Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 102, June 25, 1892 by Various
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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
VOL. 102
June 25, 1892
"VERSAILLES" IN LEICESTER SQUARE.
(OR, THE NEW BALLET AT THE EMPIRE, AS IT APPEARS THROUGH MR. PUNCH'S
PINCE-NEZ.)
TABLEAU I.--The Park at Versailles. "_Gardeners_," according to the
"Argument" supplied with programmes, "_are seen busily preparing for
the arrival of King Louis the Fourteenth and his Court._" If tickling
the gravel gently with brooms, and depositing one petal a-piece
in large baskets is "busily preparing," they _are_. The Gardeners,
feeling that they have done a very fair afternoon's work, dance a
_farandole_ in _sabots_, after which Ladies and Cavaliers arrive
and prepare to dance too; the Cavaliers select their partners by
chasing them on tiptoe, the Ladies run backwards, and coyly slap
their favourites' faces with bouquets. Here, according to Argument,
"_refreshments are served by Pages_." Don't see any; these particular
Pages seem to have been cut. Dance follows: the _Vicomte Raoul de
Bragelonne_ arrives, but stands apart, taking no part in the dance,
and looking melancholy. Fancy he is wishing he had learnt dancing in
his boyhood, or else waiting for the refreshments to be served. On
referring to Argument, however, discover that "_his mind is occupied
by thoughts of Louise de Lavalliere, who was betrothed to him in her
childhood._" Stupid not to see this for oneself. So obvious. Enter
_Louise_. Think _Raoul_ informs her in pantomime that one of the
bows on her dress has "come undone;" she rewards him for this act
of politeness by taking the bow off and pinning it on his breast.
_Raoul_ not satisfied, pleads for another, to put on his hat. _Louise_
refuses, can't ruin her new frock like that for _him_. Find I'm wrong
again. Argument says, "_he implores her to fulfil the wish of his
own and their parents' hearts by naming the nuptial day. Louise is
confused, and bids him wait._" He retires brokenhearted, in search of
the refreshments, and the Cavaliers, with whom a very little dancing
on gravel and a warm afternoon goes a long way, retire with him. The
ladies, left alone, "_now freely express their opinions on the merits
of their late companions_," which seems natural enough. _Louise_
dissents; doesn't see anything particularly rude in their conduct,
"Cavaliers _are_ like that--_will_ rush off for refreshments alone
after every dance and leave their partners." At least, that's how _I_
understood her. Missed the point again. Argument informs me she has
been answering, "_abruptly that the Sun (meaning the King) absorbs her
whole soul, and that she has no thoughts to bestow on mere planets_."
She said all that in a shake of the head and two shrugs, so "abruptly"
is quite the right word. Other ladies annoyed with her, and show it by
walking past and waggling their fingers in her face, which appears to
depress _Louise_ considerably. Then they go out, after the Cavaliers,
or the refreshments. Meanwhile _Louis the Fourteenth_ has entered
at the back and overheard all. _He_ knows what the shake and shrugs
meant, and smiles and nods knowingly to himself. "Oh, I _am_ an
irresistible Monarch, _I_ am!" he seems to be saying. "I'll follow
this up." So he struts down with a fixed smile on his face, like the
impudent young dog he is, and pats his chest passionately at her.
_Louise_ startled. "Don't go away," says _Louis_ in pantomime. "I say,
there's an arbour in that shrubbery,--let's go and sit in it--_do_!"
_Louise_ undecided; tries to excuse herself. "Earwiggy? not a bit of
it!" _Louis_ assures her (he wouldn't be so confident about it if he
had seen his Gardeners at work); "_come_ along!" _Louise_ still timid;
suggests spiders. _Louis_ vows that no spider shall harm her while he
lives to protect her, and draws her gently towards the shrubbery; he
does this several times, but on each occasion her dread of insects
returns, and she recoils shrinking. The King puts his arms round
her to give her courage, and at this instant, _Raoul de Bragelonne_
returns, sees the back of someone embracing the maiden who was
betrothed to him in childhood, draws his sword--and recognises his
Sovereign. "Whew!" his expression says plainly enough. "Now I _have_
put my foot in it nicely!" He takes off his hat and apologises
profusely; but _Louis_ is indignant. What's the use of being a _Roi
Soleil_ if you can't ask a lady of your Court to sit in an arbour
without being interrupted like this? He swells visibly, and intimates
that he will pay _Raoul_ out for this in various highly unpleasant
ways. _Louise_ kneels to him for pardon. _Louis_ subsides gradually,
but still shows the whites of his eyes; finally he tells _Raoul_ to be
off. _Raoul_ is submissive--only wants to know where he's to _go_ to.
