DOI issue:
April 9, 1864
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16873#0151
April 9, 1864.]
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
143
THE TRAGEDY OF WILLIAM I.
Y a telegram from Ber-
lin we find that:—
“ The Neue Preussische
(Kreuz) Zeitung of to-day
says
“We learn that the King,
on the anniversary of his
birthday, in a most cordial
manner expressed to the
Ministry liis approval of
the policy adopted, both
at home and abroad.”
As the last anniver-
sary of the King op
Prussia’s birthday was
the 67th, nobody whose
desires are bounded by
possibility could con-
fidently wish him many
happy returns of it.
Three more, happy or
otherwise, are, unless
i hey are destined to
exceed the average
number, all that can
await him; and, unless
lie alters his courses,
more than anybody who
thinks thousands of
good lives of more
consequence than one evil life, can hope that he will see. The drama,
therefore, of his Prussian Majesty’s fife being so near its close as it
is, and its approaching conclusion so clearly as it must be in his
Majesty’s view, astonishment is created by his approval of a policy
which, whatever it may be at home, is abroad a policy of murder. He
must know that the curtain is about to fall on an Act comprising the
murder of the Hanes, dictated by a policy which he avows as his own.
Is it possible that he does not ask himself, when the curtain shall
have fallen on the last Act of a life which thus winds up with the
authorship of a host of murderous atrocities, what is likely to be the
fate of the piece and the performer ?
BETWIXT AND BETWEEN WERE BETTER EOR
BOTH.
Scene—An English Court of Justice.
The Late. Prisoner, don’t plead guilty. How do you know whether
a case can be made out against you r1
Prisoner. Thank you, my Lord, but as I did it—
The Law. Be silent, my good man. How do you know you did it—
did what your offence is said to be ?
Witness. My Lord, he did take—
The Laio. Be very careful, Sir. Remember your oath. How do you
know that it was this man ?
Witness. I have known him, I should think, for—
The Law. Never mind what you think. Did you "see him take the
thing ?
Witness. I was walking—
The Law. Who asked whether yon were walking, or riding, or flying,
or crawling on your stomach ? Answer the question. Did you see him p
Witness. Yes, my Lord.
The Law. Was it at night or in the day ?
Witness. At night.
The Law. Can you see in the dark ?
Witness. There was a moon, my Lord.
The Laic. Of course there was; but did it shine ?
Witness. Very brightly.
The Law. You can swear that it was he, and no one else ?
Witness. Yes, my Lord.
The Law. Do you know that he has a brother very ,.ike him ?
Witness. It wasn’t his brother, my Lord.
The Law. Answer the question, or you ’ll get into trouble. Do you
know the fact that his brother is very like him P
Witness. He is not so very like, my Lord.
The Law. How dare you say that ? It is only your opinion. Will
you swear that there was light enough to enable you to be certain that
this was the man ?
Witness. I know the fellow well enough, my Lord.
The Law. How dare you call him names ? You dislike him,
evidently, and the jury will be cautious in accepting yonr evidence. Be
careful, Sir!
Prisoner. He tells the truth, my Lord. I did—
The Law. Hold your tongue, my poor man.
Prisoner. But it is true that I took—
The Law. Keep him silent. Gaoler. Go down, you Sir, and feel
ashamed of having shown animosity in that sacred box. Gentlemen of
the Jury,—-Such charges are easily made, but disproved with difficulty.
The witness had evidently an animus. The prisoner has borne a good
character, at least nothing has been proved against him, and his
readiness to admit everything is creditable to him. Still, it is for you
to say, Guilty or Not Guilty.
Jury. Guilty, my Lord !
The Law. As the Jury has found you guilty of stealing these sove-
reigns, prisoner, I have only to pass sentence, which I shall make very
light. You will be imprisoned, without hard labour, for a month.
Prisoner. I can do that on my head, my Lord.
rFlings his nailed shoe at the foreman, and exit shouting.
Scene—A French Court of Justice.
The Law. Prisoner, I am afraid you are an awful scoundrel. Why
don’t you confess, and make reparation to society ?
Prisoner. Because I am innocent.
The Law. You say that with a certain impudence which proves you
hardened in crime. How came you to rob your master ?
Prisoner. I never did.
The Law. This reiteration of a plea which is clearly false is dis-
respectful to the Court, and will aggravate your punishment. Are you
fond of the theatre ?
Prisoner. Yes.
The Law. That denotes a love of pleasure which is frequently found
united with dishonesty. Do you smoke ?
Prisoner. A good deal.
