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THE TRAVELLING MENAGERIE

OUTSIDE

A crowd is staring stolidly at the gorgeously gilded and painted entrance, with an affectation of superior wisdom to that of the weaker-minded, who sneak apologetically up the steps from time to time. A tall-hatted orchestra have just finished a tune, and hung their brazen instruments up like joints on the hooks above them

A Woman Carrying an Infant (to her Husband). Will 'ee goo in, Joe?

Joe (who is secretly burning to see the show). Naw. Sin it arl afoor arfen enough. Th' outside's th' best on it, I reckon.

His Wife (disappointed). Saw 'tis, and naw charge for lookin' at 'en neither.

The Proprietor. Ladies and Gentlemen, Re-mem-bar! This is positively the last opportunity of witnessing Denman's Celebrated Menagerie – the largest in the known world! The Lecturer is now describing the animals, after which Mlle. Cravache and Zambango, the famous African Lion-tamers, will go through their daring feats with forest-bred lions, tigers, bears, and hyenas, for the last time in this town. Remembar – the last performance this evening!

Joe (to his Wife). If ye'd like to hev a look at 'em, I wun't say nay to et.

His Wife. I dunno as I care partickler 'bout which way 'tis.

Joe (annoyed). Bide where 'ee be then.

His Wife. Theer's th' child, Joe, to be sure.

Joe. Well we bain't a gooin' in, and so th' child wun't come to no 'arm, and theer's a hend on it!

His Wife. Nay, she'd lay in my arms as quiet as quiet. I wur on'y thinkin', Joe, as it 'ud be somethin' to tell her when she wur a big gell, as her daddy took her to see th' wild beasties afoor iver she could tark – that's arl I wur meanin', Joe. And they'll let 'er goo in free, too.

Joe. Ay, that'll be fine tellin's fur 'er, sure 'nough. Come arn, Missus, we'll tek th' babby in – happen she'll niver git th' chance again.

[They mount the steps eagerly

INSIDE

Joe's Wife (with a vague sense of being defrauded). I thart thee'rd ha' bin moor smell, wi' so many on 'em!

Joe. They doan't git naw toime for it, I reckon, allus on the rord as they be.

The Lecturer. Illow me to request yar kind hattention for a moment. (Stand back there, you boys, and don't beyave in such a silly manner!) We har now arrived at the Haswail, or Sloth Bear, described by Buffon as 'aving 'abits which make it a burden to itself. (Severely.) The Haswail. In the hajoinin' cage observe the Loocorricks, the hony hanimal to oom fear is habsolootly hunknown. When hattacked by the Lion, he places his 'ed between his fore-legs, and in that position awaits the honset of his would-be destroyer.

Joe's Wife. I thart it wur th' hostridge as hacted that away.

Joe. Ostridges ain't gotten they long twisted harns as iver I heard on.

His Wife (stopping before another den). Oh, my blessed! 'Ere be a queer-lookin' critter, do 'ee look at 'en, Joe. What'll he be now?

Joe. How do 'ee suppose as I be gooin' to tell 'ee the name of 'en? He'll likely be a sart of a 'arse. [Dubiously.

His Wife. They've a let' en git wunnerful ontidy fur sure. 'Ere, Mister (to Stranger) can you tell us the name of that theer hanimal?

Stranger. That – oh, that's a Gnu.

Joe's Wife. He says it be a noo.

Joe. A noo what?

His Wife. Why, a noo hanimal, I s'pose.

Joe. Well, he bain't naw himprovement on th' hold 'uns, as I can see. They'd better ha' left it aloan if they couldn't do naw better nor 'im. Dunno what things be coming to, hinventin' o' noo hanimals at this time o' day.

BEFORE ANOTHER CAGE

A Boozed and Argumentative Rustic. I sez as that 'un's a fawks, an' I'm ready to prove it on anny man.

A Companion (soothingly). Naw, naw, 'e baint naw fawks. I dunno what 'tis, – but 'tain't naw fawks nawhow.

