DOI Heft:
January 9, 1892
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17693#0027
January 9, 1892.]
PUNCH, OK THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
17
Culch. Ah, Podbury, take the good the gods provide you and be
content! You might be worse of?, believe me !
Podh. (discontentedh/). It's all very well for you to talk—with
Miss Trotter all to yourself. I suppose you 're regularly engaged
by this time, eh ?
Culch. Not quite. There's still a- And your probation, that's
practically at an end ?
Podb. I don't know. Can't make her out. She wouldn't sit on
me the way she does unless she liked me, I suppose. But I say, it
must be awf—rather jolly for you with Miss Trotter? She's got so
much go, eh ?
Culch. You used to say she wasn't what you call cultivated.
Podb. I know I did. That's just what I like about her! At
least—well, we both ought to think ourselves uncommonly lucky
beggars, 1 'm sure! [He sighs more heavily than ever.
Culch. You especially, my dear Podbury. In fact, I doubt if
you 're half grateful enough !
Podb. [snappishly). Yes, I am, I tell you. I'm. not grumbling,
am I ? I know as well as you do she 's miles too good for me.
Haven't 1 said so ? Then what the devil do you keep on nagging at
me for, eh ?
Culch. I am glad you see it in that light. Aren't you a little
irritable to-night ?
Podb. No, 1 'in not. It's those filthy canals. And the way you
talk—as if a girl like Miss Trotter wasn't-!
('ulch. I really can't allow you to lecture me. I am not insensible
to my good-fortune—if others are. Now we '11 drop the subject.
Podb. I'm willing enough to drop it. And I shall turn in now—
it's late. You coming ?
Culch. Not yet. Good-night. [To himself, as Podbury departs.)
You insensate dolt!
Podb. Good-night! (To himself, as he sivings off.) Confounded
patronising prig '
HUMPTY-DUMPTY UP AGAIN!
That hardy annual known as The Drury Lane Pantomime is in
full vigour this year, its flowers of a more brilliant colour than ever,
and its leaves, as evidenced by the book of words, are fresh and
vigorous. In no other sense, however, does the Drury Lane Pantomime
bear any resemblance
to "a plant." There
is no " take in " about
it, except that' even
big Old Drury is not
capable of holding all
who would be present;
and so it happens
nightly I believe, that
many are turned away
from the doors bit-
terly disappointed.
Such certainly was
the case when the
present deponent was
installed, ■— without
any unnecessary cere-
mony, — on a certain
given night last week.
"The book" is by the
Every-knightly Dru-
riolanus and his
faithful Esquire,
Harry Nicholls,
who, much to every-
body's regret, does
not on this occasion
appear as one of the
Little Tick and the Fine Fairy. exponents of his own
work. I here are Miss
Fannie Leslie—too much "ie " in this name now, and one may ask
" for why" P—Miss Marie (not "Mary"—oh dear no!) Lloyd, Miss
Pattie—not Patty of course—Heyvvood, Mr. John and Miss Emma
(dear me! not Emm/e.') D'Auban, and Mr. Herbert Campbell
as a grotesque monarch, Mr. Dan Leno as Queen of Hearts, Mr.
Fred Walton, wonderful in a frame as the living image of the
Knave of Hearts, and a crowd of clever people. But among the entire
dramatis personce, first and foremost, both the least and the greatest,
is the impersonator of Humpty-Dumpty himself, the Yellow Dwarf
alias Little Tich, who shares with the gorgeous spectacle and the
exquisite combination of colours in Scene Eight, The Wedding, the
first honours of the Great Drury Lane Annual. It is emphatically a
Pantomime for children to see and to enjoy. The action is so rapid,
song succeeds dance, and dance succeeds song, and permutations and
combinations of colour are so brilliant and so frequent, that anyone
who wants full change for his money and a bonus into the bargain,
will find it in the return he will get for his outlay on visiting the
Drury Lane Annual. And now about the Harlequinade. The
"Opening," as it used to be called, which, terminating with the
Grand Transformation Scene, ought to be, theoretically at least, only
the introduction to the real business of the evening, that is, the
"Pantomime business," concludes at 10'45, and allows three-
quarters of an hour for what is called " the Double Harlequinade "
—which consists of one old-fashioned English Pantomime-scene,
followed by a comparatively modern—for 'tis not absolutely "new
and original"—French Pantomime-scene, and this arrangement
seems like, so to speak, pitting English Joey against French Pierrot.
