"PUNCH."

Otago Witness, Issue 2604, 10 February 1904, Page 66

"P UNCH."

(M.A.P.) * -"F. C. 8.," Head Brewer of Punch.—

The reminiscences of the editor of Punch a/c just what one would expect, and just as they should be. They are rollicking, discursive, full of quips and cranks, and, in short, just the kind of good stories that one expects w.hen the walnuts and wine are on the table, and men of joyous tempers and witty tongues sit down to swap experiences and jokes. And yet, amid the rapid and bewildering succession of puns, witticisms, practical jokes, the book has much that is serious, and many things even that will be of enduring interest and perhaps importance. As to the seriousness, it is one of the contradictipns of Sir Frank Burnand's career that this lover of the stage, this writer of one hundred and fifty burlesques, mostly performed by young ladies of opulent charms and' scanty' dress, this man about town ■who knew every supper room and every viveu'r of his time, is at bottom one of the most serious of men. — Burnand in the Fifties and Sixties. — Sir Frank Burnand changed his religion at a time when it meant poverty if not starvation, and an amount of social outlawry which is not perhaps realised by our broader and more tolerant age. There are allusions now and then which give glimpses into these depths of his soul, and show you, how thoroir", lily sincere, devout, and high-minded this professional wit and burlesque writer is in the roots of his being. And looking at the book as a record and human document, it has the ralue of painting very vivid little portraits of many of the leading spirits of the author's time, and it is a picture, clear though rapid, of times and customs that are past beyond all resurrection. Indeed, one could reconstruct from Sir Frank Buraand's pages a picture of the London of the fifties and sixties — an epoch which, though near to us, is yet separated 'by impassable gulfs of change of habit, manner, and idea. Take one point alone as showing the difference : — In the fifties there were no stalls in the Lyceum : the dress circle was ss, the upper boxes As, the pit 2s, and the gallery Is ; and it was announced in large letters, "No halfprica to any part of the house." Or, take another ; there is an appalling lisfc_ of the entertainments that used to be given at such a leading theatre as the Adelphi : — "The doors were (it is announced) ' open at 6,' and the performance commenced at a 'quarter to 7.' They played the first melodrama of ' The Green Bushes,' in three acts and nine scenes, in which appeared all the principal performers engaged at the theatre. This was followed by ' Taming a Tartar,' an extravaganza founded on the

• "Records and Reminiscences- Personal •nd General." By Sir Frances C. Biu-nancl. (Methuen.)

grand ballet spectacle, 'Le Diable a Quatre,' written by Mr Charles Selby, who was also one of the principal ' character actors ' — chiefly in Frencih-English parts — of the theatre ; and in this extravaganza, full of songs and dances, appeared all the performers who had been seen in the melodrama, with the addition of Miss Woolgar, one of the cleverest all-round actresses of her own or any time, equally at her best in farce, tragedy, pathos, comedy, extravaganza, burlesque, and in singing and dancing. Then there was Mr Selby, the autihor ; Mr Miniyaid, the second low comedian after Edward Wright ; Miss Ellen Chaplin, a very clever young lady ; and Madame Celeste, who must have already pretty well exhausted herself as Miami, the melodramatic Indian Huntress, but who, in the extravaganza, had one of the principal parts, joined in most dances, and executed a pas seul entitled a ' Pas de Fascination I '

