Part 5
SPECTATORS. Dear, dear, there's the _dresser_, you see, and the window broken and all; it's wonderful how they can _do_ it! And there's poor Mrs. 'Ogg--it's real butter and a real loaf she's cutting, and the poor baby, too!... Here's the actual casts taken after they were murdered. Oh, and there's Mrs. Pearcey wheeling the perambulator--it's the _very_ perambulator! No, not the very one--they've got _that_ at the other place, and the piece of toffee the baby sucked. Have they really! Oh, we _must_ try and go there, too, before the children's holidays are over. And this is all? Well, well, everything very nice, I _will_ say. But a pity they couldn't get the _real_ perambulator!
At the Military Exhibition.
IN THE AVENUE FACING THE ARENA.
AN UNREASONABLE OLD LADY (_arriving breathless, with her grandson and niece_). This'll be the place the balloon goes up from, I wouldn't miss it for anything! Put the child up on that bench, Maria; we'll stand about here till it begins.
MARIA. But _I_ don't see no balloon nor nothing.
[_Which, as the foliage blocks out all but the immediate foreground is scarcely surprising._
THE U. O. L. No more don't I--but it stands to reason there wouldn't be so many looking on if there wasn't _something_ to see. We're well enough where we are, and _I_'m not going further to fare worse to please nobody; so you may do as you _like_ about it.
[MARIA _promptly avails herself of this permission_.
THE U. O. L. (_a little later_). Well, it's time they did _something_, I'm sure. Why, the people seem all moving off! and where's that girl Maria got to? Ah, here you are! So you found you were no better off?--_Next_ time, p'raps you'll believe what I tell you. Not that there's any War Balloon as _I_ can see!
MARIA. Oh, there was a capital view from where I was--out in the open there.
THE U. O. L. Why couldn't you say so before? Out in the open! Let's go there then--it's all the same to _me_!
MARIA (_with an undutiful giggle_). It's all the same now--wherever you go, 'cause the balloon's gone up.
THE U. O. L. Gone up! What are you telling me, Maria?
MARIA. I see it go--it shot up ever so fast and quite steady, and the people in the car all waved their 'ats to us. I could see a arm a waving almost till it got out of sight.
THE U. O. L. And me and this innercent waiting here on the seat like lambs, and never dreaming what was goin' on! Oh, Maria, however you'll reconcile it to your conscience, _I_ don't know!
MARIA. Why, whatever are you pitching into _me_ for!
THE U. O. L. It's not that it's any partickler pleasure to _me_, seeing a balloon, though we _did_ get our tea done early to be in time for it--it's the sly deceitfulness of your _conduck_, Maria, which is all the satisfaction I get for coming out with you,--it's the feeling that--well, there, I won't _talk_ about it!
[_In pursuance of which virtuous resolve, she talks about nothing else for the remainder of the day, until the unfortunate_ MARIA _wishes fervently that balloons had never been invented_.
IN THE BUILDING.
_An admiring group has collected before an enormous pin-cushion in the form of a fat star, and about the size of a Church-hassock._
FIRST SOLDIER (_to his Companion_). Lot 'o work in _that_, yer know!
_Second Soldier._ Yes. (_Thoughtfully._) Not but what--(_becoming critical_)--if I'd been doin' it _myself_, I should ha' chose pins with smaller 'eds on 'em.
FIRST S. (_regarding this as presumptuous_). You may depend on it the man who made _that_ 'ad his reasons for choosing the pins he did--but there's no pleasing some parties!
SECOND S. (_apologetically_). Well, I ain't denying the _Art_ in it, am I?
FIRST WOMAN. I _do_ call that 'andsome, Sarah. See, there's a star, and two 'arps, and a crownd, and I don't know what all--and all done in pins and beads! "Made by Bandsman Brown," too! [_Reading placard._
SECOND W. Soldiers is that clever with their 'ands. Four pounds seems a deal to ask for it, though.
