Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 100, May 30, 1891 written by Various
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Various >> Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 100, May 30, 1891
PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 100.
May 30, 1891.
MR. PUNCH'S POCKET IBSEN.
(_CONDENSED AND REVISED VERSION BY MR. P.'S OWN HARMLESS IBSENITE._)
NO. IV.--THE WILD DUCK.
ACT III.
_HIALMAR's Studio. A photograph has just been taken, GINA
and HEDVIG are tidying up._
_Gina_ (_apologetically_). There _should_ have been a luncheon-party
in this Act, with Dr. RELLING and MOeLVIK, who would have been in a
state of comic "chippiness," after his excesses overnight. But, as it
hadn't much to do with such plot as there is, we cut it out. It came
cheaper. Here comes your father back from his walk with that lunatic,
Young WERLE--you had better go and play with the Wild Duck. [_HEDVIG
goes_.
_Hialmar_ (_coming in_). I have been for a walk with GREGERS; he meant
well--but it was tiring. GINA, he has told me that, fifteen years
ago, before I married you, you were rather a Wild Duck, so to speak.
(_Severely._) Why haven't you been writhing in penitence and remorse
all these years, eh?
_Gina_ (_sensibly_). Why? Because I have had other things to do. _You_
wouldn't take any photographs, so I _had_ to.
_Hialmar_. All the same--it was a swamp of deceit. And where am I to
find elasticity of spirit to bring out my grand invention now? I used
to shut myself up in the parlour, and ponder and cry, when I
thought that the effort of inventing anything would sap my vitality.
(_Pathetically._) I _did_ want to leave you an inventor's widow; but
I never shall now, particularly as I haven't made up my mind what to
invent yet. Yes, it's all over. Rabbits are trash, and even poultry
palls. And I'll wring that cursed Wild Duck's neck!
_Gregers_ (_coming in beaming_). Well, so you've got it over. _Wasn't_
it soothing and ennobling, eh? and _ain't_ you both obliged to me?
_Gina_. No; it's my opinion you'd better have minded your own
business, [_Weeps._
_Gregers_ (_in great surprise_). Bless me! Pardon my Norwegian
_naivete_ but this ought really to be quite a new starting-point. Why,
I confidently expected to have found you both beaming!--Mrs. EKDAL,
being so illiterate, may take some little time to see it--but you,
HIALMAR, with your deep mind, surely _you_ feel a new consecration,
eh?
_Hialmar_ (_dubiously_). Oh--er--yes. I suppose so--in a sort of way.
[_HEDVIG runs in, overjoyed._
_Hedvig_. Father, only see what Mrs. SOeRBY has given, me for a
birthday present--a beautiful deed of gift! [_Shows it._
_Hialmar_ (_eluding her_). Ha! Mrs. SOeRBY, the family Housekeeper.
My father's sight failing! HEDVIG in goggles! What vistas of heredity
these astonishing coincidences open up! _I_ am not short-sighted, at
all events, and I see it all--all! _This_ is my answer. (_He takes
the deed, and tears it across._) Now I have nothing more to do in this
house. (_Puts on overcoat._) My home has fallen in ruins about me.
(_Bursts into tears._) My hat!
_Gregers_. Oh, but you _mustn't_ go. You must be all three together,
to attain the true frame of mind for self-sacrificing forgiveness, you
know!
_Hialmar_. Self-sacrificing forgiveness be blowed!
[_He tears himself away, and goes out._
_Hedvig_ (_with despairing eyes_). Oh, he said it might be blowed! Now
he'll _never_ come home any more!
_Gregers_. Shall I tell you how to regain your father's confidence,
and bring him home surely? Sacrifice the Wild Duck.
_Hedvig_. Do you think that will do any good?
_Gregers_. You just _try_ it! [_Curtain._
ACT IV.
_Same Scene. GREGERS enters, and finds GINA retouching
photographs_.
_Gregers_ (_pleasantly_). HIALMAR not come in yet, after last night, I
suppose?
_Gina_. Not he! He's been out on the loose all night with RELLING and
MOeLVIK. Now he's snoring on their sofa.
_Gregers_ (_disappointed._) Dear!--dear!--when he ought to be yearning
to wrestle in solitude and self-examination!
