April Fools.

From: The Memoir of Nathaniel Hawthorne (1872)
Author: Alexander Hay Japp
Published: Henry S. King & Co. 1872 London

IT is a curious fact, that the custom of making April fools prevails in the most widely separated regions of the globe, and that, everywhere, its origin is hidden in remote antiquity. The Hindoos on the Ganges practise it; in all the European countries it exists, in one shape or another; the French make what they call April Fish; and, in America, it is one of the few mirthful customs brought from merry old England. When once such a fashion was established, we should suppose that human nature might be pretty safely trusted to keep it up. It is desirable to have the privilege of saying, on one day in the year—what we perhaps think everyday—at our acquaintances are fools. But the false refinement of the present age has occasioned the rites of the holiday to fall into desuetude. It is not unreasonable to conjecture, that this child’s play, as it has now become, was, when originally instituted, a vehicle for the strongest satire which mankind could wreak upon itself. The people of antiquity, we may imagine, used to watch each other’s conduct throughout the year, and assemble on All Fools’ Day, to pass judgment on what they had observed. Whoever, in any respect, had gone astray from reason and common sense, the community were licensed to point the finger, and laugh at them for an April fool. How many, we wonder, whether smooth-chinned or grey-bearded, would be found so wise in great and little matters, as to escape the pointed finger and the laugh.

  It is a pity that this excellent old custom has so degenerated. Much good might still result from such a festival of foolery; for, though our own individual follies are too intimately blended with our natures to be seen or felt, yet the dullest of us are sufficiently acute m detecting the foolery of our neighbours. Let us, by way of example, point our finger at a few of the sage candidates for the honours of All Fools’ day.

  He who has wasted the past year in idleness, neglecting his opportunities of honourable exertion; he who has learnt nothing good, nor weeded his mind of anything evil; he who has been heaping up gold, and thereby gained as many cares and inquietudes as there are coins in his strong box; he who has reduced himself from affluence to poverty, whether by riotous living or desperate speculations; these four are April fools. He who has climbed, or suffered himself to be lifted, to a station for which he is unfit, does but stand upon a pedestal, to show the world an April fool. The grey-haired man, who has sought the joys of wedlock with a girl in her teens, and the young girl who has wedded an old man for his wealth, are a pair of April fools. The married couple, who have linked themselves for life, on the strength of a week’s liking; the ill-matched pair, who tum their roughest sides toward each other, instead of making the best of a bad bargain; the young man who has doomed himself to a life of difficulties by a too early marriage; the middle-aged bachelor, who is waiting to be rich; the damsel who has trusted her lover too far; the lover who is downcast for a damsel’s fickleness—all these are April fools. The farmer, who has left a good homestead in New England, to emigrate to the Mississippi valley, or anywhere else, on this side of heaven; the fresh-cheeked youth, who has gone to find his grave at New Orleans; the Yankees, who have enlisted for Texas; the merchant, who has speculated on a French war; the author who writes for fame—or for bread, if he can do better; the student, who has turned aside from the path of his profession, and gone astray in poetry and fancifulness:—what are these but a motley group of April fools? And the wiseacre, who thinks himself a fool in nothing—Oh, superlative April fool!

  But what a fool are we, to waste our ink and paper in making out a catalogue of April fools. We will add but one or two more. He who, for any earthly consideration, inflicts a wrong on his own conscience, is a most egregious April fool. The mortal man, who has neglected to think of eternity, till he finds himself at the utmost bourne of Time,—Death points at him for an April fool. And now let the whole world, discerning its own nonsense, and humbug, and charlatanism, and how in all things, or most, it is both a deceiver and deceived—let it point its innumerable fingers, and shout in its own ear, ‘O world, you April fool!’ Lastly, if the reader in turning over this page, has not profited by the moral truths which it contains, must we not write him down in our list of April fools? But if there be no truth, nothing well said, nor worth saying, we shall find it out anon; and whisper to ourself, ‘Mr. Author, you are an April fool.’

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