A Book of Burlesque: Sketches of English Stage Travestie and Parody

 
Narcissus. What means this sudden dreadful change, I wonder?
 
 
Pan. It means, great Pan is outraged!
 
 
Omnes. Pan!
 
 
Pan. Ah, Pan!
Beware his hate and jealousy, young man.
Blight shall o'erwhelm ye! See, your native corn
Turns into ashes with my withering scorn.
Your wheat shall shrink and shrivel, every sheaf;
Your cattle swell the cattlelogue of grief;
With murrain all your sheep rot in their pens,
The pip shall finish all your cocks and hens;
Dry rot shall spoil your flails, your ploughs, and harrows,
Break up your waggons; even your wheel-barrows
Shall come to woe.
Your land shall grow so hard, in vain you tills.
Like lazy volunteers, with weakish wills,
It will object to being bored by drills.
Your turnip-tops shan't spring up from the roots,
Your rye shall grow awry, your corn shan't shoot,
Your peas, towards which the Arcadian feeder leans,
Become things of the past, and all turn beans,
Ha, ha! the prospect cuts you to the core,
Probes, punctures, penetrates. – Pour, torrents, pour!
Descend, ye hailstones, bumpers, thumpers, fizzers;
It cuts you like a knife, doesn't it, Nar-scissors?
 

This is a very fair specimen of Byron's rather careless method; and another is at hand in the following lines, which are spoken after the Carian captain has shown to Pan a jar of wine: —

 
Captain. That's wine.
 
 
Pan. What's wine?
 
 
Captain.A fluid very rare;
It's unknown here; we bring it from afar;
Don't speak a word of thanks – there, hold your jar…
 
 
Pan. The jar's a most uncommon sort of shape,
(Smells it) Oh, oh! may I be shot if it ain't grape!
[Tastes it, and smacks his lips.
Gollopshus! (drinks). More gollopshus than the first!
It quenches, yet somehow increases, thirst.
(Drinks) Talk about nectar. These celestial fellers
Have no such drink as this stuff in their cellars.
I must bid Ganymede to earth to fly —
Ganymede, brin-g an immed-iate supply.
[Drinks, and becomes gradually elevated – hiccups.
Nectar celestial drink's supposed to be;
It's called divine – this is de vine for me!
(Sings) We'll drown it in the bowl! (Staggers) I see two bottles!
I only wish I'd got a pair of throttles!
My, everything's in two! As for that there tree,
It was a single tree, it's now a pair tree.
That bay I thought Arcadian – but, I say,
It seems to me, my friend, you're Dublin bay.
Fact, 'tis a pair of bays. The earth seems reeling,
While this is still so gently o'er me stealing.
 

To the burlesques by William Brough already mentioned may be added "Endymion, or the Naughty Boy who cried for the Moon" (St. James's, 1860), and "Pygmalion, or the Statue Fair" (Strand, 1867). The former,¹² of course, has to do with the fabled fondness of Diana for Endymion, and vice versâ. The goddess sees the youth lying asleep upon Mount Latmos, and, descending, kisses him: -

 
Strange weakness – thus my beams so bright to dim!
I should be more myself – not beam o'er him.
The gods all mock my silvery splendour paling;
Not silvery, but irony, their railing.
Paling and railing! – what dread fears that calls up,
Their bitter raillery suggesting All's up!
 

Before Endymion has seen Diana, he is asked by Actæon whether he is in love; to which he replies: -

 
Oh, no! We men of fashion
Have long ago forsworn the tender passion.
We can't afford it.
 
 
Actæ. Why not?
 
 
Endym. Well, a wife
May suit folks in the lower walks of life;
But in our station, what girls seek in marriage
Is not a walk in life; – they want a carriage.
Then, what with dress and crinoline extensive,
The sex which should be dear becomes expensive.
Once hearts were trumps; – that suit no more we follow;
Since a good suit of diamonds beats them hollow.
 

Here he drops into a parody of "Our Hearts are not our Own to Give": —

 
Our hearts we've not alone to give,
When we to wed incline;
In lowly cots on love to live,
In poetry sounds fine.
 
