Kitabı oku: «Voces Populi», sayfa 9
At a Music Hall
Scene. —The auditorium of a Music Hall, the patrons of which are respectable, but in no sense "smart." The occupants of the higher-priced seats appear to have dropped in less for the purpose of enjoying the entertainment than of discussing their private affairs – though this does not prevent them from applauding everything with generous impartiality
The Chairman. Ladies and Gentlemen, the Celebrated Character-Duettists and Variety Artistes, the Sisters Silvertwang, will appear next!
[They do; they have just sung a duet in praise of Nature with an interspersed step-dance. "Oh, I love to 'ear the echo on the Moun-ting!" (Tiddity-iddity-iddity-iddity-um!) "And to listen to the tinkle of the Foun-ting!" (Tiddity, &c.)
A White-capped Attendant (taking advantage of a pause, plaintively). Sengwidges, too-pence!
Voluble Lady in the Shilling Stalls (telling her Male Companion an interminable story with an evasive point). No, but you 'ear what I'm going to tell you, because I'm coming to it presently. I can't remember his name at this moment – something like Budkin, but it wasn't that, somewhere near Bond Street, he is, or a street off there; a Scotchman, but that doesn't matter! (Here she breaks off to hum the Chorus of "Good Ole Mother-in-Law!" which is being sung on the stage.) Well, let me see – what was I telling you? Wait a minute, excuse me, oh, yes, —well, there was this picture, – mind you, it's a lovely painting, but the frame simply nothing, – not that I go by frames, myself, o' course not, but I fetched it down to show him – oh, I know what you'll say, but he must know something about such things; he knew my uncle, and I can tell you what he is– he's a florist, and married nineteen years, and his wife's forty – years older than me, but I've scarcely spoke to her, and no children, so I fetched it to show him, and as soon as he sets eyes on it, he says – (Female "Character-Comic" on Stage, lugubriously. "Ritolderiddle, ol deray ritolderiddle, olde-ri-ido!") I can't tell you how old it is, but 'undreds of years, and Chinese, I shouldn't wonder, but we can't trace its 'istry – that's what he said, and if he don't know, nobody does, for it stands to reason he must be a judge, though nothing to me, – when I say nothing, I mean all I know of him is that he used to be – (Tenor Vocalist on Stage. "My Sweetheart when a Bo-oy!") I always like that song, don't you? Well, and this is what I was wanting to tell you, she got to know what I'd done – how is more'n I can tell you, but she did, and she come straight in to where I was, and I see in a minute she'd been drinking, for drink she does, from morning to night, but I don't mind that, and her bonnet all on the back of her head, and her voice that 'usky, she – (Tenor. "She sang a Song of Home Sweet Home – a song that reached my heart!") And I couldn't be expected to put up with that, you know, but I haven't 'alf told you yet —well, &c., &c.
IN THE RESERVED STALLS
First Professional Lady, "resting," to Second Ditto (as Miss Florrie Foljambe appears on Stage). New dresses to-night.
Second Ditto. Yes. (Inspects Miss F.'s costume.) Something wrong with that boy's dress in front, though, cut too low. Is that silver bullion it's trimmed with? That silver stuff they put on my pantomime-dress has turned quite yellow!
First Ditto. It will sometimes. Did you know any of the critics when you were down at Slagtown for the Panto?
Second Ditto. I knew the Grimeshire Mercury, and he said most awfully rude things about me in his paper. I was rather rude to him at rehearsal, but we made it up afterwards. You know Lily's married, dear?
First Ditto. What – Lily? You don't mean it!
Second Ditto. Oh, yes, she is, though. She went out to Buenos Ayres, and the other day she was taken in to dinner by the Bishop of the Friendly Islands.
First Ditto. A Bishop? Fancy! That is getting on, isn't it?
