Confessions of a Humorist (Henry)
Short Summary
A small American town, presumably early 1900s. A second bookkeeper made a humorous speech at his employer's birthday, gaining sudden local fame.
Encouraged by success, he pursued humor professionally. Initially prosperous, he gradually lost spontaneity, obsessively stealing witty remarks from family and friends.
A literary Judas, I kissed her and betrayed her. For pieces of silver I dressed her sweet confidences in the pantalettes and frills of folly and made them dance in the market place. Dear Louisa! Of nights I have bent over her cruel as a wolf.
Miserable and alienated, he found solace in the quietly dull atmosphere of Heffelbower's undertaker parlor, eventually becoming Heffelbower's partner, regaining joy as he left humor behind.
Soon, with his humor writing failing, he happily abandoned it entirely for the undertaking business, restoring happiness and harmony to his family life.
Detailed Summary
Division into chapters is editorial.
The Discovery of Humor Talent
After twenty-five years of incubation, the narrator's talent for humor suddenly emerged. It all began when he was selected to give a speech for the senior partner's fiftieth birthday at the hardware store where he worked. The speech, filled with puns and witty remarks, was a tremendous success. Old Marlowe actually grinned, and all the employees laughed heartily.
From that moment, the narrator's reputation as a humorist was established. His fellow clerks praised his cleverness and explained his jokes back to him. Soon, he found himself expected to maintain this humorous persona. He was the second bookkeeper at the store, but if he failed to make jokes about balance sheets or find humor in invoices of plows, his colleagues were disappointed.
Gradually, the narrator became a local character in their small town. The newspaper quoted him, and he was considered indispensable at social gatherings. He believed he possessed considerable wit and a talent for spontaneous repartee, which he cultivated through practice. His humor was kindly and genial, never sarcastic or offensive. People began to smile when they saw him coming.
Becoming a Professional Humorist
The narrator had married early and had two children: a three-year-old boy named Guy and a five-year-old girl named Viola. They lived in a vine-covered cottage and were happy, with his bookkeeper's salary keeping them from the troubles of excessive wealth. Occasionally, he wrote jokes and sent them to periodicals, which were always accepted.
One day, the narrator received a letter from the editor of a famous weekly publication, suggesting he submit a humorous composition to fill a column. After two weeks, the editor offered him a contract for a year at a salary higher than what he earned at the hardware firm.
Delighted by this opportunity, the narrator discussed it with his wife Louisa, who was thrilled at the prospect of his literary success. They celebrated with lobster croquettes and blackberry wine. After careful consideration, he resigned from the hardware store, and his fellow clerks gave him a farewell banquet where his speech was a brilliant success.
The Dark Side of Humor
The next morning, the narrator awoke thinking he was late for work, before remembering he was now a professional humorist. Louisa proudly showed him to a small room she had prepared as his writing space, complete with a desk, writing materials, and decorative touches. He sat down to work, staring at the wall paper for inspiration.
Five hours later, Louisa called him to dinner. She suggested he shouldn't work too hard at first and proposed taking the children to the woods that afternoon. Within a month, however, he was producing copy regularly and achieving success. His column in the weekly gained attention, and he increased his income by contributing to other publications.
After five or six months, the spontaneity began to leave his humor. He found himself struggling for material, listening to friends' conversations for ideas, and spending hours trying to create jokes. He became a predator of wit, noting down any clever saying or phrase he heard from others for his own use.
I was a lugubrious fox praising the singing of my friends, the crow's, that they might drop from their beaks the morsels of wit that I coveted. Nearly every one began to avoid me. I even forgot how to smile.
His friends began to avoid him. Even in church, his mind hunted for humor in the sermon and anthems. His own home became a hunting ground. He exploited his wife's candid conversations for material, publishing her confidences for profit. He betrayed her trust for pieces of silver, turning her sweet words into public entertainment.
Worst of all, he began to prey on his children's innocent sayings. He wrote a regular magazine feature called "Funny Fancies of Childhood" based on their conversations.
I began to stalk them as an Indian stalks the antelope. I would hide behind sofas and doors, or crawl on my hands and knees among the bushes in the yard to eavesdrop while they were at play. I had all the qualities of a harpy except remorse.
Once, desperate for material, he hid in a pile of autumn leaves where the children were going to play. Guy may have known he was there when he set fire to the leaves, nearly burning his father. Soon his children began to flee whenever they saw him coming. Despite his moral degradation, he was doing well financially, saving money while his family lived in comfort.
Seeking Refuge in an Undertaking Business
One day, Peter Heffelbower, the local undertaker, greeted the narrator with a friendly smile—something he hadn't experienced in months. Peter invited him inside his establishment. In the back room, surrounded by caskets and funeral paraphernalia, the narrator felt a strange sense of peace and contentment.
I had found a refuge from humor, from the hot chase of the shy quip, from the degrading pursuit of the panting joke, from the restless reach after the nimble repartee.
When Peter returned, the narrator was relieved to discover that his conversation was magnificently dull. Compared to it, "the Dead Sea is a geyser." Even the narrator's best jokes fell flat with Peter, and he loved him for it. Two or three evenings each week, he would visit Heffelbower's back room, his only joy and refuge from the constant pressure to be humorous.
Under this influence, the narrator's spirits began to improve. He occasionally smiled at former friends and even made jokes with his family. His work became less burdensome, and he often whistled at his desk. However, his writing quality suffered as he rushed through tasks to get to his sanctuary at the undertaker's.
I had so long been ridden by the incubus of humor that I seized my hours of holiday with a schoolboy's zest. My work began to suffer. It was not the pain and burden to me that it had been.
Finding Joy After Humor
One day, Peter Heffelbower offered the narrator a partnership in his undertaking business. The narrator immediately accepted, giving Peter his thousand dollars in savings. He returned home filled with joy at the prospect of giving up humor writing, though uncertain about telling his wife.
At home, Louisa handed him several letters, many containing rejected manuscripts. Then he opened a letter from the weekly editor, who declined to renew his contract, citing a decline in the quality of his humor. His earlier work had shown spontaneity and natural flow, but lately it had become labored and unconvincing.
To Louisa's surprise, the narrator began dancing around the table in celebration. He explained that he was now a partner in Heffelbower's undertaking establishment and would no longer need to write jokes. With the editor's letter as justification, Louisa could not object to his career change.
In conclusion, I will say that to-day you will find no man in our town as well liked, as jovial, and full of merry sayings as I. My jokes are again noised about and quoted; once more I take pleasure in my wife's confidential chatter.
The business prospered, with the narrator keeping the books and managing the shop while Peter handled outside matters. Peter claimed that the narrator's levity and high spirits would turn any funeral into an Irish wake. Free from the burden of professional humor, the narrator once again enjoyed life, his family, and his natural wit.