DOI Heft:
April 17, 1869
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16883#0169
164
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[April 17, 1869.
Nipper and Poodel call together on Porpoise. His shop is in a
theatrical neighbourhood, and it is not improbable that you may actu-
ally meet real actors (think of that!) coming out, or may pop in upon
Mr. Bdckstone, or even the great Mr. Phelps trying on a wig!!
Such happiness as this does sometimes fall to the lot of persistent
amateurs. But though amateurs go to Porpoise every day, the visits
of actors, like those of angels, are few and far between—that is, in these
days of long runs and stupendous successes.
It would be a base calumny to call Porpoise a thin man, or even
stoutish. Mr. Porpoise does not know what it is to be cold, and how
there comes to be anything left of Porpoise after a severely hot summer
is next door to miraculous. Porpoise moves himself about the shop,
and about a room: he does not walk: indeed, I don’t think that
anyone ever yet saw his legs, which are generally behind a long white
apron which he wears, so to speak, theatrically; that is, if you were to
call a drama Porpoise, you would commence with such a stage direction
as this : “ Apron goes up: legs discovered, standing.”
Porpoise has a wonderful memory: order after order is given
verbally, every man singly, considering his the important case to which
Porpoise ought to give, if he knows his own interest, his whole and
sole attention, and, with only an occasional memorandum of an address,
not a lock of your wig that you were so careful in ordering, will be
omitted, not a curl twisted the wrong way, not a hair but as your
worship commanded it. Nipper is most exacting : so is Alp Poodel.
They both try several wigs, and make grimaces at themselves in the
glass, Porpoise not moving a muscle. If Mr. Porpoise is in a hurry,
and has more important business to attend to, he will smile, approv-
ingly, at the first face that either Nipper, or Alf Poodel pulls ; which
admiration from such a man as Porpoise (“ Porpoise, you know, who
is intimate with all the professionals, and doesn’t laugh at things
unless they’re really good,” as Nipper wisely puts it) decides either
of them at once.
“I think that’ll do for Peter Spriggins,” remarks Nipper, who
generally chooses a close crop of light or red hair.
“ Couldn’t be better, Sir,” returns Porpoise : whereupon Alf
Poodel, who is tired of waiting for his turn with Porpoise’s wigs,
observes that if he (Poodel) was Nipper, he should certainly fix on
tliat wig for Spriggins. By which he delicately hints to Nipper, you
see, that he is not the only person in the world who can play Peter
Spriggins.
It is the same in the dressing-room, where Nipper, we’ll say, is
waiting for Poodel's face to be finished by Mr. Porpoise.
Porpoise can get up a face capitally, if he gives his mind to it.
His general rule (when he doesn’t give his mind to it, but works
mechanically) may be stated thus :—
Young Gent, somebody’s lover. Rub hare’s-foot, with rouge, over
cheeks, sharply but lightly. Powder the nose. Only takes half a
minute.
“ Shan’t I black my eyebrows?” inquires Young Gent, somebody’s
lover, not liking to be dismissed in this abrupt manner.
“ If you like, Sir,” says Porpoise, more in sorrow than in anger; as
much as to say, “ Well, black ’em if you like; only a jolly guy you ’ll
be when you ’ve done it.”
So the Young Gent cedes his chair before the glass to some other
i character, and goes into a corner to consult a friend as to “ how, he
thinks, he does ; ” with whose opinion, when given, he is of course
| more or less dissatisfied, and is subsequently found alone before a
looking-glass in a separate dressing-room, surreptitiously blacking bis
eyebrows and moustache with burnt cork, which comes off on Clorinda’s
cheek when that kiss is given on the stage, of which they have been so
shy during the rehearsals.
Old Gent by Mr. Porpoise. White powder all over. Black line
with thin paint-brush down each side of the nose. Little black of
burnt cork rubbed into cheeks where the hollow should be.
Three little lines at the corner of each eye.
More lines on the forehead. Whitened eyebrows.
“ Grey ’air or scalp ? ” asks Mr. Porpoise. The Amateur replies by
asking which he, Porpoise, thinks the better.
“ You ’re not to be too old, Sir ? ” says Porpoise, who hasn’t an idea
what Ihe character is.
“ No, not too old,” returns the Amateur, who beyond having learnt
t he words of the part, knows as much about the character as Porpoise
himself.
“ Grey ’air, then Sir’s best,” says Porpoise, and fixes the wig
adroitly on his customer’s head.