Miss Foljambe (on Stage, acknowledging an encore). Ladies and Gentlemen, I am very much obliged for your kind reception this evening, but having been lately laid up with a bad cold, and almost entirely lost my vice, and being still a little 'orse, I feel compelled to ask your kind acceptance of a few 'ornpipe steps, after which I 'ope to remain, Ladies and Gentlemen, always your obedient 'umble servant to command – Florrie Foljambe!
[Tumultuous applause, and hornpipe
Chairman. Professor Boodler, the renowned Imitator of Birds, will appear next!
The Professor (on Stage). Ladies and Gentlemen, I shall commence by an attempt to give you an imitation of that popular and favourite songster the Thrush – better known to some of you, I dare say, as the Throstle, or Mavis! (He gives the Thrush – which somehow doesn't "go.") I shall next endeavour to represent that celebrated and tuneful singing-bird – the Sky-lark. (He does it, but the Lark doesn't quite come off.) I shall next try to give you those two sweet singers, the Male and Female Canary – the gentleman in the stalls with the yellow 'air will represent the female bird on this occasion, he must not be offended, for it is a 'igh compliment I am paying him, a harmless professional joke. (The Canaries obtain but tepid acknowledgments.) I shall now conclude my illustrations of bird-life with my celebrated imitation of a waiter drawing the cork from a bottle of gingerbeer, and drinking it afterwards.
[Does so; rouses the audience to frantic enthusiasm, and retires after triple recall
The Voluble Lady in the Shilling Stalls (during the performance of a Thrilling Melodramatic Sketch). I've nothing to say against her 'usban', a quiet, respectable man, and always treated me as a lady, with grey whiskers – but that's neither here nor there – and I speak of parties as I find them —well. That was a Thursday. On the Saturday there came a knock at my door, and I answered it, and there was she saying, as cool as you please – (Heroine on Stage. "Ah, no, no – you would not ruin me? You will not tell my husband?") So I told her. "I'm very sorry," I says, "but I can't lend that frying-pan to nobody." So I got up. Two hours after, as I was going down stairs, she come out of her room, and says, – "'Allo, Rose, 'ow are yer?" as if nothing had 'appened. "Oh, jolly," I says, or somethink o' that sort —I wasn't going to take no notice of her– and she says, "Going out?" – like that. I says, "Oh, yes; nothing to stay in for," I says, careless-like; so Mrs. Piper, she never said nothing, and I didn't say nothing; and so it went on till Monday —well! Her 'usban' met me in the passage; and he said to me – good-tempered and civil enough, I must say – he said – (Villain on Stage. "Curse you! I've had enough of this fooling! Give me money, or I'll twist your neck, and fling you into yonder mill-dam, to drown!") So o' course I'd no objection to that; and all she wanted, in the way of eatables and drink, she 'ad– no, let me finish my story first. Well, just fancy 'er now! She asked me to step in; and she says, "Ow are you?" and was very nice, and I never said a word – not wishing to bring up the past, and – I didn't tell you this– they'd a kind of old easy chair in the room – and the only remark I made, not meaning anythink, was – (Hero on Stage. "You infernal, black-hearted scoundrel! this is your work, is it?") Well, I couldn't ha'put it more pleasant than that, could I? and old Mr. Fitkin, as was settin' on it, he says to me, he says – (Hero. "Courage, my darling! You shall not perish if my strong arms can save you. Heaven help me to rescue the woman I love better than my life!") but he's 'alf silly, so I took no partickler notice of 'im, when, what did that woman do, after stoopin' to me, as she 'as, times without number – but – Oh, is the play over? Well, as I was saying – oh, I'm ready to go if you are, and I can tell you the rest walking home. [Exit, having thoroughly enjoyed her evening.