_Gina_ (_rudely_). Self-examine your grandmother!
[_She goes out; HEDVIG comes in._
_Gregers_ (_to Hedvig_). Ah, I see you haven't found courage to settle
the Wild Duck yet!
_Hedvig_. No--it seemed such a delightful idea at first. Now it
strikes me as a trifle--well, _Ibsenish_.
_Gregers_ (_reprovingly_). I _thought_ you hadn't grown up quite
unharmed in this house! But if you really had the true, joyous spirit
of self-sacrifice, you'd have a shot at that Wild Duck, if you died
for it!
_Hedvig_ (_slowly_). I see; you mean that my constitution's changing,
and I ought to behave as such?
_Gregers_. Exactly, I'm what Americans would term a "crank"--but _I_
believe in you, HEDVIG.
[_HEDVIG takes down the pistol from the mantelpiece, and goes
into the garret with flashing eyes; GINA comes in._
_Hialmar_ (_looking in at door with hesitation; he is unwashed and
dishevelled_). Has anybody happened to see my hat?
_Gina_. Gracious, what a sight you are! Sit down and have some
breakfast, do. [_She brings it._
_Hialmar_ (_indignantly_). What! touch food under _this_ roof? Never!
(_Helps himself to bread-and-butter and coffee._) Go and pack up my
scientific uncut books, my manuscripts, and all the best rabbits, in
my portmanteau. I am going away for ever. On second thoughts, I shall
stay in the spare room for another day or two--it won't be the same as
living with you!
[_He takes some salt meat._
_Gregers_. _Must_ you go? Just when you've got nice firm ground to
build upon--thanks to me! Then there's your great invention, too.
_Hialmar_. Everything's invented already. And I only cared about my
invention because, although it doesn't exist yet, I thought HEDVIG
believed in it, with all the strength of her sweet little shortsighted
eyes! But now I don't believe in HEDVIG!
[Illustration]
[_He pours himself out another cup of coffee._
_Gregers_ (_earnestly_). But, HIALMAR, if I can prove to you that she
is ready to sacrifice her cherished Wild Duck? See!
[_He pushes back sliding-door, and discovers HEDVIG aiming
at the Wild Duck with the butt-end of the pistol. Tableau._
_Gina_ (_excitedly_). But don't you _see_? It's the pigstol--that
fatal Norwegian weapon which, in Ibsenian dramas, _never_ shoots
straight! And she has got it by the wrong end too. She will shoot
herself!
_Gregers_ (_quietly_). She will! Let the child make amends. It will be
a most realistic and impressive finale!
_Gina_. No, no--put down the pigstol, HEDVIG. Do you hear, child?
_Hedvig_ (_still aiming_). I hear--but I shan't unless father tells me
to.
_Gregers_. HIALMAR, show the great soul I always _said_ you had.
This sorrow will set free what is noble in you. Don't spoil a fine
situation. Be a man! Let the child shoot herself!
_Hialmar_ (_irresolutely_). Well, really I don't know. There's a good
deal in what GREGERS says. Hm!
_Gina_. A good deal of tomfool rubbish! I'm illiterate, I know. I've
been a Wild Duck in my time, and I waddle. But for all that, I'm
the only person in the play with a grain of common-sense. And I'm
sure--whatever Mr. IBSEN or GREGERS choose to say--that a screaming
burlesque like this ought _not_ to end like a tragedy--even in this
queer Norway of ours! And it shan't, either! Tell the child to put
that nasty pigstol down and come away, do!
_Hialmar_ (_yielding_). Ah, well, I am a farcical character myself,
after all. Don't touch a hair of that duck's head, HEDVIG. Come to my
arms and all shall be forgiven!
[_HEDVIG throws down the pistol,--which goes off and kills a
rabbit--and rushes into her father's arms. Old EKDAL comes
out of a corner with a fowl on each shoulder, and bursts into
tears. Affecting family picture._
_Gregers_ (_annoyed_). It's all very pretty, I dare say--but it's not
IBSEN! My real mission is to be the thirteenth at table. I don't know
what I mean--but I fly to fulfil it! [_He goes._
_Hialmar_. And now we've got rid of _him_, HEDVIG, fetch me the deed
of gift I tore up, and a slip of paper, and a penny bottle of gum, and
we'll soon make a valid instrument of it again!
