Kitabı oku: «Voces Populi», sayfa 5
At the French Exhibition
Chorus of Arab Stall-Keepers. Come an look! Alaha-ba-li-boo! Eet is verri cold to-day! I-ah-rish Brandi! 'Ere Miss! you com' 'ere! No pay for lookin'. Alf a price! Verri pritti, verri nah-ice, verri cheap verri moch! [And so on.]
Chorus of British Saleswomen. Will you allow me to show you this little novelty, Sir? 'Ave you seen the noo perfume sprinkler? Do come and try this noo puzzle – no 'arm in lookin', Sir. Very nice little novelties 'ere, Sir! 'Eard the noo French Worltz, Sir? every article is very much reduced, &c., &c.
AT THE FOLIES-BERGÈRE
Scene —A hall in the grounds. Several turnstiles leading to curtained entrances.
Showman (shouting). Amphitrite, the Marvellous Floatin' Goddess Just about to commence! This way for the Mystic Gallery – three illusions for threepence! Atalanta, the Silver Queen of the Moon; the Oriental Beauty in the Table of the Sphinx, and the Wonderful Galatea, or Pygmalion's Dream. Only threepence! This way for the Mystic Marvel o' She! Now commencing!
A Female Sightseer (with the air of a person making an original suggestion) Shall we go in, just to see what it's like?
Male Ditto. May as well, now we are 'ere. (To preserve himself from any suspicion of credulity). Sure to be a take-in o' some sort.
[They enter a dim apartment, in which two or three people are leaning over a barrier in front of a small Stage; the Curtain is lowered, and a Pianist is industriously pounding away at a Waltz
The F. S. (with an uncomfortable giggle). Not much to see so far, is there?
Her Companion. Well, they ain't begun yet.
[The Waltz ends, and the Curtain rises, disclosing a Cavern Scene. Amphitre, in blue tights, rises through the floor
Amphitre (in the Gallic tongue). Mesdarms et Messures, j'ai l'honnoor de vous sooayter le bong jour! (Floats, with no apparent support, in the air, and performs various graceful evolutions, concluding by reversing herself completely.) Bong swore, Mesdarms et messures, mes remercimongs!
[She dives below, and the Curtain descends
The F. S. Is that all? I don't see nothing in that!
Her Comp. (who, having paid for admission, resents this want of appreciation). Why, she was off the ground the 'ole of the time, wasn't she? I'd just like to see you turnin' and twisting about in the air as easy as she did with nothing to 'old on by!
The F. S. I didn't notice she was off the ground – yes that was clever. I never thought o' that before. Let's go and see the other things now.
Her Comp. Well, if you don't see nothing surprising in 'em till they're all over, you might as well stop outside, I should ha' thought.
The F. S. Oh, but I'll notice more next time – you've got to get used to these things, you know.
[They enter the Mystic Gallery, and find themselves in a dim passage, opposite a partitioned compartment, in which is a glass case, supported on four pedestals, with a silver crescent at the back. The illusions – to judge from a sound of scurrying behind the scenes – have apparently been taken somewhat unawares
The Female Sightseer (anxious to please). They've done that 'alf-moon very well, haven't they?
Voice of Showman (addressing the Illusions). Now then, 'urry up there – we're all waiting for you.
[The face of "Atalanta, the Silver Queen of the Moon," appears strongly illuminated, inside the glass-box, and regards the spectators with an impassive contempt – greatly to their confusion
The Male S. (in a propitiatory tone). Not a bad-looking girl, is she?
Atalanta, the Queen of the Moon (to the Oriental Beauty in next compartment). Polly, when these people are gone, I wish you'd fetch me my work!
[The Sightseers move on, feeling crushed. In the second compartment the upper portion of a female is discovered, calmly knitting in the centre of a small table, the legs of which are distinctly visible
The Female S. Why, wherever has the rest of her got to?
The Oriental Beauty (with conscious superiority). That's what you've got to find out.
[They pass on to interview "Galatea, or Pygmalion's Dream," whose compartment is as yet enveloped in obscurity
A Youthful Showman (apparently on familiar terms with all the Illusions). Ladies and Gentlemen, I shell now 'ave the honour of persentin' to you the wonderful Galatear or Livin' Statue; you will 'ave an oppertoonity of 'andling the bust for yourselves, which will warm before your eyes into living flesh, and the lovely creecher live and speak. 'Ere, look sharp, earn't yer! (To Galatea.)