FIRST W. But look at the weeks it must ha' took him to do! (_Reading._) "Containing between ten and eleven thousand pins and beads, and a hundred and ninety-eight pieces of coloured cloth!" Why, the pins alone must ha' cost a deal of money.
SECOND W. Yes, it 'ud be a pity for it to go to somebody as 'ud want to take 'em out.
FIRST W. It ought to be bought up by Gover'ment, that it ought--they're well able to afford it.
_A select party of Philistines, comprising a young Man, apparently in the Army, and his_ MOTHER _and_ SISTER, _are examining Mr. Gilbert's Jubilee Trophy in a spirit of puzzled antipathy_.
THE MOTHER. Dear me, and _that's_ the Jubilee centrepiece, is it? What a heavy-looking thing. I wonder what _that_ cost?
HER SON (_gloomily_). Cost? Why, about two days' pay for every man in the Service!
HIS MOTHER. Well, I call it a shame for the Army to be fleeced for _that_ thing. Are those creatures intended for mermaids, with their tails curled round that glass ball, I wonder? [_She sniffs._
HER DAUGHTER. I expect it will be crystal, Mother.
HER MOTHER. Very likely, my dear, but--glass or crystal--_I_ see no sense in it!
DAUGHTER. Oh, it's absurd, of course--still, this figure isn't badly done. Is it supposed to represent St. George carrying the Dragon? Because they've made the Dragon no bigger than a salmon!
MOTHER. Ah, well, I hope Her Majesty will be better pleased with it than I am, that's all.
[_After which they fall into ecstasies over an industrial exhibit consisting of a drain-pipe, cunningly encrusted with fragments of regimental mess-china set in gilded cement._
_Before a large mechanical clock, representing a fortress, which is striking. Trumpets sound, detachments of wooden soldiers march in and out of gateways, and parade the battlements, clicking for a considerable time._
A SPECTATOR (_with a keen sense of the fitness of things_). What--all that for on'y 'alf past five!
OVERHEARD IN THE AMBULANCE DEPARTMENT.
SPECTATORS (_passing in front of groups of models arranged in realistic surroundings_). All the faces screwed up to suffering, you see!... What a nice patient expression that officer on the stretcher has! Yes, they've given _him_ a wax head--some of them are only _papier-mâché_.... Pity they couldn't get nearer their right size in 'elmets, though, ain't it?... There's _one_ chap's given up the ghost!... I know that stuffed elephant--he comes from the Indian Jungle at the Colinderies!... I _do_ think it's a pity they couldn't get something more _like_ a mule than this wooden thing! Why, it's quite _flat_, and its ears are only leather, nailed on!... You can't tell, my dear; it may be a peculiar breed out there--cross between a towel-horse and a donkey-engine, don't you know!
IN THE INDIAN JUNGLE SHOOTING-GALLERY.
_At the back, amidst tropical scenery, an endless procession of remarkably undeceptive rabbits of painted tin are running rapidly up and down an inclined plane. Birds jerk painfully through the air above, and tin rats, boars, tigers, lions, and ducks, all of the same size, glide swiftly along grooves in the middle distance. In front, Commissionnaires are busy loading rifles for keen sportsmen, who keep up a lively but somewhat ineffective fusillade._
'ARRIET (_to_ 'ARRY). They 'ave got it up beautiful, I must say. Do you _get_ anything for 'itting them?
'ARRY. On'y the honour.
A FATHER (_to intelligent_ SMALL BOY _in rear of_ NERVOUS SPORTSMAN). No, I ain't seen him 'it anything _yet_, my son; but you watch. That's a rabbit he's aiming at now.... Ah, _missed_ him!
SMALL BOY. 'Ow d'yer _know_ what the gentleman's a-aiming at, eh, Father?
FATHER. 'Ow? Why, you notice which way he points his gun.
[_The N. S. fires again--without results._
SMALL BOY. I sor that time, Father. He was a-aiming at one o' them ducks, an' he missed a rabbit! [_The N. S. gives it up in disgust._
_Enter a small party of 'Arries in high spirits._
FIRST 'ARRY. 'Ullo! _I_'m on to this. 'Ere Guv'nor', 'and us a gun. _I_'ll show yer 'ow to shoot!
