“I’m a fighter. I believe in the eye-for-an-eye business. I’m no cheek turner. I have no respect for a man who won’t hit back. You kill my dog, you better hide your cat.”—Muhammad Ali
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A very inebriated gentleman engaged in tête-à-tête with a group of ladies, inadvertently disrupting their discussion. One lady, unable to contain her frustration, bluntly remarked, “If you were my husband, I would administer poison to you.”
The gentleman, taken aback by her comment, rose to his feet and retorted, “Madam, if you were my wife, I would consume the poison.”
Here’s another one: During a dinner gathering, a spirited debate unfolded between British statesman Winston Churchill and a female parliamentarian. Concluding the exchange, the lady disdainfully stated, “Mr. Churchill, you are intoxicated.”
Churchill responded, “And you, madam, are ugly. However, I will be sober by tomorrow.”
The two anecdotes serve as illustrations of the concept of retribution. To “get even” refers to the act of inflicting punishment on an individual who has wronged you by reciprocating with an equally harmful action. This approach embodies the pursuit of vengeance or retaliatory measures aimed at balancing out previous injustices.
Revenge is a deceiver – it looks sweet but is most often bitter. Now, allow me to recount a true incident involving Hungarian artist Arpad Sebesy, which happened a long, long time ago. The story appeared in 365 Moments to Cherish by Robert Strand:
At one point, Elmer Kelen visited his studio and, upon viewing the portrait, expressed his displeasure with great anger. Before departing, Elmer remarked to Arpad, “This portrait is terrible, and I will not compensate you for it!”
The artist felt devastated, having dedicated weeks to the creation of this painting, and the thought of losing 500 pengos (the Hungarian currency) weighed heavily on his mind. He bitterly remembered that the millionaire had only posed for three sessions, necessitating that the painting be largely completed from memory.
Nevertheless, he did not believe the likeness was as poor as Kelen suggested. Just before the millionaire exited the studio, the artist called out, “One moment, please. Would you be willing to sign this letter indicating that you rejected the portrait on the grounds that it did not resemble you?”
Eager to extricate himself from the situation so easily, Kelen consented.
A few months later, the Society of Hungarian Artists opened its exhibition at the Gallery of Fine Arts in Budapest. Soon afterwards, Kelen’s phone began to ring. Within half an hour, he appeared at the art gallery and headed for the wing where a Sebesy painting was on display. It was the one he had rejected.
He glanced at the title and his face turned purple. Storming into the office of the gallery manager, he demanded that the portrait be removed at once. The manager explained quietly that all of the paintings were under contract to remain in the gallery for the full six weeks of the exhibition.
Kelen raged. “But it will make me the laughing stock of Budapest. It’s libelous! I’ll sue!”
The manager turned to his desk, drew out the letter Kelen had written at Sebesy’s request, and said, “Just a moment. Since you yourself admit that the painting does not resemble you, you have no jurisdiction over its fate.”
In desperation, Kelen offered to buy the painting, only to find the price was now ten times that of the original figure. With this reputation at stake, Kelen immediately wrote out a check for 5,000 pengos.
The artist not only sold the previously rejected portrait to the individual who initially commissioned it, but he also received tenfold the original price and exacted his revenge by displaying it under the title: “Portrait of a Thief.”
Russell Lynes reminds: “The only graceful way to accept an insult is to ignore it; if you can’t ignore it, top it; if you can’t top it, laugh at it; if you can’t laugh at it, it’s probably deserved.”
English author Samuel Johnson is one person who would get even with those people who would exploit him. When he was completing his dictionary, a London journal published two anonymous “previews” of the book. The articles were favorable but superficial. When he learned that the wealthy Earl of Chesterfield had written them, he was furious.
After all, he had applied to him repeatedly for patronage while writing the dictionary, but the earl had been cheap, giving the poverty-stricken writer no more than ten pounds (about US$250). Now, Johnson felt he was trying to take credit as a patron. In the dictionary, he defined patron as “commonly a wretch who supports with insolence and is paid with flattery.”
Irish author George Bernard Shaw had also experienced embarrassing moments. After the premiere of Arms and the Man(1898), he took the stage to make a curtain speech. When the applause subsided, there was a solitary book from London critic Reginald Golding Bright,. Shaw looked directly at Bright and said, “My dear fellow, I quite agree with you, but what are we two against so many?”
Finally, here’s another story that should end this piece. A cigar enthusiast purchased several hundred high-priced cigars and secured insurance coverage against fire damage. After consuming all of them, he submitted a claim, asserting that the cigars had indeed been lost to fire.
The insurance provider denied the claim, prompting the individual to initiate a lawsuit. The presiding judge determined that since the insurance company had consented to cover the cigars against fire, it bore legal responsibility. Consequently, the company was compelled to honor the claim. However, upon the man’s acceptance of the compensation, the company had apprehended him on charges of arson.
Now, that’s getting even!
