has Fozziewig (who is Fozzie in a wig; comedy can be very logical.) All but a few Fezziwigs clearly bear a relation to the Leech illustration, without the least nonsense about a welch, or Welsh, wig (which, as The Annotated Christas Carol informs us, is a cloth cap.)
What the firm (est. 1765, according to sim I) actually does is even more of a mystery than what Scrooge & Marley did. There is a warehouse, but this tells us nothing. Scott’s Fezziwig deals in dry goods, while McDuck’s runs a tea company. Fozziewig manufactures rubber chickens. In Sim I, he is a “merchant”, manufacturing waistcoats; in Rathbone he owns an “Emporium”, perhaps a retail store (perhaps not.) In some versions, Ebenezer and Dick Wilkins appear to be his sole employees, while in others, he has a large staff (Dickens leans a little toward the latter.) Curry and Finney have memories of hauling boxes for the firm.
His family is largely ignored by screenwriters, save in Stewart, where his daughters have names (and a brother.) When Belle makes an early appearance, she may be a daughter, a niece, another relation, or just another one of the poor working girls attending the party.
In most movies, Fezziwig throws a much larger affair than Dickens shows us. (Three or four pounds wouldn’t cover a fraction of the spread in March.) But whatever the size of his party or his company; the essential Fezziwig is represented, a manager who justifies the joy in Scrooge’s cry of “It’s old Fezziwig, alive again!”
The skunk, I am told here, is a member of the weasel family, which may come in brown, ginger, or cream colors as well as black, almost always have stripes or other warning marks, and almost never, ever bite. This is all very well for science on the Interwebs. In postcards (as well as other media), they are black and white animals that smell bad, and are fairly amused to do so.
As such, they were frequent stars of postcards meant as apologies, either for not writing, or for other indiscretions. Calling yourself a stinker was a jovial way of admitting a mistake, not unlike the numerous postcards in which one compares oneself to a jackass or a horse’s backside. Since apologizing while smiling shows you are SHEEPish, perhaps this just argues that cityfolk don’t know one four-legged mammal from another.
What’s interesting about these postcards from the Fifties is that this was a time when the word “stink” was largely taboo in the movies or on radio. We were a little more liberal when it came to print media.
Though in some cases, you were allowed to use the word if it did NOT refer to odor: somebody could be stinking drunk (as here) or stinking rich with less offense. (Perhaps because “stinking” was probably substituting here for a more potent word.)
We see here a more careful wording for the 1940s. “Smell” was still iffy, but not so much as “stink”.
“Scent” was perfectly acceptable, though this was generally utilized for pun purposes.
I think I have mentioned before that this artist’s skunks are among the cutest in the postcard world, however regrettable the puns or the bizarre anatomy.
But there were plenty of ways artists could refer to the odor of a skunk without describing it in so many words. (I might just pause for a moment here to object to a couple of cartoon cliches here. First of all, does a skunk smell like a skunk even when not on the attack. Or is Uncle Ezree only mildly skunklike? And though I understand the principle, did anybody ever actually seriously use clothespins to block off their organs of scent? The style the lady is using here would seem to me to break if really shoved down over a human nose, and the springloaded type would probably hurt too much to be worn for very long. And, anyhow, she’s got hers way at the tip of her nose, where they’re not going to block her nostrils, unless she’s built like those animals which have the…where were we?)
This chap has more of the right idea: clutching his nose down by the nostrils. You will note that in both these pictures, the skunk is very happy with the reaction of the humans involved. It’s as if the skunks enjoyed being outcasts, stuck on the fringe of society, left alone to follow their own purposes.
Until World War II came along, of course, and all types were called into the emergency work force. Even stinky patriots were welcome. (No relation to the football team similarly monikered.)
Blogsy Babbles 