Pygmalion's Dream (from the Mystic gloom). Wait a bit till I've done warming my 'ands. Now you can turn the lights up … there, you've bin and turned 'em out now, stoopid! The Y. S. Don't you excite yourself. I know what I'm doin'. (Turns the lights up, and reveals a large terra-cotta Bust.) At my request, this young lydy will now perceed to assoom the yew and kimplexion of life itself. Galatear, will you oblige us by kindly coming to life?
[The Bust vanishes, and is replaced by a decidedly earthly Young Woman in robust health
The Y. S. Thenk you. That's all I wanted of yer. Now, will you kindly return to your former styte?
[The Young Woman transforms herself into a hideous Skull
The Y. S. (in a tone of remonstrance). No – no, not that ridiklous fice! We don't want to see what yer will be – it's very loike yer, I know but still – (the skull changes to the Bust.) Ah, that's more the stoyle! (Takes the Bust by the neck and hands it round for inspection.) And now, thenking you for your kind attention, and on'y 'orskin one little fyvour of you, that is, that you will not reveal 'ow it is done, I will now bid you a very good evenin', Lydies and Gentlemen!
The F. S. (outside). It's wonderful how they can do it all for threepence, isn't it? We haven't seen She yet!
Her Comp. What! 'aven't you seen wonders enough? Come on, then. But you are going it you know!
[They enter a small room, at the further end of which are a barrier and proscenium with drawn hangings
The Exhibitor (in a confidential tone, punctuated by bows). I will not keep you waiting, Ladies and Gentlemen, but at once proceed with a few preliminary remarks. Most of you, no doubt, have read that celebrated story by Mr. Rider 'Aggard, about a certain She-who-must-be-obeyed, and who dwelt in a place called Kôr, and you will also doubtless remember how she was in the 'abit of repairing at certain intervals, to a cavern, and renooing her youth in a fiery piller. On one occasion, wishing to indooce her lover to foller her example, she stepped into the flame to encourage him – something went wrong with the works, and she was instantly redooced to a cinder. I fortunately 'appened to be near at the time (you will escuse a little wild fib from a showman, I'm sure!) I 'appened to be porsin by, and was thus enabled to secure the ashes of the Wonderful She, which – (draws hangings and reveals a shallow metal Urn suspended in the centre of scene) are now before you enclosed in that little urn. She – where are you?
She (in a full sweet voice from below). I am 'ere!
Showman. Then appear!
[The upper portion of an exceedingly comely Young Person emerges from the mouth of the Urn
The F. S. (startled). Lor, she give me quite a turn!
Showman. Some people think this is all done by mirrors, but it is not so; it is managed by a simple arrangement of light and shade. She will now turn slowly round, to convince you that she is really inside the urn and not merely beyind it. (She turns round condescendingly.) She will next pass her 'ands completely round her, thereby demonstrating the utter impossibility of there being any wires to support her. Now she will rap on the walls on each side of her, proving to you that she is no reflection, but a solid reality, after which she will tap the bottom of the urn beneath her so that you may see it really is what it purports to be. (She performs all these actions in the most obliging manner.) She will now disappear for a moment. (She sinks into the Urn.) Are you still there, She?
She (from the recess of the Urn). Yes.
Showman. Then will you give us some sign of your presence? (a hand and arm are protruded and waved gracefully). Thank you. Now you can come up again. (She reappears.) She will now answer any questions any lady or gentleman may like to put to her, always provided you won't ask her how it is done – for I'm sure she wouldn't give me away, would you, She?
She(with a slow bow and gracious smile). Certingly not.
The F. S. (to her Companion). Ask her something – do.
Her Comp. Go on! I ain't got anything to ask her – ask her yourself!
A Bolder Spirit (with interest). Are your feet warm?
She. Quite – thenks.
The Showman. HOW old are you, She?
She (impressively). Two theousand years.
'Arry. And quite a young thing, too!
A Spectator (who has read the Novel). 'Ave you 'eard from Leo Vincey lately?
She (coldly). I don't know the gentleman.
Showman. If you have no more questions to ask her, She will now retire into her Urn thenking you all for your kind attendance this morning, which will conclude the entertainment.
[Final disappearance of She. The Audience pass out, feeling – with perfect justice – that they have "had their money's worth."
