They say the variety of
narratives is often very odd and amusing. The original story becomes so
changed and distorted that at the end of all the statements you are
puzzled to know where the truth is at all. As time is of small
importance to the cheerful persons engaged in this sport, perhaps a
good way of playing it would be to spread it over a couple of years.
Let the people who played the game in '60 all meet and play it once
more in '61, and each write his story over again. Then bring out your
original and compare notes. Not only will the stories differ from each
other, but the writers will probably differ from themselves. In the
course of the year the incidents will grow or will dwindle strangely.
The least authentic of the statements will be so lively or so
malicious, or so neatly put, that it will appear most like the truth. I
like these tales and sportive exercises. I had begun a little print
collection once. I had Addison in his nightgown in bed at Holland
House, requesting young Lord Warwick to remark how a Christian should
die. I had Cambronne clutching his cocked hat, and uttering the
immortal _La Garde meurt et ne se rend pas_. I had the _Vengeur_ going
down, and all the crew hurraying like madmen. I had Alfred toasting the
muffin: Curtius (Haydon) jumping into the gulf; with extracts from
Napoleon's bulletins, and a fine authentic portrait of Baron
Munchausen.
What man who has been before the public at all has not heard similar
wonderful anecdotes regarding himself and his own history? In these
humble essaykins I have taken leave to egotize.
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