 
But folks to live on love have ceased;
Our hearts when we'd bestow,
Some hundreds sterling, at the least,
Should with the fond hearts go.
 

When, again, Actæon asks Endymion whether he ever shoots, he replies, "No, I don't care about it": —

 
Actæ. Not care for shooting, man? What's life without it?
All nature shoots. Say, what's the earliest thing
Boys learn at school? Why, shooting in the ring.
The seed you sow must shoot before it grows;
We feel the very corns shoot on our toes.
We shoot our bolts, our game, our foes – what not?
We're told where even rubbish may be shot.
The stars shoot in the sky – nay, I've heard say,
Folks sometimes shoot the moon on quarter-day.
 

Among the personæ in the piece is Pan, whom we find addressing the fauns in this punning style: —

 
Oh long-ear'd, but short-sighted fauns, desist;
To the great Pan, ye little pitchers, list;
Pan knows a thing or two. In point of fact,
He's a deep Pan – and anything but cracked.
A perfect oracle Pan deems himself; he
Is earthenwarish – so, of course, is delfy.
Trust, then, to Pan your troubles to remove;
A warming-Pan he'll to your courage prove.
A prophet, he foresees the ills you'd fear;
So for them all you have your Pan-a-seer.
 

In "Pygmalion"¹³ we are asked to suppose that Venus is indignant with the sculptor for his lack of susceptibility to female charms. Cupid therefore undertakes to punish him by making him fall in love with his new statue, Galatea. To this statue Venus, at Pygmalion's request, gives life; but she withholds the power of loving. Galatea, therefore, is for ever slighting the sculptor's affection. Here is the opening of their first interview, which the curious may compare with the similar situation in Mr. Gilbert's "Pygmalion and Galatea: " —

 
Pygmal. My beautiful – my own! (embracing her).
 
 
Statue.Oh! don't, sir, please;
I'm sure I'm much too soft to stand a squeeze.
 
 
Pygmal. Too soft! What mean you?
 
 
Statue.Nay, I hardly know.
I was so firm and hard an hour ago;
Suddenly I grew soft —
 
 
Pygmal.Nay, speak no farder.
You're getting softer but renews my (h)ardour;
Unrivalled maid!
 
 
Statue. You rivals talk about,
Who've done your best yourself to cut me out;
With chisel – mallet – sir, 'tis my conviction,
Your mallet ought to have my mallet-diction.
 
 
Pygmal. Your sculptor, amorous, implores you madly.
 
 
Statue. Yes! sculptors (h)ammer-us poor statues sadly;
Yet I ne'er felt it till an hour ago;
I stood, heigho! there in your stud-i-o,
Within a niche!
 
 
Pygmal.Speak on, oh form bewitching!
 
 
Statue. Standing the niche-in, straight I felt an itching;
Throughout my frame a feeling seemed to tingle,
Bade me go forth with human kind to mingle.
 
 
Pygmal. Oh, joy! 'twas life! and life you must go through with me.
 
 
Statue. Well, having made me, what d'ye mean to do with me?
Of course I can't disparage what you've done;
But say, can I dis parish claim upon?
Or must I trust of casual wards the mercy?
Have I a settlement, or vice versy?
 
 
Pygmal. Come to my arms!
 
 
Statue. Nay, as the matter stands,
It's not your arms – I'm left upon your hands.
What's to be done with me? I never sought
Into a human figure to be wrought.
You're great at figures; I, a wretched sad stone,
Know nought of figures – I'm far from a Glad-stone!
 

In the end, Psyche infuses soul into Galatea, and she and the sculptor understand each other.

In 1883 Mr. H. P. Stephens submitted to Gaiety audiences a one-act piece which he called "Galatea, or Pygmalion Re-versed." In this Galatea was the sculptor, and Pygmalion the statue; and with Miss Farren as the former, and Mr. Edward Terry as the latter, the result was eminently laughable. Cynisca, by the way, was turned into a man (Cyniscos), and was played by Elton.

