DOI Heft:
April 30, 1864
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16873#0183
April 30, 1864.]
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
175
i
OUR DRAMATIC CORRESPONDENT.
F course you know, dear
Funch, that, as oui- Shak-
speake needs no monument,
it has suddenly occurred to
us that we ought to give
him one. There are various
opinions as to what his mo-
nument ought properly to
be, and, since we are poor
hands at making monuments
in marble, it has been fancied
by some few of us that a sub-
stantial Shakspeare monu-
ment composed of bricks and
mortar would better serve
our turn. The suggestion, I
believe, was first started in
your columns that a stately
Shakspeare theatre would
be the noblest monument
that England could meet,
and one that Shakspeare,
were he living, himself would
most approve of. The age
that knows not Shakspeare
I trust will never come;
but, at any rate, its advent
would be very much delayed
were there a national Shakspeare playhouse in the land that gave
him birth, and were it a condition in the tenure of that theatre that
one at least of Shakspeare’s plays should yearly be produced there,
with all the pomp and circumstance the nation could command.
I have heard it sometimes argued that the time may come when
Shakspeare will cease to prove attractive, when his plots will be
thought feeble, his humour strained and pointless, and his language dull
and obsolete. For this the influence of railways is cited as a cause; and
though the fancy may seem laughable, there really seems some ground for
it. Railways certainly have made people less patient than they were at
public places of amusement, and less tolerant of anything approaching
to longwindedness, which some of Shakspeare’s characters' are clearly
rather given to. But I have not much fear myself of the bad time ever
coming, when Shakspeare will be sneered at as being too slow to keep
pace with the age, and so be shunted off the stage as being worn out
and old fashioned. Notwithstanding railway influence and fast trains,
and men to match, I still hold true to the belief that Shakspeare
“ lived not for mi age,” but for all dramatic time, and that, while human
nature lasts, his plays, which picture it so faithfully, will ever be attrac-
tive. Croakers who pretend to have lost their faith in this, should go
to Drury Lane just now, and see how Shakspeare fills it, and how the
many hundreds, who nightly are drawn thither by his play of Henry IV.,
strain eagerly their ears to catch the words that Shakspeare wrote for
them to hear, and their eyes to see the action that accompanies the
words.
On the whole I think the play is very creditably played, and has been
carefully produced. Hotspur I applaud for his gallant speech and
bearing, but he must be careful lest his vehemence be too much for his
voice. I thought.perhaps he acted best in the scenes where he is tamed
a bit, while prattling to his wife, and his playful rugged tenderness she
took as a wife should. Falstaff I applaud too, with but little reserva-
tion, although if he were more unctuous, he would more be the fat
knight. In one addicted so to drink, the humour should not be too dry.
The Glendower scene and Welsh song have too often been omitted,
and are worthily restored; but, prithee, good Sir John, why is your
royal Crown aud Cushion bit of merriment left out ? And, good Mr.
Stage Manager, let the tumult of the battle not die away too much
while the set speeches are spoken; and it might make the scene more
life-like were a few more deaths to happen in it. After such a scrim-
mage as takes place upon the mound, one would expect a few additions
to the four dead men discovered at the opening of the scene, posed
neatly two and two, with their legs precisely parallel. The armour,
too, is certainly not strictly “ of the period,” as a glance at Mr. Punch’s
History oj Costume will clearly serve to show: but one need not be too
critical about these minor matters, if the broader stage effects are
attended to with care.
