DOI Heft:
January 24, 1874
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16938#0040
32
PUNCH, OK THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [January 24. 1874
OUR REPRESENTATIVE MAN.
After a Visit to a fine Old Melodrama, entitled, “ Raymond and
Agnes.”
/\ S usual, Sir, when
your Representa-
'' tive pledges his
word—-(you will
probably observe
that he must be
indeed hard up
to pledge such a
thing; hut this is
only your cyni-
cism, and you do
not mean it)—
he redeems his
pledge. He said,
I mean that I said
as Your Repre-
sentative, that I
would go and re-
visit the Hay-
market, and see
Raymond and
Agnes. This melo-
drama is the after-piece, and must be seen, and. studied, to he
thoroughly appreciated. So I went, saw, and studied ; and let me
inform Me. Buckstone that, as the tags of the dear good old farces
used to say, there was “ not a happier party sat down to supper
on that night,” i.e., when I saw this melodrama, than (bowing to
audience) Your Representative. {Curtain. Applause.) But to my
tale. The worst of it is, and here I apologise, Kenealyly, for any
trifling inaccuracies in my account, that I have lost the bill, forgotten
some of the names, and in a general way trust to my memory. But
on that memory the chief features of Raymond and Agnes, or the
Bleeding Nun of Lindenberg, have been indelibly impressed.
Act I. Scene 1. A pooriy-furnished chamber in a Castle belong-
ing to Raymond’s Father, Baron Sternliold. That is, I think his
name was Sternhold, because it reminded me of Hopkins (Stern-
hold and Hopkins, Psalmists, old metre), but as it might not have
been Sternhold, and certainly wasn’t Hopkins, no harm can be done
by assuming it to have been the latter; say, Baron Hopkins, or
amalgamate the two, and call him Sternkins. This scene is not
described in the bill. That I noticed. In fact, as far as I recollect,
no scene seems to be considered of any importance in the piece until
we get to the Robbers’ Hut, and that is a startler; rather. But I
must not anticipate. Well, in this meanly-furnished apartment, in
Baron Sternkins’’ Castle, are Don Raymond and his servant Theodore
engaged in “packing up.” Theodore is kneeling at a shabby old
leather portmanteau, which, though it would be a tolerably fair size
for clothes of the present day, yet could no more hold a second
Spanish suit, such as Don Raymond wears, than it could take in
my best hat without considerably injuring it. Of course Don
Raymond must have a change of clothes and boots, and, evidently,
as he is en voyage, what he has got on cannot be his Sunday best.
But he can’t manage it in that portmanteau, and as he doesn’t con-
descend to enter into details, we can only suppose that he intends
to buy some new things when he arrives at his destination, where,
probably, the fashion will he different to what it is where Baron
Sternkins’ Castle is situated.
But here we come to a geographical difficulty. The Bleeding
Nun is a work of Genius, and Genius is above rules. Everybody,
including Baron Sternkins, looks unmistakably Spanish. Raymond
is a Spanish name: Sternkins is my nom de plume for his father,
whose Christian name, I now remember, is Felix: and he is Don
Felix. Spanish again: no mistaking his breed, any more than
one can be wrong about a handsome black fowl. Therefore, from
information received from Don Felix, who gives his son, Ray-
mond, two thousand pistoles, which are incautiously packed up by
Theodore among the linen in the portmanteau, we may take it as
certain that Raymond is about to quit the Castle and journey to
Lindenberg. How where’s Lindenberg? Germany, I should say.
But from certain dialogue which subsequently occurs, your Repre-
sentative would, at the conclusion of the piece, have been inclined
to describe Lindenberg, in any Gazetteer of the period, as a place in
Germany, somewhere near Madrid, on the high-road to Strasbourg.
But of course the map has been considerably altered since then.
However, off goes Don Raymond, after listening to a discourse
from Don Felix, who is a regular old proser recovering apparently
from a recent severe cold (I was really quite glad to see him looking
so well, but should have advised him to leave off his fur trimmings
in the house), and arrives at the Second Scene, which represents a
convent, and a pot-house. Where we were now, Your Representative
was unable to learn : but I fancy we were not far from Madrid, but
still a long way off Lindenberg. Here Don Raymond, lounging in
the door of the pot-house, (a low pot-house and a low door-way) sees
his Agnes issue from the convent and join her Duenna, with whom
she {Agnes) is going to Lindenberg. “ All for Lindenberg! ” Ray-
mond is much struck with the beauty of Agnes, but nothing particu-
lar seems to come of it, as he hires a Guide to conduct himself and
his servant, Theodore, who is always lugging about the old port-
manteau, in such a bumping, thumping way, as to ensure the hair-oil
being all among the linen before they get to the end of their journey.
