Punch Volume 102, May 28, 1892 by Various
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Various >> Punch Volume 102, May 28, 1892
[Illustration: The Good and Great Archbishop Druriolanus
Coventgardenus giving his Chorus Flock permission to use Palms on
Easter Sunday. Quite "the palmy days" of the Opera.]
Up goes the Curtain, and those who remember the _Cavalleria_ as it
was put on "in another place," to use parliamentary language, see
at the first glance that this representation is going to be quite
another pair of shoes. The stage management is admirable: not a
second without movement, and every movement with a motive--musical
or dramatic, or both. Madame CALVE's _Santuzza_ is operatically and
histrionically--but especially the latter--a triumph; and "this is the
verdict of us all." GIULIA RAVOGLI makes a great part of _Lola_; the
many-talented little Mlle. BAUERMEISTER's _Lucia_ is not quite up to
her own _Marta_ in _Faust_. As for the men, the singing and the acting
of Signor DE LUCIA as _Turiddu_ (ye gods! what a name!), and of Mons.
DUFRICHE as _Alfio_ cannot be surpassed.
But--stop--the tremendous row (a quarrel quite representative of
Whitechapel in Italy, and suggesting to some of us what Signor
Coster CHEVALIER might do if this Opera were Londonised) between
_Turiddu-de-Lucia_ and _Santuzza-Calve_ is over, the latter has
denounced her former lover, there is thunder in the air--the
atmosphere is heavy with fate--and the stage is clear. Then comes
the _intermezzo_, foreboding ill, presaging tragedy,--magnificent!
And as MANCINELLI bows from his seat, acknowledges the thunder of
applause--this was the thunder in the atmosphere--and pulls his forces
together again to repeat and emphasize the triumph--DRURIOLANUS shuts
up his lorgnette, beams on the world around, and murmurs to himself,
"Waterloo is won!" Decides thereupon to give the same performance on
Thursday, and does so, with repetition of triumph.
Now one word as to a picturesque detail. The action takes place on
Easter Sunday, not on Palm Sunday; but Archbishop DRURIOLANUS has
issued a pastoral melody dispensing his flock from the usual custom,
and allowing them to have the palms distributed on Easter Sunday, for
the sake of the show. "_Palmam qui meruit ferat_,"--and well does each
one of the Chorus deserve his or her palm. And do not those in front
who are nervous as to splitting their glove-seams, also bare their
palms to applaud this Opera? Why certainly. Truly, Sir DRURIOLANUS
ARCHIEPISCOPUS DISPENSATOR, well hast thou inaugurated the palmy days
of this Opera Season.
_Friday_.--_Faust_ selected because alliteration in _Faust_ and
Friday. A trifle, but as DRURIOLANUS says, "The world is governed
by trifles." Wise saw this, with practical modern instance. VAN
DYCK looking like a Rembrandt, a Faust-rate _Faust_, and Miss EMMA
EAMES a charming _Marguerite_, Mons. PLANCON's _Mephistopheles a la
Francaise_. Mons. CESTE good as _Valentine_. _A propos_ of _Valentine
_ and his soldiers, why do the army and their friends who come
to welcome them, invariably _turn their backs_ on the triumphal
procession, taking no sort of interest in it whatever? Also, why is
that banner persistently and purposelessly waved during the whole
of the great Soldiers' Chorus? Is this _the_ reason why nowadays the
ever-popular Soldiers' Chorus is seldom encored? As this monotonous
action on the part of the Bannerman (not CAMPBELL of that ilk, but the
ensign-bearing supernumerary) suggests "flagging interest," hadn't it
better be abolished altogether?
_Saturday_.--Great excitement in outer Hall. Everybody buzzing about.
What has happened? Has dynamite been found? Has some eminent vocalist
"gone up to see," and can't come down again in time? Sir DRURIOLANUS
is present, explaining matters to the critics, and repeating
explanation in various tongues to eager foreign inquirers. The
sentinels eye the moving scene with determination and bayonets fixed.
