Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 99., August 2, 1890. by Various
V >>
Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 99., August 2, 1890.
_Mrs. Hussiffe_ (_to Mr. DE MURE_). Perhaps _you_ can tell me of a
good coal merchant? The people who supply me now are perfect _fiends_,
and I really must go somewhere else.
_Mr. De Mure_. Then I'm afraid you must be rather difficult to please.
Mr. TABLETT _has been introduced to_ Mrs. MAYNARD GERY--_with
the following result_.
_Mrs. M.G._ (_enthusiastically_). I'm so delighted to make your
acquaintance. When my brother-in-law told me who you were,
I positively very nearly shrieked. I am such an admirer of
your--(_thinks she won't commit herself to the whole title--and
so compounds_)--your delightful _Sabrina_!
_Mr. T._ Most gratified to hear it, I'm sure, I'm told there's a
growing demand for it.
_Mrs. M.G._ Such a hopeful sign--when one was beginning quite to
despair of the public taste!
_Mr. T._ Well, I've always said--So long as you give the Public a
really first-rate article, and are prepared to spend any amount of
money on _pushing_ it, you know, you're sure to see a handsome return
for your outlay--in the long run. And you see, I've had this carefully
analysed, by competent judges--
_Mrs. M.G._ Ah, but _you_ can feel independent of criticism, can't
you?
_Mr. T._ Oh, I defy anyone to find anything unwholesome in it--it's as
suitable for the most delicate child as it is for adults--nothing to
irritate the most sensitive--
_Mrs. M.G._ Ah, you mean certain critics are so thin-skinned--they are
indeed!
_Mr. T._ (_warming to his subject_). But the beauty of this particular
composition is that it causes absolutely _no_ unpleasantness or
inconvenience afterwards. In some cases, indeed, it acts like a charm.
I've known of two cases of long-standing erysipelas it has completely
cured.
_Mrs. M.G._ (_rather at sea_). How gratifying that must be. But that
is the magic of all truly great work, it is such an _anodyne_--it
takes people so completely out of themselves--doesn't it?
_Mr. T._ It takes anything of that sort out of _them_, Ma'am. It's the
finest discovery of the age, no household will be without it in a few
months--though perhaps I say it who shouldn't.
_Mrs. M.G._ (_still more astonished_). Oh, but I _like_ to hear you.
I'm so tired of hearing people pretending to disparage what they have
done, it's such a _pose_, and I hate posing. Real genius is _never_
modest. (_If he had been more retiring, she would have, of course,
reversed this axiom_.) I _wish_ you would come and see me on one of
my Tuesdays, Mr. TABLETT, I should feel so honoured, and I think you
would meet some congenial spirits--do look in some evening--I will
send you a card if I may--let me see--could you come and lunch next
Sunday? I've got a little man coming who was very nearly eaten up by
cannibals. I think _he_ would interest you.
_Mr. T._ I shall be proud to meet him. Er--did they eat _much_ of him?
_Mrs. M.G._ (_who privately thinks this rather vulgar_). How _witty_
you are! That's quite worthy of a--_Sabrina_, really! Then you _will_
come? So glad. And now I mustn't keep you from your other admirers any
longer. [_She dismisses him_.
LATER.
_Mrs. M.G._ (_to her Brother-in-law_). How _could_ you say that dear
Mr. TABLETT was _dull_, PHIL? I found him perfectly charming--so
original and unconventional! He's promised to come to me. By the way,
_what_ did you say the name of his book was?
_Phil_. I never said he had written a book.
_Mrs. M.G._ PHIL--you _did_!--_Sabrina's Other--Something_. Why, I've
been _praising_ it to him, entirely on your recommendation.
_Phil_. No, no--_your_ mistake. I only asked you if you'd read
_Sabrina's Uncle's Other Niece_, and, as I made up the title on the
spur of the moment, I should have been rather surprised if you had.
_He_ never wrote a line in his life.
_Mrs. M.G._ How _abominable_ of you! But surely he's famous for
_something_? He talks like it. [_With reviving hope_.
_Phil_. Oh, yes, he's the inventor and patentee of the new "Sabrina"
Soap--he says he'll make a fortune over it.
