Chapter 1

PUNCH,

OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 101.

July 25, 1891.

OPERATIC NOTES.

_Tuesday, July 14_.--Madame NORDICA is not at her best as _Aïda_. It lacks colour--that is on the face and hands, where at least should be shown some more "colourable pretence" for being the daughter of so blackened a character as is her father _Amonasro_, played as a villain of the deepest dye by M. DEVOYOD. When the celebrated march was heard, the players didn't seem particularly strong in trumps, and the trumpets giving a somewhat "uncertain sound,"--a trifle husky, as if they'd caught cold,--somewhat marred the usually thrilling effect. Gorgeous scene; and RAVELLI the Reliable as _Radames_ quite the success of the evening. Mlle. GUERCIA as _Amneris_ seemed to have made up after an old steel plate in a bygone Book of Beauty. Where are those Books of Beauty now! And _The Keepsake_? Where the pseudo-Byronic poetry and the short stories by Mrs. NAMBY and Mr. PAMBY? But this is only a marginal note, not in the Operatic score. Signor ABRAMOFF was a powerful _Ramphis_, his make-up suggesting that his title would be more appropriately _Rumfiz_,--which would be an excellent Egyptian name. Very good House, but still suffering from reaction after Imperial visit, and not to recover itself till to-morrow, _Wednesday_, when the House is crowded with a brilliant audience to hear a brilliant performance of _Otello. The Grand Otello Co. Covent Garden, Limited_. Thoroughly artistic performance of _Iago_ by M. MAUREL. His wicked "Credo" more diabolically malicious than ever it was at the Lyceum; an uncanny but distinctly striking effect. Then DRURIOLANUS ASTRONOMICUS gave us a scenic startler in the way of imitation meteoric effect. 'Twas on this wise: of course, neither DRURIOLANUS nor any other Manager can carry on an operatic season without stars, and so they are here, a galaxy of 'em, up above, on the "back cloth," as it is technically termed, shining brilliantly but spasmodically, strange portents in the operatic sky. Pity Astronomer Royal not here to see and note the fact. Next time _Otello_ is given, if this atmospheric effect is to be repeated, the attendants in the lobbies might be permitted to supply powerful telescopes at a small fixed charge. But the greatest star of all is Madame ALBANI as _Desdemona_; a triumph dramatically and operatically. Her song in the last Act, the celebrated "_Willow Song_"--which of course no cricketer ought to miss hearing--was most beautifully and touchingly rendered. Those persons suffering from the heat of a crowded house, and dreading the difficulty of finding their "keb or kerridge" in good time, and who therefore quitted their seats before ALBANI sang the "_Willow Song_," must, perforce, sing the old refrain, "_O Willow, we have missed you!_" and go back for it whenever this Opera is played again. M. JEAN DE RESZKÉ was not, perhaps, quite up to his usual form, or his usual former self; but, for all that, he justified his responsibility as one of the largest shareholders in the Grand Otello Company, Limited. All things considered, and the last best thing being invariably quite the best, _Otello, or Symphonies in Black and White_, is about the biggest success of the season.

* * * * *

TO AMANDA.

(_ACCOMPANYING A SET OF VERSES WHICH SHE BADE ME WRITE._)

Only a trifle, though, i' faith, 'tis smart, A _jeu d'esprit_, not art concealing art, Fruition of a moment's fantasy, Mere mental bubbles, verbal filagree.

But, though thy lightest wish I would not thwart, I prithee bid me play some other part Another time, and I will give thee _carte Blanche_ to dictate; in truth aught else will be Only a trifle, Compared with versifying. I will dart, At thy behest, e'en to the public mart To buy a bonnet, or will gleefully Carry a babe through Bond Street. My sole plea Is--no more verses. Surely 'tis, sweetheart, Only a trifle.

