Kitabı oku: «The Art of Amusing», sayfa 10
CHAPTER XXVI
A certain young lady with whom we are acquainted has discovered a new art, which seems to absorb a great portion of her being. It is a method by which almost anything may be transmuted into coral. The consequence of this discovery is that the English-basement house in which the maid in question dwells, is converted into a perfect mermaid's grotto. We told her so the other day, since which she has called us her Triton; and further intimated that in order to preserve the fitness of things, we might invite her to an oyster supper at Delmonico's. This hint we took with the avidity of a pickerel; but alas for the fickleness of woman, and our visions of marine happiness, the damsel changed her position and absolutely declined accepting our hospitality, even to the extent of a shrimp.
It is marvellous what very poor jokes afford rich amusement, when they are passed amongst intimate friends. When we called the lady in question, South Coral-ina, every one present seemed quite amused; indeed only one person, an obnoxious individual with large whiskers, seemed to resent it at all: – but now that the title by frequent repetition has assumed the character of a nickname, it is always received as an exquisite piece of humor. Numerous ramifications of this subject afford us endless themes for badinage.
We profess to ridicule the idea that involuntary servitude is abolished, when South Coral-ina holds ourselves and so many others in slavery. She retorts by calling us Neptune, and asking after the telegraph cable. When this badinage had been going on for some time, our friend Nix played quite a pretty hoax on the ladies. He arrived one evening with a somewhat dirty-looking basket on his arm filled with oysters. This was rather an inelegant thing to bring into the parlor, and naturally excited some surprise; but when he began to take out the grimy-looking bivalves, and one by one, hand them round to the ladies, there was a commotion bordering on indignation; the first lady declined to receive so plebeian a gift, whereupon Nix took a penknife from his pocket and opened it; revealing the inside lined with rich velvet, and bearing some trinket made of gold and pearls. This was in payment of a bet of an oyster supper which he had playfully made with and purposely lost to one of the ladies.
But to revert to our Coral. We often aided the fair mermaid in her manufactures, making sprays of coral nearly as large as in currant bushes, coral walking-canes, coral ear-rings, pen racks, paper weights, and other useful articles. We converted into coral – walnuts, small mud-turtles, birds' claws, sea-shells, and indeed almost everything on which we could lay our hands. Finally we took paterfamilias' felt hat one night and gave it a couple of coats of scarlet varnish, much to the astonishment of that good gentleman when he wished to put it on next morning.
The mode of making these coral ornaments is, of course, very simple; otherwise it would not find a place in this book:
RECEIPT
To two drachms of fine vermilion, add one ounce of clear resin, and melt them together; paint the object with this mixture while hot, and then hold it over a gentle fire till it is perfectly covered and smooth.
To make sprays of coral you should procure some twigs of thorn; peel and dry, before painting with the varnish.
The Nix gift of pearls has set all the ladies to work on a new idea – painting pictures in oil-colors on the inside of oyster shells; these are mostly marine subjects where the natural hues of the shell supply the requisite tints for the clouds and water. One of these little works represented a fish, where the sheen of the mother-of-pearl gave a marvellously natural effect to the scales and gills.
They have also taken to making pictures on egg-shells in water-colors, which are very pretty. One egg they tattooed all over with pen-and-ink arabesque, and emblazoned with crimson and gold. It looks very handsome, though possibly of not quite so much practical use as a locomotive or a reaping-machine. Still, let us always remember that quotation from Goethe:
"Encourage the beautiful, the useful will take care of itself!"
To which we might add a paraphrase of our own:
"Encourage the amusing, the dreary will take care of itself."
For our own part we have serious ideas of organizing a SOCIETY FOR THE ENCOURAGEMENT OF AMUSEMENT. We firmly believe that judicious and rational amusement tends more to make men healthy, wealthy, and wise, than ever did early rising, for which, nevertheless, we have profoundest respect.
CHAPTER XXVII
To those who are fond of charades, and indeed to all those good people who love to be merry, we commend what the French call charades en action, or pantomime charades. These charades, as the name indicates, are acted, not spoken. The great rule to be observed is silence, nothing more than an exclamation being allowed. In extreme cases, where it is utterly impossible to convey the idea by actions, a placard may be introduced bearing some helpful inscription, as in the case of Mr. Cuffy (in the charade on carpet which we shall presently give), who draws from his bosom a monster letter from Mr. Swab, which he displays to the audience. In addition to the information it conveys, the production of this preposterously large note is calculated to create a laugh.
