Voces Populi

Second Soldier. Yes. (Thoughtfully.) Not but what – (becoming critical) – if I'd been doin' it myself, I should ha' chose pins with smaller 'eds on 'em.

First S. (regarding this as presumptuous). You may depend on it the man who made that 'ad his reasons for choosing the pins he did – but there's no pleasing some parties!

Second S. (apologetically). Well, I ain't denying the Art in it, am I?

First Woman. I do call that 'andsome, Sarah. See, there's a star, and two 'arps, and a crownd, and I don't know what all – and all done in pins and beads! "Made by Bandsman Brown," too! [Reading placard.

Second W. Soldiers is that clever with their 'ands. Four pounds seems a deal to ask for it, though.

First W. But look at the weeks it must ha' took him to do! (Reading.) "Containing between ten and eleven thousand pins and beads, and a hundred and ninety-eight pieces of coloured cloth!" Why, the pins alone must ha' cost a deal of money.

Second W. Yes, it 'ud be a pity for it to go to somebody as 'ud want to take 'em out. First W. It ought to be bought up by Gover'ment, that it ought – they're well able to afford it.

A select party of Philistines, comprising a young Man, apparently in the Army, and his Mother and Sister, are examining Mr. Gilbert's Jubilee Trophy in a spirit of puzzled antipathy

The Mother. Dear me, and that's the Jubilee centrepiece, is it? What a heavy-looking thing. I wonder what that cost?

Her Son (gloomily). Cost? Why, about two days' pay for every man in the Service!

His Mother. Well, I call it a shame for the Army to be fleeced for that thing. Are those creatures intended for mermaids, with their tails curled round that glass ball, I wonder? [She sniffs.

Her Daughter. I expect it will be crystal, Mother.

Her Mother. Very likely, my dear, but – glass or crystal —I see no sense in it!

Daughter. Oh, it's absurd, of course – still, this figure isn't badly done. Is it supposed to represent St. George carrying the Dragon? Because they've made the Dragon no bigger than a salmon!

Mother. Ah, well, I hope Her Majesty will be better pleased with it than I am, that's all.

[After which they fall into ecstasies over an industrial exhibit consisting of a drain-pipe, cunningly encrusted with fragments of regimental mess-china set in gilded cement

Before a large mechanical clock, representing a fortress, which is striking. Trumpets sound, detachments of wooden soldiers march in and out of gateways, and parade the battlements, clicking for a considerable time.

A Spectator (with a keen sense of the fitness of things). What – all that for on'y 'alf past five!

OVERHEARD IN THE AMBULANCE DEPARTMENT

Spectators (passing in front of groups of models arranged in realistic surroundings). All the faces screwed up to suffering, you see!.. What a nice patient expression that officer on the stretcher has! Yes, they've given him a wax head – some of them are only papier-mâché… Pity they couldn't get nearer their right size in 'elmets, though, ain't it?.. There's one chap's given up the ghost!.. I know that stuffed elephant – he comes from the Indian Jungle at the Colinderies!.. I do think it's a pity they couldn't get something more like a mule than this wooden thing! Why, it's quite flat, and its ears are only leather, nailed on!.. You can't tell, my dear; it may be a peculiar breed out there – cross between a towel-horse and a donkey-engine, don't you know!

IN THE INDIAN JUNGLE SHOOTING-GALLERYAt the back, amidst tropical scenery, an endless procession of remarkably undeceptive rabbits of painted tin are running rapidly up and down an inclined plane. Birds jerk painfully through the air above, and tin rats, boars, tigers, lions, and ducks, all of the same size, glide swiftly along grooves in the middle distance. In front, Commissionnaires are busy loading rifles for keen sportsmen, who keep up a lively but somewhat ineffective fusillade

'Arriet (to 'Arry). They 'ave got it up beautiful, I must say. Do you get anything for 'itting them?

'Arry. On'y the honour.

A Father (to intelligent Small Boy in rear of Nervous Sportsman). No, I ain't seen him 'it anything yet, my son; but you watch. That's a rabbit he's aiming at now… Ah, missed him!

Small Boy. 'Ow d'yer know what the gentleman's a-aiming at, eh, Father?

Father. 'Ow? Why, you notice which way he points his gun.

[The N. S. fires again – without results

Small Boy. I sor that time, Father. He was a-aiming at one o' them ducks, an' he missed a rabbit! [The N. S. gives it up in disgust.

Enter a small party of 'Arries in high spirits.

