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Updated: May 5, 2025
Now she would have to start worrying again. "Of course," argued Ginger, "there's money in revues. Over in London fellows make pots out of them." Sally shook her head. "It won't do," she said. "And I'll tell you another thing that won't do. This armchair. Of course it ought to be over by the window. You can see that yourself, can't you."
The revues burlesqued him; Sem caricatured him; Forain counterfeited him extensively in that inimitable series of Monday morning cartoons for Le Figaro: one said "De Morbihan" instinctively at sight of that stocky figure, short and broad, topped by a chubby, moon-like mask with waxed moustaches, womanish eyes, and never-failing grin.
It has hardly a point of contact with the average Englishman; it does not understand his revues and musical comedies, his novels and cinemas, his hunting and race meetings; it speaks a different language, thinks altogether different thoughts.
In a world which had somehow become chaotic again after an all too brief period of peace, he was solid and consoling. "I shouldn't worry," observed Ginger with Winch-like calm, when she had finished drawing for him the picture of a Fillmore rampant against a background of expensive revues. Sally nearly shook him. "It's all very well to tell me not to worry," she cried. "How can I help worrying?
I spoke on serious subjects, but with a joke or two in loco, at the universities, at business gatherings, and at London dinners; I watched, lost in admiration, the inspired merriment of the Savages of Adelphi Terrace, and in my moments of leisure I observed, with a scientific eye, the gaieties of the London revues.
None had the slightest idea why the revue had failed; for precisely similar revues, concocted according to the same recipe and full of the same jocularities executed by the same players at the same salaries, had crowded the theatre for many months together. It was an incomprehensible universe. Christine suddenly shrugged her shoulders and walked out. What use in staying to the end?
It was not even possible to give an adequate idea of all the authors requiring mention within the limited frame adopted perforce. Besides, mention may be made of an article in the Revue des Revues, by M. Ludvipol, of Paris.
They are disappointing people; without candour, without imagination. Yet what a look of personality hangs about them.... To-night ... Mr. Pettitt: "Sister!" "Yes, Mr. Pettitt." "Do you ever go to theatres? Do you like them?" At the risk of appearing unnatural, I said, "Not much." "Oh ... I thought.... H'm, that's a pity. Don't you like revues?" "Oh, yes...."
In the center of the lawn was a kiosk, and on the four sides the rue de Rivoli, the garden of the Cercle Militaire, the grounds of the former palace of the Pomarés, now the executive offices, and the pavilion of the Revues. I went early when the lights were being turned on.
On the night of our second day in Paris we went to a theater to see one of the topical revues, in which Paris is supposed to excel; and for sheer dreariness and blatant vulgarity Paris revues do, indeed, excel anything of a similar nature as done in either England or in America, which is saying quite a mouthful.
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