Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 99., November 8, 1890 by Various
V >>
Various >> Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 99., November 8, 1890
[Illustration: Miss Damian as La Cieca feeling her way.]
_Wednesday_.--_La Gioconda_. A good performance all round. But the
night specially memorable as being the first appearance of Miss GRACE
DAMIAN on the stage of the Royal Italian Opera anywhere. It is a
good omen for her that she appeared in Signor PONCHIELLI's Opera,
the composer being a distant connection of the great ancient Italian
family of the PONCINELLI, of which _Mr. Punch_ is now the chief
universal representative. It is a remarkable fact, too, showing the
strong force of canine attachment, which centuries cannot obliterate,
that the _Libretto_ of _La Gioconda_, set to music by Signor
PONCHIELLI (the "h" came in when the genuine liquid "n" was dropped)
was written by TOBIA GORRIO. That an Opera, written by TOBIA, or
TOBY, and composed by PUNCINELLO, should possess all the elements of
success, goes without saying. We welcome Signor GALASSI (a sporting
title, reminding us of _Gay Lass_), with MARIA PERI (who must appear
in _Il Paradiso_), and GIULIA RAVOGLI. Her Grace of DAMIAN made a most
successful _debut_ as _La Cieca_, and was cheered to the echo. Thank
Heaven, there isn't an echo in Covent Garden--but, if there had been,
Echo would have repeated hospitably the "good cheer" a dozen times, as
she does somewhere about Killarney. Signor LAGO stars "HER MAJESTY
THE QUEEN" at the head of his bill, but it is only to say that
Her Gracious MAJESTY has been graciously pleased to honour him by
subscribing for the Royal Box during the present season, which is,
in effect, saying that he has _let the best box in the house for a
Sovereign!_
_Thursday Night_.--ALBANI as the unhappy _Traviata_. Big and
enthusiastic House. Signor PADILLA, as the Elder _Germont_, excellent,
and just contrived most gracefully to refuse the honour of an _encore_
for his "_Di Provenza_." Since RONCONI, it is difficult to call to
mind an artist equal histrionically to Signor PADILLA, who is so grave
and impressive as that utter bore, "the Elder _Germont_," so gay and
eccentric as _Figaro_, and so dashing and reckless as the unscrupulous
_Don Giovanni_. That milksop, _Germont_ Junior, known as _Alfredo_,
was adequately played by Signor GIANNINI, whose name, were it spelt
GIA-"NINNY," would partly describe the character he represented.
_Friday Night_.--Our _blase_ young man writes to say, "I am suffering
from effects of draughts at Opera. Think it must be some Operatic air
which has given me cold. It's a gruel case for yours truly."
_Saturday Night_.--Occasion described as "popular;" and, consequently,
_Il Trovatore_ announced. A little old-fashioned, but what of that?
VERDI just the composer "to keep your memory green." Alas! cold once
more to the front. The _blase_ one "still off duty, so no reliable
report to hand." No doubt everything passed off pleasantly. _Manrico_
obviously, when on the stage, more of a man than _Germont_ Junior.
The standing line has been, "large audience much pleased with the
entertainment." Altogether a successful week.'
* * * * *
MEM. FOR VISITORS TO LONDON.--Don't forget to look in at the
bird-pictures of STACEY MARKS, R.A. _Stay, see Marks!_ See Marks! They
are land-marks in the history of Modern Art.
* * * * *
MR. PUNCH'S PRIZE NOVELS.--NO. VI., "_Thrums on the Auld String_,"
next week.
* * * * *
TO ENGELBERG AND BACK.
_BEING A FEW NOTES TAKEN EN ROUTE IN SEARCH OF A PERFECT CURE._
"Give him another month here, and he'll be giving you all the slip,
and walking back to Calais on foot." Young JERRYMAN is commenting on
the wonderful restoration that has taken place in the condition of the
Dilapidated One, who has just been detected having a row on the lake,
all by himself. Not that this is a very prodigious aquatic feat,
seeing that three or four good strokes either way take you either
into the bank, or on to the heels or tails of a couple of very
ill-tempered, and irascible swans, who appear to think, and with some
reason, that there's not too much waterway as it is, and resent the
intrusion of the boat on their domain as a ridiculous superfluity.
