Bartlett's Book of Anecdotes

by Clifton Fadiman

  2 As lord chancellor, Thurlow held the disposal of a number of church benefices and so was constantly being approached by various eminent people who wished him to confer such wealthy benefices, or livings, on their protégés. One day a poor country curate came to his office. Thurlow addressed him in his usual brusque manner: who was he? what did he want? in which lord’s name did he come? and so on. The curate stammered out his name and the name of the parish for which he had come to apply. “I have no interest, my lord,” he said, “and I come to you in no lord’s name, but in the name of the Lord of Hosts.”

  “The Lord of Hosts!” said Thurlow. “The Lord of Hosts! You are the first person to apply to me in that lord’s name, and I’ll be damned if you don’t have the living.”

  3 The lord chancellor and a certain bishop had the right to take turns in presenting a particular living. Thurlow got into an argument with the bishop as to whose turn it was to make the presentation. Eventually the bishop sent his secretary along to see Thurlow. The secretary said, transmitting his superior’s compliments, that he believed the next turn belonged to the bishop. Thurlow replied, “Give your lord my compliments and tell him that I will see him damned before he shall present.” The secretary turned pale. “My lord, this is a very unpleasant message to have to give to a bishop.” Thurlow considered. Then he said, “You are right. It is indeed. Tell my lord bishop that I will be damned before he shall present.”

  4 At the adjournment of the court for the long vacation, Lord Thurlow, failing to take the customary leave of the bar, was about to depart the room in silence. “He might at least have said, ‘Damn you,’ ” said a young barrister in a stage whisper. Thurlow heard, returned, and obliged.

  TINTORETTO [Jacopo Robusti] (1518–94), Italian painter.

  1 The satirist Aretino was a highly partisan supporter of the other great Venetian painter of the High Renaissance, Titian. He lost no opportunity to jeer at the dyer’s young son. When Tintoretto began to obtain commissions that Aretino considered should have been Titian’s, the satirist doubled his venom, Tintoretto’s poverty and pride making him an easy target. Tintoretto let it be known that he was willing to paint Aretino’s portrait gratis, an offer Aretino could not resist. He went to his victim’s studio, took a chair, and struck a pose. “Stand up,” ordered Tintoretto. “First I must measure you.” Aretino stood, and Tintoretto came toward him, drawing out a long horse-pistol, which he ran slowly over his sitter. “I find you are two and a half pistols tall,” the painter concluded. “Now — go!” From that time on, Tintoretto had no further trouble with Aretino.

  TITIAN (c. 1488–1576), Italian painter who worked mainly in Venice.

  1 The Duchess of Urbino, although ugly and advanced in years, persuaded her husband to commission Titian to paint her in the nude. As Titian was reluctant, his friend the satirist and poet Pietro Aretino suggested a way around the problem. They hired a prostitute, a girl with an exquisitely beautiful figure, to pose for the body, and Titian produced an idealized portrait of the duchess for the head. She was delighted, particularly as the picture was christened The Venus of Urbino. When it was shown to the duke, he sighed and said, “If I could have had that girl’s body, even with my wife’s head, I would have been a happier man.” Aretino, to whom this remark was addressed, laughed so much that he suffered a stroke and died.

  TOLSTOY, Leo [Nikolaevich], Count (1828–1910), Russian writer.

  1 Tolstoy once gave a lecture about the need for pure passive nonresistance and nonviolence to all living creatures. A member of the audience asked what he should do if a tiger were to attack him in the woods. “Do the best you can,” replied Tolstoy. “It doesn’t happen very often.”

  2 In his last hours Tolstoy firmly resisted the efforts of those who tried to persuade him to reconcile himself with the Russian Orthodox church. “Even in the valley of the shadow of death, two and two do not make six,” he said.

  TOOKE, John Horne (1736–1812), British radical politician and philologist. His support of the French Revolution occasioned his trial (1794) for high treason; he was acquitted.

  1 When Tooke was at school, a master asked him in a grammar lesson why a certain verb governed a particular case. “I don’t know,” answered Tooke. “That is impossible,” said the master. “I know you’re not ignorant, but obstinate.” Tooke, however, persisted in saying that he didn’t know, so the master beat him. The beating over, the master quoted the rule that covered the verb in question. “Oh, I know that,” said Tooke at once, “but you asked me the reason, not the rule.”

