A Book of Burlesque: Sketches of English Stage Travestie and Parody

The robe of other days has faded,Its gloss has from it pass'd;For dust with little specks has shadedThe stuff too fine to last.The robe of velvet made of cotton,For wear much better pays;But, alas! how shabby this I've got on,The robe of other days!The coat that is not worth a stiver,An old and worn-out thing,When touch'd with black and blue reviver,Like a new one up will spring.You may dye the coat of one that's needy,Of stuff as coarse as baize;But the robe is done for when 'tis seedy,The robe of other days.

The first burlesque of "Romeo and Juliet" was brought out at the Strand in the same year as that which saw the birth of A'Beckett's "King John." The author was Maurice G. Dowling, who succeeded in producing something worthy to rank with his "Othello." In his "Romeo and Juliet" Montagu and Capulet are rival basket-makers, "Mr." Mercutio being foreman to the former, who also has "Mr. Ben Volio" in his employ. Tybalt is a fireman and ratcatcher to the Duke of Mantua; "Mr." Friar Laurence, a "black-and-white-smith" at Gretna Green. Romeo talks in illiterate fashion, and at one point sticks a pin into Paris's back! Miss Daly was the Juliet, and she and Hammond (as Romeo) had to speak, in the balcony scene, such lines as these: —

Enter Romeo over wall.Rom. He just knows nothing who's been scratched with pins,Unless he's felt the pain of broken shins.(Juliet appears at balcony with lantern.)Oh my! what light is that upon the wallRising like yeast? Crikey, if she should fall!Come down, my duck: the moon can't stand no chance —You'll easy stare her out of countenance.You're prettier far than she – I'm not in joke,Miss; what did you say? Oh, la, I thought she spoke!I wish she was in heaven, and then her eyesWould be two stars a twinkling in the skies.There! now she puts her hand upon her head —I wish I was that hair – those curls instead,That she might comb me when she went to bed.Jul. Oh, my! I wish that nice young man would come!Rom. She speaks! a sign she isn't deaf and dumb.Jul. O Romeo! – Romeo! perhaps you're not to blame,But it's a very shocking, ugly name;Go to your godfather, and refuse to wear it,Or if you won't, be but my love, and swear it;And I'll leave home, and go live with you,And be young Mistress Romeo Montague.The name is not so bad – what's in a name?A Rose if Garlick call'd would smell the same.

The Friar's directions to Juliet are given in the course of a song, of which the following is the opening verse: —

Here's a bottle of gin – do take it, dear,Put it under your pillow, or somewhere near,And when the old Nurse to her bed is gone,First make yourself certain you're quite alone.Then take this bottle – drink part of it off —'Tis double distill'd, and may make you cough —When presently through your veins will walkA comical tremor – a wish to talk,Oh, the bottle of gin!

When, in 1859, Andrew Halliday produced, at the Strand, a "Romeo and Juliet Travestie, or the Cup of Cold Poison,"38 he did better, I need hardly say, than his predecessor. His treatment of the balcony scene, for instance, was at least not vulgar: —

Romeo appears on the top of the wall and comes down ladderRom. He jests at scars, who never wore a patch,Or mounted garden wall and got a scratchFrom row of broken bottles.(Juliet appears on balcony.)Jul. Ha! 'tis he!Rom. Juliet!Jul. Romeo! ah, yes! 'tis he!Rom. Oh, say that name again!Jul . Oh, me! oh!Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?Rom. Well, 'pon my soul, my love, my sweet, my dear,I haven't got the most remote idea;My father perhaps —Jul. Deny him.Rom. Then my mother.She does not know I'm out.Jul. Oh, what a bother!Rom. What is a bother, sweet?Jul. That you,My Romeo, should be a Montague,And I a Capulet – and yet what's in a name?Were you called Jones, I'd love you all the same;You'd be no worse: mark this, I do entreat —The Serpentine by other name would smell as sweet.Rom. Would I were some one else —Jul. But fate assignsA bitter lot, and rules the hardest lines.Rom. (sneezes, and as if with cold in his head) It's getting chilly,dear, but hear me swear —By the boon, green cheese of heaven – look there,Shining as brightly as a silver spoon.Jul. (sneezing, and with a cold) Swear not by the boon – the inconstant boon,Who changes oft, and twelve times in a yearHooks it like a tenant in arrear.Rom. What shall I swear by, then, to gain a seatIn your affections?Jul. Oh, do not swear, my sweet,At all. A good rule we now commence with:We take our seats – the oaths we do dispense with.

