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قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 146, January 7, 1914

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Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 146, January 7, 1914

Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 146, January 7, 1914

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PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Vol. 146.


January 7, 1914.


THE MONARCH OF THE GLEN

AMENDE DÉSHONORABLE.

Heavily dragged the night; the Year

Was passing, and the clock's slow tick

Boomed its sad message to my ear

And made me pretty sick.

"You have been slack," I told myself, "and weak;

You have done foolishly, from wilful choice;

Sloth and procrastination—" Here my voice

Broke in a squeak.

And deep repentance welled in me

As I mused darkly on my sin;

Yea, Conscience stung me, like a bee

That gets her barb well in.

"Next year," I swore, in this compunctious mood,

"I will be energetic, virtuous, kind;

Unflinching I will face the awful grind

Of being good."

I paused, half troubled by a thought—

Were my proposals too sublime?

Vowed I more deeply than I ought?

I glanced to see the time.

It was 12.10 A.M. At once a thrill,

A wave of manful resolution, sped

Through all my being. "Yes," I bravely said;

"Next year I will!"


A PLAY OF FEATURES.

[Being Sir GEORGE ALEXANDER'S production of The Attack at the St. James's.]

SCENE—Alexandre Mérital's house.

ACT I.

Daniel Mérital. My father is a wonderful man. Leader of the Social Party in the Chamber of Deputies, noted among his colleagues for his absolute integrity, supported by the millionaire newspaper proprietor, Frépeau, whose motives, between ourselves, are not altogether above— Oh, are you there, Father? I didn't see you. I'm just off to play tennis.

[Exit.

Enter Renée de Rould.

Renée. Mr. Mérital, may I speak to you a moment?

Georges Alexandre Mérital (with, characteristic suavity). Certainly.

Renée, I love you. Will you marry me?

Mérital (surprised). Well, really—this is—I—you—we—er, he, she, they—Frankly, you embarrass me. (Apologetically) This is my embarrassed face.

Renée. But I thought you loved me. Don't you?

Mérital. No. That is to say, yes. Or rather—

Renée (tearfully). I w-wish you could make it plainer whether you d-do love me and are pretending you don't, or you d-don't love me and are pretending you do. It's v-very unsettling for a young girl not to know.

Sir GEORGES ALEXANDRE (surprised and a little hurt). Can't you tell from my face?

Miss MARTHA HEDMAN. This is my first appearance in England, Sir GEORGES.

Sir GEORGES. True. I was forgetting. Well, when you have been with us a little longer, you will know that this is my face when I adore anyone very much, but, owing to an unfortunate episode in my past life, am forced to hide my love.

Renée (alarmed). Your past wife isn't alive somewhere?

Mérital. Oh no, not that sort of thing at all. (Embracing her carefully.) I will marry you, Renée, but run along now because my friend Frépeau is coming, and he probably wants to talk business.

[Exit Renée.

Enter Frépeau.

Frépeau (excitedly). Mérital, you are in danger. A scandalous libel is being circulated about you.

Mérital (calmly). Pooh! Faugh!

Frépeau. It is said that thirty years ago (Alexandre's nose twitches), when you were in a solicitor's office (Alexandre's jaw drops), you stole ninepence from the stamp drawer (Alexandre's eyeballs roll). Of course it is a lie?

Mérital (with a great effort obtaining command of his features again). Of course.

CURTAIN.

ACT II.

Daniel Mérital. Father's face has been very odd these last few weeks. Sometimes I wonder whether he didn't steal the money after all. But we shall know after the libel action this afternoon. It starts at two. Oh, are you there, Father? I'm just going to see a man about something.

[Exit.

Enter Frépeau.

Mérital. Ah, Frépeau, the man I wanted to see. (Plaintively) Frépeau, when you called on me in the First Act, don't you think you might have given some indication by the play of your features that it was you who originated this libel against me, and that you are my deadly enemy? The merest twitch of the ears would have been enough.

HOLMAN CLARK. I wanted it to be a surprise for the audience.

Sir GEORGES. Yes, but is that art?

HOLMAN CLARK. Besides, in real life—

Sir GEORGES (amazed). Real life? Good Heavens, HOLMAN, is this your first appearance in England too?

HOLMAN CLARK (annoyed). Let's get on with the play.

Sir GEORGES. Certainly. Wait a moment till I've got my "strong-man-with-his-back-to-the-wall" expression. (Arranging his face.) How's that?

HOLMAN CLARK. Begin again.... That's better.

Mérital (sternly). Now then, Frépeau! I must ask you to give instructions that the libel is withdrawn in court this afternoon. If not—

Frépeau. Well?

Mérital (softly). I know somebody else who stole something from the stamp drawer thirty years ago. (Frépeau's whiskers tremble.) Aha, I thought I'd move you this time.

Frépeau. It's a lie! How did you find out?

Mérital (blandly). I said to myself, "I am the hero of this play and I've got to get out of this mess somehow. If I could only find some papers incriminating the villain—that's you all would be well." So I—er—found them.... It's no good, Frépeau. Unless you let me off, you're done.

Frépeau (getting up). Well, I suppose I must. But personally I'd be ashamed to escape through such a rotten coincidence as that. (Making for the door.) I'll just go and arrange it. Er, I suppose this is the end?

Sir GEORGES. The end? Good Heavens, man, I've got my big scene to come. I have to explain why Mérital stole the money thirty years ago!

HOLMAN CLARK (eagerly). Let me guess. His wife was starv—

SIR GEORGES. No, no, don't spoil it. (Sternly) It's a very serious thing, HOLMAN, to spoil an actor-manager's big scene.

CURTAIN.

ACT III.

Daniel Mérital. Father has won his case. I am glad. Oh, are you there, Father? I'm just going downstairs to count the telegrams.

[Exit.

Enter Renée.

Renée. You have won the case? I knew it. I knew you were innocent.

Mérital (nobly). Renee, I am not innocent. I did steal that ninepence. I would have confessed it before, but I had to think of my family. (Cheers from the gallery.) Of course it would also have been unpleasant for me if it had been known, but that did not influence me. (More cheers.) I thought only of my children. Let me tell you now

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