DOI issue:
September 14, 1878
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17733#0121
September 14, 1878.] PUNCH, OE THE LONDON CHAEIVAEI.
117
OUR REPRESENTATIVE MAN.
Minor," and to make
a note of it. "We ended by making a night of it, but that mustn't
be laid to the score of " C Minor," and, in fact, is neither here nor
there. "Well, we dined, wisely and well, and then Avent to the
" C Minor." We entered our box at Covent Garden amid sup-
pressed cheers from the crowd, and, after scattering largesse to
the officials (a silver fourpenny to the venerable box-keeper, who
mistook it for sixpence, and wept with gratitude), we bowed to the
house, then to Mr. Arthur Sullivan, and seated ourselves.
Miss Rose Hersee had just finished singing, as my Stupendous
Friend explained to me, Her-see 3fuior." This was his fun,
and I begged him not to repeat it. He did, however, several times,
having, as I subsequently discovered, only two jokes for the evening,
the one leading up to the other. The other came after he had given
me the first several times. I had just begged him not to harp on
this one string, when he replied, with a diabolical chuckle, that this
was the part of the concert for which he was engaged, i.e., " to harp
on one string."
After this I sat gloomy and discontented, thinking how poverty
makes strange boxfellows—for it was his box, not mine, and I was
in his power,—when M. Paul Yiardot struck up Scenes de Ballet
on his violin. I should have enjoyed this hugely, but for the
accompaniment of soda-water corks in the distance, wbich I venture
to say would spoil " C Minor " itself. How M. Paul Viardot could
get on at all with "Pop goes the Soda" going on behind him, I
don't know. This Ouverture d'JEau de Seltz ought to be restricted
to the Monday " Pops." Why can't there be a few drinking bars'
rest during a solo ?
'Twas very hard, oh,
On Monsieur Viardot !
but the eminent Conductor, who so ably half fills the chair at the
Promenade Concerts, doesn't seem to mind it, so why should nous
autres ?
My stupendous and accomplished musical Friend explained every-
thing to me, scientifically. M. Viardot having retired gracefully
after being recalled enthusiastically, the orchestra played the Gavotte
from Mignon. It only lasted a few minutes, and roused the audi-
ence to enthusiasm. It was vociferously redemanded. My accom-
plished Friend applauded until his gloves split, and his spectacles
dropped into the promenade below (which gave him another oppor-
tunity of reproducing his joke about " C minor"—it was something
about being able to " see minor" without them), but Mr. Arthur
Sullivan would not yield. There he sat with his back to the excited
crowd, stern, passive, impassible. He calmly looked at his watch, as
though in his capacity of M.D.—Musical Doctor—he were feeling the
pulse of the audience. " You don't have this Gavotte again ! " he
seemed to say. Even the band looked up to him with pale, imploring
faces, but he wouldn't give it again, or, as my irrepressible friend
said, he wouldn't " gave-votte again." The turmoil gradually ceased.
The soft-hearted band sighed, but "the Governor was resolved,"
and up came Miss. Antoinette Sterling to sing us '' False Friend,
wili thou smile or iveep?" by J. W. Davison. Courteously the
Conductor rose, and placing himself at the piano with an affable
gentleman by his side, to turn over a new leaf for him, he accompa-
nied the song, which went admirably. During this, the soda-water-
cork accompaniment was conspicuous by its absence.
" Now," cried my Friend, " for ' C Minor'! "
There was the Allegro con brio—then the Andante con moto—then
the Scherzo allegro, running into (without any accident, thank good-
ness) the Allegro.
The gay ana careless promenaders stopped to listen to the magic of
Beethoven, and the waiters and the barmaids were struck motion-
less during the con moto. You could have heard a remark drop, had
any one dared to let one fall. No, we all listened in rapt attention,
my Stupendous and accomplished Friend humming the tit-bits sotto
voce, and materially assisting Mr. Sullivan by beating time with his
right hand over the ledge of the box. As the Allegro finished,
my Stupendous Friend rose from his seat, and, frowning upon me
as though challenging, or defying contradiction, addressed me thus,
" The Allegro," he said, firmly and authoritatively, " is the point
where Human Genius has reached its uttermost limits,"—and with
this he strode grandly from the box, in so ethereally transcendental
a manner that, had any one met me immediately afterwards, and
told me "Your friend has gone straight up through the roof into
the sky above, all among the angels," I should not have been sur-
prised : indeed, I should rather have expected it.
In meditative humour I descended and joined the giddy throng.
Somehow I wandered towards the Gatti bars, where music hath
charms to soothe the thirsty beast, and I was awoke from my reverie
by these words from a Johnsonian voice, addressing apparently a
select circle, " The Allegro is the point where Human Genius has
reached its uttermost limits. Waiter, another B. and S., well iced."
He was all there,—and I joined him.
