Punch (94.1888)

160

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[April 7, 1888.

SEEING ROBERTS."

The other night I witnessed the 165th performance of The Old
Guard at the Avenue Ttieatre. Where would The Old Guard be
without Mr. Aethtjb Robebts ? Nowhere. Certainly not at the
Avenue Theatre.
Mr. Joseph Tajpley is a pleasing tenor, and has as much aeting

in him, as, in
the ordinary
way of busi-
ness, can be
got out of a
tenor; and,
when he has
something

pretending (he is always " pertending" like children at play) to
sing his part out of a folio of the Code Napoleon, which he gravely
offers to the tenor as if it contained the words and music of an
Oratorio,—to see him doing all this, and ever so much more which I
have forgotten, is so irresistibly comic, that the house cries with
laughter, and no one cares whether it be the Old Guard, or the
Young Guard, or Singing Guards, or Hoarse Guards, White Guards,
or The Other Guards, so long as Aethtjb Robebts is not absent
from the stage for more than five minutes. In a funny duet, where
there is j ust a chance for the otherwise partially but unavoidably
suppressed Dallas, Arthtje Robebts shows how he can fence. And
of this art he certainly should be a master, as the Avenue Theatre
provides him not with a single stick, but with an entire set of most
brilliant foils. Jack in the Box.

voice, I may
say to him,
"You will un-
d o ubt edly
make your
Mark, Tap-
let!" At
p r e s e'n t
there is not
much for
Joseph. Mr.
Alec Mabsh

baritone, and
the Capitaine
suits his mar-
General Arthur Roberts coming to the support of the ghgj bearing.

Old Guard. ]y;isg Habion

Edgcttmbe has a pretty face and a pretty mezzo voice, which should
be her fortune. Miss Fannx Wentwoeth is a lively soprano.
Miss Henbiette Polak, alluded to by Shakspeabe as the " sledded
Polak" — makes an uncommonly sprightly Buglei— a sort of
Cherubino in Trench uniform. Miss Claka Gbahahe only fails
of completely identifying herself with the remarkably trying part
of Lieutenant Vigoreux, out of pure consideration for the public,
who, it evidently oocurs to her, would be sorry to lose sight entirely
of Miss Claba Grahame.

It is a question whether Mr. J. T. Dallas would not t>e moreat
home in serious Opera, than in these light French frivolities, which
offer but little scope to the magnificent quality of his voice, seldom
heard, but always thoroughly appreciated, or to his remarkable
histrionic abilities, which would recall the days of Gabbick, Talma,
and the elder Kean—that is, if anyone wished to recall them.

Finally, the clever young lady, whom, for the nonce, I will call
Incognita, as her name was' not in the playbill (a rare instance of
self-effacement, seeing that she represented Miss Ph-ll-s Bb-ght-n
in the part of Follow-the-Drum), played and danced—she may
have sung, too, but, if so, her voice escaped me—capitally, and was
of considerable assistance to the General, Aethtjb Roberts, to whom,
after all said and. sung, I must return, because, despite this brilliant
ensemble, the audience languished when their favourite—the ''droll
creature," as the ladies call him—is not on the stage. He certainly is
wonderful. I confess I laugh directly he is "heard without;" I
laugh when he winks; I laugh more when he speaks, and, no matter
what is going on upon the stage—and. I am bound to say I don't
think there is at any time any thrillingly interesting action in The
Old Guard—the audience, on the grin, follow the eccentric comedian
with their eyes everywhere, so as not to lose whatever he may take
it into his head to do next.

Like the Old Woman who "had so many children, she didn]t
know what to do," Mr. Abthtjb Robeets, whose children are his
quaint ideas, "can never be quiet." He is never in repose:
always wide awake and up to the time of day. Yet, for all this, his
fun is distinctly quiet, so quiet indeed, that I fancy the Soprano or
Contralto, or whoever might have been singing her solo on the stage,
did not at first notice her companion's unobtrusive business, of sewing
for example—[inimitable !]—and, a hundred and sixty nights ago,
must have been considerably gratified at the flattering reception
accorded to her song. On such occasions Mr. Robebts pleasantly
reminds me of the Comic Countryman who pretended to catch a
fly while Mrs. Crummies was making her most telling effect.

