A henpecked husband imagines he has escaped by divorce from
the clutches of his wife and his mother-in-law. He marries again, when,
lo and behold, the double combination of marriage and divorce brings
back to him his former wife in the aggravated form of a second
mother-in-law!

When we think how intense and how common is this type of the comic, we
understand why it has fascinated the imagination of certain
philosophers. To cover a good deal of ground only to come back
unwittingly to the starting-point, is to make a great effort for a
result that is nil. So we might be tempted to define the comic in this
latter fashion. And such, indeed, seems to be the idea of Herbert
Spencer: according to him, laughter is the indication of an effort
which suddenly encounters a void. Kant had already said something of
the kind: "Laughter is the result of an expectation, which, of a
sudden, ends in nothing." No doubt these definitions would apply to the
last few examples given, although, even then, the formula needs the
addition of sundry limitations, for we often make an ineffectual effort
which is in no way provocative of laughter. While, however, the last
few examples are illustrations of a great cause resulting in a small
effect, we quoted others, immediately before, which might be defined
inversely as a great effect springing from a small cause. The truth is,
this second definition has scarcely more validity than the first. Lack
of proportion between cause and effect, whether appearing in one or in
the other, is never the direct source of laughter. What we do laugh at
is something that this lack of proportion may in certain cases
disclose, namely, a particular mechanical arrangement which it reveals
to us, as through a glass, at the back of the series of effects and
causes. Disregard this arrangement, and you let go the only clue
capable of guiding you through the labyrinth of the comic. Any
hypothesis you otherwise would select, while possibly applicable to a
few carefully chosen cases, is liable at any moment to be met and
overthrown by the first unsuitable instance that comes along.

But why is it we laugh at this mechanical arrangement? It is doubtless
strange that the history of a person or of a group should sometimes
appear like a game worked by strings, or gearings, or springs; but from
what source does the special character of this strangeness arise? What
is it that makes it laughable? To this question, which we have alre