* * * * *

SUPPLEMENTARY AND CORRECTIVE.--In his Jubilee Number Mr. PUNCH remarked, "Merely to mention _all_ the bright pens and pencils which have occasionally contributed to my pages would occupy much space." And space then was limited. But among the "Great Unnamed" _should_ assuredly have been mentioned W.H. WILLS, one of the originators of Mr. PUNCH's publication, CLEMENT SCOTT the flowing lyrist, and author of "The Cry of the Children," &c., ASHBY STERRY of "Lazy Minstrel" fame, and "ROBERT," the genial garrulous "City Waiter," whilst the names of J.P. ("Dumb-Crambo") ATKINSON, and E.J. WHEELER, were omitted by the purest accident. The late H.J. BYRON contributed a series of papers. Mr. PUNCH hastens to put them--as he would gladly some others--"on the list," since, of no one of them, could it be truly said "he never would be missed." "HALBOT" was a misprint for "HABLÔT," "MAGUIN HANNAY" should read "MAGINN, HANNAY, &c.," and for "_GEORGE_ SILVER" read "HENRY."

* * * * *

THE METROPOLITAN MINOTAUR;

OR, THE LONDON LABYRINTH AND THE COUNTY COUNCIL THESEUS.

["Certainly, if some members of the London County Council have their way, it will soon have plenty to occupy it without being called upon to form a scheme of water-supply for the Metropolis."--_The Times_.]

_L.C.C. loquitur_:--

Bless me! Things combine so a hero to humble! I fancied that Bull-headed Minotaur--BUMBLE, Would fall to my hand like Pasiphae's monster To Theseus. But oh! every step that I on stir Bemuddles me more. I _did_ think myself clever, But fear from the Centre I'm farther than ever, Oh, this _is_ a Labyrinth! Worse than the Cretan! Yet shall the new Theseus admit himself beaten? Forbid it, great Progress! Your votary I, Ma'am, But in this Big Maze it seems small use to try, Ma'am. Mere roundaboutation's not Progress. Get forward? Why eastward, and westward and southward, and nor'ward, Big barriers stop me! Eh? Centralisation? Demolish that monster, Maladministration, Whose menaces fright the fair tower-crowned Maiden. Most willingly, Madam; but look how I'm laden, And hampered! Oh! I should be grateful to you, Ma'am, If, like Ariadne, you'd give me a clue, Ma'am. _I_'ll never--like treacherous Theseus--desert you; My constancy's staunch, like my valour and virtue. Through Fire, Water, Wilderness trackless I'll follow, But astray in a Maze high ambition seems hollow!

* * * * *

WATERLOO TO WEYBRIDGE.

BY THE 6.5 P.M.

A young man--it's no matter who-- Hailed a cab and remarked "Waterloo!" The driver, with bowed Head, sobbed out aloud, "Which station?" They frequently do.

A poet once said that to Esher The only good rhyme was "magnesher;" This was not the fact, And he had to retract, Which he did--he retracted with plesher.

A fancier cried: "There's one fault on The part of the sparrows at Walton; And that's why I fail To put salt on their tail-- The birds have no tails to put salt on."

The dulness of riding to Weybridge Pleasant chat (mind the accent) may _a_bridge, But not when it deals With detaching of wheels, Collisions, explosions, and Tay Bridge.

* * * * *

THE STOLEN PICTURES.--The _Débats_ informed us, last week, that the thief who stole TENIERS' pictures from the Museum at Rennes has been discovered. His punishment should "fit the crime," as Mr. GILBERT's _Mikado_ used to say, and therefore he ought to be sentenced to penal servitude for _Ten years_.

* * * * *

* * * * *

LEAVES FROM A CANDIDATE'S DIARY.

_Wednesday, June 11th_.--Left Billsbury last Saturday, having in DICKY DIKES's words "broken the back of the blooming canvas." During my last night's round we went into a small house in one of the slums. The husband was out, but the wife and family were all gathered together in the back room. There were five children, ranging in age from ten down to two, and the mother looked the very picture of slatternly discomfort. We asked the usual questions, and I was just turning to go, when I heard a violent fit of convulsive coughing from a dark corner. The mother got up and went to the corner. I couldn't help following, and saw the most miserable spectacle I ever set eyes on. In a sort of cradle was lying the smallest, frailest and most absolutely pinched and colourless baby choking with every cough, and gasping horribly for breath. I don't know what I said, but the mother turned to DIKES and said, "He haven't much longer to cough. I shall want the undertakers for him soon." I asked her if nothing could be done, but she merely replied, "It'll be better so. We've too many mouths to feed without him." I couldn't stay longer after that, but fairly bolted out of the house.

