Chapter 1

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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 1.

FOR THE WEEK ENDING SEPTEMBER 5, 1841.

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THE GENTLEMAN'S OWN BOOK.

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SONGS FOR THE SENTIMENTAL. -- NO. 6.

Thou hast humbled the proud, For my spirit hath bow'd More humbly to thee than it e'er bow'd before; But thy pow'r is past, Thou hast triumph'd thy last, And the heart you enslaved beats in freedom once more! I have treasured the flow'r You wore but an hour, And knelt by the mound where together we've sat; But thy-folly and pride I now only deride-- So, fair Isabel, take your change out of that!

That I loved, and how well, It were madness to tell To one who hath mock'd at my madd'ning despair. Like the white wreath of snow On the Alps' rugged brow, Isabel, I have proved thee as cold as thou'rt fair! 'Twas thy boast that I sued, That you scorn'd as I woo'd-- Though thou of my hopes were the Mount Ararat; But to-morrow I wed Araminta instead-- So, fair Isabel, take your change out of that!

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THE LAST HAUL.

The ponds in St. James's Park were on last Monday drawn with nets, and a large quantity of the fish preserved there carried away by direction of the Chief Commissioner of Woods and Forests. Our talented correspondent, Ben D'Israeli, sends us the following squib on the circumstance:--

"Oh! never more," Duncannon cried, "The spoils of place shall fill our dishes! But though we've lost the _loaves_ we'll take Our last sad haul amongst the _fishes_."

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GENERAL SATISFACTION.

Lord Coventry declared emphatically that the sons, the fathers, and the grandfathers were all satisfied with the present corn laws. Had his lordship thought of the _Herald_, he might have added, "and the grandmothers also."

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ADVERTISEMENT.

If the enthusiastic individual who distinguished himself on the O.P. side of third row in the pit of "the late Theatre Royal English Opera House," but now the refuge for the self-baptised "Council of Dramatic Literature," can be warranted sober, and guaranteed an umbrella, in the use of which he is decidedly unrivalled, he is requested to apply to the Committee of management, where he will hear of something to his "advantage."

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"PUNCH'S" LITERATURE.

I. "The Hungarian Daughter," a Dramatic Poem, by George Stephens, 8vo., pp. 294. London: 1841.

II. "Introductory(!) Preface to the above," pp. 25.

III. "Supplement to the above;" consisting of "Opinions of the Press," on various Works by George Stephens, 8vo., pp. 8.

IV. "Opinions of the Press upon the 'Dramatic Merits' and 'Actable Qualities' of the Hungarian Daughter," 8vo., _closely printed_, pp. 16.

The blind and vulgar prejudice in favour of Shakspeare, Massinger, and the elder dramatic poets--the sickening adulation bestowed upon Sheridan Knowles and Talfourd, among the moderns--and the base, malignant, and selfish partiality of theatrical managers, who insist upon performing those plays only which are adapted to the stage--whose grovelling souls have no sympathy with genius--whose ideas are fixed upon gain, have hitherto smothered those blazing illuminati, George Stephens and his syn--Syncretcis; have hindered their literary effulgence from breaking through the mists hung before the eyes of the public, by a weak, infatuated adherence to paltry Nature, and a silly infatuation in favour of those who copy her.

At length, however, the public blushes (through its representative, the provincial press, and the above-named critical puffs,) with shame--the managers are fast going mad with bitter vexation, for having, to use the words of that elegant pleonasm, the _introductory_ preface, "by a sort of _ex officio_ hallucination," rejected this and some twenty other exquisite, though unactable dramas! It is a fact, that since the opening of the English Opera House, Mr. Webster has been confined to his room; Macready has suspended every engagement for Drury-lane; and the managers of Covent Garden have gone the atrocious length of engaging sibilants and ammunition from the neighbouring market, to pelt the Syncretics off the stage! Them we leave to their dirty work and their repentance, while we proceed to _our_ "delightful task."

To prove that the "mantle of the Elizabethan poets seems to have fallen upon Mr. Stephens" (_Opinions_, p. 11), that the "Hungarian Daughter" is quite as good as Knowles's best plays (_Id._ p. 4, _in two places_), that "it is equal to Goethe" (_Id._ p. 11), that "in after years the name of Mr. S. will be amongst those which have given light and glory to their country" (_Id._ p. 10); to prove, in short, the truth of a hundred other laudations collected and printed by this modest author, we shall quote a few passages from his play, and illustrate his genius by pointing out their beauties--an office much needed, particularly by certain dullards, the magazine of whose souls are not combustible enough to take fire at the electric sparks shot forth _up_ out of the depths of George Stephens's unfathomable genius!

The first gem that sparkles in the play, is where _Isabella_, the Queen Dowager of Hungary, with a degree of delicacy highly becoming a matron, makes desperate love to _Castaldo_, an Austrian ambassador. In the midst of her ravings she breaks off, to give such a description of a steeple-chase as Nimrod has never equalled.

ISABELLA (_hotly_). "Love _rides_ upon a thought, And stays not dully to _inquire the way_, But right _o'erleaps the fence_ unto the _goal_."

