2 Carl Sandburg was a guest of honor at a banquet along with a famous general. Suddenly the hostess without prior warning announced, “Mr. Oliver Herford will now improvise a poem in honor of this occasion.” Herford, a shy and modest man, protested. “Oh, no,” he said, shrinking back in his chair, “have the general fire a cannon.”
SANDERS, George (1906–72), British stage and film actor, born in Russia.
1 After a lifetime of playing cynical, world-weary characters on stage and in the movies, Sanders committed suicide. His final note read, “I am leaving because I am so bored.”
SANDWICH, John Montagu, 4th Earl of (1718–92), British politician.
1 Entertaining at a dinner at which his chaplain was present, the earl brought in a large baboon dressed in clerical garb to say grace. The affronted chaplain left the room, pausing on his way out to observe, “I did not know your lordship had so near a relative in holy orders.”
2 Lord Sandwich was remarkable for his un-gainliness; a contemporary wit said that he could be recognized from afar by the fact that “he walked down both sides of the street at once.” He liked to tell the following story: During a stay in Paris he took dancing lessons. Bidding farewell to his dancing master, he offered to recommend him to members of London society who might be visiting Paris. The man bowed and said earnestly, “I would take it as a particular favor if your lordship would never tell anyone of whom you learned to dance.”
3 As Sandwich was dining with the actor Samuel Foote, he asked him how Foote thought he would die: from the pox or on the gallows? Foote replied, “My Lord, that will depend upon one of two contingencies — whether I embrace your Lorship’s mistress or your Lorship’s principles.”
SANTAYANA, George (1863–1952), Spanish-born philosopher and poet.
1 Santayana inherited his simple and unostentatious habits from his father. Once he asked the senior Santayana why he always traveled third class. “Because there’s no fourth class.”
2 When Santayana came into a sizable legacy, he was able to relinquish his post on the Harvard faculty. The classroom was packed for his final appearance, and Santayana did himself proud. He was about to conclude his remarks when he caught sight of a forsythia beginning to blossom in a patch of muddy snow outside the window. He stopped abruptly, picked up his hat, gloves, and walking stick, and made for the door. There he turned. “Gentlemen,” he said softly, “I shall not be able to finish that sentence. I have just discovered that I have an appointment with April.”
SARASATE [y Navascués], Pablo de (1844–1908), Spanish violinist.
1 By inviting Sarasate to dinner, his wealthy hostess had hoped to obtain a free violin recital for her guests after the meal. During the course of dinner she broached the subject, asking Sarasate whether he had brought his violin. “Mais non, madame,” replied the violinist, “mon violon ne dine pas” (No, madame, my violin does not dine).
2 In the latter part of his career, Sarasate received a visit from a famous music critic who acclaimed him as a genius. Sarasate accepted the compliment with little enthusiasm. “A genius!” he said. “For thirty-seven years I’ve practiced fourteen hours a day, and now they call me a genius!”
SARGENT, John Singer (1856–1925), US portrait painter.
1 The commission to paint the coronation of Edward VII went to an artist named Edwin A. Abbey. This huge canvas contained about 120 portraits, and Abbey worked on it from 1902 to 1904. One important sitter was the Prince of Wales, the future George V. He surprised Abbey by asking him about Sargent’s income, which apparently was much discussed among the portraitist’s friends, of whom the prince was one. “Do you suppose it’s ten thousand pounds?” guessed the prince. “I would say more likely twenty thousand,” replied Abbey. The heir apparent was amazed: “My God! I wish I had twenty thousand pounds a year!”
2 Sargent did not take kindly to criticism of his work by his subjects. When a woman objected to his treatment of the mouth in a portrait he had done of her, his rejoinder was: “Perhaps, madam, we’d better leave it out altogether.”
{Sargent suggested “A little something wrong with the mouth” should be written on his tombstone.}
3 A woman who was paying $5,000 for her portrait by Sargent said that there was something wrong with the nose. “Oh, you can easily put a little thing like that right when you get it home,” said Sargent, handing her the canvas.
