Bartlett's Book of Anecdotes

by Clifton Fadiman

  DULLES, John Foster (1888–1959), US statesman.

  1 Asked whether he had ever been wrong, Dulles considered the question for some time before replying. “Yes,” he finally admitted, “once — many, many years ago. I thought I had made a wrong decision. Of course, it turned out that I had been right all along. But I was wrong to have thought that I was wrong.”

  DUMAS, Alexandre [père] (1802–70), French novelist and playwright, often called Dumas père to distinguish him from his illegitimate son and namesake, Dumas fils.

  1 Dumas’s prodigious output was greatly assisted by his corps of ghost writers. Meeting his son and namesake, Dumas inquired, “Have you read my new novel yet?” Alexandre fils replied, “No. Have you?”

  2 A reporter was questioning Dumas about his ancestry. “Is it true that you are a quadroon?” he asked. Dumas replied that it was.

  “So your father was a mulatto?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your grandfather was a negro?”

  “Yes.”

  Incautiously the reporter persisted: “And your great-grandfather was — ?”

  “A baboon, sir,” roared Dumas, his patience exhausted. “A baboon! Which means that my family begins where yours ends.”

  3 A well-known theater manager visited Dumas and, without removing his hat, rather unceremoniously asked if it was true that the famous playwright had sold his latest play to another, smaller theater company. Dumas confirmed this. The manager then made an enormous rival bid, but was unable to change Dumas’s mind. “Your competitor,” said Dumas, “got the play much more cheaply by a very simple procedure.”

  “And that was — ?”

  “While enjoying the honor of conversing with me, he took off his hat.”

  4 A committee asked Dumas to contribute toward the funeral of a man who had died in poor circumstances. Dumas asked whether the deceased had been a member of the artistic circle of Paris. “Not exactly,” was the reply, “but he sort of moved in and out among us. He was the district bailiff.”

  “How much will it cost to bury him?” inquired Dumas.

  “Twenty-five francs.”

  “Here are fifty francs,” said Dumas. “Go bury two bailiffs.”

  5 Dumas’s quarrel with a rising young politician became so intense that a duel was inevitable. As both were superb shots, they decided to draw lots, the loser agreeing to shoot himself. Dumas lost. Pistol in hand, he withdrew in silent dignity to another room, closing the door behind him. The rest of the company waited in gloomy suspense for the sound of the shot that would end Dumas’s career. It rang out at last. They ran to the door, opened it, and there was Dumas, smoking revolver in hand. “Gentlemen, a most regrettable thing has happened. I missed.”

  6 During the premiere of one of his plays at the Théâtre Français, Dumas mentioned to a friend that on the previous night at the same theater he had witnessed Fournet’s Gladiator.

  “How was it?”

  “Tedious,” answered Dumas. “People simply fell asleep.”

  At this moment the friend noticed a member of the audience sunk in deep slumber and remarked with a smirk, “Well, apparently your own play doesn’t seem especially gripping either.”

  “My dear friend, you are mistaken. He’s left over from last night.”

  7 “How do you grow old so gracefully?” exclaimed an admirer of the elderly Dumas. “Madame, I give all my time to it,” was the reply.

  DUMAS, Alexandre [fils] (1824–95), French novelist and playwright, often known as Dumas fils to distinguish him from his father.

  1 At a Paris salon Dumas overheard a woman describe him as a “boor with whom one could never spend more than an hour.” Some months later Dumas found himself staying in the same seaside hotel as the woman. Her husband was away in Paris for most of the week; she was thoroughly bored and ready for a little intrigue. Dumas exerted all his charm to seduce her, and in the end gained his objective of an assignation. At the end of exactly one hour he got up and marched to the door. “Madame, the time is up. Good day.” He bowed and left the room.

  2 Before the first night of a Dumas play a pretty young actress rushed up to Dumas all aflutter with stage fright. “Oh, Monsieur Dumas,” she gasped, “just feel how my heart is beating.” Dumas, of course, was only too happy to oblige. “How does it feel?” pursued the soubrette after a pause. “Round,” said Dumas.

