"DOG, DOG, BITE PIG,
PIG WON'T GET OVER STILE,
AND I SHAN'T GET HOME (-RULE) TO-NIGHT."
Becket has beaten the record. By the way, how the real original Thomas à Becket would have beaten The Record, if the latter ecclesiastical journal had existed in his time, and had given his Grace of Canterbury some nasty ones in a leading article! But "that is another story." It is some time since Henry Irving,—than whom no actor takes more thought, whether as to his author's lines, or to his own lines when "making up,"—has achieved so great and so genuine a success, and a success that will last in the memory of playgoers for many years to come, as he has in placing Tennyson's Becket on the stage, and himself playing the part of the great Archbishop. By the side of this ecclesiastic, his Wolsley is, so to speak, nowhere.
In Shakspeare's time Becket would have been a difficult subject to tackle; as indeed did King Henry find him,—an uncommonly difficult subject to tackle. But fortunately for English history in dramatic form, it was left for Tennyson to treat the incidents of the story with a free hand, poetic touch, and a liberal mind. Once, towards the close of the tragedy, Henry Irving, austere, yet pitiful, going "to meet his King," brought to my thoughts Savonarola. Grander far than Savonarola was Thomas Becket, soldier, priest, and martyr.
Then his tender compassion for the unfortunate Rosamond, a most difficult character—nay, a characterless character—for any actress to play! Becket as archbishop and actor, seems to pity her for being so colourless. Tennyson couldn't do without her, yet he could do very little with her.
Our Ellen Terry is a sweet loving gentle figure, clinging to her royal lover with a sort of fond hope that one of these days things in general would turn out all right; but in the meantime she is living always "in a maze." The love-scene (taking place in a marvellously effective stage set) between her and Henry is charming. Poor Henry! With Eleanor the Dark and Rosamond the Fair,—whom he was obliged to keep dark,—the life of the monarch, like that of the policeman, was "not a happy one." Eleanor the Queen, as a divorcée, was not Henry's wife; but Rosamond, if, as is supposed, the King had married her, was his wife and not his mistress. It is just this point that ought to be emphasised, in order to give the right clue to Eleanor's character and conduct in regard to her treatment of Rosamond. Rosamond must be right and virtuous; Eleanor wrong and vicious; the King fond, weak, and capricious. To regard the whole story as one of a mere amour is to entirely miss the beauty of the gentle Rosamond's nature. She is at once "gentle and simple."
And herein seems to me to have been the puzzlement in the poet's mind; he was in doubt whether to regard Henry's attachment to Rosamond as only a liaison—to represent Becket as so treating it, or to place Eleanor manifestly in the wrong, as being herself not the wife she pretends to be. "Go to a nunnery, go!" is the end of it all. But at that nunnery, it seems, Fair Rosamond remained for some time permissu superiorum as, I suppose, a lady-boarder, not assuming the habit of even a postulant, much less compelled, as a novice, to be shorn of her hair, and so to appear in the final Transformation Scene as "The Fair One without the golden locks." This freedom of action on the part of Rosamond shows what it is to be a postulant in a convent of a Poetically Licensed Order.
The Scene of the Martyrdom, "Becket's crown," is thrillingly impressive. The faithful Monks are well played by Messrs. Haviland and Bishop—a real Bishop on the Stage, among all these representatives of various sees—while Mr. Frank Cooper is a rough-and-ready Fitzurse leader of the four "King's-men," who, of course, are all Fellows of King's, Cambridge, and probably, therefore, under the ancient statutes, Old Etonians. Master Leo Byrne, aged eleven or thereabouts, makes quite a big part of little Geoffrey, whose affections are divided between Ma, Pa, and his nurse Margery ("with a song"), the latter capitally played and sung by Miss Kate Phillips.
Where all the scenery is good, it is difficult, perhaps to single out one set for especial praise; but my advice is, on no account miss the Second Scene of the Prologue, "on the Battlements of a Castle in Normandy," painted by W. Telbin. "Rosamond's Bower," by Hawes Craven, is equally perfect in another and of course totally distinct line. To pronounce upon Professor Stanford's music when "the play's the thing" is impossible. The entr'actes deserve such special attention as they are not likely to command when the audience is relaxing and refreshing itself.
