Punch: Punch (100.1891)

June 27, 1891.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 305

"THE SHODKIN."

fin a Jewish divorce case it was alleged that the petitioner and respondent
had been brought together by a " Shodkin/' The Shcdkin, it Was explained,
waa a person who brought about marriages between members of the Jewish
community, and was paid a fee by one or both the parties.]

" I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word."— Merchant of Venice.

" Give me new rhymes," the poet
cries,

*' I want another rhyme for
'bodkin,'"
And here comes dropping from the
skies

That comfortable word, "the
Shodkin."

Long have I racked my brain for
rhymes,
I tried to drag in Mr. GoDKn? ;
On Friday last I read my Times,

We live by verse, and how shall
we

This Hebrew middle-man dis-
parage, _
To whom religion grants a fee,

Paid by both sides, for making
marriage?

Nay, Jew, we thank thee for the
word,

For Fate two Jews might haply
sever;

The busy Shodkin comes as third,

Eureka ! down it goes — the j And swiftly makeB them one
Shodkin. for ever.

AN OPERATIC PUZZLE.

I had been informed that it was no nse bnying a book of Mireille,
as those sold in the house were of a somewhat light and mis-leading
character. So I didn't. But I had a programme, and fortunately 1
was able to recognise most of the singers in spite of their disgnise.
Also I comforted myself with the official information that the piece
was to be performed, "by desire, in French." "Oho!" says I, to
myself, " there is some sensible person on the Committee who doesn't
understand Italian, and prefers ' French as she is sung.' " However,
I recognised but one of the Covent Garden Committee men present,
and he was there only in a casual sort of way. Dbubiolanus wasn't
en evidence; probably at home rehearsing various effects with a view
to receiving the Imperial Majesty of Germany. These receptions,
including " such a getting up (and down) stairs," walking with crab-
like action, require a lot of rehearsal, not to mention the manage-
ment of a sword which is apt to be dangerous only to the wearer, and
the carrying cf^wax-lights, the effect of which on his official Court
dress may recall to the mind of the Operatic Manager the celebrated
name of Gbisi. There was no one in authority to tell me anything
about Mireille, and this is what I made out of the plot.

Mireille, Miss Eames, charming throughout, is a happy peasant
in beautiful little patent leather shoes, which, I hope, are as easy as

apparently are her circum-
stances. She is beloved by
one Vincent, pronounced Van
Song, a peasant of a rather
Whitechapelish - costermon -
gerish-out-on-a-Sunday ap-
pearance, but picturesque
withal. They are engaged ;
at least, if they are not they
ought to be. Then comes a
handsome elderly lady, dis-
guised like a fairy godmother
in a pantomime before she
throws off her hood and an-
nounces her real character, and
this lady, called Taven in the
bill, is Mile. Passama, who
sings a song about a papillon,
for what particular reason I do
not know, except to please the
audience, which it did. being
encored, and to puzzle Mireille,
in which it also succeeded, if I
might judge by Miss Eames's
expressive countenance. And
here I must observe that I
found my intimate acquaint-
ance with the French language

The Wicked Vibrato Peasant with the - "

big Toasting-cum-Tuning-Fork. occasional oux. given as

J eames has it. m excellent
French," and for some allusions to " le papillon'" just mentioned,
and " et alors"—which didn't help me much, even when given
twice most dramatically by M. Isnabdon,—I couldn't catch a single
word, and as far as libretto went, it might have been, for me per-
sonally, given in double-Dutch, or the dialect of a South-African tribe.