  3 One night Dumas fils set out to go to the theater, but, deterred by pouring rain, returned home. His wife, Ida, had already gone to bed, so Dumas settled down to read by the fire in their bedroom. Suddenly the closet door burst open, Dumas’s friend Roger de Beauvoir, clad only in a shirt, emerged, shaking with cold. “I don’t see why I should die of pneumonia while you sit there warming yourself by the fire,” he exclaimed. A heated altercation ensued, at the end of which Dumas started to hustle de Beauvoir outside. Seeing the pelting rain, however, he paused to reflect; after all, de Beauvoir was an old friend. “You can explain tomorrow,” he said, “in the meantime I am going to bed and you can sleep in the armchair.”

  At first all was peaceful, but as the fire died down de Beauvoir’s teeth began to chatter again. Dumas awoke. “Come to bed,” he called magnanimously to de Beauvoir, who hopped in at once beside Ida. The three of them slept cosily till morning, when Dumas woke up the guilty pair. “As old friends, Roger, we shouldn’t quarrel, even about a wife,” he said. “Let us be reconciled as the ancient Romans were — on the public thoroughfare.” So the two of them shook hands across the still sleeping Ida.

  4 Dumas listened in silence as his friends discussed the physical attributes of two courtesans. One of the ladies had a magnificent figure, the other a beautiful face. “Which would you prefer?” they asked. “I would prefer to go out with the second,” replied the writer, “and come home with the first.”

  DUNCAN, Isadora (1878–1927), US dancer.

  1 Duncan was dancing with a young man when Paris Singer, a millionaire industrialist with whom she was having an affair, entered the room and threw him out. Duncan, visibly angry, tore off her diamond necklace, scattering the jewels. “If you treat my friends like that,” she cried, “I won’t wear your jewelry.” As she left the room she whispered to another man present, “Pick them up.”

  2 At her home in Nice in September 1927, Isadora Duncan stepped into her brand-new, low-slung Bugatti racing car, driven over from the dealer’s by a mechanic. She wrapped her beloved long red scarf around her neck, flung back the end of it, waved gaily to her friends, crying, “Adieu, mes amis! Je vais à la gloire!” The driver started up and the car moved off with a roar. The long red scarf became entangled in the spokes of the oversized rear wheel, twisted, and snapped Isadora’s neck, killing her instantly.

  DUNSANY, Edward John Moreton Drax Plun-kett, 18th Baron (1878–1957), Irish poet, short-story writer, and playwright.

  1 Dunsany Castle, the home of Lord Dunsany in County Meath, Ireland, was sacked by the Black and Tans (a British armed force sent to Ireland to combat the republican movement, Sinn Fein). As the soldiers departed, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake, Lord Dun-sany’s butler politely inquired, “Who shall I say called?”

  Mme du Martel, one of Mme du Deffand’s circle in eighteenth-century France, shared her gentle, smiling philosophy. Very ill and facing death, she said to a friend at her bedside, “My consolation is that I am confident that somewhere at this very moment people are making love.”

  DU PONT, Thomas Coleman (1863–1930), US entrepreneur and politician.

  1 On arrival at a Chicago hotel, Du Pont found that a lady who had previously occupied his room had left behind a frilly nightgown. He summoned the manager, handed him the garment, and instructed, “Fill it, and bring it back.”

  DUROCHER, Leo (1906–91), US baseball player and manager.

  1 Asked if he didn’t feel sorry to have beaten such a “nice bunch of guys” as the New York Giants when he was manager of the Brooklyn Dodgers in the 1940s, Durocher coined the classi
c “Nice guys finish last.”

  DUSE, Eleonora (1859–1924), Italian actress.

  1 On her California tour Eleonora had as her personal press representative a charming journalist named Sam Davis. He was the editor of the Carson Appeal and also wrote for the San Francisco Examiner. Duse grew very fond of him and when it came time for her to return to New York, just before the “All aboard!”, she kissed him first on one cheek, then on the other, and finally on the mouth. “The right cheek is for the Carson Appeal, the left for the Examiner, and the mouth, my dear friend, for yourself.” Davis thanked her, then added, “I also represent the Associated Press, which serves three hundred and eighty newspapers west of Kansas.”

