DOI issue:
July 1, 1882
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17752#0311
PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHARIVAEI.
305
July 1, 1882.]
'l
“ He ’ll join ‘ the Spirits in Bond.,’ ” said Richabd.
Business done.—Crime Bill in Committee.
Thursday dvight.—Why will the House persistently laugh at Mr.
'Ciiaplin when he comes forward to instruct it ? Came down to-
night with some really interesting, and, as Mr. Tbevelyax would
•say, “ novel ” information about the Suez Canal. Confess I always
thought Canal ran just by Regent’s Park. Have indeed smelt it.
“ Ho,” says Mr. Chaplin', “ it ’s in Egypt, and runs from sea to sea
through a sandy desert.” In spite of this, it is filled with fresh
water pumped into it, not with a handle as you see village iiumps,
but worked by donkey power, of which there is abundance in Cairo.
.Just like a chapter out of Mangnall' s Questions, only more pic-
turesquely put. House filled with ribald laughter, and the noise of
ironical cheering. Mr. Chaplin stands astonished, but firm. His
duty to instruct, but cannot impart the power of appreciation.
Burning jealousy on the part of Mr. McCoan. He didn’t exactly
make the Suez Canal, but has been through it. Also Sir Geokge
Elliot rises, to show that Mr. Chaplin knows nothing of the
question, and has stumbled into some egregious errors of simple fact.
All jealousy, pure jealousy. Mr. Chaplin knows that very well, and
appreciates it at its worth. He has done his duty, and, as it were,
laid the fresh water of the Suez Canal on the heads of tbose who
scoffed at him. Business done.—Crime Bill in Committee.
Friday Night.—House nearly empty all dav, and no wonder.
When you spend your nights and. days with Mr. Healy, there comes
over the mind, towards the end of the week, a longing for Sabbath
calm. Only a few Members present to hear a few words from Mr.
Bright on the situation generally, and Land-Leaguers partieularly.
John hit straight out fromthe shoulder. In his accustomed manner,
he called a spade a spade, and the Irish Members who attended the
Chieago Convention, “ traitors to their country, and ^ebels to the
•Q.ueen.” Business done.—Crime Bill in Committee.
HOW HE SOLD HER ;
OR, THE 'VERY TRISTE ’UN WHO DIDN’T MAKE ROOM FOR
HIS UNCLE.
Wagner’s Tristan and Isolda is about the most wearisome thing
we ’ve sat out for some considerable time. Had it been by a young
English composer, or an elderly English composer of the Hanwellian
School, it would not have been tolerated for
half-an-hour after its commencement. For
ourselves, if of two penances we had to
choose one, either to sit out a long, dull
sermon in a stuffy church on an August
afternoon, or to hear one Act of Tristan
and Isolda, we should unhesitatingly select
the former, where, at all events, there
would be the certainty of a tranquil repose,
from which no cruel drum, bassoon, or
violoncello, but only the snoring of our
own nose, could rouse us. That there are
occasional snatches of melody is undeniable,
but a snatch here and there is not the grasp
of a master-hand to hold an audience.
Judicious selections will always be welcome;
but that, taken as awhole, it is the embodi-
ment of stupendous boredom, must be the
verdict of all English Opera-goers who
delight in the Operas of Rossini, Mozart, Meyerbeer, Gounod,
Yerdi, Balpe, Wallace, Bizet, and we are not afraid to add, even
in these days of festhetic mysticism, art-vagueness, and higher
cultchaw—Bellini.
What is the plot ? This, simply :—
Portrait of Tristan.
much of a puzzle
find the donkey’s head.
How Sir Tristan in a harque
Convoys to his Uncle Maric
Fair Isolde and confidante.
Fair Isolde will be his Aunt
'When his Uncle Marh she weds,
But Isolde and Maid their heads
| Put together, and the latter,
] After “ lengths” of weary chatter,
! Gives a drmk, though very loth,
To Isolde and Tristan. hoth
I Drain the cup without a notion
| They are quaffing a Love-potion.
Each o’ercome by t’other's eharms,
J Falls into the other’s arms.
| Then she marries—fie for shame !—
J Mark,—and goes on just the same.
| Till one day, just after dark,
i With somefriends comes Uncle Marlc
To the garden, and discovers
ln each other’s arms the lovers.
He upbraids in music heavy
His immoral graceless nevvy.