_Mrs. M.G._ But he hasn't even done _that_ yet! PHIL, I'll _never_
forgive you for letting me make such an idiot of myself. What _am_
I to do now? I _can't_ have him coming to me--he's really too
impossible!
_Phil_. Do? Oh, order some of the soap, and wash your hands of him, I
suppose--not that he isn't a good deal more presentable than some of
your lions, after all's said and done!
[_Mrs. M.G., before she takes her leave, contrives to inform
Mr. TABLETT, with her prettiest penitence, that she has only
just recollected that her luncheon party is put off, and that
her Tuesdays are over for the Season. Directly she returns to
Town, she promises to let him hear from her; in the meantime,
he is not to think of troubling himself to call. So there is
no harm done, after all_.
* * * * *
THE OPERA-GOER'S DIARY.
(_LAST WEEK OF OPERA._)
[Illustration: Hamlet Personally Conducted.]
_Monday_.--_Hamlet_. Music by AMBROISE THOMAS, and _libretto_ by
Messieurs CARRE and BARBIER, who seem to have read _Hamlet_ once
through, after which they wrote down as a _libretto_ what they
remembered, of the story. It would be difficult to mention any Opera
less dramatic than this. The question arises at once, adapting the
immortal phrase of JAMES LE SIFFLEUR, "Why lug in _Hamlet_?" Why
not have called it _Ophelia_? Whatever interest there may be in the
Opera--and there is very little--is centred entirely in _Ophelia_.
The _Ghost_ is utterly purposeless, but of distinguished appearance
as a robust spectre, marching in at one gate, and out at another, or
hiding behind a sofa, and popping up suddenly, in order to frighten
an equally purposeless _Hamlet._ Like father, like son. M. LASSALLE
is a fine, substantial, baritonial _Hamlet_, who is always posturing,
weeping, calling out _ma mere_, and blubbering on the ample matronly
bosom of his mother, Madame RICHARD ("O RICHARD! _O ma Reine_!")
like a big, blubbering, overgrown schoolboy. Were I inclined to
disquisitionise, I should say that Messieurs CARRE and BARBIER have
actually realised SHAKSPEARE's own description of his jelly-fleshed
hero, whose mind is as shaky as his well-covered body. _Hamlet_
was--as SHAKSPEARE took care to emphasise--"fat, and scant of
breath"--which was the physical description of the actor who first
impersonated the leading _role_ of this play; and the French author's
idea of _Hamlet_ was, accordingly, a fat youth, very much out of
condition, home from Wittenberg College, in consequence of his
father's recent decease.
[Illustration: Hamlet is out of it in the last Act. Why wasn't he
brought into the Ballet?]
Some of the lighter musical portions of the Opera are charming, and
the Chorus at the end of Act I, might have been written by OFFENBACH.
But what is there of the story? Nothing. The King is not killed: the
Queen isn't poisoned: _Polonius_ is not stabbed behind the arras,
having been, perhaps, killed before the Opera commenced, since his
name appears in the book but not in the programme, and the only person
on the stage that I could possibly associate with that dear old
Lord Chamberlain was M. MIRANDA, who had donned a white beard and a
different robe from what he had been previously wearing as _Horatio_
in the First and Second Acts, in order to enter and lead the King
away, in an interpolated and ineffective scene which was not in the
book. A very hard-working Opera for the principals, and a thankless
task. _Hamlet's_ drinking song fine, and finely sung. But the whole
point of the Opera is in the last Act, where there is a _ballet_ that
has nothing to do with the piece, but pretty to see little PALLADINO
in short white skirts, dancing merrily in a forest glade, among the
happy peasantry, to whom comes _Ophelia_, mad as several hatters,
and after a lunatic scene, charming, both musically and dramatically,
throws herself into the water, and dies singing.
Here is a suggestion for the effective compression and reduction
of the Opera, and if my plan be accepted, DRURIOLANUS will earn the
eternal gratitude of those who would like to hear all that is good in
it, and to skip, as PALLADINO does, the rest. Thus:--
ACT I.--_Enter_ HAMLET. _Solo. Exit. Enter_ OPHELIA. _Solo. Re-enter_
HAMLET. OPHELIA _and_ HAMLET _love-duet. Exit_ OPHELIA. HAMLET'S
_Friends come in, and he sings them a Drinking Song with Chorus. All
join in Chorus and Dance. Curtain_.