IN THE MALL ON DRAWING-ROOM DAY
The line of carriages bound for Buckingham Palace is moving by slow stages down the Drive. A curious but not uncritical crowd, consisting largely of females, peer into the carriages as they pass, and derive an occult pleasure from a glimpse of a satin train and a bouquet. Other spectators circulate behind them, roving from carriage to carriage, straining and staring in at the occupants with the childlike interest of South Sea Islanders. The coachmen and footmen gaze impassively before them, ignoring the crowd to the best of their ability. The ladies in the carriages bear the ordeal of popular inspection with either haughty resignation, elaborate unconsciousness, or amused tolerance, and it is difficult to say which demeanour provokes the greatest resentment in the democratic breast
Chorus of Female Spectators. We shall see better here than what we did last Droring-Room. Law, 'ow it did come down, too, pouring the 'ole day. I was that sorry for the poor 'orses!.. Oh, that one was nice, Marire! Did you see 'er train? – all flame-coloured satting —lovely! Ain't them flowers beautiful? Oh, Liza, 'ere's a pore skinny-lookin' thing coming next – look at 'er pore dear arms, all bare! But dressed 'andsome enough … That's a Gineral in there, see? He's 'olding his cocked 'at on his knee to save the feathers – him and her have been 'aving words, apparently… Oh, I do like this one. I s'pose that's her Mother with her – well, yes, o' course it may be her Aunt!
A Sardonic Loafer. 'Ullo, 'ere's a 'aughty one! layin' back and puttin' up 'er glorses! Know us agen, Mum, won't you? You may well look – you ain't seen so much in yer ole life as what you're seein' to-day, I'll lay! Ah, you ought to feel honoured, too, all of us comin' out to look at yer. Drored 'er blind down, this one 'as, yer see – knew she wasn't wuth looking at!
[A carriage passes; the footman on the box is adorned by an enormous nosegay, over which he can just see
First Comic Cockney. Ow, I s'y – you 'ave come out in bloom, Johnny!
Second C. C. Ah, they've bin forcin' 'im under glorse, they 'ave! 'Is Missis'll never find 'im under all them flowers. Ow, 'e smoiled at me through the brornches!
[Another carriage passes, the coachman and footmen of which are undecorated
First C. C. Shime! – they might ha' stood yer a penny bunch of voilets between yer, that they might!
The Sardonic L. 'Ere's a swell turn-out and no mistake – with a couple o' bloomin' beadles standin' be'ind! There's a full-fed 'un inside of it too, – look at the dimonds all over 'er bloomin' old nut. My eye! (The elderly dowager inside produces a cut-glass scent-bottle of goodly size.) Ah, she's got a drop o' the right sort in there – see her sniffin at it – it won't take 'er long to mop up that little lot!
Jeames (behind the carriage, to Chawles). Our old geeser's perdoocin' the custimary amount o' sensation, eh, Chawley?
Chawles (under notice). Well, thank 'Eving, I sha'n't have to share the responsibility of her much longer!
'Arriet (to 'Arry). I wonder they don't get tired o' being stared at like they are.
'Arry. Bless your 'art —they don't mind – they like it. They'll go 'ome and s'y (in falsetto) "Ow, Pa, all the bloomin' crowd kep' on a lookin' at us through the winder – it was proime!"
'Arriet (giggling admiringly). 'Ow do you know the w'y they tork?
Arry (superior). Why, they don't tork partickler different from what you and me tork – do they?
First Mechanic. See all them old blokes in red, with the rum 'ats, Bill? They're Beefeaters goin' to the Pallis, they are.
Second M. What do they do when they git there?
First M. Do? oh, mind the bloomin' staircase, and chuck out them as don' beyave themselves.
A Restless Lady (to her husband). Harry, I don't like this place at all. I'm sure we could see better somewhere else. Do let's try and squeeze in somewhere lower down… No, this is worse – that horrid tobacco! Suppose we cross over to the Palace? [They do so.
A Policeman. Too late to cross now, Sir – go back, please.
[They go back and take up a position in front of the crowd on the curbstone
The R. L. There, we shall see beautifully here, Harry.
A Crusty Matron (talking at the R. L. and her husband). Well, I'm sure, some persons have got a cheek, coming in at the last minnit and standing in front of those that have stood here hours – that's lady-like, I don't think! Nor yet, I didn't come here to have my eye poked out by other parties' pairosols.