  2 Eleonora Duse offered to look after the year-old baby of some friends while they went out. The parents wondered about the famous actress’s competence with babies, but she assured them that she was full of dodges for entertaining infants. When the parents returned, they found their child sitting up gazing transfixed at the baby-sitter, who was lying on the sofa, snoring sonorously. Duse opened one eye. “Ssh,” she said. “If I stop snoring for an instant she yells.” She had, she reported, run through her whole gamut of singing, dancing, face-pulling, and other tricks and the baby had wailed throughout. The moment she had begun pretending to snore the baby had sat quite silent, mesmerized.

  DUVAL, Claude (1643–70), British highwayman, born in Normandy.

  1 Duval’s exploits were the subject of many ballads and pamphlets around the time of his trial and execution. The most famous of these concerns his reputation for gallantry toward ladies and his appreciation of the finer arts of life, which he had no doubt learned when he was page to the Duke of Richmond. It was said that one day on Hounslow Heath Duval and his gang stopped a coach in which sat a knight and his young wife. The lady, to show her unconcern, took a flageolet from her pocket and proceeded to play upon it. Thereupon, Duval also took out a flageolet and the highwayman and his victim played very prettily together. “Sir,” said Duval, “your lady plays excellently and I doubt not she dances quite as well. Will you please to get out and let me have the honor of a dance with her upon the Heath?” The knight did not think it prudent to oppose the highwayman’s wishes, so the lady got out and she and the highwayman danced upon the Heath. When the dance was over, Duval turned to the husband. “You have forgotten to pay for the music,” he said. “No, I have not,” replied the knight, and handed Duval a bag containing £100. Now Duval knew well that the couple had another £300 concealed in their coach, but he accepted the £100 with a good grace, bade the lady a courteous farewell, and rode off.

  DUVEEN, Joseph, Baron Duveen of Millbank (1869–1939), British art dealer.

  1 In 1920 Duveen and some of the other major art dealers decided on a determined attempt to divert some of Henry Ford’s millions into the art market. They clubbed together to produce exquisite full-color reproductions of the “hundred greatest paintings in the world” and had these plates bound into three magnificent volumes, which they took along to the Ford residence. Ford was delighted, admired the pictures extravagantly, and thanked the delegation of dealers for showing him their splendid books. The dealers thought the time ripe to broach the real business. By a curious coincidence, they explained, every one of the pictures represented in the books was for sale and they would be happy to assist Mr. Ford in any way they could to acquire these art treasures for his own. A look of puzzlement spread over Ford’s face. He explained courteously that he was not really in the market for buying such big expensive books. Duveen hastened to reassure him: the books were a gift. Ford protested that he could not possibly accept such a valuable present from strangers. At this impasse Duveen was obliged to come clean and explain that the books had been specially made up to interest him in buying the originals of the pictures. At last Ford understood. “But gentlemen,” he protested, “why would I want to buy originals when the pictures here in these books are so beautiful?”

  DYSON, Sir Cyril (1895–?), British jeweler.

  1 Presenting the graduation prizes at a girls’ school, Dyson found it difficult to think of something different to say to each girl. As an attractive seventeen-year-old approached him across the platform, he could come up with nothing more original than “And what are you going to do when you leave school?” With a coy flutter of her eyelids, the girl replied, “Well, I had thought of going straight home.”

  E

  EAKINS, Thomas (1844–1916), US realist portrait painter.

  1 Once Eakins’s wife entered his studio and, looking at his work, said, “Oh, that hand is beautifully painted. I’ve never seen you do one better.” Upon which Eakins took a knife and scraped it right off his canvas. “That’s not what I wanted,” he said. “I wanted you to feel the hand.”

  EASTWOOD, Clint (1930–), US film actor and director.

  1 Once Eastwood was asked how he defined the essence of a Clint Eastwood movie. His reply was, “To me, what a Clint Eastwood picture is, is one that I’m in.”

  2 Eastwood was walking across the Warner lot one day when he was suddenly accosted by a hostile young woman, who shouted, “You’re a no-good sonafabitch, always making Mexicans the bad guys in your films and killing them.” “Don’t be angry,” responded the actor. “I kill lots of other people too.”

