THE PHILOSOPHY OF LAUGHTER;
OR, MR PUNCH IN ALL HIS GLORY.
Thoughts on the Philosophy of Laughter--Bernard Blackmantle
in Search of a Wife--First Visit to the Marigold Family--
Sketches of the Alderman, his Lady, and Daughter--Anecdote
of John Liston, and the Citizen's Dinner Party--Of the
Immortal Mr. Punch--Some Account of the Great Actor--A
Street Scene, sketched from the Life--The Wooden Drama--The
True Sublime.
[Illustration: page056]
~56~~
You may sing of old Thespis, who first in a cart,
To the jolly god Bacchus enacted a part;
Miss Thalia, or Mrs. Melpomene praise,
Or to light-heel'd Terpsichore offer your lays.
But pray what are these, bind them all in a bunch,
Compared to the acting of Signor Punch?
Of Garrick, or Palmer, or Kemble, or Cooke,
Your moderns may whine, or on each write a book;
Or Mathews, or Munden, or Fawcett, suppose
They could once lead the town as they pleased by the nose;
A fig for such actors! tied all in a bunch,
Mere mortals compared to old deified Punch.
Not Chester can charm us, nor Foote with her smile,
Like the first blush of summer, our bosoms beguile,
Half so well, or so merrily drive caro away,
As old Punch with his Judy in amorous play.
Kean, Young, and Macready, though thought very good,
Have heads, it is true, but then they're not of wood.
~57~~
Be ye ever so dull, full of spleen or ennui,
Mighty Punch can enliven your spirits with glee.
Not honest Jack Harley, or Liston's rum mug
Can produce half the fun of his juggity-jug:
For a right hearty laugh, tie thorn all in a bunch,
Not an actor among them like Signor Punch.
--Bernard Blackmantle.
It was the advice of the prophet Tiresias to Menippus, who had travelled
over the terrestrial globe fend descended into the infernal regions in
search of content, to be merry and wise;
"To laugh at all the busy farce of state,
Employ the vacant hour in mirth and jest."
"The merrier the heart the longer the life," says Burton in his Anatomy
of Melancholy. Mirth is the principal of the three Salernitan doctors,
Dr. Merryman, Dr. Diet, and Dr. Quiet. The nepenthes of Homer, the
bowl of Retenus, and the girdle of Venus, are only the ancient types of
liveliness and mirth, by the free use of which the mind is dispossessed
of dulness, and the cankerworm of care destroyed. Seneca calls the
happiness of wealth bracteata felicitas, tinfoiled happiness, and
infelix felicitas, an unhappy felicity. A poor man drinks out of a
wooden dish, and eats his hearty meal with a wooden spoon; while the
rich man, with a languid appetite, picks his dainties with a silver fork
from plates of gold--but, in auro bibitur venenum; the one rinds health
and happiness in his pottered jug, while the other sips disease and
poison from his jewelled cup. A good laugh is worth a guinea, (to him
who can afford to pay for it) at any time; but it is best enjoyed when
it comes gratuitously and unexpectedly, and breaks in upon us like the
radiant beams of a summer sun forcing its way through the misty veil of
an inland fog.
I had been paying a morning visit to a wealthy ~58~~citizen, Mr.