[Continues in this strain until the R. L. can stand it no longer, and urges her husband to depart
Chorus of Policemen. Pass along there, please, one way or the other – keep moving there, Sir.
The R. L. But where are we to go– we must stand somewhere?
A Policeman. Can't stand anywhere 'ere, Mum.
[The unhappy couple are passed on from point to point, until they are finally hemmed in at a spot from which it is impossible to see anything whatever
Harry. If you had only been content to stay where you were at first, we should have been all right!
The R. L. Nonsense, it is all your fault, you are the most hopeless person to go anywhere with. Why didn't you tell one of those policemen who we were?
Harry. Why? Well, because I didn't see one who looked as if it would interest him, if you want to know.
THE ROYAL CARRIAGES ARE APPROACHING
Chorus of Loyal Ladies of Various Ages. There – they're clearing the way – the Prince and Princess won't be long now. Here's the Life Guards' Band – don't they look byootiful in those dresses? Won't that poor drummer's arms ache to-morrow? This is the escort coming now… 'Ere come the Royalties. Don't push so, Polly, you can see without that!.. There, that was the Prince in the first one – did yer see him, Polly? Oh, yes, leastwise I see the end of a cocked 'at, which I took to be 'im. Yes, that was 'im right enough… There goes the Princess —wasn't she looking nice? I couldn't exactly make out which was her and which was the two young Princesses, they went by all in a flash like, but they did look nice!.. 'Ere's another Royalty in this kerridge – 'oo will she be, I wonder? Oh, I expect it would be the old Duchess of – No, I don't think it was 'er, – she wasn't looking pleasant enough, – and she's dead, too… Now they have got inside – 'ark at them playing bits of God Save the Queen. Well, I'm glad I've seen it.
A Son (to cheery old Lady). 'Ow are you gettin' on, Mother, eh?
Ch. O. L. First-rate, thankee, John, my boy.
Son. You ain't tired standing about so long?
Ch. O. L. Lor' bless you, no. Don't you worry about me.
Son. Could you see 'em from where you was?
Ch. O. L. I could see all the coachmen's 'ats beautiful. We'll wait and see 'em all come out, John, won't we? They won't be more than an hour and a half in there, I dessay.
A Person with a Florid Vocabulary. Well, if I'd ha' known all I was goin' to see was a set o' blanky nobs shut up in their blank-dash kerridges, blank my blanky eyes if I'd ha' stirred a blanky foot, s'elp me Dash, I wouldn't!
A Vendor (persuasively). The kerrect lengwidge of hevery flower that blows – one penny!
At a Parisian Café Chantant
Scene —An open air restaurant in the Champs-Elysées; the seats in the enclosure are rapidly filling; the diners in the gallery at the back have passed the salad stage, and are now free to take a more or less torpid interest in the Entertainment below. Enter Two Britons, who make their way to a couple of vacant chairs close to the orchestra
First Briton. Entrée libre, you see; nothing to pay! Cheaper than your precious Exhibition, eh? [Chuckles knowingly.
Second Briton (who would rather have stayed at the Exhibition but doesn't like to say so). Don't quite see how they expect the thing to pay if they don't charge anything, though.
First B. Oh, they make their profit out of the dinners up in the gallery there.
Second B. (appreciating the justice of this arrangement, having dined with his companion elsewhere). Well, that's fair enough.
[Feels an increased respect for the Entertainment
First B. Must get their money back somehow, you know. Capital seats for hearing, these. Now, we'll just take a cup of coffee, and a quiet cigar, while we listen to the singing – you'll enjoy this, I know!
[With the air of a man who knows the whole thing by heart; the Waiter brings two tumblers of black coffee, for which he demands the sum of six francs; lively indignation of the Two Britons, who denounce the charge as a swindle, and take some time to recover sufficient equanimity to attend to what is going on on the Stage
Female Artiste (sings refrain) —
Pour notre Exposition,
Il faut nous faire imposition! &c., &c.
Second B. (who not being at home in the language, rather resents his companion's laughter). What's that she's saying?
First B. (who laughed because he knew there was a joke about the Exhibition). Eh? – oh! I'll tell you afterwards.
[Hopes his friend will have forgotten all about it by that time
Second B. (pertinaciously, as the Singer kisses her hand, and rushes precipitately off stage). Well, what was all that about?