  3 When he heard that Eastwood had been elected mayor of the California town of Carmel-by-the-Sea, Ronald Reagan was delighted. “What makes him think a middle-aged movie actor who’s played with a chimp could have a future in politics?” crowed the President.

  EDDY, Mary Baker (1821–1910), US religious leader, founder of the Church of Christ, Scientist, in Boston.

  1 Bronson Alcott, the philosopher and father of Louisa May Alcott, came one day to visit the Massachusetts Metaphysical College, which Mrs. Eddy had established to train practitioners of Christian Science. He encountered by chance a young man named George Barry and fell into conversation with him. Much impressed by Barry’s mental ability, he asked him his age. “Five years old,” was the response. Then, noting Alcott’s puzzlement, Barry continued: “It’s five years since I first met Mrs. Eddy.”

  EDEN, [Robert] Anthony, 1st Earl of Avon (1897–1977), British statesman; prime minister (1955–57).

  1 Shortly before Eden became prime minister, the journalist Alistair Cooke asked the aging Bertrand Russell his opinion of Eden. “Not a gentleman; dresses too well,” was the verdict.

  EDEN, Sir William (1849–1915), British baronet, father of Anthony Eden (later Lord Avon).

  1 As the father of a future prime minister, Sir William Eden could be surprisingly undignified at times. Although he usually restricted himself to dry comments, such as “the progress of civilization is the decay of taste,” he could be stirred to more violent action. On one occasion, when the weather had looked promising but then turned to rain, Sir William shook his fist at the clouds beyond the window and yelled, “Just like you, God!” He then tore the barometer, which still indicated “Fair,” off the wall and threw it through the same window with the cry, “There, you damned fool, see for yourself!”

  EDISON, Charles (1890–1969), US politician, son of Thomas Alva Edison

  1 Campaigning for the governorship in 1940, Edison was anxious to dissociate himself from his father’s renown. “I would not have anyone believe I am trading on the name Edison,” he would explain as he introduced himself. “I would rather have you know me merely as the result of one of my father’s earlier experiments.”

  EDISON, Thomas Alva (1847–1931), US inventor responsible for about thirteen hundred inventions, the most famous of which are the electric light bulb, the gramophone, and motion pictures.

  1 Edison was asked to sign a guest book that had the usual columns for name and address, as well as one for “Interested in.” In this last column Edison entered the word: “Everything.”

  2 Edison was concerned about the way in which acquaintances visiting his office helped themselves to his Havana cigars. As he could not be bothered t
o lock them up, his secretary suggested that a friend of his in the cigar trade should roll some cigars made from cabbage leaves in brown paper and that these should be substituted for the Havanas. Edison agreed, then forgot about it, and only remembered some time later when the Havanas started vanishing again. He called his secretary and inquired why the bogus cigars had not arrived. The secretary said they had and that he had handed them over to Edison’s manager. The manager explained that, not knowing what they were, he had packed them in Edison’s bag when he had gone away on a visit. “And do you know,” Edison concluded, “I smoked every one of those damned cigars myself!”

  3 Someone remarked on the huge number of failures Edison had encountered in his search for a new storage battery — fifty thousand experiments before he achieved results. “Results?” said the inventor. “Why, I have gotten a lot of results. I know fifty thousand things that won’t work.”

  4 Edison had a summer residence of which he was very proud. He enjoyed showing visitors around his property, pointing out the various labor-saving devices. At one point it was necessary to pass through a turnstile in order to take the main path back to the house. Considerable effort was needed to move the turnstile. A guest asked Edison why it was that, with all the other clever gadgets around, he had such a heavy turnstile. Edison replied, “Well, you see, everyone who pushes the turnstile around pumps eight gallons of water into a tank on my roof.”

  5 After a series of electrical storms at Orange, New Jersey, the vestrymen of a certain church there discussed the desirability of placing lightning rods on the structure. Then they sought Edison’s advice, who asked them what sort of building it was. “A church,” was the reply. “By all means put lightning rods on,” said Edison. “You know Providence is absentminded at times.”