This friendly rivalry has had the effect of waking up the traditional
Grimaldian spirit of Pantomime, and Mr. Harry Payne's scene,
besides coming earlier than usual, is, in itself, full of fun of the
" ' Fin de sikeW Clown ! "Why, I 'ye seen that sort o' thing done years
ago, when I was a boy ! "
good old school-boyish kind; and if the Public, as Jury, is to award
a palm to either competitor, then it must give a hand—which is
much the same thing as "awarding a palm"—to its old friend,
Harry Payne, who, with Tully Lewis as Pantaloon, has pulled
himself together, and given us a good quarter of an hour of genuine
Old English Pantomime, compared with which the other, though
its fooling is excellent in its own way, is only comic ballet d'action
after the style of Fun in a Fog. I think that was the title, but am
not sure, of the gambols with which the Martinetti troupe used to
entertain us. The new and improved style of ballet-dancing intro-
duced by the now celebrated pas de quatre at the Gaiety, is charming,
as here and now represented by Miss Mabel Love and her graceful
companions.
To sum up; as the inspired poet of the immortal ode on Guy
Fawkes' Day saw no reason why that particular treason should ever
be forgot, so I, but uninspired, and only mortal, am unable to ascer-
tain the existence of any objection to the opinion that this Panto-
mime possesses staying power sufficient to carry itself on for an
extra long run of several months over Easter, and, maybe, up to
Whitsuntide. There is but one Druriolanus, and the Pantomime
is his Profit! The two authors have achieved what " all the King's
horses and all the King's men" (not of Cambridge, of course) could
not effect!—they have set Humpty-Dumpty on his legs again ! And
so congratulations to "all concerned" ! And, without prejudice to
Sir Druriolanus, I beg to sign myself, The Other Knight.
The Lay of the Analytic Novelist.
["It is not the patent, obvious results of the inner working of mind on
which the modern novelist dwells, it is on that inner working itself."—Daily
Chronicle.']
That odd barrel-organ, the human mind,
I love to explore ; 'tis the analyst's lune ;
But if I can only contrive to find
How the pipes will grunt, and the handle will grind,
I don't care a fig for the tune !
" Hit One op Your Own Size."—About the ups or downs of the
Alexandra Palace, Mr. Shaw Lefevre shouldn't have a row with
a Littler, specially when the Littler, who if he, with his friends,
take over the lease of the Alexandra themselves, will then be a
Lessor, is pretty sure to get the best of the discussion.
By "a Thoughtful Philosopher.—Any remedy against London
fogs must involve a grate change.
PUNCH, OK THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
17
Culch. Ah, Podbury, take the good the gods provide you and be
content! You might be worse of?, believe me !
Podh. (discontentedh/). It's all very well for you to talk—with
Miss Trotter all to yourself. I suppose you 're regularly engaged
by this time, eh ?
Culch. Not quite. There's still a- And your probation, that's
practically at an end ?
Podb. I don't know. Can't make her out. She wouldn't sit on
me the way she does unless she liked me, I suppose. But I say, it
must be awf—rather jolly for you with Miss Trotter? She's got so
much go, eh ?
Culch. You used to say she wasn't what you call cultivated.
Podb. I know I did. That's just what I like about her! At
least—well, we both ought to think ourselves uncommonly lucky
beggars, 1 'm sure! [He sighs more heavily than ever.
Culch. You especially, my dear Podbury. In fact, I doubt if
you 're half grateful enough !
Podb. [snappishly). Yes, I am, I tell you. I'm. not grumbling,
am I ? I know as well as you do she 's miles too good for me.
Haven't 1 said so ? Then what the devil do you keep on nagging at
me for, eh ?
Culch. I am glad you see it in that light. Aren't you a little
irritable to-night ?
Podb. No, 1 'in not. It's those filthy canals. And the way you
talk—as if a girl like Miss Trotter wasn't-!
('ulch. I really can't allow you to lecture me. I am not insensible
to my good-fortune—if others are. Now we '11 drop the subject.
Podb. I'm willing enough to drop it. And I shall turn in now—
it's late. You coming ?
Culch. Not yet. Good-night. [To himself, as Podbury departs.)
You insensate dolt!
Podb. Good-night! (To himself, as he sivings off.) Confounded
patronising prig '
HUMPTY-DUMPTY UP AGAIN!
That hardy annual known as The Drury Lane Pantomime is in
full vigour this year, its flowers of a more brilliant colour than ever,
and its leaves, as evidenced by the book of words, are fresh and
vigorous. In no other sense, however, does the Drury Lane Pantomime
bear any resemblance
to "a plant." There
is no " take in " about
it, except that' even
big Old Drury is not
capable of holding all
who would be present;
and so it happens
nightly I believe, that
many are turned away
from the doors bit-
terly disappointed.