[_He takes up his position, in happy unconsciousness that playful companions have decorated his coat-collar behind with a long piece of white paper._
SECOND 'ARRY. Go in, Jim! You got yer markin'-paper ready anyhow.
[_Delighted guffaws from the other_ 'ARRIES, _in which_ JIM _joins vaguely_.
THIRD 'ARRY. I'll lay you can't knock a rabbit down!
JIM. I'll lay I can!
[_Fires. The procession of rabbits goes on undisturbed._
SECOND 'ARRY (_jocosely_). Never mind. You _peppered_ 'im. I sor the feathers floy!
THIRD 'ARRY. You'd ha' copped 'im if yer'd bin a bit quicker.
JIM (_annoyed_). They keep on movin' so, they don't give a bloke no chornce!
SECOND 'ARRY. 'Ave a go at that old owl.
[_Alluding to a tin representation of that fowl which remains stationary among the painted rushes._
THIRD 'ARRY. No--see if you can't git that stuffed bear. He's on'y a yard or two away!
AN IMPATIENT 'ARRY (_at doorway_). 'Ere, _come on_! Ain't you shot enough? Shake a leg, can't yer, Jim?
SECOND 'ARRY. He's got to kill one o' them rabbits fust. Or pot a tin lion, Jim? _You_ ain't afraid?
JIM. No; I'm goin' to git that owl. He's _quiet_ any way.
[_Fires. The owl falls prostrate._
SECOND 'ARRY. Got 'im! Owl's _orf_! Jim, old man, you must stand drinks round after this!
[_Exeunt_ 'ARRIES, _to celebrate their victory in a befitting fashion, as Scene closes in_.
At the French Exhibition.
CHORUS OF ARAB STALL-KEEPERS. Come an look! Alaha-ba-li-boo! Eet is verri cold to-day! I-ah-rish Brandi! 'Ere _Miss_! you com' 'ere! No pay for lookin'. Alf a price! Verri pritti, verri nah-ice, verri cheap verri moch! [_And so on._]
CHORUS OF BRITISH SALESWOMEN. _Will_ you allow me to show you this little novelty, Sir? _'Ave_ you seen the noo perfume sprinkler? Do come and try this noo puzzle--no 'arm in _lookin'_, Sir. Very nice little novelties 'ere, Sir! 'Eard the noo French Worltz, Sir? every article is very much reduced, &c., &c.
AT THE FOLIES-BERGÈRE.
SCENE--_A hall in the grounds. Several turnstiles leading to curtained entrances._
SHOWMAN (_shouting_). Amphitrite, the Marvellous Floatin' Goddess Just about to commence! This way for the Mystic Gallery--three illusions for threepence! Atalanta, the Silver Queen of the Moon; the Oriental Beauty in the Table of the Sphinx, and the Wonderful Galatea, or Pygmalion's Dream. Only threepence! This way for the Mystic Marvel o' She! Now commencing!
A FEMALE SIGHTSEER (_with the air of a person making an original suggestion_) Shall we go in, just to see what it's like?
MALE DITTO. May as well, now we _are_ 'ere. (_To preserve himself from any suspicion of credulity_). Sure to be a take-in o' some sort.
[_They enter a dim apartment, in which two or three people are leaning over a barrier in front of a small Stage; the Curtain is lowered, and a Pianist is industriously pounding away at a Waltz._
THE F. S. (_with an uncomfortable giggle_). Not much to see _so_ far, is there?
HER COMPANION. Well, they ain't begun yet.
[_The Waltz ends, and the Curtain rises, disclosing a_ CAVERN SCENE. AMPHITRE, _in blue tights, rises through the floor_.
AMPHITRE (_in the Gallic tongue_). Mesdarms et Messures, j'ai l'honnoor de vous sooayter le bong jour! (_Floats, with no apparent support, in the air, and performs various graceful evolutions, concluding by reversing herself completely._) Bong swore, Mesdarms et messures, mes remercimongs!