B. and A. Rustic. I tell 'ee 'tis a fawks, I'm sure on it. (To Mild Visitor) Bain't 'e a fawks, Master, eh?

Mild Visitor. Well, really, if you ask me, I should say it was a hyena.

The Rustic's Comp. A hyanna! ah, that's a deal moor like; saw 'tis!

The Rustic. A pianner? Do 'ee take me vur a vool? I'll knack th' 'ed arf o' the man as plays 'is priskies wi' me, I wull! Wheer be 'e? Let me get at 'en!

[Mild V. not being prepared to defend his opinion by personal combat, discreetly loses himself in crowd

ON THE ELEPHANT'S BACK

Second Boy. Sit a bit moor forrard, Billy, cann't 'ee!

First Boy. Cann't, I tell 'ee, I be sittin' on th' scruff of 'is neck as 'tis.

Third Boy. I can see my vaither, I can. 'Ere, vaither, vaither, look at me – see wheer I be!

Fourth Boy (a candid friend). Shoot oop, cann't 'ee', ya young gozzle-'ead! Think ya vaither niver see a hass on a hellyphant afoor!

Fifth Boy. These yere helliphants be main straddly roidin'. I wish 'e wudn't waak honly waun haff of 'en at oncest, loike. What do 'ee mean, a kitchin' old o' me behind i' that way, eh, Jimmy Passons!

Sixth Boy. You'd ketch 'old 'o hanything if you was like me, a slidin' down th' helliphant's ta-ail.

Fifth Boy. If 'ee doan't let go o' me, I'll job th' helliphant's ribs, and make 'un gallop, I will, so now, Jimmy Passons!

IN FRONT OF THE LIONS' DEN DURING PERFORMANCE

Various Speakers. Wheer be pushin' to? Car that manners screouging like that!.. I cann't see nawthen, I cann't wi' all they 'ats in front… What be gooin' arn, do 'ee know?.. A wumman gooin' in along 'o they lions and tigerses? Naw, ye niver mane it!.. Bain't she a leatherin' of 'un too!.. Now she be a kissin' of 'un – maakin' it oop loike… John, you can see better nor me – what be she oop to now?.. Puttin' 'er 'ed inside o' th' lion's? Aw, dear me, now —there's a thing to be doin' of! Well, I'd ruther it was 'er nor me, I know that… They wun't do 'er naw 'arm, so long's she kips 'er heye on 'em… What do 'ee taak so voolish vor? How's th' wumman to kip 'er heye on 'em, with 'er 'ed down wan on 'em's throat, eh?.. Gracious alive! if iver I did!.. Oh, I do 'ope she bain't gooin' to let off naw fire-arms, I be moor fear'd o' pistols nor any tigers… Theer, she's out now! She be bold fur a female, bain't her?.. She niver maade 'em joomp through naw bla-azin' 'oops, though… What carl would she hev fur doin' that? Well, they've a drared 'er doin' of it houtside', that's arl I know… An' they've a drared Hadam outside a naamin' of th' hanimals – but ye didn't expect to see that doon inside', did 'ee?.. Bob, do 'ee look at old Muster Manders ovver theer by th' hellyphant. He's a maakin' of 'isself that familiar – putting biskuts 'tween his lips and lettin' th' hellyphant take 'em out wi's troonk!.. I see un – let un aloan, th' hold doitler, happen he thinks he's a feedin' his canary bird!

At the Regent Street Tussaud's

Before the effigy of Dr. Koch, who is represented in the act of examining a test-tube with the expression of bland blamelessness peculiar to Wax Models

Well-informed Visitor. That's Dr. Koch, making his great discovery!

Unscientific V. What did he discover?

Well-inf. V. Why, the Consumption Bacillus. He's got it in that bottle he's holding up.

Unsc. V. And what's the good of it, now he has discovered it?

Well-inf. V. Good? Why, it's the thing that causes consumption, you know!

Unsc. V. Then it's a pity he didn't leave it alone!

Before a Scene representing "The Home Life at Sandringham."

First Old Lady (with Catalogue). It says here that "the note the page is handing may have come from Sir Dighton Probyn, the Comptroller of the Royal Household." Fancy that!