[Illustration: An awkward moment for Hamlet. Row with his Mother and
Ophelia.]
ACT II.--_Opening Chorus (anything; it doesn't matter if it's only
pretty and bright). Enter_ HAMLET. _Solo_. "_Etre, ou ne pas etre."
Enter_ OPHELIA _with book, pretends not to see_ HAMLET. _Solo. Enter_
Queen. OPHELIA _complains to her that_ HAMLET _isn't behaving like
a gentleman._ Queen _upbraids_ HAMLET: _So does_ OPHELIA: HAMLET
_depressed, Exit_ Queen R.H. _Exit_ OPHELIA L.H. HAMLET _remains,
evidently going mad_. PALLADINO _looks in. Dances_. HAMLET _joins her.
Enter Friends, Courtiers, Peasants, and other Friends. All join in
ballet_, HAMLET _included. Enter_ Keepers, _and_ HAMLET _is taken off
to Hanwellhagen_. OPHELIA _rushes in, faints. Curtain_.
ACT III.--_Meadows near Hanwellhagen, in Denmark. Dance of Lunatics,
out for a holiday. To them enter OPHELIA. All the charming music,
delightful, and, this being finished, she chucks herself away into the
stream. Curtain_.
Great call for everybody concerned. And, if the above scheme be
adopted, the Opera would be over before eleven, having begun at nine.
I present this with my compliments to DRURIOLANUS and AMBROISE THOMAS;
and, if he is not "a doubting THOMAS," he will try this plan.
The remainder of the week passed away happily, so I hear, but was not
able to be in my place, as I was at somebody else's place far, far
away. The Opera has been, from the first, a big success. Should like
to hear _Masaniello_ once again. Perhaps that is a treat in store for
all of us. Thus ends the Opera-goer's Diary for 1890, and everybody is
highly satisfied and delighted. Curtain.
* * * * *
MUSICAL PARADOX.
When Autumn comes, our womenfolk prepare
To grind the "old old tune" called "change of air."
* * * * *
[Illustration: MRS. HIGHFLYER'S DANCE, 2 A.M.
"AH! IT'S ALL VERY WELL FOR THE FOOTMEN,--AND IT'S ALL VERY WELL
FOR THE GALS,--BUT IT'S PRECIOUS 'ARD ON US COACHMEN AND THE PORE
MOTHERS!"]
* * * * *
"OUR TURN NOW!"
_OR, MR. BULL AND THE WANDERING MINSTRELS._
_Mr. Bull_. Confound these Wandering Minstrels! Oh, the bore of them!
Only just settled with yon tow-hair'd fellow
Turning the corner, and behold two more of them,
Prepared to grind and tootle, blow and bellow,
Until I tip _them_ in a liberal fashion.
Upon my word, their noise is something shocking;
Enough to put a person in a passion.
Menaces slighting and remonstrance mocking,
They stand and twangle, tootle, grind, and gurgle
Their horrible cacophony. Find it funny,
Ye grinners? Might as well my mansion burgle,
As "row" me forcibly out of my money.
The Teuton tootler, being tipped, is "sloping,"
Patting his pocket with a smile complacent.
The Gallic blower, for like treatment hoping,
Grins at the Portuguese who grinds adjacent.
What a _charivari_! Oh, I _must_ stop it!
I say, you rascal with the hurdy-gurdy,
More than enough of that vile shindy; drop it!
And you, my brazen, blatant, would-be VERDI,
Hush that confounded horn, or go and blow it
At--Jericho. _My_ walls you will not tumble
By windy shindy, and you ought to know it.
_Horn-Player_. Bah! ze old hombogs! He sall growl and grumble
But he vill _pay_ ven it come to ze pinches;
I know him, ze cantankerous _vieux_ chappie.
Ze German yonder, vy he take ze inches,
And get ze Hel-igoland! Now he quite happy.
I do ze same. _Pom! Pom!_ Zat blast vos thunder!
How he do tear his hair and tvist his features.
