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

 
Shy. Give me my principal, and I'll away.
 
 
Por. Best carry out your principle and stay.
Nay, Shylock, though you choose forgive the debt,
You'd find the law had hold upon you yet.
 
 
Shy. I say, young man, your practice rather sharp is.
 
 
Grat. Not when he practises on the Jews-harp-ies.
 
 
Ant. Shylock, although your conduct in this case
In its whole tenor has been thorough base,
On one condition I won't press the charge,
And you're at liberty to go at large.
 
 
Shy. At large? I feel particularly small,
(Aside) But thank my stars that I can go at all.
 

(Shylock is going, but is prevented by the officers of the Court)

 
Ant. There are two points, though, that I must insist on:
You'll shave your face and look more like a Christian,
And take your daughter to your arms again.
 
 
Shy. Well, since you've got the upper hand, it's plain
I must knock under – and I will, I swear,
Receive my heiress and cut off my hair!
 

(Jessica and Lorenzo come forward.)

 
Jess. You pardon us, pa?
 
 
Shy. Yes, howe'er distressing
To my paternal feelings, take my blessing.
Fathers, I think, will own my case a hard 'un,
She's done for pa, and now she asks her par-don.
 

Gratiano, in this version, is represented as a flunkey, in which character he makes love to Nerissa: —

 
Blush not that I'm a footman, I conjures;
Let not my plushes be the cause of yours.
You to the eyes – but, though more difficulter,
I to the knees plush as the knee plush ultra.
 

Everywhere the puns are as clever as they are bright. Portia says to Nerissa: —

 
Mind, a maiden should
Of kisses to a bearded man be chary.
 
 
Nerissa. Such a salute, ma'am, must be salute-hairy.
 

Launcelot, again, says to Jessica: —

 
But smile again, and all will sunshine be,
Sweet Israelite, you is real light to me!..
Mock not my misery – I know full well
I'm a poor serf and he's a heavy swell.
 

Once more, Shylock says: —

 
My only heiress, folks will say in mock,
Fled like a timid hair from a Shy-lock!..
Unfeeling child, who's left her sire to sigh,
Without a tie or prop or prop-er-ty.
 

We come now to the production, at the Lyceum in 1856, of William Brough's perversion of "The Winter's Tale," – "Perdita, or the Royal Milkmaid."⁴¹ This was fitted with a prologue in which Time sang an effective song, descriptive of the author's aims and intentions, and winding up with this ingenuous verse: —

 
This period to match, in each single snatch
Of music to be sung, I've tried of
The oldest tunes to get, including that as yet
Unknown melody the old cow died of.
And that all might be
In antiquity
Alike, I for my puns cry quarter,
For I've chosen, good folks,
The most ancient jokes
For this worthy old dramatist's slaughter.
 

When Autolycus appears upon the scene, with his pedlar's box, he is made to excuse his "conveying" propensities in a ditty suggested by the then popular song called "Bobbing Around": —

 
The shopkeeper who gives short weight
Is robbing all round, all round, all round;
The grocers who adulterate,
Like me go robbing all round.
 
 
The milkman in his lowly walk
Goes robbing all round, all round, all round;
When, 'stead of milk, he walks his chalk,
And so goes robbing around.
 
 
The publican dilutes our beer,
A robbing all round, all round, all round;
With water, and still worse, I fear,
So he goes robbing all round.
 
 
In all we eat, or drink, or buy,
There's robbing all round, all round, all round,
And tradesmen with each other vie,
Who'll best do robbing all round.
 
 
Who'll first at me, then, throw a stone
For robbing around, around, around?
My trade's as honest as their own,
Since all go robbing around.
 

Mr. Burnand has written two burlesques on "Antony and Cleopatra" – one brought out under that title at the Haymarket in 1866; the other produced at the Gaiety in 1873, under the name of "Our Own Antony and Cleopatra." A third travestie of the tragedy, called "Mdlle. Cleopatra," and written by Mr. W. Sapte, junior, was seen at the Avenue in the present year.

