DOI Heft:
December 21, 1878
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17733#0292
288
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[December 21, 1878.
TEA-ROOM REFLECTIONS.
(By a Man in the Gallery.)
he degradation of
political debate by
tbe indulgence of
violent personal ani-
mosity, leads to
stinging counter-
charge and furious
partisan hostility.
Stinging counter-
charge and furious
partisan hostility in-
volve blind recrimi-
nation and awkward
adjectives.
Blind recrimina-
tion and awkward
adjectives send
courtesy flying out
of the lobby.
When courtesy
flies out of the lobby,
Billingsgate gets over
the gangway.
When Billingsgate
gets over the gang-
way, the Speaker
who won't let his
eye be caught may
come to have his attention called by a cat-call or an orange.
The Speaker who allows his attention to be called by a cat-call or
an orange, is lost.
The House, that is presided over by a Speaker who is lost soon
degenerates into a bear-garden unfit for Gentlemen.
A bear-gardenunfit for Gentlemen is not the place in which to
conduct the affairs of a great Empire.
When the affairs of a great Empire come to a standstill, it is high
time to revert to the language of Gentlemen.
OUR REPRESENTATIVE MAN.
(Some account of Tom Tug and the Beggar's Opera at Covent
Garden last week.)
Sir,
I 'ye said it before, and I '11 say it again, " Don't tell me we
are not a musical people,"—I mean, at all events, a people fond of
music, and capable of appreciating every sort of music on its merits.
And, when we have established a favourite, don't we make much of
him ? don't we make more and more of him ? don't we—like the
process in the game of "thinking of a number"—don't we double
nim, in encoring him, add ten to him, specially if he is already a
tenor, so that he can afterwards add a hundred to himself, then sub-
tract him from every one else and say, '' He, and he only, is the man
for our money ? " Of course we do.
That this is the public estimate of Mr. Sims Reeves was proved to
demonstration by the appearance of Covent Garden on Tuesday night
last week, when, on the occasion of our great English Tenor playing
Captain Macheath in the Beggar's Opera, the house was literally
crammed, from floor to ceiling, by an audience whose enthusiastic
temperature increased in a graduated thermometrical scale, the
over-boiling point being reached at the back row of the Upper
Gallery; and this on a night when, in the stalls and boxes,
wrappers, fur mantles, and ulsters, were de rigueur, on account of de
rigour of the cold, and when the Messrs. Gatti might have made a
considerable addition to their good fortune, by sending round the
attendants with a supply of foot-warmers, hot toddy, and mulled
claret, and other popular drinks at cheap prices.
Everyone would have hailed with pleasure (apropos of "hailed," it
snowed next day—but that isn't to the freezing point) the appearance
of these hot draughts, after suffering from such cold draughts as
abound, at all times, in this huge Covent Garden Theatre. I
shivered for myself ; I trembled for Sims Reeves, lest his delicate
throat—one of the most delicate, I believe, ever possessed by tenor—
shordd be affected by the severity of the weather, in which case an
apology would have to be made.
With commendable good taste Mr. Hates, the impressario on this
occasion, had closed the house on Monday, as a mark of respect to
the memory of the late Mr. Gte. Such a course was highly credit-
able, both to the impressario and Mr. Reeves. It would have been
cruel if, after this loss of one night, the weather had prevented
Mr. Reeves from fulfilling his engagement. Fortunately he was
in excellent spirits, in excellent voice, and played Macheath mag-
nificently.
There he was, bright and gay as ever, our tenner still unchanged,
and equal to any number of the most valuable notes.
En passant, the public has an idea that Mr. Sims Reeves is " a
bird who can sing," and often, capriciously, "won't sing." Some
even go so far as to ask, "Can't he be made to sing?" No one
wishes more sincerely than himself, that, on the occasions when he
is forced to refuse, he could be " made to sing." It is no pleasure
to any man to lose money by being compelled to cancel an engage-
ment which is entered into on the play and pay principle, and it
cannot but be an unspeakable, or, in his case, an unsingable, disap-
pointment to thousands who "hang on his lips." It is no more a
pleasure for a distinguished tenor to be laid up with a bad throat,
than for a one-legged dancer, a la Donato, to be prostrated by the
gout in his one solitary foot. So much for Buckingham.