  2 Horne Tooke was advised to take a wife. “With all my heart,” said he. “Whose wife shall it be?”

  TOSCANINI, Arturo (1867–1957), Italian conductor.

  1 During a rehearsal Toscanini flew into a tantrum with a player and ended by ordering him from the stage. As the man reached the exit he turned around and shouted, “Nuts to you!”

  “It’s too late to apologize,” yelled back Toscanini.

  2 A trumpet player had attracted Toscanini’s wrath during a rehearsal. “God tells me how the music should sound,” shouted the exasperated conductor, “but you stand in the way!”

  3 Every Christmas, composer Giacomo Puccini would have a cake baked for each of his friends. One year, having quarreled with Toscanini just before Christmas, he tried to cancel the order for the conductor’s cake. But it was too late — the cake had already been dispatched. The following day, Toscanini received a telegram from Puccini: “Cake sent by mistake.” He replied by return: “Cake eaten by mistake.”

  4 Puccini having died shortly before finishing his opera Turandot, the work was completed for performance by Franco Alfano. When Toscanini, who had a profound reverence for Puccini’s music, used to conduct Turandot, he always laid down his baton at the point in the last act at which Puccini broke off. “Here died the maestro,” he would announce to the audience, and two minutes’ silence would then be kept before Toscanini launched into Alfano’s finale.

  5 Exasperated by the shortcomings of an orchestra, Toscanini suddenly burst out, “When I retire, I open a bordello. You know what that is? Or are you all castrati? I will attract the most beautiful women in the world for my bordello — it will be the La Scala of passion. But I will lock the door against every one of you!”

  6 Toscanini used to sing with the orchestra during rehearsals. Engrossed in the music, he sometimes forgot about this habit. At Salzburg once during a dress rehearsal, his voice could be heard above the instruments. Suddenly he stopped the orchestra and exclaimed, “For the love of God, who’s singing here?”

  7 The orchestra’s librarian was vexed by Toscanini’s habit of hurling valuable scores at the orchestra if things went badly during a rehearsal. Observing him closely, he noticed that the conductor’s first action when enraged was to take his baton in both hands and attempt to snap it. If the baton snapped, Toscanini usually calmed down and the rehearsal went on; if it did not, he began throwing scores. The librarian therefore arranged for a supply of relatively flimsy batons to be available during rehearsals. If things went badly, Toscanini might break as many as six batons and the librarian would have to send for spares. “Lumber, lumber,” he would shout to his assistant.

  8 Arriving at a town on July 3 during a South American tour with the NBC Symphony Orchestra, Toscanini told the disgruntled players that he wished them to assemble at the theater the following morning. The players, who had been traveling for some time, were looking forward to a couple of days’ rest from rehearsals. They obeyed with an ill grace. When they were assembled, Toscanini asked them to rise and led them through “The Star-Spangled Banner.” “Today is the Fourth of July,” he announced at the end, and dismissed them.

  9 During a rehearsal of Debussy’s La Mer, Toscanini found himself unable to describe the effect he hoped to achieve from a particular passage. After a moment’s thought, he took a silk handkerchief from his pocket and tossed it high into the air. The orchestra, mesmerized, watched the slow, graceful
descent of the silken scarf. Toscanini smiled with satisfaction as it finally settled on the floor. “There,” he said, “play it like that.”

  TOULOUSE-LAUTREC, Henri de (1864–1901), French nobleman and painter.

  1 The famed portrayer of Montmartre nightlife eventually succumbed to the ravages of alcohol and syphilis. To the priest, who had come to ease his soul and asked how he was, the painter said, “I’m happier now than I shall be in a few days when you come with your little bell [signifying Last Rites].”

  TOWNSHEND, Charles (1725–67), British politician.