[_He pastes the torn deed together as the Curtain slowly
descends._
THE END (_with apologies as before_.)
* * * * *
WHY SHOULD LONDON WAIT?
OR, THE SLIGHTED METROPOLIS AND THE DISAPPOINTED MEDICAL STUDENT.
[Sir RICHARD QUAIN (seconding the proposal of Lord HERSCHELL
"that the draft Supplemental Charter for the University
of London be approved") said that with respect to Medical
Degrees, those who were not in the profession could not
realise the grievance which the Medical Students of London
felt themselves to be sustaining by not being able to obtain
their Degrees in the Metropolis. Hundreds of capable men were
driven to seek in Scotland, at Newcastle, and elsewhere the
Medical Degrees which they ought to have obtained in London.]
[Illustration]
AIR--"_The University of Gottingen." London, loquitur_:--
I.
Whene'er with longing eyes you view
Degrees, I feel I'm _un_done, Sir,
And so do the companions true
Who studied with you at the U-
-niversity of London, Sir--
-niversity of London, Sir!
[_Weeps, and pulls out report of stormy meeting of Convocation
of University of London, where new draft charter (of which_
Lord HERSCHELL _and_ Lord Justice FRY _were the most prominent
advocates) was rejected by 461 votes against 197._
II.
Report! It saddens me--and you.
Was it in cruel fun done, Sir!
What QUAIN and HERSCHELL, said was true!
Durham can crow it o'er the U-
-niversity of London, Sir!
-niversity of London, Sir!
[_At the repetition of this line young--but degreeless--Medical
Student groans in cadence._
III.
Degrees! _I_ cannot grant them--true!
Or it were with a run done, Sir.
I'm _only_ the Metropolis. Pooh!
Provincial pedants flout the U-
-niversity of London, Sir!
-niversity of London, Sir!
IV.
Talk of Home Rule? It's all askew!
I have it not, for one done, Sir.
I've taught you; your "trademark"--boohoo!--
I cannot give you at the U-
-niversity of London, Sir!
-niversity of London, Sir!
V.
To knowledge in my halls you grew;
But now you are--dear son, done, Sir!
You're only a mere Medical Stu-
-dent at the sorely slighted U-
-niversity of London, Sir.
-niversity of London, Sir!
VI.
Off--to Newcastle, boy! Adieu!
By that big vote we're undone, Sir.
Provincial Colleges have exclu-
-sive rights denied to the poor U-
-niversity of London, Sir?
-niversity of London, Sir!
[_During the last stanza, M.S. beats his breast with his
stethoscope and goes off--like coals--to Newcastle, or like
mustard--to Durham--to waste valuable time in getting in those
colossal provincial centres what "Poor Little London" cannot
grant him._
* * * * *
BREAKFAST TABLE-TALK.
(_FROM EDISON'S PHRASE-BOOK._)
Good gracious! what was that horrible noise? It sounded like the
falling of a leg of mutton!
Oh! that was only the blow delivered by the Hackney Cockchafer on the
eye of the Midland Wrap-Rascal. It's the best fight I've seen for a
long time.
I wish, then, you would take it with you into another room. I can
scarcely catch a single word of the Rev. JABEZ FISHE's delightful
sermon, to which I am endeavouring to listen.
Heavens! why all the windows are broken! And the mirrors are
shattered! And the chandelier has come down!
Well, my dear, I am very sorry, but I was much interested in the
firing of this new 137-ton gun, and they have just let it off. That's
all.
* * * * *
GEOGRAPHICAL.
"Low-lying" districts are much talked about just now as
breeding-grounds for the pestiferous Influenza microbe. The worst
"low-lying" districts _Punch_ knows are the editorial offices of
certain scurrilous journals, and the social pestilences they engender
and disseminate sorely need abatement. Perhaps when they have duly
fumigated the House, they will turn their attention to the Office.
* * * * *
[Illustration: A JUDGE OF CHARACTER.
_Sympathetic Friend_ (_to Sweeper_). "WHAT'S THE USE O' ARSTIN' _'IM_,
BILL? _'E_ DON'T GIVE AWAY NOTHINK LESS THAN A GOVER'MENT APPOINTMENT,
_'E_ DON'T!!"]