To appreciate the splendour of this image, the reader must conceive Love booted and spurred, mounted upon a _thought_, saddled and bridled. He starts. _Yo-hoiks_! what a pace! He stops not to "inquire the way"--whether he is to take the first turning to the right, or the second to the left--but on, on he rushes, clears the fence cleverly, and wins by a dozen lengths!

What soul, what mastery, what poetical skill is here! We triumphantly put forth this passage as an instance of the sublime art of sinking in poetry not to be matched by Dibdin Pitt or Jacob Jones. Love is sublimed to a jockey, Thought promoted to a race-horse!--"Magnificent!"

But splendid as this is, Mr. Stephens can make the force of bathos go a little further. The passage continues ("_a pause_" intervening, to allow breathing ime, after the splitting pace with which Love has been riding upon Thought) thus:--

"Are your lips free? A smile will make no noise. What ignorance! So! Well! _I'll to breakfast straight_!"

Again:--

ISABELLA. "Ha! ha! These forms are air--mere counterfeits Of my _imaginous_ heart, _as are the whirling Wainscot and trembling floor_!"

The idea of transferring the seat of imagination from the head to the heart, and causing it to exhibit the wainscot in a pirouette, and the floor in an ague, is highly _Shakesperesque_, and, as the _Courier_ is made to say at page 3 of the _Opinions_, "is worthy of the best days of that noble school of dramatic literature in which Mr. Stephens has so successfully studied."

This well-deserved praise--the success with which the author has studied, in a school, the models of which were human feelings and nature,--we have yet to illustrate from other passages. Mr. Stephens evinces his full acquaintance with Nature by a familiarity with her convulsions: whirlwinds, thunder, lightning, earthquakes, and volcanoes--are this gentleman's playthings. When, for instance, _Rupert_ is going to be gallant to Queen Isabella, she exclaims:--

"Dire lightnings! Scoundrel! Help!"

_Martinuzzi_ conveys a wish for his nobles to laugh--an order for a sort of court cachinnation--in these pretty terms:--

"_Blow it about_, ye opposite winds of heaven, Till the loud chorus of derision shake The world with laughter!"

When he feels uncomfortable at something he is told in the first act, the Cardinal complains thus:--

"Ha! earthquakes quiver in my flesh!"

which the _Britannia_ is so good as to tell us is superior to Byron; while the _Morning Herald_ kindly remarks, that "a more vigorous and expressive line was _never_ penned. In five words it illustrates the fiercest passions of humanity by the direst convulsion of nature:" (_Opinions_, p. 7) a criticism which illustrates the fiercest throes of nonsense, by the direst convulsions of ignorance.

_Castaldo_, being anxious to murder the Cardinal with, we suppose, all "means and appliances to boot," asks of heaven a trifling favour:--

"Heaven, that look'st on, Rain thy broad deluge first! All-teeming earth Disgorge thy poisons, till the attainted air Offend the sense! Thou, miscreative hell, Let loose calamity!"

But it is not only in the "sublime and beautiful that Mr. Stephens's genius delights" (_vide Opinions_, p. 4); his play exhibits sentiments of high morality, quite worthy of the "Editor of the Church of England Quarterly Review," the author of "Lay Sermons," and other religious works. For example: the lady-killer, _Castaldo_, is "hotly" loved by the queen-mother, while he prefers the queen-daughter. The last and _Castaldo_ are together. The dowager overhears their billing and cooing, and thus, with great moderation, sends her supposed daughter to ----. But the author shall speak for himself:--

"Ye viprous twain! Swift whirlwinds snatch ye both to fire as endless And infinite as hell! May it embrace ye! And burn--burn limbs and sinews, souls, until It wither ye both up--both--in its arms!"

Elegant denunciation!--"viprous," "hell," "sinews and souls." Has Goethe ever written anything like this? Certainly not. Therefore the "Monthly" _is_ right at p. 11 of the _Opinions_. Stephens must be equal, if not superior, to the author of "Faust."

One more specimen of delicate sentiment from the lips of a virgin concerning the lips of her lover, will fully establish the Syncretic code of moral taste:--

CZERINA (_faintly_). "Do breathe heat into me: Lay thy warm breath unto my bloodless lips: I stagger; I--I must--"

CASTALDO. "In mercy, what?"

CZERINA. "Wed!!!"

The lady ends, most maidenly, by fainting in her lover's arms.

A higher flight is elsewhere taken. _Isabella_ urges _Castaldo_ to murder _Martinuzzi_, in a sentence that has a powerful effect upon the feelings, for it makes us shudder as we copy it--it will cause even _our_ readers to tremble when they see it. The idea of using _blasphemy_ as an instrument for shocking the minds of an audience, is as original as it is worthy of the _sort_ of genius Mr. Stephens possesses. Alluding to a poniard, _Isabella_ says:--

"Sheath it where _God_ and nature prompt your hand!"

That is to say, in the breast of a cardinal!!