Two mythological burlesques stand to the credit of Gilbert Abbott a'Beckett – "The Son of the Sun, or the Fate of Phaeton," played at the Fitzroy Theatre so long ago as 1834; and "The Three Graces," a two-act piece, seen at the Princess's in 1843, with Oxberry, Wright, and Paul Bedford in the cast. Both of these travesties are very smoothly and gracefully written, with fewer puns than the author afterwards permitted himself. "The Three Graces," moreover, is not very prolific in contemporary allusion; though here and there, as in the following passage, between the heroines – Aglaia, Thalia, and Euphrosyne – there is some gentle satire: —

 
Agl. Euphrosyne, we shall be miss'd by Venus.
 
 
Eup. With her we easily can make our peace,
If something, her attractions to increase,
We take from earth.
 
 
Agl.Why, yes, that's very true,
If we could only meet with something new.
 
 
Eup. That mixture for the hair, what is it call'd?
It's advertised as "solace for the bald."
 
 
Agl. I'll take her some of that.
 
 
Eup.Or what's that's stuff —
For which, I saw the other day a puff?
Something to be upon the features sprinkled,
And offering "Consolation to the wrinkled."
 
 
Tha. Venus don't want such aids.
 
 
Eup.That's very true;
Want them, indeed! the ladies never do;
But when such little purchases are made,
Of course 'tis only to encourage trade.
 
 
Agl. They've got on earth a very odd idea
Of what the Graces really are, I fear.
 
 
Eup. They have indeed: I chanced one day to go
Into a first-rate milliner's depôt,
That is par excellence– the first of places
To meet with earthly notions of the Graces.
 
 
Agl. That's very true – and there what did you see?
 
 
Eup. Things unbecoming either of us three.
 
 
Agl. What wear they on their heads? I think I've known
Mortals who've dress'd them something like our own.
 
 
Eup. Bonnets they lately wore, but oh, so small,
They nearly dwindled into none at all.
 

In "The Son of the Sun" there is an episode which helps to illustrate the condition of the drama in London at that period (1834). Apollo is questioning the Muses who have just returned from London to Olympus: —

 
Apol. Euterpe, Music's Muse, I understand
That you had lodgings somewhere in the Strand.
 
 
Eut. Oh! the Lyceum! Yes; I had a bout of it
For a short time, until they burnt me out of it.
 
 
Apol. Melpomene, Thalia, – still remain
Your temples, I suppose, near Drury Lane?
 
 
Thal. Our temples! Yes; as usual they stand,
Extensively superb, and coldly grand.
But, oh! the worship's wholly chang'd! Ah me! it is
A cruel thing – they've turn'd out us poor deities.
My friend Melpomene's dagger, and her bowl,
Are in the clutches of a noisy soul
With Madame Melodrama for her name.
 
 
Apol. That's downright usurpation.
 
 
All. Shame! oh, shame!
 
 
Thal. And as for me, my place – a pretty pass! —
Is taken by a vulgar thing, called Farce.
 
 
Apol. But where is Shakspeare?
 
 
Thal. Bless me, don't you know?
Shakspeare is trampled on.
 
 
Apol. By whom?
 
 
Thal. Ducrow.
 

Mr. Burnand has written more "classical" burlesques than any man living or dead. A university man, like Talfourd, he has displayed complete mastery of mythologic themes, submitting them to ingenious perversion, and adorning them with a wealth of pun and parody of which it is impossible, in these brief limits, to give more than a few samples. He has shown special interest in the legends connected with the siege of Troy,¹⁴ producing three burlesques more or less connected with that event. First, in 1860, came "Dido," at the St. James's, with Charles Young as the heroine; next, in 1866, "Paris, or Vive Lemprière," at the Strand;¹⁵ next, in 1867, "The Latest Edition of Helen, or Taken from the Greek," at Liverpool.¹⁶ Helen of Troy, I may note, en parenthèse, had been the heroine of two other travesties: one by Vincent Amcotts – "Fair Helen" (Oxford, 1862); the other by Mr. Robert Reece – "Our Helen" (Gaiety, 1884).

In "Dido," Mr. Burnand's genius for word-play is agreeably manifested. I take some lines at random: —

 
"Æneas, son of Venus, sails the sea,
Mighty and high."
 