However, the effort is one that the Dilapidated One would not have
ventured on at his arrival a month since, and as our time is up, and
we are starting on our return journey home in about half-an-hour's
time, we hail it as an indication that if he has not quite obtained
the Perfect Cure, that his medical man promised him, as the result of
a trip to this delightful spot, he is certainly not far off it.
But the best things must come to an end, and so we find ourselves at
length, with much regret, taking our farewell of that excellent and
capitally-conducted "Perfect Kurhaus" the Hotel Titlis. And this
reminds me, that in justice to that establishment, I ought to state
that some comments I made last week on German feeding in general, in
no way were meant to refer to the _table d'hote_ at the Hotel Titlis,
which, served in a lofty and well-ventilated _salon_, lighted by
electricity, to four hundred people daily, a capitally well-appointed
meal, is one of the notable features of the place. The smoke-stifled
children of the Fatherland, who shut every window they come across
when they get a chance, though they would dearly like to, cannot carry
their tricks on here. Sometimes, but not very often, they rally in
force, and render the "_Grosser Gesellschafts Saal_" a sort of Tophet
to the ordinary Briton; but the "_Speise Saal_", where smoking is
"_verboten_," is happily beyond their reach. But the hour of departure
has come, and quitting his comfortable establishment with much regret,
we bid good-bye to the courteous Herr CATTANI, and with a crack of the
whip we are off, dashing down the valley, and leaving Engelberg up on
its heights as a pleasant dream behind us.
[Illustration: Putting Up for the Winter]
And what is Engelberg? There is, first and foremost, _par excellence_,
the feature of the place--the Hotel Titlis; then the Monastery, with
the Brethren of the Bell-rope; and _the_ Street. This is unique. Set
out with a _Chalet_ here, a Swiss _Pension_ there, a Chapel perched up
on a little hill on one side, and a neatly new-made farmhouse stuck
up on the other, with cattle (not omitting their dinner-bells) dotted
about here and there in the bright green meadows that creep up to, and
melt into, the pine-woods stretching from the base of the grand rugged
snow-capped heights that tower in every direction above, you get
thoroughly impressed with the idea that the whole place is nothing but
a box of toys, set out for the season (probably by the Monks), who,
you feel convinced, are only waiting for the departure of the last
visitor, to get out the box, and carefully pack away _Chalet_, and
_Pension_, Chapel and peasant for the winter months, with a view to
keeping them fresh for production in the early summer of next year.
However, whatever its fate, Engelberg is left behind us, and we find
ourselves tearing down the Practical Joking Engineers' Road at a
break-neck pace, and hurrying on to Calais, once more to take our
places on our steady old friend, the _Calais-Douvres_, that helps to
deposit us finally at Charing Cross, where we are bound to admit that
the air, whatever it is, is emphatically _not_ the air of Engelberg.
But everybody who has seen him, says the Dilapidated One has come back
"twice the man he was". So we must take it that our journey has not
been in vain.
* * * * *
ADDITIONAL TITLE.--Sir EDWIN ARNOLD, after his brilliant letters in
the _D.T._, worthy of _The Light of the World_, will be remembered in
Japan as a "first-rate sort of Jap."
* * * * *
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
[Illustration]
WELLS, GARDNER, DARTON & Co. publish a very good selection of tales
for young people. Among the best are _Tom's Opinion_, a boy whose ever
readily-expressed opinion is made to change pretty often; and _Halt_!
by the same author. The title is suggestive of military manoeuvres,
but it's only a term for obeying quickly, which is hard to do
sometimes. _Gregory of the Foretop_, _Abbot's Cleeve_, and _Going for
a Soldier_, are three books containing several stories suitable to
mere grown-up young people,--so the sooner they grow up the better for
the sale of the books. They are all edited by J. ERSKINE CLARKE, M.A.
