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قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 101, July 25, 1891

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Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 101, July 25, 1891

Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 101, July 25, 1891

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دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
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PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Vol. 101.


July 25, 1891.


OPERATIC NOTES.

Amonasro, Aïda, and Radames.

Amonasro (the Black King). "I am your father. I've kept myself dark so long that I've become quite black!"

Aïda (the White Maiden). "Oh! go away, black man; don't come anigh me!! You ought to be Otello to-morrow night."

Little Ravelli-Radames (aside). "No matter what colour, I love her!!"


Covent Garden Stars seen through the Harriscope. Covent Garden Stars seen through the Harriscope.

Tuesday, July 14.—Madame NORDICA is not at her best as Aïda. It lacks colour—that is on the face and hands, where at least should be shown some more "colourable pretence" for being the daughter of so blackened a character as is her father Amonasro, played as a villain of the deepest dye by M. DEVOYOD. When the celebrated march was heard, the players didn't seem particularly strong in trumps, and the trumpets giving a somewhat "uncertain sound,"—a trifle husky, as if they'd caught cold,—somewhat marred the usually thrilling effect. Gorgeous scene; and RAVELLI the Reliable as Radames quite the success of the evening. Mlle. GUERCIA as Amneris seemed to have made up after an old steel plate in a bygone Book of Beauty. Where are those Books of Beauty now! And The Keepsake? Where the pseudo-Byronic poetry and the short stories by Mrs. NAMBY and Mr. PAMBY? But this is only a marginal note, not in the Operatic score. Signor ABRAMOFF was a powerful Ramphis, his make-up suggesting that his title would be more appropriately Rumfiz,—which would be an excellent Egyptian name. Very good House, but still suffering from reaction after Imperial visit, and not to recover itself till to-morrow, Wednesday, when the House is crowded with a brilliant audience to hear a brilliant performance of Otello. The Grand Otello Co. Covent Garden, Limited. Thoroughly artistic performance of Iago by M. MAUREL. His wicked "Credo" more diabolically malicious than ever it was at the Lyceum; an uncanny but distinctly striking effect. Then DRURIOLANUS ASTRONOMICUS gave us a scenic startler in the way of imitation meteoric effect. 'Twas on this wise: of course, neither DRURIOLANUS nor any other Manager can carry on an operatic season without stars, and so they are here, a galaxy of 'em, up above, on the "back cloth," as it is technically termed, shining brilliantly but spasmodically, strange portents in the operatic sky. Pity Astronomer Royal not here to see and note the fact. Next time Otello is given, if this atmospheric effect is to be repeated, the attendants in the lobbies might be permitted to supply powerful telescopes at a small fixed charge. But the greatest star of all is Madame ALBANI as Desdemona; a triumph dramatically and operatically. Her song in the last Act, the celebrated "Willow Song"—which of course no cricketer ought to miss hearing—was most beautifully and touchingly rendered. Those persons suffering from the heat of a crowded house, and dreading the difficulty of finding their "keb or kerridge" in good time, and who therefore quitted their seats before ALBANI sang the "Willow Song," must, perforce, sing the old refrain, "O Willow, we have missed you!" and go back for it whenever this Opera is played again. M. JEAN DE RESZKÉ was not, perhaps, quite up to his usual form, or his usual former self; but, for all that, he justified his responsibility as one of the largest shareholders in the Grand Otello Company, Limited. All things considered, and the last best thing being invariably quite the best, Otello, or Symphonies in Black and White, is about the biggest success of the season.


TO AMANDA.

Amanda.

(Accompanying a Set of Verses which She bade me write.)

Only a trifle, though, i' faith, 'tis smart,

A jeu d'esprit, not art concealing art,

Fruition of a moment's fantasy,

Mere mental bubbles, verbal filagree.

But, though thy lightest wish I would not thwart,

I prithee bid me play some other part

Another time, and I will give thee carte

Blanche to dictate; in truth aught else will be

Only a trifle,

Compared with versifying. I will dart,

At thy behest, e'en to the public mart

To buy a bonnet, or will gleefully

Carry a babe through Bond Street. My sole plea

Is—no more verses. Surely 'tis, sweetheart,

Only a trifle.


SUPPLEMENTARY AND CORRECTIVE.—In his Jubilee Number Mr. PUNCH remarked, "Merely to mention all the bright pens and pencils which have occasionally contributed to my pages would occupy much space." And space then was limited. But among the "Great Unnamed" should assuredly have been mentioned W.H. WILLS, one of the originators of Mr. PUNCH's publication, CLEMENT SCOTT the flowing lyrist, and author of "The Cry of the Children," &c., ASHBY STERRY of "Lazy Minstrel" fame, and "ROBERT," the genial garrulous "City Waiter," whilst the names of J.P. ("Dumb-Crambo") ATKINSON, and E.J. WHEELER, were omitted by the purest accident. The late H.J. BYRON contributed a series of papers. Mr. PUNCH hastens to put them—as he would gladly some others—"on the list," since, of no one of them, could it be truly said "he never would be missed." "HALBOT" was a misprint for "HABLÔT," "MAGUIN HANNAY" should read "MAGINN, HANNAY, &c.," and for "GEORGE SILVER" read "HENRY."


THE METROPOLITAN MINOTAUR;

OR, THE LONDON LABYRINTH AND THE COUNTY COUNCIL THESEUS.

["Certainly, if some members of the London County Council have their way, it will soon have plenty to occupy it without being called upon to form a scheme of water-supply for the Metropolis."—The Times.]

The Metropolitan Minotaur.

L.C.C. loquitur:—

Bless me! Things combine so a hero to humble!

I fancied that Bull-headed Minotaur—BUMBLE,

Would fall to my hand like Pasiphae's monster

To Theseus. But oh! every step that I on stir

Bemuddles me more. I did think myself clever,

But fear from the Centre I'm farther than ever,

Oh, this is a Labyrinth! Worse than the Cretan!

Yet shall the new Theseus admit himself beaten?

Forbid it, great Progress! Your votary I, Ma'am,

But in this Big Maze it seems small use to try, Ma'am.

Mere roundaboutation's not Progress. Get forward?

Why eastward, and westward and southward, and nor'ward,

Big barriers stop me! Eh? Centralisation?

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