Second Old Lady. He's brought it in in his fingers. Now that's a thing I never allow in my house. I always tell Sarah to bring all letters, and even circulars, in on a tray!

Before a Scene representing the late Fred Archer, on a rather quaint quadruped, on Ascot Racecourse.

A Sportsman. H'm – Archer, eh? Shouldn't have backed his mount in that race!

Before "The Library at Hawarden."

Gladstonian Enthusiast (to Friend, who, with the perverse ingenuity of patrons of Waxworks, has been endeavouring to identify the Rev. John Wesley among the Cabinet in Downing Street). Oh, never mind all that lot, Betsy; they're only the Gover'ment! Here's dear Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone in this next! See, he's lookin' for something in a drawer of his side-board – ain't that natural? And only look – a lot of people have been leaving Christmas cards on him (a pretty and touching tribute of affection, which is eminently characteristic of a warm-hearted Public). I wish I'd thought o' bringing one with me!

Her Friend. So do I. We might send one 'ere by post – but it'll have to be a New Year Card now!

A Strict Old Lady (before next group). Who are these two? "Mr. 'Enery Irving, and Miss Ellen Terry in Faust, eh? No – I don't care to stop to see them – that's play-actin', that is – and I don't 'old with it nohow! What are these two parties supposed to be doin' of over here? What – Cardinal Newman and Cardinal Manning at the High Altar at the Oratory, Brompton! Come along, and don't encourage Popery by looking at such figures. I did 'ear as they'd got Mrs. Pearcey and the prambilator somewheres. I should like to see that, now.

IN THE CHILDREN'S GALLERY

An Aunt (who finds the excellent Catalogue a mine of useful information). Look, Bobby, dear (reading). "Here we have Constantine's Cat, as seen in the Nights of Straparola, an Italian romancist, whose book was translated into French in the year 1585 – "

Bobby (disappointed). Oh, then it isn't Puss in Boots!

A Genial Grandfather (pausing before Crusoe and Friday). Well, Percy, my boy, you know who that is, at all events – eh?

Percy. I suppose it is Stanley – but it's not very like.

THE G. G. Stanley! – Why, bless my soul, never heard of Robinson Crusoe and his man Friday?

Percy. Oh, I've heard of them, of course – they come in Pantomimes – but I like more grown-up sort of books myself, you know. Is this girl asleep She?

The G. G. No – at least – well, I expect it's The Sleeping Beauty. You remember her, of course – all about the ball, and the glass slipper, and her father picking a rose when the hedge grew round the palace, eh?

Percy. Ah, you see, Grandfather, you had more time for general reading than we get. (He looks through a practicable cottage window.) Hallo, a Dog and a Cat. Not badly stuffed!

The G. G. Why, that must be Old Mother Hubbard. (Quoting from memory.) "Old Mother Hubbard sat in a cupboard, eating a Christmas pie – or a bone was it?"

Percy. Don't know. It's not in Selections from British Poetry, which we have to get up for "rep."

The Aunt (reading from Catalogue). "The absurd ambulations of this antique person, and the equally absurd antics of her dog, need no recapitulation." Here's Jack the Giant Killer, next. Listen, Bobby, to what it says about him here. (Reads.) "It is clearly the last transmutation of the old British legend told by Geoffrey of Monmouth, of Corineus, the Trojan, the companion of the Trojan Brutus, when he first settled in Britain. But more than this" – I hope you're listening, Bobby? – "more than this, it is quite evident, even to the superficial student of Greek mythology, that many of the main incidents and ornaments are borrowed from the tales of Hesiod and Homer." Think of that, now!

[Bobby thinks of it, with depression

The G. G. (before figure of Aladdin's Uncle selling new lamps for old). Here you are, you see! "Ali Baba," got 'em all here, you see. Never read your Arabian Nights, either! Is that the way they bring up boys nowadays!

Percy. Well, the fact is, Grandfather, that unless a fellow reads that kind of thing when he's young, he doesn't get a chance afterwards.