_Louis_ points to Heaven, evidently regal politeness forbids him to
indicate any other place. _Raoul_ goes off perplexed, and no wonder.
Then, as the Argument explains, "_a trumpet-call is heard_," and
_Louise "bewildered_," perhaps because it is the signal to go and
dress for dinner, escapes to the palace; and _Louis_, feeling that
the arbour is only a question of time, follows. Then Musketeers come
off duty and get up an assault-at-arms, until their careful captain,
afraid that they will hurt themselves with those nasty swords, orders
them to stop, and the First _Tableau_ is over.
[Illustration: "He swells visibly."]
TABLEAU II.--Rich hangings have fallen close to the footlights,
to represent an "Ante-room in the Palace." Attendants bring on two
dressing-tables. Enter the two principal _danseuses_, who are about to
dress for the Grand Ballet, when _Lulli_, the Composer, and _Prevot_,
the _Maitre de dance du Roi_, come in and very inconsiderately propose
a rehearsal, which of course must be an _un_dress rehearsal--then and
there. This not unnaturally puts both the ladies out of temper; they
object to the ballet-skirts supplied by the Management as skimpy, and
one of them throws up her part, which almost reduces _Lulli_ to tears.
The other undertakes it at a moment's notice, whereupon the first lady
tries to scratch her eyes out, and then has a fit of hysterics. Both
ladies have hysterics. A bell rings and, suddenly remembering that a
Royal Ante-room is _rather_ a public place to dress in, they catch
up the ballet-skirts and flee, Attendants remove the dressing-tables.
_Tableau_ over. Plot where it was.
TABLEAU III.--Grand Reception Room in the Palace. Enter the Queen,
sulky, because _Louis_ has taken all the Pages, and only left her
a couple of Chamberlains. Enter _Louis_, more impudent than ever.
They take their places on a _dais_; the hangings at head of a
flight of steps behind are withdrawn, and the first "Grand Ballet
Divertissement" begins. _Louis_ frankly bored, knowing there's another
to come after that. Ballet charming, but he doesn't deign to glance
at it, gives all his attention to a stuffed lamb on the top of the
steps. Bevy after bevy of maidens disclosed behind hangings, each
more bewitching and gorgeously attired than the last--but they don't
interest _Louis_,--or else the presence of the Queen restrains him.
Instructive to note the partiality of the _Corps de Ballet_. When
Signorina DE SORTIS dances, they are so overcome that they lean
backwards with outstretched arms in a sort of semi-swoon of delight.
But the other lady may prance and whirl and run about on the points
of her toes till she requires support, and they merely retire up and
ignore her altogether. There is a dancing Signor in pearl grey, who
supports first one Signorina and then the other with the strictest
impartiality, and finally dances with both together, to show that he
makes no distinctions and has no serious intentions. All this time
_Louis_ has been getting more and more restless; now and then he makes
some remark, evidently disparaging, to the Queen, who receives it
coldly. But at last he can't stand it any longer. "Call this dancing!