It is the author’s fault perhaps that in many of the scenes it pleased
me quite as much to see the audience as the stage. They mostly
seemed so heartily to enjoy his play, that I myself enjoyed the sight of
their enjoyment as much as that of what was causing it. Of course the
stalls and the dress circle repress their approbation in obedience to the
stupid laws of boarding-school propriety which still govern at our theatres
the fashion of the day. There were no stalls or dress circle in the time
when Shakspeare wrote, and I’ll be sworn that good Queen Bess
and the fine ladies of her Court did more than feebly smile and snigger
at the humour of* Jack Falstaff when they went to see the play. It
is a bad thing for the drama this abstaining from all natural emotion
and applause, and giving vent to feeble sniggers where there should be
hearty laughs. To stir up his stage impulses and make him act his
best, an actor must have sympathy both visible and audible, and if it
fails him from the boxes, he seeks it from the gallery, and is apt to
suit his acting to the pleasure of the gods. But despite the seeming
apathy of the Swells at Drury Lane and the Snobs who try to copy
them, the stalls and boxes show themselves amused and entertained
as never a sensation play amused or entertained them; while as for
pit and gallery, the way they “ brayvo ” Hotspur’s energy, and roar at
Falstaff sixm, should make the Shade of Shakspeare quit Elysium
one evening, and for that night only revisit this dull earth. I say, for
one night only, for although at the Princess’s his Comedy of Fh'rors
might have somewhat of temptation for him to prolong his stay with us,
I fear that elsewhere on our stage now there is little he would care for.
However much we have improved things in the last three hundred
years, we certainly have never excelled Shakspeare in our plays. In
stage effects and scenery we might show him something new, and as
compared with his dim, feebly candlelighted age, we might astonish
him perhaps by our superior enlightenment. But after all, one must
admit that people go to theatres to hear as well as see ; and to people
who have anything that they can call a mind, there is less enlighten-
ment in gas and limelight moonshine than in sparkling fancy, and
brilliancy of wit.
Well, though we have no second Shakspeare we can boast of, we
may at least be thankful for the one we have; and we never should lose
sight of his presence on our stage, seeing we have little hope of looking
011 hls likc‘ One who Pays.
P.S. I must just say two words for the two smart new burlesques
which were brought out on Easter Monday, the one at the Haymarket
and the other at the Royalty, which latter little nutshell of a theatre
is far better than a large one as a place for cracking jokes in. Under
Mrs. Selby’s management, the Royalty is rivalling the.Bandbox in the
Strand in its repute for smart burlesques,—smart in scenery and
costumes as in parodies and puns.
FANCY BLACK.
Advertised in a contemporary, amidst a lot of other melancholy
millinery, we find, “ Articles de Fantaisie Pom- Deuil.”
Only fancy articles of fancy for mourning! Fancy-mourning; fancy-
weeds : how fanciful! And what are they ?—“ Chemisettes, Tulle
Sleeves, Berthes, Canzons, Jupons, Robes de Chambres, Garnitures des
Robes,” &c. What sadly sweet things in mourning! Elegance in
sables! The idea of fancy mourning dress suggests that of a fancy
mourning dress ball. There is a “ Lord Lovel Quadrille,” which might
be danced on such an occasion, for one thing, and some dance-musical
genius might compose a “ Coffin Quadrille ” for another; also a
“ Shroud Waltz,” a “Knell Polka,” and a Cotillon, which might be
called “ The Cemetery.” To descend from the fashionable sphere of
dancing to the plebeian, the more vivacious of the gay and festive
mourners, attired in articles de fantaisie pour deuil, might trip it on
the light fantastic toe to an “ Undertaker’s Hornpipe ” or a “ Mute’s
Jig.” Fancy mourning, perhaps, is meant to denote the grief of the
heirs of rich old gentlemen and ladies.
A NEW FAMILY.
It appears by the police reports that one banner was missing from
the Garibaldi procession, and its absence is to be deplored. Some-
body detained it from the rightful owners until too late for show. It
was the banner of the “ Sons of Phoenix.” We particularly wish we
had seen this illustration of natural history, as we have always had
grave misgivings touching our friend Phoenix, and we should much like
to be introduced to his family. That he is a downy bird we never
doubted, but his sons appear to have carried downiness to the point of
softness, or they would not have let their flag be kept from them. But
we are glad the magisterial Beak helped the poor honest fellows, and
Mr. Punch hereby makes up to them the disappointment. Garibaldi
might not have seen their banner, he will be sure to see this.
Aerial Musicians.
Macbeth did “murder sleep;” so do the organ-grinders, besides
murdering Bellini and other composers. Owen Glendower says to
his company:—
“ Those musicians that shall play to you ^
Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence.”
Mr. Babbage, and other gentlemen of tender ears, would perhaps be
glad if the organ-fiends who distract their souls were hanging in the
air no farther off than the Old Bailey.