A Recitation Under Difficulties
Scene. —An Evening Party; Miss Fresia Bludkinson, a talented young Professional Reciter, has been engaged to entertain the company, and is about to deliver the favourite piece entitled, "The Lover of Lobelia Bangs, a Cowboy Idyl." There is the usual crush, and the guests outside the drawing-room, who can neither hear nor see what is going on, console themselves by conversing in distinctly audible tones. Jammed in a doorway, between the persons who are trying to get in, and the people who would be only too glad to get out, is an Unsophisticated Guest who doesn't know a soul, and is consequently reduced to listening to the Recitation. This is what he hears: —
Miss Fresia Blud. (in a tone of lady-like apology).
I am only a Cowboy —
[Several Ladies put up their glasses, and examine her critically, as if they had rather expected this confession. Sudden burst of Society Chatter from without
Society Chatter. How d'ye do?.. Oh, but her parties never are!.. How are you?.. No, I left her at … Yes, he's somewhere about… Saw you in the Row this mornin'… Are you doing anything on – ?.. Oh, what a shame!.. No, but doesn't she now?.. No earthly use trying to get in at present … &c., &c.
Miss Fresia B. (beginning again, with meek despair, a little louder).
I am only a Cowboy; reckless, rough, in an unconventional suit of clothes;
I hain't, as a rule, got much to say, and my conversation is mostly oaths.
[Cries of "Ssh!" intended, however, for the people outside, who are chattering harder than ever
When the cackle of females strikes my ear —
Society Chatter (as before). Oh, much cooler here… Yes, delightful, wasn't it? Everybody one knows… No, you don't really?.. Oh, Popsy's flourishing, thanks… The new Butler turned out a perfect demon … but I said I wouldn't have his tail docked for anything … so they've painted it eau de Nil, and it looks so nice!
Miss F. B. (pointedly).
When the cackle of females strikes my ear, I jest vamose, for they make me skeered,
And I sorter suspicion I skeer them too, with my hulking form, and my bushy beard!
[Here, of course, she strokes a very round chin
Society Chatter. Seems to be somethin' goin' on in there – singin', actin', dancin', or somethin'… Well, of course, only heard her version of it as yet, y' know… Have you seen him in … white bengaline with a Medici collar, and one of those … nasty gouty attacks he will have are only rheumatism, &c., &c.
Miss F. B. (when next heard).
I cleared my throat and I tried to speak – but the words died strangled —
A Feminine Voice outside. So long since we had a quiet talk together! Do tell me all about, &c., &c.
Miss F. B.
– strangled by sheer alarm.
For there in front —
[Here she points dramatically at a stout matron, who fans herself consciously
– was the slender form, and the sweet girl-face of our new
"School Marm"!
Say, boys! hev' ye heard an Æolian harp which a Zephyr's tremulous finger twangs?
Wa'al, it kinder thrills ye the way I felt when I first beheld Lobelia Bangs!
Soc. Chat. Oh, you really ought to go – so touching! Dick and I both regularly howled all through the last act… Not in the least, thanks. Well, if there is a seat… You're sure there are any ices? Then, strawberry, please – no, nothing to drink!.. Will you allow me?
… Told she could dress hair perfectly, but I soon found she was … a Swedenborgian, my dear, or something horrid… Haven't you? I've had it three times, and … so many people have asked me for cards that really I … had the drains thoroughly looked to, and now they're … delicious, but rather overpowering in a room, I think! &c., &c.
Miss F. B. (with genuine feeling).
Who would imagine one meek-voiced girl could have held her own in a deafening din!
But Lobelia's scholars discovered soon she'd a dead-sure notion of discipline;
For her satin palm had a sting like steel, and the rowdiest rebel respected her,
When she'd stretched out six of the hardest lots in the Bible-Class with a Derringer!
Soc. Chat. No, a very dull party, you could move about quite easily in all the rooms, so we … kicked the whole concern to shivers and … came on here as soon as we could… Capital dinner they gave us too … &c., &c.
Miss F. B. (with as much conviction as possible under the circumstances).