_I'll_ show 'em how to dance!" his look says. "Where's LOUISE?" And he
gets up, pulls himself together, and invites her to come and dance a
minuet. Queen disgusted with him, but pretends not to notice. _Louis_
goes through minuet with extreme satisfaction to himself. Enter Page
with an immense cushion, on which is "_a bracelet of great value_"
(Argument again). Queen excited--thinks it's for _her_; but _Louis_
stops the dance, takes the bracelet, and gives it to _Louise_. "A
present from Paris. There, that's for being a good girl--take it, and
say no more about it." She does, and they finish the minuet. _Louis_,
on turning round to the _dais_, discovers that the Queen has gone
away, which he seems to think most unreasonable of her--just when he
was dancing his very best! There is more ballet, after which the King
discovers that _Louise_ is missing too. Her Page comes on and hands
him a letter, which he opens triumphantly. "A _rendezvous_, eh? Never
knew jewellery fail yet! How I _am_ carrying on, to be sure!" says
his face. But, as he reads, his eyes begin to roll, and he has another
attack of swelling. Then the curtains at the back are withdrawn again,
and on the top of the steps, where the stuffed lambs were, he sees
_Louise de Lavalliere_ in a nun's robe, entering a Convent. _Louis_
can't believe it; he thinks it must be part of the performance, though
not on the original programme. As he goes nearer to see, the curtains
close, open again--and there is nothing. And the baffled monarch
realises the melancholy truth--_Louise_ has gone into a nunnery,
without even returning the "bracelet of great value"! Whereupon the
Act-drop mercifully falls, and veils his discomfiture. And that's all!
* * * * *
[Illustration: SO NICE OF HER!
_Captain Muffet._ "MAY I VENTURE TO HOPE THAT YOU WILL GIVE ME A WALTZ
OR QUADRILLE?"
_Lady Sparker._ "OH, I'M SO SORRY, I'M ENGAGED FOR EVERY DANCE! I'M
ENGAGED ALSO FOR SUPPER TWICE; BUT I PROMISE YOU FAITHFULLY YOU SHALL
HAVE MY THIRD GLASS OF LEMONADE!"]
* * * * *
LADY GAY'S SELECTIONS.
DEAR MR. PUNCH.--Several people who do not know me as the writer
of the "Selections," have told me that they took the tip about
"_Balmoral_" for the Manchester Cup, but backed it to _win_ instead of
to be _last_--thereby winning money!--now--of course the last thing
a tipster wishes, is that his prophecy should turn out successful,
therefore I am delighted at the result, as also was Sir MINTING
BLOUNDELL, who won a good stake, and is the only person who knows
the secret of my incognito. He congratulated me most heartily on my
success, which he said was the more wonderful as he knew the owner
did not much fancy the horse!--but, as I told him--if owners of
race-horses knew as much as some of the public--(to say nothing of the
prophets)--they would never lose the money they do, and would probably
give up racing! The selection was entirely my own "fancy." I need
scarcely say, I never _ask_ an owner anything, and if he volunteers
the information that he thinks his horse "has a good chance," I find
as a rule, it's just as well to "let the horse run loose," as they
put it; though that is an expression I never quite understood, as I've
never yet seen a horse "run loose" in a race, except on one or two
occasions when the jockey has been thrown at the start--which now I
come to think of it, may be the origin of the expression!
So Ascot is once more a departed glory! We all shivered on Tuesday,
got roasted on Wednesday, were comfortable on Thursday, and resigned
on Friday--and on the whole the toilette show was successful; though
I fancy some of the best gowns were held over for Goodwood--_one_
of mine was at all events--but my goodness!--if only our great
grandmothers could have seen some of our modern petticoats!--more
elaborate than any _dress_ they ever saw!--but then, as Lord HARPER
REDCLYFFE said, our great grandmothers never got off and on coaches
with an admiring crowd looking on, as _we_ have to do now-a-days; and
you have to be pretty smart not to get hung up on the wheels--though
as Lady HARRIETT ENTOUCAS said, "my dear Lady GAY--what _is_ the use
of wearing all this loveliness unless one--" but perhaps it will annoy
her if I tell what she _did_ say!
The Royal Hunt Cup was a beautiful race, although the winner was not
supposed to be the best of "JEWITT's lot;" but I am told he is one
of those who "will not do his best at home," being beaten in the
trial--and after all, how _very_ human that is--for how many men one
knows who are perfect _bears_ in their home circle!