Alderman Marigold, and family, at the express desire of my father, who
had previously introduced me for the purpose of fixing my--affection
--tush--no, my attention, to the very weighty merits of Miss Biddy
Marigold, spinster; a spoiled child, without personal, but with very
powerful attractions to a poor Colebs. Two hours' hard fighting with the
alderman had just enabled me to retreat from the persecution of being
compelled to give an opinion upon the numerous bubble companies of
the time, without understanding more than the title of either; to this
succeeded the tiresome pertinacity of Mrs. Marigold's questions relative
to the movements, ondits, and fashionable frivolities westward, until,
fairly wearied out and disgusted, I sat down a lion exhausted, in
the window seat, heartily wishing myself like Liston{1} safe out of
purgatory; when the sound
1 John Liston, the comedian, is in private life not less
conspicuous for finished pleasantry and superior manners
than he is on the stage for broad humour; but nothing can
offend the actor more than an invitation given merely in the
expectation of his displaying at table some of his
professional excellences. John had, on one occasion,
accepted an invitation to dine with a wealthy citizen en
famille; the repast over--the wine had circulated--a snug
friend proposed the health of Mr. Liston; and John returned
thanks with as much dignity as a minister of state eating
white bait at Blackwall with the worshipful company of
fishmongers. Then came the amiable civilities of the lady of
the mansion, evidently intended to ingratiate herself with
the actor, the better to secure his assent to her request,
but not a muscle of the comedian gave the least
encouragement. The little citizens, who were huddled round
their mamma, and had been staring at the actor in anxious
expectation, were growing very impatient. The eldest boy had
already recited young Norval's speech to Lady Douglas, by
way of prologue; but the actor still continued mute, never
for a moment unbending to the smirking encourage-ment of his
hostess, or the jolly laugh-exciting reminiscences of his
ruby-faced host; as, for instance, "Lord, Mr. Liston, what a
funny figure you looked t'other night in Moll Flaggon!" or,
"How you made thorn laugh in Tony Lumpkin! and then what a
fright you was in Mrs. Cheshire. Couldn't you give us a
touch just now?" "Ay, do, Mr. Liston, pray do," vociferated
a dozen tongues at once, including mamma, the little misses
and mastery. "The children have been kept up two hours later
than usual on purpose," said the lady mother. "Ay, come, my
good fellow," reiterated the cit, "take another glass, and
then give us some-thing funny to amuse the young ones." This
was the finishing blow to Liston's offended dignity--to be
invited to dinner by a fat fleshmonger, merely to amuse his
uncultivated cubs, was too much for the nervous system of
the comedian to bear; but how to retreat?" I have it,"
thought John, "by the cut direct;" rising and bowing,
therefore, to the company, as if intending to yield to their
entreaties, he begged permission to retire to make some
little arrangement in his dress, to personate Vanish; when,
leaving them in the most anxious expectation for more than
half an hour, on ringing the bell, they learned from the
servant that Mr. Liston had suddenly Vanished by the street-
door, and was, of course, never seen in that direction more.
~59~~of a cracked trumpet in the street arrested my attention. "I
vonder vat that ere hinstrument can mean, my dear!" said Mrs. Alderman
Marigold, (advancing to the window with eager curiosity). "It's
wery likely some fire company's men marching to a bean-feast, or a
freemason's funeral obscenities," replied the alderman. When another
blast greeted our ears with a few notes of "See the Conquering Hero
comes," "La, mamma," whined out Miss Biddy Marigold, "I declare, it's
that filthy fellow Punch coming afore our vindow vith his imperence; I
prognosticated how it voud be, ven the alderman patronised him last veek
by throwing avay a whole shilling upon his fooleries." "You've no taste
for fun, Biddy," replied the alderman; at the same time making his
daughter and myself a substitute for crutches, by resting a hand upon
each shoulder. "I never laid out a shilling better in the whole course
of my life. A good laugh beats all the French medicine, and drives the
gout out at the great toe. I mean to pension Mr. Punch at a shilling a
veek to squeak before my vindow of a Saturday, in preference to paying
six guineas for a ~60~~box to hear all that outlandish squeaking at the
hopera." "La, pa, how ungenteel!" said Miss Biddy; "I declare you're
bringing quite a new-sense to all the square, vat vith your hurdy-gurdy
vonien, French true-baw-dears, and barrel organ-grinders, nobody has no
peace not at all in the neighbourhood." During this elegant colloquy,
the immortal Mr. Punch had reared his chequered theatre upon the
pavement opposite, the confederate showman had concealed himself beneath
the woollen drapery, and the Italian comedian had just commenced his
merry note of preparation by squeaking some of those little snatches of
tunes, which act with talismanic power upon the locomotive faculties
of all the peripatetics within hearing, attracting everybody to the
travelling stage, young and old, gentle and simple; all the crowd seem
as if magic chained them to the spot, and each face exhibits as much
anxiety, and the mind, no doubt, anticipates as much or more delight,
than if they were assembled to see Charles Kemble, Young, and
Macready, all three acting in one fine tragedy. There is something so
indescribably odd and ridiculous about the whole paraphernalia of Mr.