* * * * *
THE BITTER CRY OF OUTCAST COMPETITION.
"The breakfast at St. James's Hall, which we reported
yesterday, and which was held in order to allow those who
partook of it to discuss the possibility of establishing
in this country a 'non-competitive system of university
examination,' was, in some respects, a natural outcome of the
revolt against competition which has of late years made itself
felt in many different quarters."--_The Times_.
I'm in a pretty pickle!
The world is wondrous fickle;
But lately it would stickle
For Progress by Exam.
And now, in Trade and Learning,
Against me they seem turning,
Deliberately discerning
In me a noxious sham!
The _Laissez-faire_ philosopher
My enemies grew gross over;
But now Economists toss over
Their idol of old days.
They swear "Free Competition"
Leads to Trade inanition:
That I'm a superstition,
A cruel vampire craze.
And now Big Wigs scholastic,
To modern movements plastic,
Would try reform most drastic
Upon the School Exam.
The ways my nerves that jar on
AUBERON HERBERT's far on;
E'en Dr. WARRE makes war on
Dear old Competitive Cram!
If pundits thus--at breakfast--
Neologise, neck-and-neck, fast,
My kingdom they will wreck fast!
The Army loves me not;
Socialists whet their soul-edge
Against me; now the College
Swears that my road to knowledge
Is simply--Tommy rot.
Revolt? It's most revolting!
_My_ road might yield some jolting,
But boobies from it bolting
Will probably get bogged,
And, lost in some dim bye-way,
Regret the well-paved highway
Along which long in _my_ way
Contentedly they jogged.
* * * * *
OUR PARTICULAR TIP FOR THE DERBY.
(_FURNISHED BY THE ODD MAN OUT._)
Looking through the List of Probable Starters (who are all coming
on well, and might therefore be called, in the quaint turf Italian,
"_comeystarters_"), I cannot help feeling that this year the Blue
Riband of the Turf will fall to the flower of the flock--as, indeed,
it should. But if it does not, why, there are other really sound
horses that are sure to give a good account of themselves. We may take
it, that the winner will be out of the common. As the glorious animal
passes the post, the cheers will be so deafening, that there will be
a universal cry, "This must be ordinance!" As the fun of the Derby
of late times has seen some revival, the hero of the hour will, _par
excellence_, be the doll, which, in spite of many rivals, has never
ceased to be popular. Not that the fun will be fast and furious--not
at all; the days of the Mohawks are over, and I am, therefore, in a
position to declare, that the day when it is past and gone, will be
appropriately called a dorcas meeting. And this I can say with the
less hesitation as I rely on the power of a deemster. To everyone the
occasion will be pleasant, both to wise men and persons of a simple
sort; to adopt the words of the historical Pieman, "for this meeting
fits Simon." And here let me remark, that I am an enthusiastic admirer
of the perambulating gentleman who outwitted the pastie purchaser;
in fact, "I go solid for the Simonian." If the field is dusty on the
morning of the race, it will be following precedent. When I think of
the Derby, I cannot help remembering HENRY THE EIGHTH, for it was to
hold the Field of the Cloth of Gold that that eminent monarch had to
raise the dust. Well might FRANCOIS PREMIER have observed (as I do),
"_Bravo, Gouverneur!"_ If DICKENS's naval hero, the Captain whose
words were always worth "making a note of," were to use the belt of
Orion as a support in a sea of trouble, I should applaud his wisdom.
In fact, I should observe, that the occasion was worthy of the
Cuttle's tone. And now to come to business. For after all, what I
have written above is merely a hint to those who require no telling.
A prophet to be believed must be mysterious. But that the simplest
understanding may comprehend, I give my final tip. Here it is. This
year's Derby will be won by one of two. It will either fall to the
Favourite or--the Field!
* * * * *
OPERATIC NOTES.
_Tuesday, May_ 19.--With pleasant recollections of MARIE ROZE and
BARTON McGUCKIN, and, as I think, a Mr. SCOBELL playing the swaggering
relative, I went to see _Manon_, at Covent Garden, Miss SIBYL
SANDERSON being the Heroine, and M. VAN DYCK the Hero.
[Illustration: _M. Van Dyck des Grieux et Mlle. Manon Sanderson._
(_Ensemble._) "Nous irons au Guildhall!"
