GOOD HUMOUR 445
grew—it is gone now, but a little evergreen from the next grave stretches out its green fingers to make a show—there rests a very unhappy man ; and yet, when he lived, he was in what they call a good position. He had enough to live upon, and something over ; but worldly cares, or, to speak more correctly, his artistic taste, weighed heavily upon him. If in the evening he sat in the theatre to enjoy himself thoroughly, he would be quite put out if the machinist had put too strong a light into one side of the moon, or if the sky-pieces hung down over the scenes when they ought to have hung behind them, or when a palm tree was introduced into a scene representing Amager, or a cactus in a view of the Tyrol, or a beech tree in the far north of Norway. As if that was of any consequence. Is it not quite immaterial ? Who would fidget about such a trifle ? It's only make-believe, after all, and every one is expected to be amused. Then sometimes the public applauded too much, and sometimes too little. ' They're like wet wood this evening,' he would say ; ' they won't kindle at all! ' And then he would look round to see what kind of people they were ; and sometimes he would find them laughing at the wrong time, when they ought not to have laughed, and that vexed him ; and he fretted, and was an unhappy man, and now he is in his grave.
Here rests a very happy man. That is to say, a very grand man. He was of high birth, and that was lucky for him, for otherwise he would never have been anything worth speaking of ; and nature orders all that very wisely, so that it's quite charming when we think of it. He used to go about in a coat embroidered back and front, and appeared in the saloons of society just like one of those costly, pearl-embroidered bell-pulls which have always a good thick, serviceable cord behind them to do the work. He likewise had a good stout cord behind him, in the shape of a substitute, who did his duty, and who still continues to do it behind another embroidered bell-pull. Everything is so nicely managed, it's enough to put one into a good humour.
Here rests—well, it's a very mournful reflection—here rests a man who spent sixty-seven years considering how he should get a good idea. The object of his life was to