"As Venus' son should be."

 
On the sea-shore, dear, I've just come from walking,
Studying my fav'rite poets. Need I tell ye
The works I read were those of Crabbe and Shelley?
 
 
It is the Queen – of life she seems aweary;
And mad as Lear, looking just as leary.
A riddle strikes me: "Why's she thus behaving,
Just like a bird of night?" "'Cos she's a raving."
 
 
Mad as a March hare. It is the fate
Of hares to be then in a rabid state.
 
 
"I ne'er shall move as heretofore so gaily,
I feel quite ill and dizzy."
 

"Dizzy? Raly?"

Æneas comes on first as a begging sailor, with "I'm starving" inscribed on a paper suspended from his neck. He strikes up a song, but soon stops it: —

 
What? no one here? Thy singing vain appears.
Land may have necks and tongues– it has no ears.
None to be done, and nothing here to do.
 

[Takes off begging paper.]

 
"I'm starving." Ah, it happens to be true!
On air I cannot feed, howe'er one stuffs,
Not even when it comes to me in puffs.
I wonder what's become of our small party,
Who, yesterday, were sailing well and hearty?
I saw our shipwrecked crew sink in the bay;
'Twould be a subject fit for Frith, R.A.
And if the shore last night they failed in gaining,
I am the only Landseer now remaining.
Being no gambler, I'll ne'er trust again
My fortunes to the chances of the main.
 

In 1863 Mr. Burnand brought out, at the Royalty, "Ixion, or the Man at the Wheel,"¹⁷ which proved to be one of the happiest of his efforts. This he followed up, at the same theatre, two years later, with "Pirithous," in which the adventures of Ixion's son were as humorously depicted. In the interval he had produced at the Olympic "Cupid and Psyche" (December, 1864), a burlesque on an ever-popular subject. Years before – so early as 1837 – a piece called "Cupid," written by Joseph Graves, had been represented at the Queen's and Strand, with Wild and Miss Malcolm at the one house and Hammond and Miss Daly at the other as the God of Love and his beloved. In "Cupid," however, there was little verbal wit. The god figured as a gay deceiver, who had promised marriage to Psyche, but had refused to "implement" the undertaking. Whereupon Jupiter decides that Cupid shall be shot dead by Psyche; but she, using the god's own arrows, does but transfix him with the love she yearns for. Cupid sings, early in the piece, a parody of "The Sea! the Sea!" beginning —

 
Psyché! Psyché! my own Psyché,
The pretty, fair, and ever free! —
 

But, otherwise, Graves's "book" is not particularly brilliant, Though smoothly written and fairly brisk in action.

In "Cupid and Psyche" Mr. Burnand made Psyche the daughter of a king, who, because she will not marry and thus relieve him of the anxiety caused by a certain Prophecy, chains her to a rock on the sea-shore. To this he is incited by Venus, who regards Psyche as her rival in beauty. Psyche is duly rescued and espoused by Cupid, who (as in the old myth) remains invisible to her until her curiosity gets the better of her prudence; and, in the end, Venus abates her enmity, and the union of the pair is duly recognised. In one place, Psyche, entering, distractedly, in search of Cupid, cries: —

 
A river! I debate with myself wedder
I'll end my tale with a sensation header
From a small boat. It could not clear the reeds;
One cannot make an oar way through these s(weeds).
Why should I live? Alas, from me forlorn
Each lad turns on his heel to show his (s)corn!
The county lads to me make no advances;
The county girls avert their county-nances.
Counties! (struck with an idea) I'll drown myself, —
Down hesitation!
Nor men, nor folk, shall stop my suffoc-ation!
 

Elsewhere Mars says to Cupid: —

 
Stop, you ill-bred little pup!
Is this the way an 'Arrow boy's brought up?
Your conduct would disgrace the lowest Cretan.
 
 
Bacchus. "An 'Arrow boy!" – egad, that joke's a neat 'un.
 

At another point Cupid himself says that

 
A yawn, however gentle,
Is to the face not very ornamental.
 

At the very end of the piece, there is a skilful bit of rhyming. Psyche "comes down" and says: —

 
Now, stupid —
Why don't you speak the tag and finish, Cupid?
 