He svear, but he vill vat you call "knock under."
_Mr. Bull_. I say, you Portugee, smallest of creatures,
And noisiest for your size, shut up, and hook it!
_Hurdy-gurdy_. _Gr-r-r-r! Gr-r-r-r!_ Zey say zat ze old fool is
skveezable,
Melting in his own heat. Py gar, he _look_ it.
Ze Teuton yonder find zat he vas teaseable
Out of ze "tip," ze big _pour-boire_. He got him,
He go, he grin! Sall I not take ze hint too?
I get him too--_I_ go. But I no let him
Drive me away, as he did SERPA PINTO.
_Gr-r-r-r! Gr-r-r-r!_ I see zat he no like ze grinding.
Soo mooch ze bettare! He sall give mooch money;
Ze _pour-boire_, someveres, he sall soon be finding,
If I keep on. Zeese Eenglish are so funny.
_Tutto_. Ze money for ze Minstrels! Kvick! So sall you
Get rid of us. Like to ze artful gloser
In Mistare SEYMOUR'S sketch, _ve_ "know ze value
Of peace and kvie'ness." Pay us, ve go, Sir! [_Left tootling._
* * * * *
IN THE KNOW.
(_BY MR. PUNCH'S OWN PROPHET._)
Am I going to Goodwood? I answer that question by another. Is it
likely that a race-meeting of any pretensions can possibly do without
one whom even his enemies acknowledge to be the only accurate and
high-minded sporting writer in the world? Those who care (and I
devoutly hope that Mr. J., whose brains equal those of a newly-born
tadpole, will not be amongst the number) can see me at any moment on
pronouncing the password, "mealy-mouth," in my old place, _close to
the space devoted to Royalty._ Yes, I shall be there. In the meantime,
I propose to treat of the horses as only I can treat of them. I have
nothing to say against _Pioneer_, except that the name promises very
well for one who means to lead the way. _Nous verrons_, as RACINE
said, on a celebrated occasion. As for _The Imp_, I cannot too
strongly lay it down that only blue devils are bad for the digestion,
and _Galloping Queen_ may gallop farther than or not so far as _Miss
Ethel_. A miss must be better than a mile to win. If _Theophilus_ were
_Formidable_, or if _Imogene_ possessed a _Grecian Bend_, it might be
necessary to sound _Reveille_ in _Rotten Row_, which would certainly
be a _Marvel_. Not being a roadster, I sometimes like _The Field_.
The above information ought to be sufficient to guide anybody whose
brains are calculated to fill an egg-cup. All others may go to
Earlswood, where they will probably meet Mr. J.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "OUR TURN NOW!"
FRANCE AND PORTUGAL (_who know the value of Peace and Quiet_). "YOU
GIVE GERMAN SOMESING,--HE GO VAY! YOU GIVE _US_ SOMESING,--_VE_ GO
VAY!!"]
* * * * *
THE REAL GRIEVANCE OFFICE.
(_BEFORE_ MR. COMMISSIONER PUNCH.)
_AN ANGLO-INDIAN GENTLEMAN INTRODUCED._
[Illustration]
_The Commissioner_. Well, Sir, What can I do for you?
_Anglo-Indian_. I wish respectfully to call your attention, Sir,
to our case, which is now before a Parliamentary Committee. I am
an Indian Civil Servant. I am called a member of the Uncovenanted
Service, but I contend that such a term is a misnomer. Originally the
Uncovenanted Service consisted of Natives of India, who were employed,
without covenant, to do subordinate official work, under the direction
of the Covenanted Civil Service. The bulk of these persons were
overseers and tax-collectors.
_The Com._ Has there been any alteration of late years? I see you lay
a stress upon _originally_.
_Anglo-In._ At this moment there are in the Service, in one department
alone--the Educational--a Senior Classic, a Second Wrangler, several
other Wranglers, and many Fellows of Oxford and Cambridge, who took
high honours with their degrees. The Service now requires great
technical knowledge, as it has to deal with Archaeology, Finance,
Geological Survey, Public Works, and Telegraphy, and can only be
entered by Europeans, who have been selected by nomination, or after
competition, either by the Secretary of State for India, or the
Government of India. It is not an Uncovenanted Service, as we now
enter it with the prospect of pension; and one of our grievances
is, that that prospect has become less favourable through the recent
action of our employers.