Of the horses I advised my readers to "Keep an eye on," only one,
_Buccaneer_, put in an appearance, and won the Gold Cup; so that my
warning as to the difficulty of doing this, was fully borne out by
the result. My Gold Cup selection did not run, and had I known that
_Ermak_ would have been his sole opponent, I should have made him my
tip; but I do not pretend to be Ermakulate! (That's _awful_--please
forgive me, _dear Mr. Punch_!) From the way _St. Angelo_ won the
Palace Stakes, I can't help thinking he would have won the Derby
but for the French horse _Rueil_, who tried to _eat him_ during the
race--(how shameful to let the poor thing get so hungry)--and this of
course interfered with his chance--as you really cannot attend to two
things at a time with a satisfactory result, unless they be sleeping
and snoring!
I presume that this sort of thing is meant when one reads in the
sporting papers that such-and-such a horse was "nibbled at!"--but
I really think that those who saw _St. Angelo_ on Thursday, saw the
winner of the Leger! There is no race of any special importance next
week, either at Windsor or Sandown, but I will give my weekly tip
for the probable last in the Windsor June Handicap, and meanwhile I
may as well say that I shall grace with my presence the Newmarket
July Meeting, and, emulating the example of other tipsters who
send "Paddock Wires," I shall be happy to supply anyone with my
two-horse-a-day "_Songs from the Birdcage_," at five guineas
a-week--(a reduction to _owners_)--at which price my selections _must_
be cheap.
Yours devotedly, LADY GAY.
WINDSOR JUNE HANDICAP.
If "SHAKSPEARE" spells "ruin," as Managers say,
Tragedians all should be needy!
But a fortune was made by the best of his day,
And an Actor of "notes" was "_Macready_."
* * * * *
Why is the Dissolution of Parliament like the human tongue?--Because
it is in everybody's mouth.
* * * * *
"CUTS!" OR, WE NEVER SPEAK AS WE PASS BY.
[Illustration: _Otto, the Wedding-Guest, singeth:_--]
We never speak as we pass by!
Alas! it was not always so.
But now I cannot catch his eye,
And, when I come, he's prompt to go.
"_Il me reverra._" So I said
When I resigned, his love to try,
But see how WILHELM turns his head!
We never speak as we pass by!
_Not_ indispensable! Absurd!
I built the Empire, made the Crown.
Of Emperor WILHELM who had heard
But for _my_ prowess and renown?
And Emperor WILHELM cocks his nose,
Regards me with averted eye;
And, just as though, we now were foes,
We never speak as we pass by!
The boy, the ingrate, the young cock,
Who thinks he's eagle when he crows;
Old Aquila is _he_ to mock?
I'll cut his comb ere matters close.
And yet, and yet he keeps it up,
And Germany demands not _why_!
He bangs away like a big Krupp--
We never speak as we pass by.
My HERBERT, _you_ should hold my place,
But you must share your sire's cold snub.
Did I promote the lion's race
To be kicked out by its least cub?
This wedding-favour's gay and smart.
I to Vienna's bridal fly;
But something rankles in my heart;--
We never speak as we pass by!
Will FRANCIS-JOSEPH see his way
To--help _Coriolanus_ back?
I can't believe I've had my day;
It makes ambition's heart-strings crack.
But that imperious youngster shuts
The door of hope howe'er I try.
Are we for ever to be "cuts,"
And _never_ speak as we pass by?
* * * * *
[Illustration: ADVANTAGES OF MARSUPIALISM.
"I'M SO TIRED, MUMMY. I WISH YOU WERE A KANGAROO!"
"WHY, DARLING?"
"TO CARRY ME HOME IN YOUR POCKET!"]
* * * * *
AN EARL'S COURT IDYL.
SCENE--_A knick-knack stall outside the Wild West Arena.
Behind the counter is a pretty and pert maiden of seventeen
or so. A tall and stately Indian Warrior, wrapped in a blue
blanket, lounges up, and leans against the corner, silent and
inscrutable._
_The Maiden_ (_with easy familiarity_). 'Ullo, CHOC'LIT, what do
you want? (_The Chieftain smiles at her with infinite subtlety,
and fingers a small fancy article shaped like a bottle, in seeming
confusion._) Like to see what's inside of it? Look 'ere then. (_She
removes the cork, touches a spring, and a paper fan expands out of
the neck of the bottle; CHOCOLATE is grimly pleased, and possibly
impressed, by this phenomenon, which he repeats several times for his
own satisfaction._) Ah, _that_ fetches you, don't it, CHOC'LIT? (_The
Warrior nods, and says something unintelligible in his own tongue._)
Why don't yer talk sense, 'stead o' that rubbish?
