DOI Heft:
February 23, 1889
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17687#0104
9t
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [February 23, 1889.
SO VERY LIKELY!
“ Shall I take care of your little Daws whiles you re a Shoppin’, Miss ?”
DOWN SOUTH.
Villa Rouge-gagne, Monte Carlo, Feb. 14.
Cher et Caro Monsignore Punchio,
Here at 9’30 a.m., haying just finished my early chocolate and my
fragrant cigaretto per esser felice—the adjective reminds me of what Mrs.
Ramsbotham said when, after telling her nephew not to smoke in the dining-
room, she found him with what he called “ a fragrant weed ” in his month, so
that, as she said, “I caught him in fragrante delicto”—but this quite “ en
parson,” as the waiter said when he saw his white tie reflected in a looking-
glass—here I am, sitting out amid the orange and lemon trees, feeling myself
making part of a Burne-Jones picture, in summerish attire, under a sunshade,
looking out on to the blue Mediterranean, down on to the hot and dusty road to
Nice, and up at the saffron-coloured tiles and the pale white-and-yellow walls of
the Citadel of Monaco. It is too hot to walk much—except, presently, down
hill, as far as the terrace of the Casino—so I prefer to bask beneath the pleasant
verandah while I read the day before yesterday’s Times, which recounts how
London is in difficulties, as usual, with the snow, how the sun has shone fitfully,
for a few minutes at a time, during the day, and, in a general way, how beastly
the weather is everywhere hut here.
On Monday we had our share of wind, for there was what Mrs. Rah terms
“ a Minstrel,” which raised blinding clouds of dust, and one minute you were
hot, and the next you were cold, the whole entertainment “ presenting,” as the
dear old lady above-mentioned says, “ a complete illustration of one of Allsop’s
Fables about the Sun, the "Wind, and the Traveller.” But to-day life is worth
living,—and it would, be still more so if one could look back without regret to
the result of last night’s roulette, when I lost quite fifteen francs, or could
anticipate with certainty the successful issue of planking down the maximum on
a single number,—and, at the present moment, life would be perfectly enjoyable,
if two dirty raffish-looking troubadours, with a couple of guitars, had not
invaded the gardens, and commenced a serenade. Where are the police ?
Where is the army of Monaco ? They don’t expect police, hut they do expect
“ coppers.” And I shan’t be happy till they get them. Their style and manner
reminds me of the Derby Day, and of the itinerant musicians whom one sees
outside public-houses in London, pursuing their calling,
or rather, their bawling. I fancy under the influence
of a Franco - Italian sky I am dropping into poetry.
“It’s the fine weather brings them out,” says our con-
fidential waiter at the Hotel Windsor, ‘ ‘ Comme les oiseaux
au pr intemps” which is small compliment to the birds.
Everybody here, in this wonderful Casino ! Many who,
I imagine, must be neglecting their professional duties
“to serve tables.” Some excellent people would like
to see each of these tables a “ tabula rasa,” but where’s
the special and particular harm, any more, that is, than
in horse-racing, card-playing, Stock Exchange specula-
tion, or any other form of gambling ?
Perhaps all gambling is had,—I don’t say it isn’t, and
I certainly am far from saying it is,—hut why is this
particular form of it at Monte Carlo to be denounced as
so utterly monstrous ?
“ Why,” says some one to me, “ notice the faces round
the tables! Look at the people ! Did you ever see such
a set ? Look at the women, regard th e men ! The Demon
of Play has seized them all! It is a Pandemonium ! ”
“ Quite so,” I reply) “ and by the way I observe several
distinguished English Statesmen and highly respectable
English ladies in that crowd—and—and—as the red hasn’t
turned up for the last four times, I shall put on les quatre
premiers, and on red—excuse me.” And turning to
apologise to my companion for interrupting his flow of
moral conversation, I find I am addressing myself to a
perfect stranger, and that my virtuous friend has con-
trived to get a seat, and has his money on in four differ-
ent places. The Mediterranean is blue; the oranges and
lemons are yellow, the sun shines brightly, the air is
exhilarating— health before everything by all means. But
at Monte Carlo—as in Denmark where there was some-
thing rotten in the state tempore Hamletto—“ the play’s
the thing”—il n'y a que qa—rien ne va plus— and so I
finish my brief correspondence just to let you know where
I am. Well, I am on the four first, the middle dozen,
and red. I sign myself yours truly, singing—
“ Monte Carlo is hy Name !”
