DOI Heft:
October 10, 1874
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16939#0159
October 10, 1874.]
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
151
i
I
THE LATEST INTELLIGENCE.
E find that Co-opera-
tion, after cheapen-
ing our hosiery and
abolishing adulter-
ation in our grocery,
is gradually ex-
tending its useful-
ness to other
matters of import-
ance. Already a
Society of Country
Editors have com-
bined together to
secure from the pen
of a popular novelist
a Romance to be
published simul-
taneously in the
pages of all their
respective “ or-
tans,” and every
ay the Central
Press usurps more
and more the posts
once so ably filled
by “ Our Special
Correspondents” in
London. In fur-
therance of this
movement, Mr.
Punch, ever ready to march with the spirit of the times, begs to present the
Provincial Editors of the United Kingdom with a few items of news, that they
will find, on examination, to be more instructive, more amusing, and infinitely
more reliable than the vast majority of those they receive from their unscru-
pulous reporters at this—the dead—season of the year.
The Licensing Laws.—On and after the 1st of No-
vember, 1874, all the Public-houses in Central Africa
will be open on Sundays for the entertainment of Bond
fide Travellers.
Visit oe Distinguished Foreigners in London.—
Many Frenchmen have arrived recently in Leicester
Square. The Germans, as the name of the locality
would suggest, prefer to reside in “ Soho.”
New Metropolitan Markets.—Fruit is now sold
in Covent Garden, and fish at Billingsgate. At the
last-mentioned market the school system, as practised
at Eton, Winchester, and Westminster, has been intro-
duced, and the fish “ fags ” are both hardy and
numerous.
Correction.—There is no truth in the report that
the British Association for the Advancement of Science,
at the recent meeting of its members, decided that the
moon was composed of some substance other than green
cheese.
Strange Statistics.—It has been estimated by a
celebrated mathematician that no less than 25,000 people
of the name of Smith pass St. Paul’s Cathedral daily,
between the hours of ten and four. Another celebrated
mathematician asserts that there is enough smoke in
London to propel a steam-tug from Liverpool to Pekin.
The Weather.—Strange to say, but owing probably
to the mixture of sunshine and rain that has dis-
tinguished the past summer, no showers of frogs have
been reported as yet at the Royal Observatory, Green-
wich. The gooseberries, too, have not been nearly so
fine as usual.
Death of a Sovereign.—It is with the deepest regret
that we announce the mournful news that her Most
Gracious Majesty Queen Anne has ceased to exist.
Motto over the Conductor’s Seat in one of the
new Normal-Pitch Orchestras.—Tempora mutantur.
OUR REPRESENTATIVE MAN.
Visits the Opera Comique, and reports thereupon to his Editor.
Sir,—On the front page of the programme of the Opera Comique,
the new Manager (perhaps “ his first appearance in any manage-
ment’’) rushes at the Public with an announcement. He must
make it, he feels he must; he can’t restrain himself any longer : he
says, “ I wish to address to you a few words.”
Well, before the Opera Bouffe commences, let us read what you
wish to say, Mr. R. D’Oyly Carte.
“ It is my desire to establish in London a permanent abode for
light Opera ”—not an unnatural desire in any Manager anxious to
do business on his own account. The gentle R. D’Oyly Carte then
admits that there are difficulties (it is a pity that a Manager should
commence by getting into difficulties—but the admission is candid),
and that even he will “ at first have to claim a measure of indul-
gence from you.” A measure ! this seems to say, “ I’m not perfect;
none of us are perfect. Don’t, please, be too hard on a young and
bashful Manager. I’m only a beginning Carte, only a go-cart: but
come often and see me, and make me your Carte-de-visite.” And
certainly if the Public takes to your programme, Mr. R. D’O. C.,
you may depend upon continual support.