On the disappearance of Taven,—[she didn't take off her cloak,
and wasn't a fairy, which rather put me off the scent, I admit,]—in
comes a gorgeous person, six feet high at least, and. stout in propor-

tion, who, as I gathered from the programme, was Ourrias (what a
name!), played by Signor Ceste, and sung with a kind of double
vibrato ctop in his organ, which seemed, when turned on full, to
make the upper boxes quiver. Well, in he comes, and tells
Mireille something—what, I don't know—but this is how the row
began, as, in less than five minutes, two old men, one M. Isnabdon,
dramatic and in tune, and the other, not mentioned in my pro-
gramme, and therefore pardonably somewhat out of tune, enter and
commence a rumpus ; what the difficulty was all about I am not
clear, but the upshot was that the old man in tune curbed his
daughter, and the old man out of tune held back his son Vlncknt,
and prevented him from first assaulting and then being assaulted
by the irate Maiire Ramon, i.e., M. Isnabdon. The Chorus of
Unhappy Villagers forms tableau. End of Act the Second ; in Act
the First there was no action at all, and everything had gone off as
pleasantly as possible.

Then, in Act III., there is a sandy desert—where ?—Egypt ?
—Heaven, Augustus Habeis, and the scene-
painter, only know—and here comes on a
mighty illigant shepherd with a pipe—to play,
not to smoke—and one clever person near me ^PSM'
was sure it was Miss Eames in dis-
guise, but it turned out to be Miss
rUciNA Pinkeet, a piper of whom
some present would willingly have
paid to hear a little more; but she
vanished, probably in search of her
flock in the deseTt,—by the way, an
excellent place for golf this desert,
—and then in came Mireille and
Taven, when the latter, I fancy,
tells Mireille of the crime she has
witnessed in the previous scene,
which, I regret to say, I have
omitted to mention from motives of
delicacy. But alas ! I can no longer
conceal the fact. In that previous
scene Mr. Oxrrias had behaved
very badly in first losing his tem-
per, and then sticking a dagger into
poor Vincent Lubert, who fell down The H Peagant B with his
behind a rock, presumably dead. Long Pipe.

The golf-ground is cleared off, and
we are back again in front of the village church. But at this
moment a person, who knew all about it, whispered, " If you want
to get your cab, and escape the crush, now's the time, as the Opera
is just over." So I hurried off, and to this moment I haven't the
faintest idea how it all ended, and I don't quite understand how it
began. However, I have recorded my impressions, confused probably,
but—the music is very pretty, and Miss Eames very charming.

PARENTAL AUTHORITY.

Typical British Father {according to the Home Secretary). Now,
come, Jane and Jim, bundle up to your work. Look sharp !

Government Inspector. No, Mr. Sikes, I think not. Tour
youngsters have not touched eleven yet.

Typical British Father. But they're over ten.

Government Inspector. That don't matter. The age is altered.
You'll just send your young kids back to the Board School again.

Typical British Father. Well, I call it downright robbery. Why,
they supports me, they do ; and what more fitter work can you find
for the kids, but to support their parients with the sweat of their
brow. Why, I thought the 'Ome Seceetaet was all on our side.

Government Inspector. Well, he's been beat, that's all. The
country don't see the fun of sending children of tender years away
from their proper training, to wear out their young bodies and poison
their young systems in beastly close, ill-ventilated work-rooms, and
all just to bring in an extra bit of money to enable their parents,
like you, to laze and loaf at home, and, maybe, spend their hardly-
earned wage on drink. However, you'll have to dock it, Mr. Sikes.

Typical British Father. Well, I call it downright bloomin' rob-
bery. It's more. It's a invasion of the sacred rights of the British
working man's domestic home. It's a infringement of the liberty of
the subject, that's wot it is. It's a teaching the young 'uns
rebellion against their natural protectors. It's a bloomin' shame !
[Government Inspector leads them off delighted. Typical British
Father left swearing.

Unselfish Help by Smiles.—"Dr. Quain's advice to doctors,"
says Mr. James Payn in the Illustrated London Neios, " always ' to
look cheeful,' ought to be written in letters of gold." So it is : in
notes, or cheques. When the eminent novelist has to send for Dr.
Quain, the latter will beam on him. and tell him a good story. The
labour he delights in will "physic Patn."