 
Cupid. Because I'm in a fix, my charming friend.
 
 
Psyche. How so?
 
 
Cupid.The piece with your name ought to end;
And, though I should give all my mind and time to it,
I know that I shan't get a word to rhyme to it.
 
 
King (cleverly). There's Bikey.
 
 
Bacchus (as if he'd hit it – rather). Dikey!
 
 
Zephyr (suggestively).Fikey!
 
 
Venus (authoritatively).Likey!
 
 
Cupid (who has shaken his head at each suggestion).Pooh!
 
 
Chrysalis. Oh! (every one interested, as if she'd got it now) Crikey! (every one disgusted).
 
 
Psyche. Ma'am, that's vulgar, and won't do.
 
 
Grubbe (calmly and complacently). Ikey!
 
 
Cupid.Absurd. I yield it in despair.
Come – the finale; I'll commence the air (sings two very high notes—all shake their heads).
 
 
Mars. Oh no! we cannot sing in such a high key.
 
 
Cupid (joyfully to Psyche, catching the rhyme at once). That's it. (takes her hand – to audience). Pray smile on Cupid.
 
 
Psyche.And on Psyché.
 

Among other "classical" burlesques may be mentioned Mr. Burnand's "Arion," seen at the Strand in 1871, with Mr. Edward Terry, Mr. Harry Paulton, and Miss Augusta Thomson; and H. B. Farnie's "Vesta," produced at the St. James's in the same year, with Mr. John Wood and Mr. Lionel Brough. Mr. Burnand's "Sappho" (1866), and "Olympic Games" (1867), also call for mention. John Brougham's "Life in the Clouds" belongs to 1840; Tom Taylor's "Diogenes and his Lantern" to 1849; the Brothers Brough's "Sphinx" to the same year; William Brough's "Hercules and Omphale" to 1864; and Mr. Reece's "Agamemnon and Cassandra, or The Prophet and Loss of Troy," to 1868.

IV
BURLESQUE OF FAËRIE

As Planché was, in effect, the Father of Classical Burlesque, so was he also, even more irrefragably, the Father of the Burlesque of Faërie – of the fairy tales of the nursery, and especially of those derived from French sources. Memorable, indeed, was the production of Planché's "Riquet with the Tuft¹⁸"; this piece was the precursor of something like twenty others from the same pen, all written on the same principle and in the same vein. Planché had been to Paris, and had there seen Potier playing in "Riquet à la Houppe." He came home and straightway wrote his own version of the story, partly in verse, partly in prose, having in Charles Mathews a Riquet not equal indeed to Potier, but with obvious merits of his own. Vestris was the Princess Emeralda, and James Bland Green Horn the Great – Rebecca Isaacs, then only a little girl, being the Mother Bunch. The result was complete success, carrying with it great encouragement to the dramatist to persevere in the new path on which he had entered.

These fairy pieces of Planché's were not burlesques quite in the sense in which his classical pieces were, but they belong, nevertheless, to the burlesque genre. Each treats lightly and humorously a story already in existence; each includes parodies of popular lyrics, as well as songs written to the airs of popular ditties; and the burlesque spirit animates the whole. Every now and then, the writer, rising superior to parody, produces a lyric which has a definite accent of its own. Here, for example, in "Riquet with the Tuft," is a song accorded to the grotesque and misshapen hero. It has genuine wit as well as genial philosophy: —

 
I'm a strange-looking person, I am,
But contentment for ever my guest is;
I'm by habit an optimist grown,
And fancy that all for the best is.
Each man has of troubles his pack,
And some round their aching hearts wear it;
My burden is placed on my back,
Where I'm much better able to bear it.
 
 
Again, tho' I'm blind of one eye,
And have but one ear that of use is,
I but half the world's wickedness spy,
And am deaf to one half its abuses;
And tho' with this odd pair of pegs,
My motions I own serpentine are,
Many folks blest with handsomer legs
Have ways much more crooked than mine are!
 