Our people are jubilant about our prospects. The canvas shows, they say, a steady increase in our favour, the registrations have been uniformly good, and, best of all, Sir THOMAS CHUBSON again voted and spoke on the wrong side, when the Billsbury Main Drainage Bill came on for Second Reading in the House the other day. Our point is of course that, if this scheme were carried out, there would be a great deal of work for Billsbury labourers, and, somehow or other, a large amount of money would be spent in the town. We have rubbed this well in at every meeting we have held lately, and found it a most effective point during the canvas. CHUBSON and the Radicals talk about a great increase of the rates which would follow on it; but we pooh-pooh this, and point out that the ultimate saving would be enormous, and that the health of the town must be benefited. They don't like the business at all, and feel they've made a mistake.

Have been made on successive nights a Druid, a Forester, and a Loyal and Ancient Shepherd. All these three are Benefit Societies, and the mysteries of initiation into each are very similar. Colonel CHORKLE (who ought to have gone through the business long ago) was made a Druid with me. I never saw anybody so nervous. All the courage of all the CHORKLES seemed to have deserted him, and he trembled like a Volunteer aspen. I told Major WORBOYS on the following day that his Colonel, who I was sure might be trusted to face a hostile battery without flinching, had been very nervous when he was made a Druid. WORBOYS sneered, and said that he'd be willing to take his chance of CHORKLE's facing the battery or not, if CHORKLE would only learn to ride decently. "Give you my word of honour," said WORBOYS, "when the General inspected us last year, CHORKLE's horse ran away with him three times, and at last we had to march past without him. One of the tamest horses in the world, too. My boy JACK rides it constantly." But WORBOYS despises CHORKLE, and thinks he ought to command the regiment himself. He spread it all over Billsbury that CHORKLE was found hiding under a table when he was summoned to be initiated, and was dragged out screaming piteously for mercy.

On my last morning I was interviewed by a deputation from the Billsbury Branch of The Women's Suffrage League. The deputation consisted of Mrs. BOSER, the President of the Branch, Miss AMY GINGELL, the Secretary, and two others. It was a trying business. Mrs. BOSER is the most formidable person I ever met. I felt like a babe in her hands after she had glowered at me for five minutes. Finally I found myself, rather to my own astonishment, promising to vote for a Women's Suffrage Bill, and adding that Mrs. BOSER's arguments had convinced me that justice had in this matter been too long denied to women, and that for my part, if elected, I should lose no opportunity of recording my vote on the side of women. They seemed pleased, but the _Meteor_ of the next day had a frightful leader about the "shameful want of moral fibre in a Conservative Candidate who was thus content to put the whole Constitution into the melting-pot, if by so doing he could only secure a few stray votes, and get the help of the women in his coal-and-blanket expeditions."

* * * * *

THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.

NO. I.

SCENE--_An Excursion Agents' Offices. Behind the counters polite and patient Clerks are besieged by a crowd of Intending Tourists, all asking questions at once._

_First Int. T._ Here--have you made out that estimate for me yet?

_Clerk_. In one moment, Sir. (_He refers to a list, turns over innumerable books, jots down columns of francs, marks, and florins; reduces them to English money, and adds them up._) First class fares on the Rhine, Danube and Black Sea steamers, I think you said, second class rail, and postwagen?

_First Int. T._ I did say so, I believe; but it had better be second class all through, and I can always pay the difference if I want to.

[_The Clerk alters the sums accordingly, and adds up again._

_Clerk_. Fifty-five pounds fourteen and a penny, Sir. Shall I make you put the tickets now?

_First Int. T._ Um, no. On second thoughts, I'd like to see one of your short Circular Tours for the English Lakes, or Wales, before I decide.

[_The Clerk hands him a quantity of leaflets, with which he retires._

_Enter Mr. CLARENDON CULCHARD, age about twenty-eight; in Somerset House; tall; clean-shaven, wears glasses, stoops slightly, dresses carefully, though his tall hat is of the last fashion but two. He looks about him expectantly, and then sits down to wait._

_Culchard_ (_to himself_). No sign of him yet! I _do_ like a man to keep an appointment. If this is the way he _begins_--I have my doubts whether he is _quite_ the sort of fellow to--but I took the precaution to ask HUGH ROSE about him, and ROSE said he was the best company in the world, and I couldn't help getting on with him. I don't think ROSE would deceive me. And from all I've seen of PODBURY, he seems a pleasant fellow enough. What a Babel! All these people bent on pleasure, going to seek it in as many directions--with what success no one can predict. There's an idea for a sonnet there.