Punch, that we are irresistibly compelled to acknowledge the superiority
of the lignum vito Roscius over the histrionic corps of mere flesh and
blood. The eccentricity of this immortal personage, his foreign, funny
dialogue, the whim and strange conceit exhibited in his wooden drama,
the gratuitous display, and the unrestricted laugh he affords--all
combine to make Mr. Punch the most popular performer in the world. Of
Italian origin, he has been so long domiciled in England, that he
may now be considered naturalized by common consent. Indeed, I much
question, if a greater misfortune could befall the country, than
the removal or suppression of Mr. Punch and his laugh-provoking
drolleries:--it would be considered a national calamity; but Mirth
protect ~61~~us from such a terrible mishap! Another sound from an
old cracked trumpet, something resembling a few notes of "Arm, Arm, ye
Brave," and an accompaniment by the great actor himself of a few more
"tut, tut, tutura, lura, lu's," in his own original style, have now
raised excitement to the highest pitch of expectation. The half inflated
lungs of the alderman expand by anticipation, and his full foggy
breathings upon the window-glass have already compelled me more than
once to use my handkerchief to clear away the mist. The assembled group
waiting the commencement of his adventures, now demands my notice. What
a scene for my friend Transit! I shall endeavour to depict it for him.
The steady looking old gentleman in the fire-shovel clerical castor,
how sagaciously he leers round about him to see if he is likely to
be recognised! not a countenance to whom he is known; he smiles with
self-complacency at the treat he is about to enjoy; plants himself in
a respectable doorway, for three reasons; first, the advantage from the
rise of the step increasing his altitude; second, the security of his
pockets from attacks behind; and third, the pretence, should any Goth to
whom he is known, observe him enjoying the scene, that he is just about
to enter the house, and has merely been detained there by accident.
Excellent apologist!--how ridiculous!--Excessive delicacy, avaunt! give
me a glorious laugh, and "throw (affectation) to the dogs; I'll have
none of it." Now the farce begins: up starts the immortal hero himself,
and makes his bow; a simultaneous display of "broad grins" welcomes
his felicitous entree; and for a few seconds the scene resembles the
appearance of a popular election candidate, Sir Francis Burdett, or
his colleague, little Cam Hobhouse, on the hustings in Covent Garden;
nothing is heard but one deafening shout of clamorous approbation.
Observe the butcher's boy has stopped his ~62~~horse to witness the fun,
spite of the despairing cook who waits the promised joint; and the jolly
lamp-lighter, laughing hysterically on the top of his ladder, is
pouring the oil from his can down the backs and into the pockets of the
passengers beneath, instead of recruiting the parish-lamp, while
the sufferers are too much interested in the exhibition to feel the
trickling of the greasy fluid. The baker, careless of the expectant
owner's hot dinner, laughs away the time until the pie is quite cold;
and the blushing little servant-maid is exercising two faculties at
once, enjoying the frolics of Signor Punch, and inventing some plausible
excuse for her delay upon an expeditious errand. How closely the
weather-beaten tar yonder clasps his girl's waist! every amorous joke
of Signor Punch tells admirably with him; till, between laughing and
pressing, Poll is at last compelled to cry out for breath, when Jack
only squeezes her the closer, and with a roaring laugh vociferates, "My
toplights! what the devil will that fellow Punch do next, Poll?" The
milkman grins unheedful of the cur who is helping himself from out
his pail; and even the heavy-laden porter, sweating under a load of
merchandise, heaves up his shoulders with laughter, until the ponderous
bale of goods shakes in the air like a rocking-stone. (See Plate.)
Inimitable actor! glorious Signor Punch! show me among the whole of
the dramatis persona in the patent or provincial theatres, a single
performer who can compete with the mighty wooden Roscius.
[Illustration: page062]
The alderman's eulogium on Mr. Punch was superlatively good. "I love a
comedy, Mr. Blackmantle," said he, "better than a tragedy, because
it makes one laugh; and next to good eating, a hearty laugh is most
desirable. Then I love a farce still better than a comedy, because that
is more provokingly merry, or broader as the critics have it; then, sir,
a pantomime beats both comedy and ~63~~farce hollow; there's such lots
of fun and shouts of laughter to be enjoyed in that from the beginning
to the end. But, sir, there's one performance that eclipses all these,
tragedy, comedy, farce, and pantomime put together, and that is Mister
Punch--for a right-down, jolly, split-my-side burst of laughter, he's
the fellow; name me any actor or author that can excite the risibilities
of the multitude, or please all ages, orders, and conditions, like
the squeaking pipe and mad waggeries of that immortal, merry-faced
itinerant. If any man will tell me that he possesses genius, or the
mellow affections, and that he can pass Punch,
'Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind;'
then, I say, that man's made of 'impenetrable stuff;' and, being too
wise for whimsicality, is too phlegmatic for genius, and too crabbed for
mellowness." Mark, what a set of merry open-faced rogues surround Punch,
who peeps down at them as cunningly as "a magpie peeping into a marrow
bone; "--how luxuriantly they laugh, or stand with their eyes and mouths
equally distended, staring at the minikin effigy of fun and phantasy;
thinking, no doubt,
"He bin the greatest wight on earth."