My only personal grievance against Mr. Sims Reeves is, that he
has a plural name—a double plural name ; but this is my objection,
only halved, to any one called Phillips, or Edwards, or Roberts.
They ought each to govern a plural verb. It should be grammatical
to say, "Phillips are coming to dinner. Edwards are smoking.
Phillips are fools," and so on.
Mr. Sims Reeves, as a plural name, however, may be the excep-
tion to what should be the rule, on account of his singular ability.
And I don't think, that, without the final " s," "Sim Reeve"
would look well in an advertisement. Too late to change now; but I
take this opportunity of broaching the theory, that is, as it sims to
me.
I heard him in The Waterman, when his rendering of " The Bay
of Biscay11 literally brought down the house, as it always will.
Madame Cave-Ashton was a charming Wilhelmina, and her
" Cherry Ripe" (introduced here simply, I suppose, for the reason
that the lady in question can sing it so well) was heartily encored.
By the way, the manner of introducing The Bay of Biscay " is
funny enough, and must have been fashioned on the model of the
tenor, who, insisting on singing " In my Cottage near a Wood" in
every piece, used to look round, see a table, hit it, exclaim, '' Ah !
made of wood! that reminds me of My Cottage near a Wood!'''1
which was the cue for the orchestra to strike up the symphony to
that popular melody.
Mr. Reeves, being all alone, soliloquises about his stupid rival,
Robin the Gardener, and observes, " Ah, I should like to have seen
what sort of a figure he would have cut on board ship, in such a gale
as I was in, when last I crossed The Bay of Biscay ! "
Cue for band, " Bay of Biscay !" and delight of audience,—but
Thomas Tug, the jolly young Waterman, has never been to sea in
his life, bless him! and knew nothing of the Bay of Biscay from
personal experience.
Let those who do not believe in a " comic tenor," see Sims Reeves
as Captain Macheath, and they will then discover what magic there
is even in a refrain of " tol de rol, hi de rol loddy,'\ when given by
a tenor who is not impressed by the absurd traditional notion that
he is nothing if not sentimental.
His acting of the celebrated song, " How happy ivould 1'be tvith
either" is full of humour, and. his change of manner from " tol de
rol" in a tender tone when addressed to the gentle, confiding Polly,
to "tol de rol" with a true cockney chick-a-leary twang, when
addressed to the vulgar Lucy Lockitt, is a clever idea, most
artistically carried out; and then, his dance up the stage, while
singing, giving his last note, good and true to the end in spite of
this unaccustomed exertion, as, with a jump, he seats himself, in a
natural devil-may-care style, on the table, was followed by an
encore, so momentous, that even he, the determined anti-eneoreist,
was fain to comply with the enthusiastic demand; so he repeated
the two verses, the dance, and the jump, with as much freshness and
vigour as though he had not already sung six songs—snatches, more
or less, it is true—and had not got ten more to follow, with "Here's
to the Maiden of bashful fifteen," and a dance, by way of finale!
It was a treat. But what a stupid play ! What a set of sordid,
squalid, ruffianly characters, all, except Polly Peachum, prettily
played by Madame Cave-Ashton, who obtained more than one
encore. The chorus of " Let us take the Road" was very effectively
given. I should like to see The Beggar's Opera with a well re-
modelled plot, an efficient cast, to include, of course, Mr. Sims
Reeves (it would be nothing at all without his Captain Macheath)
and Madame Cave-Ashtoe", and produced under such careful stage-
management as was shown by Mr. Hare in bringing out Olivia at
the Court Theatre.
However, for the present, The Beggar's Opera, which, I believe,
was the result of a considerable amount of " collaboration," is, as
played the other night at Covent Garden, good enough, by way of a
musical treat, for Yotjr Representative.
Music of the Future.—Promissory Notes.
To Cobebspondenis.—The Editor does not hold hirtiself bound to acknowledge, return, or pay for Contribution*. In no east can these be returned unlest accompanied 6y a
stamped and directed envelope. Copies should be kept.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[December 21, 1878.