[_He brings out a pocket-book, and begins to write--"As when a--"_

_An Amurrcan Citizen_ (_to_ Clerk). See here, I've been around with your tickets in Yurrup, and when I was at Vernis, I bought some goods at a store there, and paid cash down for 'em, and they promised to send 'em on for me right here, and that was last fall, and I've never heard any more of 'em, and what I want _you_ should do now is to instruct your representative at Vernis to go round and hev a talk with that man, and ask him what in thunder he means by it, and kinder hint that he'll hev the Amurrcan Consul in his hair pretty smart, if he don't look slippier!

[_The Clerk mildly suggests that it would be better to communicate directly with the American Consulate, or with the tradesman himself._

_The A.C._ But hold on--how'm I goin' to write to that sharp, when I've lost his address, and disremember his name? Can't you mail a few particulars to your agent, so he'll identify him? No. (_Disappointed._) Well, I thought you'd ha' fixed up a little thing like that, anyhow; in my country they'd ha' done it right away. Yes, _Sir_! [_He goes away in grieved surprise._

_Enter Mr. JAMES PODBURY, age twenty-six; in a City Office; short, fresh-coloured, jaunty; close-cut fair hair, and small auburn moustache. Not having been to the City to-day, he is wearing light tweeds, and brown boots._

_Podbury_ (_to himself_). Just nicked it!--(_looks at clock_)--more or less. And he doesn't seem to have turned up yet. Wonder how we shall hit it off together. HUGHIE ROSE said he was a capital good chap--when you once got over his manner. Anyhow, it's a great tip to go abroad with a fellow who knows the ropes. (_Suddenly sees CULCHARD absorbed in his note-book._) So _here_ you are, eh?

_Culchard_ (_slightly scandalised by the tweeds and the brown boots_). Yes, I've been here some little time. I wish you could have managed to come before, because they close early here to-day, and I wanted to go thoroughly over the tour I sketched out before getting the tickets. [_He produces an elaborate outline._

_Podbury_ (_easily_). Oh, _that's_ all right! I don't care where _I_ go! All I want is, to see as much as we can in the time--leave all the rest to you. I'll sit here while you get the tickets.

_An Old Lady_ (_to Clerk, as CULCHARD_) _is waiting at the counter_). Oh, I _beg_ your pardon, but _could_ you inform me if the 1'55 train from Calais to Basle stops long enough for refreshments anywhere, and when they examine the luggage, and if I can leave my handbag in the carriage, and whether there is an English service at Yodeldorf, and is it held in the hotel, and Evangelical, or High Church, and are the sittings free, and what Hymn-book they use?

[_The Clerk sets her mind free on as many of these points as he can, and then attends to CULCHARD._

_Culchard_ (_returning to PODBURY with two cases bulging with books of coloured coupons_). Here are yours. I should like you to run your eye over them, and see that they are correct, if you don't mind.

_Podbury_ (_stuffing them in his pocket_). Can't be bothered now. Take your word for it.

_Culchard_. No--but considering that we start the first thing to-morrow morning, wouldn't it be as well to have some idea of where you're going? And, by the way, excuse me, but is it altogether prudent to keep your tickets in an outside pocket like that? I always keep mine, with my money, in a special case in an inner pocket, with a buttoned nap--then I know I _can't_ lose them.

_Podbury_. Anything for a quiet life! (_He examines his coupons._) Dover to Ostend? Never been there--like to see what Ostend's like. But why didn't you go by Calais?--_shorter_ you know.

_Culchard_. Because I thought we'd see Bruges and Ghent on our way to Brussels.

_Podbury_. Bruges, eh? Capital! Anything particular going on there? No? It don't matter. And Ghent--let's see, wasn't that where they brought the good news to? Yes, we'll stop at Ghent--if we've time. Then--Brussels? Good deal of work to be done there, I suppose, sightseeing, and that? I like a place where you can moon about without being bothered myself; now, at _Brussels_--never mind, I was only thinking.