On the whole, I should be inclined to say that the Lyceum has not had so big a success since Faust: a success due to the popularity of the subject represented, and the perfection of its representation. At least so thinks.
The Busy B. in a Box.
Philosophic Sages have generally been careless of their personal appearance. Soap and water has not been their strong point. The exception is Diogenes, who was seldom out of his tub.
Appropriate Day for a Musical Service in Church.—"Sunday within the Octave."
Clerk (to Emigrant). "Yes, that's all right for the Passage-Money; and now about your Trunk?"
Emigrant. "And hwhat would Oi be dooin' wid a Trunk, Sorr?"
Clerk. "Oh, to put your Clothes in."
Emigrant. "Hwhat! and me go Nakud?"
EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.
House of Commons, Monday Night, February 6.—"Did you ever destroy your offspring, Toby?" Rather curious question to ask any fellow. To me particularly startling. There are family traditions that, in accordance with sort of Malthusian doctrine, some of my young relations, my contemporaries in fact, were put out of the way even before their innocent eyes had grown accustomed to the light of a beneficent heaven. Thought at first George Wyndham meant something personal; was really thinking of his own woes.
"That's my speech," he said, showing me with melancholy smile quite a bundle of manuscript. "Worked at it all yesterday, instead of going to church. Read every Blue Book about Uganda; studied the map, and could pass an examination in the matter of its rivers and valleys, its hills and lakes, its various tribes, who are always murdering each other. Prince Arthur, you know, asked me to resume Debate at to-night's Sitting. Great opportunity; meant to make most of it; then, when I'm in my place conning my manuscript, Prince Arthur gives me up. Mr. G. reads text of Portal's instructions, and shows we've nothing to complain about or to criticise. Rather hard on a young fellow not unduly given to speech-making. Tell you what, Toby, if you've got three-quarters of an hour to spare, and will come with me into the Lobby, I'll read you my speech."
Much touched at this kindness. Unfortunately had an engagement which prevented my availing myself of it.
Kennaway and Alphabet Coutts in same box as Wyndham; get out of it in different fashion. They, also, had prepared speeches, unknowing what turn affairs would take. Weren't going to waste them, so delivered them at length. They had everything but an audience. House could not prevent them reeling off their speeches, but wouldn't stay to listen. Everybody happy all round, and evening agreeably wasted.
Business done.—More talk round Address.
Tuesday.—Pretty to see Don't-Keir Hardie just now escorted into House arm-in-arm with Charles Edward Howard Vincent, C.B., formerly of the Royal Welsh Fusiliers, now Colonel of the Queen's Westminster Volunteers. Some talk of the two Members temporarily changing coats whilst they addressed the House. This was Howard Vincent's suggestion.
"I fancy, Brother Hardie," he said, "it would picturesquely emphasise the situation, don't you know, if we thus made community of at least our coats. That's rather a remarkable garment you wear. If I put it on, and you wore mine, then House would see how thoroughly one we are. Do you mind?"
"Well," said Hardie, dubiously, "there's a good many things in the pockets, and they might get loose if you went mauling round with the coat. So I think, if you don't mind, we'll go in our own duds."
"Oh, as you please," said the Colonel, coldly, a little hurt at this evidence of lack of confidence on part of his new pal.
So Don't-Keir Hardie, moving Amendment to Address, orated in his own clothes, whilst Howard Vincent sat above Gangway near him, and punctuated his speech with persistent cry of "Hear! hear!" A notable figure his friend made. Evidently in the ranks of the Unemployed in the Don't-Keir Hardie household are the comb and brush. Through a mass of black hair, matted on head and chin, Don't-Keir looked on House of Commons. The coat Howard Vincent hankered after was rather a jacket, cut short, so as to hide little of the effulgence of his murky mustard-hued trowsers. Pockets alike of trowsers and jacket were bulging with letters and papers. You could see when he stood up to speak that he had just posted a letter to himself, sticking it in his waistcoat pocket, which only half concealed its surface.
