Punch: Punch (52.1867)

52

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [February 2, 1867.

with a sentiment. Ladies in Stalls smile significantly, and pro-
bably think they do those things better in real life.

Mean Person (who borrowed a shilling, to his Friend cunningly). I
say, not a bad dodge for a wedding-present, eb ?

[Irritable Gentleman does wish they ’d be quiet.

Enter Bridesmaids and Servants to music, and all go to Church except
Madame d’Arbel, who, being too weak to join them, stands up
during thbir absence and soliloquises. Organ plays solemnly, evidently
in some part of the garden. The marriage ceremony is apparently being
conducted, organ and all, in the adjoining summer-house.

Madame d’Arbel (amusing herself by pretending she sees through the
stone walls of the Church). There they are! They kneel before the
altar! he, &c. &c., she, &c. &c. Now they, &c. &c. The Priest lifts
his, &c. &c., and then all, &c. &c. Ah! Happy! Happy pair !

[Sinks into her chair, and thinks of the family pew.

Enter, suddenly, a Gentleman in very modern cut whiskers, moustache,
amd Hessian boots ; with a generally vague appearance of belonging to
no particular time or country. Music in the orchestra, of course,
perhaps descriptive of Hessian boots.

Madame d’Arbel [hysterically). Eric !

Eric. My letter not delivered !!! !

Serious but foolish Butler. I gave it to-[a name that sounds like

Sperarsa).

Enter Young Waiting Woman, with the name that sounds like

Sperarsa.

Young Waiting Woman. Oh yes, Madame, here it is.

[More Music. Enter Powdered Footmen with Bridesmaids. Then
Maurice and his bride. Madame d’Arbel won’t receive
Maurice. More music. Sensation chords. Enter a Commis-
saire in a funny hat, and two myrmidons in funnier hats. More
chords: say two chords for the Commissary and one for each
myrmidon. Irritable Gentleman prepares to attend closer
than ever.

Commissary [sternly to Maurice). You were at the gaming-table last
night ?

Madame [who evidently did not know her son was out). Ah !

[ Powdered Footmen regard one another with silent horror.

Maurice [vaguely). How?

Commissary [politely, like a foreigner of distinction not quite perfect in
his English). Am I wrong, if you please ?

[Music, of cotirse, as if it came from underground while they are talking.

Madame d’Arbel. What has he stolen ?

Maurice. Oh! Oh! [Behind his hand.) Oh ! [Behind two hands.)
Oh! Oh!

Commissaire. The necklace ! [Miss Leclercq tears it off.

2nd Person [in Stall who hasn’t seen Act I.). Has he stolen it ?

His Friend [who has seen it before). Well—you see—it’s—you ought
to have seen the First Act.

[Irritable Gentleman hears -this, and loses the thread of the story.

Gaspard [making faces behind his cocked-liat). Don’t mix my name up
in the matter—[suddenly like the Clown)-—Oh ! look at your mother.
[Makes more faces at the audience slily, while Maurice looks at his
mother.

Commissary [touching Mr. Fechter on the shoulder with a small cane
like a conjuror’s wand). Maurice d’Arbel, I arrest you !

[ Women faint all over the place. The six Poicdered Footmen evince
varied emotions of horror, or surprise, or rage, or despair, or some-
thing among themselves. More music. End of Act II.

Entr’acte.

Provincial Person [in front row of the Pit, who has been much, in-
terested up to this point.) 1 say, which is Buckstone P

[The facts are explained to him by a Town Friend.

In Act III. there is plenty of lime-light, music, and Eric is shot, and
Irritable Gentleman thinks he can follow it pretty closely now.

ACT IV.

Enter Eechter, very old.

Funny Innkeeper [to his wife on the stage). Will you oblige me ?

[Meant to get a laugh, but doesn’t.

This sentence is the light writing of the piece, the comic relief, and
occurs about sixty times in this Act.

Colonel Eric [who wasn’t shot in Act III.) to Innkeeper. There’s for
you [gives money). We expect a young Captain.

Funny Innkeeper. A Captain. [To his wife.) Will you oblige me ?
Thank you, thank you.

[Some one in the audience laughs. Funny Innkeeper detects him,
and plays at him gratefully during the remainder of the Scene.

Maurice [trying to rise from the bench). I cannot! I cannot!

