absolutely insupportable to a stranger, but which the initiated
audience, mainly composed of the common people, receive (so they do
everything else) quite as a matter of course, and as if he were a
man. His spirits are prodigious. He continually shakes his legs,
and winks his eye. And there is a heavy father with grey hair, who
sits down on the regular conventional stage-bank, and blesses his
daughter in the regular conventional way, who is tremendous. No
one would suppose it possible that anything short of a real man
could be so tedious. It is the triumph of art.
In the ballet, an Enchanter runs away with the Bride, in the very
hour of her nuptials, He brings her to his cave, and tries to
soothe her. They sit down on a sofa (the regular sofa! in the
regular place, O. P. Second Entrance!) and a procession of
musicians enters; one creature playing a drum, and knocking himself
off his legs at every blow. These failing to delight her, dancers
appear. Four first; then two; THE two; the flesh-coloured two.
The way in which they dance; the height to which they spring; the
impossible and inhuman extent to which they pirouette; the
revelation of their preposterous legs; the coming down with a
pause, on the very tips of their toes, when the music requires it;
the gentleman’s retiring up, when it is the lady’s turn; and the
lady’s retiring up, when it is the gentleman’s turn; the final
passion of a pas-de-deux; and the going off with a bound! – I shall
never see a real ballet, with a composed countenance again.
I went, another night, to see these Puppets act a play called ‘St.
Helena, or the Death of Napoleon.’ It began by the disclosure of
Napoleon, with an immense head, seated on a sofa in his chamber at
St. Helena; to whom his valet entered with this obscure
announcement:
‘Sir Yew ud se on Low?’ (the OW, as in cow).
Sir Hudson (that you could have seen his regimentals!) was a
perfect mammoth of a man, to Napoleon; hideously ugly, with a
monstrously disproportionate face, and a great clump for the lowerjaw,
to express his tyrannical and obdurate nature. He began his
system of persecution, by calling his prisoner ‘General
Buonaparte;’ to which the latter replied, with the deepest tragedy,
‘Sir Yew ud se on Low, call me not thus. Repeat that phrase and
leave me! I am Napoleon, Emperor of France!’ Sir Yew ud se on,
nothing daunted, proceeded to entertain him with an ordinance of
Page 33
Dickens, Charles – Pictures From Italy
the British Government, regulating the state he should preserve,
and the furniture of his rooms: and limiting his attendants to
four or five persons. ‘Four or five for ME!’ said Napoleon. ‘Me!
One hundred thousand men were lately at my sole command; and this
English officer talks of four or five for ME!’ Throughout the
piece, Napoleon (who talked very like the real Napoleon, and was,
for ever, having small soliloquies by himself) was very bitter on
‘these English officers,’ and ‘these English soldiers;’ to the
great satisfaction of the audience, who were perfectly delighted to
have Low bullied; and who, whenever Low said ‘General Buonaparte’
(which he always did: always receiving the same correction), quite
execrated him. It would be hard to say why; for Italians have
little cause to sympathise with Napoleon, Heaven knows.
There was no plot at all, except that a French officer, disguised
as an Englishman, came to propound a plan of escape; and being
discovered, but not before Napoleon had magnanimously refused to
steal his freedom, was immediately ordered off by Low to be hanged.
In two very long speeches, which Low made memorable, by winding up
with ‘Yas!’ – to show that he was English – which brought down
thunders of applause. Napoleon was so affected by this
catastrophe, that he fainted away on the spot, and was carried out
by two other puppets. Judging from what followed, it would appear
that he never recovered the shock; for the next act showed him, in
a clean shirt, in his bed (curtains crimson and white), where a