[_She dives below, and the Curtain descends._
THE F. S. Is that all? I don't see nothing in _that_!
HER COMP. (_who, having paid for admission, resents this want of appreciation_). Why, she was off the ground the 'ole of the time, wasn't she? I'd just like to see _you_ turnin' and twisting about in the air as easy as she did with nothing to 'old on by!
THE F. S. I didn't notice she was off the ground--yes that _was_ clever. I never thought o' that before. Let's go and see the other things now.
HER COMP. Well, if you don't see nothing surprising in 'em till they're all over, you might as well stop outside, _I_ should ha' thought.
THE F. S. Oh, but I'll notice more next time--you've got to get _used_ to these things, you know.
[_They enter the Mystic Gallery, and find themselves in a dim passage, opposite a partitioned compartment, in which is a glass case, supported on four pedestals, with a silver crescent at the back. The illusions--to judge from a sound of scurrying behind the scenes--have apparently been taken somewhat unawares._
THE FEMALE SIGHTSEER (_anxious to please_). They've done that 'alf-moon very well, haven't they?
VOICE OF SHOWMAN (_addressing the Illusions_). Now then, 'urry up there--we're all waiting for you.
[_The face of "Atalanta, the Silver Queen of the Moon," appears strongly illuminated, inside the glass-box, and regards the spectators with an impassive contempt--greatly to their confusion._
THE MALE S. (_in a propitiatory tone_). Not a bad-looking girl, is she?
ATALANTA, THE QUEEN OF THE MOON (_to the_ ORIENTAL BEAUTY _in next compartment_). Polly, when these people are gone, I wish you'd fetch me my work!
[_The Sightseers move on, feeling crushed. In the second compartment the upper portion of a female is discovered, calmly knitting in the centre of a small table, the legs of which are distinctly visible._
THE FEMALE S. Why, wherever has the _rest_ of her got to?
THE ORIENTAL BEAUTY (_with conscious superiority_). That's what you've got to find out.
[_They pass on to interview "Galatea, or Pygmalion's Dream," whose compartment is as yet enveloped in obscurity._
A Youthful Showman (_apparently on familiar terms with all the Illusions_). Ladies and Gentlemen, I shell now 'ave the honour of persentin' to you the wonderful Galatear or Livin' Statue; you will 'ave an oppertoonity of 'andling the bust for yourselves, which will warm before your eyes into living flesh, and the lovely creecher live and speak. 'Ere, look sharp, earn't yer! (_To_ GALATEA.)
PYGMALION'S DREAM (_from the Mystic gloom_). Wait a bit till I've done warming my 'ands. Now you can turn the lights up ... there, you've bin and turned 'em _out_ now, stoopid!
THE Y. S. Don't you excite yourself. I know what I'm doin'. (_Turns the lights up, and reveals a large terra-cotta Bust._) At my request, this young lydy will now perceed to assoom the yew and kimplexion of life itself. Galatear, will you oblige us by kindly coming to life?
[_The Bust vanishes, and is replaced by a decidedly earthly Young Woman in robust health._
THE Y. S. Thenk you. That's all I wanted of yer. Now, will you kindly return to your former styte?
[_The Young Woman transforms herself into a hideous Skull._
THE Y. S. (_in a tone of remonstrance_). No--no, not that ridiklous fice! We don't want to see what yer will be--it's very _loike_ yer, I know but still--(_the skull changes to the Bust._) Ah, that's more the stoyle! (_Takes the Bust by the neck and hands it round for inspection._) And now, thenking you for your kind attention, and on'y 'orskin one little fyvour of you, that is, that you will not reveal 'ow it is done, I will now bid you a very good evenin', Lydies and Gentlemen!
THE F. S. (_outside_). It's wonderful how they can do it all for threepence, isn't it? We haven't seen _She_ yet!
HER COMP. What! 'aven't you seen wonders enough? Come on, then. But you _are_ going it you know!