Guards, Noblemen, and Peasants, Porpoise dismisses with a dab of
rouge on each cheek, and a bold dash of burnt cork when moustachios
are begged and prayed for. •
Porpoise is a long time making up Nipper, and Nipper watches
the operation closely. Alf Poodel stands by, and exclaims, after
waiting for two minutes and a half, “Hang it, Nipper, You'll do very
well. Never saw anything better. Now let me come, as 1 ’ve got. to
go on immediately.” But Nipper’s not to be hurried, and not a line
of black, or a dab of red or white is to be omitted, simply because Alf
Poodel won’t have time for his own toilette. Sometimes Porpoise,
who never loses either his temper, presence of mind, or his comb, even
under the most trying circumstances, will say to some old hand of an
Amateur, who has been bothering him, “There, Sir, there’s the hare’s-
foot and the indian ink, you can make yourself up, can’t you, Sir ? ”
and flattered by this opinion of Porpoise’s, the Amateur goes to work
gingerly, and experiences much difficulty as to getting the candles
right on either side of the glass. At the end of a quarter of an hour’s
screwing up his mouth, elevating and depressing his eyebrows, toning
down a splotch of black which ought to have been a thin line, wiping
off a quantity of powder which had made him too pale, rubbing off apatch
of carmine which had made him too red, and having twice dipped the
paint-brush in the gum by mistake for the water, he refers himself to
Porpoise, who, having painted, got up and done for an entire set of
characters while he has been hard at work on only one face, and that
his own, says without any show of triumph,
“ Sit down, Sir. Now what are you. Sir ? ”
“ Sort of Brigand or Robber Captain,” returns the Amateur, and
in two minutes he leaves that chair the incarnation of scoundrelism ;
that is, if burnt cork, indian ink and carmine go for anything.
The Ladies have a great deal of consultation about their own dresses,
and artistically match their colours. They are so obliging to one
another.
“ My dear,” says Mrs. Byrde to Kate Chesser, “ if you like to
wear the mauve, I ’ll wear the pink.”
Then they discover that as they don’t appear in the same scene
together, each can be left to her own choice.
So while they were all consnlting about dresses, and lights, and ;
make-ups, Goosey would be indefatigably practising the Brigand’s
song to Miss Ida’s accompaniment.
Then came the great Dress Rehearsal, which was to have commenced
at seven, but didn’t till half-past eight, and when we only got through
half the operetta, and everybody lost their temper, except the couple
above-mentioned, who appeared thoroughly satisfied with everything
and everybody.
After which we had another Dress Rehearsal for the Parce and. the
remainder of Mr. Kyng Fyscher’s operetta, and then came the night
of performance.
It was on this night that the Goose proposed to the Little Duck;
but as that was in a very quiet corner of the room when the dancing
had commenced, you and I, my friends, (it being no business of ours if
two young people go and make donkeys of themselves) will join the
crowd of Birds, Beasts, and Pishes in the Supper Room.
After you, if you please. Enter.
{Td\be Continued.)
- * . _
ERNEST JONES.
We have not so many men among us (we do not forget him who
might now be Chancellor) who; are ready to sacrifice £2000 a year, for
conviction, that we need be afraid of being often asked to assist their
widows and children. Ernest? Jones, however, made this sacrifice,
and his family, consequently, heeds aid. Lord Lytton, though a
Conservative, can hardly be more opposed to the political faith of
Ernest Jones than Mr. Punch is. The author of The Caxtons re-
membered only that a brave man had died poor, and sent generous aid.
Conservatives, you may safely follow the lead. Liberals, you need no
bidding to follow Mr. Punch's. Any contribution may be safely sent
to the “Ernest Jones Fund,” 20, Cockspur Street, Charing Cross.
For the mere literary point of honour, there should surely be no
distress in the household of him who wrote the noble lyric beginning,—
“ Chief of the North ! From the labours of war
Lay thee to rest on thy pillow of Death :
For thy funeral torch Heaven kindles a star,
And the tempest that rides on the conquering ear
For thee clothes in thunder the might of his breath.”
Note for Ill-used Nuns.
Newspapers state that Dr. Manning has consented, to become
Chairman of the Committee formed to collect subscriptions for the
purpose of defraying the costs of the late trial, Saurin v. Starr. It
was suggested by the Popish press that Miss Sadrin ought, instead of
going to law with her Mother Superior, to have appealed to the titular
Archbishop of Westminster. Now that he has taken up Mrs.
Starr, we see what Miss Sadrin would have got by doing that.
ecclesiastical intelligence.
We rejoice to hear that the Musical Services of St. Paul’s have been
much improved by Canon Gregory. Congregations will doubtless bo
attracted to the Cathedral by its Gregorian music.
His Favourite Dish.—Lamb is now in perfection. There is no
one so likely to enjoy his Mint sauce as—Mr. Fremantle.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[April 17, 1869.