VII
BURLESQUE OF MODERN DRAMA

We now pass to a department of burlesque writing larger in extent and greater in variety than any other – that in which the finger of ridicule has been pointed at poetic and melodramatic plays (other than those of Shakespeare). This department is far-reaching in the matter of time. It goes back, for subject, so far as Lee's high-sounding "Alexander the Great" (better known, perhaps, as "The Rival Queens"), which, first produced in 1678, was travestied by Dibdin, in "Alexander the Great in Little," a "grand tragi-comic operatic burlesque spectacle," originally seen at the Strand in 1837, with Hammond as Alexander and Mrs. Stirling as Roxana. Seven years later there was performed at the Surrey a burlesque, by Montagu Corri, of Lillo's famous tragedy "George Barnwell" (1730), here called "Georgy Barnwell" – a title which H. J. Byron altered to "George De Barnwell" when in 1862 he travestied the old play at the Adelphi.

Home's "Douglas", which was given to the public in 1756, appears to have escaped stage satire until 1837, when it was taken in hand by William Leman Rede. The Adelphi was the scene of the production, and the performers included "O." Smith as Glenalvon, J. Reeve as Norval, and Mrs. Stirling as Lady Randolph. The piece does not supply very exhilarating reading. The ultra-familiar soliloquy, "My name is Norval," is here put into lyric form, and comes out as follows: —

 
My name is Norval, sir; upon the Grampian Hills
My father feeds his flocks, beside the streams and rills.
He often said to me, "Don't roam about at nights."
But I had heard of sprees, of larks, and rows, and fights.
Tol de rol lol tol lol, tol de rol lol lol lay.
Tol de rol lol tol lol – list to what I say.
 
 
The moon rose up one night, as moons will often do,
And there came from left and right a ragged ruffian crew;
They broke into our house, they swigged our beer and ale,
They stole our flocks and herds, and caught our pig by the tail.
Tol, lol, etc.
 
 
The shepherds fled, the curs! but I was not to be chizzled,
So with a chosen few after the fellows we mizzled;
We fought and larrupped 'em all! indeed, it isn't a flam,
I stole the togs of the chief, and, blow me, here I am!
Tol lol, etc.
 

We have already seen that, in his "Quadrupeds of Quedlinburgh," Colman junior extracted some fun out of scenes in "The Stranger," "Pizarro," and "Timour the Tartar." The first of these plays was made the subject of more elaborate satire in 1868, when Mr. Robert Reece wrote for the New Queen's Theatre his burlesque called "The Stranger, Stranger than Ever!" This, with Miss Santley as Peter, Mr. Lionel Brough as the Stranger, and Miss Henrietta Hodson as Mrs. Haller, had many points of attraction. In this reductio ad absurdum the lady's chief complaint is that her husband first neglected her and then deserted her, taking away the children. Moreover, "he taught the infants all the comic songs," and so, "instead of gloating over Peter Parley, the boy declared himself as Champagne Charley." In despair the deserted one set to work and took in washing: —

 
You'll ask, "why washing?" – give your fancy scope:
In that profession while there's life there's soap!
Was I to live? – of course came this suggestion!
"Tub be or not tub be?" that was the question.
So with a will I turned me to my work,
Carried a blue bag like a lawyer's clerk;
Yet still I grieved – the trade's of woe prolific,
I couldn't sleep, for all this soap-horrific;
Hard was my lot, for I could plainly see
My source of living must end sud-denly;
And in her downward course, say, what could stop her
Whose sole subsistence was a single copper?
 

As usual with Mr. Reece, the puns are excellent. Tobias says of the stranger that

 
Each evening you may see him sitting so,
Under that linden when the sun was low;
On close inspection, too, you'll also see
His noble eye, sir, rolling rapidly.
 

