Only in Play!
"GUILLAUME DEUX," says the Figaro, "prend très au sérieux sa tâche de moralisateur." He is his own Licenser of plays, and, it may be presumed, collars the fees for doing the official Licenser's work; that is, if there be a department of this nature in the Lord Chamberlain's Office. And His Imperial Highhandedness not only is his own licenser, but is a self-appointed Stage-Manager, for, continues the Figaro, "Il a préscrit que, dans une pièce moderne, LE NOUVEAU MAITRE, une scène un peu violente ne fût pas jouée à l'avant-scène, mais au fond du théâtre." If His Imperial Majesty should permit some of IBSEN'S plays to be performed, Ghosts for example, or Hedda Gabler, no doubt most of the dialogue would be given right at the back of the stage, out of ear-shot of the audience. In ordinary dramas the Villain who may have to use strong language, or in farce the Eccentric Comedian who frequently has to utter more or less playfully a meaningless "big big D," would by Imperial command be compelled to "retire up" to deliver himself of the expletive, and then would have to "come down to the front" and continue the stage-business. But, not satisfied with merely giving the above stage-directions, His Imperial Majesty "est allé samedi s'assurer en personne que ses ordres étaient bien exécutés." No dodging such an Emperor as this. How would Herr Von IRVING and Herr TOOLE like this personal supervision? And how about Herren JONES, PINERO, W.S. GILBERT and a few others, who would not particularly enjoy having their stage-directions upset by even an Imperial amateur. The next move of GUILLAUME DEUX will be to make himself honorary prompter, and it may be to cast himself for the leading parts.
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
"DICKENSII nihil à me alienum puto," quoth the Baron, taking up A Week's Tramp in Dickens-Land. By W.K. HUGHES, F.L.S., with Illustrations by F.G. KITTON, and Others, published by Messrs. CHAPMAN AND HALL. Ahem! The frisky KITTON, having several tales to play with (probably some relation to the Cat-'o-nine-tails, eh?), has done his work well; and the same may be said for Others. The work can be recommended as a book of pictorial reference for Dickensian students, but otherwise it is—ahem—superfluous. If this kind of trading on the name of DICKENS continues, we shall probably become HUGHES'd to seeing such announcements as, "Shortly to appear,—The Collected Bills of the Butcher and Baker of Charles Dickens; Upper Storeys of Houses in whose Neighbourhood Charles Dickens resided; Some Tradesmen's Accounts, Receipted and Returned with Thanks, Autographically, to Charles Dickens, &c., &c.
A sad story, picturesquely commenced, and powerfully ended, is RUDYARD KIPLING'S The Light that Failed. But, between these two extremes, the conversations have the deadly fault of being wearisome, and, as to the manner of their conversation, were the Baron compelled to listen to much of it, life would indeed not be worth living. The women-kind in it are all detestable; there is none of them that doeth good in the novel, no, not one. It becomes gradually gloomier and gloomier, and, indeed, it is well styled The Light that Failed. Since DAUDET'S Jack, the Baron calls to mind no book more pitiful, no characters more heartless, and no sadder ending. Clever, of course; artistic, equally so; but—well, the Baron's advice to his enemies is, Go in heavily for Christmas festivities, have an orgy of plum-pudding, creams, sweets, and mince-pies, and, on the day after Boxing Day, stay indoors, and read The Light that Failed.
The Light that Failed; or,
a Thief in the Candle.
In the Baron's office there are several departments, where SAM the Skipper for novels, CHILD HAROLD for children's books, and PETER the Salt for tales of the sea, are specially busy at Christmas time. To quote the ancient song of the "Mistletoe Bough":—