At a word from Sir DRURIOLANUS, they will give an extra charge, and
rout the crowd. "What is it all about?" asks little PETERKIN. Sir
DRURIOLANUS can tell him. Madame CALVE is indisposed, and _L'Amico
Fritz_ cannot be performed. So GLUCK's _Orfeo_ is substituted in a
happy-g'lucky sort of way. The two RAVOGLI are excellent, and Box and
Stall are satisfied.
* * * * *
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
"MRS. HENNIKER," my Baronite writes, "dedicates to her brother, Lord
HOUGHTON, her first essay in fiction, on the ground that he will be
the most kindly critic. _Bid me Good-bye_ (BENTLEY) does not stand in
need of the adventitious aid of fraternal kindliness to recommend it
to the reader. The story of woman's sacrifice to a sense of duty has
been told before; but Mrs. HENNIKER endows her version with a charm
of simplicity under which, here and there, glows the fire of passion.
Moreover, she writes excellent English, which ladies who make books do
sometimes. It is a pity the story is so sad. _Colonel St. Aubyn_ might
just as well have married _Mary Giffard_, and lived ever after in that
charming Brereton Royal which Mrs. HENNIKER doubtless sketches from
life. If she had insisted on his being a cripple for life, her dictum
could not have been disputed. But there ought to have been a union
between _William_ and _Mary_."
* * * * *
Why are the Obstructives like last Season's Walnuts?--Because they are
troublesome to PEEL.
* * * * *
[Illustration: VOLO EPISCOPARI.
_Festive Middy_. "I SAY, GUV'NOR! I THINK YOU MUST RATHER LIKE BEING
BISHOP HERE!"
_His Lordship_. "WELL, MY BOY, I HOPE I DO! BUT WHY DO YOU ASK?"
_Festive Middy_. "OH, I'VE JUST BEEN TAKING A WALK THROUGH THE CITY,
AND--I _SAY_!--THERE _IS_ AN UNCOMMONLY GOOD-LOOKING LOT O' GIRLS
ABOUT, AND _NO_ MISTAKE!"]
* * * * *
TO LORD SALISBURY.
(_BY A PERTURBED TORY_.)
["We trust that the present Administration will not commit
the blunder of attempting to 'gain favour with this or that
section of the constituencies, by indulging in loose talk on
economical questions.'"--_The Standard_.]
To thump the Drum Ecclesiastic
Was very likely mere parade;
But oh, why make yourself seem plastic
To the fanatics of Fair Trade?
Of course a warning's no "incitement";
You only said, in tones of thunder,
The valiant Ulstermen to fight meant,
And on your soul you didn't wonder.
Encouragement in _that_? Go to!
Did shouting SAUNDERSON so take it?
(_Still it did raise a hullabaloo_.
_It's settling now, DON'T re-awake it!_)
No; civil war is far--and fudge!
But why the dickens make suggestions
That England is inclined to budge
An inch, on Economic Questions?
Let HOWARD VINCENT, if he likes,
Talk "Fair Trade" fustian; no one listens.
But _you_?--best keep to slating Strikes.
You bet the eye of HARCOURT glistens,
And GLADSTONE reading with a grin,
Says, "Now I have him on the hip!"
This will _not_ do, if we're to win.
Of course, dear Lord, 'twas but a slip,
But then you do make such a lot;
Explaining them away gets wearying.
You seem as though--of course, 'tis rot!--
Our Free Trade system you were querying.
That cock won't fight; Protection's dead,
Don't trot its ghost out. Just ask GOSCHEN!
That Silver Conference, too! _His_ head
Must have gone woolly, I've a notion.
Fire us with militant suggestions;
Your loyal followers they embolden,
But upon Economic Questions
Remember Silence is _so_ golden!