Then the Stranger says to Peter: —

 
Mrs. Haller's gifts you showed,
As hint that I should help you Haller-mode.
 

To the Countess he remarks: —

 
Madam, this river-water's eau-de-riverous!
 

And of his children he says: —

 
They're fighting through their alphabet. Oh, lor!
I quit them in their A-B-C-nian war!
 

Of his wife: —

 
When first I married thee (then somewhat shady),
Oh, Adelaide! I thought I had a lady!
 

But, in truth, there is no end to these jeux-de-mots.

"Pizarro," which nowadays has quite gone out of the theatrical repertory, was dealt with from the comic point of view by Leicester Buckingham, whose "Pizarro, or the Leotard of Peru," was seen at the Strand in 1862, with Johnny Clarke as the hero, and Miss Swanborough, Miss Charlotte Saunders, Miss Bufton, Miss Fanny Josephs, Miss Fanny Hughes, and Rogers, in other parts. Of the "literature" of this piece the following is a very fair example: it is supposed to be spoken by Rolla: —

 
Tho' to use vulgar phrases I've no wish,
I may say, here's a pretty kettle of fish!
But then the world's all fishy – poets fail
To prove that life is not a tearful wale!
Though fancy's prospect oft in-witing glows,
Experience tends to mull-it, goodness knows;
Grave moralists aver that from our birth
We are all herring mortals here on earth.
Dancers stick to their eels, and live well by 'em;
And most folk can appreciate "carpe diem."
Some statesmen – theirs is no uncommon case —
Will give their soul in barter for a place,
And call, to mend a diplomatic mess,
The conger-eel's fond mate – a conger-ess.
Nay, folks strive even in a college cloister
Over a rival's head to get a hoister.
 

"The Wood-Demon," by "Monk" Lewis, played originally in 1811, suggested to Albert Smith and Charles Kenny a travestie, of the same name, which they brought out at the Lyceum in 1847. "Timour the Tartar," another of Lewis's dramas, received equally satiric treatment at the hands of John Oxenford and Shirley Brooks, whose work made its appearance at the Olympic in 1860. In the last-named year Messrs. Francis Talfourd and H. J. Byron founded on Pocock's "Miller and his Men" (1813) a "mealy-drama," similarly entitled, which was played at the Strand.

Jerrold's "Black-ey'd Susan," first performed in 1822, waited till 1866 for the travestie by Mr. Burnand, to which I have already adverted. This "Latest Edition of Black-eyed Susan, or the Little Bill that was Taken Up,"⁴² was made specially gay by a wealth of song and dance; but it had other merits. Here, for instance, is an amusing soliloquy by Dame Hatley: —

 
It's very hard, and nothing can be harder
Than for three weeks to have an empty larder;
I'm in the leaf of life that's sere and yellar,
Requiring little luxuries in the cellar.
There are no cellars such as I requires,
But there soon will be when there are some buyers.
Destiny's finger to the "work" – us points,
A stern voice whispers, "Time is out of joints."
I used to live by washing; now, no doubt,
As I can't get it, I must live without.
The turncock turned the water off – dear me!
I showed no quarter – and no more did he.
Thus, with the richer laundress I can't cope,
Being at present badly off for soap.
My son, the comfort of the aged widdy,
Is still a sailor, not yet made a middy,
But sailing far away; it may be my son
Is setting somewhere out by the horizon.
He's cruising in the offing, far away,
Would he were here, I very offing say.
 

