DOI issue:
July 21, 1883
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17755#0047
July 21, 1883.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
35
COURAGE !
with an angry clerk. It is certainly that—
particularly the shawl. Bastlen Lepage is
one of the few modem Painters whose names
mean anything to Sunday spectators. With
them it is ‘ ‘ Faut voir M. Lepage ; he
painted Gahbetta.” He is worth seeing,
even this year. His “ Village Love ” is a
love of a picture in townsfoiks’ eyes: the
exaggerated rustic is making such rurally
robust love to a stout country lass with such
an intensely bucolic eagerness to believe
everything! And if the houses and trees
in the background look as if they were
about to fall on the lovers’ heads, it would
only be what they deserve, an ancient Lady
remarks to a dilapidated husband, who has
been looking too long, under the pretence
of analysing “ Voeuvre.”
Andromaque is studied as a matter of
duty. The People always runs to the pic-
tures with a label on them, and is prepared
to find anything hors concours superb. An
ingenious young haberdasher who had dis-
covered that the Ministere des Beaux Arts
out of fourteen purchases had bought
twelve nudities, even he found himself
irresistibly attracted by the acquis par
V JEtat. Andromaque is strongly, almost
'violently, conceived and executed, but it is
a sore puzzle to the Catalogueless. M.
Bochegrosse’s heroine is throwing herself
on the swashbuckler who has seized her son
by Ulysses’ order. She is held hack by
the Greeks, and Astyanax is about to be
cast from the walls. There is blood every-
where — Bochegrosse has Henri Beg-
nault’s insatiable thirst for gore ; and the
captor of the young Trojan has the head-
piece of a Huron, not the helmet of a Greek;
but, for all that, the suspended breath of
the common spectators is enough to prove
the power of the composition. The mother
touched if the Greek didn’t.
And when one comes away with Prud-
homme and the real “ Salon headache” in
the evening, it was refreshing to see the
cafes open, and to know that our virtuous
countrymen had been loafing round tavern-
doors from three to six, accumulating thirst,
and with never a wicked picture to see.
THE PRICE OE MEAT.
Air—“ The Sands of Pee."
Aye, Chaplin, warn the Cattle off,
That come from foreign lands;
At mild Mundella sniff and scoff,
And force the Government’s hands.
Posing as potent champion
Of Agriculture sweet;
But what of the effect upon
The Price of Meat ?
Papa. “ Glad to see you to-morrow evening. My Daughter Alice will sing, and
Beatrice will recite to us a new Poem she’s composed. We Sup at Nine.”
Young Man. “Thanks! You’re very kind. ’Most happy. I’ll be with you at
Nine ! ”
it. Famine and Versailles are no longer closely linked in the popular mind, and M. Brouil-
let’s careful work only suggests Louise Michel and the bakers’ shops to the Sunday Art-
patrons—the more forcibly that he has dressed his figures like 1880, not like 1789.
A distinct current bears one towards Puvis de Chavannes, and it needs a strong flood to
do it. It is composed of the little rentiers who have some ideas about Art, and whose
daughters have taken prizes for sepia—the destined Puvis Chavannists of all time. “Poor
man, and when he wakes ! ” “ It is always something to have dreamed!” are the profound
criticisms of the holiday makers around M. de Chavannes’ fagged peasant asleep on a
hillock with supernaturaUy clean Love, Wealth, and Glory hovering about him. Another
allegory, “ Judith," is popular, chiefly for the reason that the Bethulian widow wears a
Tartan costume of the latest pattern, and that a number of enthusiasts think the chief figure
is Judic.
Gervex appeals to the Sunday folk in another fashion. They don’t know his name, hut
gravitate instinctively towards his little hits of varnished realism. “ Comma Best ca ! ” is
uttered three hundred times a day before the “ Bureau de Bienfaisance ”—a pigeon-hole
where meagre women wait for alms, and a vigorous harridan in a red shawl argues
Aye, Chaplin, warn the Cattle off!
It matters scarce at all
To gentry of the genus “ toff ”
If rumpsteaks rise or fall.
But to the poor Consumer, prey
Of all who scheme or cheat,
It is the question of the day,—
The Price of Meat!
Aye, Chaplin, warn the Cattle off,
And win the Farmer’s smile ;
To you the Landlord well may doff
The complimentary. “ tile.”
But the poor proletariat throng
Quite otherwise wiU greet
“ Protection,” which wiB lift, ere long,
The Price of Meat!
