At the time of the play, Harry was absent which forced them to use the understudy and the Goblin was off doing evil and quoting Puck. Turned out to be a Red Herring , but excellent touch. In fact it turns out that Mr. Fellows is actually Robin Goodfellow aka Puck himself. They were involved in a love triangle for over a season, in which Fred chose Gunn over Wes, but Wes and Fred had feelings for each other at this point and Gunn recently walked in on them kissing. This is also a reference to Angelus pitting the team against each other like Iago and Gunn who is the black guy and feels as though his skills are going unrecognized.
In Aladdin , the villain's parrot sidekick is named Iago. Which, considering it's set centuries before Shakespeare was even born, is just another ingredient of the delicious Anachronism Stew that Aladdin serves up. In Dom Casmurro the main character watches it in the theater. Iago from Fire Emblem Fates is very much like his namesake from Othello , being an adviser who hates the main character and tries to make them as miserable as possible. The Gargoyles arc involving Coldstone borrows heavily from Othello. Coldstone is in the role of Othello, Goliath is Cassius, the antagonist gargoyle Coldsteel is credited as Iago initially, and the female Coldfire is credited as Desdemona originally.
The reason for this is because he "bought the play," meaning that he'd make a lot of money but he would have to do the same play for the rest of his acting career. Baron Sardonicus and Sir Cargrave bring up Iago while discussing about evil characters in Shakespeare's work during dinner in Mr. The titular character of Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf quotes Othello when she thinks to herself that "if it were now to die 'twere now to be most happy.
Tosca : In his first scene, Scarpia explicitly compares himself to Iago, apparently for no other reason than to make sure that the audience knows who the bad guy is from the start.
About this book
Richard II. Richard III. Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, by drunken prophecies, libels and dreams, to set Comedy Central and Jon Stewart in deadly hate, the one against the other; and if Comedy Central be as true and just as I am subtle, false, and treacherous, this day should Jon Stewart closely be mewed up. The Sonnets. One young man in Dead Poets Society tries to impress a girl by reciting Sonnet Doctor Who contained a veiled reference to Sonnet 57 among many, many less subtle references, natch in the episode featuring the Bard himself.
The Doctor: Come on! We can have a good flirt later. Shakespeare: Is that a promise, Doctor? The Doctor: Oh, fifty-seven academics just punched the air. The Tempest. The Savage really knows his Shakespeare. Arguably, "Brave New World" is almost the opposite of "To thine own self be true" nowadays. Whereas "to thine own self be true" was meant as ironic in context , it is now used seriously. Another little one in Call of Duty: Black Ops : while the player is being led into the inner sanctum of the Pentagon by Robert McNamara, the clearance codes he gives at the checkpoints are "Sycorax" and "Prospero".
The Collector : The main female character is called Miranda, and she gets kidnapped by Frederick who sees himself and introduces himself as Ferdinand, because he would like to invoke a romance between them, based on the couple. Miranda thinks of him as monster and calls him Caliban. Daughters of the Dust : As the boat Viola's in approaches the island, where she grew up but moved away from years ago, Viola says "What's past is prologue. Moreover, Miranda's most famous line in The Tempest is "O brave new world, that hath such people in it! If one wants to stretch it a bit, the Reavers could be seen as a reference to Caliban.
There's a little one in Galaxy of Fear. A long-dead witch went by the name of Sycorax. Prospero's "We are such stuff as dreams are made on" was paraphrased by Humphrey Bogart for his iconic final line in The Maltese Falcon : "The stuff that dreams are made of". In On the Verge , Alex does the "O brave new world" line straight, only to be immediately lampshaded as a plagiarist by Fanny. The Relativity villain, Phanthro, is a big fan of Shakespeare. In his introductory story, "Pressure Cooker", all of the clues he gives the heroes are in the form of "Tempest" quotes.
His outfit even indirectly references the play. Rain of the Ghosts takes place on Prospero Keys and features a character named Miranda among other references. The Simpsons did it with " Three Men and a Comic Book ", Martin Prince also paraphrases Prospero's line when he touches the pages of the comic book "Radioactive Man 1": Martin Prince : Clearly moved and respectful : "This is the stuff that dreams are made of".