P.S.—I have returned from the Casino. Yes. The
gambling ought to he stopped. The weather is chilly.
I will have the fire lighted. Such a fire! Only wood—
no coals. Bah! Why come here for health and change
of climate ? Isn’t good honest snow and muck in England,
and no sun, better than losing 500 francs in three-
quarters of an hour ? And to think that if I had only put
on the quatre derniers, instead of the quatre premiers (as I
did), I might have won something fabulous. I shall send
for my bill. Where’s a cheap restaurant ? Shall I have
one turn more at the tables ? Well, just one. To-night.
P.S. No. 2.—Lovely night! Beautiful moon! Stars
magnificent! Such an atmosphere! Who would stop in
England, and, above all, in smoky London, if they could
only get out here ? Let me see ; I ’ll just empty out my
pockets—750 francs; that leaves me. 250 to the good.
After all, there’s no harm in gambling; merely pour
passer le temps. And then the place is so healthy!
Why, one can be up till two in the morning, and take
anything and everything, and smoke any amount, with-
out feeling the effect. The air is so exhilarating. Shall
stay here a few days more. Shall I play again ? that is
the question. At present I am inclined to say, Monsieur,
faites votre jeu ! J'y suis ! I send you this as a sort of
diary just to show you what good the climate here is doing
to Yours truly, M. C.
Those Happy Japs!
{Mem. by a Parliamentary Cynic.)
And so, without riot or revolution,
Japan has got a brand-new Constitution,
The which, according to quidnunc and quacker,
Was the one lack in the great land of lacquer.
From the Mikado’s rule to true M.P.-dom
Is a long stride in the great March of Freedom.
Our western progress is more slow and breezy.
Those Japanese do take it Japaneasy!
They ’ve taught in Art (though some that as an error
Next they will teach us how to job and perorate !
“ A Bolt from the Blue.”—Running away from the
Policeman.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [February 23, 1889.
SO VERY LIKELY!
“ Shall I take care of your little Daws whiles you re a Shoppin’, Miss ?”
DOWN SOUTH.
Villa Rouge-gagne, Monte Carlo, Feb. 14.
Cher et Caro Monsignore Punchio,
Here at 9’30 a.m., haying just finished my early chocolate and my
fragrant cigaretto per esser felice—the adjective reminds me of what Mrs.
Ramsbotham said when, after telling her nephew not to smoke in the dining-
room, she found him with what he called “ a fragrant weed ” in his month, so
that, as she said, “I caught him in fragrante delicto”—but this quite “ en
parson,” as the waiter said when he saw his white tie reflected in a looking-
glass—here I am, sitting out amid the orange and lemon trees, feeling myself
making part of a Burne-Jones picture, in summerish attire, under a sunshade,
looking out on to the blue Mediterranean, down on to the hot and dusty road to
Nice, and up at the saffron-coloured tiles and the pale white-and-yellow walls of
the Citadel of Monaco. It is too hot to walk much—except, presently, down
hill, as far as the terrace of the Casino—so I prefer to bask beneath the pleasant
verandah while I read the day before yesterday’s Times, which recounts how
London is in difficulties, as usual, with the snow, how the sun has shone fitfully,
for a few minutes at a time, during the day, and, in a general way, how beastly
the weather is everywhere hut here.
On Monday we had our share of wind, for there was what Mrs. Rah terms
“ a Minstrel,” which raised blinding clouds of dust, and one minute you were
hot, and the next you were cold, the whole entertainment “ presenting,” as the
dear old lady above-mentioned says, “ a complete illustration of one of Allsop’s
Fables about the Sun, the "Wind, and the Traveller.” But to-day life is worth
living,—and it would, be still more so if one could look back without regret to
the result of last night’s roulette, when I lost quite fifteen francs, or could
anticipate with certainty the successful issue of planking down the maximum on
a single number,—and, at the present moment, life would be perfectly enjoyable,
if two dirty raffish-looking troubadours, with a couple of guitars, had not
invaded the gardens, and commenced a serenade. Where are the police ?