TEA-ROOM REFLECTIONS.
(By a Man in the Gallery.)
he degradation of
political debate by
tbe indulgence of
violent personal ani-
mosity, leads to
stinging counter-
charge and furious
partisan hostility.
Stinging counter-
charge and furious
partisan hostility in-
volve blind recrimi-
nation and awkward
adjectives.
Blind recrimina-
tion and awkward
adjectives send
courtesy flying out
of the lobby.
When courtesy
flies out of the lobby,
Billingsgate gets over
the gangway.
When Billingsgate
gets over the gang-
way, the Speaker
who won't let his
eye be caught may
come to have his attention called by a cat-call or an orange.
The Speaker who allows his attention to be called by a cat-call or
an orange, is lost.
The House, that is presided over by a Speaker who is lost soon
degenerates into a bear-garden unfit for Gentlemen.
A bear-gardenunfit for Gentlemen is not the place in which to
conduct the affairs of a great Empire.
When the affairs of a great Empire come to a standstill, it is high
time to revert to the language of Gentlemen.
OUR REPRESENTATIVE MAN.
(Some account of Tom Tug and the Beggar's Opera at Covent
Garden last week.)
Sir,
I 'ye said it before, and I '11 say it again, " Don't tell me we
are not a musical people,"—I mean, at all events, a people fond of
music, and capable of appreciating every sort of music on its merits.
And, when we have established a favourite, don't we make much of
him ? don't we make more and more of him ? don't we—like the
process in the game of "thinking of a number"—don't we double
nim, in encoring him, add ten to him, specially if he is already a
tenor, so that he can afterwards add a hundred to himself, then sub-
tract him from every one else and say, '' He, and he only, is the man
for our money ? " Of course we do.
That this is the public estimate of Mr. Sims Reeves was proved to
demonstration by the appearance of Covent Garden on Tuesday night
last week, when, on the occasion of our great English Tenor playing
Captain Macheath in the Beggar's Opera, the house was literally
crammed, from floor to ceiling, by an audience whose enthusiastic
temperature increased in a graduated thermometrical scale, the
over-boiling point being reached at the back row of the Upper
Gallery; and this on a night when, in the stalls and boxes,
wrappers, fur mantles, and ulsters, were de rigueur, on account of de
rigour of the cold, and when the Messrs. Gatti might have made a
considerable addition to their good fortune, by sending round the
attendants with a supply of foot-warmers, hot toddy, and mulled
claret, and other popular drinks at cheap prices.
Everyone would have hailed with pleasure (apropos of "hailed," it
snowed next day—but that isn't to the freezing point) the appearance
of these hot draughts, after suffering from such cold draughts as
abound, at all times, in this huge Covent Garden Theatre. I
shivered for myself ; I trembled for Sims Reeves, lest his delicate
throat—one of the most delicate, I believe, ever possessed by tenor—
shordd be affected by the severity of the weather, in which case an
apology would have to be made.
With commendable good taste Mr. Hates, the impressario on this
occasion, had closed the house on Monday, as a mark of respect to
the memory of the late Mr. Gte. Such a course was highly credit-
able, both to the impressario and Mr. Reeves. It would have been
cruel if, after this loss of one night, the weather had prevented
Mr. Reeves from fulfilling his engagement. Fortunately he was
in excellent spirits, in excellent voice, and played Macheath mag-
nificently.
There he was, bright and gay as ever, our tenner still unchanged,
and equal to any number of the most valuable notes.
En passant, the public has an idea that Mr. Sims Reeves is " a
bird who can sing," and often, capriciously, "won't sing." Some
even go so far as to ask, "Can't he be made to sing?" No one
wishes more sincerely than himself, that, on the occasions when he
is forced to refuse, he could be " made to sing." It is no pleasure
to any man to lose money by being compelled to cancel an engage-
ment which is entered into on the play and pay principle, and it
cannot but be an unspeakable, or, in his case, an unsingable, disap-
pointment to thousands who "hang on his lips." It is no more a
pleasure for a distinguished tenor to be laid up with a bad throat,
than for a one-legged dancer, a la Donato, to be prostrated by the
gout in his one solitary foot. So much for Buckingham.