For the rest, the burlesque followed many lines of the original closely enough,39 save that, at the end, Romeo, Juliet, Mercutio, Tybalt, and Paris, were all revived, much to the indignation of Shakespeare, a statue of whom appeared, with finger held up in a menacing manner.

The piece was well stocked with puns; as, for example: —

Who doubts Mercutio's courage him mistakes:He hates a broil, but he will fight for stakes.

And again: —

By reason of this bunion on my toe,This pilgrim's progress has been very slow.

After "Romeo and Juliet," the first of Shakespeare's plays to be burlesqued was "Richard III.," of which Charles Selby, the comedian, and Stirling Coyne, the well-known man of letters, each perpetrated a travestie in 1844. Selby's piece40 was founded on the Colley Cibber adaptation, and introduced Henry VI., who, at the end, was represented as coming to life again and quietly assuming the crown which Richmond was about to take. Richard also is resuscitated, after a fashion very popular in burlesques of Shakespeare. Of literary merit Selby's work had little.

Take, for example, his arrangement of the scene in which Richard woos the Lady Anne: —

Lady A. Well, I never! You ugly, naughty man,Why do you thus torment the wretched Anne?Richard. Torment! sweet saint, recall that killing word,And substitute adore.Lady A. Indeed! I've heardOld gossips say he's but a silly calf,Who fondly thinks to catch old birds with chaff.Look on that pattern of thy gentle love! (pointing off r.)Richard. I do, and weep, my pretty turtle-dove.And yet methinks I can excuse myself.Lady A. Wholesale butcher!Richard. Thou dost abuse thyself!(Rapidly, with great passion) Thou art the cause of all my peccadilloes —Thy beauty (like Battersean billows,Which market barges smash to shivereens,And cheat the town of sparrow grass and greens),Thy fatal beauty, for whose dear sake,Of all the world I'd Epping sausage make!Or kill myself – (if thou shouldst wish me die)One hour on that soft breast to lie.Lady A. Nonsense! I don't believe you! get along!(hitting him playfully with her fan.)Richard. I know, dear love, I've done thee grievous wrong!But though by me thy husband's death was done,'Twas but to help thee to a better one.Lady A. His better does not wear a head.Richard. He lives who loves thee better.Lady A. Whom?Richard. Nay, guess.Lady A. I can't. I'm a dunce at riddle-me-ree.Some lunatic, of course?Richard. Made so by thee! (kneels)Turn thy bright eyes on this devoted head —Lady A. Would they were baganets, to stick thee dead! (crosses R.)Richard. I would they were – that I at once might hop the twig!For now, with cruel scorn, they at me dig,And homœopathically mill me.If thou art determined, sweet, to kill me,This "Trifle from Sheffield" in my buzzum stick,And let the daylight through your loving Dick.(kneels and gives her his sword.)

Twenty-four years later, Mr. Burnand took up this subject. His work was called "The Rise and Fall of Richard III.," and was performed at the Royalty. His treatment of the wooing scene may well be contrasted with that of Selby. For instance: —

Richard. I see that you a passion for me foster —Anne. Passion for you! High, mighty, double Glo'ster.Rich. Oh, call me double Glo'ster, if you please,As long as I, in your eyes, am the cheese.Anne. A cheese! Why, then I cut you. (going)Rich. I've the daringTo ask you to consider this cheese paring.Anne. You are hump-backed.Rich. Oh, hump-bug!Anne. And knock'd knee'd.Rich. A friend in-knee'd, ma'am, is a friend indeed.

In puns, and good puns too, this piece is particularly prolific. Thus, Richard's mother says of him that

He as a child took early to the bottle,As all our family did, and my relations —I can look back on many ginny-rations.Yes, and my ancestors – they never foughtWith greater spirit than at A-gin-court.

Buckingham says to Richard —

Don't be Protector, Richard – be Dick-tator.

Richmond says of him: —

There Richard lays;

whereupon Richard replies: —

To order sir, I rise;Who says "he lays" grammatically lies.

Of Richmond, the Duchess of York observes: —

His hair is cut so short where once it flowed.Richard. Tis a French crop, like grass – 'tis à la mowed.

Richmond, by the way, is supposed to be fresh from France, and talks broken English. The Duchess aforesaid asks him: —

How are you, Richmond? well? or Richmond 'ill?

Buckingham says to Anne: —

I'll introduce, allow me, to your Grace,The Lord Mayor, the Recorder, and Jem Mace.Anne. Their robes are beautiful. Oh, nicey, nicey!Especially the Mace– he does look spicey!