I
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
175
i
OUR DRAMATIC CORRESPONDENT.
F course you know, dear
Funch, that, as oui- Shak-
speake needs no monument,
it has suddenly occurred to
us that we ought to give
him one. There are various
opinions as to what his mo-
nument ought properly to
be, and, since we are poor
hands at making monuments
in marble, it has been fancied
by some few of us that a sub-
stantial Shakspeare monu-
ment composed of bricks and
mortar would better serve
our turn. The suggestion, I
believe, was first started in
your columns that a stately
Shakspeare theatre would
be the noblest monument
that England could meet,
and one that Shakspeare,
were he living, himself would
most approve of. The age
that knows not Shakspeare
I trust will never come;
but, at any rate, its advent
would be very much delayed
were there a national Shakspeare playhouse in the land that gave
him birth, and were it a condition in the tenure of that theatre that
one at least of Shakspeare’s plays should yearly be produced there,
with all the pomp and circumstance the nation could command.
I have heard it sometimes argued that the time may come when
Shakspeare will cease to prove attractive, when his plots will be
thought feeble, his humour strained and pointless, and his language dull
and obsolete. For this the influence of railways is cited as a cause; and
though the fancy may seem laughable, there really seems some ground for
it. Railways certainly have made people less patient than they were at
public places of amusement, and less tolerant of anything approaching
to longwindedness, which some of Shakspeare’s characters' are clearly
rather given to. But I have not much fear myself of the bad time ever
coming, when Shakspeare will be sneered at as being too slow to keep
pace with the age, and so be shunted off the stage as being worn out
and old fashioned. Notwithstanding railway influence and fast trains,
and men to match, I still hold true to the belief that Shakspeare
“ lived not for mi age,” but for all dramatic time, and that, while human
nature lasts, his plays, which picture it so faithfully, will ever be attrac-
tive. Croakers who pretend to have lost their faith in this, should go
to Drury Lane just now, and see how Shakspeare fills it, and how the
many hundreds, who nightly are drawn thither by his play of Henry IV.,
strain eagerly their ears to catch the words that Shakspeare wrote for
them to hear, and their eyes to see the action that accompanies the
words.
On the whole I think the play is very creditably played, and has been
carefully produced. Hotspur I applaud for his gallant speech and
bearing, but he must be careful lest his vehemence be too much for his
voice. I thought.perhaps he acted best in the scenes where he is tamed
a bit, while prattling to his wife, and his playful rugged tenderness she
took as a wife should. Falstaff I applaud too, with but little reserva-
tion, although if he were more unctuous, he would more be the fat
knight. In one addicted so to drink, the humour should not be too dry.
The Glendower scene and Welsh song have too often been omitted,
and are worthily restored; but, prithee, good Sir John, why is your
royal Crown aud Cushion bit of merriment left out ? And, good Mr.
Stage Manager, let the tumult of the battle not die away too much
while the set speeches are spoken; and it might make the scene more
life-like were a few more deaths to happen in it. After such a scrim-
mage as takes place upon the mound, one would expect a few additions
to the four dead men discovered at the opening of the scene, posed
neatly two and two, with their legs precisely parallel. The armour,
too, is certainly not strictly “ of the period,” as a glance at Mr. Punch’s
History oj Costume will clearly serve to show: but one need not be too
critical about these minor matters, if the broader stage effects are
attended to with care.