4 Sargent had been commissioned to do a portrait of Teddy Roosevelt. Determined to find the right setting, he and the President scoured the White House for a suitable backdrop. By the end of the second afternoon, after trying a succession of poses against various settings, Roosevelt had had enough. Pausing at the bottom of a staircase, his elbow on the newel post, he turned to the painter and said, “We’re after the impossible; we’d better give it up.” Sargent took in at a glance the President’s pose and exclaimed, “Don’t move, Mr. President! We’ve got it!”
5 Sargent once found himself sitting beside an effusive young admirer at a dinner party. “Oh, Mr. Sargent,” she gushed, “I saw your latest painting and kissed it because it was so much like you.”
“And did it kiss you in return?” asked the artist.
“Why, no.”
“Then it was not like me,” said Sargent with a smile.
SARGENT, Sir Malcolm (1895–1967), British conductor and organist.
1 At the age of seventy, Sargent was asked by an interviewer: “To what do you attribute your advanced age?”
“Well,” replied the conductor, “I suppose I must attribute it to the fact that I haven’t died yet.”
SAROYAN, William (1908–81), US writer.
1 Before his death in 1981, Saroyan phoned in to the Associated Press a final Saroyanesque observation: “Everybody has got to die, but I have always believed an exception would be made in my case. Now what?”
SATIE, Erik (1866–1925), French composer of songs and piano pieces.
1 Satie wrote the following direction on one of his piano compositions: “To be played with both hands in the pocket.”
2 Satie attended the premiere of Debussy’s La Mer, the first part of which is entitled “From Dawn to Noon on the Sea.” Asked by the composer what he thought of the work, Satie replied, “I liked the bit about quarter to eleven.”
SCARRON, Paul (1610–60), French poet, playwright, and novelist.
1 Scarron dedicated a collection of poems to his sister’s dog: “A Guillemette, chienne de ma soeur.” Shortly before the publication of the poems, however, Scarron quarreled with his sister, and as a result the following notice appeared among the errata of the book: “For chienne de ma soeur [my sister’s bitch] read ma chienne de soeur [my bitch of a sister].”
2 At their marriage the notary drawing up the contract asked Scarron what dowry he intended to bestow upon his beautiful but penniless young bride. “Immortality,” he replied.
SCHEFFEL, Josef Victor von (1826–86), German writer.
1 While Scheffel was a student and had already achieved some literary fame, he set out on a walking trip along the right bank of the Rhine. As the day was hot, he decided on a swim, threw off all his clothes, and plunged in. The current, however, was far stronger than he expected. After an exhausting struggle he managed to reach shore — but found himself on the left bank. Stark naked, he had no option but to walk to the nearest inn and appeal for help. It happened that the district military policeman had also stopped by at the inn. The latter grimly surveyed the naked, dripping Scheffel. “Where did you come from?” he demanded.
“From the opposite bank, Officer.” “And what’s your name?”
“I’m the writer Josef Victor von Scheffel.”
“Indeed. Show me your papers!”
SCHIFFER, Claudia (1970–), German fashion model.
1 Asked about her background and her ambitions, Schiffer told an interviewer, “My education was to become a miss. A Miss. Like Miss Venezuela, Miss World …”
SCHLEIERMACHER, Friedrich Daniel Erns
t (1768–1834), German philosopher and theologian.
1 When complimented on the popularity of his sermons, which drew large audiences from many walks of life, Schleiermacher explained, “My audiences comprise mainly students, women, and officers. The students come to hear me preach, the women come to look at the students, and the officers come to look at the women.”
SCHLIEMANN, Heinrich (1822–90), German archaeologist, discoverer of Troy.
1 “I have looked upon the face of Agamemnon,” exulted Schliemann when his excavations in the citadel of Mycenae unearthed a gold death mask of a warrior king. Later, doubts crept in, and his more scientifically inclined colleagues almost persuaded him that he had discovered the remains of a generation far earlier than the presumed date of Homer’s Agamemnon. Schliemann resisted these suggestions hotly at first, but later came to accept them philosophically. “What,” he said, “this is not Agamemnon’s body and these are not his ornaments? All right, let’s call him Schulze.” (Schulze is the German equivalent of Smith or Jones.) After that, these remains were always referred to as “Schulze.”