Titus Andronicus. In Gotham , this is how Penguin deals with his stepfamily for what they did to his father in trying to get rid of him. No points for guessing how the sole survivor reacts to the reveal that she had been tricked into eating her own children before Penguin finishes her off. Twelfth Night. Phibes in Dr. Phibes Rises Again. A phrase which is equalled only by "wherefore art thou Romeo" for 'Shakespearian lines horribly misunderstood by the general public '.
Shakespeare repeatedly dramatized the disagreement between militarist and pacifist perceptions of warfare in the many plays he devoted to military matters. In the course of his career, he shifted from a partisan of war to a partisan of peace. The turning point of this development occurred between the publication dates of his two battlefield plays, Henry V and Troilus and Cressida--and that shift in outlook reflects a shift in British foreign policy that began during the last years of Queen Elizabeth's reign and was completed with the accession of King James I in "A prince must not have any other object nor any other thought, nor must he take anything as his profession but war, its institutions, and its discipline; because that is the only profession which befits one who commands.
Since the fall of the Roman Empire, European political power and social status were vested largely in a warrior elite descended from Germanic chiefs. Their martial values and cultural identity were sublimated by the intellectual and bureaucratic legacy of the Church of Rome into the institutions of feudalism and the ideology of chivalry, but Europe throughout the Middle Ages retained the underpinnings of a warrior culture. For Renaissance militarists war was an end in itself, the fundamental condition of social life, individual psychology and all creation: "There is not in nature a point of stability to be found; everything either ascends or declines: when wars are ended abroad, sedition begins at home, and when men are freed from fighting for necessity, they quarrel through ambition I put for a general inclination of all mankind, a perpetual and restless desire after power that ceaseth only with death.
Rather than normal health, Erasmus sees war and violence as aberrant pathology--in nature, in society and in the individual. Rather than identical with force, Erasmus sees power or authority as distinct from it. The duty of Erasmus' prince consists not of making or preparing for war, but rather of avoiding it and serving his people, on whose satisfaction he depends for legitimacy. Real power and true heroism lie not in physical dominance over others but in self mastery. To establish and maintain peace should be the goal of all princes, a goal achieved by the greatest spriritual and temporal leaders in history, Jesus and Augustus.
Peter Brueghel's "War of the Treasure Chests and Money Bags" illustrates the satirical indictment of conducting wars for plunder and profit. The poles of this dispute generate a grid upon which Shakespeare's plots, characters, and themes can be charted--both in individual plays and over the course of his career. That career begins with the Marlovian militarism of the first history tetralogy and the glorification of violence in Titus Andronicus andTaming of the Shrew, all written during the early 's.
In the middle nineties, with King John and the four plays of the second history tetralogy, the battlefield remains the arena for the exercise of both individual and collective virtue. In chivalric celebration of war, in Henry V Shakespeare aims the full blast of his rhetorical power at the audience. The choruses inflame us to collaborate with the author in producing a spectacle to sweep away thought in a flood of patriotic passion. Along with the thrills of rockets red glare and bombs bursting in air, he invokes the romantic appeal of battle as an occasion for displaying mettle under fire in the face of bad odds.
Chivalry also provided ethical rationales for war which this play repeatedly invokes. Since Augustine, the church had evolved a doctrine of "just war" to regulate the military aristocracy and to exempt it from Biblical taboos against killing. Justification resided both in legitimate war aims--jus ad bellum--and in legitimate conduct of fighting--jus in bello.
Shakespeare's Henry is extremely fastidious about securing these justifications, without which, he avers, his course is one of butchery. This play also asks us to admire Henry's Machiavellian effectiveness. It depicts him mobilizing the cynical self-interestedness of all of his subjects, and it shows his success at melding those conflicting interests into the common purpose of making war on France. We are the makers of manners Kate, and the liberty that follows our places stops the mouth of all find- faults" 5. Henry makes his own rules in love as well as in war, like the hero of The Prince.
Well before her deathbed appointment of James Stuart King of Scotland as her successor in , Elizabeth knew of his pacifism. Like the edition of his Works, the frontispiece of this book prominently featured a picture of "Pax" carrying an olive branch and treading on a figure of vanity staring in the mirror. Whether or not that figure represents Essex, his brand of swashbuckling militarism went out of favor during the final Tudor years.