My only personal grievance against Mr. Sims Reeves is, that he
has a plural name—a double plural name ; but this is my objection,
only halved, to any one called Phillips, or Edwards, or Roberts.
They ought each to govern a plural verb. It should be grammatical
to say, "Phillips are coming to dinner. Edwards are smoking.
Phillips are fools," and so on.
Mr. Sims Reeves, as a plural name, however, may be the excep-
tion to what should be the rule, on account of his singular ability.
And I don't think, that, without the final " s," "Sim Reeve"
would look well in an advertisement. Too late to change now; but I
take this opportunity of broaching the theory, that is, as it sims to
me.
I heard him in The Waterman, when his rendering of " The Bay
of Biscay11 literally brought down the house, as it always will.
Madame Cave-Ashton was a charming Wilhelmina, and her
" Cherry Ripe" (introduced here simply, I suppose, for the reason
that the lady in question can sing it so well) was heartily encored.
By the way, the manner of introducing The Bay of Biscay " is
funny enough, and must have been fashioned on the model of the
tenor, who, insisting on singing " In my Cottage near a Wood" in
every piece, used to look round, see a table, hit it, exclaim, '' Ah !
made of wood! that reminds me of My Cottage near a Wood!'''1
which was the cue for the orchestra to strike up the symphony to
that popular melody.
Mr. Reeves, being all alone, soliloquises about his stupid rival,
Robin the Gardener, and observes, " Ah, I should like to have seen
what sort of a figure he would have cut on board ship, in such a gale
as I was in, when last I crossed The Bay of Biscay ! "
Cue for band, " Bay of Biscay !" and delight of audience,—but
Thomas Tug, the jolly young Waterman, has never been to sea in
his life, bless him! and knew nothing of the Bay of Biscay from
personal experience.
Let those who do not believe in a " comic tenor," see Sims Reeves
as Captain Macheath, and they will then discover what magic there
is even in a refrain of " tol de rol, hi de rol loddy,'\ when given by
a tenor who is not impressed by the absurd traditional notion that
he is nothing if not sentimental.
His acting of the celebrated song, " How happy ivould 1'be tvith
either" is full of humour, and. his change of manner from " tol de
rol" in a tender tone when addressed to the gentle, confiding Polly,
to "tol de rol" with a true cockney chick-a-leary twang, when
addressed to the vulgar Lucy Lockitt, is a clever idea, most
artistically carried out; and then, his dance up the stage, while
singing, giving his last note, good and true to the end in spite of
this unaccustomed exertion, as, with a jump, he seats himself, in a
natural devil-may-care style, on the table, was followed by an
encore, so momentous, that even he, the determined anti-eneoreist,
was fain to comply with the enthusiastic demand; so he repeated
the two verses, the dance, and the jump, with as much freshness and
vigour as though he had not already sung six songs—snatches, more
or less, it is true—and had not got ten more to follow, with "Here's
to the Maiden of bashful fifteen," and a dance, by way of finale!
It was a treat. But what a stupid play ! What a set of sordid,
squalid, ruffianly characters, all, except Polly Peachum, prettily
played by Madame Cave-Ashton, who obtained more than one
encore. The chorus of " Let us take the Road" was very effectively
given. I should like to see The Beggar's Opera with a well re-
modelled plot, an efficient cast, to include, of course, Mr. Sims
Reeves (it would be nothing at all without his Captain Macheath)
and Madame Cave-Ashtoe", and produced under such careful stage-
management as was shown by Mr. Hare in bringing out Olivia at
the Court Theatre.
However, for the present, The Beggar's Opera, which, I believe,
was the result of a considerable amount of " collaboration," is, as
played the other night at Covent Garden, good enough, by way of a
musical treat, for Yotjr Representative.
Music of the Future.—Promissory Notes.
To Cobebspondenis.—The Editor does not hold hirtiself bound to acknowledge, return, or pay for Contribution*. In no east can these be returned unlest accompanied 6y a
stamped and directed envelope. Copies should be kept.