SCHMIDT, Mike (1949–), US baseball player.
1 The Phillies’ third baseman who won ten Golden Gloves over his career and led his league in home runs eight times attended a banquet given for his team when they won the World Series in 1980. During his speech Ruly Carpenter, owner of the team, said to the audience, “What can I say about Mike Schmidt after his being named Most Valuable Player for both the National League and the World Series?” Schmidt shouted from his seat, “Renegotiate!”
2 The Philadelphia media were always highly critical of the Phillies, even when the team played well. Schmidt once said about the city’s sportswriters, “Philadelphia is the only city in the world where you can experience the thrill of victory and the agony of reading about it the next day.”
3 Philadelphia’s resident fans were tough, too. After losing the World Series to the Orioles in 1983, Schmidt was driving up to a bus carrying his daughter home from school when the schoolchildren inside spotted him and began chanting “Choke! Choke! Choke!” “Ah,” said Schmidt, “that’s your Philadelphia fan in the making.”
SCHNABEL, Artur (1882–1951), Austrian pianist.
1 A piano student came to Schnabel to ask him if he could study with him. Schnabel tested him and agreed to take him on as a pupil. “How much are your lessons?” the student asked.
“Five guineas each.”
“I’m afraid I can’t afford that.”
“I also give lessons at three guineas — but I don’t recommend them.”
2 In 1940, Schnabel’s son Stefan, an actor, was visited by a publicity agent. Toward the end of the interview she asked: “Are your parents in America?”
“Yes,” replied Stefan.
“And your father — what does he do?”
“He is Artur Schnabel.”
The lady looked bemused. “I see,” she said. “But what does he do?”
“He’s a pianist,” replied Stefan. “He played at Carnegie Hall several times this season.”
“That’s nice,” said the agent. “I’m always so glad to hear of a refugee getting on well.”
3 An elderly lady in the front row slept right through one of Schnabel’s concerts, waking with a start as the final ovation rang around the auditorium. Schnabel leaned across to apologize. “It was the applause, madame,” he whispered. “I played as softly as I could.”
SCHÖDL, Max (1834–1921), Austrian still-life painter.
1 Schödl was noted for his absentmindedness. “Where to?” asked the driver of a horse-cab that the painter had hailed. Schödl reflected. “Number six,” he said. “I’ll tell you the street later on.”
SCHOLL, Aurélien (1833–1902), notorious Belle Epoque boulevardier, journalist, and amorist.
1 “One challenger of Scholl’s was a banker of rather shady reputation who, on certain occasions, had carried out a number of deals which had all but landed him in prison. Angered by some insinuating remarks Scholl had written about him in his newspaper, the banker burst into Tortoni’s and challenged Scholl to a duel. Scholl, as always adjusting his monocle, stared coolly at the man and asked, ‘You really want to fight?’
“ Oui, monsieur!’ roared the banker.
“Scholl shrugged. ‘Bon,’ he said. ‘I daresay that when we arrive on the grounds they’ll remove your handcuffs.’ ”
3 “He eventually married the daughter of a rich London brewer, a far from felicitous marriage which in no way interfered with his successful pursuit of other women. His witty approach had an individuality of its own. When one little married woman, wanting to give way yet struggling with her conscience, pleaded piteously, ‘Let me be for a time, my friend! Let me retire into myself,’ Scholl replied with gallant ardor: ‘Allow me, madame, to accompany you.’ ”
SCHÖNBEIN, Christian Friedrich (1799–1868), German-Swiss chemist.
1 In 1845 Schönbein was carrying out an experiment with a mixture of sulfuric and nitric acid in the kitchen of his home. This was a practice expressly forbidden by his wife, who had banned the professor from her kitchen. In her absence he became so absorbed in his experiment that he spilled a little of the dangerous mixture on her kitchen table. Aware that his disobedience might be disclosed by a permanent stain on the woodwork, he grabbed the first thing at hand, his wife’s cotton apron, and mopped up the offending liquid. He then hung it before the fire so that it would be dry before his wife returned. The resulting explosion, caused by the nitration of the cellulose in the cotton, eventually enabled the browbeaten chemist to invent, market, and exploit the smokeless gunpowder that became known as guncotton.