  1 A certain James Harris, author of some moralistic treatises and a once-celebrated book on a universal grammar, was elected to Parliament. After he had made his maiden speech, Townshend demanded to know who he was. “Mr. Harris of Salisbury, who has written a very ingenious book of grammar and another on virtue,” someone informed him. “What the devil brings him here?” Townshend demanded. “I am sure he will find neither one nor the other in the House of Commons.”

  TRACY, Spencer (1900–67), US film actor.

  1 When asked what he looked for in a script, Tracy’s immediate reply was, “Days off.”

  2 Tracy was asked by director Garson Kanin why he always insisted on first billing when he co-starred in films with Katharine Hepburn. “Why not?” asked Tracy. “Well, after all,” reasoned Kanin, “she’s the lady and you’re the man. Ladies first?” Retorted Tracy: “This is a movie, not a lifeboat.”

  3 When a young actor asked Spencer Tracy for help with his acting, Tracy gave some of the most valuable advice to date: “Just learn your lines and don’t bump into the furniture.”

  TRAVERS, William R. (1819–87), US lawyer and wit.

  1 A bore who had been discoursing tediously throughout dinner turned to William Travers and inquired, “Do you think oysters have brains?”

  “Y-y-yes,” Travers replied in his celebrated stutter. “J-j-just enough b-b-brains to k-k-keep their mouths s-s-shut.”

  TRAVOLTA, John (1954–), US film actor and dancer.

  1 Audiences loved seeing Travolta dance with Uma Thurman in the movie Pulp Fiction. Dancing had brought fame and fortune to Travolta years earlier, when he played Tony Manero in Saturday Night Fever, an iconic film for its generation in the 1970s. Thurman described the filming of her dance scene by saying, “To dance with Travolta was like being able to do a western with John Wayne — you’d happily play some barroom slut just for the opportunity.”

  2 Travolta was nominated for Best Actor for Pulp Fiction, and that same year Paul Newman was nominated for the same award for his work in Nobody’s Fool. One day a partisan Travolta fan approached him and said, “Watch out for Newman!” asserting that Newman, stiff competition, was campaigning for the Academy Award harder than any other actor. When Travolta demurred, the fan said, “Oh really? I went into a supermarket and saw his face on the front of a bottle of salad dressing!”

  TREE, Sir Herbert Beerbohm (1853–1917), British actor and theater manager.

  1 Tree was directing a rehearsal of a play in which he felt that the actresses, with their rather sophisticated appearance, had not captured the essential spirit of their roles. Stopping them, he said, “Ladies, just a little more virginity, if you don’t mind.”

  2 Tree showed Max Beerbohm a letter that he had received from an admirer who had seen him act the night before. Max read it and commented, “That’s very nice.” “Very,” said Tree happily. “I can stand any amount of flattery so long as it’s fulsome enough.”

  3 One of the more bizarre productions of the silent-film era was a version of Macbeth produced in 1916 by D. W. Griffith, who was ambitious to raise the cultural standing of the film industry. Cast in the title role, Tree did not take easily to the medium; it is said that on the first day of shooting he pointed to the camera and said, “Take that black box away. I can’t act in front of it.”

  4 During the rehearsal of a scene that was not working out too well, Tree directed a young actor to step back a little. The man did so. After a while Tree stopped the rehearsal again: “A little further back, please.” Again the actor did as he was bidden and the rehearsal carried on. Tree stopped it a third time: “Further back still,” he requested. “But if I go any further back, I’ll be right off the stage,” protested the actor. “Yes, that’s right,” said Tree.

  5 The writer Hesketh Pearson was once waiting to speak to Tree at His Majesty’s Theatre in London. Another man, a stranger to Pearson, was also present on the same mission. When Tree finally arrived, he looked at the two men for a moment, then sat down between them. “Consider yourselves introduced,” he said, “because I only remember one of your names, and that wouldn’t be fair to the other.”

  6 Tree had little money sense, and his financial manager at the Haymarket Theatre was constantly warning him against being over-generous. As an example of unnecessary expenditure, he once cited Tree’s habit of taking him to lunch at the Carlton every day and paying the bill out of petty cash. Tree thanked him for his advice and promised immediate reform. At lunchtime that day, he dutifully took his manager to a nearby teashop and said to the waitress, “Madam, will you please give this gentleman a nice glass of milk and a large bun.” Then, turning to his colleague, Tree said amicably, “Pick me up at the Carlton when you have had enough — but do have enough.”