"The powers of the Adelphi troupe were not exhausted by a melodrama and an extra va-ganza, ; not a bit of it, for by way of a "bonne bouche, reserved for the last not Hi-rely to play tihe people out, but because it, was calculated to send the that it was Kiopotkin. To the police ne was a mvetery. They hunted high and low for him, but in vain. Then Judas, 111 the guise of a weaver, came. One night "Borodin" was driving from his lodgings when he became aware that a cab was following him. There were two men in the cab, and one of them he recognised' as a weaver. Presently the second man, who was a detective, jumped from the cab, and "Borodin's" horse was pulled down on its haunches. "Mr ' Borodin,' Prince Kropotkin, I arrest you!" exclaimed the detective. The Prince wasconveyed to the Governor- General, and the charge against him read : — I "You are accused of having belonged to j a secret society which has for its object the overthrow of the existing foim of government, and of conspiracy against the sacred person of his Imperial Majesty." Judas the weaver had done his work well. On his person Prince Kropotkin had a letter advising him of the whereabouts of a secret printing office. This note he dropped out of the cab, unseen by the detective, but it was produced in evidence against him. Judas the weaver, who was following behind, had seen it fall. Without trial Kropotkin was condemned to imprisonment in a damp and filthy fortress. For two years he was kept in solitary confinement, and his health became permanently impaired. He was allowed pen and ink, however, and in his cell he wrote his greatest book, a treatise on the glacial period. At the end of two years he was so ill that he was transferred to the military hospital, where the doctor ordered him to walk in the grounds. X was now that his celebrated rescue was contemplated. Through a sympathetic official he was enabled to carry on. a correspondence with his friends outride, and it was arranged that on a certain day, when the gates of the hospital would be open to allow of the bringing in of supplies, a ] vehicle should be drawn up near the gates, and that a red air ball should be sent over tho wall as a signal that the coast was clear. But escape was fraught with enormous difficulty and peril. The Prince was invariably accompanied by a sentinel who carried a rifle with fhe bayonet fixed. Moreover, he was obliged to wear a dressing gown, which, o^ing to its length. wouM retard his flight. But liberty was worth the risk. Of this plan nothing came, however. On the day appointed the rescuers were unable to purchase a red air ball, and no signal was given.

Ultimately a staunch friend hired a room in a house facing the hospital, and the arrangement was that if 021 a given dale Kropotkin heard his friend playing the violin he should rush to the gates, but that if the tiolin ceased suddenly he was to remain where he was. The day came, and the prisoner in the great courtyard with the sentinel by his side strained his ears to catch every sound. Presently the {-trains of music reached him. At once the piisoncr was ready to bolt ; but a second later his heart sank within him — the music stopped. Evidently there was danger in the streets — perhaps a regiment of soldiers. Before long the instrument was heard again. In an instant Prince Kronotkin had thrown

off his dressing gown, and was dashing towards the gate, a. howling sentinel pursuing him. The guard, as a last despairing effort, lunged at the fast-retreating figure with his bayonet, and all but transfixed it ; but Kropotkin passed into freedom. Leaping into a covered cart, a fast horse raced with him into safety, and disguised as a military officer he bade fare"v\ oil to Russia for ever. He travelled to Sweden and to Norway, to Scotland, and thence to London. The Russian Government confiscated his property, and all that he had to live upon was what he could earn 'ay his pen. In 1883 it. was the, claw of the French judicature that descended upon this remarkable man. He was charged with organising labour disorders near Lyons, and sentenced to five years' imprisonment, 10 years' police supervision, five years' deprivation of civ il rights, and a fine of 2000fr. He went to gaol, but was liberated in 1886, since which time he has lived quietly, and, indeed, humbly, in the midst of the British people, whose notions of liberty and 1 justice so nearly coincide with his own.

T!?E AGE OF THE « ANTI."

Che twentieth century is undoubtedly the age par excellence of leagues of every description, but preferably of those whose object is purely negative. Some years ago, at one of the tout hern English wateringplaces, a troop of small boys was one clay to be seen marching through the streets bearing a banner on which was inscribed in ill-formed but clearly legible letters the legend, "Down w ith Heverythink!" It was about Ihe same date that a picture appeared in one of the comic papers which represented a mother saying to her eldest daughter, "Ethel, go and sea what baby is doing, and tell him he mustn't."

In each of these two cases the deviser of the, small boys' motto and the inventor of the joke were clearly ahead of their times ; for though at that date the "Age of the Anil" had already dawned, it had not reached the formidable dimensions to which it has since attained. At the present day the universal yearning to put a spoke in someone else's wheel, or (to employ the more up-to-date metaphoi) to puncture someone else's tyre, has come to a head in the countless associations which aif formed for the purpose of discouraging anything that happens to be gencially popular.

The mere fact that 99 m<en out of every hundred smoke is sufficient in itself to account for the formation of an AntiTobacco League ; and the additional fact that most men find a certain pleasure in standing one another drinks inevitably gives rise to the formation of an AntiTieating Association. For some unexplained icason it is generally believed that persons belonging to opposite sexes find a cert-am amount of unintelligent satisfaction in the oscillatory intei change of miciobes known to the unscient.fic by the familiar name of "kissing." and to meet this foolish fad an Anti-Kissing League has been formed, the object of Arhicb is to abolish the mere kiss altogether, without, however, offering any particularly adequate or soul-satisfying substitute. It is, however, quite a mistake for the enthusiastic piomoters of these associations, whose object is to put a veto upon pretty nearly everything, and to ban as wicked everything else, to imagine that they are by any means the originators of the idea, or that they have taken out a patent for this negative notion.