The Greatest Conversazione in Lon-
don.—A sitting of the House of Commons.
35
COURAGE !
with an angry clerk. It is certainly that—
particularly the shawl. Bastlen Lepage is
one of the few modem Painters whose names
mean anything to Sunday spectators. With
them it is ‘ ‘ Faut voir M. Lepage ; he
painted Gahbetta.” He is worth seeing,
even this year. His “ Village Love ” is a
love of a picture in townsfoiks’ eyes: the
exaggerated rustic is making such rurally
robust love to a stout country lass with such
an intensely bucolic eagerness to believe
everything! And if the houses and trees
in the background look as if they were
about to fall on the lovers’ heads, it would
only be what they deserve, an ancient Lady
remarks to a dilapidated husband, who has
been looking too long, under the pretence
of analysing “ Voeuvre.”
Andromaque is studied as a matter of
duty. The People always runs to the pic-
tures with a label on them, and is prepared
to find anything hors concours superb. An
ingenious young haberdasher who had dis-
covered that the Ministere des Beaux Arts
out of fourteen purchases had bought
twelve nudities, even he found himself
irresistibly attracted by the acquis par
V JEtat. Andromaque is strongly, almost
'violently, conceived and executed, but it is
a sore puzzle to the Catalogueless. M.
Bochegrosse’s heroine is throwing herself
on the swashbuckler who has seized her son
by Ulysses’ order. She is held hack by
the Greeks, and Astyanax is about to be
cast from the walls. There is blood every-
where — Bochegrosse has Henri Beg-
nault’s insatiable thirst for gore ; and the
captor of the young Trojan has the head-
piece of a Huron, not the helmet of a Greek;
but, for all that, the suspended breath of
the common spectators is enough to prove
the power of the composition. The mother
touched if the Greek didn’t.
And when one comes away with Prud-
homme and the real “ Salon headache” in
the evening, it was refreshing to see the
cafes open, and to know that our virtuous
countrymen had been loafing round tavern-
doors from three to six, accumulating thirst,
and with never a wicked picture to see.
THE PRICE OE MEAT.
Air—“ The Sands of Pee."
Aye, Chaplin, warn the Cattle off,
That come from foreign lands;
At mild Mundella sniff and scoff,
And force the Government’s hands.
Posing as potent champion
Of Agriculture sweet;
But what of the effect upon
The Price of Meat ?
Papa. “ Glad to see you to-morrow evening. My Daughter Alice will sing, and
Beatrice will recite to us a new Poem she’s composed. We Sup at Nine.”
Young Man. “Thanks! You’re very kind. ’Most happy. I’ll be with you at
Nine ! ”
it. Famine and Versailles are no longer closely linked in the popular mind, and M. Brouil-
let’s careful work only suggests Louise Michel and the bakers’ shops to the Sunday Art-
patrons—the more forcibly that he has dressed his figures like 1880, not like 1789.
A distinct current bears one towards Puvis de Chavannes, and it needs a strong flood to
do it. It is composed of the little rentiers who have some ideas about Art, and whose
daughters have taken prizes for sepia—the destined Puvis Chavannists of all time. “Poor
man, and when he wakes ! ” “ It is always something to have dreamed!” are the profound
criticisms of the holiday makers around M. de Chavannes’ fagged peasant asleep on a
hillock with supernaturaUy clean Love, Wealth, and Glory hovering about him. Another
allegory, “ Judith," is popular, chiefly for the reason that the Bethulian widow wears a
Tartan costume of the latest pattern, and that a number of enthusiasts think the chief figure
is Judic.
Gervex appeals to the Sunday folk in another fashion. They don’t know his name, hut
gravitate instinctively towards his little hits of varnished realism. “ Comma Best ca ! ” is
uttered three hundred times a day before the “ Bureau de Bienfaisance ”—a pigeon-hole
where meagre women wait for alms, and a vigorous harridan in a red shawl argues
Aye, Chaplin, warn the Cattle off!
It matters scarce at all
To gentry of the genus “ toff ”
If rumpsteaks rise or fall.
But to the poor Consumer, prey
Of all who scheme or cheat,
It is the question of the day,—
The Price of Meat!
Aye, Chaplin, warn the Cattle off,
And win the Farmer’s smile ;
To you the Landlord well may doff
The complimentary. “ tile.”
But the poor proletariat throng
Quite otherwise wiU greet
“ Protection,” which wiB lift, ere long,
The Price of Meat!
The Greatest Conversazione in Lon-
don.—A sitting of the House of Commons.