Punch (72.1877)

February 3, 1877.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON

CHARIVARI.

45

OUR REPRESENTATIVE MAN.

N his late mission, accounting for
himself.

Sir,—So many people have asked
why I was not at the Conference,
that I feel I must speak out, and own that, though you sent me, I did not go.
No, Sir, I am not one of your Pretenders (by whom you have of late heen duped)
who take your money and write accounts of what never took place. Sir, I
meant going1. I smoked Turkish pipes, I ate Eussian caviare, and, in order to
he thoroughly up in the Great Eastern Question, I hought Great Eastern shares,
about which at the time there was a considerable question. Then I went in for
Circassian Pomade, night and morning, thus 'pouring oil on the troubled waters,
or rather putting grease—or, what Mr. Gladstone would call the " Hellenic
Factor"—on my brain, I substituted Kurds for milk at breakfast-time. By
the way, why hasn't some enterprising hairdresser invented a pomade, and
called it the " Hellenic Factor," with a dedication to Mr. Gladstone ? There's
the idea, and| no extra charge. I sent for my true and tried friend, Peggel Bet
(who is now undergoing the shrimp-cure at a favourite watering-place), and in
order that the Eussian interest should be represented equally with the Turkish,
I dropped a line to dear old General Snezantjfe Korfitofe, who has been
laid by the heels ever since November with a severe cold, which has prevented
his seeing anyone—even his creditors, whose attentions during his illness have
been unremitting.

"Well, Sir, we three started for the Conference. Poor Snezanufp Korfitoff
only got as far as Charing Cross, when he suddenly exclaimed, in Eussian,
"Hallo! I've forgotten my pocket-handkerchief!" and disappeared, with a
seedy-looking individual close at his heels—probably somebody who had found
the_ missing mouchoir. _ Peggel Bet, who had got a box of shrimps with him,
which he takes like voice-lozenges, blenched at the sight of the sea, turned pale,
and turned tail. He went back to his shrimp-cure, while I boldly stepped on
board the steamer, and gaily bade adieu to the smashed pier of Dover and the
white cliffs of Albion.

On arriving in Paris I received a telegram' from my private French
Secretary, who always travels in advance with my things for to-morrow night.
" Encore une bonne Conference alle tort." What could I do ? Nothing. Sol
waited in Paris expecting the return of the handsome Salisrery (as we gay
dogs call him to distinguish him from " Salisbury Plain ") who would, of course
take Paris on his way and tell me all about it. This, Sir, is how I came to find
myself in the gay city, where the present Occupation of Paris" is to go to
the theatres, the weather not permitting much lounging in the Elysian Fields,
or promenading up and down the Bulwarks of the Italians. Once more I roared
at the^ drolleries of the Palais Eoyal, and admired the ensemble presented by
Gil Peres, Htacinthe (the immortal), Lheritieret Cie., and if attheBouffes
Parisiens I was on the whole disappointed with Les Trois Margots {musique
de Grisart), yet,_ at all events, I yielded to the charm of Peschare's voice and
manner, and again bore testimony to the excellence of the ensemble which would
have triumphantly carried a far worse piece than Les Trois Margots.
. Operas-bouffes are a French specialite. But, Sir, I did not waste my time
m trifles light as air, but I went to assist at TJn Drame au Fond de la 3Ier, in
five Acts, six Tableaux, now being played at the Theatre Historique. A most
exciting play. Sieur Reginald, a paralysed English Baronet, making a voyage
on board the Washington (I think), with two millions-worth of diamonds 'in a
small box, goes with the wreck, his wife and the box, to the bottom of the sea.
An engineer, James Norton, and an officer of the French Marine, Henry de

Sartene, rivals for the hand of Mees Emily, the orphaned
daughter of Sieur Reginald, quarrel violently on board
the Great Eastern, and both descend, habited as divers,
to look after the cable which has come to grief. They
are accompanied by one Karl, a thorough-paced scoun-
drel, who having ascertained the exact locality of these
diamonds, has determined to possess himself of the two
millions. The scene on board the Great Eastern is ad-
mirably contrived. Then the divers go through nine
changes of tableaux, all capitally managed and most
effective until they arrive at the bottom of the sea. Here
we find Sieur Reginald, his wife, and the crew in a high
state of preservation, looking uncommonly like Madame
Tessaed's figures, but none the less awful on that account.
Karl makes for the diamonds ; Henry de Sartene rushes
as fast as the diving dress and helmet will let him, at
Karl, who, seizing a hatchet, cuts Henry de Sartene's
wind-pipe, that is, I mean the air-bag, or whatever it
is that gives the diver the necessary supply of air. A
terrific act this, and down comes the curtain to shouts of
applause.

After a long entr'acte, we return, to find ourselves in
England—at least, as the place is not named in the pro-
gramme, I suppose it must be England, because the
first person who walks on into a dingy, official-looking
room is " un policeman," a stiff, red-whiskered personage,
in a queer sort of helmet, Berlin gloves, and a dark-blue
long-tailed coat of a very ancient pattern. Four other
policemen bring in James Norton, who is accused of the
murder of Henry de Sartene. The evidence, which is
given chiefly by the villain Karl, is dead against the
unfortunate James Norton, whose case is heard in pri-
vate by the Coroner, an elderly gentleman, stern, but
occasionally humorous, with a comic clerk, who gets the
laughs when the Coroner doesn't.

James Norton is committed, and is about to be led off
by the four policemen, when the crowd, which has been
"heard without," groaning and hooting, is suddenly
admitted (so as to make an effective termination to
the scene, and to bring, the" Coroner to the front
again, as his part has been getting a trifle flat by this
time), and rushes fiercely towards James Norton, who is
at this moment in imminent danger of being torn from
the four policemen, and subjected to Lynch law. At
this juncture the Coroner, still humorous, though firm
and resolute, pulls from his pocket a sort of conjuror's
black wand, tipped at both ends with ivory (exactly
what Eobert Hoed in used to have), and bids the surg-
ing crowd retire " au nom de la hi! "

But the Coroner, having once got into the drama, is
not so easily got rid of as the mere letting down of a
curtain implies. Not a bit of it. The crowd finds out
that Karl, and not James Norton, is the real murderer,
and out comes 'everybody—policemen and all—on the
rocks to catch Karl, and Lynch him.

They are on the point of seizing the unhappy wretch
(by the way, no murder has been committed after all, for
Henry turns up safe and sound,—but this is a detail),
and doing for him effectually then and there, when the
humorous Coroner suddenly, but quietly, appears from
behind a rock—where he has apparently been sitting in
evening dress, and without a hat all in the cold, waiting
for this opportunity of coming out strong at the last—
and presents his ivory-tipped wand, whereat the crowd
again quails, and Karl himself is so staggered, that
losing his presence of mind, he runs up a platform at the
back, jumps over, and finishes his part in the drama.

Seeing this termination to the affaire, the Coroner
makes the best of it by taking a humorous view of the
situation, and indulging in a professional joke to the
effect that /' instruction " need not proceed any fur-
ther—for much the same reason that Puff gives for the
Beefeater's not going on with the speech commencing
" Farewell, brave Spaniard," &c.—because [the body has
walked off. The audience took the idea, and in spite
of all the spectacle and all the horrors, and all the in-
terest, the triumph of the night was with the Coroner.
After this, oysters of Marennes and other delights at the
Cafe Riche, and this, Sir, is why I didn't go to the
Conference—but remain,

Ever faithfully,

Toer Representative.

A INew Reading, by Reed.—Dews ex Ifachind—The
Naval Engineer.