"I don't exactly know how it is," said Gorst, curiously regarding Don't-Keir Hardie, and his eruption of correspondence, "but our friend, for whom I shall certainly vote, somehow reminds me of Mrs. Jellaby. The same earnestness of vague purpose, the same self-devotion to public questions, and the same large correspondence. I wouldn't be surprised, if you had the opportunity of examining our friend's hands, if you found them rather inked than horny. Still, I shall vote for him, and say something, if not exactly in his favour, at least a few words that will puzzle our fellows and rile the Bench opposite."
Business done.—Don't-Keir Hardie moved Amendment to Address, calling upon Parliament to provide for Unemployed; negatived by 276 votes against 109.
Wednesday.—"It was a good thing to win the Inverness Burghs," said the Squire of Malwood just now, reflectively stroking his chin. "But it was not all gain. Finlay worth a good deal to us. In moments of profoundest depression he acted upon Mr. G. with remarkable tonic effect. Often when we sat on other side, things going bad, and Mr. G. has seemed a little dull, he has accidentally turned round, and caught sight of Finlay, sitting, as you will remember he did, just behind us. In a moment our revered Chief was another man. His eye flashed, colour came back to his face, every nerve vibrated: Mr. G. was himself again. On the whole, I fancy Finlay was worth more to us than the two votes on a Division, for which we have bartered him."
Much in what the Squire says. It turned out this afternoon he did not mourn as one who has no hope, Finlay gone, but Jesse Collings remains. Has in degree, the same physical and mental effect on Mr. G. that Finlay had. This afternoon Mr. G. sitting on Treasury Bench, apparently waiting for Division. Debate on Jesse Collings's Amendment to Address flickering out. Henry Fowler, in vigorous speech, had replied for Government. Edward Stanhope said a few words; nothing to be done but to take Division. Whilst Stanhope speaking, Mr. G. turned round to see how forces were mustered. Accidentally his eye fell on benevolent visage of Jesse Collings, just then lit up with smile of genial satisfaction at compliment paid him by personal reference in Stanhope's speech. In an instant Mr. G.'s visage and attitude altered. The spell had worked, and to surprise of House he followed Stanhope, falling straightway upon the unsuspecting Jesse, treating him, as Grandolph, an amused and interested spectator of the scene, observed, "with all the vigorous familiarity Pantaloon is accustomed to meet with at Christmastide."
Business done.—Mr. G. "goes for" Jesse Collings.
Friday, 2 a.m.—Long time since I saw Liberals in such fighting trim as at this moment. Been at it all night discussing Redmond's motion for release of Dynamitards. Asquith made speech that has confirmed and improved his Parliamentary position. At quarter to one this morning Division taken, giving thumping majority, 316, to Government. When figures announced, Ulster Member moved Adjournment of Debate. Wants to talk about release of Gweedore prisoners.
"Right you are," said Squire of Malwood; "Twelve o'Clock Rule suspended; we can sit all night. Fire away!"
Prince Arthur, forgetful of many cheerful nights he has sat up hearing the chimes in company with Tim Healy, protested against this as tyrannical proceeding. Irish Members massed below Gangway howled with delight. Their turn come now. Long they groaned under Prince Arthur's iron heel. Now they've got him down, and dance round him with shouts of exultation and Homeric bursts of laughter. Hardly can his voice be heard above the din; but he pegs along, finally turning his back on jubilant mob below Gangway; addresses himself to Speaker, edging in a sentence amid comparative pauses in uproar. Prince Arthur protests he will not yield to force; Liberals opposite, cheered by news from Walsall, following fast on heels of triumph at Halifax, laugh and scoff. Mr. G. safely packed off to bed; the Squire and his brother officers on Front Bench evidently ready to make a night of it. Tim Healy, radiant with this rare and rosy reflection of the good old times, observes it is "an excellent hour of the evening to begin fresh work."
More hubbub; House divides, showing Government in possession of majority of 80. Renewed tumult when they come back from the Lobby. Jesse Collings rising, with intent to implore House to remember its dignity, is met with such swift, sudden, rampant roar of "Rat! Rat!" that after ineffectual contest, he subsides. Another Division; Government majority gone up one. Fresh Motion made for Adjournment; Members tightening their belts for all-night sitting, when Squire of Malwood unexpectedly gives in. "Go on! go on!" excited Liberals cry.