First B. (who, upon reflection, finds that he hasn't the faintest idea). Oh, nothing very much – more the manner, you know, than anything else – it's the men who have all the really funny songs.
[A Male Artiste appears, bowing and kicking up his left leg behind: the First Briton bends forward with an anxious frown, determined to let nothing escape him this time. Fortunately, as M. Charlemagne, the Comic Singer, possesses a powerful voice, the First Briton is able to follow most of the words, from which, although they reach his ear in a somewhat perverted form, he contrives to extract intense amusement. This is how the Chanson reaches him: —
Seul boulevard silent vous arrête:
Quand monde a tout départ n'amas,
[He can't quite make out this last word
Repondez vitement —
[Something he doesn't catch
Le fou l'eau sitôt vous crie "un rat!"
[Here he whispers to his friend that "That last line was rather neat."
Refrain (to which M. Charlemagne dances a gavotte with his hat thrust into the small of his back).
Il n'a pas départ Dinard.
[This makes the First Briton —who once spent a week at Dinard – laugh immoderately
Ne Pa, ne Ma! (bis)
C'était pas tant, mais sais comme ça —
Il n'a pas départ Dinard,
Il non a pas certain-y-mal là!
First Briton (to Second Ditto). Very funny, isn't he?
Second B. (who – less fortunate than his friend – has not caught a single word). Um – can't say I see much in it myself.
First B. (compassionately). Can't you? Oh, you'll get into the way of it presently.
Second B. But what's the joke of all that about "Pa"?
First B. (who has been honestly under the impression that he did see a point somewhere). Why, he says he's an orphan – hasn't any Pa nor Ma.
Second B. (captiously). Well, there's nothing so very funny in that!
First B. (giving up the point on consideration, as M. Charlemagne skips off). Oh, it's all nonsense, of course; these fellows only come on to fill up the time till Pôlusse sings (feels rather proud of having caught the right pronunciation). Pôlusse is the only one really worth listening to.
Second B. (watching two Niggers in a Knockabout Entertainment). I can follow these chaps better. [Complacently.
One of the Niggers [to the other]. Ha, George Washington, Sar. I'll warm you fur dat ar conduck!
First B. (in a superior manner). Oh, yes; you soon get into the accent.
[Later– M. Charlemagne has re-appeared, and sung a song about changing his apartments, with spoken passages of a pronouncedly Parisian character
First B. (who little suspects what he has been roaring with laughter at). That fellow really is amusing. I must take Nellie to hear him some night before we go back.
Second B. (dubiously). But aren't some of the songs – for a girl of her age – eh?
First B. My dear fellow, not a bit! I give you my word I haven't heard a single line yet that was in the least offensive – not a single line! Anybody might go! Look here – it's Pôlusse next; now you listen —he'll make you laugh!
[The great M. Paulus appears and sings several Chansons in a confidentially lugubrious tone, and with his forefingers thrust into his waistcoat pockets. Curiously enough, our First Briton is less successful in following M. Paulus than he was with the Artistes who preceded him – but this is entirely owing to the big drum and cymbals, which will keep coming in and putting him out – something in this manner: —
M. Paulus. Et quand j'rentr', ce n'est pour rien —
Ma belle me dit: "Mon pauv' bonhomme,
Tu n'a pas l'air de" – (The cymbals: brim-brin-brien!)
Ell' m' flanqu' des giffl's – (The drum: pom-pom-pom-pom!)
Refrain (which both Britons understood).
"Sur le bi – sur le bô; sur le bô, de bi, de bô.
Sur le bô – sur le bi; sur le bi, de bô, de bi!" &c., &c., &c.
First Briton (after twenty minutes of this sort of thing). That's the end, I suppose. They've let down the curtain. Capital, wasn't he? I could listen to him all night!
Second B. (as they pass out). So could I – delightful! Don't know when I've enjoyed anything so much. The other people don't seem to be moving, though. (Consults programme.) There's another Part after this; Paulus is singing again. I suppose you'll stay?
First B. Well – it's rather late, isn't it?
Second B. (much relieved). Yes. Not worth while going back now (with a yawn). We must come here again.
First B. (making a mental resolution to return no more). Oh, we must; nothing like it on our side of the Channel, y' know.
Second B. (with secret gratitude). No, we can't do it. (Walk back to their hotel in a state of great mental exhaustion, and finish the evening with a bock on the Boulevards.)
