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Excerpt ​

Excerpt from Ponkapog Papers, by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

I NOTICE the announcement of a new edition of “The Two First Centuries
of Florentine Literature,” by Professor Pasquale Villari. I am not
acquainted with the work in question, but I trust that Professor Villari
makes it plain to the reader how both centuries happened to be first.

THE walking delegates of a higher civilization, who have nothing to
divide, look upon the notion of property as a purely artificial creation
of human society. According to these advanced philosophers, the time
will come when no man shall be allowed to call anything his. The
beneficent law which takes away an author's rights in his own books just
at the period when old age is creeping upon him seems to me a handsome
stride toward the longed-for millennium.

SAVE US from our friends--our enemies we can guard against. The
well-meaning rector of the little parish of Woodgates, England, and
several of Robert Browning's local admirers have recently busied
themselves in erecting a tablet to the memory of “the first known
forefather of the poet.” This lately turned up ancestor, who does not
date very far back, was also named Robert Browning, and is described on
the mural marble as “formerly footman and butler to Sir John Bankes of
Corfe Castle.” Now, Robert Browning the poet had as good right as Abou
Ben Adhem himself to ask to be placed on the list of those who love
their fellow men; but if the poet could have been consulted in the
matter he probably would have preferred not to have that particular
footman exhumed. However, it is an ill wind that blows nobody good. Sir
John Bankes would scarcely have been heard of in our young century if
it had not been for his footman. As Robert stood day by day, sleek and
solemn, behind his master's chair in Corfe Castle, how little it entered
into the head of Sir John that his highly respectable name would be
served up to posterity--like a cold relish--by his own butler! By
Robert!

Explanation ​

Thomas Bailey Aldrich’s Ponkapog Papers (1881) is a collection of satirical essays and musings, blending humor, social commentary, and literary wit. The excerpt provided reflects Aldrich’s sharp, ironic style, targeting cultural pretensions, intellectual hypocrisy, and the absurdities of human behavior. Below is a detailed breakdown of the passage, focusing on its themes, literary devices, and significance, with an emphasis on the text itself.

Context and Overview ​

The Ponkapog Papers takes its name from a fictional New England town, serving as a backdrop for Aldrich’s observations on society, literature, and human folly. The essays are written in a conversational, often sarcastic tone, reminiscent of 19th-century wit (e.g., Mark Twain or Ambrose Bierce). This excerpt consists of three distinct but thematically linked vignettes:

  1. A jab at academic pedantry (Villari’s book title).
  2. A critique of utopian socialism and copyright laws.
  3. A satirical take on misguided historical veneration (the Browning ancestor).

Each segment exposes human vanity, institutional absurdity, or the unintended consequences of well-intentioned actions.

Line-by-Line Analysis ​

1. The "Two First Centuries" of Florentine Literature ​

I NOTICE the announcement of a new edition of “The Two First Centuries of Florentine Literature,” by Professor Pasquale Villari. I am not acquainted with the work in question, but I trust that Professor Villari makes it plain to the reader how both centuries happened to be first.

  • Literary Device: Irony and understatement. Aldrich feigns ignorance to highlight the redundancy of the title. The phrase "two first centuries" is logically absurd—centuries are sequential, so labeling two as "first" is either a tautology or poor phrasing.
  • Theme: Academic pretension. Aldrich mocks scholars who overcomplicate or obfuscate simple ideas, a common target in 19th-century satire (cf. Twain’s The Awful German Language).
  • Significance: The jab reflects a broader skepticism of intellectual elitism. By pretending to take the title at face value, Aldrich exposes how academia can prioritize jargon over clarity.

2. Property, Socialism, and Copyright Law ​

THE walking delegates of a higher civilization, who have nothing to divide, look upon the notion of property as a purely artificial creation of human society. According to these advanced philosophers, the time will come when no man shall be allowed to call anything his. The beneficent law which takes away an author's rights in his own books just at the period when old age is creeping upon him seems to me a handsome stride toward the longed-for millennium.