On one of the "Classical" nights Mr. Sullivan proposes doing
the Opera of Horatius Flaccus, a symphony from Cicero's charm-
ing composition De Senectute, and the celebrated chorus of Polu-
phoisboio Thalasses from Homer Pasha's Iliad. Solo, with Variorum
Notes, by Mons. Viardot. Everyone in classical dress. Umbrellas
and sandals left at the door.
Mrs. Bancroft gave a reading from one of Dickens's works, for
some charitable purpose, I believe, at some pleasant spot in Switzer-
land. In return, her enthusiastic admirers there have promised her
a seat—not in the house, but out of the house—a country-seat, on
which her name is to be painted in large letters. Will 1' Prince
of Wales's, every JSight" be on it? Or, as a really characteristic
memorial of the talented Manageress, why should not that touching
appeal to the public be painted on the back of the seat in letters of
gold, showing how Mrs. Bancroft earnestly requests the audience
to be in their seats by eight o'clock punctually, not so much that
they may have the full value of their money, but that they may
not lose one word of the charming play (whatever it may be) at her
theatre. Madam, I drink to your success, and as many of them in
the future as you've had in the past, when Alfred Austin could
write, in a note to The Season, a Satire,—" Miss Marie Wilton is
every way charming, and can act only in those parts which are
written for her ; and it is no fault—but rather talent—of hers, that
she creates a more lively sensation when she is not speaking than
when she is."
If Alfred Austin was right then, how utterly wrong he is noio !
Think of the " Robertsonian Comedies " ! Polly Ecclcs in Caste,
for example. Of course, Sardou's Countess Zicka was out of
Mrs. Bancroft's line, but it was a marvellous clever mistake for
all that, and it wasn't everybody who discovered it as soon as_ did
the artiste herself, who deserves a rest, and as they've offered it in
Switzerland, I hope it will be accepted. Something resembling local
colour might have been given to the entertainment by Mrs. Ban-
croft reading a scene or two from The Maid and the Magpie^ in
which Miss Marie AVilton's Pippo was inimitable. In her first
song, almost prophetic, Pippo declares—
" I was born to be what Actors term 1 a leading man,'
Tiddle de oodle um :
Or, in common parlance, a tragedi-<ro.
As Hamlet of Denmark to philosophise,
Or, as gallant tar William, to shout ' My dear eyes !'
Tiddle de oodle um."
Imagine Countess Zicka, in Sardou's last Act, when, having been
"foiled"—the usual tin-foiled of the stage villain— she is being
crushed by Mr. Clayton, representative of "all the virtues" —
117
OUR REPRESENTATIVE MAN.
Minor," and to make
a note of it. "We ended by making a night of it, but that mustn't
be laid to the score of " C Minor," and, in fact, is neither here nor
there. "Well, we dined, wisely and well, and then Avent to the
" C Minor." We entered our box at Covent Garden amid sup-
pressed cheers from the crowd, and, after scattering largesse to
the officials (a silver fourpenny to the venerable box-keeper, who
mistook it for sixpence, and wept with gratitude), we bowed to the
house, then to Mr. Arthur Sullivan, and seated ourselves.
Miss Rose Hersee had just finished singing, as my Stupendous
Friend explained to me, Her-see 3fuior." This was his fun,
and I begged him not to repeat it. He did, however, several times,
having, as I subsequently discovered, only two jokes for the evening,
the one leading up to the other. The other came after he had given
me the first several times. I had just begged him not to harp on
this one string, when he replied, with a diabolical chuckle, that this
was the part of the concert for which he was engaged, i.e., " to harp
on one string."
After this I sat gloomy and discontented, thinking how poverty
makes strange boxfellows—for it was his box, not mine, and I was
in his power,—when M. Paul Yiardot struck up Scenes de Ballet
on his violin. I should have enjoyed this hugely, but for the
accompaniment of soda-water corks in the distance, wbich I venture
to say would spoil " C Minor " itself. How M. Paul Viardot could
get on at all with "Pop goes the Soda" going on behind him, I
don't know. This Ouverture d'JEau de Seltz ought to be restricted
to the Monday " Pops." Why can't there be a few drinking bars'
rest during a solo ?
'Twas very hard, oh,
On Monsieur Viardot !
but the eminent Conductor, who so ably half fills the chair at the
Promenade Concerts, doesn't seem to mind it, so why should nous
autres ?
My stupendous and accomplished musical Friend explained every-
thing to me, scientifically. M. Viardot having retired gracefully
after being recalled enthusiastically, the orchestra played the Gavotte
from Mignon. It only lasted a few minutes, and roused the audi-
ence to enthusiasm. It was vociferously redemanded. My accom-
plished Friend applauded until his gloves split, and his spectacles
dropped into the promenade below (which gave him another oppor-
tunity of reproducing his joke about " C minor"—it was something
about being able to " see minor" without them), but Mr. Arthur
Sullivan would not yield. There he sat with his back to the excited
crowd, stern, passive, impassible. He calmly looked at his watch, as
though in his capacity of M.D.—Musical Doctor—he were feeling the
pulse of the audience. " You don't have this Gavotte again ! " he
seemed to say. Even the band looked up to him with pale, imploring
faces, but he wouldn't give it again, or, as my irrepressible friend
said, he wouldn't " gave-votte again." The turmoil gradually ceased.