Then he says, “ Confident, however, in ultimately arriving at the
desired result”—which of course means a cartful of money—“I
beg to submit the following programme,”—whereupon we have The
Broken Branch, founded on Gaston Serpette’s Opera La Branche
Cassee. This was a poor beginning. The story is stupid enough,
whether in French or English, ana the music is just a trifle less
dull than the story. But the Public has had a long course of
Operas Bouffes by this time, and wants something more than fan-
tastic dresses, and worn-out, clumsy imitations of the French
cancan.
As a rule, in this sort of entertainment head is nowhere, and leg
everywhere. However, when Opera Bouffe is to stand, or fall, by
its kicking up behind and before, or by a passive display of symme-
trical forms, real or padded, then Opera Bouffe is on its last legs.
This fault is not glaring in The Broken Branch, which, poor thing,
hasn’t even so much as this to go upon. The place in popular
j opinion held by La Fille de Madame Angot is not going to be filled
by La Branche Cassee, nor by anything else that I've heard lately.
The Opera Bouffe being finished, let us see what Mr. Carte has to
say about his Company, and then we can form some opinion of the
probability of his fulfilling his own wishes. A man is to be judged
H v the Company he keeps: let us see what sort of a Company Mr.
L'Oyly Carte keeps:—
“The popular favourite. Miss Pattie Laverne.” Yes, she is
the life and soul of La Branche Cassee, just as Miss Thompson
is at the Charing Cross, and thoroughly deserves all the applause
she obtains. “ Madame Pauline Rita, the well-known concert
singer, will make her first appearance on any stage.” This lady
plays “ Jean, a Cabaret Waiter,” and it was thoughtful of Mr.
Carte to make this apology for her. She can sing ; evervbody, I
suppose, knows that. Not that I did ; but then, obviously, I am
not everybody, and, Sir, only represent on special occasions You,
mon redacteur en chef. No doubt she will improve. Then there is
“Miss Adelaide Newton, the Contralto.” 0, then there’s no
other contralto but Miss Adelaide Newton. Dear me! Let us
make the most of her. I wonder if she has acted much before this ?
Perhaps she has, but I couldn’t swear to it from seeing her this once,
and speaking cautiously as Your Representative. “The Company will
also” (and does) “include Mrs. Power, Mr. J. H. Jarvis” (all the
initials, if you please, because it is important that he shouldn’t be
mistaken for any other Jarvis), “Mr. Appleby,—and I have suc-
ceeded in retaining the American tenor, Mr. Chatterson (of the
Carl Rosa Company), who will make" (and who has made) “ his
debut in London." I felt I must put that announcement in italics.
’Tis not so in the bill, and, therefore, the overwhelming importance
of Mr. R. D’O. Carte’s stupendous effort “ in retaining the
Ame.rica.Ti tenor” is, I regret to say, lost upon the public in general.
Of course they appreciate all that Mr. Carte must have been
obliged to go through, all the sacrifices which he must have made,
all the sleepless nights he must have passed, in order to achieve so
gigantic a success as the retention of “the American tenor, Mr.
Chatterson.” Poor America! What is she doing without her
tenor ? Ah! Mr. R. D’O. Carte, be generous as you are great, and
let America have the tenor back. It will be a wrench and a
struggle, but, after a few nights, take my word for it, you ’ll get
over it, and you really won’t miss him. Occasionally, perchance,
when you hear another voice warbling the notes which he used to
sing, a shade of regret may cross the bright disc of your great mind,
but it will be but transient, and you will soon console yourself for
your heroic act. Let “the American tenor ” fly away; open the
door of the cage, and, though it be with a breaking heart and a
trembling hand, let him return to his native prairies, or wherever
he came from. And on his return let him take the talented person
who does the Heathen Chinee at the Charing Cross Theatre with
him. How delighted America will be to welcome them. We might
throw in Mr. Toole into the bargain. Perhaps, after a few lessons
from so amusing a cuss as the Heathen Chinee, even the English
Droll might be appreciated in New York.