The dominant Stuart mode of expression might be characterized as a culture of pacifism. Troilus and Cressida, written in or , marks a turning point. In it Shakespeare mounts an attack on classical war heros and on the very arguments for going to war he had supported earlier, and he undermines the whole set of values and symbols that constitute Renaissance military culture. The plays of Shakespeare's "tragic period" which follows Troilus and Cressida continue to focus on the problem of war, but with a deepening psychological penetration.
Othello, Macbeth, Anthony, Timon and Coriolanus all are great generals whose martial virtues are shown to be tragically flawed. The plays in which they are protagonists reveal that military power, the highest value of both the hero and his society, is a concomitant of deficiency in power over oneself and finally the loser in a battle with the greater power of love.
Troilus forms a companion piece to Henry V. Instead of glorifying, it condemns war and those who make it. In the earlier play Shakespeare counters pacifist objections to war with militarist rationales; here, he counters militarist rationales with pacifist objections. In reducing war from a providential tool to an instrument of chaos, he inverts the rhetorical strategies of Henry V and also shrinks the proportions of epic to the distortions of satire.
The chorus of Henry V apologizes for "confining mighty men" of his story in the "little room" of the theatre, implying that the members of the audience are midgets in comparison to the heros who will be portrayed on stage. The prologue of Troilus, on the other hand--"armed, but not in confidence"-- introduces us to "Princes orgulous" with "chafed blood" and "ticklish skittish spirits," whom we may "like or find fault as our pleasures are.
The two major sources of the plot, Chaucer's Troilus and Creseyde and Chapman's translation of the Iliad, suggest the two militaristic ideologies which the play continually invokes and mocks: medieval Christian chivalry and classical pagan policy. These are usually associated respectively with the Trojans and the Greeks. The question of jus ad bellum --what is the just cause for making war? Emphasizing the very absence of jus ad bellum and the consequent immorality and irrationality of making war, Hector ignores his own reasoning, abruptly reverses his position, and goes off with Troilus to celebrate their coming victory.
The justice of the Greeks' war aims in reclaiming Helen is never mentioned; their militaristic rationales are not chivalric. But their two Machiavellian mechanisms of policy, force and fraud, are set at odds in the struggle between Achilles and Ulysses, the lion and the fox. Thus split, the Greeks are as incapable of achieving their own purely pragmatic purposes for war--morale, prestige, and conquest--as the Trojans are incapable of achieving honor and love.
As Thersites the clown: "the policy of these crafty-swearing rascals It is the fool's perspective--the perspective of an outsider critical of assumptions that in general are taken for granted--that marks Troilus and Cressida 's genre of satire. A year after the play's first appearance, another anti-militarist satire called Don Quixote was published in the nation that most Englishmen thought of as their "natural enemy. If war is no longer validated either by a heroic tradition or by the arguments of Realpolitik, one is forced to confront the question of why human beings continue to wage it and suffer its attendant disasters.
Many of their plays depict the demise of great military heros, not through the triumph of superior arms, but through failures of insight, compassion, and self-control attributable to an identity forged in battle. Othello , for example, though possessing the martial virtues of "the plain soldier," is shown to lack the learning necessary to exert self- mastery and leadership in civil society. He had golden hair, like blown thistledown in a sunset, his skin was white silk, his big eyes violet, his nose straight, and his mouth had twisting little smiles which caused the most loyal drunkards to go home and reform.
How he had ever happened to Rabbit and Bessie Tait, how the angels or the stork, or Doc McQueech had ever happened to leave Terry in the cottage behind the Y Wurry Filling Station instead of in the baronial clapboard castle of the Mechanicville banker, is a mystery which is left to the eugenists. Why don't you get busy? Whajjuh wamme do? Go out and grab some bozo's bus by the radiator cap and make him come in and buy some gas? I just want you to come and scratch its back where the mosquitoes been biting it, you poor sap! And then you can take care of this brat. Under my feet the whole dog-gone day!
She slapped Terry, generously and skilfully, and as Terry howled, Rabbit rose uneasily, pale behind the bronze splendor of his curled mustache. Bessie was obviously in one of her more powerful moods, and it is to be feared that we should have had the distressing spectacle of Mr. Tait going to work, driven by his good lady's iron jaw and granite will, had not, that second, a limousine stopped at the filling station.