And, certainly, he has not his equal, as a positive, dogmatic,
knock-me-down argument-monger; a dare devil; an embodied phantasmagoria,
or frisky infatuation. I have often thought that Punch might be
converted to profitable use, by being made a speaking Pasquin; and,
properly instructed, might hold up his restless quarter staff, in
terrorem, over the heads of all public outragers of decency; and by
opening the eyes of the million, who flock to his orations, enlighten
them, at least, as much as many greater folks, who make more noise
than he, and who, ~64~~like him, often get laughed at, without being
conscious that they are the subjects of merriment. The very name of our
old friend Punch inspires us in our social moments. What other actor
has been commemorated by the potential cup? is not the sacred bowl of
friendship dedicated to the wooden hero? would you forget the world, its
cares, vexations, and anxieties, sip of the mantling, mirth-inspiring
cordial, and all within is jollity and gay delight.
"For Punch cures the gout, the cholic, and the phthisic,
And it is to every man the very best of physic."
Honest, kind-hearted Punch! I could write a volume in thy praise, and
then, I fear, I should leave half thy merits untold. Thou art worth a
hundred of the fashionable kickshaws that are daily palmed upon us to
be admired; and thy good-humoured efforts to please at the expense of a
broken pate can never be sufficiently praised.
But now the curtain rises, and Mr. Punch steals from behind his two-foot
drapery: the very tip of his arched nose is the prologue to a merry
play; he makes his bow to the multitude, and salutes them with all the
familiarity of an old acquaintance. What a glorious reception does
he meet with from an admiring audience! And now his adventures
commence--his "dear Judy," the partner of his life, by turns experiences
all the capricious effects of love and war. What a true picture of the
storms of life!--how admirable an essay on matrimonial felicity! Then
his alternate uxoriousness to the lady, and his fondlings of that
pretty "kretur" with the family countenance; his chivalrous exploits
on horseback, and mimic capering round the lists of his chequered
tilt-yard; his unhappy differences with the partner of his bosom, and
her lamentable catastrophe; the fracas with the sheriff's substitute;
and his interview with that incomprehensible personage, ~65~~the knight
of the sable countenance, who salutes him with the portentous address
of "schalabala! schalabala! schalabala!" his successive perils and
encounters with the ghost of the martyred Judy; and, after his combat
with the great enemy of mankind, the devil himself, "propria Marte" his
temporary triumph; and, finally, his defeat by a greater man than
old Lucifer, the renowned Mr. John Ketch. Talk of modern dramas,
indeed!--show me any of your Dimonds, Reynolds, Dibdins, or Crolys that
can compare with Punchiana, in the unities of time, place, costume, and
action, intricate and interesting plot, situations provokingly comical
and effective, and a catastrophe the most appallingly surprising and
agreeable. Then his combats aux batons are superior even to Bradley and
Blanchard; but the ne plus ultra of his exploits, the cream of all
his comicalities, the grand event, is the ingenious trick by which
Mr. Punch, when about to suffer on the scaffold, disposes of the
executioner, and frees himself from purgatory, by persuading the
unsuspecting hangman, merely for the sake of instruction to an
uninitiated culprit, to try his own head in the noose: Punch, of
course, seizes the perilous moment--runs him up to the top of the fatal
beam--Mr. John Ketch hangs suspended in the air--Punch shouts a glorious
triumph--all the world backs him in his conquest--the old cracked
trumpet sounds to victory--the showman's hat has made the transit of the
circle, and returns half-filled with the voluntary copper contributions
of the happy audience. The alderman drops his tributary shilling, while
his fat sides shake with laughter; even Mrs. Marigold and the amiable
Miss Biddy have become victims to the vulgar inspiration, and are
laughing as heartily as if they were enjoying the grimaces of the first
of buffos, Signor Ambrogetti. And now the curtain falls, and the busy
group disperse their several ways, chuckling with delight over the
~66~~recollections of the mad waggeries of immortal Mr. Punch.