"No," said the dignified Old Roman, throwing an imaginary toga over substantial shoulder. "No? they have done enough to make their position clear before the country. Let them go to bed." So at 2:20 a.m. they went.
Business done.—Blowing great guns.
Friday Night.—A flash in the pan at the opening of the Sitting, when Prince Arthur, meaning to smite at the unoffending figure of the Squire of Malwood, hit Mr. G. He explained, and apologised; thereafter, a long, dull night.
Davitt took his seat, amid loud cheers from both sides. A curious episode in his history, honourable both to him and House. A real good man Davitt, with all the modesty of sterling merit. Still, inclined to be argumentative. Had scarcely taken his seat, when he came up to me, and said, "It's very well for you, Toby, to be M.P. for Barks; but I'm M.P. for Tenpence. Yes, that's the precise sum it cost me to win my seat."
New Members come, and old ones depart. Everybody sorry to hear of the death of Louis Jennings, a fine-natured, high-souled man, of brilliant intellect and wide culture. In later Sessions has been handicapped by the cruel illness that carried him off whilst in his prime. But he made his mark at Westminster as he had done in New York, India, and Printing House Square.
Business done.—Still talking round Address.
"The hidear of a Young Man like that a-telling o' Me 'ow poor people's Children houghter be Fed and looked after! Why, I've buried Fourteen o' my own!"
Concerning the Stock Exchange.
Question. What is the Stock Exchange?
Answer. The best English substitute for Monte Carlo.
Q. Has it any rivals?
A. Certainly; the Turf and the Card-room.
Q. In your opinion, is the Stock Exchange preferable to the alternatives you have mentioned?
A. It is, as it is more business-like, and consequently more respectable.
Q. Has politics anything to do with speculation at Capel Court?
A. To a certain extent; but a good unscrupulous untruth is better than the tottering of kingdoms.
Q. Is the dissemination of false news permissible?
A. Only by operators for the rise or fall.
Q. What is a flutter?
A. The performance of a financial operation with the assistance of a tossed-up halfpenny.
Q. When is it advisable to indulge in a flutter?
A. At the moment when your credit is greater than your balance at the Banker's.
Q. What is a balance?
A. An unknown quantity—to the impecunious.
Q. Is it necessary for the impecunious to suffer want?
A. Not if the lack of funds is concealed from the tradespeople.
Q. Ought not a (legal) infant to pay his debts?
A. Only at the instigation of a County-Court Judge, or if they happen to be debts of honour.
Q. What is a debt of honour?
A. Usually the outcome of a discreditable transaction.
Q. Is the nonpayment of a tradesman dishonourable?
A. No, for such a payment is not a "necessary." Payment only becomes a "necessary" when you bet with a man of your own order.
Q. Is it possible to do without money?
A. Yes, when you can live upon your acquaintances.
Q. From your last answers it would appear that money seems sometimes capable of being treated with levity. Can you give me an instance when cash is not a light subject?
A. Yes when it is under weight, and is, consequently, refused at your Banker's.
Q. What is the best method of obtaining the full value of a light sovereign?
A. By obtaining in return for it change in silver from a friend.
Q. Is silver of the same value as gold?
A. No, silver is a token; and in the instance to which I have referred, it would be a token of confidence.
Q. Would this transaction be amusing?
A. Yes, to everyone but the friend.
(By John Bull, Employer of Labour.)
Payment of Members? Well, well, I don't mind,
If Members who're worthy of payment I find.
But then all this quarrelsome cackle must cease—
If my M.P.'s I pay—like my Smiths—by the piece,
I may yet get good work; but 'twere folly, nay, crime,
To pay seven hundred praters for wasting my time!
A Man who may be said to "Know the Ropes."—M. Blondin.
☞NOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.
Transcriber's Note—typographical errors fixed:
exit changed to exits at the end of "A Candid Friend"
corrected a misplaced quotation mark in "Mary-Anner"
added a missing apostrophe in "Mary-Anner"
added a missing period in "The Man from Blankley's"