The Law. Doubtless, to stupify the reproaches of a menacing con-
science. Do you go to mass ?
Prisoner. At regular times.
The Law. That shows you to be a hypocrite. Now, witness, is he
not guilty ?
Witness. No, my Lord.
The Law. How dare you say that ? Did you commit the crime your-
self ?
Witness. Certainly not.
The Law. Don’t answer in that petulant way. What is your character ?
Are you fond of the theatre ?
Witness. No.
The Law. Just so. A dark and gloomy nature cannot enjoy innocent
recreation. Do you smoke ?
Witness. Yery little.
The Law. You fear to be traced by the smell of your clothes. You
know that tobacco increases our revenue, and you wilfully abstain in
order to injure your country. Do you go to mass ?
Witness. Seldom.
The Laic. You feel your evil character unfits you for the solemnities
of the Church. Go down. The next. Now, what have you to say,
woman ?
Witness. The accused is an excellent husband—
The Law. Are you his wife ?
Witness. No, my Lord, but his wife’s friend, and I know—
The Law. Then the less you have to say in future to the wife of an
accused person the better. Perhaps you are in love with him.
Witness. My Lord, I have a husband whom I love, and children
whom I adore, and because any of them might be charged falsely, as the
prisoner is, I came to say what I can for justice.
The Law. That theatrical sentiment you have learned from some play,
and your reciting it here is most indecent. Go down. Gentlemen of
the Jury,—It is quite clear that this scoundrel is guilty. His insolent
denials, the class of witnesses, atheists, profligates, frequenters of
theatres, gloomy conspirators, and the like make his guilt evident-
besides which a gaoler heard him say Mon Lieu in sleep, which showed
temporary remorse. Pinally, I happen to know that he is guilty, for
I knew his father in his youth, and he was a vile assassin. Gentlemen,
you have only to say Guilty.
The Jury. Not Guilty.
The Law. You are a contumacious set of rebellious and illogical pigs,
and I shall see whether the Procureur of his Majesty cannot deal with
you as conspirators. Meanwhile, abandon the box you have dis-
graced. [Exeunt the jurymen, confirmed in Lmperialism.
True to the Letter.
The Mu. Plower, who had his communications addressed to No. 35,
Thurloe Square, may be truly called the “ Plower born to blush
unseen.”
England’s “ Poste Restante.”—Sir Rowland Hill in his re-
tirement.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
143
THE TRAGEDY OF WILLIAM I.
Y a telegram from Ber-
lin we find that:—
“ The Neue Preussische
(Kreuz) Zeitung of to-day
says
“We learn that the King,
on the anniversary of his
birthday, in a most cordial
manner expressed to the
Ministry liis approval of
the policy adopted, both
at home and abroad.”
As the last anniver-
sary of the King op
Prussia’s birthday was
the 67th, nobody whose
desires are bounded by
possibility could con-
fidently wish him many
happy returns of it.
Three more, happy or
otherwise, are, unless
i hey are destined to
exceed the average
number, all that can
await him; and, unless
lie alters his courses,
more than anybody who
thinks thousands of
good lives of more
consequence than one evil life, can hope that he will see. The drama,
therefore, of his Prussian Majesty’s fife being so near its close as it
is, and its approaching conclusion so clearly as it must be in his
Majesty’s view, astonishment is created by his approval of a policy
which, whatever it may be at home, is abroad a policy of murder. He
must know that the curtain is about to fall on an Act comprising the
murder of the Hanes, dictated by a policy which he avows as his own.
Is it possible that he does not ask himself, when the curtain shall
have fallen on the last Act of a life which thus winds up with the
authorship of a host of murderous atrocities, what is likely to be the
fate of the piece and the performer ?
BETWIXT AND BETWEEN WERE BETTER EOR
BOTH.
Scene—An English Court of Justice.
The Late. Prisoner, don’t plead guilty. How do you know whether
a case can be made out against you r1
Prisoner. Thank you, my Lord, but as I did it—
The Law. Be silent, my good man. How do you know you did it—
did what your offence is said to be ?
Witness. My Lord, he did take—
The Laio. Be very careful, Sir. Remember your oath. How do you
know that it was this man ?
Witness. I have known him, I should think, for—
The Law. Never mind what you think. Did you "see him take the
thing ?
Witness. I was walking—
The Law. Who asked whether yon were walking, or riding, or flying,
or crawling on your stomach ? Answer the question. Did you see him p
Witness. Yes, my Lord.
The Law. Was it at night or in the day ?
Witness. At night.
The Law. Can you see in the dark ?
Witness. There was a moon, my Lord.
