Puppets at Large: Scenes and Subjects from Mr Punch's Show

Bayard.. I must admit that you have the advantage of me in cheapness. If I thought she grudged me my oats – But I'm afraid I couldn't manage on a drop or two of oil.

The Bicycle. You'd want buckets of it to oil your bearings. No, she wouldn't save by that! (Stubbs re-enters.) Ah, here comes my man. I must be going; got to take her over to Pineborough, rather a bore this dusty weather, but when a lady's in the case, eh?

Bayard. There's a nasty hill going into Pineborough; do be careful how you take her down it!

The Bicycle. You forget, my friend, I'm not a Boneshaker, I'm a Safety. Why, she'll just put her feet up on the rests, fold her arms, and leave the rest to me. She knows I can be trusted.

Bayard. Just tell me this before you go. Does – she doesn't pat you, or kiss you on your – er – handle-bar after a run, does she?

The Bicycle (turning its front wheel to reply, as Stubbs wheels it out). You don't imagine I should stand any sentimental rot of that sort, do you? She knows better than to try it on!

Bayard (to himself). I'm glad she doesn't kiss it. I don't think I could have stood that!

Same Scene. Some Hours Later.

Stubbs (enters, carrying a dilapidated machine with crumpled handles, a twisted saddle, and a front wheel distorted into an irregular pentagon). Well, I 'ope as 'ow this'll sarve as a lesson to 'er, I dew; a marcy she ain't broke her blessed little neck! (To the Bicycle.) No need to be hover and above purtickler 'bout scratchin' your enamel now, any'ow! (He pitches it into a corner, and goes.)

Bayard (after reconnoitring). You don't mean to say it's you!

The Bicycle. Me? of course it's me! A nice mess I'm in, too, entirely owing to her carelessness. Never put the brake on down that infernal hill, lost all control over me, and here I am, a wreck, Sir! Why, I had to be driven home, by a grinning groom, in a beastly dog-cart! Pleasant that!

Bayard. But she – Miss Diana – was she hurt? Not – not seriously, eh?

The Bicycle. Oh, of course you don't care what becomes of me so long as —She's all right enough – fell in a ditch, luckily for her, I came down on a heap of stones. It'll be weeks before I'm out of the repairer's hands.

Bayard (to himself). I oughtn't to be glad; but I am – I am! She's safe, and – and she'll come back to me after this! (To the Bicycle.) Wasn't she sorry for you?

The Bicycle. Not she! These women have no feeling in them. Why, what do you suppose she said when they told me it would take weeks to tinker me up?

Bayard (to himself – with joy). I think I can guess! (To the Bicycle.) What did she say?

The Bicycle (rattling with indignation). Why, all she said was: "How tiresome! I wonder if I can hire a decent bike here without having to send to town for one." There's gratitude for you! But you can't enter into my feelings about it.

Bayard. Pardon me – I fancy I can. And, after all, your day will come, when the Vet has set you up again. Mine's over for ever. (To himself.) Oh, why, why wasn't I born a bicycle!

A DOLL'S DIARY

January 1.– Just had a brilliant idea —quite original. I don't believe even any human person ever thought of such a thing, but then, – besides being extremely beautiful and expensive, with refined wax features and golden hair – I am a very clever doll indeed. Frivolous, no doubt; heartless, so they tell me – but the very reverse of a fool. I flatter myself that if anybody understands the nature of toys, especially male toys – but I am forgetting my idea – which is this. I am going this year to write down – the little girl I belong to has no idea I can write, but I can– and better than she does, too! – to write down every event of importance that happens, with the dates. There! I fancy that is original enough. It will be a valuable dollian document when it is done, and most interesting to look back upon. Now I must wait for something to happen.