First 'Arry. 'Ullo! I'm on to this. 'Ere Guv'nor', 'and us a gun. I'll show yer 'ow to shoot!

[He takes up his position, in happy unconsciousness that playful companions have decorated his coat-collar behind with a long piece of white paper

Second 'Arry. Go in, Jim! You got yer markin'-paper ready anyhow.

[Delighted guffaws from the other 'Arries, in which Jim joins vaguely

Third 'Arry. I'll lay you can't knock a rabbit down!

Jim. I'll lay I can!

[Fires. The procession of rabbits goes on undisturbed

Second 'Arry (jocosely). Never mind. You peppered 'im. I sor the feathers floy!

Third 'Arry. You'd ha' copped 'im if yer'd bin a bit quicker.

Jim (annoyed). They keep on movin' so, they don't give a bloke no chornce!

Second 'Arry. 'Ave a go at that old owl.

[Alluding to a tin representation of that fowl which remains stationary among the painted rushes

Third 'Arry. No – see if you can't git that stuffed bear. He's on'y a yard or two away!

An Impatient 'Arry (at doorway). 'Ere, come on! Ain't you shot enough? Shake a leg, can't yer, Jim?

Second 'Arry. He's got to kill one o' them rabbits fust. Or pot a tin lion, Jim? You ain't afraid?

Jim. No; I'm goin' to git that owl. He's quiet any way.

[Fires. The owl falls prostrate

Second 'Arry. Got 'im! Owl's orf! Jim, old man, you must stand drinks round after this!

[Exeunt 'Arries, to celebrate their victory in a befitting fashion, as Scene closes in

At the French Exhibition

Chorus of Arab Stall-Keepers. Come an look! Alaha-ba-li-boo! Eet is verri cold to-day! I-ah-rish Brandi! 'Ere Miss! you com' 'ere! No pay for lookin'. Alf a price! Verri pritti, verri nah-ice, verri cheap verri moch! [And so on.]

Chorus of British Saleswomen. Will you allow me to show you this little novelty, Sir? 'Ave you seen the noo perfume sprinkler? Do come and try this noo puzzle – no 'arm in lookin', Sir. Very nice little novelties 'ere, Sir! 'Eard the noo French Worltz, Sir? every article is very much reduced, &c., &c.

AT THE FOLIES-BERGÈRE

Scene —A hall in the grounds. Several turnstiles leading to curtained entrances.

Showman (shouting). Amphitrite, the Marvellous Floatin' Goddess Just about to commence! This way for the Mystic Gallery – three illusions for threepence! Atalanta, the Silver Queen of the Moon; the Oriental Beauty in the Table of the Sphinx, and the Wonderful Galatea, or Pygmalion's Dream. Only threepence! This way for the Mystic Marvel o' She! Now commencing!

A Female Sightseer (with the air of a person making an original suggestion) Shall we go in, just to see what it's like?

Male Ditto. May as well, now we are 'ere. (To preserve himself from any suspicion of credulity). Sure to be a take-in o' some sort.

[They enter a dim apartment, in which two or three people are leaning over a barrier in front of a small Stage; the Curtain is lowered, and a Pianist is industriously pounding away at a Waltz

The F. S. (with an uncomfortable giggle). Not much to see so far, is there?

Her Companion. Well, they ain't begun yet.

[The Waltz ends, and the Curtain rises, disclosing a Cavern Scene. Amphitre, in blue tights, rises through the floor

Amphitre (in the Gallic tongue). Mesdarms et Messures, j'ai l'honnoor de vous sooayter le bong jour! (Floats, with no apparent support, in the air, and performs various graceful evolutions, concluding by reversing herself completely.) Bong swore, Mesdarms et messures, mes remercimongs!

[She dives below, and the Curtain descends

The F. S. Is that all? I don't see nothing in that!

Her Comp. (who, having paid for admission, resents this want of appreciation). Why, she was off the ground the 'ole of the time, wasn't she? I'd just like to see you turnin' and twisting about in the air as easy as she did with nothing to 'old on by!

The F. S. I didn't notice she was off the ground – yes that was clever. I never thought o' that before. Let's go and see the other things now.

Her Comp. Well, if you don't see nothing surprising in 'em till they're all over, you might as well stop outside, I should ha' thought.

The F. S. Oh, but I'll notice more next time – you've got to get used to these things, you know.

