Punch: Punch (38.1860)

Mat 12, I860.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI

197

MR. PUNCH AT THE CRYSTAL PALACE.

he London readers of
Mr. Punch (he takes
it for granted) who
had a few hours
and a few shillings
to spare on Friday,
spent them rationally
as he did in hearing
the Elijah, which at
Sydenham was per-
formed as it had never
been before. To pay
a crown to hear the
crowning work of
Mendelssohn is a
temptation which few
people in reason can
resist; and to hear
such a performance of
it as last Friday’s, no
right-minded posses-
sor of five shillings
could refuse. Mr.
Punch therefore as-
sumes that all his
readers out of Bed-
lam, who had time
and money spareable,
were with him to take
part in the Mendels-

sohn Commemoration, which, whatever part they took—whether vocal or auricular • and if
the former, whether alto or soprano,' bass or tenor—was one that they are not soon likely to
forget. . .

Taking this for granted, there is little need for him to tell his London readers m what a
brilliant manner the Festival went off, or what a blaze of triumph was the bonfire at the
end of it. But Mr. Punch writes for All England as well as for its capital, and writes too
for posterity as well as for those present. Mr. Punch may therefore fitly say a few words on
the subject; and seeing that he, happily, is not yet an M. P., there need be no fear that his
“ few words ” will be many ones. • .

As nothing can detract from his exalted reputation, Mr. Punch will not mind owning that
he went to Sydenham simply and solely to enjoy himself. His object was to hear, and not to
criticise and carp at: and he neither tried to count the more than million beauties, nor tired
his ears by straining them for possible defects. Leaving others to pick holes, if there were
any to be picked, it is enough for him to say he made his mind up to be pleased, and that lie
discovered no fit reason to unmake it. All the musical arrangements were on such a major
scale, that the performance, as was promised, could not but be a great one. The chorus sang
with all the unanimity of one; and each one of the soloists sang with all the force and fervour
of a chorus. Each note issued by the choristers was a three-thousand pounder, and when it—

by not smoking a cigar which was anything but
tobacco, Mr. Punch then came into the garden
with Maud, (don’t be jealous, Judy,) and en-
joyed the first warm evening in a state of mind
which, like it, was totally serene. Being, how-
ever, still afflicted

“ Where the East Wind’s pinching fingers
Had laid the grip whence hoarseness lingers,”

Mr. Punch could give few specimens of his
usual moonlight talk ; but after speaking of the
“gardels” as really “lookilg quite robaltic il
the boolshile,” he gave up “talkilg sedtimelt ”
as being a bad job.

Of the Fackelzug which followed, Mr. Punch
need only say that it was worthy of His Presence,
and higher praise than this it would perplex him
to conceive. One observer says the torches
“gleamed like fiery serpents;” but “Brobding-
nagian glow-worms ” were a far more sparkling
simile, and would really have approached quite
as nearly to the truth. A fire of wit, of course,
was kindled by the blaze, and the torches weren’t
the only brilliant things let drop. Several jokers
joked about “ playing at pitch and toss,” as they
tossed about their pitch-sticks to keep them well
in flame; and one unhappy punster who, in
doing this, had let some pitch pitch on his fin-
gers, was mad enough to talk about the pain
as being torch-ure! Another of the mad wags,
however, who was present (and who, if he don’t
take care, may end in either going to Bedlam
or in writing a burlesque), carried his mad-
waggery to a still more piteous pitch; for at the
finish of the evening, when he struck his torch
out, he actually called the stroke a coup de
tar.

With the sound of the Elijah yet echoing in
his ears, the sight of the bright bonfire yet daz-
zling his eyes, and the savour of the torch-smoke
yet clinging to his nostrils, Mr. Punch then left
the Palace by his own private exit; and jumping
upon Pegasus, whom Toby had in waiting,
clapped Judy on the crupper, and straight rode
home to supper, and soon fell asleep while
glancing o’er the new Sonnets by Tufper.

INTERESTING TO NERVOUS AND IRRITABLE
PERSONS!

Crashed forth with vigour rare.

All as one voice they were,

Charming the heavers there,

Well-drilled Three Thousand!

As Orpheus of old could make the woods to listen to him, Sims Orpheus so sang that
the most wooden of his hearers wagged their heads while hearing him; and Miss Poly-
hymnia Pabepa, while she sang “with heart and voice,” on the last of those four words
thrilled forth her high B flat so clare as to make Mr. Punch think of his Clara. Indeed she
sang so high in what was her so-lo, that one might almost say she warbled like a lark, except
that, being somewhat of a larger growth, she could not be expected to sing quite out of eye-
sight. And then Miss Dolby * sang that air of airs of hers (which Mr. Punch will not insult
her by naming more particularly) with such sweetness, and such feeling, that, although he
hates encores, Mr. Punch found himself helping in the one which was accorded to her. In
fact, if Mr. Punch had been allowed to have his way (which, as he had his Judy with him, was
more than he could hope), he would have gladly lent a hand to encore the whole performance:
nay, had he been Briareus, and had fifty pairs of hands, he would, to gain his object, have
sacrificed a pair of milk-white kids on each.

Unlike the Puke in Shakspeare, Mr. Punch is always merry when he hears sweet music;
and it therefore was with feelings of more than usual pleasantness that when the Work was
over he went to see the Man, or his effigy at least, which Mr. Punch had to unveil. Remem-
bering that the statue of Beethoven at Bonn was unveiled in the presence of “some of the
crowned heads of Europe, who were almost lost in a crowd of 30,000 people,” Mr. Punch of
course contrasted the gratifying fact, that the heads who gave their crowns to see Mendels-
sohn unveiled, amounted not to “some’’but to some eighteen thousand, and therefore stood
no danger of being “ almost lost.” Being perfectly au fait at performing public ceremonies,
such as christening Drinking Fountains, and wheelbarrowing First Sods, it is quite needless
to remark that Mr. Punch did the unveiling with his usual graceful ease, and made the usual
short speech with his usual perfect taste. This over, there set in an “ ugly rush ” for the
refreshments, but as Mr. Punch felt no desire to get his pet corn trodden on, he prudently
reserved his appetite for supper, having taken the precaution, with his usual splendid
foresight, to lay in a hearty lunch. Forming a bright exception to the general rule observed.

Will Mr. Babbage ask his calculating
machine to tell us whether the hurdy-gurdy,
which is an instrument of torture inflicted on
Europe by Savoy, will make greater noise, or
pierce one’s ears and feelings more painfully,
now that Louis Napoleon, by his recent little
turn of annexation, has converted it into a
French organ ?

A Thorough Bread Knight,

The King op Sardinia has knighted the
patriotic baker, Giuseppe Dolfi. No doubt
the worthy knight of the oven will prove himself
a doughty champion, his achievements wiil be
recorded in the rolls of fame, and he will he
acknowledged as the flour of chivalry.

NO NEWS.

Mr. Coleman, in his amusing book about
British Butterflies, tells us that the Purple
Emperor thrives on corruption. And so, he
might have added, does the French variety of
the species._

THE REAL FANCY FRANCHISE.

London and Liverpool ’Changes voting Tom
Sayers a hero.

* Everybody knows that now she’s not a Miss, and that her married name's not Dolby. But Mr. Punch
no more can leave off calling her “Miss Dolby,” than he can speak of Jesny Lind by any other name than

“Junky.”

A Grace for Hungary Folks.—Benedex*
tus Benedicat.