 
Nature gave me but one tuft of hair,
Yet wherefore, kind dame, should I flout her?
If one side of my head must be bare,
I'm delighted she's chosen the outer!
Thus on all things I put a good face,
And however misshapen in feature,
My heart, girl, is in the right place,
And warms towards each fellow-creature!
 

The origin of "Riquet with the Tuft" is to be found in Perrault's "Contes de ma Mère l'Oye." Planché went to the same source for his "Puss in Boots: an original, comical, mews-ical fairy burletta" (Olympic, 1837), in which Charles Mathews was an incomparable Puss, with Bland as Pumpkin the Prodigious, Vestris as the Marquis of Carabas, and Brougham as a very Irish ogre. In this there was a good deal of prose dialogue, of which the following scene between Puss and the three maids-of-honour may be taken as a diverting specimen: —

 
Chatterina. You're in the army, I presume?
 
 
Puss. No, ma'am.
 
 
Chatt. Why, you wear moustaches.
 
 
Puss. Yes, ma'am, yes; but that's because – because I can't help it, you see. I belong to a club, and all the members are obliged to wear them.
 
 
Chatt. What club?
 
 
Puss. It's a sort of Catch Club.
 
 
Arietta. What, musical?
 
 
Puss. Very.
 
 
Ari. And where do you meet?
 
 
Puss. We meet alternately upon each other's roof.
 
 
Skipperella. Upon each other's roof? – that's quite a new step.
 
 
Puss. I beg pardon, did I say upon? I meant under.
 
 
Ari. You can sing, then?
 
 
Puss. I can squall a little, à la Cat-oni.
 
 
Ari. Who taught you?
 
 
Puss. Cat-alani.
 
 
Skip. And dance, too?
 
 
Puss. I remember the time when I would have run anywhere after a ball.
 
 
Skip. What is your favourite dance?
 
 
Puss. The Cat-alonian Cat-choucha.
 
 
Chat. Well, never mind about singing and dancing; suppose we fix upon some game to pass away the time, at which we can all play?
 
 
Ari. I'm content.
 
 
Skip. And I.
 
 
Puss. And I. What shall it be?
 
 
Chat. "Puss in the Corner."
 
 
Puss. No, no, I don't like that.
 
 
Chat. Choose one yourself, then.
 
 
Puss. My favourite game is "Cat's Cradle."
 
 
All. Oh no, we can't bear that!
 
 
Chat. Come, name another from your catalogue.
 
 
Puss (aside). Cat-alogue! They grow personal!
 

The subject of "Puss in Boots" was afterwards handled by H. J. Byron.¹⁹ In this case we find the monarch of the piece called Noodlehead IX.; the Princesses are named Biddi, Coobiddi, and Chickabiddi; and there are two woodcutters called Gnarl and Knot. The puns in the dialogue on the word cat are even more numerous than in the older piece, and somewhat more varied. As thus: —

 
Will. What! left his youngest child, a cat!
 
 
Bob.It's true.
 
 
Will. Well, that's a feline sort of thing to do.
 

Again: —

 
Cat. I am, as you perceive, sir, an I-tale-ian,
But never scratch my friends, though I'm an nailey'un;
It's only foes that ever raise my fur.
 
 
Will. Well, really you're a charming furry-ner.
 

Once more: —

 
Will. What can you do?
 
 
Cat.My pictures folk applaud;
They say they're scratchy, but resemble Claude.
I'm not much of a linguist, my good friend,
But I've a-talion at my finger's end;
I can't dance well amongst young ladies, yet
I come out very well in a puss-et.
I sing at times like any cat-a-lani.
 
 
Will. Your favourite opera is —
 
 
Cat. The Purr-itani.
 

In the course of the piece King Noodlehead sings a song in which some fun is made of the conventionalities of Italian opera: —

 
At the Opera, and at Covent Garden as well,
I have always observed that the expiring swell,
Tho' you'd fancy just there he'd be shortest of breath,
Sings a difficult song just before his own death.
Such as diddle, diddle, diddle,
Chip chop ri chooral i day,
That's how they arrange things at the Operay.
 