[They enter the Mystic Gallery, and find themselves in a dim passage, opposite a partitioned compartment, in which is a glass case, supported on four pedestals, with a silver crescent at the back. The illusions – to judge from a sound of scurrying behind the scenes – have apparently been taken somewhat unawares

The Female Sightseer (anxious to please). They've done that 'alf-moon very well, haven't they?

Voice of Showman (addressing the Illusions). Now then, 'urry up there – we're all waiting for you.

[The face of "Atalanta, the Silver Queen of the Moon," appears strongly illuminated, inside the glass-box, and regards the spectators with an impassive contempt – greatly to their confusion

The Male S. (in a propitiatory tone). Not a bad-looking girl, is she?

Atalanta, the Queen of the Moon (to the Oriental Beauty in next compartment). Polly, when these people are gone, I wish you'd fetch me my work!

[The Sightseers move on, feeling crushed. In the second compartment the upper portion of a female is discovered, calmly knitting in the centre of a small table, the legs of which are distinctly visible

The Female S. Why, wherever has the rest of her got to?

The Oriental Beauty (with conscious superiority). That's what you've got to find out.

[They pass on to interview "Galatea, or Pygmalion's Dream," whose compartment is as yet enveloped in obscurity

A Youthful Showman (apparently on familiar terms with all the Illusions). Ladies and Gentlemen, I shell now 'ave the honour of persentin' to you the wonderful Galatear or Livin' Statue; you will 'ave an oppertoonity of 'andling the bust for yourselves, which will warm before your eyes into living flesh, and the lovely creecher live and speak. 'Ere, look sharp, earn't yer! (To Galatea.)

Pygmalion's Dream (from the Mystic gloom). Wait a bit till I've done warming my 'ands. Now you can turn the lights up … there, you've bin and turned 'em out now, stoopid! The Y. S. Don't you excite yourself. I know what I'm doin'. (Turns the lights up, and reveals a large terra-cotta Bust.) At my request, this young lydy will now perceed to assoom the yew and kimplexion of life itself. Galatear, will you oblige us by kindly coming to life?

[The Bust vanishes, and is replaced by a decidedly earthly Young Woman in robust health

The Y. S. Thenk you. That's all I wanted of yer. Now, will you kindly return to your former styte?

[The Young Woman transforms herself into a hideous Skull

The Y. S. (in a tone of remonstrance). No – no, not that ridiklous fice! We don't want to see what yer will be – it's very loike yer, I know but still – (the skull changes to the Bust.) Ah, that's more the stoyle! (Takes the Bust by the neck and hands it round for inspection.) And now, thenking you for your kind attention, and on'y 'orskin one little fyvour of you, that is, that you will not reveal 'ow it is done, I will now bid you a very good evenin', Lydies and Gentlemen!

The F. S. (outside). It's wonderful how they can do it all for threepence, isn't it? We haven't seen She yet!

Her Comp. What! 'aven't you seen wonders enough? Come on, then. But you are going it you know!

[They enter a small room, at the further end of which are a barrier and proscenium with drawn hangings

The Exhibitor (in a confidential tone, punctuated by bows). I will not keep you waiting, Ladies and Gentlemen, but at once proceed with a few preliminary remarks. Most of you, no doubt, have read that celebrated story by Mr. Rider 'Aggard, about a certain She-who-must-be-obeyed, and who dwelt in a place called Kôr, and you will also doubtless remember how she was in the 'abit of repairing at certain intervals, to a cavern, and renooing her youth in a fiery piller. On one occasion, wishing to indooce her lover to foller her example, she stepped into the flame to encourage him – something went wrong with the works, and she was instantly redooced to a cinder. I fortunately 'appened to be near at the time (you will escuse a little wild fib from a showman, I'm sure!) I 'appened to be porsin by, and was thus enabled to secure the ashes of the Wonderful She, which – (draws hangings and reveals a shallow metal Urn suspended in the centre of scene) are now before you enclosed in that little urn. She – where are you?

She (in a full sweet voice from below). I am 'ere!

Showman. Then appear!

[The upper portion of an exceedingly comely Young Person emerges from the mouth of the Urn

The F. S. (startled). Lor, she give me quite a turn!

Showman. Some people think this is all done by mirrors, but it is not so; it is managed by a simple arrangement of light and shade. She will now turn slowly round, to convince you that she is really inside the urn and not merely beyind it. (She turns round condescendingly.) She will next pass her 'ands completely round her, thereby demonstrating the utter impossibility of there being any wires to support her. Now she will rap on the walls on each side of her, proving to you that she is no reflection, but a solid reality, after which she will tap the bottom of the urn beneath her so that you may see it really is what it purports to be. (She performs all these actions in the most obliging manner.) She will now disappear for a moment. (She sinks into the Urn.) Are you still there, She?