The Aunt (still quoting). "In the famous work," Bobby, "by which we know Masûdi, he mentions the Persian Hezar Afsane-um-um-um, – nor have commentators failed to notice that the occasion of the book written for the Princess Homai resembles the story told in the Hebrew Bible about Esther, her mother or grandmother, by some Persian Jew two or three centuries B.C." Well, I never knew that before!.. This is Sindbad and the Old Man of the Sea– let's see what they say about him. (Reads.) "Both the story of Sindbad and the old Basque legend of Tartaro are undoubtedly borrowed from the Odyssey of Homer, whose Iliad and Odyssey were translated into Syriac in the reign of Harun-ur-Rashid." Dear, dear, how interesting, now! and, Bobby, what do you think some one says about Jack and the Beanstalk? He says – "This tale is an allegory of the Teutonic Al-fader, the red hen representing the all-producing sun; the moneybags, the fertilizing rain; and the harp, the winds." Well, I'm sure it seems likely enough, doesn't it?

[Bobby suppresses a yawn; Percy's feelings are outraged by receiving a tin trumpet from the Lucky Tub; general move to the scene of the Hampstead Tragedy

BEFORE THE HAMPSTEAD TABLEAUX

Spectators. Dear, dear, there's the dresser, you see, and the window broken and all; it's wonderful how they can do it! And there's poor Mrs. 'Ogg – it's real butter and a real loaf she's cutting, and the poor baby, too!.. Here's the actual casts taken after they were murdered. Oh, and there's Mrs. Pearcey wheeling the perambulator – it's the very perambulator! No, not the very one – they've got that at the other place, and the piece of toffee the baby sucked. Have they really! Oh, we must try and go there, too, before the children's holidays are over. And this is all? Well, well, everything very nice, I will say. But a pity they couldn't get the real perambulator!

At the Military Exhibition

IN THE AVENUE FACING THE ARENA

An Unreasonable Old Lady (arriving breathless, with her grandson and niece). This'll be the place the balloon goes up from, I wouldn't miss it for anything! Put the child up on that bench, Maria; we'll stand about here till it begins.

Maria. But I don't see no balloon nor nothing.

[Which, as the foliage blocks out all but the immediate foreground is scarcely surprising

The U. O. L. No more don't I – but it stands to reason there wouldn't be so many looking on if there wasn't something to see. We're well enough where we are, and I'm not going further to fare worse to please nobody; so you may do as you like about it.

[Maria promptly avails herself of this permission

The U. O. L. (a little later). Well, it's time they did something, I'm sure. Why, the people seem all moving off! and where's that girl Maria got to? Ah, here you are! So you found you were no better off? —Next time, p'raps you'll believe what I tell you. Not that there's any War Balloon as I can see!

Maria. Oh, there was a capital view from where I was – out in the open there.

The U. O. L. Why couldn't you say so before? Out in the open! Let's go there then – it's all the same to me!

Maria (with an undutiful giggle). It's all the same now – wherever you go, 'cause the balloon's gone up.

The U. O. L. Gone up! What are you telling me, Maria?

Maria. I see it go – it shot up ever so fast and quite steady, and the people in the car all waved their 'ats to us. I could see a arm a waving almost till it got out of sight.

The U. O. L. And me and this innercent waiting here on the seat like lambs, and never dreaming what was goin' on! Oh, Maria, however you'll reconcile it to your conscience, I don't know!

Maria. Why, whatever are you pitching into me for! The U. O. L. It's not that it's any partickler pleasure to me, seeing a balloon, though we did get our tea done early to be in time for it – it's the sly deceitfulness of your conduck, Maria, which is all the satisfaction I get for coming out with you, – it's the feeling that – well, there, I won't talk about it!

[In pursuance of which virtuous resolve, she talks about nothing else for the remainder of the day, until the unfortunate Maria wishes fervently that balloons had never been invented

IN THE BUILDING

An admiring group has collected before an enormous pin-cushion in the form of a fat star, and about the size of a Church-hassock

First Soldier (to his Companion). Lot 'o work in that, yer know!

Second Soldier. Yes. (Thoughtfully.) Not but what – (becoming critical) – if I'd been doin' it myself, I should ha' chose pins with smaller 'eds on 'em.