 
And I've likewise remarked that the young hero-ine
Walks about in a low dress of thin white sat-in,
Defying the fog, and the cold and the damp,
And also rheumatics, and likewise the cramp.
With a diddle, diddle, diddle, etc.
 
 
I've remarked that the peasants who come on the scene,
Are, p'raps, awkward, but still most offensively clean,
They lay monstrous stress on the "whens" and the "whats,"
And sing – "Oh, joy" – together like mere idi-ots.
With a diddle, diddle, diddle, etc.
 

One of the prettiest and wittiest of Planché's adaptations from Perrault's store was "The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood," seen at Covent Garden in 1840. The Beauty was the Princess Is-a-Belle – of course, Mme. Vestris; the inevitable King – Thomas Noddy of No-Land – was the inevitable Bland; James Vining was Prince Perfect; and Brougham was a woodcutter – one Larry O'Log. But the most whimsical character in the piece was played by Harley – the Baron Factotum, "Great-Grand-Lord-Everything," who may be compared with Pooh-Bah in Mr. Gilbert's "Mikado." In "The Mikado," Ko-Ko is "Lord High Executioner of Titipu," and Pooh-Bah is "Lord High Everything Else" – he is "First Lord of the Treasury, Lord Chief Justice, Commander-in-Chief, Lord High Admiral, Master of the Buckhounds, Groom of the Backstairs, Archbishop of Titipu, and Lord Mayor, both acting and elect, all rolled into one." The Baron Factotum is even more embarrassed with offices and duties. As he says at one juncture: —

 
I shall go crazy. Ye who sigh for place,
Behold and profit by my piteous case.
As Lord High Chamberlain, I slumber never;
As Lord High Steward, in a stew I'm ever!
As Lord High Constable, I watch all day;
As Lord High Treasurer, I've the deuce to pay;
As Great Grand Cupbearer, I'm handled queerly;
As Great Grand Carver, I'm cut up severely.
In other States the honours are divided,
But here they're one and all to me confided;
They've buckled Fortune on my back – until
I really feel particularly ill!
Young man, avoid the cares from State that spring,
And don't you be a Great Grand anything.
 

He then sings, to the tune of "Where the bee sucks": —

 
Who would be a Great Grand Lord High,
All the blame on him must lie;
Everywhere for him they cry,
Up and downstairs he must fly —
After all folks, verily!
Verily, verily! Few would live now
Under the honours beneath which I bow.
 

The programme of the "The Sleeping Beauty" bore the following notice: —

In strict accordance with the Modern School of Melodramatic Composition, Eighteen years are to be supposed to have elapsed between the First and Second Parts; One Hundred years between the Second and Third Parts; and considerably more than One Hundred after the piece is over.

Planché went again to Perrault – directly or indirectly – for his "Blue Beard" (1839) and his "Discreet Princess" (1855). The last named (from "L'Adroite Princesse") was notable as including in its cast Robson as Prince Richcraft, and Emery as Gander the Stupendous. In "Blue Beard" Bland played the Baron Abomelique (the hero), Mme. Vestris the heroine (Fleurette), and John Brougham, the actor-dramatist, an Irish character – the O'Shac O'Back. How often has this fascinating subject been dealt with since! Dozens of pantomimes have had it for a basis; the burlesques founded on it are not quite so numerous. The best known are those by H. J. Byron (1860) and Mr. Burnand (1883); there are also two others by H. T. Arden and Frank Green.

But it was to the "Contes des Fées" of Madame D'Aulnoy that Planché was most largely indebted for his fairy stories. The list (extending from 1842 to 1854) is quite an imposing one. First came "Fortunio, and his Seven Gifted Servants," based on "Belle-Belle, ou le Chevalier Fortuné." Next, "The Invisible Prince, or the Island of Tranquil Delights," taken from "Le Prince Lutin." "Le Rameau d'Or" suggested "The Golden Branch," and "The King of Peacocks"²⁰ had its origin in "La Princesse Rosette." From "Le Serpentin Vert" was derived "The Island of Jewels"; from "L'Oiseau Bleu," "King Charming, or the Blue Bird of Paradise"; from "La Grenouille Bienfaisante," "The Queen of the Frogs"; from "La Biche au Bois,"²¹ "The Prince of Happy Land, or the Fawn in the Forest"; from "La Princesse Carpillon," "Once upon a Time there were Two Kings"; and from "Le Nain Jeune," "The Yellow Dwarf and the King of the Gold Mines." "Beauty and the Beast" was taken from a tale by Mme. le Prince de Beaumont; but Planché claimed that the treatment was wholly new. He had Vestris for his Beauty, Harrison the tenor for his Beast, and Bland for his Sir Aldgate Pump, the father of Beauty. "The Good Woman in the Wood" was from a story by Mme. de la Force; and "Young and Handsome" from a faërie by the Countess de Murat. "Graciosa and Percinet" likewise had a French origin.

