Of clothes, of which the coat was braided;
Mary, they went to buy that flute
With which I thee have serenaded.
Mary, I had a beaver hat,
Than this I wear a great deal better;
Mary, I've parted too with that,
For pens, ink, paper--for this letter.
* * * * *
PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE.
Dear PUNCH,--Will you inform me whether the review of the troops noticed
in last Saturday's _Times_, is to be found in the "Edinborough,"
"Westminster," or "Quarterly."
Yours, in all mayoralties,
PETER LAURIE.
P.S.--What do they mean by
[Illustration: SALUTING A FLAG?]
* * * * *
"GO ALONG, BOB."
Sir Bobby Peel, who, before he got into harness, professed himself able to
draw the Government truck "like bricks," has changed his note since he has
been put to the trial, and he is now bawling lustily--"Don't hurry me,
please--give me a little time." Wakley, seeing the pitiable condition of
the unfortunate animal, volunteered his services to push behind, and the
Chartist and Tory may now be seen every night in St. Stephen's, working
cordially together, and exhibiting an illustration of the benefits of a
[Illustration: DIVISION OF LABOUR.]
* * * * *
CONS BY OUR OWN COLONEL.
Why is a loud laugh in the House of Commons like Napoleon
Buonaparte?--Because it's an _M.P. roar_ (an Emperor).
Why is a person getting rheumatic like one locking a
cupboard-door?--Because he's turning _achy_ (a key).
Why is one-and-sixpence like an aversion to coppers?--Because it's _hating
pence_ (eighteen-pence).
* * * * *
PUNCH'S THEATRE.
DIE HEXEN AM RHEIN; OR, RUDOLPH OF HAPSBURGH.
Mysterious are thy ways, O Yates! Thou art the only true melodramatist of
the stage and off the stage! When a new demonology is compiled thou shalt
have an honourable place in it. Thou shall be worshipped as the demon of
novelty, even by the "gods" themselves. Thy deeds shall be recorded in
history. It shall not be forgotten that thou wert the importer of
Mademoiselle Djeck, the tame elephant; of Monsieur Bohain, the gigantic
Irishman; and of Signor Hervi o'Nano, the Cockneyan-Italian dwarf. Never
should we have seen the Bayaderes but for you; nor T.P. Cooke in "The
Pilot," nor the Bedouin Arabs, nor "The Wreck Ashore," nor "bathing and
sporting" nymphs, nor other dramatic delicacies. Truly, thou art the
luckiest of managers; for all thy efforts succeed, whether they deserve it
or not. Sometimes thou drawest up an army of scene-painters, mechanists,
dancers, monsters, dwarfs, devils, fire-works, and water-spouts, in
terrible array against common sense. Yet lo! thou dost conquer! Thy pieces
never miss fire; they go on well with the public, and favourable are the
press reports. Wert thou a Catholic thou wouldest be canonised; for evil
spirits are thy passion; the Vatican itself cannot produce a more
indefatigable "devils' advocate!"
The repast now provided by Mr. Yates for those who are fond of "supping
full of horrors" is a devilled drama, interspersed with hydraulics--
consisting, in fact, of spirits and water, sweetened with songs and spiced
with witches. It is, we are informed by the official announcements, "a
romantic burletta of witchcraft, in two acts, and a prologue, with
entirely new scenery, dresses, and peculiar appointments, _imagined_ by,
and introduced under the direction of, Mr. Yates." Now, any person,
entirely unprejudiced with a taste for devilry and free from hydrophobia,
who sees this production, must have an unbounded opinion of the manager's
imagination,--what a head he must have for aquatic effects! In vain we
look around for its parallel--nothing but the New River head suggests
itself.
But our preface is detaining us from the "prologue;" the first words in
which stamp the entire production with originality. Assassins, who let
themselves out by the job, have long been pleasantly employed in
melodramas, being mostly enacted by performers in the heavy line; but the
author of "Die Hexen am Rhein" introduces a character hitherto unknown to
the stage; namely, the _comic_ cut-throat. Messieurs _Gabor_ and
_Wolfstein_, (played by Mr. Wright, and the immortal _Geoffery Muffincap_,
Mr. Wilkinson), treat us with a dialogue concerning the blowing out of
brains, and the incision of weasands, which is conceived and delivered
with the broadest humour, enlivened by the choicest of jokes. They have,
we learn, been lately commissioned by _Ottocar_ to murder _Rudolph_, the
exiled Duke of Hapsburgh, who is to pass that way; but he does not come,
because his kind kinsman, _Ottocar_, must have time to consult the
god-fathers and god-mothers of the piece, or "Witches of the Rhine;" which
he does in the "storm-reft hut of Zabaren." This _Zabaren_ is a hospitable
gentleman, who sings a good song, sees much company, and is played by that
convivial genius Paul Bedford. _Ottocar_ is introduced amongst other
friends to a "speaking spirit," who, being personated by Miss Terrey,
utters a terrible prediction. We could not quite make out the purport of
this augury; nor were we much grieved at the loss; feeling assured that
the next two acts would be occupied in fulfilling it. The funny bravoes
present themselves in the next scene, and exit to stab one of two
brothers, who goes off evidently for that purpose, judiciously coming back
to die in the arms of _Count Rudolph_, for whom he has been mistaken.