The Laic. Of course there was; but did it shine ?
Witness. Very brightly.
The Law. You can swear that it was he, and no one else ?
Witness. Yes, my Lord.
The Law. Do you know that he has a brother very ,.ike him ?
Witness. It wasn’t his brother, my Lord.
The Law. Answer the question, or you ’ll get into trouble. Do you
know the fact that his brother is very like him P
Witness. He is not so very like, my Lord.
The Law. How dare you say that ? It is only your opinion. Will
you swear that there was light enough to enable you to be certain that
this was the man ?
Witness. I know the fellow well enough, my Lord.
The Law. How dare you call him names ? You dislike him,
evidently, and the jury will be cautious in accepting yonr evidence. Be
careful, Sir!
Prisoner. He tells the truth, my Lord. I did—
The Law. Hold your tongue, my poor man.
Prisoner. But it is true that I took—
The Law. Keep him silent. Gaoler. Go down, you Sir, and feel
ashamed of having shown animosity in that sacred box. Gentlemen of
the Jury,—-Such charges are easily made, but disproved with difficulty.
The witness had evidently an animus. The prisoner has borne a good
character, at least nothing has been proved against him, and his
readiness to admit everything is creditable to him. Still, it is for you
to say, Guilty or Not Guilty.
Jury. Guilty, my Lord !
The Law. As the Jury has found you guilty of stealing these sove-
reigns, prisoner, I have only to pass sentence, which I shall make very
light. You will be imprisoned, without hard labour, for a month.
Prisoner. I can do that on my head, my Lord.
rFlings his nailed shoe at the foreman, and exit shouting.
Scene—A French Court of Justice.
The Law. Prisoner, I am afraid you are an awful scoundrel. Why
don’t you confess, and make reparation to society ?
Prisoner. Because I am innocent.
The Law. You say that with a certain impudence which proves you
hardened in crime. How came you to rob your master ?
Prisoner. I never did.
The Law. This reiteration of a plea which is clearly false is dis-
respectful to the Court, and will aggravate your punishment. Are you
fond of the theatre ?
Prisoner. Yes.
The Law. That denotes a love of pleasure which is frequently found
united with dishonesty. Do you smoke ?
Prisoner. A good deal.
The Law. Doubtless, to stupify the reproaches of a menacing con-
science. Do you go to mass ?
Prisoner. At regular times.
The Law. That shows you to be a hypocrite. Now, witness, is he
not guilty ?
Witness. No, my Lord.
The Law. How dare you say that ? Did you commit the crime your-
self ?
Witness. Certainly not.
The Law. Don’t answer in that petulant way. What is your character ?
Are you fond of the theatre ?
Witness. No.
The Law. Just so. A dark and gloomy nature cannot enjoy innocent
recreation. Do you smoke ?
Witness. Yery little.
The Law. You fear to be traced by the smell of your clothes. You
know that tobacco increases our revenue, and you wilfully abstain in
order to injure your country. Do you go to mass ?
Witness. Seldom.
The Laic. You feel your evil character unfits you for the solemnities
of the Church. Go down. The next. Now, what have you to say,
woman ?
Witness. The accused is an excellent husband—
The Law. Are you his wife ?
Witness. No, my Lord, but his wife’s friend, and I know—
The Law. Then the less you have to say in future to the wife of an
accused person the better. Perhaps you are in love with him.
Witness. My Lord, I have a husband whom I love, and children
whom I adore, and because any of them might be charged falsely, as the
prisoner is, I came to say what I can for justice.
The Law. That theatrical sentiment you have learned from some play,
and your reciting it here is most indecent. Go down. Gentlemen of
the Jury,—It is quite clear that this scoundrel is guilty. His insolent
denials, the class of witnesses, atheists, profligates, frequenters of
theatres, gloomy conspirators, and the like make his guilt evident-
besides which a gaoler heard him say Mon Lieu in sleep, which showed
temporary remorse. Pinally, I happen to know that he is guilty, for
I knew his father in his youth, and he was a vile assassin. Gentlemen,
you have only to say Guilty.
The Jury. Not Guilty.
The Law. You are a contumacious set of rebellious and illogical pigs,
and I shall see whether the Procureur of his Majesty cannot deal with
you as conspirators. Meanwhile, abandon the box you have dis-
graced. [Exeunt the jurymen, confirmed in Lmperialism.
True to the Letter.
The Mu. Plower, who had his communications addressed to No. 35,
Thurloe Square, may be truly called the “ Plower born to blush
unseen.”
England’s “ Poste Restante.”—Sir Rowland Hill in his re-
tirement.