Here also is the Wolsey-ish speech made by Captain Crosstree, after he has revealed himself as "alive and kicking," at the close: —

 
Farewell, a long farewell to all imbibing!
This is the state of man as I'm describing:
To-day he takes a glass because he's dry,
To-morrow, one to wet the other eye;
The third day takes one extra, just to shed
A tear – he feels it gets into his head:
The fourth day takes two extra ones, and feels
'Stead of his head it's got into his heels;
And in the morning, with perhaps two suits on,
He finds himself – in bed, but with two boots on;
Then after that he's nowhere; and that's how
He falls as I did – which I won't do now.⁴³
 

Five years after the production of Jerrold's play, the London stage was surfeited for a time with adaptations from the French, all bearing upon the evils of the gaming-table. These bore such titles as "The Gambler's Fate," "Thirty Years of a Gambler's Life," and so on, and were brought out at Drury Lane, the Surrey (by Elliston), and the Adelphi (by Terry and Yates). They did not last, however; and "The Elbow-Shakers, or Thirty Years of a Rattler's Life," in which Fox Cooper made fun of them, was scarcely needed to effect their overthrow. Reeve and Yates were the two Elbow-Shakers, but the piece had little intrinsic value.

In 1867, at the Haymarket, Mr. Gilbert Arthur a'Beckett brought out a travestie of Planché's "Brigand" (1829), under the title of "The Brigand, or New Lines to an Old Ban-Ditty." In this, Massaroni, the hero, was represented by Compton as a poltroon, objecting very much to the dictation of Marie Grazia as portrayed by Ione Burke. Young Mr. Kendal also had a part in this production. Nor had we yet done with the old school of melodrama. Yet another specimen thereof was destined to come under the lash of the parodist – namely, the piece called "My Poll and my Partner Joe," written by J. T. Haines, first seen at the Surrey in 1838, and interpreted by T. P. Cooke as Harry Halyard, R. Honner as Joe Tiller, and Miss Honner as Poll (Mary Maybud). The "happy thought" of burlesquing this typical piece came to Mr. Burnand, who, in his travestie named after the original, made, at the St. James's in 1871, a success second only to that of "Black-ey'd Susan." It was in this burlesque that Mrs. John Wood (as Mary) had so notable a triumph with her song, "His Heart was true to Poll," which she still sings sometimes in public. Miss Emma Chambers was the Harry in this piece, and Mr. Lionel Brough the Black Brandon, with Harry Cox, Gaston Murray, and Miss Sallie Turner in other parts.

Now comes the turn of the poetic drama, as represented in and by the works of Lord Byron, Sergeant Talfourd, the first Lord Lytton, and Mr. W. S. Gilbert. The first of Lord Byron's plays to be burlesqued was "Manfred," which fell to the lot of Gilbert Abbott a'Beckett in 1834. In the "burlesque ballet opera," called "Man-Fred," which thus issued from A'Beckett's pen, Man-Fred figured as a master-sweep, very much perturbed and disturbed by the Act in reference to chimney-sweeping which had just been passed, and which, he plaintively declares, has killed the trade: —

 
That horrible new act has marr'd his pleasure;
It really was a very sweeping measure.
 

His lady-love, Ann Starkie, is equally unfortunate in her business – that of apple-seller. As she remarks: —

 
"The trade is at a stand," the people whine:
If it be at a stand, 'tis not at mine.
In vain down Fleet Street with my wares I go;
Though Fleet they call the street, its trade is slow.
 

In the course of the piece Ann appears disguised as Mme. Grisi, and some badinage is directed at the "stars" of the Italian Opera.

A'Beckett further undertook, along with Mark Lemon, a skit upon another of the Byronic dramas – "Sardanapalus" – which they reproduced as "Sardanapalus, or the 'Fast' King of Assyria." The Adelphi was the theatre of operations; 1853 was the year; and while Miss Woolgar was Sardanapalus, Paul Bedford was Arbaces, Keeley was Salymenia (mother of the Queen), Miss Maskell was Beleses, and Miss Mary Keeley was Altada. Arbaces is here shown as impervious to the charm of melody: —

 
Such music to my ears is a mere hum;
Of minims let me have the minimum.
 

Salymenia says to the King's favourite: —

 
Your conduct, madam, 's not at all correct:
If you're a Myrrha, why don't you reflect?
 