She (from the recess of the Urn). Yes.

Showman. Then will you give us some sign of your presence? (a hand and arm are protruded and waved gracefully). Thank you. Now you can come up again. (She reappears.) She will now answer any questions any lady or gentleman may like to put to her, always provided you won't ask her how it is done – for I'm sure she wouldn't give me away, would you, She?

She(with a slow bow and gracious smile). Certingly not.

The F. S. (to her Companion). Ask her something – do.

Her Comp. Go on! I ain't got anything to ask her – ask her yourself!

A Bolder Spirit (with interest). Are your feet warm?

She. Quite – thenks.

The Showman. HOW old are you, She?

She (impressively). Two theousand years.

'Arry. And quite a young thing, too!

A Spectator (who has read the Novel). 'Ave you 'eard from Leo Vincey lately?

She (coldly). I don't know the gentleman.

Showman. If you have no more questions to ask her, She will now retire into her Urn thenking you all for your kind attendance this morning, which will conclude the entertainment.

[Final disappearance of She. The Audience pass out, feeling – with perfect justice – that they have "had their money's worth."

IN THE MALL ON DRAWING-ROOM DAY

The line of carriages bound for Buckingham Palace is moving by slow stages down the Drive. A curious but not uncritical crowd, consisting largely of females, peer into the carriages as they pass, and derive an occult pleasure from a glimpse of a satin train and a bouquet. Other spectators circulate behind them, roving from carriage to carriage, straining and staring in at the occupants with the childlike interest of South Sea Islanders. The coachmen and footmen gaze impassively before them, ignoring the crowd to the best of their ability. The ladies in the carriages bear the ordeal of popular inspection with either haughty resignation, elaborate unconsciousness, or amused tolerance, and it is difficult to say which demeanour provokes the greatest resentment in the democratic breast

Chorus of Female Spectators. We shall see better here than what we did last Droring-Room. Law, 'ow it did come down, too, pouring the 'ole day. I was that sorry for the poor 'orses!.. Oh, that one was nice, Marire! Did you see 'er train? – all flame-coloured satting —lovely! Ain't them flowers beautiful? Oh, Liza, 'ere's a pore skinny-lookin' thing coming next – look at 'er pore dear arms, all bare! But dressed 'andsome enough … That's a Gineral in there, see? He's 'olding his cocked 'at on his knee to save the feathers – him and her have been 'aving words, apparently… Oh, I do like this one. I s'pose that's her Mother with her – well, yes, o' course it may be her Aunt!

A Sardonic Loafer. 'Ullo, 'ere's a 'aughty one! layin' back and puttin' up 'er glorses! Know us agen, Mum, won't you? You may well look – you ain't seen so much in yer ole life as what you're seein' to-day, I'll lay! Ah, you ought to feel honoured, too, all of us comin' out to look at yer. Drored 'er blind down, this one 'as, yer see – knew she wasn't wuth looking at!

[A carriage passes; the footman on the box is adorned by an enormous nosegay, over which he can just see

First Comic Cockney. Ow, I s'y – you 'ave come out in bloom, Johnny!

Second C. C. Ah, they've bin forcin' 'im under glorse, they 'ave! 'Is Missis'll never find 'im under all them flowers. Ow, 'e smoiled at me through the brornches!

[Another carriage passes, the coachman and footmen of which are undecorated

First C. C. Shime! – they might ha' stood yer a penny bunch of voilets between yer, that they might!

The Sardonic L. 'Ere's a swell turn-out and no mistake – with a couple o' bloomin' beadles standin' be'ind! There's a full-fed 'un inside of it too, – look at the dimonds all over 'er bloomin' old nut. My eye! (The elderly dowager inside produces a cut-glass scent-bottle of goodly size.) Ah, she's got a drop o' the right sort in there – see her sniffin at it – it won't take 'er long to mop up that little lot!

Jeames (behind the carriage, to Chawles). Our old geeser's perdoocin' the custimary amount o' sensation, eh, Chawley?

Chawles (under notice). Well, thank 'Eving, I sha'n't have to share the responsibility of her much longer!

'Arriet (to 'Arry). I wonder they don't get tired o' being stared at like they are.