Nipper and Poodel call together on Porpoise. His shop is in a
theatrical neighbourhood, and it is not improbable that you may actu-
ally meet real actors (think of that!) coming out, or may pop in upon
Mr. Bdckstone, or even the great Mr. Phelps trying on a wig!!
Such happiness as this does sometimes fall to the lot of persistent
amateurs. But though amateurs go to Porpoise every day, the visits
of actors, like those of angels, are few and far between—that is, in these
days of long runs and stupendous successes.
It would be a base calumny to call Porpoise a thin man, or even
stoutish. Mr. Porpoise does not know what it is to be cold, and how
there comes to be anything left of Porpoise after a severely hot summer
is next door to miraculous. Porpoise moves himself about the shop,
and about a room: he does not walk: indeed, I don’t think that
anyone ever yet saw his legs, which are generally behind a long white
apron which he wears, so to speak, theatrically; that is, if you were to
call a drama Porpoise, you would commence with such a stage direction
as this : “ Apron goes up: legs discovered, standing.”
Porpoise has a wonderful memory: order after order is given
verbally, every man singly, considering his the important case to which
Porpoise ought to give, if he knows his own interest, his whole and
sole attention, and, with only an occasional memorandum of an address,
not a lock of your wig that you were so careful in ordering, will be
omitted, not a curl twisted the wrong way, not a hair but as your
worship commanded it. Nipper is most exacting : so is Alp Poodel.
They both try several wigs, and make grimaces at themselves in the
glass, Porpoise not moving a muscle. If Mr. Porpoise is in a hurry,
and has more important business to attend to, he will smile, approv-
ingly, at the first face that either Nipper, or Alf Poodel pulls ; which
admiration from such a man as Porpoise (“ Porpoise, you know, who
is intimate with all the professionals, and doesn’t laugh at things
unless they’re really good,” as Nipper wisely puts it) decides either
of them at once.
“I think that’ll do for Peter Spriggins,” remarks Nipper, who
generally chooses a close crop of light or red hair.
“ Couldn’t be better, Sir,” returns Porpoise : whereupon Alf
Poodel, who is tired of waiting for his turn with Porpoise’s wigs,
observes that if he (Poodel) was Nipper, he should certainly fix on
tliat wig for Spriggins. By which he delicately hints to Nipper, you
see, that he is not the only person in the world who can play Peter
Spriggins.
It is the same in the dressing-room, where Nipper, we’ll say, is
waiting for Poodel's face to be finished by Mr. Porpoise.
Porpoise can get up a face capitally, if he gives his mind to it.
His general rule (when he doesn’t give his mind to it, but works
mechanically) may be stated thus :—
Young Gent, somebody’s lover. Rub hare’s-foot, with rouge, over
cheeks, sharply but lightly. Powder the nose. Only takes half a
minute.
“ Shan’t I black my eyebrows?” inquires Young Gent, somebody’s
lover, not liking to be dismissed in this abrupt manner.
“ If you like, Sir,” says Porpoise, more in sorrow than in anger; as
much as to say, “ Well, black ’em if you like; only a jolly guy you ’ll
be when you ’ve done it.”
So the Young Gent cedes his chair before the glass to some other
i character, and goes into a corner to consult a friend as to “ how, he
thinks, he does ; ” with whose opinion, when given, he is of course
| more or less dissatisfied, and is subsequently found alone before a
looking-glass in a separate dressing-room, surreptitiously blacking bis
eyebrows and moustache with burnt cork, which comes off on Clorinda’s
cheek when that kiss is given on the stage, of which they have been so
shy during the rehearsals.
Old Gent by Mr. Porpoise. White powder all over. Black line
with thin paint-brush down each side of the nose. Little black of
burnt cork rubbed into cheeks where the hollow should be.
Three little lines at the corner of each eye.
More lines on the forehead. Whitened eyebrows.
“ Grey ’air or scalp ? ” asks Mr. Porpoise. The Amateur replies by
asking which he, Porpoise, thinks the better.
“ You ’re not to be too old, Sir ? ” says Porpoise, who hasn’t an idea
what Ihe character is.
“ No, not too old,” returns the Amateur, who beyond having learnt
t he words of the part, knows as much about the character as Porpoise
himself.
“ Grey ’air, then Sir’s best,” says Porpoise, and fixes the wig
adroitly on his customer’s head.