The vulgar, who set up the common-place standards of nature, probability, moral propriety, and respect for such sacred names as they are careful never to utter, except with reverence, will perhaps condemn Mr. Stephens (the aforesaid "Editor of the Church of England Quarterly Review," and author of other religious works) with unmitigated severity. They must not be too hasty. Mr. Stephens is a genius, and cannot, therefore, be held accountable for the _meaning_ of his ravings, be they even blasphemous; more than that he is a Syncretic genius, and his associates, by the designation they have chosen, by the terms of their agreement, are bound to cry each other up--to defend one another from the virulent attacks of common sense and plain reason. They are sworn to _stick_ together, like the bundle of rods in Æsop's fable.

Mr. Stephens, their chief, the god of their idolatry, is, consequently, more mad, or, according to their creed, a greater genius, than the rest; and evidently writes passages he would shudder to pen, if he knew the meaning of them. Upon paper, therefore, the Syncretics are not accountable beings; and when condemned to the severest penalties of critical law, must be reprieved on the plea of literary insanity.

It may be said that we have descended to mere detail to illustrate Mr. Stephens' peculiar genius--that we ought to treat of the grand design, or plot of the _Hungarian Daughter_; but we must confess, with the deepest humility, that our abilities are unequal to the task. The fable soars far beyond the utmost flights of our poor conjectures, of our limited comprehension. We know that at the end there are--one case of poisoning, one ditto of stabbing with intent, &c., and one ditto of sudden death. Hence we conclude that the play is a tragedy; but one which "cannot be intended for an acting play" (_preliminary preface_, p.1,)--of course _as_ a tragedy; yet so universal is the author's genius, that an adaptation of the _Hungarian Daughter_, as a broad comedy, has been produced at the "Dramatic Authors' Theatre," having been received with roars of laughter!

The books before us have been expensively got up. In the _Hungarian Daughter_, "rivers of type flow through meadows of margin," to the length of nearly three hundred pages. Mr. Stephens is truly a most spirited printer and publisher of his own works.

But the lavish outlay he must have incurred to obtain such a number of favourable notices--so many columns of superlative praise--shows him to be, in every sense--like the prince of puffers, George Robins--"utterly regardless of expense." The works third and fourth upon our list, doubtless cost, for the _copyright_ alone, in ready money, a fortune. It is astonishing what pecuniary sacrifices genius will make, when it purloins the trumpet of Fame to _puff_ itself into temporary notoriety.

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INQUEST EXTRAORDINARY.

The Whigs, who long Were bold and strong, On Monday night went dead. The jury found This verdict sound-- "_Destroy'd by low-priced bread_."

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AN EXCLUSIVE APPOINTMENT.

It is with the most rampant delight that we rush to announce, that a special warrant has been issued, appointing our friend and _protégé_, the gallant and jocular Sibthorp, to the important office of beadle and crier to the House of Commons--a situation which has been created from the difficulty which has hitherto been found in inducing strangers to withdraw during a division of the House. This responsible office could not have been conferred upon any one so capable of discharging its onerous duties as the Colonel. We will stake our hump, that half-a-dozen words of the gallant Demosthenes would, at any time have the effect of

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THE GREAT CRICKET MATCH AT ST. STEPHEN'S.

FIRST INNINGS.

The return match between the Reform and Carlton Clubs has been the theme of general conversation during the past week. Some splendid play was exhibited on the occasion, and, although the result has realised the anticipations of the best judges, it was not achieved without considerable exertion.

It will be remembered that, the last time these celebrated clubs met, the Carlton men succeeded in scoring one notch more than their rivals; who, however, immediately challenged them to a return match, and have been diligently practising for success since that time.

The players assembled in _Lord's_ Cricket Ground on Tuesday last, when the betting was decidedly in favour of the Cons, whose appearance and manner was more confident than usual; while, on the contrary, the Rads seemed desponding and shy. On tossing up, the Whigs succeeded in getting first innings, and the Tories dispersed themselves about the field in high glee, flattering themselves that they would not be _out_ long.

Wellington, on producing the ball--a genuine _Duke_--excited general admiration by his position. Ripon officiated as bowler at the other wicket. Sibthorp acted as long-stop, and the rest found appropriate situations. Lefevre was chosen umpire by mutual consent.

Spencer and Clanricarde went in first. Spencer, incautiously trying to score too many notches for one of his hits, was stumped out by Ripon, and Melbourne succeeded him. Great expectations had been formed of this player by his own party, but he was utterly unable to withstand Wellington's rapid bowling, which soon sent him to the right-about. Clanricarde was likewise run out without scoring a notch.

Lansdowne and Brougham were now partners at the wickets; but Lansdowne did not appear to like his mate, on whose play it is impossible to calculate. Coventry, _the short slip_, excited much merriment, by a futile attempt to catch this player out, which terminated in his finding himself horizontal and mortified. Wellington, having bowled out Lansdowne, resigned his ball to Peel, who took his place at the wicket with a smile of confidence, which frightened the bat out of the hands of Phillips, the next Rad.

Dundas and Labouchere were now the batmen. Labouchere is a very intemperate player. One of Sandon's slow balls struck his thumb, and put him out of temper, whereupon he hit about at random, and knocked down his wicket. Wakley took his bat, but apparently not liking his position, he hit up and caught himself out.