Where is the army of Monaco ? They don’t expect police, hut they do expect
“ coppers.” And I shan’t be happy till they get them. Their style and manner
reminds me of the Derby Day, and of the itinerant musicians whom one sees
outside public-houses in London, pursuing their calling,
or rather, their bawling. I fancy under the influence
of a Franco - Italian sky I am dropping into poetry.
“It’s the fine weather brings them out,” says our con-
fidential waiter at the Hotel Windsor, ‘ ‘ Comme les oiseaux
au pr intemps” which is small compliment to the birds.
Everybody here, in this wonderful Casino ! Many who,
I imagine, must be neglecting their professional duties
“to serve tables.” Some excellent people would like
to see each of these tables a “ tabula rasa,” but where’s
the special and particular harm, any more, that is, than
in horse-racing, card-playing, Stock Exchange specula-
tion, or any other form of gambling ?
Perhaps all gambling is had,—I don’t say it isn’t, and
I certainly am far from saying it is,—hut why is this
particular form of it at Monte Carlo to be denounced as
so utterly monstrous ?
“ Why,” says some one to me, “ notice the faces round
the tables! Look at the people ! Did you ever see such
a set ? Look at the women, regard th e men ! The Demon
of Play has seized them all! It is a Pandemonium ! ”
“ Quite so,” I reply) “ and by the way I observe several
distinguished English Statesmen and highly respectable
English ladies in that crowd—and—and—as the red hasn’t
turned up for the last four times, I shall put on les quatre
premiers, and on red—excuse me.” And turning to
apologise to my companion for interrupting his flow of
moral conversation, I find I am addressing myself to a
perfect stranger, and that my virtuous friend has con-
trived to get a seat, and has his money on in four differ-
ent places. The Mediterranean is blue; the oranges and
lemons are yellow, the sun shines brightly, the air is
exhilarating— health before everything by all means. But
at Monte Carlo—as in Denmark where there was some-
thing rotten in the state tempore Hamletto—“ the play’s
the thing”—il n'y a que qa—rien ne va plus— and so I
finish my brief correspondence just to let you know where
I am. Well, I am on the four first, the middle dozen,
and red. I sign myself yours truly, singing—
“ Monte Carlo is hy Name !”
P.S.—I have returned from the Casino. Yes. The
gambling ought to he stopped. The weather is chilly.
I will have the fire lighted. Such a fire! Only wood—
no coals. Bah! Why come here for health and change
of climate ? Isn’t good honest snow and muck in England,
and no sun, better than losing 500 francs in three-
quarters of an hour ? And to think that if I had only put
on the quatre derniers, instead of the quatre premiers (as I
did), I might have won something fabulous. I shall send
for my bill. Where’s a cheap restaurant ? Shall I have
one turn more at the tables ? Well, just one. To-night.
P.S. No. 2.—Lovely night! Beautiful moon! Stars
magnificent! Such an atmosphere! Who would stop in
England, and, above all, in smoky London, if they could
only get out here ? Let me see ; I ’ll just empty out my
pockets—750 francs; that leaves me. 250 to the good.
After all, there’s no harm in gambling; merely pour
passer le temps. And then the place is so healthy!
Why, one can be up till two in the morning, and take
anything and everything, and smoke any amount, with-
out feeling the effect. The air is so exhilarating. Shall
stay here a few days more. Shall I play again ? that is
the question. At present I am inclined to say, Monsieur,
faites votre jeu ! J'y suis ! I send you this as a sort of
diary just to show you what good the climate here is doing
to Yours truly, M. C.
Those Happy Japs!
{Mem. by a Parliamentary Cynic.)
And so, without riot or revolution,
Japan has got a brand-new Constitution,
The which, according to quidnunc and quacker,
Was the one lack in the great land of lacquer.
From the Mikado’s rule to true M.P.-dom
Is a long stride in the great March of Freedom.
Our western progress is more slow and breezy.
Those Japanese do take it Japaneasy!
They ’ve taught in Art (though some that as an error
Next they will teach us how to job and perorate !
“ A Bolt from the Blue.”—Running away from the
Policeman.