[_They enter a small room, at the further end of which are a barrier and proscenium with drawn hangings._
THE EXHIBITOR (_in a confidential tone, punctuated by bows_). I will not keep you waiting, Ladies and Gentlemen, but at once proceed with a few preliminary remarks. Most of you, no doubt, have read that celebrated story by Mr. Rider 'Aggard, about a certain _She-who-must-be-obeyed_, and who dwelt in a place called Kôr, and you will also doubtless remember how she was in the 'abit of repairing at certain intervals, to a cavern, and renooing her youth in a fiery piller. On one occasion, wishing to indooce her lover to foller her example, she stepped into the flame to encourage him--something went wrong with the works, and she was instantly redooced to a cinder. I fortunately 'appened to be near at the time (you will escuse a little wild fib from a showman, I'm sure!) I 'appened to be porsin by, and was thus enabled to secure the ashes of the Wonderful SHE, which--(_draws hangings and reveals a shallow metal Urn suspended_ _in the centre of scene_) are now before you enclosed in that little urn. She--where are you?
SHE (_in a full sweet voice from below_). I am 'ere!
SHOWMAN. Then appear!
[_The upper portion of an exceedingly comely_ YOUNG PERSON _emerges from the mouth of the Urn_.
THE F. S. (_startled_). Lor, she give me quite a turn!
SHOWMAN. Some people think this is all done by mirrors, but it is not so; it is managed by a simple arrangement of light and shade. She will now turn slowly round, to convince you that she is really inside the urn and not merely beyind it. (_She turns round condescendingly._) She will next pass her 'ands completely round her, thereby demonstrating the utter impossibility of there being any wires to support her. Now she will rap on the walls on each side of her, proving to you that she is no reflection, but a solid reality, after which she will tap the bottom of the urn beneath her so that you may see it really is what it purports to be. (SHE _performs all these actions in the most obliging manner_.) She will now disappear for a moment. (SHE _sinks into the Urn_.) Are you still there, She?
SHE (_from the recess of the Urn_). Yes.
SHOWMAN. Then will you give us some sign of your presence? (_a hand and arm are protruded and waved gracefully_). Thank you. Now you can come up again. (SHE _reappears_.) She will now answer any questions any lady or gentleman may like to put to her, always provided you won't ask her how it is done--for I'm sure she wouldn't give me away, _would_ you, She?
SHE(_with a slow bow and gracious smile_). Certingly not.
THE F. S. (_to her_ COMPANION). Ask her something--do.
HER COMP. Go on! _I_ ain't got anything to ask her--ask her yourself!
A BOLDER SPIRIT (_with interest_). Are your _feet_ warm?
SHE. Quite--thenks.
THE SHOWMAN. HOW old are you, She?
SHE (_impressively_). Two theousand years.
'ARRY. And quite a young thing, too!
A SPECTATOR (_who has read the Novel_). 'Ave you 'eard from Leo Vincey lately?
SHE (_coldly_). I don't know the gentleman.
SHOWMAN. If you have no more questions to ask her, She will now retire into her Urn thenking you all for your kind attendance this morning, which will conclude the entertainment.
[_Final disappearance of_ SHE. _The Audience pass out, feeling--with perfect justice--that they have "had their money's worth."_
IN THE MALL ON DRAWING-ROOM DAY.
_The line of carriages bound for Buckingham Palace is moving by slow stages down the Drive. A curious but not uncritical crowd, consisting largely of females, peer into the carriages as they pass, and derive an occult pleasure from a glimpse of a satin train and a bouquet. Other spectators circulate behind them, roving from carriage to carriage, straining and staring in at the occupants with the childlike interest of South Sea Islanders. The coachmen and footmen gaze impassively before them, ignoring the crowd to the best of their ability. The ladies in the carriages bear the ordeal of popular inspection with either haughty resignation, elaborate unconsciousness, or amused tolerance, and it is difficult to say which demeanour provokes the greatest resentment in the democratic breast._
CHORUS OF FEMALE SPECTATORS. We shall see better here than what we did last Droring-Room. Law, 'ow it _did_ come down, too, pouring the 'ole day. I was that sorry for the poor 'orses!... Oh, that one _was_ nice, Marire! Did you see 'er train?--all flame-coloured satting--_lovely!_ Ain't them flowers beautiful? Oh, Liza, '_ere's_ a pore skinny-lookin' thing coming next--look at 'er pore dear arms, all bare! But dressed 'andsome enough .... That's a Gineral in there, see? He's 'olding his cocked 'at on his knee to save the feathers--him and her have been 'aving words, apparently.... Oh, I _do_ like this one. I s'pose that's her Mother with her--well, yes, o' course it _may_ be her Aunt!