Of such are the quips and the quiddities with which the piece abounds.

In 1858 came, from the workshop of H. J. Byron, the first travestie of his "noble kinsman's" play, "Mazeppa." This, produced at the Olympic, had Robson for its hero, with other parts in the hands of Horace Wigan, Mr. Lewis Ball, Miss Wyndham, Miss Bromley, and Mrs. W. S. Emden. Of its punning dialogue, which throughout is in the genuine H. J. Byronic manner, the following is a fair example. Olinska is conversing with her father, the Castellan: —

 
Oli. You hate romance, – are one of its deriders.
(Very romantically) Give me a summer-house with lots of spiders,
A poet-husband too, with rolling eyes,
In a fine phrenzy —
 
 
Cas. Poets I despise!
And in his phrenzy that you mention, daughter,
His friends see often nought but gin and water.
 
 
Oli. In our sweet bower of bliss what could we fear?
 
 
Cas. Why, Quarter Day, which comes four times a year!
And although landlords show each quarter day,
They show no quarter when you do not pay,
Your poet-spouse grows thin, and daily racks his
Poor brains to pay the butcher or the taxes.
 
 
Oli. A verse would pay the tax-man all we owed.
 
 
Cas (aside). I think he'd be averse, though, to that mode.
To see with my eyes, if I could but make her!
 
 
Oli. With a few flowery lines we'd pay the baker.
(With enthusiasm) Tradesmen with gentle feelings we'd pay so, sir;
A comic song would satisfy the grosser.
A poet never yet was a great eater,
We'd pay the butcher with a little meat-a.
 

The subject of "Mazeppa" was afterwards treated by Mr. Burnand in a burlesque brought out at the Gaiety in 1885.

Of Sergeant Talfourd's dramatic works the only one, apparently, that has been travestied is "Ion," which had to submit to the ridicule of Fox Cooper in 1836. In that year Cooper's perversion was played both at the Garrick Theatre and at the Queen's, in the first case with Conquest as the hero, in the latter with a lady in the rôle– an arrangement quite defensible, inasmuch as, in the original play, the name-part had been played (at the Haymarket) by Ellen Tree.

The pseudo-Elizabethanisms of Sheridan Knowles naturally attracted the attention of the comic playwrights. The opportunities were, indeed, only too tempting; and so I have to record the production of burlesques based upon five plays – "The Wife," "Virginius," "Alfred the Great," "William Tell," and "The Hunchback." The first named has for its full title "The Wife: a Tale of Mantua." The "burlesque burletta," by Joseph Graves (Strand, 1837), is called "The Wife: a Tale of a Mantua Maker." Mariana (first played by Ellen Tree) here becomes Mary Ann Phipps, the said mantua-maker; Floribel is Flora, a servant-of-all-work. Leonardo and Ferrardo Gonzaga figure as Marmaduke Jago, landlord of the Green Man, and Zachariah Jago, usurping that dignity; Count Florio is Floor'em (a police-sergeant), Julian St. Pierre is Jack Peters – and so forth. The travestie is fairly close, but the wit and humour are not of brilliant quality. Even less to be commended is "Virginius the Rum 'Un," perpetrated by William Rogers, the comedian, and performed at Sadler's Wells in the same year as Graves's effort. This is but a tedious assault upon "Virginius." The scene is laid in Islington, and Virginius is a butcher. Appius Claudius, here called Sappyis, is a sergeant of police. Dentatus is "Tentaties"; Icilius is "Isilyus." Claudius claims Virginia as his apprentice, and Virginius stabs her with a skewer; the instrument, however, sticks only in her stay-bone, and so no harm is done.