In the limousine was a lady so rich, so rich and old, that she had to be virtuous. She had white hair and a complexion like an old china cup. Glancing out while Rabbit Tait cheerily turned the handle of the gas pump, she saw Terry. Juke's, in Albany. You must take him there, and introduce him to Doctor Wimple, the curate--he's so fond of the little ones!
I'm sure your dear little boy could be sent to some church school free, and think --these dreadful modern days--otherwise, with his beauty, he might get drawn into the movies as a child star, or some frightful thing like that, and be ruined! Good morning! Bessie absently slapped him, and mused, "Say, Rabbit, the old lettuce gimme a good idea. The kid might do good in the movies. Gee, maybe he could make a hundred bucks a week. I've heard some of these kids do. Golly, I'd like to have a cane with a silver dog's-head top! Tait and, gloomily, "Besides, I might miss a job changing an inner tube.
Just like you--throw away fifty cents on a fool chance that we might be able to farm the brat out at maybe fifty bucks a week some day, maybe! Abraham Hamilton Granville, president and G. Other movie satraps might have Pompeian swimming pools, cathedral organs and ballrooms floored with platinum, but it was Mr. Granville's genius--so had it been, indeed, ever since he had introduced the Holdfast Patent Button, which had put over the renowned Abe Grossburg Little Gents' Pants Co. Granville's peculiar genius that he always thought up something a little different.
He had caused cunning craftsmen to erect a fish bowl--no vulgar aquarium but a real, classy, round, glass, parlor fish bowl--twenty feet high and sixty in circumference, on the red-and-green marble terrace of his mansion, Casa Scarlatta. Poppy Peaks is an addition to Hollywood, built by the more refined and sensitive and otherwise rich members of the movie colony when Hollywood itself became too common for their aristocratic tradition.
And of all the county families and nobility of Poppy Peaks, none were more select than the intellectual powers gathered about Mr. Granville this hazy California August afternoon. Besides Mr. Granville and the production manager, Mr. Eisbein, there was Wiggins, the press agent--formerly the most celebrated red-dog player and mint-julep specialist on the coast, a man who was questionable only in his belief that mange cure will cause thinning mouse-colored hair to turn into raven richness.
But even more important than these mad magnates o' midnight was a quiet and genteel family sitting together in scarlet-painted basket chairs. The father of the family was a gentleman named Mr. Benescoten Tait. He had a handsome ruddy mustache, curled, and a gold cigarette case; he wore a lavender suit, white spats, patent-leather shoes, eyeglasses with a broad silk ribbon, and a walking stick whose top was a dog's-head of gold with ruby eyes. His lady was less cheering in appearance, but more notable; she wore a white-striped black suit with python-skin slippers.
She sat rigid, with eyes like headlights. He was in English shorts, with a Byronesque silk shirt open at the throat. But on the back of one manicured hand was a grievous smear of dirt, which more suggested raising Cain in Mechanicville, New York, than being sweet in Poppy Peaks; and crouched behind him was a disreputable specimen of that celebrated breed of canines, a Boy's Dog, who would never be exhibited in any dog show except a strictly private one behind an ill-favored barn.
Terry plays a poor little Ytalian bootblack--he's really the son of a count, but he got kidnaped--". Terry crossed over center stage and yammered, "I won't do it! I want to be a boy cowboy, or an Apache! Miss Lugg squealed, "I've got it! How about his playing the drummer boy of the regiment--Civil War stuff--saves the General when he's wounded, and Lincoln invites him to the White House?
Miss Lugg was soaring into genius before their awed eyes. But she was interrupted by the circular-saw voice of Mrs. Benescoten Tait:. Not a chance! Terry in them awful battle scenes with all them tough mob extras falling over him? That's always the trouble with wars--they make good scenes but somebody is likely to get hurt.
No, sir! Abraham Hamilton Granville. Tait sprang up, a fury on ice. A miserable two thousand a week! Believe me, on the next contract it's going to be four thousand, and if it don't come from Jupiter, there's others that'll pay it. Why, we don't hardly make expenses on two grand, having to keep up a swell social position so none of these bozos like Franchot can high-hat us, and Terry's French tutor and his dancing teacher and his trainer and his chauffeur and--and--And thank heaven I'm not ambitious like a lot of these bums that want to show off how swell they are.