And the silence deepened; no creature stirred in the stagnant hush, and the only sound
Was the far-off lumbering jolt, produced by the prairie rolling for leagues around!
Soc. Chat. (crescendo). Oh, an old aunt of mine has gone in for step-dancing – she's had several lessons … and cut her knees rather badly, y'know, so I put her out to grass … and now she can sit up and hold a biscuit on her nose … but she really ought to mix a little grey in her wig!
[&c., &c., to the distraction of the Unsophisticated Guest, who is getting quite interested in Lobelia Bangs, whom he suddenly discovers, much to his surprise, on horseback
Miss F. B.
And on we cantered, without a word, in the mid-day heat, on our swift mustangs.
I was only ignorant Cowboy Clem – but I worshipped bright Lobelia Bangs!
Soc. Chat. (fortissimo). Not for ages; but last time I met him he was … in a dreadful state, with the cook down with influenza … and so I suppose he's married her by this time!
Miss F. B. (excitedly).
But hark! in the distance a weird shrill cry, a kinder mournful, monotonous yelp —
(Further irruption of Society Chatter) … is it jackal? – bison? – a cry for help.
Soc. Chat. Such a complete rest, you know – so perfectly peaceful! Not a soul to talk to. I love it … but, to really enjoy a tomato, you must see it dressed … in the sweetest little sailor suit!
Miss F. B.
My horse was a speck on the pampas' verge, for I dropped the rein in my haste to stoop;
Then I pressed my ear to the baking soil – and caught – ah, horror – the Indian whoop!
Soc. Chat. Some say it isn't infectious, but one can't be too careful, and, with children in the house, &c., &c.
Miss F. B.
I rose to my feet with quivering knees, and my face went white as a fresh-washed towel;
I had heard a war-cry I knew too well – 'twas the murderous bellow of Blue-nosed Owl!
Soc. Chat. Nice fellow – I'm very fond of him – so fresh – capital company – met him when I was over there, &c.
Miss F. B.
"What! leave you to face those fiends alone!" she cried, and slid from her horse's back;
"Let me die with you – for I love you, Clem!" Then she gave her steed a resounding smack,
And he bounded off; "Now Heaven be praised that my school six-shooter I brought!" said she.
"Four barrels I'll keep for the front-rank foes – and the next for you – and the last for me!"
Soc. Chat. Is it a comic piece she's doing, do you know? Don't think so, I can see somebody smiling. Sounds rather like Shakespeare, or Dickens, or one of those fellahs… Didn't catch what you said. No. Quite impossible to hear one's self speak, isn't it?
Miss F. B.
And ever louder the demons yelled for their pale-faced prey – but I scorned death's pangs,
For I deemed it a doom that was half delight to die by the hand of Lobelia Bangs!
Then she whispered low in her dulcet tones, like the crooning coo of a cushat dove!
(At the top of her voice.) "Forgive me, Clem, but I could not bear any squaw to torture my own true love!"
And she raised the revolver – "crack-crack-crack!"
[To the infinite chagrin of the Unsophisticated Guest, who is intensely anxious to hear how Miss Bangs and her lover escaped from so unpleasant a dilemma – the remaining cracks of her revolver, together with the two next stanzas, are drowned in afresh torrent of small-talk – after which he hears Miss F. B. conclude with repressed emotion:
But the ochre on Blue-nosed Owl was blurred, as his braves concluded their brief harangues;
And he dropped a tear on the early bier of our Prairie Belle, Lobelia Bangs!
[Which of course leaves him in a state of hopeless mystification
Soc. Chat. Is that the end? Charming! Now we shall be able to talk again! &c., &c.