The chief merit in a charade actor is inventive ingenuity in so, adapting the domestic adjuncts of an ordinary household as to supply the place of necessary theatrical properties and wardrobe. We have seen a very respectable Richard Cœur de Lion made up of the tinware of an ordinary cooking-range; and Queen Elizabeth, frill, hair and all, out of a few copies of the Daily Tribune. We have known a steam fire-engine to be manufactured out of a baby's crib and a tea-kettle; and Bunker Hill monument from two chairs, a fishing-rod, and a sheet. Those who have followed us so far through these pages, have gone through a good course of study, and will start with great advantages in the pursuit of charade-acting.
For the convenience of our clients we add a list of words which may be acted as charades.
CARPET
A CHARADE IN THREE ACTS
ACT I
Car –
Dramatis Personæ,
Car-Driver. Conductor. Passengers
Scene —Sixth Avenue, New York
Scene opens and discovers street-car driving furiously along, drawn by two chestnut acquaintances. Conductor and driver represented by two small boys. Car composed of lounge, clothes-horse, and two chairs, judiciously arranged and draped; wheels of band box-lids or circular tea-trays. Noise of car simulated by confederates outside shaking sleigh-bells or hand-bells, and drumming on door with fingers and hand; also rattling on floor with feet.
Enter some passengers, running and hailing car. Bell rings, by knocking goblet with spoon. Car stops.
Passengers rush towards car. Gentleman is in the act of stepping on car when bell rings, and car suddenly starts off, throwing gentleman violently to the ground. Great screaming and wailing; friends gather round and try to raise him; find he is insensible; all immediately begin shaking their fists at conductor; then simultaneously they bethink themselves of the propriety of taking the number of the car. All draw out their memorandum-books and commence writing. Conductor and driver make gestures of defiance.
Grand tableau.
ACT II
– Pet
Dramatis Personæ,
Husband and Wife
Enter lady poutingly, followed by her husband, who tries to coax her into a good humor, but without avail. She persists in being in a pet. Husband and even
by his gestures promises to buy her shawls,
dresses,
a piano,
a riding-horse.8
Finding all these promises are of no use, he begins to get excited; declares she shall have nothing; lady remains sulky; gentleman seizes his hat, rams it on his head, and exits. Lady walks off in the opposite direction, clenching her fists.
ACT III
Carpet
Dramatis Personæ,
Irishman. Colored Man. Servant Girl
Scene —Street-door of fashionable house – door-plate of white paper on door bearing the name of Swab
Enter colored man,9 with his face well spotted with whitewash, who rings at door of fashionable house.
Irish servant appears with her sleeves rolled up and her dress pinned in the form of a dress-coat behind. She turns up her nose at darkey, who humbly intimates that he has called for the carpet. Girl slams the door in his face. Colored man considers this outrageous conduct, as he has been specially requested to call for orders, and produces the following note from Mr. Swab:
"Mr. Cuffy:
"Please call at No. 13 Fifth Avenue, for carpet.
"John Swab."
He points to note and name on door to show he has come to the right house.
Enter Irishman, who approaches Mr. Swab's door and rings bell; reappear girl, who smiles as she produces a roll of carpet. Cuffy steps forward and expostulates, showing Mr. Swab's letter. Irishman pitches into Cuffy, and a furious fight ensues, in which the girl joins with a broom.
THE END OF CARPET
CATASTROPHE
A CHARADE IN FOUR ACTS
ACT I
Cat
Dramatis Personæ,
Cat. Dog. Old Gentleman
Scene —Backyard of city house, with small table placed on top of other table, to represent window
Enter cat (head done up in brown paper, with cat's face painted on it, brown paper ears, tail made out of lady's boa, black silk handkerchief, or any suitable thing).
Cat commences to meow and caterwaul. Old gentleman appears at window with nightcap on and sheet wrapped round him, and shakes his fist at cat. Cat continues to make a noise.
Old gentleman gets very angry, shakes both his fists, withdraws into room, reappears with hair-brush, which he throws at cat. Cat continues to make a noise. Old gentleman commences a fusilade of boots, books, combs, and toilet articles generally. Cat makes more noise than ever, putting up her back and spitting at the objects as they fell around her. The old gentleman is almost in despair, when suddenly a bright idea strikes him, which he expresses by pantomime, placing his finger to the side of his nose and winking. He disappears from the window. Presently is heard the rattling of a chain and barking of a dog.
Enter dog, barking furiously, and pursues cat out of yard. Old gentleman rubs his hands with glee, and pats dog on head. Dog frisks about.