All hail! thou first great mimic chief,
Physician to the mind's relief;
Thrice hail! most potent Punch.
Not Momus' self, should he appear,
Could dim the lustre of thy sphere;
So hail! all hail! great Punch.
Bernard Blackmantle.
[Illustration: page066]
THE WESTMINSTER SCHOLAR.
Reminiscences of former Times--Lamentations of Old Crony--
Ancient Sports and Sprees--Modern Im-provements--Hints to
Builders and Buyers--Some Account of the School and its
Worthies--Recollections of old Schoolfellows--Sketches of
Character--The Living and the Dead.
"Fast by, an old but noble fabric stands,
No vulgar work, but raised by princely hands;
Which, grateful to Eliza's memory, pays,
In living monuments, an endless praise."
From a poem by a Westminster Scholar, written during Dr. Friend's
Mastership, in 1699.
~67~~
[Illustration: page067]
"What say you to a stroll through _Thorney Island_,{1} this morning?"
said old Crony, with whom I had been taking a _dejeune a la fourchette_;
"you have indulged your readers with all the whims and eccentricities
of Eton and of Oxford, and, in common justice, you must not pass by
the _Westminster blacks_."{2} Crony had, I learned, been a foundation
scholar during the mastership of Dr. Samuel Smith; when the poet
Churchill, Robert Lloyd, (the son of the under-master) Bonnel Thornton,
George Colman the elder, Richard Cumberland, and a host of other
highly-gifted names, were associated within the precincts of the abbey
cloisters. Our way towards
1 The abbey ground, so called by the monkish writers; but,
since Busby's time, more significantly designated by the
scholars _Birch Island.--Vide Tidier_.
2 Black------s from Westminster; ruff--s from Winchester;
and gentlemen from Eton.--_Old Cambridge Proverb_.
~68~~Westminster from the Surrey side of Vauxhall bridge, where
Crony had taken up his abode, lay through the scene of his earliest
recollections; and, not even Crockery himself could have been more
pathetic in his lamentations over the improvements of modern times.
"Here," said Crony, placing himself upon the rising ground which
commands an uninterrupted view of the bank, right and left, and fronts
the new road to Chelsea, and, the Grosvenor property; "here, in my
boyish days, used the Westminster scholars to congregate for sports
and sprees. Many a juvenile frolic have I been engaged in beneath the
shadowy willows that then o'ercanopied the margin of old father Thames;
but they are almost all destroyed, and with them disappears the fondest
recollections of my youth. Upwards, near yonder frail tenement which is
now fast mouldering into decay, lived the beautiful gardener's daughter,
the flower of Millbank, whose charms for a long time excited the
admiration of many a noble name, ay, and inspired many a noble strain
too, and produced a chivalrous rivalry among the young and generous
hearts who were then of Westminster. Close to that spot all matches on
the water were determined; and beneath yon penthouse, many a jovial cup
have I partook of with the contending parties, when the aquatic sports
were over, in the evening's cool retirement, or seated on the benches
which then filled up the space between the trees in front of Watermans'
Hall, as the little public house then used to be called. About half
a mile above was the favourite bathing-place; and just over the water
below Lambeth palace, yet may be seen Doo's house, where, from time
immemorial, the Westminster boys had been supplied with funnies, skiffs,
wherries, and sailing-boats. The old mill which formerly stood on the
right-hand of the river, and from which the place derived its name,
has now entirely disappeared; and in lieu of the ~69~~green fields and
pleasant walks with which this part of the suburbs abounded, we have now
a number of square brick-dust tubs, miscalled cottages _ornee_, and a
strange-looking Turkish sort of a prison called a Penitentiary,
which from being judiciously placed in a swamp is rendered completely
uninhabitable. Cumberland-gardens, on the opposite side, was, in former
times, in great vogue; here the cits used to rusticate on a summer's
evening, coming up the water in shoals to show their dexterity in
rowing, and daring the dangers of the watery element to _blow a cloud_
in the fresh air, and ruralise upon the 'margin of old father Thames.'
[Illustration: page069]