"Virginius" had very much more justice done to it when Leicester Buckingham made it the basis of a burlesque at the St. James's in 1859. Then Charles Young was the Virginius, Mrs. Frank Matthews the Virginia, and Miss Lydia Thompson a "Mysterious Stranger," introduced, apparently, only for the sake of a pas seul. In this piece the puns are very plentiful, if not always good. Thus, Virginia says: —

 
Oh, deary me! each day I'm growing thinner:
Nurse says, because I never eat my dinner;
But that's not it; – in my heart there's a pain
Which makes me sigh, and sigh, and all in vain!
I've lost the plump round waist I used to prize,
And grow thin, spite of my long-wasted sighs.
I love – oh! such a nice young man! – but, oh!
Does he love me? – that's what I want to know.
When we met at a party, I could see
That he was just the party to suit me;
And to the words I spoke, on his arm leaning,
Love lent a sigh to give a si-lent meaning.
But he said nothing soft – that's what I cry for;
I sigh for one whose heart I can't deci-pher.
 

Virginius, like so many other burlesque characters, delivers himself of a reminiscence of "To be or not to be," and at the close it is found that Virginius has not really killed his daughter, because she "pads."

"Alfred the Great," one of Knowles' historical plays, suggested portions of the burlesque called "Alfred the Great, or the Minstrel King," which Robert B. Brough wrote for the Olympic in 1859. In this, Robson was the King, Miss Herbert his aide-de-camp, and F. Vining his commander-in-chief, with other parts by Horace Wigan and Miss Hughes. Knowles's "William Tell" (1825), or the story embodied in it has been the basis of half a dozen travesties. First came Mr. Burnand's "William Tell," at Drury Lane, in 1856; next, Leicester Buckingham's, at the Strand, in 1857; next, Talfourd's "Tell! and the Strike of the Cantons, or the Pair, the Meddler, and the Apple!" at the Strand, in 1859-60; next, again, Byron's "William Tell with a Vengeance! or the Pet, the Parrot, and the Pippin," at the Strand, in 1867; a few days later, A. J. O'Neill's "William Tell," at Sadler's Wells; and, lastly – so far – Mr. Reece's "William Tell told Over Again," at the Gaiety, in 1876. "The Hunchback" has been "guyed" less often than might have been expected, considering its popularity. Mr. Burnand brought out at the Olympic, in 1879, "The Hunchback Back Again," and this comic version of the hackneyed old play is not likely to be superseded.

The first Lord Lytton's verse-plays – bristling as they do with fustian and bombast – have naturally been frequently travestied. Note the number of occasions on which "The Lady of Lyons" has fallen a prey to the irreverent. Altogether there have been six notable burlesques of this drama. H. J. Byron wrote two, the first of which – "The Latest Edition of the Lady of Lyons" – was produced at the Strand in 1858. This, in the following year, was freshened up and re-presented to the public as "The Very Latest Edition" of the popular drama.

In 1878, at the Gaiety, came Mr. Herman Merivale's "vaudeville," "The Lady of Lyons Married and Settled," which is not only quite the best of the travesties on this topic, but one of the cleverest ever written. It sparkles with good things from beginning to end. Claude, it seems, has "taken to philosophy, and says we are all descended from monkeys." It is not surprising, therefore, to find him singing a long song in praise of the Darwinian theory: —

 
Power to thine elbow, thou newest of sciences,
All the old landmarks are ripe for decay;
Wars are but shadows, and so are alliances,
Darwin the Great is the man of the day.
 
 
All other 'ologies want an apology;
Bread's a mistake – Science offers a stone;
Nothing is true but Anthropobiology —
Darwin the Great understands it alone.
 
 
Mighty the great evolutionist teacher is,
Licking Morphology clean into shape;
Lord! what an ape the professor or preacher is,
Ever to doubt his descent from an ape.
 
 
Man's an Anthropoid – he cannot help that, you know —
First evoluted from Pongos of old;
He's but a branch of the cat-arrhine cat, you know —
Monkey, I mean – that's an ape with a cold.
 
