Punch: Punch (75.1878)

December 14, 1878.]

PUNCH, OK THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

273

OUR REPRESENTATIVE MAN.

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flL produced at

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X^l^^^^^^^^^llr^v^=^i remai'kable piece
'/7^^^^-^m^^^^^^^jl^'J°^Z^^^^ is not likely to
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Hw^^^^k^P^Hhurr^ Tlie title

m\vMI'liS^t•^sl^L'^^'il°f the Play is
t^"<^^fe=^^^^^^^^^s- "No. 20," which
,J^M <^^^gteafp='^^^Cv^^S^^-^^P' sounds uneom-

^ •^^^^OT^^^K ddSshiSd an!
^^^^^^^^^^^^^sL--_rr=s?' t^jP nouncement from

Evans's—" No.

20—in the books " ; only it isn't " in the books," but " in the Bas-
tille." And this Bastille is the Prison of Calvados, in Prance, not
our old friend of the Terror in Paris.

" No. 20 " is the number of a cell in the Bastille ; and the Authors,
Messrs. 'Albert and Hatton, fully conscious of the vein of subtle
humour they were working, and foreseeing how the audience, expect-
ing a good thrilling serious melodrama, would be completely sold,
might have thrown some little light on the subject by boldly styling
their piece

"No. 20;"
or, Messrs. Albert and Hatton's Sell!

The story (I beg to remind my reader that I have no programme,
and must trust to a very imperfect memory for names, and to the
correctness of my ear in this case) is this:—A young gentleman of
the name of Ne'emvrong (it sounded like this), has left Calvados
before the Play began—(oh, why did he return ?)—and he and his
friend Daytoosh or Laytoosh—I don't know which, but anyhow
a " Toosh ; " so, for safety, let us say " Toosh "—who had quitted
Calvados at the same time, are both supposed to be dead. Toosh
is a bold, bad man, and Ne1 erwrong is a moderately bold, good man,
and both return to Calvados just as the old Duke of Nemours, a
feeble Pantaloon, is being married to Miss Fowler, whose maiden
name I did not catch, which is unimportant, as she is no sooner
introduced than she changes, and becomes The Duchess. Well;
The Duchess was in love with Ne1 erwrong; so that when Ne'erwrong
turns up, and she has to explain matters to him, Ne'erwrong is
very much annoyed, and is on the point of leaving the house (because
he is a good young man), when an eccentric ecclesiastic,—who
has probably received theatrical " orders,"—wearing, apparently,
the bands of a modern English barrister, and round his waist a
most obtrusive set of beads—rushes in, and informs everybody on
the stage that the aforesaid old Pantaloon is dead, which is no
more news to the audience than the announcement of the lamented
decease of Her Majesty Queen Anne would have been. The fact
is, that in a very well-painted front-scene, representing the cathedral
cloister—at least I think so—we had seen that artful Toosh, as
Clown, enticing his stupid old Pantaloon of a cousin, the Duke,
behind a tombstone, where he slily induced him to stare at a cobweb
up above, and, while thus engaged, Toosh gave him his coup-de-
grace with Ne''erwrong's knife. How Toosh obtained Ne''erwrong''s
knife is a detail; and Toosh being next-of-kin to the old Pantaloon
(deceased), becomes Duke of Nemours.

After a time, Ne'erwrong is condemned for the murder, and, when
he is in prison, The Duchess contrives his escape, by sewing a rope
into her crinoline, and making love to the Head Gaoler of the Bastille
—the biggest fool ever placed in such a responsible office—with whom
she partakes of cake (pound cake, probably, as "in for a penny, in
for a pound "-cake), a slice of which, wrapped in a letter from The
Duchess, this utterly idiotic Gaoler takes to Ne1 erwrong, who, for
the time being, is occupying a cell the bars of which had been
broken by a prisoner who has recently escaped, evidently an ex-
cellent reason for placing in it a condemned criminal of such im-
portance as Ne'erwrong. Of course, Ne1 erwrong takes the rope

out of the crinoline (its removal from The Duchess's dress making
no perceptible difference), climbs up to the broken bars, gets out
—awful excitement—knocks a brick or a stone down, when, of
course, the fool of a Graoler "in the next cell says, " What's that ? "
and, equally of course, The Duchess replies, " Oh, nothing!" while
she, keeping him with his back to the window, goes on to explain
that it was only the wind; or the cat, or something of the sort that
has served as an excuse in melodramas from time immemorial, and
is invariably accepted, as a perfectly satisfactory explanation of
any startling noise, by gaolers, or warders, or officers on duty, far
less stupid than is this., hopeless idiot, the Gaoler of the Bastille
of Calvados.

