Only recently I found among my father's papers some of these literary
efforts and was astonished to see how good they were. Humor, wit, and
playing on words were never lacking. There were special occasions when
even deep emotion, was expressed and then those who were farthest from
having a proper feeling, but nearest to a state of delirium, arose
regularly from their seats and marched up to the speaker to embrace
and kiss him. This kissing scene always denoted the beginning of the
second half of the feast. The further the dinner advanced the freer
became the conversation, and, when it had reached the stage where all
feeling of restraint was cast aside, the most insolent and often the
rudest badgering was indulged in, or, if for any reason this was not
allowed, the company began to rally certain individuals, or, as we
might say, began to poke fun at them. One of the choicest victims of
this favorite occupation of the whole round table was my papa. It had
long been known that when it was a question of conversation he had
three hobbies, viz., personal ranks and decorations in the Prussian
State, the population of all cities and hamlets according to the
latest census, and the names and ducal titles of the French marshals,
including an unlimited number of Napoleonic anecdotes, the latter
usually in the original. Occasionally this original version was
disputed from the point of view of sentence structure and grammar,
whereupon my father, when driven into a corner, would reply with
imperturbable repose: "My French feeling tells me that it must be
thus, thus and not otherwise," a declaration which naturally served
but to increase the hilarity.
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