A SARDONIC LOAFER. 'Ullo, 'ere's a 'aughty one! layin' back and puttin' up 'er glorses! Know us agen, Mum, won't you? You may well look--you ain't seen so much in yer ole life as what you're seein' to-day, _I_'ll lay! Ah, you ought to feel honoured, too, all of us comin' out to look at yer. Drored 'er blind down, this one 'as, yer see--knew she wasn't wuth looking at!
[_A carriage passes; the footman on the box is adorned by an enormous nosegay, over which he can just see._
FIRST COMIC COCKNEY. Ow, I s'y--you _'ave_ come out in bloom, Johnny!
SECOND C. C. Ah, they've bin forcin' _'im_ under glorse, they 'ave! 'Is Missis'll never find 'im under all them flowers. Ow, 'e smoiled at me through the brornches!
[_Another carriage passes, the coachman and footmen of which are undecorated._
FIRST C. C. Shime!--they might ha' stood yer a penny bunch of voilets between yer, that they might!
THE SARDONIC L. 'Ere's a swell turn-out and no mistake--with a couple o' bloomin' beadles standin' be'ind! There's a full-fed 'un inside of it too,--look at the dimonds all over 'er bloomin' old nut. _My_ eye! (_The elderly dowager inside produces a cut-glass scent-bottle of goodly size._) Ah, she's got a drop o' the right sort in there--see her sniffin at it--it won't take 'er long to mop up that little lot!
JEAMES (_behind the carriage, to_ CHAWLES). Our old geeser's perdoocin' the custimary amount o' sensation, eh, Chawley?
CHAWLES (_under notice_). Well, thank 'Eving, I sha'n't have to share the responsibility of her _much_ longer!
'ARRIET (_to_ 'ARRY). I wonder they don't get tired o' being stared at like they are.
'ARRY Bless your 'art--_they_ don't mind--they _like_ it. They'll go 'ome and s'y (_in falsetto_) "Ow, Pa, all the bloomin' crowd kep' on a lookin' at us through the winder--it _was_ proime!"
'ARRIET (_giggling admiringly_). 'Ow do _you_ know the w'y they tork?
'ARRY (_superior_). Why, they don't tork partickler different from what you and me tork--do they?
FIRST MECHANIC. See all them old blokes in red, with the rum 'ats, Bill? They're Beefeaters goin' to the Pallis, they are.
SECOND M. What do they do when they git there?
FIRST M. Do? oh, mind the bloomin' staircase, and chuck out them as don' beyave themselves.
A RESTLESS LADY (_to her husband_). Harry, I don't like this place at all. I'm sure we could see better somewhere else. Do let's try and squeeze in somewhere lower down.... No, this is worse--that _horrid_ tobacco! Suppose we cross over to the Palace? [_They do so._
A POLICEMAN. Too late to cross now, Sir--go back, please.
[_They go back and take up a position in front of the crowd on the curbstone._
THE R. L. There, we shall see beautifully here, Harry.
A CRUSTY MATRON (_talking at the_ R. L. _and her husband_). Well, I'm sure, some persons have got a cheek, coming in at the last minnit and standing in front of those that have stood here hours--that's lady-like, I _don't_ think! Nor yet, I didn't come here to have my eye poked out by other parties' pairosols.
[_Continues in this strain until the R. L. can stand it no longer, and urges her husband to depart._
CHORUS OF POLICEMEN. Pass along there, please, one way _or_ the other--keep moving there, Sir.