FREDERICK WARNE & CO. give us _Young England's Nursery Tales_,
illustrated by CONSTANCE HASLEWOOD. _Noah's Ark_, by DARLBY DALE,
which is not the Ark of the nursery, but a story of the Norfolk
Broads. Perhaps "Norfolk Broads" would have suggested stories that
could _not_ be told in a drawing-room. As to _Bits about Horses for
Every Day_, selected and illustrated by S. TURNER,--well, what would
horses be without "bits?" These are not tit-bits. Might do for a
Bridle gift.
_The Love of a Lady_, by Miss ANNIE THOMAS, otherwise Mrs. PENDER
CUDLIP, like most of this authoress's novels, is full of interest. It
is in the regulation three volumes, but appears as if it had wished
to be in two, and would have been had not large type insisted upon
the addition of a third tome. The love of a lady is transferred,
during the course of the story, from an artist, who appears in the
last chapter "in threadbare clothes, with broken, patched boots on
his feet" (not on his Hands, _bien entendu_), to a "well-tailored"
novelist. As the lady to whom "the love" originally belonged was
"a popular illustrator," it was only natural that the question of
appearances should play an important part in determining its ultimate
destination.
Mr. W. OUTRAM TRISTRAM is never so much in his element as when he
revels in gore and guilt. In _Locusta_, in one bulky volume, he tells
of "the crime" and "the chastisement." The first is associated with "a
house with curtained windows," "an Italian swordsman," "entombed," and
"a maimed lion," and the second is developed in chapters headed, "The
Hunter lets fly a Poisoned Shaft," "The Silver Dish of Tarts," "The
First Victim Falls," "A Dreadful Accuser," and last, but not least,
"The Vengeance is Crowned." As the story begins in 1612, and ends with
the words, "HENRY, Prince of WALES, art thou not avenged?" it will
be seen, that Mr. W. OUTRAM TRISTRAM has seized this opportunity to
pleasantly illustrate an incident from English history.
My faithful "Co." has been revelling in the Land of Fancy. He
expresses delight at two books called respectively, _Dreams by
French Firesides_ and _English Fairy Tales_. The first is supposed
to have been written before Paris in 1870-71 by a German soldier
who had turned his thoughts to his home and children in the far-off
Fatherland. The second deals with British folk-lore, and is racy
of the soil. Both works are full of capital illustrations. He has,
moreover, read _He Went for a Soldier_, the WYNTER Annual of JOHN
STRANGE of that ilk. But what had the soldier done, that "he" should
"go for him"? The answer to this conundrum will be ascertained on
reading the book. _Nutshell Novels_, by J. ASHBY STERRY, is also a
volume that repays perusal. The Lazy Poet has turned his leisure to
good account--the stories he tells are excellent.
Had the delightfully original _Alice in Wonderland_, and _Through the
Looking-Glass_, never been written, I doubt much if we should ever
have seen _Maggie in Mythica_, by F.B. DOVETON, who announces it
apologetically, as "his first"--perhaps it maybe his "unique" fairy
story,--and he adds, that he has "kept out of the beaten track as far
as possible." "_As far as possible_" is good, for never was there
such an example of the "sincerest flattery" than in this undeniable
imitation of _Alice in Wonderland_. Some of the illustrations, by J.
HARRINGTON WILSON, are not quite as weak as the text, while the best
of them only serve to heighten our appreciation of "Our" Mr. TENNIEL's
pictures in _Alice_, and its companion volume. But the very title,
_Maggie in Mythica_, recalls at once _Alice in Wonderland_, but the
lovers of _Alice_, who being attracted by this title may purchase
this book under the impression that "it is the same concern," will
soon find out their mistake, though it may perhaps amuse a very much
younger generation who know not _Alice_, if such a generation exist,
which muchly we beg to doubt. BARON DE BOOK-WORMS & Co.
* * * * *
[Illustration: A MORNING CALL.
_The Vicar_. "AND WHAT'S _YOUR_ NAME, MY DEAR?"
_Child of the Period_. "WELL--_YOU_ OUGHT TO KNOW! YOU _KWISTENED_
ME!"]
* * * * *
THE REAL GRIEVANCE OFFICE.
(_BEFORE MR. COMMISSIONER PUNCH._)
_AN OFFICER OF VOLUNTEERS INTRODUCED._
_The Commissioner_. Well, what can I do for you, Captain?