As for the Opera itself, Mr. Carte tells how “ Mr. Du Terreaux
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
151
i
I
THE LATEST INTELLIGENCE.
E find that Co-opera-
tion, after cheapen-
ing our hosiery and
abolishing adulter-
ation in our grocery,
is gradually ex-
tending its useful-
ness to other
matters of import-
ance. Already a
Society of Country
Editors have com-
bined together to
secure from the pen
of a popular novelist
a Romance to be
published simul-
taneously in the
pages of all their
respective “ or-
tans,” and every
ay the Central
Press usurps more
and more the posts
once so ably filled
by “ Our Special
Correspondents” in
London. In fur-
therance of this
movement, Mr.
Punch, ever ready to march with the spirit of the times, begs to present the
Provincial Editors of the United Kingdom with a few items of news, that they
will find, on examination, to be more instructive, more amusing, and infinitely
more reliable than the vast majority of those they receive from their unscru-
pulous reporters at this—the dead—season of the year.
The Licensing Laws.—On and after the 1st of No-
vember, 1874, all the Public-houses in Central Africa
will be open on Sundays for the entertainment of Bond
fide Travellers.
Visit oe Distinguished Foreigners in London.—
Many Frenchmen have arrived recently in Leicester
Square. The Germans, as the name of the locality
would suggest, prefer to reside in “ Soho.”
New Metropolitan Markets.—Fruit is now sold
in Covent Garden, and fish at Billingsgate. At the
last-mentioned market the school system, as practised
at Eton, Winchester, and Westminster, has been intro-
duced, and the fish “ fags ” are both hardy and
numerous.
Correction.—There is no truth in the report that
the British Association for the Advancement of Science,
at the recent meeting of its members, decided that the
moon was composed of some substance other than green
cheese.
Strange Statistics.—It has been estimated by a
celebrated mathematician that no less than 25,000 people
of the name of Smith pass St. Paul’s Cathedral daily,
between the hours of ten and four. Another celebrated
mathematician asserts that there is enough smoke in
London to propel a steam-tug from Liverpool to Pekin.
The Weather.—Strange to say, but owing probably
to the mixture of sunshine and rain that has dis-
tinguished the past summer, no showers of frogs have
been reported as yet at the Royal Observatory, Green-
wich. The gooseberries, too, have not been nearly so
fine as usual.
Death of a Sovereign.—It is with the deepest regret
that we announce the mournful news that her Most
Gracious Majesty Queen Anne has ceased to exist.
Motto over the Conductor’s Seat in one of the
new Normal-Pitch Orchestras.—Tempora mutantur.
OUR REPRESENTATIVE MAN.
Visits the Opera Comique, and reports thereupon to his Editor.
Sir,—On the front page of the programme of the Opera Comique,
the new Manager (perhaps “ his first appearance in any manage-
ment’’) rushes at the Public with an announcement. He must
make it, he feels he must; he can’t restrain himself any longer : he
says, “ I wish to address to you a few words.”
Well, before the Opera Bouffe commences, let us read what you
wish to say, Mr. R. D’Oyly Carte.
“ It is my desire to establish in London a permanent abode for
light Opera ”—not an unnatural desire in any Manager anxious to
do business on his own account. The gentle R. D’Oyly Carte then
admits that there are difficulties (it is a pity that a Manager should
commence by getting into difficulties—but the admission is candid),
and that even he will “ at first have to claim a measure of indul-
gence from you.” A measure ! this seems to say, “ I’m not perfect;
none of us are perfect. Don’t, please, be too hard on a young and
bashful Manager. I’m only a beginning Carte, only a go-cart: but
come often and see me, and make me your Carte-de-visite.” And
certainly if the Public takes to your programme, Mr. R. D’O. C.,
you may depend upon continual support.
