Dreams by Jerome K. (Jerome Klapka) Jerome
page 21 of 24 (87%)
page 21 of 24 (87%)
|
the weather that it lacked originality--(true, they had not lived out
an English spring)--and found fault with the Sun because of the sameness of his methods. They criticised the babies. When a fresh infant was published in a house, the critics would call in a body to pass their judgment upon it, and the young mother would bring it down for them to sample. "Did you ever see a child anything like that in this world before?" she would say, holding it out to them. "Isn't it a wonderful baby? _You_ never saw a child with legs like that, I know. Nurse says he's the most extraordinary baby she ever attended. Bless him!" But the critics did not think anything of it. "Tut, tut," they would reply, "there is nothing extraordinary about that child--no originality whatever. Why, it's exactly like every other baby--bald head, red face, big mouth, and stumpy nose. Why, that's only a weak imitation of the baby next door. It's a plagiarism, that's what that child is. You've been wasting your time, madam. If you can't do anything more original than that, we should advise you to give up the business altogether." That was the end of criticism in that strange land. "Oh! look here, we've had enough of you and your originality," said the people to the critics, after that. "Why, _you_ are not original, when one comes to think of it, and your criticisms are not original. You've all of you been saying exactly the same thing ever since the time of Solomon. We are going to drown you and have a little peace." |
|