[_CHOCOLATE watches her slyly out of the corners of his eyes;
presently he puts the bottled-fan inside his blanket, and
slouches off in a fit of pretended abstraction._
_The Maiden_ (_imperiously_). 'Ere, come back, will yer? Walkin' off
with my things like that! Fetch it 'ere--d'jear what I _tell_ yer?
(CHOCOLATE _lounges over the counter of an adjoining Bovril stall, and
affects a bland unconsciousness of being addressed. After awhile he
peeps round and pats his blanket knowingly, and, finding she takes no
further notice of him, lounges back to his corner again._) Oh, _'ere_
you are again! Now jest you put that bottle back. (_The Warrior
giggles, with much appreciation of his own playfulness._) Look sharp
now. I know you've got it!
_Chocolate_ (_with another giggle_). Me no got.
[_He intimates that the person at the Bovril stall has it._
_The Maiden._ You needn't think to get over Me that way! It's inside
o' that old blanket o' yours. Out with it now, or I'll make yer!
(_CHOCOLATE produces it chuckling, after which he loses all further
interest in it, his notice having been attracted by a small painted
metal monkey holding a miniature cup and saucer._) Want to buy one
o' them monkeys? (_She sets its head nodding at the Indian, who is
gravely interested in this product of European civilisation._) All
right, _pay_ for it then--they're ninepence each.
[_The Warrior plays with it thoughtfully, apparently in the
faint hope that she may be induced to make him a present of
it, but, finding that her heart shows no sign of softening to
such an extent, the desire of acquiring the monkey becomes so
irresistible that, after much diving into his robes, he fishes
up three coppers, which he tenders as a reasonable ransom._
_The Maiden_ (_encouragingly_). That's all right, so far as it _goes_;
you've on'y got to give me another sixpence--twice as much as that,
you know. Come on! (_CHOCOLATE meditates whether as an economical
Indian Chieftain, he can afford this outlay, and finally shakes his
head sadly, and withdraws the coppers._) Oh, very _well_, then;
please yourself, I'm sure! (_CHOCOLATE's small black eyes regard her
admiringly, as he tries one last persuasive smile, probably to express
the degree to which the possession of a nodding monkey would brighten
his existence._) It ain't a bit o' good, CHOC'LIT, I can't lower my
price for you; and what's more, I'm not going to!
[_CHOCOLATE examines the monkey once more undecidedly, then
puts it gently down with a wistful reluctance, and drifts
off._
_The Maiden_ (_calling after him_). You like to do _your_ shoppin'
cheap, don't you, CHOC'LIT? Everythink for nothen' is what _you_ want,
ain't it? _I_ know yer!
[_The Warrior stalks on impassively, ignoring these gibes;
whether he is reflecting on the beauty and heartlessness of
the Pale-face Maiden, or resolving to save up for the monkey
if it takes him a lifetime, or thinking of something else
totally different, or of nothing whatever, is a dark secret
which he keeps to himself._
* * * * *
THE PLAYFUL SALLY.
[Illustration: "How Abbey could I be with either!"]
O SARAH B.! O Mr. ABBEY! What un-ABBEY thought induced you to select
so dreary a play as _Pauline Blanchard_ wherewith to weary the
British Public? And what a finish! _Pauline_, all for the sake of
her disappointed lover, kills her husband with a sickle!--a sickle-ly
sight--and then reaps her reward. M. PERON, the Maire, was effective.