Then he says, “ Confident, however, in ultimately arriving at the
desired result”—which of course means a cartful of money—“I
beg to submit the following programme,”—whereupon we have The
Broken Branch, founded on Gaston Serpette’s Opera La Branche
Cassee. This was a poor beginning. The story is stupid enough,
whether in French or English, ana the music is just a trifle less
dull than the story. But the Public has had a long course of
Operas Bouffes by this time, and wants something more than fan-
tastic dresses, and worn-out, clumsy imitations of the French
cancan.
As a rule, in this sort of entertainment head is nowhere, and leg
everywhere. However, when Opera Bouffe is to stand, or fall, by
its kicking up behind and before, or by a passive display of symme-
trical forms, real or padded, then Opera Bouffe is on its last legs.
This fault is not glaring in The Broken Branch, which, poor thing,
hasn’t even so much as this to go upon. The place in popular
j opinion held by La Fille de Madame Angot is not going to be filled
by La Branche Cassee, nor by anything else that I've heard lately.
The Opera Bouffe being finished, let us see what Mr. Carte has to
say about his Company, and then we can form some opinion of the
probability of his fulfilling his own wishes. A man is to be judged
H v the Company he keeps: let us see what sort of a Company Mr.
L'Oyly Carte keeps:—
“The popular favourite. Miss Pattie Laverne.” Yes, she is
the life and soul of La Branche Cassee, just as Miss Thompson
is at the Charing Cross, and thoroughly deserves all the applause
she obtains. “ Madame Pauline Rita, the well-known concert
singer, will make her first appearance on any stage.” This lady
plays “ Jean, a Cabaret Waiter,” and it was thoughtful of Mr.
Carte to make this apology for her. She can sing ; evervbody, I
suppose, knows that. Not that I did ; but then, obviously, I am
not everybody, and, Sir, only represent on special occasions You,
mon redacteur en chef. No doubt she will improve. Then there is
“Miss Adelaide Newton, the Contralto.” 0, then there’s no
other contralto but Miss Adelaide Newton. Dear me! Let us
make the most of her. I wonder if she has acted much before this ?
Perhaps she has, but I couldn’t swear to it from seeing her this once,
and speaking cautiously as Your Representative. “The Company will
also” (and does) “include Mrs. Power, Mr. J. H. Jarvis” (all the
initials, if you please, because it is important that he shouldn’t be
mistaken for any other Jarvis), “Mr. Appleby,—and I have suc-
ceeded in retaining the American tenor, Mr. Chatterson (of the
Carl Rosa Company), who will make" (and who has made) “ his
debut in London." I felt I must put that announcement in italics.
’Tis not so in the bill, and, therefore, the overwhelming importance
of Mr. R. D’O. Carte’s stupendous effort “ in retaining the
Ame.rica.Ti tenor” is, I regret to say, lost upon the public in general.
Of course they appreciate all that Mr. Carte must have been
obliged to go through, all the sacrifices which he must have made,
all the sleepless nights he must have passed, in order to achieve so
gigantic a success as the retention of “the American tenor, Mr.
Chatterson.” Poor America! What is she doing without her
tenor ? Ah! Mr. R. D’O. Carte, be generous as you are great, and
let America have the tenor back. It will be a wrench and a
struggle, but, after a few nights, take my word for it, you ’ll get
over it, and you really won’t miss him. Occasionally, perchance,
when you hear another voice warbling the notes which he used to
sing, a shade of regret may cross the bright disc of your great mind,
but it will be but transient, and you will soon console yourself for
your heroic act. Let “the American tenor ” fly away; open the
door of the cage, and, though it be with a breaking heart and a
trembling hand, let him return to his native prairies, or wherever
he came from. And on his return let him take the talented person
who does the Heathen Chinee at the Charing Cross Theatre with
him. How delighted America will be to welcome them. We might
throw in Mr. Toole into the bargain. Perhaps, after a few lessons
from so amusing a cuss as the Heathen Chinee, even the English
Droll might be appreciated in New York.
As for the Opera itself, Mr. Carte tells how “ Mr. Du Terreaux