It will, for instance, be remembered that, as long ago as the time of the Judges in Israel, Samson was a prominent member of the Anti-Hair-cutting League, although he was definitely discouraged in the observance of its rules by Delilah, who also had private views of her own on the subject of the Anti-Kissing League. There was, nevertheless, this important difference, that in those days, so far as any "Evidence on the subject can be obtained, people did not think it necessary to wear a purple button or a magenta ribbon with orange spots in order to indicate that they were members of the Anti-Philistine Society, or the Association for Tying Torches to the Tails of (Foxes. audience away in thorough good humour, was given (for the thirtieth time) the laughable new farce entitled ' Seeing Wright,' in which Messrs Paul Bedford and Wright played, and where the name of Mrs 'Frank Matthews appears in the part of Susan Griffiths (Hookey 's servant)."

— Parson Gregory. — The Burnand family came originally from Switzerland, and some members of it could still speak English but imperfectly when the present chief holder of the name was a child. One of the funniest figures in his long gallery of family portraits is that of his grandmother, who, to the end of her days, could only make guesses at most things English. She seems to have been something of the fine old "Pagan" that a certain type of Frenchman or Frenchwoman is liable to be. Among her acquaintances was a parson named Gregory, who was so übiquitous a figure at all social gatherings as to be known as the " dancing parson."" Mr Gregory, hearing that the old lady was not wel^ called on her, and suddenly bethought him of his duty as her spiritual adviser.

" ' I have come to see you, my dear madam,' says he in his suavest and gravest manner, ' and to ask you, cr — to consider — the — cr — serious state — of health in which

you — cr — now are

' ' My dear Mis — ter Gregory,' she replies, ' dat vot you zay is I' affaire — ze af — fair of my medecin.'

" ' Ah, my dear madam ' (they were always so polite then), 'I do not come to — ■ cr — interfere in the — cr — doctor's province. I speak as a—ca — cr — clergyman. Now, if I can talk to you — or read the Bible — or — cr — in any way '

"His brief address was cut short by a very distinct ' hum,' uttered by my grandmother, who, after inhaling a tremendous pinch of snuff, shut her eyes, used her rexl pocket-handkerchief, nattily dusted any particles of snuff from her lace collar, and, then, smoothing her black satin dress, leaned forward, and, looking Mr Gregory straight in the face^ asked : 'Mr Grrregorrry, my dear, vas it a pleasant dance you had last night at ze barty vere you vos ? '

"That was all. The Rev. Mr Gregory followed her lead, as he had been ever accustomed to do when her partn-ei at whist, and never again rerj^'',<_d his attempt at performing the part of a minister_ of religion in this very astute old lady's pre--sence."

"F. C. B." on the Ways of Eton.—

The future of the author of " Happy Thoughts " was somewhat uncertain. His father was a stockbroker, and apparently a man of ample means. The boy, therefore, had all kinds of schooling, and was at Eton among many othei places Of Eton he speaks with a refreshing candour. "There is a lot of cant," he writes, "about Eton, as there is about all ancient institutions. My first impressions," he says, "and certainly my most lasting ones, are of hopeless discomforts." "What a wretched lot we were !" "Of all the sad times of my life that ever I spent, these few first days at Eton were about the most melancholy." Later, indeed, came the joys of boating on the river and a larger liberty, but of the whole the author has little to say in approval Even the moral training, the honesty, uprightness, and love of truth, "of which qualities as proverbial I have heard a great deal," he says, he condemns as largely fraudulent. "The moral teaching of all public schools is summed up in the formula, ' Never tell a lie when a truth will do as well.' " There are plenty^ of bright little bits of portrait-painting even from the far-off melancholy time, as thus : One of the choristers was noted for his lack of asjpirates. " What's the anthem

