JOSEPHI IN BENICIA
There was a man who spent his mortal life
A-prisoning until there came a war;
And with the war there came an enemy,
And with the enemy came dynamite,
And with the dynamite the engineers
Histed that prison-house, and with it all
That was therein. And when the man came down
And lay a-dying, round the chaplain lit,
And asked him “What of life?” and he replied,
“To me this life has been a blasted cell.”
And so he died like any other man,
And thus it is things work among mankind.
The great Josephi—the piano lord—
When in the land of California
Was duly published for Benicia,
Yet never once put in; and then arose
Dame Rumour with a hundred thousand tongues,
And people said that he had bust his wires,
And had neuralgia in his sounding-board,
And the dyspepsia in his pedal joint,
And the stricnosis in his upper keys,—
Yet all was false, and I will tell you why.
The day before he was to have gone in
Unto his glory in Benicia,
There came a visitor whose sun-grilled face
And grand prize pumpkin air had all the style
Of a Maud Muller’s father; and this man,
Being shown in, remarked, “I s’pose you air
Mister Joseephee?” To him in reply
The small piano-smasher nodded “Yes.”
And thus the agriculturist went on:—
“I’m from Beneesh, I am, and I belong
To the Town Council—that is my posish.
Down here disposin’ of my barley, and
I thort I’d call and see yer, being as
Yer comin’ down ter-morrer fur to play.”
“Ja, dot is so,” replied the music man.
“Ye see, yer comin’ to a stranger town,
And so I thort I’d let yer hev some pints
About the programme. We’re a-payin’ yer
A pot o’ money, and of course yer want
To suit the ordience.” “Vell, vot you like,”
Exclaimed the great musician. “I can blay
Chopin, Beethoven, Liszt—ja! all de crate
Gombosers, and I gifes you vot you shoose.”
“I never heerd them tunes,” replied his guest.
“Do yer know ‘Nancy Lee’?” “Not I, bei Gott!”
“Nor ‘Mary Ann’?” “Nein” (very haughtily).
“The ‘Spanish Dona’—the ‘Monastery Bells’?”
“Gott’s dammerwetter! Himmelspotzen—nein!”
“Wall, now, whar did ye learn? My darter Sue
Goes to Miss Lynch’s, and she knows ’em all,
An’ plays ’em all by heart right straight along.
I never thought her no great shakes, and yet
She’s clean ahead of you.” A gloomy pause
Ensued, and two long glares. Then he set on,
“What kind o’ dancing music are ye gwine
To fetch along? for that’s the heavy jerk.”
“Tantz musik!” Oh, the horror of the voice
Of great Josephi when he heard these words.
“Yes, certinly. Ain’t ye a-goin’ to play
Fur dancing arter supper? Wot d’ye s’pose
We’re gwine to pay yer fur?” (Here came the squall.)
“Go to der Teufel mit your tantz musik!
Dere-to your tauter also. Sapperment!
Verflucht sei deine Seele—do you dink
I coom to blay fur caddle? I ton’t go
Unto Benicia. Dell your veller-bigs
Your tauter blays in my blace—in de blace
Of Herr Josephi—do you oonderstand,
You hundert tousend plasted Schweinigel!”
And in the rustic’s face he slammed the door.
He did not play in fair Benicia,
And in that town he is not popular;
And in its leading circles seven out
Of eight regard him as a German fraud,
Who cannot even play “My Mary Ann.”
And thus it is they think he is a sell,
And thus it is things work among mankind.