  7 Tree once had cause to criticize a young actor for his overbearing conceit. “I assure you, sir,” retorted the actor indignantly, “that I am not suffering from a swelled head.”

  “It isn’t the swelling that causes suffering,” remarked Tree. “It’s the subsequent shrinkage that hurts.”

  TRENCH, Richard Chenevix (1807–86), British divine and biblical scholar.

  1 In 1875 a fall fractured both of Trench’s knees, after which he never fully recovered his health, living in fear of paralysis. A lady sitting next to him at dinner noticed that the elderly cleric was agitated and muttering to himself. “It’s come at last; I can’t feel a thing; I’m paralyzed.” She asked Trench what was wrong. “I’ve been pinching my leg for the last five minutes and I can’t feel a thing,” he replied. “I must be paralyzed.” The lady colored. “It’s all right, Your Grace,” she said, “it’s my leg you’ve been pinching.”

  2 In 1884 Trench resigned his archbishopric on grounds of ill health. Some time later his successor invited him and Mrs. Trench back for a short stay at the bishop’s palace in Dublin. Feeling comfortable and at home in the house where he had lived for so long, Trench forgot that he was not the host. At a meal at which the food was rather poor he suddenly boomed out across the table to his wife, “My dear, you must count this cook as one of your failures.”

  TRILLING, Lionel (1905–76), US educator and author.

  1 “The erudite Lionel Trilling and the erudite Jacques Barzun [also a Columbia professor] got into a punning match when a student, discussing Malthus’s Essay on Population, cited the motto of the Order of the Garter, Honi soit qui mal y pense — ‘Shame on him who imputes ill to it.’ Barzun remarked, ‘Honi soit que Malthus pense.’ Trilling rejoined, ‘Honi soit qui mal thus puns.’ ”

  TROLLOPE, Anthony (1815–82), British novelist.

  1 Michael Sadleir describes Trollope as one “scarcely giving himself time to think, but spluttering and roaring out an instantly-formed opinion couched in the very strongest of terms.” At a meeting of surveyors, Trollope suddenly fired at the speaker who preceded him, “I disagree with you entirely. What was it you said?”

  2 A lady sitting next to Trollope at dinner observed that he helped himself liberally from every dish that was offered to him. “You seem to have a very good appetite, Mr. Trollope,” she remarked, rather impertinently. “None at all, madam,” he replied, “but, thank God, I am very greedy.”

  3 The character of Mrs. Proudie, the insufferable wife of the bishop of Barchester, in the Barsetshire novels is one of Trollope’s greatest successes. In his Autobiography he owns to taking great delight in his creation of her. One mornin
g he was sitting writing in the drawing room of his London club, the Athenaeum, when he overheard two clergymen talking about his work. They were complaining that in different books Trollope kept on introducing the same characters again and again. “If I could not invent new characters, I would not write novels at all,” said one. Then the other began to complain about Mrs. Proudie. This was too much for Trollope, who approached them, confessing that he was the author of the novels they were criticizing. “As to Mrs. Proudie, I will go home and kill her before the week is over,” he promised. The two clergymen, much embarrassed, begged Trollope to overlook their comments, but Trollope kept his word. The novel he was working on was The Last Chronicle of Barset, and in it he describes the sudden and shocking death of his old favorite, Mrs. Proudie.

  4 (In 1858 the Post Office dispatched Trollope to the West Indies with the title of “mis-sioner” to investigate and make suggestions for reorganizing the postal system in Britain’s Caribbean and Central American colonies.)

  “Trollope was determined to prove that a certain distance could be covered on mule-back in two days. The local postal authorities declared that the journey would take three, and to support their claim purposely provided the troublesome visitor with an uncomfortable saddle. In consequence the first day’s ride reduced the missioner to the extremes of raw discomfort. The morrow (if he were to carry his point) must be another, equally fatiguing day. Only one remedy was possible, and that a drastic one. He ordered two bottles of brandy, poured them into a washbasin, and sat in it.”