* * * * *
REPORTED DISAPPEARANCE OF THE BROAD GAUGE.--It has been "converted,"
and in this sense our old friend, The Broad Gauge, with its easy-going
ways, is defunct for ever. Is the conversion for the better? From
"broad" to "narrow" is not, ordinarily speaking, beneficial to the
individual or to society. And as applied to lines that fall in such
pleasant places as do those of the Great Western, will the change to
"narrow" result in the same breadth of view which the passengers have
hitherto enjoyed? Will the ideas of the management and direction of
the G.W.R. change from "broad" to "narrow"? We see it mentioned that
the "cross sleepers" have been disturbed and re-laid (enough to make
them crosser than ever; the ceremony should have been accompanied
by a band playing selections from "_The Sleeper Awakened_"),
and that "an inner row of chairs" is already fixed. But chairs
are not so comfortable for sleepers as the good old-fashioned
broad-gauge-G.-W.-R. first-class seat, in which, after you had
lunched, you could repose from Swindon to Exeter. However, we all know
the safety of choosing the "narrow" in preference to the "broad" way
in life, and so, no doubt, the spiritually-minded Directors of the
G.W.R. have acted with the best intentions and upon the most unanimous
resolutions. Yet "intentions" or "resolutions" are more compatible
with the "broad" than the "narrow" way.
* * * * *
LORD BRAMWELL.
BORN 1808. DIED 1892.
Alas! The Busy "B" is dead,
No more we'll hear him buzz a-wing,
Nor picture with a smiling dread
The pungent terrors of his sting.
As Io's gadfly was this "B"
To Sentiment and to Pretence.
Oh, Property! Ah, Liberty!
Fallen in your supreme defence!
Gone is the friend that in a phrase
The "Common Sense" of things could settle,
That with a stroke could slay a craze,
And folly lash with flail of nettle.
Who now will thunder in the _Times_
Against the Socialistic Rad's tone?
Who'll flout the cant and check the crimes
Of him, the all-surviving GLADSTONE?
* * * * *
Military Tournament at Islington successful as ever. All the glory of
war, as Mr. JORROCKS observed in his lecture, with one-half per cent.
of its danger. Under command of Major TULLY. For seats, apply per
Tully-phone.
* * * * *
[Illustration: UNDER WHICH THIMBLE?]
* * * * *
ON MY LADY'S POODLE.
[Illustration]
I wonder what on earth it is
That makes me think my lady's poodle
(Her minion smug of solemn phiz,)
The pink and pattern of a noodle:
Its eyes are deep; their look, serene;
Its lips are sensitive and smiling;
But oh! the gross effect, I ween,
Is, passing measure, dull and riling.
It is not that its locks are crisp;
Your humble servant's hair is crisper,
It is not that its accents lisp;
I, too, affect a stammered whisper:
Nor that a gorgeous bow it wears
And struts with particoloured bib on;
I like these macaronic airs;
I'm very fond of rainbow ribbon.
Nor can it be--of this I'm sure--
Because she pampers all its wishes
And tempts her peevish epicure
With dainty meats in dainty dishes.
To tell the truth, while _I'm_ her guest,
_My_ little wants and whims she studies;
If "Beau"'s a rival, I protest
No jealous tincture in my blood is.
I wonder, wonder, at a loss
To justify such wayward snarling--
It makes her very, _very_ cross
My poor opinion of her darling;
The cause (should pride the cause withhold,
She bodes and I deserve a scrimmage,)
The cause is this--she calls, I'm told,
The little brute my "_Living image!_"
* * * * *
LADY GAY'S SELECTIONS.
DEAR MR. PUNCH,--My dear friend, Lady HARRIET ENTOUCAS, said to me,
the other day at Kempton, when I told her to have a sovereign on
_Conifer_:--"My dear Lady GAY, your tips are so marvellous that I
really wonder you don't write to the papers!" Being struck with the
idea, my thoughts naturally flew to you--not only as the most gallant
Editor of my acquaintance, but also as probably the only one hitherto
unrepresented with a regular Turf Correspondent.
It is, therefore, with true feminine confidence that I place my
services at your disposal, and, my information being of the most
unreliable description (derived invariably from the owners), I feel
sure that those of your readers who follow my tips will have no cause
to regret their temerity, as, being like all women, nothing if not
original, I intend to tip, not the probable _winner_, but the probable
_last_ horse in important races!