January 6.– Went to Small Dance given by the Only Other Wax Doll (a dreadful old frump!) on the Nursery Hearthrug. Room rather nicely illuminated by coloured fire from grate, and a pyramid nightlight, but floor poor. Didn't think much of the music – a fur monkey at the Digitorium, and a woolly lamb who brought his own bellows, make rather a feeble orchestra. Still, on the whole, enjoyed myself. Much admired. Several young Ninepins, who are considered stuck-up, and keep a good deal to their own set, begged to be introduced. Sat out one dance with a Dice-box, who rattled away most amusingly. I understand he is quite an authority on games, and anything that falls from his mouth is received with respect. He is a great sporting character, too, and arranges all the meetings on the Nursery Race-course, besides being much interested in Backgammon. I do like a Toy to have manly tastes!

The Captain of a Wooden Marching Regiment quartered in the neighbourhood was there in full uniform, but not dancing. Told me they didn't in his regiment. As his legs are made in one piece and glued on to a yellow stand, inclined to think this was not mere military swagger. He seemed considerably struck with me. Made an impression, too, on a rather elderly India-rubber Ball. Snubbed him, as one of the Ninepins told me he was considered "a bit of a bounder."

Some of the Composition Dolls, I could see, were perfectly stiff with spite and envy. Spent a very pleasant evening, not getting back to my drawer till daylight. Too tired to write more.

Mem.– Not to sit out behind the coal-scuttle another time!

February 14.– Amount of attention I receive really quite embarrassing. The Ninepins are too absurdly devoted. One of them (the nicest of all) told me to-day he had never been so completely bowled over in his whole existence! I manage to play them off against each other, however. The India-rubber Ball, too, is at my feet – and, naturally, I spurn him, but he is so short-winded that nothing will induce him to rise. Though naturally of an elastic temperament, he has been a good deal cast down of late. I smile on him occasionally – just to keep the Ball rolling; but it is becoming a frightful bore.

March.– Have been presented with a charming pony-carriage, with two piebald ponies that go by clock work. I wish, though, I was not expected to share it with a live kitten! The kitten has no idea of repose, and spoils the effect of the turn-out. Try not to seem aware of it – even when it claws my frock. Rather interested in a young Skipjack, whom I see occasionally; he is quite good-looking, in a common sort of way. I talk to him now and then – it is something to do; and he is a new type, so different from the Ninepins!

April 1.– Have just heard the Skipjack is engaged to a plaster Dairy-maid. A little annoyed, because he really seemed – Have been to see his fiancée, a common-place creature, with red cheeks, and a thick waist. Congratulate the Skipjack, with just a hint that he might have looked higher. Afraid that he misunderstood me, for he absolutely jumped.

April 7.– The Skipjack tells me he has broken off his engagement; he seems to think I shall guess the reason – but I don't, of course. Then he actually has the impertinence to (I can scarcely pen the words for indignation) to propose– to Me! I inform him, in the most unmistakable terms, that he has presumed on my good-nature, and that there are social barriers between us, which no Skipjack can ever surmount. He leaves me abruptly, after declaring that I have broken the spring of his existence.

April 8.– Much shocked and annoyed. The Skipjack found quite stiff and colourless this morning, in the water-jug! Must have jumped in last night. So very rash and silly of him! Am sure I gave him no encouragement – or next to none. Hear that the Dairy-maid has gone off her head. Of course it will be put down to grief; but we all know how easily plaster heads get cracked. Feel really distressed about it all, for the blame is sure to fall on me. Those Composition Dolls will make a fine scandal out of it!

May.– The Ninepins are getting very difficult to manage; have to put them down as delicately as possible; but I am afraid, poor fellows, they are dreadfully upset. The Wooden Captain has challenged the Dice-box to a duel – I fear, on my account. However, as the officer's sword will not unglue, I hope nothing will come of it. All this most worrying, though, and gives me little real satisfaction. I find myself sighing for more difficult conquests.

June.– Went to afternoon tea with the biggest Dutch Doll. Rather a come-down, but now that there is this coolness between the Composition set and myself, I must go somewhere. I feel so bored at times! Can see the ridiculous Dutch thing is trying to out-dress me! She had a frock on that must have cost at least fifty beads, and I don't believe it will ever be paid for! Only made her look the bigger guy, though! Tea-party a stupid affair. Make-believe tea in pewter cups. Met the latest arrival, a really nice-looking Gentleman Doll, introduced as "Mr. Joseph." Very innocent face, without any moustache, and the sweetest blue eyes (except mine) I think I ever saw! Seemed rather shy, but pleasant. Asked him to call.