 
Fast dying out are man's later Appearances,
Cataclysmitic Geologies gone;
Now of Creation completed the clearance is,
Darwin alone you must anchor upon.
 
 
Primitive Life-Organisms were chemical,
"Busting" spontaneous under the sea;
Purely subaqeous, panaquademical,
Was the original Crystal of Me.
 
 
I'm the Apostle of mighty Darwinity,
Stands for Divinity – sound much the same —
Apo-theistico-Pan-Asininity
Only can doubt whence the lot of us came.
 
 
Down on your knees, Superstition and Flunkeydom!
Won't you accept such plain doctrines instead?
What is so simple as primitive Monkeydom,
Born in the sea with a cold in its head?
 

This has some claim to rank with the ditties on the same subject by Lord Neaves and Mortimer Collins. But Claude has also gone in for something less innocent than Darwinianism. He is flirting with Babette, a pretty laundry-maid, the beloved of Gaspar. Of her, Gaspar sings as follows, in a clever parody of "Sally in our Alley": —

 
To catch a lover on the hip,
There's none like fair Babet-te!
You'd love to kiss her rosy lip,
But, ah! she'll never let 'ee!
Yet shall she wash my Sunday suit,
Tho' she my suit refuses,
For, oh! she washes far the best
Of all the blanchissooses!
 
 
For washing-day all round the year,
She ever sticks to one day;
She takes my linen Friday night,
And brings it back o' Monday!
When I bestow the lordly franc,
'Tis sweet to hear her "Thankee" —
She mends my hooks and darns my eyes,
And marks my pocky-hanky!
 
 
She calls the wandering button home,
However hard I cuss it;
She's good at collar and at cuff,
And truly great at gusset!
To catch a lover on the hip,
There's none like fair Babet-te!
You'd love to kiss her rosy lip,
But, ah! she'll never let 'ee!
 

In the course of the piece there is a good deal of direct parody of Lytton's style, both in prose and verse. For example, Claude says at one point to Babette: —

Come with me to my mother's lonely cot! I have preserved it ever in memory of mine early youth; and, believe me, that the prize of virtue never, beneath my father's honest roof, even villains dared to mar! Now, maiden, now, I think thou wilt believe me! Wilt come?

Babette. I wilt!

Again: —

In the sweet suburb of Richemont or Tedainton, on the banks of the broad Garonne, one of those expensive spots where, during the summer months, the river is at the bottom of the lawn – during the winter, the lawn at the bottom of the river – but where it is damp-pleasant all the year round; there will we babble to the murmuring stream, and the babbling stream shall murmur back to us, and softly whisper —

Dowager Morier (coming down). Hold on!⁴⁴

After Mr. Merivale's piece came one on the same subject by Mr. W. Younge (1879); another by Mr. Clifton (Lyne), played in the country in 1882; and yet another, by Mr. Reece (also played in the country) in 1884. This last was entitled "The Lady of Lyons Married and Claude Unsettled."

Ten years after the first burlesque of "The Lady of Lyons" appeared the first burlesque of Lord Lytton's "Rightful Heir." This was "The Frightful Hair" of Mr. Burnand, seen at the Haymarket in 1868-9. In 1868 also, publicity was given to "The Right-Fall Heir" of Mr. H. T. Arden.

In the autumn of 1873 Mr. Irving revived at the Lyceum Lord Lytton's "Richelieu," and the play was speedily followed at the Olympic by the "Richelieu Redressed" of Mr. Reece. This is remarkable, to begin with, as being written throughout in blank verse – an agreeable departure from the time-honoured couplet. The general travestie is close, and there is a certain amount of direct parody, as where Richelieu is made to say that

 
In the great Lexicon of Politics
There's no such word as Truth!
 