As I invariably attend all the fashionable meetings and most of
the unfashionable (incognito of course the latter), it can be left
to _me_ to decide which horse was last--thus reducing the matter
to a _certainty_--distinctly an object to be gained in making a
bet--whatever _men_ may say to the contrary.
An ancestor of mine (the poet of the name)--having transmitted to me a
spark of his genius--I propose to give my selections in verse--select
verse in fact, and will now in concluding my letter, give my tip for
the probable last horse in the Derby--(which, by the way, happens in
this case to be a mare--I repeat--I am nothing if not original!)--and,
before doing so, I should like to express my sympathy with the Duke
of WESTMINSTER and JOHN PORTER, who have indeed had an Orme-ful of
trouble with the unfortunate erstwhile Derby Favourite, which would
undoubtedly have been my selection had he not been scratched! Yours
devotedly,
LADY GAY.
"THE TIP."
The Baron boldly said, "Je vais
Renvoyer cette depeche:
'A Monsieur FRY of London Town.
Un livre sur _La Fleche_.'"
* * * * *
HYDE PARK CORNER.
(MAY, 1892.)
My hansom here completely stuck;
No chance to catch my train, worse luck!
I sit and wonder:
Why should the roads be up in May?
Who muddles matters in this way,
With bungling blunder?
What use to make a shapeless space,
Where rambling roadways interlace,
And, in the Season,
To close just what was meant to save
This block, because they want to pave?
What is the reason?
By Jove, it's like some years ago,
The traffic stopping in a row
In Piccadilly!
The Vestry does not care a pin
For all the muddle that we're in;
They're much too silly.
Perhaps they'd say they meant it well.
I do not know. All I can tell
Is that I'm raving.
I'd send that Vestry down below,
Where all such good intentions go,
To make more paving!
* * * * *
FAIR TRADERS.
Lady friend of my wife's wants us to "try her tea"! Seems she's
started (with two other Ladies) as Firm of Tea Merchants in City. What
_are_ we coming to? Or rather, what are male Tea Merchants coming to?
Mr. Registrar BROUGHAM, most likely. In incautious moment--as I was
out--wife promised to give her an order for a couple of pounds of her
"best Ceylon Mixture."
Tried it. Never tasted such vile stuff! Wife agrees, and asks me to
call at the Firm's Offices and see if they haven't got anything with
more Ceylon and less Mixture in it. Don't much like the job. How
can one blow up a woman whom one will have to meet in one's own
drawing-room, calling?
Have looked in. Must say that Tea-dealeress is better than her
tea. Really quite an attractive person. The three of them gave me
afternoon tea in a little sanctum behind the shop, and chatted _most_
pleasantly. My wife's friend the head of Firm. Said the Ceylon Mixture
was a mistake--really intended for kitchen use--but as they've only
just started business, their stocks have got jumbled together. She
hoped--quite penitently--that I would "overlook the error."
What _could_ I say? What I _did_ was to order a whole box of their
"Incomparable Congou," at four shillings a pound.
Wife (when I tell her of this) seems surprised. Says "she won't
send _me_ shopping again." But can one call this cosy--this
tea-cosy--social visit to three accomplished women by the vulgar
term "shopping "?
Wife incautiously mentions that she is "out of Coffee." Gives me an
excuse to call on Firm again, and see if they sell Coffee too. Yes,
they do. Head of Firm more fascinating than ever. Asks me "if I
would mind, as a very great favour, mentioning her tea to all my City
friends? She _knows_ I have great influence in the City." Says this
with winning smile. Query--is not _Mincing_ Lane rather an appropriate
locality for Lady Tea-dealers?
Later. Wife has forbidden my ever going to Mincing Lane again! Says
the box of "Incomparable Congou" was mere "dust." So are my hopes!
* * * * *
A DENTIST'S WAITING-ROOM.
[Illustration]
Clasping tight my jaw, I staggered,
Pale and haggard,
To this room,
Where were fellow-martyrs sitting
In befitting,
Solemn gloom;
Whilst they turned, with air dejected,
Books collected
To amuse,
_Graphics_, or accumulated
_Illustrated_
_London News_.