Guards, Noblemen, and Peasants, Porpoise dismisses with a dab of
rouge on each cheek, and a bold dash of burnt cork when moustachios
are begged and prayed for. •
Porpoise is a long time making up Nipper, and Nipper watches
the operation closely. Alf Poodel stands by, and exclaims, after
waiting for two minutes and a half, “Hang it, Nipper, You'll do very
well. Never saw anything better. Now let me come, as 1 ’ve got. to
go on immediately.” But Nipper’s not to be hurried, and not a line
of black, or a dab of red or white is to be omitted, simply because Alf
Poodel won’t have time for his own toilette. Sometimes Porpoise,
who never loses either his temper, presence of mind, or his comb, even
under the most trying circumstances, will say to some old hand of an
Amateur, who has been bothering him, “There, Sir, there’s the hare’s-
foot and the indian ink, you can make yourself up, can’t you, Sir ? ”
and flattered by this opinion of Porpoise’s, the Amateur goes to work
gingerly, and experiences much difficulty as to getting the candles
right on either side of the glass. At the end of a quarter of an hour’s
screwing up his mouth, elevating and depressing his eyebrows, toning
down a splotch of black which ought to have been a thin line, wiping
off a quantity of powder which had made him too pale, rubbing off apatch
of carmine which had made him too red, and having twice dipped the
paint-brush in the gum by mistake for the water, he refers himself to
Porpoise, who, having painted, got up and done for an entire set of
characters while he has been hard at work on only one face, and that
his own, says without any show of triumph,
“ Sit down, Sir. Now what are you. Sir ? ”
“ Sort of Brigand or Robber Captain,” returns the Amateur, and
in two minutes he leaves that chair the incarnation of scoundrelism ;
that is, if burnt cork, indian ink and carmine go for anything.
The Ladies have a great deal of consultation about their own dresses,
and artistically match their colours. They are so obliging to one
another.
“ My dear,” says Mrs. Byrde to Kate Chesser, “ if you like to
wear the mauve, I ’ll wear the pink.”
Then they discover that as they don’t appear in the same scene
together, each can be left to her own choice.
So while they were all consnlting about dresses, and lights, and ;
make-ups, Goosey would be indefatigably practising the Brigand’s
song to Miss Ida’s accompaniment.
Then came the great Dress Rehearsal, which was to have commenced
at seven, but didn’t till half-past eight, and when we only got through
half the operetta, and everybody lost their temper, except the couple
above-mentioned, who appeared thoroughly satisfied with everything
and everybody.
After which we had another Dress Rehearsal for the Parce and. the
remainder of Mr. Kyng Fyscher’s operetta, and then came the night
of performance.
It was on this night that the Goose proposed to the Little Duck;
but as that was in a very quiet corner of the room when the dancing
had commenced, you and I, my friends, (it being no business of ours if
two young people go and make donkeys of themselves) will join the
crowd of Birds, Beasts, and Pishes in the Supper Room.
After you, if you please. Enter.
{Td\be Continued.)
- * . _
ERNEST JONES.
We have not so many men among us (we do not forget him who
might now be Chancellor) who; are ready to sacrifice £2000 a year, for
conviction, that we need be afraid of being often asked to assist their
widows and children. Ernest? Jones, however, made this sacrifice,
and his family, consequently, heeds aid. Lord Lytton, though a
Conservative, can hardly be more opposed to the political faith of
Ernest Jones than Mr. Punch is. The author of The Caxtons re-
membered only that a brave man had died poor, and sent generous aid.
Conservatives, you may safely follow the lead. Liberals, you need no
bidding to follow Mr. Punch's. Any contribution may be safely sent
to the “Ernest Jones Fund,” 20, Cockspur Street, Charing Cross.
For the mere literary point of honour, there should surely be no
distress in the household of him who wrote the noble lyric beginning,—
“ Chief of the North ! From the labours of war
Lay thee to rest on thy pillow of Death :
For thy funeral torch Heaven kindles a star,
And the tempest that rides on the conquering ear
For thee clothes in thunder the might of his breath.”
Note for Ill-used Nuns.
Newspapers state that Dr. Manning has consented, to become
Chairman of the Committee formed to collect subscriptions for the
purpose of defraying the costs of the late trial, Saurin v. Starr. It
was suggested by the Popish press that Miss Sadrin ought, instead of
going to law with her Mother Superior, to have appealed to the titular
Archbishop of Westminster. Now that he has taken up Mrs.
Starr, we see what Miss Sadrin would have got by doing that.
ecclesiastical intelligence.
We rejoice to hear that the Musical Services of St. Paul’s have been
much improved by Canon Gregory. Congregations will doubtless bo
attracted to the Cathedral by its Gregorian music.
His Favourite Dish.—Lamb is now in perfection. There is no
one so likely to enjoy his Mint sauce as—Mr. Fremantle.