Don Raymond, however, is an indulgent master, as he makes no
remark on his servant’s carelessness : but, perhaps, no hair-oil has
been packed up.
The Guide is a villain, and a traitor ; so was the low publican at
whose pot-house Raymond had refreshed himself. Any one could
have seen that with half an eye.
Scene 3. A Wood-cutter’s Hut. Mr. Braid (I forget what his
playbill name is), here appears as the Woodcutter, and admits to
the audience, in a compact soliloquy, that he is a thorough-paced
scoundrel, but at the same time complains that he is ill-treated by
the other thorough-paced scoundrels, who neglect him, and leave
him all alone in the forest without any kind of cheerful society.
The Woodcutter’s villanous trade is to, as it were, play at being
a Woodcutter while he is really, you see, a Robber, and in order the
more completely to take in unwary travellers, and the more effectu-
ally to accomplish his nefarious designs, he tries to inspire his chance
customers with confidence, by wearing an enormous carving-knife
stuck, most ostentatiously, in his broad belt. It is strange how the
cleverest rascals overreach themselves by some trifling act of care-
lessness, or of vanity.
Your Representative was inclined to attribute this oversight about
the carving-knife more to a foolish vanity, on the Woodcutting
Robber’s part, than to stupidity. Don Raymond and Theodore
(still lugging the portmanteau) accept the Woodcutter’s hospitality
for the night, in consequence of their carriage having been purposely
upset by the treacherous Guide, and enter his house.
Scene 4. Interior of the Woodcutter’s Hut.— From the exterior in
the previous Scene no one could have imagined it had so much ac-
commodation. On the ground-floor is the dining-room, above is the
bed-room, in which we see an uncomfortable-looking bed made on
an incline. The Woodcutter welcomes Raymond and his servant,
and tells his wife which rooms to prepare for them. This order
makes the poor woman shudder. She is, she says, becoming rather
ennuye’d by these constant scenes of violence. “ More blood! ” she
exclaims, aside, on first seeing the travellers. In fact, she is heartily
sick of the whole concern, and, adopting, apparently, the motto of
“ Anything for a change,” she determines to assist Don Raymond.
And herein her ingenuity is marvellous. She first says,to herself,
aside, “How can I warn him?” and is evidently in a dilemma;
but, as she is going in for excitement, she soon overcomes the pre-
liminary difficulties, and adopts expedients, which are probably sug-
gested to her by her earliest reminiscences of being taken to a
theatre to see a pantomime, as they are of such a simple but effective
nature, as hiding behind bed-curtains, and popping out suddenly,
even without saying “Bo!” As a matter of fact, she never does
get beyond these efforts, which, being repeated two or three times,
appear to have exhausted her fund of originality. Still, she has a
good night of it, and, as her object was novelty, she obtains it, and
enjoys her little amusements thoroughly.
How enter a couple of unhung scoundrels, whom the thorough-
paced villain of a Woodcutter has described as “two fine young
men—my sons by a former marriage,” which Your Representative
was inclined to think was a statement no more to be believed than
anything else he said, for the eldest and most abandoned, named
Robert (never once called Bob by any of the family), certainly
seemed to be his father’s senior by some years. Crime may have
effected this result. The other Rohber was Robert’s junior by ten
years (bringing; this one to something like five years younger than
their juvenile father), and was altogether a more gentlemanly crea-
ture, and intended for better things than throat-cutting in a
“ cottage near a wood.”
The two brothers differ materially in disposition: the elder,
Robert, short, round as a tub, sulky, and sullen; and the younger—
(we’ll call him Richard, because “Robert and Richard were two
pretty men,”—and they are that, the pair of ’em!)—and the
younger, Richard, is inclined to be light-hearted.
Raymond is shown to his room by the sulky Robert, who presses
him to give up his sword, remarking, sensibly enough, that “ he
can’t want it while he’s asleep.” The guileless traveller is wide-
awake, however, and without going into details, gives it to be
understood that he couldn’t sleep a wink without his sword, having,
perhaps, been accustomed to it, from childhood upwards. The baffled
Robert leaves him, trying, up to the last, to show by his manner,
how hurt he has been by the traveller’s refusing .his request. Then
the guileless traveller has a nice quiet night of it. First the sulky
Robert re-enters stealthily, and is just posing himself, in order to
stick his dagger into the traveller—by the way, this is, as subse-
I
{
l
i
!