Tristan rounds upon one Melot,
Once his friend—a sneaking fellow—
Who pulls out his enicker-snee,
Wounding Tristan mortalke/
For in next mad Act he shies
Bandages away, and dies;
Melot’s killed by Tristan's man,
Who, in turn, dies how he can.
Then lsolda's Maid, half daft,
Tells about the amorous draught;
lsolde, singing her own doom,
Dies— wberever she iinds room ;
Uncle Mar/c, freed from the lot,
Blesses corpses. Such the plot!
arranged like waxworks, who, on their showing any sign of lively
melody, are at onee shut up by the confidante closing °the curtain
sharply, so that they are “left singing,” is such utter burlesque
that any Itramatic Critic, except an Outwagnerous Wagnerite, would
condemn the situation as ludicrous in the extreme. Then, after
they have both quaffed the cup, these are Wagner’s stage-directions.
“ Both, seized with shuddering, gaze with deepest emotion, bui
immoveable demeanour, into one another's eyes, in which the expres-
sion ofi defiance to death fades and melts into the gloio of passion.
Trembling seizes tliem, they convulsively clutch their hearts, and pass
their hands over their brows.”
If this, so far, isn’t good old melodramatic “business” of the most
haekneyed kind, belonging to the Victorian Era, or the palmy days
of the Drama, we don’t know it when we see it, that ’s all.
“ Their glances again seek to meet, sink in confusion, and once
more turn with growing longing upon one another."
This is practically carried out by Isolda and Tristan going
through wild extension motions opposite one another, until they are
locked in each other’s arms, and this situa-
tion would be satisfactory if they had only
one key between them, but as it seemed to
our distracted ear, the lady shrieked spas-
modically, while the gentlemau growled,
oeeasionally varying it with a shout; both
of them being, apparently, without the
vaguest idea of time, tune, or harmony, but
only too giad to get a shriek or a growl in
whenever and wherever they coiild, and
observing as a sort of Happy-Thought rule,
obviously given them by that clever Herr
Richter,—“ Keep your eye on your Con-
ductor, and your Conductor will pull you
through.”
_ This sort of music can never, in onr life-
time at least, thank goodness, become popu-
lar with the British public. It may, as
Dr. Johnson said of the violoncello perform-
ance, be wonderful, but we only wish it were
impossible. _ Wagner’s lyrical - dramatic
music requires no operatic vocalists at all.
Let there be a first-rate orchestra, a hook of
the plot in hands of the andience, and
tableaux vivants or dissolving views to illus-
trate it—as illustration is still necessary for
the illiterate. To ourselves, speaking as
mere laics in the matter, with a fondness for
tune, harmony, and good dramatic sitna-
tions, it seems that singing and acting are
thrown away on such vocal music and such tedious and unsavoury
libretti. If Wagner, his Royal patron the Iving of Bavaria, and his
countrymen generally, like this sort of thing, they are perfect'ly
welcome to keep it to themselves, and we don’t mind hearing oeca-
sionally The Flying JDutchman, The Mastersingers (abbreviated),
and selections from Tannhduser and lohengrin. Richard Wag-
ner’s Operas will be rememhered when the Barbiere and a few
more trines are forgotten, bnt not till then.
FRUITS OF THE AUTUMN—SESSION.
[A Possible Prospect.)
The chairs in the Park will be at a premium in Octoher.
There will be no eclipse of the Stars in the Theatrical Firmament
until the winter.
Owners of “ desirable furnished houses near the Houses of Par-
ment ” will remain at the sea-side longer than usual.
The Coutinental tours of leader-writers on the Londou Press will
not extend beyond Boulogne.
The Irish Home-Rulers will escape the necessity of a visit to the
land of their birth and their absence until January.
The pheasants will be fed by the keepers withont unseemly inter-
ruption.
The grouse will lind the moor the merrier.
The timber at Hawarden will be respited until further notice.
Toby will represent Barkshire at St. Stephen’s instead of in Cairo.
And the “ dead season ” will he revivified by “ special desire ” of
the Premier.
“ Explosion on Board the Inflexible.”—Many persons on
reading the above heading thought that the Premier had suddenly
lost his temper with Mr. Lowther, and had given it him hotter
than ever.
Isolda, in compfiance with
the stage-directions,
“stretches herself
hiaher and higher,”
andthen “ signals again
to the on-comer.”
The arrangement of the scene on board ship, in the Eirst Aet, with
i a curtain drawn at will, discovering “ Ivnight and Attendants ”
Egyptian Proverb ;
makes woful mistake.