Under such circumstances it is but fair that the prince should repay the
obligation he owes his friend for being killed in his stead, by promising
protection to the widow and child. The oath he takes would be doubly
binding (for he promises to become a brother to the wife, and not content
with thus making himself the child's uncle, swears to be his father too),
if the husband did not die before he has had time to utter his wife's
name. All these affairs having been settled, the prologue--which used to
be called the first act--ends.
Fifteen years are supposed to elapse before the curtain is again rolled
up; and that this allusion may be rendered the more perfect, the audience
is kept waiting about three times fifteen minutes, to amuse one another
during the _entr'acte_. We next learn that _Rudolph_ is seated upon his
ducal throne, fortunate in the possession of a paragon-wife, and a steward
of the household not to be equalled--no other than _Ottocar_--that
particular friend, who, in the prologue, tried to get a finis put to his
mortal career. The jocose ruffians here enliven the scene--one by being
cast into a dungeon for asking _Ottocar_ (evidently the Colburn of his
day), an exorbitant price for the copyright of a certain manuscript; the
other, by calling the courtier a man of genius, and being taken into his
service, as no doubt, "first robber." To support this character, a change
of apparel is necessary: and no wonder, for _Wolfstein_ has on precisely
the same clothes he wore fifteen years before.
His first job is to steal a casket; but is declined, probably, because
_Wolfstein_, being a professor of the capital crime, considers mere
larceny _infra dig_. A "second robber" must therefore be hired, and
_Ottocar_ has one already preserved in the castle dungeons, in the person
of a dumb prisoner. Dummy comes on, and the auditors at once recognise the
"brother" who was not murdered in the prologue. He steals the casket, and
_Ottocar_ steals off.
The duke and duchess next enter into a dialogue, the subject of which is
one _Wilhelm_, a young standard-bearer, who appears; and having said a few
words exits, that _Ida_, the duchess, might inform us, in a soliloquy,
what we have already shrewdly suspected, namely--that the ensign is her
son; another presentiment comes into one's mind, which one don't think it
fair to the author and his story to entertain till the proper time. A sort
of secret interview between the mother and son now takes place, which ends
by the imprisonment of the latter; why is not explained at the moment;
nor, indeed, till the next scene, when it is quite apparent; for if one
sees an impregnable castle, rigidly guarded by supernumeraries, with an
impassable river, bristling with _chevaux-de-frise_ it is impossible to
get over, and a moat that it would be death to cross, a prison-escape may
be surely calculated upon. In the present instance, this formulary is not
omitted, for _Wilhelm_ jumps into the river from a bridge which he has
contrived to reach. Though several shots are fired into the tank of water
that represents the Rhine, there is no hissing; on the contrary, the
second act ends amidst general applause; which indeed it deserves, for the
scenery is magnificent.
"The Ancient Arch in the Black Forest," is a sort of house of call for
witches, and it being seen during their merry-making, or holiday, is
rendered more picturesque by the _Devil's_ "Ha, ha!" The hospitable
_Zabaren_ entertains hundreds of witches, of all sorts and sizes, who
dance all manner of country-dances, and sing a series of songs and
choruses, in which the "Ha! ha!" is again conspicuously introduced. It
seems that German witches not only ride upon brooms, but sweep with them;
and a company of supernatural Jack Rags perform sundry gyrations
peculiarly interesting to housemaids. After about an hour's dancing, the
witches being naturally "blown," are just in cue for leaving off with an
airy dance called the "witches' whirlwind."
This episode over, the plot goes on. _Ottocar_ accuses _Ida_ of infidelity
with _Wilhelm_ to the duke; she, in explanation, fulfils the presentiment
we had some delicacy in hinting too soon--that she is the wife of the man
who was killed in the prologue; _Rudolph_ having married her in ignorance
of that fact, and by a coincidence which, though intensely melo-dramatic,
every body foresees who has ever been three times to the Adelphi theatre.
To describe the last scene would be the height of presumption in PUNCH.
Nobody but "Satan" Montgomery, or the Adelphi play-bill, is equal to the
task. We quote, as preferable, the latter authority:--"Grand inauguration
of _Wilhelm_, the rightful heir. CORAL CAVES and CRYSTAL STREAMS: these
are actually obtained by a HYDRO-SCENIC EFFECT! As the usual area devoted
to illusion becomes a reality!"
Besides all this, which simply means "real water," there is a _Neptune_ in
a car drawn by three sea or ichthyological horses, having fins and web
feet. There is a devil that is seen through the whole piece, because he is
supposed to be invisible (cleverly played by Mr. Wieland), and who having
dived into the water, is fished out of it, and sent flying into the flies.
This sending a devil upward, is a new way of
[Illustration: TAKING OFF THE DARK GENTLEMAN.]
Being dripping wet, the demon in his ascent seriously incommodes
_Neptune_; who, not being used to the water, looks about in great
distress, evidently for an umbrella. After several glares of several
coloured fires, the curtain falls.
Seriously, the scenic effects of this piece do great credit to Mr. Yates's
"imagination," and to the handiwork of his "own peculiar artists." It is
very proper that they should be immortalised in the advertisements; by
which the public are informed that the scenery is by Pitt, (where is
Tomkins?) and others: the machinery by Mr. Hayley, and the _lightning_ by
the direction of Mr. Outhwaite! Bat will the public be satisfied with such
scanty information? Who, they will ask the manager, rolls the thunder? who
supplies the coloured fires? who flashes the lightning? who beats the
gong? who grinds up the curtain? Let Mr. Yates be speedy in relieving the
breathless curiosity of his patrons on these points, or look to his
benches.
* * * * *