to-day?" we would ask. "To-day, eh?" he Mould reply. "Why, it's 'Oly^ 'Oly, 'Andel, 'Alleluiar Chorus." Then there are good stories of "Spoukie le Marchant\" the famous pieman, who sold Eton boys* their cakes. He is described as a fat-faced, short -necked, oily-mannered old humbug. A little boy was once purchasing a cake from Spankie, when a big boy gaily smashed his hat right over his eyes. Spankie put the hat right, and said, "And now, your little Grace, what can I do for you, your little Grace?'' "Who is that, Spankie':" I asked. "That,"' answered Spankie — "that, my little Burnand, sir, is his little Grace the Duke of St. Albans, who came up at the beginning of this half ; yes, sir, and what can Ido for you, my little Burnand, sir?" —What a Royal Duke Did.— j Finally, to that period belongs the story ' of the eccenuic Duke of Cambiidge, father | of the evergreen duke who is still amongst us : , '"Service was proceeding quietly enough from ' the wicked man ' to the first exhortation to pray, when, in response to the college chaplain's melodiously intoned " ' Let us pray ! ' j "there came from the Provost's corner in the stalls, occupied as the place of honour bj the distinguished visitor, a loud voice that replied, as spokesman for himself and everybody present, in the heartiest possible [ tone : I " ' Yes, by all means ! ' "Evidently no one except a royal dake t could dare to raise his voice above that of • the clergym-irf conducting the service. Ilie choir Avas not in it with the Duke, or the Duke was not in it with the choir, and 'the sound of his grand Amen' was not to be dominated even by the organ." ; ■ — Burnand and Cardinal Manning. — After he left Eton, young Burnand went • to Cambridge, and there founded the famous "A.D.C.," which still exists to celebrate its founder, and the impulse to good amateur acting which he first gave ; to the University student. The days at , Cambridge were evidently as happy as those at Eton were miserable ; and the . pictures of that pleasant time are written , in a very different tone. There was a church living worth some £600 a year in ' the family, and for some time young Bur- ! nand was trained to be a Protestant clergy- ' man. But doubts began to assail him ; J ultimately he became a Catholic, under the guidance of Cardinal Manning ; and then it was that he was cut off by his father, , and seriously contemplated becoming a ; priest But he soon learned that he had no vocation for that office ; and in fear , and trembling he came to communicate ' that confession of want of vocation to Cardinal Manning. The scene which en- ' .sued is very characteristic of the two rncn. j

" ' My deal boy,' he said, sniffing briskly, as if now he were going to clench matters hit et mine, ' consider that the question 01 "vocation' is ona for the individual soul. It is to be regarded only in the light of what is btst for the soul.' Here Dr Manning paused, sniffed, and nursed his right knee, clasping it with both hands Then, rocking himself, in measured rhythm as it were, slowly forwards and backwards, he continued, in his playfully sarcastic manner, ' Why, you might as well say that to be — a — cobbler — is a "vocation." '

"Whereupon, nervously inspired, I blurted out, "Well — cr — a — a cobbler has a great deal to do with the sole.' "

— Actor and Dramatist. —

Burnand first tried his hand at .acting, but he was, he confesses, a dismal failure. He found out his true vocation when he wrote a burlesque, and got it accepted with some trouble, but with far less than the usual run of young playwrights. He worked hard for the stage for several years, not earning, however, much money in those far-off days, when authors' fees were extremely small in comparison with those of our 'richer time. His first bigsuccess, from the pecuniary as well as the artistic point of view, was "Black-eyed Susan."' This popular piece nn for two years at the Royalty — a then unexampled run ; and, as Burnand had arranged terms on the royalty system, he reaped a good deal of money from the enterprise. It ylmosi makes one dizzy to read the enumeration of all the pieces which followed this great success from Frank Burnand's inexhaustible and versatile pen. Among his later successes may be mentioned "The Headless Man," "lihe Colonel" (originally written for the Bancrofts), "The Telephone Chi" (for Augustus Harris), and so on. "My total," he says, "reaches tip to ond over 150, mainly burlesques, and some half-dozen German Reed entertainments." Isn't it prodigious?

— Punchward. —

By slow degrees Frank Burnand made his way in journalism, until finally he got the coveted seat at the famous table of Mr Punch. To Punch the young contributor gave much of his time and his work ; too much, perhaps, he says himself, for that complete absorption in the drama which that jealous and exacting mistress demands. Curiously enough, there is but little of the author's work in Punch mentioned in these volumes. There is scarcely a hint even of the existence of "Happy Thoughts," that classic of delight--ful humour which Avill survive long after most things are forgotten of these days. Instead of these allusions to his own work, Sir Frank gives us some delightful glimpses into the inner life of the famous journal. Punch, like other institutions and personages that flit through Sir Frank Burnand's pages, has undergone many changes ; here, for instance, is how the famous Wednesday dinner used to be celebrated in the spacious times when Mark Lemon was the editor :

"In those days there was port and sherry after dinner, and, I think, at dinner, too ; for I do not recall the presence of champagne as a regular beverage. Coffee after dinner was a very much later introduo-

' tion ; but I remember that at dessert tea "was served during some interval in tihe debate."