Exeunt omnes, including the table, with candle, bottle, and cake
on it, and the chairs—quite a spiritualistic seance effect this—and
then everything is turned inside out, and we are on the ramparts.
Ne'erwrong appears, still climbing—he jumps off a wall into the
arms of some singing fishermen below—he is shot at by everybody
wno can get a gun, and well missed by the whole party, when it
suddenly occurs to the fool of ,a Gaoler to denounce the young
woman whom he had treated to cake and wine in the condemned
cell; whereupon the young woman, on the point of being arrested
by the soldiers, throws off her cloak, exclaims " I am the Duchess
of Nemours !" and everybody bows respectfully, and lets her go
free, implying, " Oh, if you're the Duchess of Nemours, of course
we've nothing to say. You can do as you like. Only why didn't
you tell us so before, and we'd have let the young man out. Any-
thing to oblige a Duchess !"

After this, Toosh takes more than is good for him, talks in his
sleep, is overheard by the Priest, is advised to go to confession, and,
being unaccustomed to private speaking, poor Toosh makes a muddle
of it, and confesses to Ne'erwrong, who; somehow or .another, has
got into a sort of brown domino, which is mistaken by the fuddled
Toosh for a monk's habit,—neither of them knowing much about
the matter professionally. Then they meet at a Fancy Ball, where
this fuddled penitent drops in, quite casually, as a good starting-
point for a pilgrimage, and here, confronted with Ne1 erwrong, he
is accused of the murder of that poor old Pantaloon, and at it they
go, with two swords, hammer and tongs, sparks flying, steel clash-
ing, until, of course, the bold bad man Toosh is run through the
body, and, much to the delight of everyone on and off the stage,
down goes Toosh, and down comes the Curtain,—and so ends Messrs.
Albert anb Hatton's Condemned Sell.

Following the noble example of that bold, bad, inebriate Toosh, I
joined a band of Canterbury Pilgrims, and on the first opportunity
went to see Trafalgar at the Canterbury Hall. For tbe benefit of
all intending Canterbury Pilgrims—and I trust there will be many,
the entertainment being well worthy of support—it is as well to
state that Trafalgar commences at about 9'15, and is over easily
by 11. The scenery, chiefly panoramic, by Mr. Hanns, is so good
as to warrant the adaptation, in his favour, of Dr. Watts's well-
known line—

" Tour little Hanns was never made "

to do anything else but the very best scene-painting;

Unfortunately, . my Canterbury Pilgrim companion wasone of
those gentlemen who know everything; and in the absence of a
programme (by which I subsequently corrected his historical and
geographical information), he described, with singular inaccuracy,
each of the scenes as they appeared. First, there was a ship at
anchor. This, my friend said, was The Redoubtable, of course it
wasn't; it was The Victory. Then followed a capital representation
of the same ship.in the vicinity of a volcanic mountain. " That,"
said my friend, positively, " is iEtna." (It was Strqmboli.) Then
we came to an island, which he assured me was " Gibraltar." He
knew it, he had been there. It was so like, that he applauded hear-
tily. It turned out to be the island of Madeira. After this, came a
scene at Gibraltar, which, of course, he was certain was Malta.
"Gib," to judge by the sparkling ballet-dance taking place in
one of the main thoroughfares, must have been a very pleasant
though perhaps rather dangerous place to be quartered at.

The great effect is, of course, reserved to the last—the scene on
board the Victory at the battle of Trafalgar. The_ boy who played
Nelson is, evidently, deeply impressed with the dignity of the charac-
ter, and the great responsibility of the situation. He never loses_ his
presence of mind for a second. In the midst of the terrific blazing,
banging, cracking of musketry, and explosion of firework shells, he
is only concerned for the honour of England, and anxious to see
that Mr. Villiers, his manager, shall not be disappointed in his
expectation of Nelson retaining one attitude during_ the !. entire
present engagement, and doing his duty like a man. Literally like
a man, as he is only a boy.

The fatal shot strikes the hero, who is carried below. On his
death the Curtain falls, to enthusiastic cheering; and Trafalgar
must be as great a success for the Canterbury, as the battle itself
was for England. .

I saw the boys, after their work, making pell-mell for their
dressing-rooms, all in a hurry, all excited, all—except Nelson, who