How they glared! No fellow-feeling
O'er them stealing,
Made them kind;
"Touch of nature" that is dental
Makes no mental
Kin, I find.
There I sat, the numbers growing
Less, each going
To his fate--
What a dismal occupation!
My elation
Was not great--
Heard the butler call each saddened,
Toothache-maddened
Victim's name;
Watched them wincing as they strode out:
I should no doubt
Look the same.
Then, when me he had to take in,
"Mr. AIKIN!"
Made me quail;
O'er the after vivisection
Recollection
Draws a veil!
* * * * *
FROM THE SHADES.
(_AT THE SIGN OF THE "CASTOR AND POLLUX."_)
DEAR MISTER PUNCH,--Look at 'ere! This is not one of your penny
papers--there was none on 'em in _my_ time--ups and says, says
it:--"The travelling expenses from America of Mr. JACKSON, who is
coming to England to fight Mr. SLAVIN for the Championship of the
World, are reckoned at no less than L150."
Wy, wot a delikit plarnt, wot a blooming hexotic, this "Mister"
JACKSON (oh, the pooty perliteness of it!) must be! Saloon passage
and fust-class fare, I persoom, for the likes of _'im_. Isters and
champagne, no doubt, and liquoor brandy, and sixpenny smokes! A poor
old pug like me wos glad of a steak and inguns, and a 'arf ounce o'
shag, with a penny clay. And as to "travelling hexpenses"--I wonder
wot the Noble Captings of _our_ day would 'ave said to the accounts
laid afore your "National Sporting Club!" L2000 for the Purse, and
L150 for Mister JACKSON's travelling hexpenses!!! Oh, I say! Pugs _is_
a-looking up! And yet I'm told some o' your cockered-up fly-flappers
carnt 'it a 'ole in a pound o' butter, or stand a straight nose-ender
without turning faint! Evidently funking _and_ faking pays a jolly
sight better than 'onesty and 'ard 'itting.
Well, well, _Mister Punch_, I'm hout of it now, thanksbe. And I ain't
sure as I could shape myself 'andy to the Slugger SULLIVAN and JEM
SMITH kind o' caper. The "resources o' science" is so remarkable
different from what they wos in _my_ days, and include so many
new-fangled barnies as we worn't hup to. These 'ere pugilistic
horchids, so to speak, wants deliket 'andling _in_ the Ring, as well
as hout on it, and a fair 'ammering from a 'onest bunch o' fives might
spile the pooty look of 'em for their fust-clarss Saloons, Privet
Boxes, and Swell Clubs. But you can tell Mister JACKSON, Eskvire, an
cetrer, an cetrer, an cetrer (put it all in, please, Sir, as I vant to
be perlite), that in my day I'd a bin only too 'appy to fight 'im to
a finish (which mighn't ha' bin in five minutes, either, hunless he
wanted it so), for--his Travelling Hexpenses!!!
Yours to kommand,
THE CHICKEN.
* * * * *
SINGULAR PLURALITY!
O SHAW-LEFEVRE, was it but fatality,
Or could it be because the subjects bore 'em,
That, when you wished to argue on plurality.
About one Member came to form a quorum?
No doubt the others meant this to denote
That when you speak you like "One Man, One Vote."
* * * * *
FRIENDLY ADVICE TO MRS. HUMPHRY WARD, A PROPOS OF HER TROUBLE WITH HER
ADVERSE CRITICS.--_Grieve_ no more!
* * * * *
[Illustration: WHAT OUR ARTIST (THE ONE WHO PAINTS THE PRETTY
"KISS-MAMMY" PICTURES) HAS TO PUT UP WITH.
_Tommy._ "IT'S A LITTLE GIRL, FAST ASLEEP, WITH HER DOLL IN HER ARMS!"
_Jimmy._ "YES; AND WHEN SHE WAKES UP, _WON'T_ SHE BE FRIGHTENED AT
THAT GREAT BIG BIRD!"]
* * * * *
ST. JOHN'S WOOD.