But perhaps the best pun in the piece is that which is made apropos of the fact that Catesby and Tyrell have fallen over the coal-scuttle on the stairs and hurt themselves: —

Richard. My friends are hurt, so you'll excuse them grinning.Elizabeth. Excuse! oh, they're more shinned against than shinning!

Talfourd's "Macbeth, somewhat removed from the Text of Shakespeare," was first performed in 1847 at Henley-on-Thames during the regatta; next, at the Strand, in 1848; afterwards at the Olympic, in 1853. At the last-named theatre it had the advantage of the aid of Robson in the title-part, of G. Cooke as Duncan, and of Mrs. A. Phillips as Lady Macbeth. It paraphrases the original fairly well until near the close, when, after Macduff has slain Macbeth, Duncan reappears (like Henry VI. in Selby's piece) and takes the crown from Malcolm. Similarly, Macbeth, his wife, and Banquo turn up again, and announce their willingness to die nightly.

In the first act Lady Macbeth comes in reading her husband's letter, as follows: —

We met, 'twas on a heath, and on that dayWhen victory had flushed us; really theyBoth turned our blood to curds and stopped our way;Sally, report has said, and I have gotA gothic notion, they know what is what;They called me, dear, all manner of rum things:While Cawdor's title in my noddle rings,Would you believe it? but a flunkey bringsThe news of Cawdor's death; I have to thankThat queer old file for giving me his rank.One hailed me King – I pause to wipe my eye,For it's affecting. – Sally, dear, good-bye!Ever affectionately yours, till deathPops on his extinguisher,Samuel Macbeth.

Lady Macbeth comments on this: —

Of all rum goes, this is about the rummest!Cawdor thou art, and shalt be – what thou'rt promised.Yet will thy scruples my intentions clog;To go at once the unadulterate hogIs not thy nature. Thou'rt the style of buckThat has the will to sin, but not the pluck.

When Macbeth enters, she cries: —

Welcome, great Glamis! – welcome, worthy Cawdor!Nay greater! (they embrace).Macb. Ducky! Duncan comes to-night,To stay and sup with us.Lady M. Yes, that's all right.(Significantly) When goes he hence?Macb. To-morrow he'll endeavour.Lady M. (mysteriously) Not if I knows it, Sammy —trust me, never!Macb. What mean you?Lady M. Why, at such things you a muff are!Macb. You wouldn't have me spifflicate the buffer?I must think more of this.Lady M. Look (so thou wilt lessSuspicion rouse) particularly guiltless —Leave all the rest to me.Macb. The rest? Don't fret at all; —If I do this, no rest for me – you'll get it all.

Then they sing a duet, to the tune of "There's a good time coming": —

Lady M. There's a good chance coming, Sam —A good chance coming!If the King comes here to-day,We're not such flats as throw awayThe good chance coming!Macb. But, my love, it's very wrong —Nothing could be wrongerThan such a thing —Lady M. Well, hold your tongue,And wait a little longer!

The first burlesque of "The Tempest" made its appearance at the Adelphi in 1848. It was from the pen of the Brothers Brough, and was entitled "The Enchanted Isle, or Raising the Wind on the most Approved Principles." "O." Smith was Prospero, with Miss Taylor as his daughter Miranda; Miss Woolgar being the Ferdinand, with Paul Bedford for her father – the Ariel Mme. Celeste, and the Caliban Munyard. Some years were destined to elapse before the subject again attracted the burlesque writer; and the writer then was Mr. Burnand, who gave to his work the name of "Ariel," submitting it to the public in 1883 at the Gaiety. Miss Ellen Farren took the title-part, with Mr. Henry Monkhouse as Prospero, Mr. Frank Wyatt as Sebastian, Mr. Dallas as Alonso, and Miss Connie Gilchrist as Miranda. This "perversion" was in three acts, and was one of the productions which led the way to the New Burlesque.

To Talfourd belongs the distinction of being the first to burlesque "The Merchant of Venice." He called his work "Shylock, or the Merchant of Venice Preserved: an entirely New Reading of Shakespeare, from an edition hitherto undiscovered by modern authorities, and which it is hoped may be received as the stray leaves of a Jerusalem Hearty-Joke." This came out at the Olympic in 1853, and again Talfourd had Robson as the exponent of his principal character. Again, too, he followed his original with some care, burlesquing rather in detail than on broad lines. Take, for example, his "reading" of a portion of the trial scene. Shylock has been foiled by Portia, and wishes to leave the court: —