It was, however, in each case only for the fable that Planché had to give thanks: everything else – even in most instances the nomenclature – was his own. And that nomenclature was often very ingenious and amusing. Thus, in "Fortunio," we have an impecunious noble called Baron Dunover (played by Morris Barnett). In "The Invisible Prince" the name of the Queen of Allaquiz is Blouzabella; her son is the Infante Furibond;²² and among her courtiers are the Marquis of Anysidos, Count Palava Torquemova (who introduces the ambassadors), and Don Moustachez de Haro y Barbos (Captain of the Guard). In the same piece, the Princess of the Island of Tranquil Delights is called Xquisitelittlepet, and her ladies in waiting are Toxaloto-tittletattle and Itsaprettipetticoat. Soyez Tranquille (with a clever suggestion of Soyer) is the chef de cuisine in "The King of the Peacocks," in which there is also an Irishman, The O'Don't Know Who, and a German, the Baroness Von Huggermugger. Planché's kings and queens have mostly comic names. There is Giltgingerbread the Great, with Tinsellina, his consort, in "The Island of Jewels." There is Henpeckt the Hundredth in "King Charming"; there is Fulminoso the Pugnacious in "The Queen of the Frogs"; there is Periwigulus the Proud in "Once upon a Time there were Two Kings." Henpeckt, again, has a valet called Natty, and a porter called Nobby. Elsewhere we come across an usher named Antirumo, an Indian named Tan-tee-vee (of the tribe of Tal-hee-ho), and an evil genius named Abaddun. The Yellow Dwarf is christened, very appropriately, Gambogie.²³

"The Yellow Dwarf," it may here be chronicled, is the title of a burlesque by Gilbert Abbott a'Beckett and by Mr. Robert Reece; A'Beckett's being produced in 1842, Planché's in 1854, and Mr. Reece's in 1882. "Beauty and the Beast" has been made the subject of travestie by Mr. Burnand. The "Fortunio" of Planché was also rivalled in the "Lady Belle Belle, or Fortunio and his Seven Magic Men" of H. J. Byron (Adelphi, 1863).²⁴ This last was in a thoroughly H. J. Byronic vein, with a Count Collywobbol among its characters and the usual supply of puns and parodies. Here are a few of the best of the puns. The Princess Volante is a very Atalanta in her fondness for race running: —

 
I'll run a race
With any living ped, through wind or rain;
Some like what's handsome – I prefer the plain.
I have this morning run a spanking heat,
Two miles in just ten minutes.
 
 
King. Wondrous feat!
 
 
Prin. Everything pedal has its charms for me.
I'd have gone miles the great Miss Foote to see.
My tastes are visible e'en at my meals;
My favourite fish, of course, are soles and eels.
Potatoes I consider are A-oners,
Though I've a preference for scarlet-runners.
And when at children's parties I am present,
I think a game at four-feits very pleasant.
 

"The White Cat," by Planché (1842), has among its personæ Wunsuponatyme, King of Neverminditsnamia; Prince Paragon; and Jingo, a Court fool. In "The Fair One with the Golden Locks" (1843), the King is called Lachrymoso,²⁵ and the woman of the bedchamber Molly-mopsa. Finally, there is "The Seven Champions of Christendom" (1849), in which Charles Mathews played Charles Wag, Esq., "in attendance on" St. George of England. With this ends the list of Planché's compositions of this kind – a remarkable contribution to the stage literature of wit and humour.