These hapless homes of middle class,
Can they escape annihilation
When come, in place of trees and grass,
A filthy goods-yard and a station?
If such seclusion sheltered Peers,
Their wealth and influence might save it;
No speculator ever fears
Artists or writers such as crave it;
Or if it housed the WORKING MAN,
Would Lords or Commons dare eject him?
Picture the clamour if you can!
His vote, his demagogues, protect him.
But you, who only use your brains--
The people's voice, the noble's money,
Not yours--why save you from the trains?
For quiet, do you say? How funny!
Perhaps you think, because in May
The talk is all of Art and beauty,
The Commons also think that way;
Not so, they have a higher duty.
If only speculators shout,
And millionnaires take up the story,
They thrust all Art and Nature out,
For Trade is England's greatest glory.
Then, if a careless House some day
Permit the Channel Tunnel boring,
Think how this railway line would pay;
If you had shares you'd cease deploring.
Think of the cotton-laden trains
Direct from Manchester to Asia!
Think of the Sheffield Railway's gains,
Not of your lilac or acacia!
* * * * *
"ONE TOUCH OF NATURE."
To introduce in a monument to a great writer a presentment of one of
his most popular characters, as Mr. F. EDWIN ELWELL has done in his
bronze statue of "_Charles Dickens and 'Little Nell,'_" is decidedly
a pretty notion. "The child," looking up into the face of the great
creative genius, who loved this offspring of his sympathetic fancy
better than did all her other admirers, is a pathetic figure, and
gives to the monument a more human and less coldly mortuary aspect
than, unhappily, is usual in such work. It is a "touch of Nature" that
makes even the adjunct of the mausoleum akin to the quick world of
the living and loving. The vivid valiant genius, who so detested and
denounced the superfluous horrors with which we surround death and
the tomb, would cordially have approved it, little as was his love for
monumental effigies, or care for the fame that is dependent on them.
* * * * *
VERY "FRENCH BEFORE BREAKFAST."--It was reported in the _Times_ that a
M. ROULEZ fought four duels between nine and ten on Wednesday morning,
severely wounded his four adversaries, and then, after this morning's
pleasure, went about his business, that is his ordinary business, as
if nothing particular had happened. To this accomplished swordsman the
series of combats had been merely like taking a little gentle exercise
"_pour faire Rouler le sang_." The combatants, as it turns out, appear
to have been like _Falstaff's_ "men in buckram."
* * * * *
THE LIMB AND THE LAW.--"To whom does an amputated limb belong?"
queries the _Standard_ (_a propos_ of the case of the boy HOUSLEY,
whose father demanded that the arm cut off in the Infirmary should be
given up to him). The answer is clear. An amputated limb belongs to
_no body_!
* * * * *
IN DEFENCE OF THE GREAT PARADOXIST.
He may not be "earnest," he may not be "smart,"
You may say, if you please, he's unable to sing;
But, oh, you _must_ own he's a "work of art,"--
A "beautiful untrue thing!"
* * * * *
ASPIRATIONS.--A Music-hall Manager told the Parliamentary Committee
sitting on Theatres and Places of Entertainment, that he did not
believe in Art with a capital A. Perhaps he believed in Art with a
capital H?
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE ROYAL PARLIAMENTARY TOURNAMENT; OR, THE SESSION
ENDS IN SMOKE.]
* * * * *
ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.
_House of Commons, Monday, May 16._--This looked forward to in advance
as grand field-night. SQUIRE OF MALWOOD been preparing onslaught on
JOKIM's last Budget. Should have come off days ago, but Squire had
other engagements in the country. Nothing to equal Prince ARTHUR's
accommodating spirit. If the Squire not ready to demolish Budget, say,
on Thursday, well, it shall be put off till Monday, or even later if
that day not convenient. JOKIM doesn't mind; accustomed to have his
Budgets torn up, and the little pieces returned to him postage unpaid;
would feel lonely if Budget went through an uninterrupted course.
Arranged accordingly that to-night the great onslaught shall he
delivered. The Squire judiciously spent interval since Friday amidst
quiet glades of Malwood.