Shy. Give me my principal, and I'll away.Por. Best carry out your principle and stay.Nay, Shylock, though you choose forgive the debt,You'd find the law had hold upon you yet.Shy. I say, young man, your practice rather sharp is.Grat. Not when he practises on the Jews-harp-ies.Ant. Shylock, although your conduct in this caseIn its whole tenor has been thorough base,On one condition I won't press the charge,And you're at liberty to go at large.Shy. At large? I feel particularly small,(Aside) But thank my stars that I can go at all.(Shylock is going, but is prevented by the officers of the Court)Ant. There are two points, though, that I must insist on:You'll shave your face and look more like a Christian,And take your daughter to your arms again.Shy. Well, since you've got the upper hand, it's plainI must knock under – and I will, I swear,Receive my heiress and cut off my hair!(Jessica and Lorenzo come forward.)Jess. You pardon us, pa?Shy. Yes, howe'er distressingTo my paternal feelings, take my blessing.Fathers, I think, will own my case a hard 'un,She's done for pa, and now she asks her par-don.

Gratiano, in this version, is represented as a flunkey, in which character he makes love to Nerissa: —

Blush not that I'm a footman, I conjures;Let not my plushes be the cause of yours.You to the eyes – but, though more difficulter,I to the knees plush as the knee plush ultra.

Everywhere the puns are as clever as they are bright. Portia says to Nerissa: —

Mind, a maiden shouldOf kisses to a bearded man be chary.Nerissa. Such a salute, ma'am, must be salute-hairy.

Launcelot, again, says to Jessica: —

But smile again, and all will sunshine be,Sweet Israelite, you is real light to me!..Mock not my misery – I know full wellI'm a poor serf and he's a heavy swell.

Once more, Shylock says: —

My only heiress, folks will say in mock,Fled like a timid hair from a Shy-lock!..Unfeeling child, who's left her sire to sigh,Without a tie or prop or prop-er-ty.

We come now to the production, at the Lyceum in 1856, of William Brough's perversion of "The Winter's Tale," – "Perdita, or the Royal Milkmaid."41 This was fitted with a prologue in which Time sang an effective song, descriptive of the author's aims and intentions, and winding up with this ingenuous verse: —

This period to match, in each single snatchOf music to be sung, I've tried ofThe oldest tunes to get, including that as yetUnknown melody the old cow died of.And that all might beIn antiquityAlike, I for my puns cry quarter,For I've chosen, good folks,The most ancient jokesFor this worthy old dramatist's slaughter.

When Autolycus appears upon the scene, with his pedlar's box, he is made to excuse his "conveying" propensities in a ditty suggested by the then popular song called "Bobbing Around": —

The shopkeeper who gives short weightIs robbing all round, all round, all round;The grocers who adulterate,Like me go robbing all round.The milkman in his lowly walkGoes robbing all round, all round, all round;When, 'stead of milk, he walks his chalk,And so goes robbing around.The publican dilutes our beer,A robbing all round, all round, all round;With water, and still worse, I fear,So he goes robbing all round.In all we eat, or drink, or buy,There's robbing all round, all round, all round,And tradesmen with each other vie,Who'll best do robbing all round.Who'll first at me, then, throw a stoneFor robbing around, around, around?My trade's as honest as their own,Since all go robbing around.

Mr. Burnand has written two burlesques on "Antony and Cleopatra" – one brought out under that title at the Haymarket in 1866; the other produced at the Gaiety in 1873, under the name of "Our Own Antony and Cleopatra." A third travestie of the tragedy, called "Mdlle. Cleopatra," and written by Mr. W. Sapte, junior, was seen at the Avenue in the present year.

VII

BURLESQUE OF MODERN DRAMA

We now pass to a department of burlesque writing larger in extent and greater in variety than any other – that in which the finger of ridicule has been pointed at poetic and melodramatic plays (other than those of Shakespeare). This department is far-reaching in the matter of time. It goes back, for subject, so far as Lee's high-sounding "Alexander the Great" (better known, perhaps, as "The Rival Queens"), which, first produced in 1678, was travestied by Dibdin, in "Alexander the Great in Little," a "grand tragi-comic operatic burlesque spectacle," originally seen at the Strand in 1837, with Hammond as Alexander and Mrs. Stirling as Roxana. Seven years later there was performed at the Surrey a burlesque, by Montagu Corri, of Lillo's famous tragedy "George Barnwell" (1730), here called "Georgy Barnwell" – a title which H. J. Byron altered to "George De Barnwell" when in 1862 he travestied the old play at the Adelphi.