_Culch._ It's the best place to get to Cologne and up the Rhine from. Then, you see, we go rather out of our way to Nuremberg--

_Podbury_. Where they make toys? _I_ know--pretty festive there, eh?

_Culch._ I don't know about festive--but it is--er--a quaint, and highly interesting old place. Then I thought we'd dip down to Constance, and strike across the Alps to the Italian Lakes.

_Podbury_. Italian Lakes? First--rate! Yes, _they_'re worth seeing, I suppose. Think they're better than the _Swiss_ ones, though?

_Culch._ (_tolerantly_). I can get the coupons changed for Switzerland, if you prefer it. The Swiss Lakes may be the more picturesque.

_Podbury_. Yes, we'll do Switzerland--and run back by Paris, eh? Not much to do in Switzerland, though, after all!

_Culch._ (_with a faintly superior smile_). There are one or two mountains, I believe. But, personally, I should prefer Italy.

_Podbury_. So should I. No fun in mountains--unless you go up 'em. What do you think of choosing some quiet place, where nobody ever goes--say in France or Germany--and, sticking to _that_. More of a rest, wouldn't it be? such a bore having to know a lot; of people!

_Culch._ I don't see how we can change _all_ the tickets, really. If you like, we could stop a week at St. Goarshausen.

_Podbury_. What's St. Goarshausen like--cheery?

_Culch._ I understood the idea was to keep away from our fellow countrymen, and as far as I can remember St. Goarshausen, it is not overrun with tourists--we should be quiet enough _there_.

_Podbury_. That's the place for _me_, then. Or could we push on to Vienna? Never seen Vienna.

_Culch._ If you like to give up Italy altogether.

_Podbury_. What do you say to _beginning_ with Italy and working back? Too hot, eh? Well, then, we'll let things be as they are--I daresay it will do well enough. So _that's_ settled!

_Culchard_ (_to himself on parting, after final arrangements concluded_). I wish ROSE had warned me that PODBURY's habit of mind was so painfully desultory. (_He sighs._) However--

_Podbury_ (_to himself_). Wonder now long I shall take to get over CULCHARD's manner. (_He sighs._) I wish old HUGHIE was coming--he'd give me a leg over!

[_He walks on thoughtfully._

* * * * *

OFF TO MASHERLAND.

(_BY OUR OWN GRANDOLPH._)

I pause in my communications. Friends, real friends, have wired over accounts of me on the trip, which have not been written by "friendlies." Somebody wrote to _Black and White_ what purported to be Notes about me aboard the gallant _Grantully Castle_, than which a better-found vessel--"found" is the word--never put to sea. This somebody ("bless him!"--DR-MM-ND W-LFF will know what I mean) observes that "he didn't notice" any particular gratitude on my part towards Captain HAY and his talented assistants. Hay! what? why, confound them, I was all gratitude! Is it because I did not run at him, embrace him, and shake his arms off, that therefore I did not _feel_ grateful! I was awfully grateful. I felt inclined to alter the name of the vessel to the _Gratefully_ _Castle_. But "she" (you always call a vessel "she"--isn't that nautical?) "is" as the song says "another's, and never can be mine!" so I can't change her name. I was overpowered by my feelings--and what does that mean but the swallowing, with a gurgle in the throat, of the silent tear, and the avoidance of the topic uppermost in one's mind at the moment.

"The soldier leant upon his sword, and wiped away a tear"--but the sailor didn't, _Verb. sap._ What did I do? Why, in my note of notes, my Private Diary, I made this mem., "_Make Hay while the sun shines._" Now what, I ask any unprejudiced person, what does this mean? If Captain HAY were suddenly to be promoted in the hay-day of his valuable career to be an Admiral, would he suspect that he owed this elevation to the man who, strictly obeying the ship's orders, _never even spoke to the man at the wheel_? Now to come to the next point. This correspondent girds at my having had a special cabin and a special steward. _Why!_ the envious grumbler! if he had been as specially unwell as I was--but there, I own I lose patience with him--didn't I go out as a "Special," and if a Special doesn't have everything special about him, _he is simply obtaining money under false pretences_. I've a great mind--I hear the jeerer snigger in his sleeve--but I repeat emphatically I have a great mind to come back. "He will return, I know him well," my traducers may sing; and I shall return when I consider my special work specially done in my own special manner, and be blowed to em all, the detractors!