June 18.– Mr. Joseph has not called yet. Very strange! Suspect those horrid Composition Dolls have been setting him against me. Met him by the back-board and scolded him. He seemed confused. By a little management, I got it all out of him. I was right. He has been told about the Skipjack. He has strict principles, and gave me to understand that he would prefer to decline my acquaintance – which was like his impudence! This is exciting, though. I intend to overcome these scruples; I mean him to be madly in love with me – then I shall scornfully reject him, which will serve him just right!

July.– My tactics have succeeded —at last! To-day Joseph called, ostensibly to beg me to go and see the unhappy Ball, who, it seems, is terribly collapsed, reduced to a mere bowl, and so exhausted that he cannot hold out much longer. However, in the course of the interview, I soon made him oblivious of the Ball. He fell at my feet. "Beautiful Gloriana," he cried, "with all your many and glaring faults, I love you!" Then I carried out the rest of my programme – it was a painful scene, and I will only record that when he left me, he was completely un-dolled! I feel almost sorry for him – he had rather a nice face!

July 4.– I don't seem able to settle to anything. After all, I think I will go and see the poor Ball. It would comfort him, and I might see him there. I will order the pony-carriage.

August.– What has happened to me? Where have I been all this time? Let me collect myself, and see how much I remember. My last clear recollection is of being in my carriage on my way to receive the departing Ball's last sigh… Something has started the clockwork. My ponies are bolting, and I haven't the slightest control over them! We are rushing along the smooth plain of the chest of drawers, and rapidly nearing the edge. I try to scream for help, but all I can utter is, "Papa!" and "Mamma!" All at once I see him standing, calm and collected, on the very brink of the precipice. Is he strong enough to stop the ponies in their mad clockwork career, and save me, even yet? How I will love him if he does! An instant of sickening suspense … we are over! – falling down, down, down… A crash, a whirr of clockwork, a rush of bran to my head – and I know no more. What follows is a dream – a horrible, confused nightmare – of lying among a heap of limp bodies – some armless, some legless, others (ah! the horror of it) headless! I grope blindly for my own limbs – they are intact; then I feel the place where I naturally expect to find my head – it is gone!.. The shock is too much – I faint once more. And that is all.

Thank goodness, it was only a dream – for here I am, in the same old nursery again! Not all a dream, either – or my pony-carriage would scarcely present such a damaged appearance. The accident was real. Then what —what has become of Joseph? I must find him – I must make him understand that I repent – that, for the future, I intend to be a changed doll!

September.– Still searching for Joseph. No trace of him. I seem to be a changed doll in more ways than one. My former set knows me not. The Ninepins do not stagger when I smile at them now; the Dice-box gapes open-mouthed at my greeting. I call upon the Composition Dolls – they are very polite; but it is quite clear that they don't remember me in the least! Alas! how soon one is forgotten in the world of Toys! Have no heart to recall myself to them. I go, for the first time since my accident, to a convenient brass knob, in which I would once gaze at my reflected features by the hour. How indescribable are my sensations at the discovery that I have a totally new head– a china one! I, who used to look down on china dolls! It is a very decent head, in its way; quite neat and inoffensive, with smooth, shiny hair, which won't come down like the golden locks I once had. I am glad – yes, glad now – that Joseph has gone, and the home he used to occupy is deserted, and shut up. If he were here, he would not know me either. Now I can live single all my remaining days, in memory of him, and devote myself to doing good!

October.– Have entered on my new career. Am organising a Mission for Lost Toys, and a Clothing Club for Rag Dolls. To-day, while "slumming" in the lumber-closet, found my old acquaintance, the Dutch Doll in a shocking state of destitution – nothing on her but a piece of tattered tissue-paper! To think that my evil example and her own senseless extravagance have brought her to this! Gave her one of my old tea-gowns and a Sunday domino, but did not reveal myself. Feeling very sad and lonely: think I shall have to keep a mouse – I must have something to love me!