It is the author’s fault perhaps that in many of the scenes it pleased
me quite as much to see the audience as the stage. They mostly
seemed so heartily to enjoy his play, that I myself enjoyed the sight of
their enjoyment as much as that of what was causing it. Of course the
stalls and the dress circle repress their approbation in obedience to the
stupid laws of boarding-school propriety which still govern at our theatres
the fashion of the day. There were no stalls or dress circle in the time
when Shakspeare wrote, and I’ll be sworn that good Queen Bess
and the fine ladies of her Court did more than feebly smile and snigger
at the humour of* Jack Falstaff when they went to see the play. It
is a bad thing for the drama this abstaining from all natural emotion
and applause, and giving vent to feeble sniggers where there should be
hearty laughs. To stir up his stage impulses and make him act his
best, an actor must have sympathy both visible and audible, and if it
fails him from the boxes, he seeks it from the gallery, and is apt to
suit his acting to the pleasure of the gods. But despite the seeming
apathy of the Swells at Drury Lane and the Snobs who try to copy
them, the stalls and boxes show themselves amused and entertained
as never a sensation play amused or entertained them; while as for
pit and gallery, the way they “ brayvo ” Hotspur’s energy, and roar at
Falstaff sixm, should make the Shade of Shakspeare quit Elysium
one evening, and for that night only revisit this dull earth. I say, for
one night only, for although at the Princess’s his Comedy of Fh'rors
might have somewhat of temptation for him to prolong his stay with us,
I fear that elsewhere on our stage now there is little he would care for.
However much we have improved things in the last three hundred
years, we certainly have never excelled Shakspeare in our plays. In
stage effects and scenery we might show him something new, and as
compared with his dim, feebly candlelighted age, we might astonish
him perhaps by our superior enlightenment. But after all, one must
admit that people go to theatres to hear as well as see ; and to people
who have anything that they can call a mind, there is less enlighten-
ment in gas and limelight moonshine than in sparkling fancy, and
brilliancy of wit.
Well, though we have no second Shakspeare we can boast of, we
may at least be thankful for the one we have; and we never should lose
sight of his presence on our stage, seeing we have little hope of looking
011 hls likc‘ One who Pays.
P.S. I must just say two words for the two smart new burlesques
which were brought out on Easter Monday, the one at the Haymarket
and the other at the Royalty, which latter little nutshell of a theatre
is far better than a large one as a place for cracking jokes in. Under
Mrs. Selby’s management, the Royalty is rivalling the.Bandbox in the
Strand in its repute for smart burlesques,—smart in scenery and
costumes as in parodies and puns.
FANCY BLACK.
Advertised in a contemporary, amidst a lot of other melancholy
millinery, we find, “ Articles de Fantaisie Pom- Deuil.”
Only fancy articles of fancy for mourning! Fancy-mourning; fancy-
weeds : how fanciful! And what are they ?—“ Chemisettes, Tulle
Sleeves, Berthes, Canzons, Jupons, Robes de Chambres, Garnitures des
Robes,” &c. What sadly sweet things in mourning! Elegance in
sables! The idea of fancy mourning dress suggests that of a fancy
mourning dress ball. There is a “ Lord Lovel Quadrille,” which might
be danced on such an occasion, for one thing, and some dance-musical
genius might compose a “ Coffin Quadrille ” for another; also a
“ Shroud Waltz,” a “Knell Polka,” and a Cotillon, which might be
called “ The Cemetery.” To descend from the fashionable sphere of
dancing to the plebeian, the more vivacious of the gay and festive
mourners, attired in articles de fantaisie pour deuil, might trip it on
the light fantastic toe to an “ Undertaker’s Hornpipe ” or a “ Mute’s
Jig.” Fancy mourning, perhaps, is meant to denote the grief of the
heirs of rich old gentlemen and ladies.
A NEW FAMILY.
It appears by the police reports that one banner was missing from
the Garibaldi procession, and its absence is to be deplored. Some-
body detained it from the rightful owners until too late for show. It
was the banner of the “ Sons of Phoenix.” We particularly wish we
had seen this illustration of natural history, as we have always had
grave misgivings touching our friend Phoenix, and we should much like
to be introduced to his family. That he is a downy bird we never
doubted, but his sons appear to have carried downiness to the point of
softness, or they would not have let their flag be kept from them. But
we are glad the magisterial Beak helped the poor honest fellows, and
Mr. Punch hereby makes up to them the disappointment. Garibaldi
might not have seen their banner, he will be sure to see this.
Aerial Musicians.
Macbeth did “murder sleep;” so do the organ-grinders, besides
murdering Bellini and other composers. Owen Glendower says to
his company:—
“ Those musicians that shall play to you ^
Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence.”
Mr. Babbage, and other gentlemen of tender ears, would perhaps be
glad if the organ-fiends who distract their souls were hanging in the
air no farther off than the Old Bailey.
I