_The Com._ Be kind enough to explain.
_Anglo-In._ Certainly, Sir. When we entered the Service our pension,
after serving thirty years, was stated by the Secretary of State to
be L500. Naturally this was taken to mean gold, but because years ago
the Service consisted of Natives, the Government hit upon the plan of
paying us in silver, which at the present rate means a loss of L150 in
the L500.
_The Com._ Are the members of the other Indian Services, Civil and
Military, treated in like manner?
_Anglo-In._ No, they are paid their pensions in gold.
_The Com._ Well, considering the class of men who now enter your
Service I do not see why you should be put at so great a disadvantage.
Have you any other grievances?
_Anglo-In._ Well, thirty years is a long time to have to serve in a
climate as trying as the tropics, especially when we are not allowed
to count furlough as service.
_The Com._ I think so, too. Then I may sum up your grievances thus.
You are educated men, and therefore deserve fair treatment. You
would consider fair treatment, payment of pensions in gold, and the
lessening of the years of service necessary to earn the right of
retirement?
_Anglo-In._ Exactly, Sir; and I cannot thank you sufficiently for
putting our case so plainly.
_The Com._ Not at all. Should you receive no redress within a
reasonable time, you may mention the matter to me again.
[_The Witness with a grateful bow then withdrew_.
* * * * *
THE SHADOW OF A CASE!
(_TO THE EDITOR OF PUNCH._)
DEAR SIR,--As the leading forensic journal of this great country (your
contemporary _Weekly Notes_ runs you pretty close occasionally in some
of its reports), I address you. It was my painful duty a few days ago
(I had to "take a note" for a colleague, an occupation more honourable
than lucrative), to be present at a cause that was heard before the
President of the Probate, Divorce, and Admiralty Division of the High
Court of Justice and a Special Jury. The trial created considerable
interest, not only amongst the general public, but amongst that branch
of our honourable Profession represented by the Junior Bar, no doubt,
because certain points of law, not easily recognisable--I frankly
confess, I myself, am unable to recount them--were no doubt in
question, and had to be decided by competent authority. The Counsel
directly engaged were some of the brightest ornaments of Silk and
Stuff. Amongst the rest were my eloquent and learned friend, Sir
CHARLES RUSSELL, my erudite and learned friend Mr. INDERWICK (whose
_Side-lights upon the Stuarts_, is a marvel of antiquarian research),
and my mirth-compelling and learned friend Mr. FRANK LOCKWOOD,
whose law is only equalled (if, indeed, it is equalled) by his comic
draughtmanship. As the details of the trial have been fully reported,
there is no necessity to go into particulars. However, there was a
feature in the case that the passing notice of an article in one or
more of the leading journals is scarcely sufficient to meet.
It was proved that the detective part of divorce (if I may use the
expression) may be conducted in a fashion, to say the least, of not
the most entirely satisfactory character. A talented family were
called before us, whose performances were, from one point of view,
extremely amusing. But, Sir, although (as you will be the first to
admit) laughter is a most excellent thing in its proper place, the
sound of cachinnation is seldom pleasing in the Divorce Court. Under
these circumstances I would propose that, in future, Divorce Shadowing
should be put under the protection of the State. There should be a
special department, and the Shadowers should be of the distinguished
position of Mr. MCDOUGALL of the London County Council, and the like.
The office of the rank and file of the Shadowers should be honorary,
as the pleasure of following in (possibly) unsavoury steps in the
cause of virtue, would be to them, I presume, ample reward for any
trouble the labour might entail. I would willingly myself undertake
the responsibilities attaching to the post of Director-General, of
course on the understanding that a suitable provision were made, not
only as compensation for the loss of my practice, but also that I
might perform the duties of the office with suitable dignity. But when
I say this, I would add, that I should reserve to myself the right of
seeking the supplementary services of the Archbishop of CANTERBURY,
and Mr. Sheriff AUGUSTUS HARRIS, as assessors in assisting me to
distinguish between innocence and vice, and guilt and virtue.