_M. Van D._ "Voila la voiture du Lor' Maire, grace a M. Le Sheriff
Druriolanus."
_Manon_. "Comme il est gentil! Je n'attendais qu'un '_Van_.'"]
The new _prima donna_ has everything in her favour, and very soon she
was in favour with the audience, but not in such high favour as was
the tenor with the artistic name, who, fairly taking the audience by
assault, constituted himself, _pro tem._, the man in possession of the
ear of the House. He is a success; as a young master bearing the name
of so distinguished an Old Master should be. [_Query_, would it be
rude to say to a really good Van Dyck, "You go and be hung!" Perhaps
the learned Editor of _Musical Notes and Queries_ will reply. Of
course much depends on the frame.] As for the new soprano SIBYL--more
power to her organ! Her acting was good, but not great, and what
ought to be her song _par excellence_ went for nothing, or, at least,
it could have been bought very cheap. There is far more dialogue in
_Manon_ than a Covent Garden audience is accustomed to, and this
superfluity is resented by those who come for the singing, and who, if
any talking is to be done, like to do it themselves. The three young
ladies who go about together as a perpetual trio, suggest the notion
of a light and airy version, feminine gender, of the three Anabaptists
in the _Prophete_. M. ISNARDON as _Des Grieux, pere_, a character
that might be operatically nearly related to _Germont, pere_, in _La
Traviata_, was impressively dramatic, but decidedly disappointing in
his one great song, which ought to be a certain _encore_. It may be
true that an opera intended for a small stage does not stand a fair
chance of success on a large one, and _vice versa_, as no doubt the
LORD MAYOR's coach provided by DRURIOLANUS SHERIFFUS for the occasion
would look absurd on the stage of the Opera Comique, while here when
it comes round to the gate to fetch _Des Grieux_, it creates as
great a sensation as ever it would do in the Strand on the Ninth of
November, even with the Sheriff inside it.
[Illustration: Rehearsing for an amateur performance of the Christy
Minstrels, under the direction of Count Four-in-a-bar. "Now then,
Gentlemen, all together!"]
_Wednesday._--Speaking as an opera-goer of some thirty years' sitting,
I am inclined to assert that the performance last Wednesday of _Les
Huguenots_ beats the record, as will be allowed by all whose memory
runneth not to the contrary, "nevertheless" and "notwithstanding"
being included. Except MARIO, as _Raoul_, and some add, except DORUS
GRAS as the Queen, never was seen and heard so fine a performance as
is this to-night; and this deponent witnesseth that no such _ensemble_
has ever been seen for this really grand Opera. Strange to hear sweet
little _Manon_ one night, and the next these overpowering _Huguenots_.
It is well worth the while, in _Mr. Punch's_ pages, to record this
exceptionally brilliant cast. First, Madame ALBANI for the heroine
_Valentina_, superb alike in singing and in acting; GIULIA RAVOGLI as
_Urbano_, the page, a memorable page in operatic history; _Conte di
San Bris_, by M. LASSALLE, not to be bettered, as may be also said of
Signor MIRANDA (by kind permission of SHAKSPEARE's _Tempest_, probably
a descendant) as _De Retz_, afterwards converted, and appearing as _Il
Padre Basso_, Superior of a Theatrical Order, one of the exceptional
Orders admitted after seven. Then M. MAUREL, with his highly _Maurel_
tone, cannot be beaten as the high-minded _Conte de Nevers_; and
EDOUARD DE RESZKE, taken altogether--and there's a lot of him--is
quite the best _Marcello_ that has been heard and seen for some
considerable time. Herr FORMES and MABINI were the rugged Huguenot
soldier to the life, but they weren't the Harmonious Blacksmith
that NED DE RESZKE is. JEAN DE RESZKE methinks lacketh impassioned
tenderness in the great duet scene, where ALBANI is inimitable;
otherwise JEAN is a gallant _Raoul_. _Ensemble_ as already said,
which term includes chorus, _mise-en-scene_, and orchestra under
the energetic rule of Signor BEVIGNANI, simply perfect. Those who
this season miss seeing _Les Huguenots_ with this unexampled cast,
will be justly upbraided by their children and grandchildren. Mr.
