DOI issue:
August 18, 1883
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17755#0095
August 18, 1883.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
83
FOR EXAMPLE.”
Pater. “ Well, my Boy, and how do you like College ? Alma Mater
HAS TURNED OUT SOME GOOD MEN-”
“ Young Hopeful." “ Ya-as—she’s just turned Me out ! ”
\He hod been expelled !
ADAPTING: BY THE GAUL.
(About the Moral of the Sardou-Uchard Case.)
Mario TJchard (suddenly alive to the fact that he once ivrote something about,
a wife going wrong). Here, I say, cher ami (for I’m not going1 to quarrel with
you, even though you do cut me out of the playbill, and the pay-bill, too,
of the Auteurs Dramatiques), you know that’s my idea, a wicked wife with a
child—original situation in French literature, hein ?
Sardou. Well; and who cribbed it from Diderot? and what about Emile
de Girardin ? Besides, I’m an Academician, and I make more stage-rights
in a month than you by your books in two years. But if you like to denounce
Herr Yon Potztausend, who has just reproduced two scenes out of my Fedora
at Berlin, I am your Dramatic Author. We ’ll make a flaming franc pamphlet
of it in the interests of dramatic morality.
Alphonse iJaudet. I'm. not going to bring an action against you, Claretie ;
pas si bete. I find my books manage to sell without that kind of advertisement.
But you know, you industrious chijfonnier of letters, that if Numa Roumestan
had never been written, Monsieur le Ministre would never have been played.
Claretie. Well, if a writer in this enlightened Republican era can’t paint
the pitfalls and deceptions of undue ambition, I may just as well put all my
reams of papier ecolier (two reams a day is my figure) in the waste-paper basket.
Zola. I am a Pontiff. I am above such pitiful recriminations ; and I only
just mention the fact that there is such a book as Son Excellence Rougon.
Claretie. Oh, yes ; quite so. (Convulsed with indignation.) But look here
—look at this Italian paper—the miserable robbers have actually put a Minister
of Public Works on the stage, and made him come to grief in the same denoum t
as mine. Where is international honesty—where is the Gendarmerie ?
Octave Feuillet. And they are playing the Monde oil Ion s’ ennuie all over
the United States !
Paul Feral. I have given up my Bonn, it is played in Eskimo.
I Catulle Mendes. They have the Meres Ennemies in Russian, only they turn
them into fathers for political reasons.
An Anonymity. And they are going to play my ‘‘ Rschutt, Pschutt, Rschutt ! ”
at the next Handel Festival, with words by M. Sims George Gilbert !
Omnes. Plundered on every side! Unhappy, too generous France !
The Ghost of Dumas Pere. Going in for original
copy, all of you, eh? Well, suppose everyone of you
who takes something out of my works only twice a
year deposits my droits d'auteur at the foot of my Boule-
vard Malesherbes statue—and—and even Alexandre,
who lives close at hand, won’t have Angers long enough
to collect the bank-notes.
Omnes. En v’la un geneur !
A CHARING CROSS CAROL.
A busy scene, I must confess,
The Continental Mail Express !
The babbling of boys and porters,
The shouting of the luggage-sorters.
Indeed a vast and varied sight,
Beneath the pale electric light;
The roll of trucks, the noise, the hustle,
The bawling “ By yer leave ! ” and bustle.
While anxious tourists blame and bless
The Continental Mail Express !
Though wanting minutes ten to Eight,
Still people hurry through the gate :
Now London’s dull, the Season over,
They Hit from Charing Cross to Dover;
They take their tickets, pay their fare,
They ’re booked right through to everywhere !
To lead a life of hopeless worry,
With Bradshaw, Baedeker, and Murray.
And yet they hail with eagerness
The Continental Mail Express !
I think of toil by rail and boat,
And cackle at the table d’hote ;
Of coin of somewhat doubtful mintage,
And wine of very gruesome vintage;
Of passes steep that try the lungs,
And chattering in unknown tongues.
Of Rhenish hills, Italian fountains,
Of forests dark, and snowy mountains——-
To start, I’d give all I possess,
By Continental Mail Express !
’Tis Eight o’clock, save minutes two—
Here comes a stout, fur-capped Mossoo;
He ’s in a fluster at the wicket
Because he cannot find his ticket;
And over there may be espied
A pretty little two days’ bride.
How "bored she ’ll be with six weeks’ spooning,
How wearied with the honeymooning !
Yet lots go, leaving no address,
By Continental Mail Express!
Eight-five . The lading is complete,
The last arrival in his seat;
The porters’ labour’s almost ended,
The latest evening paper vended.
We wish departing friends “ Good night! ”
A whistle blows, the Guard says “ Right1 ”
We watch the red-light’s coruscation,
Then slowly, sadly, ieave the station.
All London’s gone, say more or less,
By Continental Mail Express !
Recent Publication.—“ Spare Cash. What Shah
I Do with it f A neiv Work for the Guidance . of
Investors.” Additional answers—Buy shares in Joint
Stock Mining and Manufacturing Companies on the
faith of Circulars and Prospectuses which you receive
by Post. Invest your Spare Cash in German and other
Lotteries in reliance upon Advertisements sent you by
the same conveyance. Subscribe to the erection of
Statues and Testimonials, in order that your name may
appear in print. Forward contributions to the Anti-
Tobacco and Anti-Vaccination Society, the Restriction
upon Marriage Perpetuation Society, the Society for
keeping Museums and Galleries of Art closed on Sun-
days, and the United Kingdom Alliance. If you have
any Spare Cash that you don’t know what to do with
remaining, remit it to the Headquarters of the Salvation
Army. Invest your Spare Cash regardless of any sus-
picion that you may possibly do worse than make ducks
and drakes with the money.