Bank Holiday
Scene —The Crystal Palace. The Nave is filled with a dense throng of Pleasure-seekers. Every free seat commanding the most distant view of a Variety Performance on the Great Stage has been occupied an hour in advance. The less punctual stand and enjoy the spectacle of other persons' hats or bonnets. Gangs of Male and Female Promenaders jostle and hustle to their hearts' content, or perform the war-song and dance of the Lower-class 'Arry, which consists in chanting "Oi tiddly-oi-toi; hoi-toi-oi!" to a double shuffle. Tired women sit on chairs and look at nothing. In the Grounds, the fancy of young men and maidens is lightly turning to thoughts of love; the first dawn of the tender passion being intimated, on the part of the youth, by chasing his charmer into a corner and partially throttling her, whereupon the maiden coyly conveys that his sentiments are not unreciprocated by thumping him between the shoulders. From time to time, two champions contend with fists for the smiles of beauty, who may usually be heard bellowing with perfect impartiality in the background. A small but increasing percentage have already had as much liquid refreshment as is good for them, and intend to have more. Altogether, the scene, if festive, might puzzle an Intelligent Foreigner who is more familiar with Continental ideas of enjoyment
A Damsel (in a ruby plush hat with a mauve feather). Why, if they yn't got that bloomin' ole statute down from Charin' Cross! What's 'e doin' of down 'ere, I wonder?
Her Swain (whose feather is only pink and white paper). Doin' of? Tykin' 'is d'y orf – like the rest of us are tykin' it.
The Damsel (giggling). You go on – you don't green me that w'y – a statute!
Swain. Well, 'yn't this what they call a "Statutory" 'Oliday, eh?
Damsel (in high appreciation of his humour). I'll fetch you sech a slap in a minnit! 'Ere, let's gow on the Swissback.
Another Damsel (in a peacock-blue hat with orange pompons). See that nekked young man on the big 'orse, Alf? It says "Castor" on the stand. 'Oo was 'e?
Alf. Oh, I d' know. I dessay it'll be 'im as invented the Castor Ile.
The Damsel (disgusted). Fancy their puttin' up a monument to 'im!
Superior 'Arry (talking Musichalls to his Adored One). 'Ave you 'eard her sing "Come where the Booze is Cheapest?"
The Adored. Lots o' toimes. I do like 'er singing. She mykes sech comical soigns – and then the things she sez! But I've 'eard she's very common in her tork, and that —orf the styge.
The S. A. I shouldn't wonder. Some on 'em are that way. You can't 'ave everythink!
His Adored. No, it is a pity, though. 'Spose we go out, and pl'y Kiss in the Ring? [They do.
AMONG THE ETHNOLOGICAL MODELS
Wife of British Workman (spelling out placard under Hottentot Group). "It is extremely probable that this interesting race will be completely exterminated at no very distant period." Pore things!
British Workman (with philosophy). Well, I sha'n't go inter mournin' for 'em, Sairer!
Lambeth Larrikin (in a pasteboard "pickelhaube," and a false nose, thoughtfully, to Battersea Bill, who is wearing an old grey chimney-pot hat, with the brim uppermost, and a tow wig, as they contemplate a party of Botocudo natives). Rum the sights these 'ere savidges make o' theirselves, ain't it, Bill?
Batt. Bill (more thoughtfully). Yer right – but I dessay if you and me 'ad been born among that lot, we shouldn't care 'ow we looked!
Vauxhall Voilet (who has exchanged headgear with Chelsea Chorley —with dismal results). They are cures, those blackies! Why, yer carn't 'ardly tell the men from the wimmin! I expect this lot'll be 'aving a beanfeast. See, they're plyin' their myusic.
Chelsea Chorley. Good job we can't 'ear 'em. They say as niggers' music is somethink downright horful. Give us "Hi-tiddly-hi" on that mouth-orgin o' yours, will yer?
[Vauxhall Voilet obliges on that instrument; every one in the neighbourhood begins to jig mechanically; exeunt party, dancing.
A Pimply Youth. "Hopium-eater from Java." That's the stuff they gits as stoopid as biled howls on – it's about time we went and did another beer. [They retire for that purpose.