_Officer of Volunteers_. Hush, Sir! If you were heard to give me my
military rank, you would be the cause of covering me with ridicule!
_The Com._ Ridicule! Are you _not_ a Captain?
_Off._ Certainly, Sir. I hold Her Majesty's Commission, and am
supposed to be one of the defenders of the country.
_The Com._ Then why should you not be credited with the rank to which
you are entitled?
_Off._ Because, Sir, I am only a Captain of Volunteers.
_The Com._ But surely the British Army is composed entirely of
Volunteers?
_Off._ That is the national boast, Sir. But then, you see, I receive
no pay.
_The Com._ Which does not prevent you from working?
_Off._ On the contrary, Sir, nearly all my leisure is devoted to the
study of what I may, perhaps, be permitted to call my supplementary
profession.
_The Com._ What are your duties?
_Off._ Almost too numerous to enumerate. Before I received my
Commission, I had to undertake to make myself proficient in everything
appertaining to the rank to which I was appointed. This entailed a
month's hard work (five or six hours a day in the barrack-square), at
one of the Schools of Instruction.
_The Com._ Well, let us suppose that you _have_ become duly qualified
to command a company--what next?
_Off._ Having reached this point, I find myself called upon to work
as hard as any Line officer on full pay. True, I have not (except
when the battalion is camping out, or taking part in manoeuvres), to
trouble myself with matters connected with the Commissariat, but in
every other respect my position is exactly analogous to my brother
officers in other branches of the QUEEN's Service. I have to attend
numerous drills, and perform the duties, at stated intervals, of the
Orderly Room. Besides this, I have to see that every parade is well
attended by the men of my company. This entails, as you may imagine,
time and trouble.
_The Com._ May I take it that it is less difficult to command
Volunteers than Regulars?
_Off._ That is a matter of opinion. If a Volunteer officer can bring
to bear his social position (for instance, should his men be his
tenants, or in his employment), he may find the task of command an
easy one. But should the battalion to which he belongs be composed of
that large class of persons who consider "one man as good as another,
and better," no little tact is required in keeping up discipline.
Besides this, he starts at a disadvantage. Every retirement from the
regiment means the loss of an earner of the capitation grant; and
as the maintenance of a Volunteer corps is an exceedingly expensive
matter, a "free and independent private" feels that if he withdraws,
or is forced to withdraw, his officers are practically the pecuniary
sufferers of the proceeding.
_The Com._ Am I to understand then that the cost of a battalion falls
upon the commissioned rank?
_Off._ Almost entirely. The officers have generally to pay a heavy
entrance fee, and subscription, and must, if they wish to be popular,
contribute largely to prize funds, entertainments, and the cost of
"marching out." Besides these charges they have to be particularly
hospitable or benevolent (either word will do) to the companies to
which they specially belong.
_The Com._ Well, certainly, it seems that an Officer of Volunteers has
many responsibilities--what are his privileges?
_Off._ Only one is officially recognised--the right to be snubbed!
_The Com._ And the result?
_Off._ That there is scarcely a corps in the kingdom without
vacancies. Men nowadays, fail to see the fun of all work and no pay,
play, or anything else. This very week a meeting is being held at
the Royal United Service Institution, to consider what can be done to
advance the interests of the officers--another word for the interests
of the whole force.
_The Com._ You have my sympathy, and if I can help you--
_Off._ Not another word, Sir. The good services of _Mr. Punch_ for
the last thirty years are appreciated by all of us, and we know we can
rely upon him as confidently in the future as we have done with good
reason in the past. [_The Witness then retired._
* * * * *
[Illustration: "SAME OLD GAME!"
OLD LADY OF THREADNEEDLE STREET. "YOU'VE GOT YOURSELVES INTO A NICE
MESS WITH YOUR PRECIOUS '_SPECULATION_!' WELL--I'LL HELP YOU OUT OF
IT,--_FOR THIS ONCE!!_"
* * * * *
[Illustration: FANCY SKETCH FOR NOVEMBER 5.
MAGISTRATE LETTING OFF A CRACKER WITH A LITTLE CAUTION.]