'Arry. Bless your 'art —they don't mind – they like it. They'll go 'ome and s'y (in falsetto) "Ow, Pa, all the bloomin' crowd kep' on a lookin' at us through the winder – it was proime!"

'Arriet (giggling admiringly). 'Ow do you know the w'y they tork?

Arry (superior). Why, they don't tork partickler different from what you and me tork – do they?

First Mechanic. See all them old blokes in red, with the rum 'ats, Bill? They're Beefeaters goin' to the Pallis, they are.

Second M. What do they do when they git there?

First M. Do? oh, mind the bloomin' staircase, and chuck out them as don' beyave themselves.

A Restless Lady (to her husband). Harry, I don't like this place at all. I'm sure we could see better somewhere else. Do let's try and squeeze in somewhere lower down… No, this is worse – that horrid tobacco! Suppose we cross over to the Palace? [They do so.

A Policeman. Too late to cross now, Sir – go back, please.

[They go back and take up a position in front of the crowd on the curbstone

The R. L. There, we shall see beautifully here, Harry.

A Crusty Matron (talking at the R. L. and her husband). Well, I'm sure, some persons have got a cheek, coming in at the last minnit and standing in front of those that have stood here hours – that's lady-like, I don't think! Nor yet, I didn't come here to have my eye poked out by other parties' pairosols.

[Continues in this strain until the R. L. can stand it no longer, and urges her husband to depart

Chorus of Policemen. Pass along there, please, one way or the other – keep moving there, Sir.

The R. L. But where are we to go– we must stand somewhere?

A Policeman. Can't stand anywhere 'ere, Mum.

[The unhappy couple are passed on from point to point, until they are finally hemmed in at a spot from which it is impossible to see anything whatever

Harry. If you had only been content to stay where you were at first, we should have been all right!

The R. L. Nonsense, it is all your fault, you are the most hopeless person to go anywhere with. Why didn't you tell one of those policemen who we were?

Harry. Why? Well, because I didn't see one who looked as if it would interest him, if you want to know.

THE ROYAL CARRIAGES ARE APPROACHING

Chorus of Loyal Ladies of Various Ages. There – they're clearing the way – the Prince and Princess won't be long now. Here's the Life Guards' Band – don't they look byootiful in those dresses? Won't that poor drummer's arms ache to-morrow? This is the escort coming now… 'Ere come the Royalties. Don't push so, Polly, you can see without that!.. There, that was the Prince in the first one – did yer see him, Polly? Oh, yes, leastwise I see the end of a cocked 'at, which I took to be 'im. Yes, that was 'im right enough… There goes the Princess —wasn't she looking nice? I couldn't exactly make out which was her and which was the two young Princesses, they went by all in a flash like, but they did look nice!.. 'Ere's another Royalty in this kerridge – 'oo will she be, I wonder? Oh, I expect it would be the old Duchess of – No, I don't think it was 'er, – she wasn't looking pleasant enough, – and she's dead, too… Now they have got inside – 'ark at them playing bits of God Save the Queen. Well, I'm glad I've seen it.

A Son (to cheery old Lady). 'Ow are you gettin' on, Mother, eh?

Ch. O. L. First-rate, thankee, John, my boy.

Son. You ain't tired standing about so long?

Ch. O. L. Lor' bless you, no. Don't you worry about me.

Son. Could you see 'em from where you was?

Ch. O. L. I could see all the coachmen's 'ats beautiful. We'll wait and see 'em all come out, John, won't we? They won't be more than an hour and a half in there, I dessay.

A Person with a Florid Vocabulary. Well, if I'd ha' known all I was goin' to see was a set o' blanky nobs shut up in their blank-dash kerridges, blank my blanky eyes if I'd ha' stirred a blanky foot, s'elp me Dash, I wouldn't!

A Vendor (persuasively). The kerrect lengwidge of hevery flower that blows – one penny!

At a Parisian Café Chantant

Scene —An open air restaurant in the Champs-Elysées; the seats in the enclosure are rapidly filling; the diners in the gallery at the back have passed the salad stage, and are now free to take a more or less torpid interest in the Entertainment below. Enter Two Britons, who make their way to a couple of vacant chairs close to the orchestra

First Briton. Entrée libre, you see; nothing to pay! Cheaper than your precious Exhibition, eh? [Chuckles knowingly.

Second Briton (who would rather have stayed at the Exhibition but doesn't like to say so). Don't quite see how they expect the thing to pay if they don't charge anything, though.