Home's "Douglas", which was given to the public in 1756, appears to have escaped stage satire until 1837, when it was taken in hand by William Leman Rede. The Adelphi was the scene of the production, and the performers included "O." Smith as Glenalvon, J. Reeve as Norval, and Mrs. Stirling as Lady Randolph. The piece does not supply very exhilarating reading. The ultra-familiar soliloquy, "My name is Norval," is here put into lyric form, and comes out as follows: —

My name is Norval, sir; upon the Grampian HillsMy father feeds his flocks, beside the streams and rills.He often said to me, "Don't roam about at nights."But I had heard of sprees, of larks, and rows, and fights.Tol de rol lol tol lol, tol de rol lol lol lay.Tol de rol lol tol lol – list to what I say.The moon rose up one night, as moons will often do,And there came from left and right a ragged ruffian crew;They broke into our house, they swigged our beer and ale,They stole our flocks and herds, and caught our pig by the tail.Tol, lol, etc.The shepherds fled, the curs! but I was not to be chizzled,So with a chosen few after the fellows we mizzled;We fought and larrupped 'em all! indeed, it isn't a flam,I stole the togs of the chief, and, blow me, here I am!Tol lol, etc.

We have already seen that, in his "Quadrupeds of Quedlinburgh," Colman junior extracted some fun out of scenes in "The Stranger," "Pizarro," and "Timour the Tartar." The first of these plays was made the subject of more elaborate satire in 1868, when Mr. Robert Reece wrote for the New Queen's Theatre his burlesque called "The Stranger, Stranger than Ever!" This, with Miss Santley as Peter, Mr. Lionel Brough as the Stranger, and Miss Henrietta Hodson as Mrs. Haller, had many points of attraction. In this reductio ad absurdum the lady's chief complaint is that her husband first neglected her and then deserted her, taking away the children. Moreover, "he taught the infants all the comic songs," and so, "instead of gloating over Peter Parley, the boy declared himself as Champagne Charley." In despair the deserted one set to work and took in washing: —

You'll ask, "why washing?" – give your fancy scope:In that profession while there's life there's soap!Was I to live? – of course came this suggestion!"Tub be or not tub be?" that was the question.So with a will I turned me to my work,Carried a blue bag like a lawyer's clerk;Yet still I grieved – the trade's of woe prolific,I couldn't sleep, for all this soap-horrific;Hard was my lot, for I could plainly seeMy source of living must end sud-denly;And in her downward course, say, what could stop herWhose sole subsistence was a single copper?

As usual with Mr. Reece, the puns are excellent. Tobias says of the stranger that

Each evening you may see him sitting so,Under that linden when the sun was low;On close inspection, too, you'll also seeHis noble eye, sir, rolling rapidly.

Then the Stranger says to Peter: —

Mrs. Haller's gifts you showed,As hint that I should help you Haller-mode.

To the Countess he remarks: —

Madam, this river-water's eau-de-riverous!

And of his children he says: —

They're fighting through their alphabet. Oh, lor!I quit them in their A-B-C-nian war!

Of his wife: —

When first I married thee (then somewhat shady),Oh, Adelaide! I thought I had a lady!

But, in truth, there is no end to these jeux-de-mots.

"Pizarro," which nowadays has quite gone out of the theatrical repertory, was dealt with from the comic point of view by Leicester Buckingham, whose "Pizarro, or the Leotard of Peru," was seen at the Strand in 1862, with Johnny Clarke as the hero, and Miss Swanborough, Miss Charlotte Saunders, Miss Bufton, Miss Fanny Josephs, Miss Fanny Hughes, and Rogers, in other parts. Of the "literature" of this piece the following is a very fair example: it is supposed to be spoken by Rolla: —

Tho' to use vulgar phrases I've no wish,I may say, here's a pretty kettle of fish!But then the world's all fishy – poets failTo prove that life is not a tearful wale!Though fancy's prospect oft in-witing glows,Experience tends to mull-it, goodness knows;Grave moralists aver that from our birthWe are all herring mortals here on earth.Dancers stick to their eels, and live well by 'em;And most folk can appreciate "carpe diem."Some statesmen – theirs is no uncommon case —Will give their soul in barter for a place,And call, to mend a diplomatic mess,The conger-eel's fond mate – a conger-ess.Nay, folks strive even in a college cloisterOver a rival's head to get a hoister.

"The Wood-Demon," by "Monk" Lewis, played originally in 1811, suggested to Albert Smith and Charles Kenny a travestie, of the same name, which they brought out at the Lyceum in 1847. "Timour the Tartar," another of Lewis's dramas, received equally satiric treatment at the hands of John Oxenford and Shirley Brooks, whose work made its appearance at the Olympic in 1860. In the last-named year Messrs. Francis Talfourd and H. J. Byron founded on Pocock's "Miller and his Men" (1813) a "mealy-drama," similarly entitled, which was played at the Strand.