Friend [who’s not seen it before). Doesn’t he speak like Webster in
the Dead Heart [gives an imitation)f “My heart is dead! my heart
is-”

Irritable old Gentletnan [who has entirely lost the thread of the piece).

S-s-sh ! I really wish that-It’s quite impossible to-

lady’s Husband [with propriety). S-s-sh ! [Old Gentleman subsides.
[Young Captain chmks bag of untold gold carelessly and sits at
table: then treats Maurice to wine and luncheon. While
Maurice is eating, Young Captain chinks untold gold again.
He sees Maurice cutting off half the loaf and pocketing it.
Young Captain. By that act I recognise the true nobility of your nature.
[He alludes to pocketing half the loaf. Gives money, and chinks bag
of untold gold again. Gaspard offers to guide him through the
"orest. Storm commences.

ACT V.

Young Captain arrives at Maurice’s hut. Discovers his Mother and
Sister there. Is shown to a room, where he occupies himself by
jingling and chinking his untold gold as a mild evening amusement for
himself and little sister. Gaspard sets fire to the house. Music.
Crashing. Pistols. Flames. Hatchets. Smoke. Great applause.
Curtain descends before the Irritable Gentleman can regain the thread
of the story. Be-appearance of all the chief characters in the smoke.

Person [who has seen it now, and is still rather hazy as to the necklace
in Act II.). I wish we’d been in for the First Act. [To his Friend.)

If you hadn’t stopped for that other claret, we might-

Friend [with a view to supper at Evans’s). Oh, it’s all right. Come
to Paddy Green’s.

[Exeunt omnes in every direction. Bed fire from fuzees: cigars.
Verdict, Not bad.

THE BEST SCHOOL FOR WIVES.

he husband is commonly said to be the
bread-winner. So he is in general. But
sometimes he is a Mantalini, and some-
times his wife is an heiress; and in the
former case he eats the bread of idleness,
and in the latter that of otium cum digni-
tate, buttered on both sides.

But, as the husband, in the ordinary
course of things, is the bread-winner, so
is—that is to say, so ought to be—the wife
the bread-dresser, the toaster, and tem-
perer of the bread, and, taking bread in its
extended sense, the roaster and boiler of
the meat. In short, the wife is the cook,
or, if she is not, more shame for her. The
cook, ma’am — not the cook-maid: the
chief not the drudge of her husband’s
kitchen.

But what is the wife whose skill in
cookery is limited to roasting and boil-
ing ? A plain cook to her husband, neither
useful, nor, if altogether plain, ornamental.

The foregoing remarks are suggested
by an announcement, in the Post, that
there is, in Argyll Street, Regent Street,
a School of Cookery, whereat, the other
evening, there was given a select entertainment. This institution,
founded by some genuine philanthropists for the education of cooks,
comprises two departments of study ; a first class for artists who aspire
to be professed cooks, and a second for persons whose humbler aim is
proficiency “in plain cookery suitable for the servants of tradespeople.”
First-class cookery, of course, alone is suitable to the servants of the
nobility and gentry.

Success to this most important of educational establishments. May
the School of Cookery in Argyll Street grow rapidly into a University,
in which the daughters of England may be enabled to acquire that
knowledge which will render them helps meet and suitable companions
for men of liberal education and refined taste. There is no reason why
women should not attain to that eminence in the higher branches of
cookery which has hitherto been supposed possible only for men. In
a College of Cookery there would be degrees, prizes, and offices, for which
they might compete oftentimes successfully with the stronger sex. As
the latter become bachelors and masters, so could the former turn out,
spinsters and mistresses of culinary arts. The degree of doctor might
be common to both. There might be a Regius or a Regia Professor
of Turtle, as the case might be; and professorships named after dis-
tinguished gourmands, also open to both sexes : likewise professorships
of chops, and steaks, of hors d’oeuvres, of entremets, of curry, of haricot
mutton, of vol-au-vent, of rump-steak pudding, and of Irish stew; and
assuredly there ought to be a professorship of potatoes. Corresponding
lectureships and scholarships might also be established. The candi-
dates for degrees and honours might take up Ude, Soyer, Kitchener, or
Mrs. Rundell; and, in addition to undergoing an examination in these
culinary classics, be required to operate on the raw material.