OR, BluNT SpEAKING. — WlLFHL BLUNT |
’ I
305
July 1, 1882.]
'l
“ He ’ll join ‘ the Spirits in Bond.,’ ” said Richabd.
Business done.—Crime Bill in Committee.
Thursday dvight.—Why will the House persistently laugh at Mr.
'Ciiaplin when he comes forward to instruct it ? Came down to-
night with some really interesting, and, as Mr. Tbevelyax would
•say, “ novel ” information about the Suez Canal. Confess I always
thought Canal ran just by Regent’s Park. Have indeed smelt it.
“ Ho,” says Mr. Chaplin', “ it ’s in Egypt, and runs from sea to sea
through a sandy desert.” In spite of this, it is filled with fresh
water pumped into it, not with a handle as you see village iiumps,
but worked by donkey power, of which there is abundance in Cairo.
.Just like a chapter out of Mangnall' s Questions, only more pic-
turesquely put. House filled with ribald laughter, and the noise of
ironical cheering. Mr. Chaplin stands astonished, but firm. His
duty to instruct, but cannot impart the power of appreciation.
Burning jealousy on the part of Mr. McCoan. He didn’t exactly
make the Suez Canal, but has been through it. Also Sir Geokge
Elliot rises, to show that Mr. Chaplin knows nothing of the
question, and has stumbled into some egregious errors of simple fact.
All jealousy, pure jealousy. Mr. Chaplin knows that very well, and
appreciates it at its worth. He has done his duty, and, as it were,
laid the fresh water of the Suez Canal on the heads of tbose who
scoffed at him. Business done.—Crime Bill in Committee.
Friday Night.—House nearly empty all dav, and no wonder.
When you spend your nights and. days with Mr. Healy, there comes
over the mind, towards the end of the week, a longing for Sabbath
calm. Only a few Members present to hear a few words from Mr.
Bright on the situation generally, and Land-Leaguers partieularly.
John hit straight out fromthe shoulder. In his accustomed manner,
he called a spade a spade, and the Irish Members who attended the
Chieago Convention, “ traitors to their country, and ^ebels to the
•Q.ueen.” Business done.—Crime Bill in Committee.
HOW HE SOLD HER ;
OR, THE 'VERY TRISTE ’UN WHO DIDN’T MAKE ROOM FOR
HIS UNCLE.
Wagner’s Tristan and Isolda is about the most wearisome thing
we ’ve sat out for some considerable time. Had it been by a young
English composer, or an elderly English composer of the Hanwellian
School, it would not have been tolerated for
half-an-hour after its commencement. For
ourselves, if of two penances we had to
choose one, either to sit out a long, dull
sermon in a stuffy church on an August
afternoon, or to hear one Act of Tristan
and Isolda, we should unhesitatingly select
the former, where, at all events, there
would be the certainty of a tranquil repose,
from which no cruel drum, bassoon, or
violoncello, but only the snoring of our
own nose, could rouse us. That there are
occasional snatches of melody is undeniable,
but a snatch here and there is not the grasp
of a master-hand to hold an audience.
Judicious selections will always be welcome;
but that, taken as awhole, it is the embodi-
ment of stupendous boredom, must be the
verdict of all English Opera-goers who
delight in the Operas of Rossini, Mozart, Meyerbeer, Gounod,
Yerdi, Balpe, Wallace, Bizet, and we are not afraid to add, even
in these days of festhetic mysticism, art-vagueness, and higher
cultchaw—Bellini.
What is the plot ? This, simply :—
Portrait of Tristan.
much of a puzzle
find the donkey’s head.
How Sir Tristan in a harque
Convoys to his Uncle Maric
Fair Isolde and confidante.
Fair Isolde will be his Aunt
'When his Uncle Marh she weds,
But Isolde and Maid their heads
| Put together, and the latter,
] After “ lengths” of weary chatter,
! Gives a drmk, though very loth,
To Isolde and Tristan. hoth
I Drain the cup without a notion
| They are quaffing a Love-potion.
Each o’ercome by t’other's eharms,
J Falls into the other’s arms.
| Then she marries—fie for shame !—
J Mark,—and goes on just the same.
| Till one day, just after dark,
i With somefriends comes Uncle Marlc
To the garden, and discovers
ln each other’s arms the lovers.
He upbraids in music heavy
His immoral graceless nevvy.
Tristan rounds upon one Melot,
Once his friend—a sneaking fellow—
Who pulls out his enicker-snee,
Wounding Tristan mortalke/
For in next mad Act he shies
Bandages away, and dies;
Melot’s killed by Tristan's man,
Who, in turn, dies how he can.