  • Literary Devices:
    • Sarcasm: The phrase "walking delegates of a higher civilization" drips with condescension, implying these "advanced philosophers" are out-of-touch idealists.
    • Irony: The "beneficent law" refers to copyright termination (then typically 28–42 years), which left aging authors without royalties. Aldrich frames this as a "stride toward the millennium" (a utopian era), but his tone suggests it’s dystopian.
    • Hyperbole: "No man shall be allowed to call anything his" exaggerates socialist ideals to absurdity, a common conservative critique of the time.
  • Themes:
    • Critique of utopianism: Aldrich skewers progressive ideas (like communal property) by reducing them to impractical extremes.
    • Exploitation of artists: The copyright law example reveals how systems claiming to serve the public often harm creators. This resonates with modern debates about fair use and artist compensation.
  • Significance: The passage reflects 19th-century anxieties about socialism and intellectual property. Aldrich’s humor masks a serious concern: that "progressive" policies can be cruel in practice.

3. The Browning Ancestor Tablet ​

SAVE US from our friends--our enemies we can guard against. The well-meaning rector of the little parish of Woodgates, England, and several of Robert Browning's local admirers have recently busied themselves in erecting a tablet to the memory of “the first known forefather of the poet.” This lately turned up ancestor, who does not date very far back, was also named Robert Browning, and is described on the mural marble as “formerly footman and butler to Sir John Bankes of Corfe Castle.” Now, Robert Browning the poet had as good right as Abou Ben Adhem himself to ask to be placed on the list of those who love their fellow men; but if the poet could have been consulted in the matter he probably would have preferred not to have that particular footman exhumed. However, it is an ill wind that blows nobody good. Sir John Bankes would scarcely have been heard of in our young century if it had not been for his footman. As Robert stood day by day, sleek and solemn, behind his master's chair in Corfe Castle, how little it entered into the head of Sir John that his highly respectable name would be served up to posterity--like a cold relish--by his own butler! By Robert!

  • Literary Devices:
    • Aphorism: "Save us from our friends--our enemies we can guard against" is a proverb-like critique of misguided goodwill. It sets the tone for the absurdity that follows.
    • Bathos: The shift from the lofty ("first known forefather of the poet") to the mundane ("footman and butler") creates comic deflation.
    • Irony:
      • The admirers’ attempt to honor Browning backfires by associating him with a servant.
      • Sir John Bankes, a nobleman, is immortalized not by his own deeds but by his butler’s connection to a famous poet.
    • Metaphor: "Served up to posterity--like a cold relish" compares historical legacy to an unappetizing leftover, emphasizing its arbitrariness.
    • Allusion: "Abou Ben Adhem" references Leigh Hunt’s poem about a humble man loved by God, contrasting with the poet Browning’s likely embarrassment over his butler ancestor.
  • Themes:
    • Misguided veneration: The essay mocks how people impose their own narratives onto history, often missing the mark (e.g., honoring a poet by digging up a servant).
    • The randomness of fame: Sir John Bankes’ legacy hinges on his butler’s indirect connection to Browning, highlighting how history is shaped by chance.
    • Class and legacy: The butler’s elevation to historical note is ironic, given the era’s rigid class structures.
  • Significance:
    • Aldrich critiques the cult of celebrity and the desire to claim connections to greatness, no matter how tenuous.
    • The passage also reflects on how history is written—often by accident, not merit. The butler’s "immortality" is a joke at the expense of both the nobleman and the poet’s admirers.

Broader Themes and Style ​

  1. Satire of Human Folly:
    • Aldrich targets intellectual pretension (Villari), political idealism (socialism), and social climbing (the Browning tablet). His humor exposes the gaps between intention and outcome.
  2. Irony as a Tool:
    • The entire excerpt relies on dramatic irony (the reader sees the absurdity that the characters miss) and verbal irony (saying the opposite of what’s meant).
  3. Class and Social Hierarchy:
    • The Browning anecdote underscores the absurdity of class distinctions. A butler’s name outlives his master’s, inverting expectations.
  4. Literary and Historical Meta-Commentary:
    • Aldrich plays with how history and literature are constructed, often arbitrarily. The "first centuries" joke and the butler’s legacy both highlight the subjectivity of cultural memory.

Why It Matters ​

Aldrich’s wit is more than just humorous—it’s a critique of:

  • Academic obfuscation (still relevant in debates about jargon in scholarship).
  • Utopian overreach (echoing modern debates about socialism vs. individual rights).
  • The cult of ancestry (a precursor to today’s genealogy obsessions and celebrity ancestry shows).
  • The precarity of artistic livelihoods (copyright laws remain contentious).

The excerpt’s enduring appeal lies in its timeless targets: human vanity, institutional absurdity, and the unintended consequences of good intentions. Aldrich’s style—light but razor-sharp—makes serious points palatable through laughter, a hallmark of the best satire.