October 15.– Someone has taken poor dear Joseph's old house. I see a new doll, with a small but worldly black moustache and a very bad countenance, watching me as I pass the windows. Shall call and leave a scripture brick. It may do him good.

October 16.– Have called… Never heard worse language from the lips of any doll! Came across my old admirer, the Ball, who is better, though still what I have heard the nursery governess describe as an "oblate spheroid." Of course, he did not recognise me.

December.– Have seen a good deal of the Doll with the worldly moustache lately. From certain symptoms, do not despair of reforming him – ultimately. He seems softening. Yesterday he told me he did not think he should live long. Yet he has a splendid constitution – the best porcelain. He is dreadfully cynical – seems so reckless about everything. If I could only reclaim him – for Joseph's sake!

This afternoon I saw the yellow stand which the Wooden Captain used to occupy. What memories it recalled, ah me! Can he have disgraced himself and been "broke"? And am I responsible?

Christmas Eve.– Am sitting in my corner, my mouse curled comfortably at my feet, when the Walking Postman comes up with a letter – for me! It is from the Wicked Doll! He is very ill —dying, he thinks – and wishes to see me. How well I remember that other message which Joseph – but Joseph is taken, and the Ball still bounds! Well, I will go. It will be something to tell my Diary.

Christmas Day.– Something indeed! How shall I begin my wondrous incredible tale? I reached the Doll's House, which looked gloomier and more deserted than ever, with the sullen glow of the dying fire reflected redly in its windows. The green door stood open – I went in. "Ha, ha! trapped!" cried a sneering voice behind me. It was the Wicked Doll! His letter was a ruse– he was as well as I was – and I – I was shut up there in that lonely house, entirely at his mercy!.. It was a frightful position for any doll to be placed in; and yet, looking back on it now, I don't think I minded it so very much.

"Listen!" he said, in response to my agonized entreaties. "Long, long ago, when I was young and innocent, a beautiful but heartless being bewitched me, kid and bran! I told my love – she mocked at me. Since then I have sworn, though she has escaped me, to avenge myself by sacrificing the life of the first doll I could entice into my power. You are that doll. You must die!"… "I am quite prepared," I told him – "do your worst!" which seemed to confuse him very much. "I will," he said, "presently – presently; there is no hurry. You see," he explained, in a tone almost of apology, "in endeavouring to save her life (it was my last good action) I got my head smashed, and received the substitute I now wear, which, as you will observe, is that of an unmitigated villain. And it's no use having a head like that if you don't live up to it —is it, now? So – as I think I observed before – prepare for the worst!" "Don't talk about it any more —do it!" I said, and I breathed Joseph's name softly. But the Wicked Doll did nothing at all. I began to feel safer – it was so obvious that he hadn't the faintest notion what to do. "She treated me abominably," he said feebly; "any doll would have been annoyed at the heartless way in which Gloriana – "

I could contain my feelings no longer.

"Joseph!" I gasped (I had lost all fear of him), "you ridiculous old goose, don't you know me? I am Gloriana, and I have found you at last!" And with that I flung myself into his arms, and told him everything. I think he was more relieved than anything. "So you are Gloriana!" he said. "It's dreadfully bewildering; but, to tell you the honest truth, I can't keep up this villainy business any longer. I haven't been brought up to it, and I don't understand how it's done. So I tell you what we'll do. If you'll leave off living up to your new head, I won't try to live up to mine!" And so we settled it.

Postscript. December 31.– We are to be married to-morrow. The Dutch Doll is to be my bridesmaid, and the Wooden Captain (who was only away on sick leave, after all) is coming up to be best man. I have seen the poor old Ball, and told him there will always be a corner for him in our new home. I am very, very happy. To think that Joseph should still care for his poor Gloriana, altered and homely as her once lovely features have now become! But Joseph (who is leaning over my shoulder and reading every word I write) stops me here to assure me that I am lovelier than ever in his eyes. And really – I don't know – perhaps I am. And in other persons' eyes, too, if it comes to that. I certainly don't intend to give up society just because I happen to be married!

ELEVATING THE MASSES

(A Purely Imaginary Sketch.)