Then lsolda's Maid, half daft,
Tells about the amorous draught;
lsolde, singing her own doom,
Dies— wberever she iinds room ;
Uncle Mar/c, freed from the lot,
Blesses corpses. Such the plot!
arranged like waxworks, who, on their showing any sign of lively
melody, are at onee shut up by the confidante closing °the curtain
sharply, so that they are “left singing,” is such utter burlesque
that any Itramatic Critic, except an Outwagnerous Wagnerite, would
condemn the situation as ludicrous in the extreme. Then, after
they have both quaffed the cup, these are Wagner’s stage-directions.
“ Both, seized with shuddering, gaze with deepest emotion, bui
immoveable demeanour, into one another's eyes, in which the expres-
sion ofi defiance to death fades and melts into the gloio of passion.
Trembling seizes tliem, they convulsively clutch their hearts, and pass
their hands over their brows.”
If this, so far, isn’t good old melodramatic “business” of the most
haekneyed kind, belonging to the Victorian Era, or the palmy days
of the Drama, we don’t know it when we see it, that ’s all.
“ Their glances again seek to meet, sink in confusion, and once
more turn with growing longing upon one another."
This is practically carried out by Isolda and Tristan going
through wild extension motions opposite one another, until they are
locked in each other’s arms, and this situa-
tion would be satisfactory if they had only
one key between them, but as it seemed to
our distracted ear, the lady shrieked spas-
modically, while the gentlemau growled,
oeeasionally varying it with a shout; both
of them being, apparently, without the
vaguest idea of time, tune, or harmony, but
only too giad to get a shriek or a growl in
whenever and wherever they coiild, and
observing as a sort of Happy-Thought rule,
obviously given them by that clever Herr
Richter,—“ Keep your eye on your Con-
ductor, and your Conductor will pull you
through.”
_ This sort of music can never, in onr life-
time at least, thank goodness, become popu-
lar with the British public. It may, as
Dr. Johnson said of the violoncello perform-
ance, be wonderful, but we only wish it were
impossible. _ Wagner’s lyrical - dramatic
music requires no operatic vocalists at all.
Let there be a first-rate orchestra, a hook of
the plot in hands of the andience, and
tableaux vivants or dissolving views to illus-
trate it—as illustration is still necessary for
the illiterate. To ourselves, speaking as
mere laics in the matter, with a fondness for
tune, harmony, and good dramatic sitna-
tions, it seems that singing and acting are
thrown away on such vocal music and such tedious and unsavoury
libretti. If Wagner, his Royal patron the Iving of Bavaria, and his
countrymen generally, like this sort of thing, they are perfect'ly
welcome to keep it to themselves, and we don’t mind hearing oeca-
sionally The Flying JDutchman, The Mastersingers (abbreviated),
and selections from Tannhduser and lohengrin. Richard Wag-
ner’s Operas will be rememhered when the Barbiere and a few
more trines are forgotten, bnt not till then.
FRUITS OF THE AUTUMN—SESSION.
[A Possible Prospect.)
The chairs in the Park will be at a premium in Octoher.
There will be no eclipse of the Stars in the Theatrical Firmament
until the winter.
Owners of “ desirable furnished houses near the Houses of Par-
ment ” will remain at the sea-side longer than usual.
The Coutinental tours of leader-writers on the Londou Press will
not extend beyond Boulogne.
The Irish Home-Rulers will escape the necessity of a visit to the
land of their birth and their absence until January.
The pheasants will be fed by the keepers withont unseemly inter-
ruption.
The grouse will lind the moor the merrier.
The timber at Hawarden will be respited until further notice.
Toby will represent Barkshire at St. Stephen’s instead of in Cairo.
And the “ dead season ” will he revivified by “ special desire ” of
the Premier.
“ Explosion on Board the Inflexible.”—Many persons on
reading the above heading thought that the Premier had suddenly
lost his temper with Mr. Lowther, and had given it him hotter
than ever.
Isolda, in compfiance with
the stage-directions,
“stretches herself
hiaher and higher,”
andthen “ signals again
to the on-comer.”
The arrangement of the scene on board ship, in the Eirst Aet, with
i a curtain drawn at will, discovering “ Ivnight and Attendants ”
Egyptian Proverb ;
makes woful mistake.
OR, BluNT SpEAKING. — WlLFHL BLUNT |
’ I