— Thackeray. —

It is in connection with Punch, too, that we get our glimpses of Thackeray ; and always pleasant they are, escept, perhaps, in the scene when an unhappy allusion to his controversy with Edmund Yates, and through him with Charles Dickens, sent Thackeray oii" into a rage. In contrast; witfa thi-5 pcene is another . Thackeray was piesent at the first dinner at which Burnand was present. Thackeray, just before leaving, placed his right hand on Burnand's shoulder, and, as it were, introduced him to the assemblage, saying, "Gentlemen, allow the old boy to present you to the new bo3 r , and to wish him every success. He is sure of it." — Yates -and Sir George Lewis. — Other notables of our time figure. Here, for instance, is a characteristic scene, in. winch Edmund Yates figures, and with that gum humour which is so characteristic of him : "I remember on the occasion of a premiere at a popular theatre, whsn the auditorium -was ciowdcd with notabilities aad celebrities of all sorts ard sizes, Mr Edmund Yates, after smilingly nodding to Sir George as the latter squeezed his into the stalls, turned to me and said, sotto voce, in his jestingly cynical way : " "There goes a man who could hang one half the house and transport the other.' ""Then where would you heY I asked. " 'By George !' he replied, as, with an. expressive wink, he jerked his head in George Lewis's direction and chuckled with, the air of self-approval that marks a man. who appreciates a good thing when he says it himself." — Sala Pulls His Nose. — The story of George Augustus Sala is equally good. Sala was the best-hearted and the most hot-tempered of men. When, shortly after Mr Burnand took up the editorship of Punch, there appeared a brilliant parody on Sala's Illustrated London, News articles, everyone expected a violent quarrel between the two journalists. Sala, had written the parody hims>elf ! The two wits, however, agreed to have a. sham quarrel over it at the Beefs-teak Club. Sala told Burnand that when he was younger he "would have pulled the nose of the man whom I considered to have attacked me." Mr Burnand firmly replied that if Sala really wished to carry out his threat he could easily take the affair into his own hands : " T can,' exclaimed George, rising up excitedly, "' and I will ! ' "Everyone jumped to their feet. It seemed as though he were going to assault me there and then ! What was their surprise at seeing George, first with one hand, then, with the other, wring his own nose, and, murmuring humbly, ' I apologise/ drop down abashed into his seat. They all stared. George burst into one of his shoulder-shaking fits of laughter. All were puzzled, and looked from one to the otlrcr for enlightenment. '• ' At my request,' I explained, ' George write that article himself.' " — The Duke of Edinburgh^ Kanie. — Another delightful story is that of Sir Arthur Sullivan's mother. The Duke of Edinburgh used to visit her illustrious son, to have a duet on the violin with him : "One afternoon, when the Duke and Arthur Sullivan, having finished their duet, were sitting down to a homely 'dish of tea,' provided by Mrs Sullivan, it suddenly occurred to her to start the subject of family names and titles, which puzzled the good lady considerably. .. " 'Sir,' she said, 'your family name is Guelph.' " 'My dear mother,' began Arthur remonstratively. " 'But it is, isn't it?' she persisted. " 'Certainly,' replied the Duke, much amused. 'What's the matter with it, Mrs Sullivan?' " 'Oh, nothing,' returned the excellent old lady musingly. 'Only I can't understand why you don't call yourself by your proper name.' "Arthur wanted to explain to her, but the Duke would! not allow him to. " 'There's nothing to be ashamed of in the name of Guelph, Mrs Sullivan,' he said gravel}*. " 'That's c-sactly what I say,' persisted! Arthur's mother. 'Nothing whatever, as far as I know ; and, that being ?o, why you should not call yourself by it I can't understand.' " I might go on; but really it would not be fair to the book to make more extracts. My readers had better go to its pages themselves ; they will have many hours of delight, and not one of tedium. — T. P.

— Silver money 250 years old is in circulation in some- parts of Spain.