Ancient _Angelina_, Mme. GILBERTE FLEURY, "fetched" everybody, and in
her turn was fetched by M. FLEURY from a loft where stage-business
had taken her in the previous Act, in order to receive her share of
the plaudits. We hear that SARAH has accepted a One-Act piece called
_Salammbo_, by OSCAR WILDE. Naturally we all see SARAH in the first
part of _Sal_. Perhaps the "_ambo_" means SARAH and OSCAR. Being an
Eastern subject, SARAH sees the chance in it of a Sara-scenic success.
On Saturday last, with her wonderful _La Tosca_ in the afternoon, and
her _Dame aux Camelias_ (the "O'Camelias" sounds like an Irish title)
at night, SARAH regularly "knocked them" in the Shaftesbury Avenue.
No one interested in dramatic art should miss seeing SARAH, at all
events, in _La Dame aux Camelias_.
* * * * *
PARTICULAR AND GENERAL RELATIONSHIP.--Mr. GEORGE CURZON, as the
_Saturday Review_ remarks in its notice of _Curzon's Persia_, "is
not the first of his family who has written a good book of Eastern
travel." The author, then, is not a first, but a second, or third
CURZON, and this particular work of authorship creates a new kinship,
as his travels are, now, related to the public.
* * * * *
OPERATIC NOTES.
[Illustration: Isolde, seated on a sham rock, awaiting the coming of
her lover. Alas! all ends unharpily!]
_Wednesday._--The Irish Question, heard for the first time
operatically, put by The O'WAGNER in his music-story of "_Tristan und
Isolde_." The story is decidedly a _triste 'un and is old_ no doubt
of it. Frau SUCHER first rate as the Irish Princess _Isolde_. Herr
ALVARY plays _Her Tristan_; good, but not great. All vary well. As
_Kurwenal_, Herr KNAPP, in spite of his name, kept everyone awake,
and did his very best; in fact, "went Knapp."
Fraeulein RALPH was charming as _Braugaene_, and her manner of
inducing the Princess of the Most Distressful Country to take to the
bottle--KINAHAN's L.L.L.--deserved the encore which she ought to have
received. No matter--Fraeulein RALPH played with spirit, which is a
dangerous thing to do as a rule. House crammed: not packed.
[Illustration: "HOW'S YOUR POOR FEET?"
The Pedicure Motif. Shepherd, with pipe, suffering from "Corno
Inglese," showing Triste 'Un, the Cornish Knight, where he may seek
relief from his Bunions' Pilgrim's Progress.]
_Thursday._--Long live the _Don_! _Vive_ MOZART! _Don Giovanni's_
taste as to ladies changed as he grew older. The two musical Duchesses
who accompany _Don Ottavio_ when he is singing are usually, fine and
large; but _Zerlina_, the _Don's_ latest fancy, is _petite_. Why does
Signor CARACCIOLO make _Masetto_ an idiotic old bumpkin? EDOUARD DE
RESZKE is admirable as the cowardly _Leporello_, and MAUREL fine as
the Im-maurel Don. With what an air he salutes _Zerlina_! The air
is MOZART's "_La ci darem_," and therefore perfect. ZELIE DE LUSSAN
delightful as that arrant flirt _Zerlina_. The Statue was rather in
the dark. The Stalls couldn't see him "noddin', nid nid noddin'."
Let Sir DRURIOLANUS look to this, and say to the Limelighter, quoting
GOETHE, "More light! More light!"
_Friday._--_Carmen._ Commend me at once to Madame DESCHAMPS-JEHIN
as _Carmen_. Her name is too long, and there's a little too much of
her, figure-ratively speaking. A trifle over-size for quite an ideal
_Carmen_, but then Madame D.-JEHIN is so good that we cannot have
too much of her. Acting excellent. Madame EMMA EAMES EMMA-nently
first-rate as _Michaela_. We all know JEAN DE RESZKE'S _Don Jose_,
which up to now is hard to beat; so for LASSALLE as _Escamillo_,--the
great song encored, of course. Signor CARACCIOLO as _Dancairo_ (of
a mixed race, Irish Dan and Egyptian Cairo--a regular Bohemian), and
RINALDINI as _Remendado_, capital, not overdone. Mlle. BAUERMEISTER
as _Frasquita_, and AGNES JANSON as _Mercedes_, looked winning,
especially when playing cards.