It is odd that Dorothy Parker, the unfailingly witty mid-century author, was also unfailingly suicidal. What a stroke of genius it was for her to combine these two contradictory impulses in one of her most famous rhyming ditties:
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.
A contemporary of Parker’s was the Queen Of Crime, Agatha Christie. She could have perused Parker’s extensive suicidal possibilities in that little poem for the best murder methods as well. And yet with so many delightful ways to dispatch her victims, Christie used poison in an astounding 50% of all her fictional murders.
The reason for this partiality can be explained in that important dictum that the best authors always follow: write what you know. Christie worked as an apothecary nurse during WW1 and gained a treasure trove of knowledge concerning all the most effective poisons. Additionally, in 1930 she married a renowned archaeologist whose specialty in ancient Roman digs revealed to him that many Roman politicians used poison to kill their political opponents. He was able to share this ancient poison knowledge with his eager wife. Although Christie could hardly rival the wit of Dorothy Parker, she did pen this one delightful quip: “An archeologist is the best possible husband a woman can have. The older she gets, the more interested he is in her.”
One of her husband’s most valuable revelations came from his discovery of the many “poison rings” at dig sites. This fatal piece of finger jewelry had a very small container filled with fast-acting poison hidden under a hinged cover. The murderer would wear the ring that contained the secret compartment when he offered the victim a drink. He was able, while he stepped away to pour the drinks, to empty the toxin into the victim’s libation.
So prevalent were these deaths that it was the Romans who first popularized a clever way to prevent future mayhem. When offered a drink by a host, it became a Roman tradition for both parties to clink their drinking vessels together with enough force to spill a bit of both liquids into each other’s glasses. No covert poisoner would risk having to drink even a drop of his own poison.
Only since 1700 did this morbid safeguard against death transform into our happy tradition of drinking to health. The clinking custom had been dying out since 1600, when, for the first time, anyone caught even wearing a poisoner’s ring could be sentenced to death, meaning there was no longer a need for mingling spilled liquid drops to prevent such murders.
But after 1700, the clinking of glasses returned. With the invention of champagne in 1693, the nobility could safely enjoy the sight, smell, and taste of the expensive new wine, and the sensuous feel of the gold or silver goblets in which the wine was served. It was a feast for four senses.
But we have five. In the past, our sense of hearing had been excluded from this sensual banquet. Champagne was the first popular bubbly wine and therefore the first to tickle not only our taste buds but our ears with that delightful effervescent fizz. The bubbles sounded like tiny high-pitched ringing bells as they rose in the flutes.
Because the vintner who first produced champagne — his name, of course, was Dom Perignon — wished to publicize the seductive sound of his new wine, he brought back the custom of clinking glasses after it was poured. He thought that the short, sharp, resonant “chink” or ringing sound upon the flute was the perfect accompaniment to the fizzing within it.
Perhaps it is best to end, as I began, with the rather risque wit of Dorothy Parker. She gives us dire warning of our fate if we imbibe too much alcohol too quickly, though her preferred drink was the martini:
I like to have a martini,
Two at the very most.
After three I’m under the table,
After four I’m under my host.
Email Elliot at huffam@me.com or click here