DURING THE FIREWORKS
Chorus of Spectators. There's another lot o' bloomin' rockets gowin orf! Oo-oo, 'ynt that lur-uvly? What a lark if the sticks come down on somebody's 'ed! There, didyer see 'em bust? Puts me in mind of a shower o' foiry smuts. Lor, so they do – what a fancy you do 'ave. &c., &c.
COMING HOME
An Old Gentleman (who has come out with the object of observing Bank Holiday manners – which he has done from a respectful distance – to his friend, as they settle down in an empty first-class compartment). There, now we shall just get comfortably off before the crush begins. Now, to me, y'know, this has been a most interesting and gratifying experience – wonderful spectacle, all that immense crowd, enjoying itself in its own way – boisterously, perhaps, but, on the whole, with marvellous decorum! Really, very exhilarating to see – but you don't agree with me?
His Friend (reluctantly). Well, I must say it struck me as rather pathetic than —
The O. G. (testily). Pathetic, Sir – nonsense! I like to see people putting their heart into it, whether it's play or work. Give me a crowd —
[As if in answer to this prayer, there is a sudden irruption of typical Bank Holiday-makers into the compartment
Man by the Window. Third-class as good as fust, these days! Why, if there ain't ole Fred! Wayo, Fred, tumble in, ole son – room for one more standin'!
["Ole Fred" plays himself in with a triumphal blast on a tin trumpet, after which he playfully hammers the roof with his stick, as he leans against the door
Ole Fred. Where's my blanky friend? I 'it 'im one on the jaw, and I ain't seen 'im since! (Sings, sentimentally, at the top of a naturally powerful voice.) "Comrides, Comrides! Hever since we was boys! Sharin' each other's sorrers. Sharin' each hother's – beer!"
[A "paraprosdokian," which delights him to the point of repetition
The O. G. Might I ask you to make a little less disturbance there, Sir? [Whimpers from over-tired children.
Ole Fred (roaring). "I'm jolly as a Sandboy, I'm 'appy as a king! No matter what I see or 'ear, I larf at heverything! I'm the morril of my moth-ar, (to O. G.) the himage of your Par! And heverythink I see or 'ear, it makes me larf 'Ar-har!'"
[He laughs "Ar-har," after which he gives a piercing blast upon the trumpet, with stick obbligato on the roof
The O. G. (roused). I really must beg you not to be such an infernal nuisance! There are women and children here who —
Ole Fred. Shet up, old umbereller whiskers! (Screams of laughter from women and children, which encourage him to sing again.) "An' the roof is copper-bottomed, but the chimlies are of gold. In my double-breasted mansion in the Strand!" (To people on platform, as train stops.) Come in, oh, lor, do! "Oi-tiddly-oi-toi! hoi-toi-oy!"
[The rest take up the refrain – "'Ave a drink an' wet your eye," &c. and beat time with their boots
The O. G. If this abominable noise goes on, I shall call the guard – disgraceful, coming in drunk like this!
The Man by the Window. 'Ere, dry up, Guv'nor —'e ain't 'ad enough to urt 'im, 'e ain't!
Chorus of Females (to O. G.). An' Bank 'Oliday, too – you orter to be ashimed o' yerself, you ought! 'E's as right as right, if you on'y let him alone!
Ole Fred (to O. G.). Ga-arn, yer pore-'arted ole choiner boy! (sings dismally), "Ow! for the vanished Spring-toime! Ow! for the dyes gorn boy! Ow! for the" – (changing the melody) – "'omeless, I wander in lonely distress. No one ter pity me – none ter caress!" (Here he sheds tears, overcome by his own pathos, but presently cheers up.) "I dornce all noight! An' I rowl 'ome toight! I'm a rare-un at a rollick, or I'm ready fur a foight." Any man 'ere wanter foight me? Don't say no, ole Frecklefoot! (To the O. G., who perspires freely.) "Oh, I am enj'yin' myself!"
