Punch, or the London Charivari

Volume 105, July 15TH 1893

edited by Sir Francis Burnand

AN AFTERNOON PARTY.

... "The room is full of celebrities. Do you see that tall woman in black, talking to the little old lady? That is Mrs. Arbuthnot—a woman of some importance—and the other is Charley's Aunt. The sporting-looking young man is Captain Coddington, who is 'in town' for the season."

"And who are the two men, exactly alike, tall and dark, who are smoking gold-tipped cigarettes, and talking epigrams?" I asked. I like to know who people are, and the person in the silver domino seemed well-informed.

"The uninvitable in pursuit of the indigestible," murmured Lord Illingworth.

"Those are Lord Illingworth, and Lord Henry Wotton. They always say exactly the same things. They are awfully clever, and cynical. Those two ladies talking together are known as Nora and Dora. There's rather a curious story about each of them."

"There seems to be one about everyone here," I said.

"Well, it seems that Nora and her husband did not get on very well. He thought skirt-dancing morbid. Also, he forgave her for forging his name—in type-writing—to a letter refusing to subscribe to a wedding-present for Princess May. She said a man who would forgive a thing like that would forgive anything. So she left the Dolls' House."

"Quite right. Is that not the Comtesse Zicka? I seem to recognise the scent."

"It is—and the beautiful Italian lady is Madame Santuzza. One meets all sorts of people here, you know; by the way, there's Mrs. Tanqueray."

"Princess Salomé!" announced the servant. A little murmur of surprise seemed to go round the room as the lovely Princess entered.

"What has she got on?" asked Portia.

"Oh, it's nothing," replied Mr. Walker, London.

"I thought she was not received in English society," said Lady Windermere, puritanically.

"I can assure you, my dears, that she would not be tolerated in Brazil, where the nuts come from," exclaimed Charley's Aunt.

"There's no harm in her. She's only a little peculiar. She is particularly fond of boar's head. It's nothing," said Mr. Walker.

"The uninvitable in pursuit of the indigestible," murmured Lord Illingworth, as he lighted a cigarette.

"Is that mayonnaise?'" asked the Princess Salomé of Captain Coddington, who had taken her to the buffet. "I think it is mayonnaise. I am sure it is mayonnaise. It is mayonnaise of salmon, pink as a branch of coral which fishermen find in the twilight of the sea, and which they keep for the King. It is pinker than the pink roses that bloom in the Queen's garden. The pink roses that bloom in the garden of the Queen of Arabia are not so pink."

"Who's the jaded-looking Anglo-Indian, drinking brandy-and-soda?" I asked.

"That is a Plain young man. From the Hills. Which is curious. I am much attached to him. By the way, I know who I am. And why I wear a silver domino. You don't."

"That's another story," I said. "Let's go to the smoking-room. We shall find the Eminent Person, the Ordinary Man, the Poet, the Journalist, and the Mere Boy, and they will all say delightful things on painful subjects."

"Barry Paynful," suggested the Mere Boy, with his usual impossibility. They were trying to "draw" Lord Illingworth.

"What is a good woman?" asked the Journalist.

"A woman who admires bad men," answered Lord Illingworth.

"What is a bad man?"

"A man who smokes gold-tipped cigarettes."

"Which would you rather, or go fishing?" inquired the Mere Boy, irreverently.

"Because it's a jar, of course. There are two kinds of women, the plain and the coloured. But all art is quite useless."

"I say!" exclaimed Lord Henry, taking from his friend's pocket a gold match-box, curiously carved, and wrought with his initials in chrysoprases and peridots. "I say, you know, Illingworth—come—that's mine. I said it to Dorian only the other evening. You're always saying my things."

"Well, what then? It is only the obvious and the tedious who object to quotations. When a man says life has exhausted him——"

"We know that he has exhausted life."

"Women are secrets, not sphinxes."

"Mine again," exclaimed Lord Henry.

"It would be useful to carry a little book to note down your good things."

"Very useful. And I can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it."

"That's New Humour, isn't it? And you're a New Humourist?" said Walker, satirically. "Why, it's a contradiction in itself! The very essence of a joke is, that it should be old. Where would you find anything funnier than the riddle, 'When is a door not a door?' and, 'Why does a miller wear a white hat?' Ah! it won't last—we're bound to go back to the 'Old Humour'—there's nothing like it—what is that noise?"

"A dispute has arisen in the ladies' cloak-room about a shawl. It's frightfully thrilling!" said Hilda Wangel.

"They seem to be going on anyhow. It's nothing," said Walker.

It appears that Charley's Aunt had accused Princess Salomé of taking her shawl. The Princess had indignantly thrown it at her, and was making rather rude personal remarks about it.

"I don't want your shawl. Your shawl is hideous. It is covered with dust. It is a tartan shawl. It is like the shawl worn in melodrama by the injured heroine who is about to throw herself over the bridge by moonlight. It is the shawl of a betrayed heroine in melodrama. There never was anything so hideous as your shawl!"

"Impertinence! To dare to speak to me like this! I'm the success of the season, and you were forbidden the country," said Charley's Aunt, furiously.

The second Mrs. Tanqueray here chimed in, giving her opinion, which did not add to the harmony of the gathering, and a secondary quarrel was going on, because Captain Coddington had said that the scent Comtesse Zicka used "was not quite up to date," and the latter was offended. In fact, there was a regular row all round. Nora banged her tambourine, and Walker playfully pretended to hide his head behind Lady Windermere's fan.

At last, however, we managed to calm the indignant ladies, and the party began to break up.

"The fact is," I said, "Society is getting a great deal too mixed. Now, I like to go away from an afternoon party feeling a purer and better man, my eyes filled with tears of honest English sentiment——"

"Great Scott! don't go on like that. Come and have a drink," said the Silver Domino.

"Valour is the better part of