First S. (regarding this as presumptuous). You may depend on it the man who made that 'ad his reasons for choosing the pins he did – but there's no pleasing some parties!

Second S. (apologetically). Well, I ain't denying the Art in it, am I?

First Woman. I do call that 'andsome, Sarah. See, there's a star, and two 'arps, and a crownd, and I don't know what all – and all done in pins and beads! "Made by Bandsman Brown," too! [Reading placard.

Second W. Soldiers is that clever with their 'ands. Four pounds seems a deal to ask for it, though.

First W. But look at the weeks it must ha' took him to do! (Reading.) "Containing between ten and eleven thousand pins and beads, and a hundred and ninety-eight pieces of coloured cloth!" Why, the pins alone must ha' cost a deal of money.

Second W. Yes, it 'ud be a pity for it to go to somebody as 'ud want to take 'em out. First W. It ought to be bought up by Gover'ment, that it ought – they're well able to afford it.

A select party of Philistines, comprising a young Man, apparently in the Army, and his Mother and Sister, are examining Mr. Gilbert's Jubilee Trophy in a spirit of puzzled antipathy

The Mother. Dear me, and that's the Jubilee centrepiece, is it? What a heavy-looking thing. I wonder what that cost?

Her Son (gloomily). Cost? Why, about two days' pay for every man in the Service!

His Mother. Well, I call it a shame for the Army to be fleeced for that thing. Are those creatures intended for mermaids, with their tails curled round that glass ball, I wonder? [She sniffs.

Her Daughter. I expect it will be crystal, Mother.

Her Mother. Very likely, my dear, but – glass or crystal —I see no sense in it!

Daughter. Oh, it's absurd, of course – still, this figure isn't badly done. Is it supposed to represent St. George carrying the Dragon? Because they've made the Dragon no bigger than a salmon!

Mother. Ah, well, I hope Her Majesty will be better pleased with it than I am, that's all.

[After which they fall into ecstasies over an industrial exhibit consisting of a drain-pipe, cunningly encrusted with fragments of regimental mess-china set in gilded cement

Before a large mechanical clock, representing a fortress, which is striking. Trumpets sound, detachments of wooden soldiers march in and out of gateways, and parade the battlements, clicking for a considerable time.

A Spectator (with a keen sense of the fitness of things). What – all that for on'y 'alf past five!

OVERHEARD IN THE AMBULANCE DEPARTMENT

Spectators (passing in front of groups of models arranged in realistic surroundings). All the faces screwed up to suffering, you see!.. What a nice patient expression that officer on the stretcher has! Yes, they've given him a wax head – some of them are only papier-mâché… Pity they couldn't get nearer their right size in 'elmets, though, ain't it?.. There's one chap's given up the ghost!.. I know that stuffed elephant – he comes from the Indian Jungle at the Colinderies!.. I do think it's a pity they couldn't get something more like a mule than this wooden thing! Why, it's quite flat, and its ears are only leather, nailed on!.. You can't tell, my dear; it may be a peculiar breed out there – cross between a towel-horse and a donkey-engine, don't you know!

IN THE INDIAN JUNGLE SHOOTING-GALLERY

At the back, amidst tropical scenery, an endless procession of remarkably undeceptive rabbits of painted tin are running rapidly up and down an inclined plane. Birds jerk painfully through the air above, and tin rats, boars, tigers, lions, and ducks, all of the same size, glide swiftly along grooves in the middle distance. In front, Commissionnaires are busy loading rifles for keen sportsmen, who keep up a lively but somewhat ineffective fusillade

'Arriet (to 'Arry). They 'ave got it up beautiful, I must say. Do you get anything for 'itting them?

'Arry. On'y the honour.

A Father (to intelligent Small Boy in rear of Nervous Sportsman). No, I ain't seen him 'it anything yet, my son; but you watch. That's a rabbit he's aiming at now… Ah, missed him!

Small Boy. 'Ow d'yer know what the gentleman's a-aiming at, eh, Father?

Father. 'Ow? Why, you notice which way he points his gun.