* * * * *
HOW IT'S DONE.
(_A HANDBOOK TO HONESTY._)
NO. IV.--THE GRAND OLD (JOBBING) GARDENER.
SCENE--_the Garden of a modest Suburban Villa. Present,
Simple Citizen, with budding horticultural ambitions, and
Jobbing Gardener, "highly recommended" for skill and low
charges. The latter is a grizzled personage, very bowed as to
back, and baggy as to breeches, but in his manner combining
oracular "knowingness" and deferential plausibility in a
remarkable degree._
_Simple Citizen_. You see SMUGGINS, things are a little bit in the
rough here, at present.
_Grand Old Gardener_. Ah, you may well say that, Sir! Bin allowed to
run to rack _and_ ruin, this here pooty bit o' garding has. Want a lot
o' clearing, scurryfunging, and topping and lopping, afore it'll look
anythink like. But it's got the making of a puffeck parrydise in it, a
puffeck parrydise it has--_with_ my adwice.
_S.C._ Glad to hear you say so, SMUGGINS. Now what I propose is--
_G.O.G._ (_laying a horny hand on S.C.'s coat-sleeve_). If you'll
ascuse me, Sir, I'll jest give yer _my_ ideas. It'll save time. (_Lays
down artfully the lines of a plan involving radical alteration of
paths, and lawns, and beds, shifting of shrubs, cutting down of trees,
rooting up of trailers, and what he calls "toppin' an' loppin'" to a
tremendous extent._) _Then_, Sir, you'll 'ave a bit o' garding as'll
be the pride o' yer eye, and a tidy bit o' profit into the bargain,
or I don't know my bizness. An' I _oughter_ too, seeing as I wos 'ed
gardener to the Dook of FITZ-FUZZ for close on twenty year, afore the
rheumaticks took me like wot you see. Hu-a-a-h!!!
_S.C._ Yes; but, SMUGGINS, all these alterations will run into time
and--expense, I'm afraid.
_G.O.G._ (_confidentially)._ You leave that to _me_, Sir! The fust
expense'll be the biggest, and a saving in the long run, take _my_
word. And then you _will_ 'ave a garding, _you_ will, one as that 'ere
muddled up bit o' greenery nex door won't be a patch on it, for all
he's so proud of it.(_Gets Simple Citizen into his clutches, and
works him to his will_.)
SCENE II.--_The Same, six months later in the Season._
_S.C._ (_returning from a fortnight's absence_). What, SMUGGINS, still
at it? And--eh--by Jove, what _have_ you been up to? Why I hardly know
the place again!
_G.O.G._ (_complacently_). I should 'ope not, Sir It _is_ a bit
different from when you last saw it, I flatter myself. Fact it is a
garding, now. _Then_ it wos a wildernidge!
_S.C._ Yes, but SMUGGINS, hang it all, you've cut almost every bit of
greenery away!
_G.O.G._ (_contemptuously_). Greenery!!! And who wants _greenery_?
Greenery ain't gardening, greenery ain't not by chorks. Any fool, even
that cove nex door, can grow _greenery_!
_S.C._ Yes, but SMUGGINS, I _don't_ like my limes to look like
gouty posts, my branchy elms to show as bare as broom-sticks, and my
fruit-trees to be trimmed into timber-screens!
_G.O.G._ (_persuasively_). No, Sir, cert'ny _not_. Fact is they'd bin
let grow wild so long that cutting on 'em freely back wos the only way
to save 'em. Jest wait till next year, Sir, and _you_'ll see.
_S.C._ (_doubtfully_). Humph! Looks beastly now, anyhow. And you've
altered all the paths, and nearly all the beds. I didn't tell you--
_G.O.G._ (_emphatically_). No, Sir, you didn't. You give me _cart
blarnch_, you did, and I've done my level best. The Dook 'ad the
same idees at first, but when he comes to know me, he says, says
he, SMUGGINS, you're always right, he says. If you wos to run a
reaping-machine through my horchids, or a traction-engine over my
turf, I should know as you wos a-doing of the right thing--_in_
the long run! Oh, you leave it to me, Sir, and you won't repent it.