I
\
\
[
P
PUNCH, OK THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [January 24. 1874
OUR REPRESENTATIVE MAN.
After a Visit to a fine Old Melodrama, entitled, “ Raymond and
Agnes.”
/\ S usual, Sir, when
your Representa-
'' tive pledges his
word—-(you will
probably observe
that he must be
indeed hard up
to pledge such a
thing; hut this is
only your cyni-
cism, and you do
not mean it)—
he redeems his
pledge. He said,
I mean that I said
as Your Repre-
sentative, that I
would go and re-
visit the Hay-
market, and see
Raymond and
Agnes. This melo-
drama is the after-piece, and must be seen, and. studied, to he
thoroughly appreciated. So I went, saw, and studied ; and let me
inform Me. Buckstone that, as the tags of the dear good old farces
used to say, there was “ not a happier party sat down to supper
on that night,” i.e., when I saw this melodrama, than (bowing to
audience) Your Representative. {Curtain. Applause.) But to my
tale. The worst of it is, and here I apologise, Kenealyly, for any
trifling inaccuracies in my account, that I have lost the bill, forgotten
some of the names, and in a general way trust to my memory. But
on that memory the chief features of Raymond and Agnes, or the
Bleeding Nun of Lindenberg, have been indelibly impressed.
Act I. Scene 1. A pooriy-furnished chamber in a Castle belong-
ing to Raymond’s Father, Baron Sternliold. That is, I think his
name was Sternhold, because it reminded me of Hopkins (Stern-
hold and Hopkins, Psalmists, old metre), but as it might not have
been Sternhold, and certainly wasn’t Hopkins, no harm can be done
by assuming it to have been the latter; say, Baron Hopkins, or
amalgamate the two, and call him Sternkins. This scene is not
described in the bill. That I noticed. In fact, as far as I recollect,
no scene seems to be considered of any importance in the piece until
we get to the Robbers’ Hut, and that is a startler; rather. But I
must not anticipate. Well, in this meanly-furnished apartment, in
Baron Sternkins’’ Castle, are Don Raymond and his servant Theodore
engaged in “packing up.” Theodore is kneeling at a shabby old
leather portmanteau, which, though it would be a tolerably fair size
for clothes of the present day, yet could no more hold a second
Spanish suit, such as Don Raymond wears, than it could take in
my best hat without considerably injuring it. Of course Don
Raymond must have a change of clothes and boots, and, evidently,
as he is en voyage, what he has got on cannot be his Sunday best.
But he can’t manage it in that portmanteau, and as he doesn’t con-
descend to enter into details, we can only suppose that he intends
to buy some new things when he arrives at his destination, where,
probably, the fashion will he different to what it is where Baron
Sternkins’ Castle is situated.
But here we come to a geographical difficulty. The Bleeding
Nun is a work of Genius, and Genius is above rules. Everybody,
including Baron Sternkins, looks unmistakably Spanish. Raymond
is a Spanish name: Sternkins is my nom de plume for his father,
whose Christian name, I now remember, is Felix: and he is Don
Felix. Spanish again: no mistaking his breed, any more than
one can be wrong about a handsome black fowl. Therefore, from
information received from Don Felix, who gives his son, Ray-
mond, two thousand pistoles, which are incautiously packed up by
Theodore among the linen in the portmanteau, we may take it as
certain that Raymond is about to quit the Castle and journey to
Lindenberg. How where’s Lindenberg? Germany, I should say.
But from certain dialogue which subsequently occurs, your Repre-
sentative would, at the conclusion of the piece, have been inclined
to describe Lindenberg, in any Gazetteer of the period, as a place in
Germany, somewhere near Madrid, on the high-road to Strasbourg.
But of course the map has been considerably altered since then.
However, off goes Don Raymond, after listening to a discourse
from Don Felix, who is a regular old proser recovering apparently
from a recent severe cold (I was really quite glad to see him looking
so well, but should have advised him to leave off his fur trimmings
in the house), and arrives at the Second Scene, which represents a
convent, and a pot-house. Where we were now, Your Representative
was unable to learn : but I fancy we were not far from Madrid, but
still a long way off Lindenberg. Here Don Raymond, lounging in
the door of the pot-house, (a low pot-house and a low door-way) sees
his Agnes issue from the convent and join her Duenna, with whom
she {Agnes) is going to Lindenberg. “ All for Lindenberg! ” Ray-
mond is much struck with the beauty of Agnes, but nothing particu-
lar seems to come of it, as he hires a Guide to conduct himself and
his servant, Theodore, who is always lugging about the old port-
manteau, in such a bumping, thumping way, as to ensure the hair-oil
being all among the linen before they get to the end of their journey.
