Chapter I: Front Matter

Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 14747-h.htm or 14747-h.zip:
(http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/4/7/4/14747/14747-h/14747-h.htm)
or
(http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/4/7/4/14747/14747-h.zip)

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 Lavallière, 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.

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 _Prévot_, the _Maître 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 _daïs_; 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 _daïs_, 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 Lavallière_ 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!

* * * * *

_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.

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?

* * * * *

"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.

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 _Salammbô_, 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 Camélias_ (the "O'Camélias" 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 Camélias_.

* * * * *

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.

_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."

Fräulein RALPH was charming as _Braugäne_, 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--Fräulein RALPH played with spirit, which is a dangerous thing to do as a rule. House crammed: not packed.

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 RESZKÉ 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. ZÉLIE 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 GOËTHE, "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 RESZKÉ'S _Don José_, 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.

_Saturday._--_Cavalleria Rusticana._ Most appropriate when everybody is talking of the elections and "going to the country."

* * * * *

GIRLS OF THE PERIOD.