Argument – Mrs. Flittermouse, having got up a party to assist her in giving an Entertainment at the East End, has called a meeting for the purpose of settling the items in the programme.

Mrs. Flittermouse's Drawing-room in Park Lane. Everybody discovered drinking tea, and chatting on matters totally unconnected with Philanthropy.

Mrs. Flittermouse (imploringly). Now, please, everybody, do attend! It's quite impossible to settle anything while you're all talking about something else. (Apologies, protests, constrained silence.) Selina, dear, what do you think it would be best to begin with?

The Dowager Lady Dampier. My dear Fritilla, I have no suggestion to offer. You know my opinion about the whole thing. The people don't want to be elevated, and – if they did – entertaining them is not the proper means to set about it. But I don't wish to discourage you.

Mrs. Flitt. Oh, but I think we could do so much to give them a taste for more rational and refined amusements, poor things, to wean them from the coarse pleasures which are all they have at present. Only we must really decide what each of us is going to do.

Mrs. Perse-Weaver. A violin solo is always popular. And my daughter Cecilia will be delighted to play for you. She has been taught by the best —

Cecelia. Oh, Mother, I couldn't, really! I've never played in public. I know I should break down!

Lady Damp. In that case, my dear, it would be certainly unwise on your part to attempt it.

Mrs. P. – W. Nonsense, Cecilia, nonsense. You won't break down, and it wouldn't matter in the least if you did. They wouldn't notice anything. And it will be such excellent practice for you to get accustomed to a platform, too. Of course she will play for you, dear Mrs. Flittermouse!

Mrs. Flitt. It will be so good of you, Miss Weaver. And it won't be like playing to a real audience, you know – poor people are so easily pleased, poor dears. Then I will put that down to begin with. (She makes a note.) Now we must have something quite different for the next – a reading or something.

Lady Honor Hyndleggs. A – nothin' humorous, I hope. I do think we ought to avoid anythin' like descendin' to their level, don't you know.

Mr. Lovegroove. Might try something out of Pickwick. "Bob Sawyer's Party," you know. Can't go far wrong with anything out of Dickens.

Miss Diova Rose. Can't endure him myself. All his characters are so fearfully common; still – (tolerantly) I daresay it might amuse – a – that class of persons.

Mrs Flitt. I must say I agree with Lady Honor. We should try and aim as high as possible – and well, I think not Dickens, dear Mr. Lovegroove. Tennyson might do perhaps; he's written some charmin' pieces.

Mr. Lovegr. Well, fact is, I don't go in for poetry much myself. But I'll read anythin' of his you think I'm equal to.

Mrs. Flitt. Why – a – really, it's so long since I – and I'm afraid I haven't one of his poems in the house. I suppose they are down at Barn-end. But I could send to Cutt and Hawthorn's. I daresay they would have a copy somewhere.

Miss Sibson-Gabler. Surely Tennyson is rather – a – retrograde? Why not read them something to set them thinking? It would be an interesting experiment to try the effect of that marvellous Last Scene in the Doll's House. I'd love to read it. It would be like a breath of fresh air to them!

Mrs. P. – W. Oh, I've seen that at the Langham Hall. You remember, Cecilia, my taking you there? And Corney Grain played Noah. To be sure – we were quite amused by it all.

Miss S. – G. (coldly). This is not amusing – it's a play of Ibsen's.

Mrs. Flitt. Is that the man who wrote the piece at the Criterion – what is it, The Toy Shop? Wyndham acted in it.

Lady Damp. No, no; Ibsen is the person there's been all this fuss about in the papers – he goes in for unconventionality and all that. I may be wrong, but I think it is such a mistake to have anything unconventional in an Entertainment for the People.

Mrs. Flitt. But if he's being talked about, dear Lady Dampier, people might like to know something about him. But perhaps we'd better leave Ibsen open, then. Now, what shall we have next?

Miss Skipworth. I tell you what would fetch them – a skirt-dance. I'll dance for you – like a shot. It would be no end of fun doin' it on a regular platform, and I've been studyin' Flossie Frillington, at the Inanity, till I've caught her style exactly.