83
FOR EXAMPLE.”
Pater. “ Well, my Boy, and how do you like College ? Alma Mater
HAS TURNED OUT SOME GOOD MEN-”
“ Young Hopeful." “ Ya-as—she’s just turned Me out ! ”
\He hod been expelled !
ADAPTING: BY THE GAUL.
(About the Moral of the Sardou-Uchard Case.)
Mario TJchard (suddenly alive to the fact that he once ivrote something about,
a wife going wrong). Here, I say, cher ami (for I’m not going1 to quarrel with
you, even though you do cut me out of the playbill, and the pay-bill, too,
of the Auteurs Dramatiques), you know that’s my idea, a wicked wife with a
child—original situation in French literature, hein ?
Sardou. Well; and who cribbed it from Diderot? and what about Emile
de Girardin ? Besides, I’m an Academician, and I make more stage-rights
in a month than you by your books in two years. But if you like to denounce
Herr Yon Potztausend, who has just reproduced two scenes out of my Fedora
at Berlin, I am your Dramatic Author. We ’ll make a flaming franc pamphlet
of it in the interests of dramatic morality.
Alphonse iJaudet. I'm. not going to bring an action against you, Claretie ;
pas si bete. I find my books manage to sell without that kind of advertisement.
But you know, you industrious chijfonnier of letters, that if Numa Roumestan
had never been written, Monsieur le Ministre would never have been played.
Claretie. Well, if a writer in this enlightened Republican era can’t paint
the pitfalls and deceptions of undue ambition, I may just as well put all my
reams of papier ecolier (two reams a day is my figure) in the waste-paper basket.
Zola. I am a Pontiff. I am above such pitiful recriminations ; and I only
just mention the fact that there is such a book as Son Excellence Rougon.
Claretie. Oh, yes ; quite so. (Convulsed with indignation.) But look here
—look at this Italian paper—the miserable robbers have actually put a Minister
of Public Works on the stage, and made him come to grief in the same denoum t
as mine. Where is international honesty—where is the Gendarmerie ?
Octave Feuillet. And they are playing the Monde oil Ion s’ ennuie all over
the United States !
Paul Feral. I have given up my Bonn, it is played in Eskimo.
I Catulle Mendes. They have the Meres Ennemies in Russian, only they turn
them into fathers for political reasons.
An Anonymity. And they are going to play my ‘‘ Rschutt, Pschutt, Rschutt ! ”
at the next Handel Festival, with words by M. Sims George Gilbert !
Omnes. Plundered on every side! Unhappy, too generous France !
The Ghost of Dumas Pere. Going in for original
copy, all of you, eh? Well, suppose everyone of you
who takes something out of my works only twice a
year deposits my droits d'auteur at the foot of my Boule-
vard Malesherbes statue—and—and even Alexandre,
who lives close at hand, won’t have Angers long enough
to collect the bank-notes.
Omnes. En v’la un geneur !
A CHARING CROSS CAROL.
A busy scene, I must confess,
The Continental Mail Express !
The babbling of boys and porters,
The shouting of the luggage-sorters.
Indeed a vast and varied sight,
Beneath the pale electric light;
The roll of trucks, the noise, the hustle,
The bawling “ By yer leave ! ” and bustle.
While anxious tourists blame and bless
The Continental Mail Express !
Though wanting minutes ten to Eight,
Still people hurry through the gate :
Now London’s dull, the Season over,
They Hit from Charing Cross to Dover;
They take their tickets, pay their fare,
They ’re booked right through to everywhere !
To lead a life of hopeless worry,
With Bradshaw, Baedeker, and Murray.
And yet they hail with eagerness
The Continental Mail Express !
I think of toil by rail and boat,
And cackle at the table d’hote ;
Of coin of somewhat doubtful mintage,
And wine of very gruesome vintage;
Of passes steep that try the lungs,
And chattering in unknown tongues.
Of Rhenish hills, Italian fountains,
Of forests dark, and snowy mountains——-
To start, I’d give all I possess,
By Continental Mail Express !
’Tis Eight o’clock, save minutes two—
Here comes a stout, fur-capped Mossoo;
He ’s in a fluster at the wicket
Because he cannot find his ticket;
And over there may be espied
A pretty little two days’ bride.
How "bored she ’ll be with six weeks’ spooning,
How wearied with the honeymooning !
Yet lots go, leaving no address,
By Continental Mail Express!
Eight-five . The lading is complete,
The last arrival in his seat;
The porters’ labour’s almost ended,
The latest evening paper vended.
We wish departing friends “ Good night! ”
A whistle blows, the Guard says “ Right1 ”
We watch the red-light’s coruscation,
Then slowly, sadly, ieave the station.
All London’s gone, say more or less,
By Continental Mail Express !
Recent Publication.—“ Spare Cash. What Shah
I Do with it f A neiv Work for the Guidance . of
Investors.” Additional answers—Buy shares in Joint
Stock Mining and Manufacturing Companies on the
faith of Circulars and Prospectuses which you receive
by Post. Invest your Spare Cash in German and other
Lotteries in reliance upon Advertisements sent you by
the same conveyance. Subscribe to the erection of
Statues and Testimonials, in order that your name may
appear in print. Forward contributions to the Anti-
Tobacco and Anti-Vaccination Society, the Restriction
upon Marriage Perpetuation Society, the Society for
keeping Museums and Galleries of Art closed on Sun-
days, and the United Kingdom Alliance. If you have
any Spare Cash that you don’t know what to do with
remaining, remit it to the Headquarters of the Salvation
Army. Invest your Spare Cash regardless of any sus-
picion that you may possibly do worse than make ducks
and drakes with the money.