Don Raymond, however, is an indulgent master, as he makes no
remark on his servant’s carelessness : but, perhaps, no hair-oil has
been packed up.
The Guide is a villain, and a traitor ; so was the low publican at
whose pot-house Raymond had refreshed himself. Any one could
have seen that with half an eye.
Scene 3. A Wood-cutter’s Hut. Mr. Braid (I forget what his
playbill name is), here appears as the Woodcutter, and admits to
the audience, in a compact soliloquy, that he is a thorough-paced
scoundrel, but at the same time complains that he is ill-treated by
the other thorough-paced scoundrels, who neglect him, and leave
him all alone in the forest without any kind of cheerful society.
The Woodcutter’s villanous trade is to, as it were, play at being
a Woodcutter while he is really, you see, a Robber, and in order the
more completely to take in unwary travellers, and the more effectu-
ally to accomplish his nefarious designs, he tries to inspire his chance
customers with confidence, by wearing an enormous carving-knife
stuck, most ostentatiously, in his broad belt. It is strange how the
cleverest rascals overreach themselves by some trifling act of care-
lessness, or of vanity.
Your Representative was inclined to attribute this oversight about
the carving-knife more to a foolish vanity, on the Woodcutting
Robber’s part, than to stupidity. Don Raymond and Theodore
(still lugging the portmanteau) accept the Woodcutter’s hospitality
for the night, in consequence of their carriage having been purposely
upset by the treacherous Guide, and enter his house.
Scene 4. Interior of the Woodcutter’s Hut.— From the exterior in
the previous Scene no one could have imagined it had so much ac-
commodation. On the ground-floor is the dining-room, above is the
bed-room, in which we see an uncomfortable-looking bed made on
an incline. The Woodcutter welcomes Raymond and his servant,
and tells his wife which rooms to prepare for them. This order
makes the poor woman shudder. She is, she says, becoming rather
ennuye’d by these constant scenes of violence. “ More blood! ” she
exclaims, aside, on first seeing the travellers. In fact, she is heartily
sick of the whole concern, and, adopting, apparently, the motto of
“ Anything for a change,” she determines to assist Don Raymond.
And herein her ingenuity is marvellous. She first says,to herself,
aside, “How can I warn him?” and is evidently in a dilemma;
but, as she is going in for excitement, she soon overcomes the pre-
liminary difficulties, and adopts expedients, which are probably sug-
gested to her by her earliest reminiscences of being taken to a
theatre to see a pantomime, as they are of such a simple but effective
nature, as hiding behind bed-curtains, and popping out suddenly,
even without saying “Bo!” As a matter of fact, she never does
get beyond these efforts, which, being repeated two or three times,
appear to have exhausted her fund of originality. Still, she has a
good night of it, and, as her object was novelty, she obtains it, and
enjoys her little amusements thoroughly.
How enter a couple of unhung scoundrels, whom the thorough-
paced villain of a Woodcutter has described as “two fine young
men—my sons by a former marriage,” which Your Representative
was inclined to think was a statement no more to be believed than
anything else he said, for the eldest and most abandoned, named
Robert (never once called Bob by any of the family), certainly
seemed to be his father’s senior by some years. Crime may have
effected this result. The other Rohber was Robert’s junior by ten
years (bringing; this one to something like five years younger than
their juvenile father), and was altogether a more gentlemanly crea-
ture, and intended for better things than throat-cutting in a
“ cottage near a wood.”
The two brothers differ materially in disposition: the elder,
Robert, short, round as a tub, sulky, and sullen; and the younger—
(we’ll call him Richard, because “Robert and Richard were two
pretty men,”—and they are that, the pair of ’em!)—and the
younger, Richard, is inclined to be light-hearted.
Raymond is shown to his room by the sulky Robert, who presses
him to give up his sword, remarking, sensibly enough, that “ he
can’t want it while he’s asleep.” The guileless traveller is wide-
awake, however, and without going into details, gives it to be
understood that he couldn’t sleep a wink without his sword, having,
perhaps, been accustomed to it, from childhood upwards. The baffled
Robert leaves him, trying, up to the last, to show by his manner,
how hurt he has been by the traveller’s refusing .his request. Then
the guileless traveller has a nice quiet night of it. First the sulky
Robert re-enters stealthily, and is just posing himself, in order to
stick his dagger into the traveller—by the way, this is, as subse-
I
{
l
i
!
I
\
\
[
P