And--ahem--here's my little haccount, Sir,--_hup_ to date.
[_Presents dirty piece of blue paper, giving scanty details,
and a spanking total. Simple Citizen pays, and tries to look
pleasant._
[Illustration]
SCENE III.
_The Same, six months later. Present, Simple Citizen, and a
Sympathetic Friend.
_Sympathetic Friend_. Well, well, it _does_ look a waste, APPLEYARD.
_Simple Citizen_ (_purple_). A waste! I should think it _did_. indeed!
And to think of the pretty, green, bowery place it was when I took it!
Unprofitable, perhaps, but pleasant. Now it is neither pleasant _nor_
profitable.
_S.F._ And all through that rascally ravaging SMUGGINS?
_S.C._ (_furiously_). The scoundrel!--the sleek, insinuating,
slaughtering scoundrel! He tore up my paths, he altered my beds, he
mutilated my lawns, he stripped my trailers, he hacked my trees into
bare hideousness, all to make work and money for himself and his
partner in iniquity, that nefarious "florist" friend of his. I was a
greenhorn, MUMPSON, a juggins, and I let them fool me to the top of
my bent. He cut up the shrubbery into those horrible flat beds, in
order that I might "grow my hown wegerbles," as he phrased it. He
got money from me for the best and most expensive "ashleaf kidneys"
and "Prooshian Blues," then planted cheap refuse from a small
greengrocer's. My "ashleaf kidneys" turned out waxy marbles; my
Prooshian Blues refused to pod; I spent--or rather he received--pounds
upon my vinery and cucumber frames. My grape-bunches went mouldy, and
I never got a cucumber more than six inches long. His "friend, the
florist," did, no doubt. He stole my shrubs overnight, and sold
'em back to me next morning. He bled my maidservants for "beer and
'baccy." In fact, it was the same all round; he had, in every way,
ruined my garden, run me up exorbitant bills, and then, when the day
of detection was imminent--disappeared. If ever I catch sight of that
mulberry nose of his, I shall be tempted to--
_S.F._ (_soothingly_). Ah, yes, just so. But let's hope that
you'll never come across this particular Grand Old Gardener--or his
like--again. (_Waggishly._) By Jove, APPLEYARD, no wonder the world
went wrong, seeing that "the first man" was--a Gardener!!!
* * * * *
LEARNED BY ART.--"Beasts in Bond Street!" "Sheep in the Salon!"
Messrs. DOWDESWELLS have taken the wind out of the sails of the
Agricultural Hall, and Mr. DENOVAN ADAM has given us the opportunity
of seeing a superb collection of Scottish Highland Cattle. Mountain,
meadow, moss and moor have all been laid under contribution. The
result is we can have the chance of studying these hornymental animals
without being tossed, and staring at them without being gored. In
the same gallery may be seen a series of pastels of Hampstead Heath,
by Mr. HENRY MUHRMAN--a merman ought to be a sea-painter by rights,
but no matter! The poet has told us that, "'Amsted am the place to
ruralise on a summer's day!" The artist convinces us it is the place
to "pastelise," and he seems to have pastelised to the tune of forty
pictures very successfully.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE LORD MAYOR'S SHOW OF THE FUTURE.
[In consequence of AUGUSTUS DRURIOLANUS becoming Sheriff, it is
expected that additional lustre will be given to a future Mayoralty by
the leading Members of "THE Profession" taking to Civic Life.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: 'ARRY IN ST. PETERSBURGH.
HE TRIES TO MAKE A DROSKI-DRIVER UNDERSTAND THAT HE COULD HAVE GONE
THE SAME DISTANCE IN A HANSOM FOR LESS MONEY.]
* * * * *
PARS ABOUT PICTURES.
_PAR CI--PAR LA!_
"A good par here, and a bad par there; here a par, and there a par,
and everywhere a par!" Indeed, as an Irishman would say, it is
the Judgment of Pars. Let us look in at the Institute, and see the
Painters in Ile, and no doubt we shall be iley delighted. We go on the
pre-private view day. Not that we are parsimonious, but we prefer to
see the pictures without being scrouged.