In the "curse of Rome" scene, Richelieu draws around himself "the awful circle of the Daily Press!" Fun, too, is made of the well-known exit of Baradas at the words "All in despite of my lord Cardinal," and also of the various ways in which actors are wont to pronounce the simple word "Julie." The piece has a strong political flavour throughout, in compliment, no doubt, to the general election, which was then in prospect. Richelieu thus soliloquises: —

 
A general election! At the word
Upspring a thousand hopes – ten thousand fears!
From the great Limbo of past sessions rise
The ghost of certain Legislative Acts
To taunt me with my shifting policy:
Amidst them, gaunt and frowning – Income-tax
Broods o'er my heart – I cannot take it off!
While lesser demons, labelled – Sugar, Tea,
Malt, Hops, and kindred duties – hover round
And gibber, "Where's your popularity?"
For this reward I have to bear the brunt
Of deputations – tedious committees,
The dull assaults of country members, and
Whitebait as large as herrings. Ah, the fish
At ministerial banquets should be Plaice!
 

Of Richelieu's genius for suspicion the Duke of Orleans and his party thus discourse: —

 
Duke. Breathe not the words "'Tis wet." He'll twist that phrase
Into reflections on th' existing reign,
Or with some public measure discontent
Because you chanced to say, "It isn't fair!"
 
 
Baradas. There's truth, sir, in your jest; 'tis hard to say
What is a safe discussion nowadays!
 
 
La Foix. Even the King falls under his distrust!
Malesherbes. He treats him like a child in leading-strings!
 
 
Duke. Ay! at the royal breakfast Richelieu stands,
And cracks each egg – to see no treason's hatched.
 
 
All (laughing). Well said!
 
 
Duke. His caution o'er the dinner broods,
And in each pâté sees a dangerous spy.
 
 
Baradas. Escorts the King to bed, and, lest his charge
Should dream of marriage, secretly removes
The Royal matches, as suggestive!
 

It was characteristic of Mr. W. S. Gilbert that he should himself set the example of burlesquing his own work. I have already made reference to "The Happy Land," the travestie of his "Wicked World," which he and Mr. Gilbert Arthur a'Beckett prepared for the Court Theatre in 1873. It was in this piece that the personal appearance of three prominent living statesmen was closely imitated by certain of the performers, with the result of bringing down upon the culprits the veto of His High-and-Mightiness the Lord Chamberlain. In 1876 two of Mr. Gilbert's plays were burlesqued – "Broken Hearts" and "Dan'l Druce"; the former under the name of "Cracked Heads," the latter under that of "Dan'l Tra-Duced"; both being brought out at the same theatre – the Strand, and both being the work of the same author – Mr. Arthur Clements, who, however, had in "Cracked Heads" the assistance of Mr. Frederick Hay. "Dan'l Druce" was not a particularly good subject; but "Broken Heads," with its occasionally overstrained sentiment, was fairly open to polite ridicule. In the original, the Lady Vavir feigns love for a sun-dial, while the Lady Hilda expends much sentiment upon a streamlet. In "Cracked Heads" the Lady Vapid bestows her affections upon a clock, and the Lady Tilda hers upon a pump. Says the latter to the former: —

 
Why do you love the clock, good sister? tell.
 
 
Vapid. The earth goes round; the moon, with silvery smile;
The p'lice cerulean who the cooks beguile;
The turncock, too, precursor of the spring;
The German band, and all that sort of thing.
Most things go round, in fact; and who shall mock?
The clock goes round: that's why I love the clock.
 

In this genial little piece, presented at the Strand in 1876, Mr. Edward Terry was the monster, here called Monsta; Miss Lottie Venne and Miss Angelina Claude were the ladies Tilda and Vapid, and Mr. Harry Cox was the Prince Florian, here called Dorian. It will be remembered, by the way, that it has been the fate of one of Mr. Gilbert's comic operas to be parodied – surely a case of gilding refined gold! The opera was "Ruddigore," which was chaffed, more or less effectively, in the little pièce d'occasion called "Ruddy George, or Robin Redbreast," brought out at Toole's Theatre in 1887.