The Koch brothers, Charles and David, both no better than they should be, and
having amassed their fortune by
this means or that,
resolved to solemnize their entry into decent society, by
having their portraits painted in oil,
by one of the most celebrated painters of contemporary Italy. This portrait they proudly hung in the
antechamber to their mountaintop mansion,
and they invited the world’s most prominent art-critic to the vernissage.
All the beau monde
was there that evening, wrapped in mink and glittering with pearls, as expectently, those there assembled awaited the verdict of the great
art-connoisseur.
For a while he stared; leaned forward, squinted; polished his monocle, stared
again; frowned, stroked his beard,
shook his head
(the crème de la crème meanwhile breath-held in
anticipation) …
…
At last he spoke (shrugging, at a loss):
“But where is
the Saviour ?”
[Lightly adapted from S. Freud, Der Witz und seine
Beziehung zum Unbewussten (1905 ff).]
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