ACT II
Ass
Dramatis Personæ,
Ass. Rag and Soap-fat Man. Servant Girl
Scene —Public Street
Enter rag and soap-fat man dragging donkey after him. Donkey dragging cart made of chair with bandbox-lid wheels, cart filled with odds and ends of tinware, old rags, etc. Donkey very obstinate; driver beats him with roll of stiff paper. Servant hails soap-fat man and offers for sale several large jarsful of drippings, sheets, pillow-cases, etc., belonging to her mistress. They chaffer for some time over the bargain, but finally agree upon a price. The money (all copper pennies) is about to change hands when the donkey, close by, gives an unearthly bray, which, to their guilty consciences, sounds like the voice of some avenging spirit; both scream, drop the money on the floor, and rush off; donkey turns round and runs off too.
ACT III
Trophy
Dramatis Personæ,
Soldiers
Scene —A camp, tents made of sheets hung over chairs, etc
Enter soldiers, leading prisoners, and bearing ragged and shot-torn flag on broomstick, band playing trumpets (sheets of music rolled up), and beating drums (tin pails); they halt and form in line; the officer, by suitable gestures, calls attention to the trophy.
Enter general and staff. General makes a speech, pointing to the trophy, and then decorates their captain by pinning a medal (a circular soda-cracker fastened to a bit of red ribbon will do) on his breast. All strike an attitude, and the scene closes.
ACT IV
Catastrophe
Dramatis Personæ,
Gentlemen. Ladies. Horses and Policemen
Scene —Central Park
A superb carriage, made out of the lounge with bandbox-lid wheels, and drawn by a span of spirited bay gentleman, is discovered; an elegant youth is seated on the box driving, whilst the carriage is filled with a gay and festive party of youthful ladies and gentlemen.
Presently the horses become restive, plunge wildly about, and, in spite of all the efforts of the driver, dash the vehicle against a post; the inmates scream and tumble out. Enter two policemen, who seize the horses, put the driver on his legs, and carry the rest of the party to the hospital on stretchers made of the clothes-horse.
CHAPTER XXVIII
Those tranquil moods to which allusion has already been made on several occasions, have now become a decided feature in our character. There is certainly something very charming in the society of well-bred women. However, we hope before long we need not be forced from home to find that enjoyment. We have discovered the object of Nix's recent gifts of Brahminical works. It was a ponderous roundabout species of humor peculiar to Nix, the works in question being supposed to furnish appropriate study for a person in our presumed position as admirer of Bud (or Boodh).
Nix has for some time past made himself very wearisome with continual allusions to Vishnu, Siva, Buddhism, and so forth. We gained one idea, however, from his jest. We have written a Hindoo play, the plot of which turns on the love of a devout Brahmin. The play is entirely finished save the last act, which is complete up to the point where Neer Je Haun declares his love for the Unblown Rose.
THE LAST ACT OF THE PLAY
We took our play to the Adams' to-night, and told Bud that it was nearly completed, but we were in some embarrassment how to conclude it. We had consequently come to consult her on the subject, begging at the same time she would give it her most careful attention, as her decision was of vital importance. We were alone. We had read the whole play through with the utmost care, till we came to the final sentence in our manuscript, where the hero declares his passion for the Unblown Rose. It runs thus:
Neer Je Haun. "Light of my soul, whose voice is sweeter than the murmur of the Ganges, whose name is incense to my nostrils, whose eyes are brighter than the fire-flies by night – my highest ambition is to be thy slave, my greatest hope to guard thee from harm, to bask in the radiance of thine eyes. For thee I would sacrifice all other earthly happiness. When I pray thee to share my humble fortunes, turn not away thy proud head; parch not my soul with scorn, though well I should deserve such a fate for my temerity."
Now turning to Bud, we asked her to decide what answer the lover should receive; should he be accepted or rejected?
"Oh, accepted, of course!" eagerly exclaimed Bud, her bright eyes kindling with sympathy for the ardent Hindoo.
"It is well!" we replied, and wrote down the maiden's answer.
"I will trust my life in thy hands from this day till death."
"Is that right?" we asked.
She said it was, though perhaps a little cold.
We then drew from our breast pocket one sheet of the manuscript she had not yet seen. It was the title of the play:
THE WORSHIP OF BUD
Bud colored – looked at us in an embarrassed way, and then with much hesitation was about to speak, when we stretched out our hand and said:
"You will not make us alter what we have written?"
She gave no answer, but from the pressure of her hand we knew we need doubt no more.
Now this heathen idolator would not change places with the greatest Christian monarch in Europe.