The soft-hearted band sighed, but "the Governor was resolved,"
and up came Miss. Antoinette Sterling to sing us '' False Friend,
wili thou smile or iveep?" by J. W. Davison. Courteously the
Conductor rose, and placing himself at the piano with an affable
gentleman by his side, to turn over a new leaf for him, he accompa-
nied the song, which went admirably. During this, the soda-water-
cork accompaniment was conspicuous by its absence.
" Now," cried my Friend, " for ' C Minor'! "
There was the Allegro con brio—then the Andante con moto—then
the Scherzo allegro, running into (without any accident, thank good-
ness) the Allegro.
The gay ana careless promenaders stopped to listen to the magic of
Beethoven, and the waiters and the barmaids were struck motion-
less during the con moto. You could have heard a remark drop, had
any one dared to let one fall. No, we all listened in rapt attention,
my Stupendous and accomplished Friend humming the tit-bits sotto
voce, and materially assisting Mr. Sullivan by beating time with his
right hand over the ledge of the box. As the Allegro finished,
my Stupendous Friend rose from his seat, and, frowning upon me
as though challenging, or defying contradiction, addressed me thus,
" The Allegro," he said, firmly and authoritatively, " is the point
where Human Genius has reached its uttermost limits,"—and with
this he strode grandly from the box, in so ethereally transcendental
a manner that, had any one met me immediately afterwards, and
told me "Your friend has gone straight up through the roof into
the sky above, all among the angels," I should not have been sur-
prised : indeed, I should rather have expected it.
In meditative humour I descended and joined the giddy throng.
Somehow I wandered towards the Gatti bars, where music hath
charms to soothe the thirsty beast, and I was awoke from my reverie
by these words from a Johnsonian voice, addressing apparently a
select circle, " The Allegro is the point where Human Genius has
reached its uttermost limits. Waiter, another B. and S., well iced."
He was all there,—and I joined him.
On one of the "Classical" nights Mr. Sullivan proposes doing
the Opera of Horatius Flaccus, a symphony from Cicero's charm-
ing composition De Senectute, and the celebrated chorus of Polu-
phoisboio Thalasses from Homer Pasha's Iliad. Solo, with Variorum
Notes, by Mons. Viardot. Everyone in classical dress. Umbrellas
and sandals left at the door.
Mrs. Bancroft gave a reading from one of Dickens's works, for
some charitable purpose, I believe, at some pleasant spot in Switzer-
land. In return, her enthusiastic admirers there have promised her
a seat—not in the house, but out of the house—a country-seat, on
which her name is to be painted in large letters. Will 1' Prince
of Wales's, every JSight" be on it? Or, as a really characteristic
memorial of the talented Manageress, why should not that touching
appeal to the public be painted on the back of the seat in letters of
gold, showing how Mrs. Bancroft earnestly requests the audience
to be in their seats by eight o'clock punctually, not so much that
they may have the full value of their money, but that they may
not lose one word of the charming play (whatever it may be) at her
theatre. Madam, I drink to your success, and as many of them in
the future as you've had in the past, when Alfred Austin could
write, in a note to The Season, a Satire,—" Miss Marie Wilton is
every way charming, and can act only in those parts which are
written for her ; and it is no fault—but rather talent—of hers, that
she creates a more lively sensation when she is not speaking than
when she is."
If Alfred Austin was right then, how utterly wrong he is noio !
Think of the " Robertsonian Comedies " ! Polly Ecclcs in Caste,
for example. Of course, Sardou's Countess Zicka was out of
Mrs. Bancroft's line, but it was a marvellous clever mistake for
all that, and it wasn't everybody who discovered it as soon as_ did
the artiste herself, who deserves a rest, and as they've offered it in
Switzerland, I hope it will be accepted. Something resembling local
colour might have been given to the entertainment by Mrs. Ban-
croft reading a scene or two from The Maid and the Magpie^ in
which Miss Marie AVilton's Pippo was inimitable. In her first
song, almost prophetic, Pippo declares—
" I was born to be what Actors term 1 a leading man,'
Tiddle de oodle um :
Or, in common parlance, a tragedi-<ro.
As Hamlet of Denmark to philosophise,
Or, as gallant tar William, to shout ' My dear eyes !'
Tiddle de oodle um."
Imagine Countess Zicka, in Sardou's last Act, when, having been
"foiled"—the usual tin-foiled of the stage villain— she is being
crushed by Mr. Clayton, representative of "all the virtues" —