Such certainly was
the case when the
present deponent was
installed, ■— without
any unnecessary cere-
mony, — on a certain
given night last week.
"The book" is by the
Every-knightly Dru-
riolanus and his
faithful Esquire,
Harry Nicholls,
who, much to every-
body's regret, does
not on this occasion
appear as one of the
Little Tick and the Fine Fairy. exponents of his own
work. I here are Miss
Fannie Leslie—too much "ie " in this name now, and one may ask
" for why" P—Miss Marie (not "Mary"—oh dear no!) Lloyd, Miss
Pattie—not Patty of course—Heyvvood, Mr. John and Miss Emma
(dear me! not Emm/e.') D'Auban, and Mr. Herbert Campbell
as a grotesque monarch, Mr. Dan Leno as Queen of Hearts, Mr.
Fred Walton, wonderful in a frame as the living image of the
Knave of Hearts, and a crowd of clever people. But among the entire
dramatis personce, first and foremost, both the least and the greatest,
is the impersonator of Humpty-Dumpty himself, the Yellow Dwarf
alias Little Tich, who shares with the gorgeous spectacle and the
exquisite combination of colours in Scene Eight, The Wedding, the
first honours of the Great Drury Lane Annual. It is emphatically a
Pantomime for children to see and to enjoy. The action is so rapid,
song succeeds dance, and dance succeeds song, and permutations and
combinations of colour are so brilliant and so frequent, that anyone
who wants full change for his money and a bonus into the bargain,
will find it in the return he will get for his outlay on visiting the
Drury Lane Annual. And now about the Harlequinade. The
"Opening," as it used to be called, which, terminating with the
Grand Transformation Scene, ought to be, theoretically at least, only
the introduction to the real business of the evening, that is, the
"Pantomime business," concludes at 10'45, and allows three-
quarters of an hour for what is called " the Double Harlequinade "
—which consists of one old-fashioned English Pantomime-scene,
followed by a comparatively modern—for 'tis not absolutely "new
and original"—French Pantomime-scene, and this arrangement
seems like, so to speak, pitting English Joey against French Pierrot.
This friendly rivalry has had the effect of waking up the traditional
Grimaldian spirit of Pantomime, and Mr. Harry Payne's scene,
besides coming earlier than usual, is, in itself, full of fun of the
" ' Fin de sikeW Clown ! "Why, I 'ye seen that sort o' thing done years
ago, when I was a boy ! "
good old school-boyish kind; and if the Public, as Jury, is to award
a palm to either competitor, then it must give a hand—which is
much the same thing as "awarding a palm"—to its old friend,
Harry Payne, who, with Tully Lewis as Pantaloon, has pulled
himself together, and given us a good quarter of an hour of genuine
Old English Pantomime, compared with which the other, though
its fooling is excellent in its own way, is only comic ballet d'action
after the style of Fun in a Fog. I think that was the title, but am
not sure, of the gambols with which the Martinetti troupe used to
entertain us. The new and improved style of ballet-dancing intro-
duced by the now celebrated pas de quatre at the Gaiety, is charming,
as here and now represented by Miss Mabel Love and her graceful
companions.
To sum up; as the inspired poet of the immortal ode on Guy
Fawkes' Day saw no reason why that particular treason should ever
be forgot, so I, but uninspired, and only mortal, am unable to ascer-
tain the existence of any objection to the opinion that this Panto-
mime possesses staying power sufficient to carry itself on for an
extra long run of several months over Easter, and, maybe, up to
Whitsuntide. There is but one Druriolanus, and the Pantomime
is his Profit! The two authors have achieved what " all the King's
horses and all the King's men" (not of Cambridge, of course) could
not effect!—they have set Humpty-Dumpty on his legs again ! And
so congratulations to "all concerned" ! And, without prejudice to
Sir Druriolanus, I beg to sign myself, The Other Knight.
The Lay of the Analytic Novelist.
["It is not the patent, obvious results of the inner working of mind on
which the modern novelist dwells, it is on that inner working itself."—Daily
Chronicle.']
That odd barrel-organ, the human mind,
I love to explore ; 'tis the analyst's lune ;
But if I can only contrive to find
How the pipes will grunt, and the handle will grind,
I don't care a fig for the tune !
" Hit One op Your Own Size."—About the ups or downs of the
Alexandra Palace, Mr. Shaw Lefevre shouldn't have a row with
a Littler, specially when the Littler, who if he, with his friends,
take over the lease of the Alexandra themselves, will then be a
Lessor, is pretty sure to get the best of the discussion.
By "a Thoughtful Philosopher.—Any remedy against London
fogs must involve a grate change.