To see Mr. Abthtje Robeets pretend to brush the crushed Mr.
Dallas's hair by machinery, to see him pretend to sew with invisible
thread and needle, to see him struggling with a sneeze, to see him
imitating the customer at the j ug department of a large bar, instruct-
ing the maid in drawing beer, and then giving his life-like present-
ment of a superior 'Abet on familiar terms with the bar-maid—to
see him reading a letter, taking part in a concerted piece and

P.S.—I cannot offer any opinion on the merits of the music, as,
worthv of his I ^e theatre being crowded, I could only find a seat on the windy
voice I mav s^e °* ^e orcneatra close to the big drum, triangles, and cymbals,
y for which soothing instruments, as it seemed to me, M. Planqtjette
has composed with so free hand, that I was compelled to beat a
retreat at the end of the Second Act, and of course I subsequently
heard that General Aethtjb is at his funniest in the Third.

YOCES POPULI.

Scene—Interior of Third Class Smoking Compartment. First
Passenger, apparently a small Suburban Tradesman, of a full
and comfortable habit, seated by window. To him enters a
seedy but burly Stranger, in a state of muzzy affability, with an
under-suggestion of quarrelsomeness.

The Stranger {leaning forward mysteriously). Yer saw that
gentleman I was a' torkin' to as I got in i Did yer know 'oo he was f

First Passenger (without hauteur, but with the air of a Person
who sets a certain value on his conversation). Well, he didn't look
much like the Archbishop of Cantebbtjry.

The S. He's a better man than 'im.' That was Brashes, the
middling weight! he giv me the orfice straight about Killivan and
Smipton, he did!

First P. (interested, as a lover of the Noble Art of Self Defence).
Ah ! did he, though ?

The S. He did; I went up to him, and I sez, " Excuse me," I
sez, like that, I sez, " but are you an American, or a German ? "

First P. (with superiority). He wouldn't like that—being taken
for a German.

The S. (solemnly). Those were my very words I And he sez,
"No, I'm a Yank," and then I knoo 'oo 'e was, d'ye see? and so
(hazily) one word brought up another, and we got a torkin'. If I
was to tell you I'd seen Killivan, I should be tellin' yer a lie I

First P. Well, I won't ask you to do that,

The S. (firmly). Nor I wouldn't. But you've on'y to look at
Smifton to see'e's never 'ad a smack on the 'ed. Now, there's
Stjlton—'e's a good man, 'e is—'e is a good man I Look 'ow that
feller knocks 'isself abaut! But if I was to pass my opinion, it 'ud
be this—Killivan's in it for science, he ain't in it to take anything;
you may take that from me !

First P. (objecting to be treated as an ingenu). It's not the first
time I've heard of it, by a long way.

The S. Ah I and it's the truth, the Bible truth (putting his hand
on First P.'s knee). Now, you b'leeve what I'm a'goin' to tell yer?

First P. (his dignity a little ruffled). I will—if it's anything in reason.

The S. It's this: My opinion of Killivan and Stjlton's this—
Stjlton brought Killivan out. I'm on'y tellin' yer from 'earsay,
like; but I know this myself—one lived in'Oxton, and the other
down Bermondsey way. 'E's got a' nice little butcher's business
there at this present moment; and 'e's a mug if 'e turns it up !

First P. (axiomatically). Everyman's a mug who turns a good
business up.

The S. Yer right! And (moralising) it ain't all 'oney with that
sort o' people, neither, I can tell yer! I dessay, now, when all's put
to^the test, you 're not a moneyed man—no more than I am myself ?

First P. (not altogether flattered). Well—that's as may be.

The S. But I b'leeve yer to be a man o' the world, although I
don't know yer.

First P. (modestly). I used to be in it at one time.

The S. (confidentially). I'm in it now. I don't get my livin' by
it, though, mind yer. I'm a mechanic, I am—to a certain extent.
I've been in America. There's a country now—they don't over-tax
like they do 'ere!

First P. (sympathetically). There you'are touched a point—we're
taxed past all common sense. Why, this very tobacco I'm smoking
now is charged-

The S. Talkin' of terbaccer, I don't mind 'aving a pipe along with
yer myself.

First P. (handing his pouch with a happy mixture of cordiality
and condescension.) There you are, then.