SCHÖNBERG, Arnold (1874–1951), Austrian composer, pioneer of atonality, the so-called twelve-tone system.
1 Schönberg was strolling through the streets of his home town with a visiting friend one day, nodding graciously at the respectful greetings from the local people, many of them young boys. His friend was impressed and not a little surprised. “You really are famous,” he remarked. “Even the children know you.”
“That is quite true,” remarked Schönberg with a smile. “You see, my son is a halfback on the high-school football team.”
2 (The pianist Artur Schnabel in the course of a lecture told this story about the composers Schönberg and Stravinsky.)
“You may find this hard to believe, but Igor Stravinsky has actually published in the papers the statement, ‘Music to be great must be completely cold and unemotional’! And last Sunday, I was having breakfast with Arnold Schönberg, and I said to him, ‘Can you imagine that Stravinsky actually made the statement that music to be great must be cold and unemotional’? At this, Schönberg got furious and said, ‘I said that first!’”
SCHOPENHAUER, Arthur (1788–1860), German philosopher.
1 Visiting a greenhouse in Dresden, Schopenhauer became absorbed in contemplation of one of the plants. His eccentric gestures drew the attention of the attendant. “Who are you?” he asked. Schopenhauer looked at him for some moments, then said slowly, “If you could only answer that question for me, I’d be eternally grateful.”
2 Schopenhauer, living in lodgings at Frankfurt for the last years of his life, used to take his meals at an inn frequented by English military personnel. At the start of each meal he would place a gold coin on the table in front of him. At the end of the meal he would drop the coin back in his pocket. A waiter, who had been eyeing the coin with interest, asked him why he did this. Schopenhauer explained that he had a little wager with himself every day: he would drop the coin into the poor box on the first occasion that the English officers talked of anything other than horses, dogs, or women.
SCHUMANN-HEINK, Ernestine (1861–1936), German contralto.
1 Schumann-Heink was an unashamed gourmand. Enrico Caruso, another lover of good food in quantity, entered the restaurant at which she was dining. Seeing her about to begin on a vast steak, he said, “Stina, surely you are not going to eat that alone?�
� “No, no, not alone,” replied the lady, “mit potatoes.”
2 When Mme Schumann-Heink appeared as the witch in Hansel and Gretel, her children, watching from the auditorium, were appalled at her fate at the end of the opera. “Mother! Mother!” her little boy screamed as she was pushed into the oven. A few minutes later she was back on the stage for her curtain calls. “There she is!” he cried out in relief. “There’s Mother! They didn’t burn her after all!”
3 Conditions were rather cramped in the Detroit concert hall where Schumann-Heink was to perform. As the portly singer struggled through the orchestra pit to make her entrance, music racks crashed to the floor. The conductor looked on in alarm. “Sideways, madam,” he whispered urgently, “go sideways.”
“Mein Gott!” cried the singer in reply. “I haff no sideways.”
4 In the Depression of the 1930s financial problems forced Schumann-Heink out of retirement. Despite her age and ill health, she signed a music-hall contract and took to the road. A newspaper reporter interviewing her remarked: “Things must be really bad when a great Wagnerian contralto is forced to do ten-cent shows.”
“Young man,” said Ernestine reprovingly, “how can times be bad when children can hear Schumann-Heink for a dime?”
SCHWAB, Charles (1862–1939), US financier.
1 Schwab’s first big job in finance was in 1901, when J. P. Morgan hired him to run U.S. Steel. Before starting, Schwab went to Paris to cut loose, but his party-going and high living were loud enough to reverberate back in America. Upon his return to New York Morgan called him into his office and told him to stop acting like a fool. Schwab, defending himself, said, “Mr. Morgan, you’re being unfair. You know perfectly well I’m not doing anything you don’t do behind closed doors.” Replied Morgan, “That is what doors are for, Mr. Schwab.”
Bartlett's Book of Anecdotes Page 84