Believe me, with an expression of all necessary respect for "the
Nobility" connected with the case to which I have referred, and
admiration for the courage of a certain Militiaman, exhibited by his
entering the witness-box, and there facing the cross-examination he so
richly deserved, I remain, Yours truly,
(_Signed_) A BRIEFLESS, JUNIOR.
_Pump-handle Court, July 29, 1890._
* * * * *
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
[Illustration]
Poet and Prophet are nearly allied. Mr. ALFRED AUSTIN is an
illustration of this, in his recently published _English Lyrics_
(MACMILLAN) all of which he must have written in utter ignorance
of the doings of the Chairman of the County Council. Yet, hath the
Prophetic Poet these lines:--
"Primrose, why do you pass away?"
And the Primrose's return:
"Nay, rather, why should we longer stay?"
But the Conservative bias of the Poet is shown in the next line:
"_We_ are not needed," &c.
The commencement of the poem, however, as here quoted, is evidently an
inspiration for which the Poet was not responsible. It is a charming
little volume of charming verse. It is good poetic wine, which
needs not the bush provided by Mr. WILLIAM WATSON in the shape of a
thickset introduction. What, asks W.W., is the attitude of ALFRED
AUSTIN towards Nature? This recalls a well-known scene in _Nicholas
Nickleby_--"She's a rum 'un, is Natur'," said _Mr. Squeers_. "She
is a holy thing, Sir," remarked _Mr. Snawley_. "Natur'," said _Mr.
Squeers_, solemnly, "is more easier conceived than described. Oh,
what a blessed thing, Sir, to be in a state of natur'!" And these
observations of Messrs. _Snawley_ and _Squeers_ pretty accurately sum
up all that the ingenious WILLIAM WATSON has to say about Natur' and
ALFRED AUSTIN. The moral of which lies in the application of it, which
is,--skip the preface, and make plunge into the poetry.
A good deal has been written in olden time and of late about the
Oberammergau Passion Play. Nothing has been better done than the
work by Mr. EDWARD R. RUSSELL, formerly M.P. for Glasgae, who visited
Oberammergau this year. His account is instinct with keen criticism,
fine feeling, and reasoning reverence. Moreover, whilst other works
are padded out into bulky volumes, he says all that need be said in
fifteen pages of a pleasantly-printed booklet--price sixpence. It is
a reprint from letters which the errant Editor contributed to his
journal, the _Liverpool Daily Post_, at the sign of which copies may
be had. THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS & Co.
* * * * *
Art's Friends and Foe!
TATE, WALLACE, AGNEW! Here be three good names,
Friends of true Art, and furtherers of her aims;
Munificence but waits to take sound shape;
Say, shall it be frustrated by--Red Tape?
* * * * *
[Illustration: BUZZY TIME FOR THE MINISTER OF AGRICULTURE.
{Persons interested should secure the Government paper containing
all the information in regard to the Hessian Fly, and other injurious
insects and fungi.}]
* * * * *
[Illustration: "THE CHURCH-GOING BELL."
SUNDAY MORNING, COAST OF NORWAY.
(_By Our Yotting Artist._)]
* * * * *
JOHNNY, MAKE ROOM FOR DELONCLE!
(_NEW NORTH AFRICAN VERSION OF AN OLD SONG._)
"M. DELONCLE, in his conversation with a Belgian reporter,
puts in a claim for practically the whole of the northern
half of Africa, with the possible exception of Egypt."--_The
Times_.
AIR--"_Tommy, make room for your Uncle_."
_Deputy_ DELONCLE (_addressing_ JOHNNY BULL) _sings_:--
Nothing but deserts now left for France!
Hang it! That _will_ not do!
Therefore DELONCLE her claims must advance,
Mighty they are, nor few.
Right from Oubanghi unto Lake Tchad,
Through Wadai and Ba-gir-mi!
JOHNNY, my lad, I shall be glad
If you'll make room for ME!
_Chorus_.
JOHNNY, make room for DELONCLE,
There's a little dear!
JOHNNY, make room for DELONCLE,
He wants to stay here.
He needs the whole of North Africa!
(The rest he may leave to you),
Do not annoy, there's a good boy!
Make room for DELONCLE, do!