COVENT-GARDENIA HALL with the Gladstone flower in his button-hole,
almost weeps to think that his much-loved leader is unable to come
from Dollis Hill and bestow his liberal praise upon _Les Huguenots_.
DRURIOLANUS may well beam upon the crammed house, viewing a portion of
it with his nose over the ledge of the stall gangway portal; well may
he smile, hum the melodies to himself (what better audience can he
have for the performance!) expand in full bloom and speak joyously
out of the very fulness of his heart and pocket; nay, for the moment
he may even look upon the sheriffship and all its glory as a mere
vanity of vanities, in comparison with the proud position of being
DRURIOLANUS OPERATICUS MAGNIFICISSIMUS, who has given opera-goers
this new and rare edition of _Les Huguenots_. The gloved hand and
the lorgnette of H.R.H. are visible in the omnibus-box, where our
music-loving Prince is happily congratulating himself on another
little FIFE being added to the harmonious Royal Band, while the
loyal public is mightily pleased thus to have it proved to ocular
demonstration, that the subtle villain, Influenza, has been baulked in
his traitorous attempt on the Royal Personage, and they sincerely hope
that the insidious poisoner, being thus arrested in his course, may,
with all his treacherous _bacilli_, be for ever banished this happy
and generally healthy realm.
* * * * *
COMPETITION IN THE FUTURE.
SCENE--_A Barrack-Room_. PRESENT--_President and Members of a
Board of Examiners, sitting to pass Candidates for Commissions
in the Line._
_President_. Now, Gentlemen, I think we are agreed that cramming is to
be discouraged. We want an officer who can command a company, and not
a scholar who can floor a paper for high-class honours--that is the
general idea, Gentlemen, isn't it?
_Chorus of Members_. Quite so.
_Pres._ Exactly. Orderly, pass the word that we will see Mr. MUGGER.
(_The word is passed, when enter First Candidate._) Glad to see you,
Sir. Pray sit down. I think you were at school?
_First Candidate_ (_nervously_). Yes, Sir, at Eton.
_Pres._ Humph! (_Aside, to his Colleagues._) Rather an unpromising
commencement. However, he may have devoted more of his time to cricket
or football in the Playing Fields than to anything else. (_Aloud._) I
hope you have not been to the University?
_First Can._ (_almost moved to tears_). Alas, Gentlemen, my father
_would_ send me to Christchurch, and I am sorry to say I took a Double
First!
_Pres._ (_courteous, but sad_). I am afraid that will do. (_Exit First
Candidate, striving in vain to suppress a burst of unmanly emotion._)
I am deeply grieved, Gentlemen, but I fear that we can do nothing
further in this matter?
_Chorus of Members_. Utterly impossible!
_Pres._ Exactly. Orderly, call Mr. SHIRKWORKS. (_Second Candidate
enters._) Glad to see you, Sir. Pray sit down. I think you were at
school?
_Second Can._ (_with confidence_). Never, Sir, and allow me to add
that I can scarcely read, don't know how to spell, and have a firm
impression that two and two make either three or five--I forget which.
_Pres._ (_beaming_). Excellent! (_After a brief consultation with his
colleagues._) Mr. SHIRKWORKS, I have much pleasure in informing you
that we shall be glad to recommend you for a Commission. (_Curtain._)
* * * * *
[Illustration: A RARE CHANCE.
_Mr. Snobbin hiring a Hack to ride down to the Derby._
_Horse-Owner_. "I'LL CHARGE YOU THIRTY BOB FOR THE DAY, GUV'NOR;
OR--LOOK HERE!--GIMME TWO POUND, AND YOU MAY KEEP HIM!"]
* * * * *
CODLINGSBY JUNIOR;
OR, A CHIP OF THE OLD BLOCK.
_BEING FRAGMENTS OF A FORTHCOMING POLITICAL PRIZE NOVEL._
[In a letter to _The Times_ on "Party Organisation," Mr.
CONINGSBY DISRAELI vigorously rallies the Tory Party on
their "eternal and infernal apathy." He says, "Since we have
borrowed some Liberal principles, let us borrow some Liberal
tactics, and introduce what I would call the Schnadhorstian
methods into our councils of war. They, at least, have the
merit of success."]