Tait had a large garage there--we saved more money than what we can here, the way you hogs want to grab off all the coin and don't never think about the Artist and his folks and how they got to live. You never did have! Miss Lugg can look up all the historical dope on him. I think Terry'd look lovely in satin tights with a ruff! I don't think it's a good influence on all his Following. It ain't progress. And him with his wardrobe! While Mrs. Tait sermonized, the butler had brought out the four-o'clock cocktail tray and the afternoon papers, and Wiggins, the rusty press agent, had escaped from the sound of Bessie's voice into a nice wholesome Chicago murder story.
Seems in the paper, King Udo of Slovaria died last night of heart failure and his heir is his son, Maximilian--King Maximilian III, he'll be--and the poor kid is only ten. Youngest king in the world. But where the heck is Slovaria? I'll--I'll make you go to tea at Princess Marachecella's! Then he recited, with the greatest speed and lack of expression, "Slovaria is a Balkan kingdom bounded on the north by Roumania, on the east by Zenda, on the south by Bulgaria, and on the west by Graustark. The capital is Tzetokoskavar. The principal rivers are the Rjekl and the Zgosca.
The exports are cattle, hides, cheese and wool. The reigning monarch is Udo VII, who is descended from the renowned warrior King Hieronymus, and who is united in wedlock to the famous beauty Sidonie, a cousin of the former German Kaiser. Say, Mamma, what's a Balkan kingdom? Is it in China? I bet there ain't a kid in Hollywood that's got as swell a tutor or 's educated as good as he is!
I've got it! Terry is the boy king of a--". Everyone excepting Terry, Terry's mongrel pup and the butler listened with hot eyes, as they were caught up by the whirlwind of Lilac's genius:. Scenes in the palace--poor kid, awful' lonely, sitting on throne, end of a big throne room--the Diplomatic Hotel might let us shoot their lobby again, like we did in 'Long Live the Czar!
Show how he's a grand kid--scene of him being nice to a poor little orphan in the yard at the castle and his kitty had busted her leg, but he's so sick and tired of all this royal grandeur that he turns democratic on his guard and the court and all them, and he's meaner than a toothache to his guards and the prime minister--the prime minister'll be a grand comedy character, with long whiskers.
And the sub-plot is an American reporter, a tall, handsome bird that's doing the Balkans, and say, he's the spitting image of the king's uncle--the uncle is the heavy; he's trying to grab the throne off the poor li'l' tike. Well, one day the king--the kid--is out in the castle grounds taking his exercise, riding horseback. He's followed by a coupla hundred cavalry troops, and he treats 'em something fierce, hits 'em and so on.
Kings and all like that always wear uniforms and swords--except maybe when they're playing golf. Or swimming. Then they get to talking. I think there ought to be a flashback showing the reporter's--the hero's--happy life in Oklahoma as a boy; how he played baseball and all that. And Terry listened gloomily while Lilac led the boy king on to a climax in which he was kidnaped by New York gun men and finally rescued by the reporter and the prime minister--whiskered, comic, but heroic. While Castello Marino, the residence of the Benescoten Taits, was not so extensive as the mansion of Mr.
Abraham Granville, it was a very tasty residence, with a campanile that was an exact copy of the celebrated Mangia tower at Siena, except that it was only one fifth as tall, and composed of yellow tiles instead of rusty old-fashioned brick. In this select abode, the loving but unfortunate parents, trying so hard to give their little boy a chance to get on in the world, were having a good deal of trouble.
This morning Terry simply would not let his nice valet dress him. He said he did not like his nice valet. He said he wanted to be let alone. Tait remarked to the valet, "that Master Tait ought to wear his polo suit to Mr. Granville's office. Now, Terry, I'll let you wear your sailor suit. The English one. But I want you to realize that your disobedience just almost breaks your mother's heart! Now hurry and let Polacci dress you. The limousine is waiting. It isn't any fun to ride in a limousine.
- I Wish I Made This Up.
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You can't see anything. I want to go on the trolley. You can see all kinds of different people on the trolley. I never heard of such a thing! Who in the world has been talking to you about trolleys? They're common! There's just common vulgar folks, on trolleys! Give people a chance to look at you without paying for it? What an idea! Oh, dear, that's what comes from mixing with these extra people on the lot, picking up these common ideas! If you don't come with me in the limousine, I won't give you one bit of caviar for dinner! Benescoten spoke tentatively: "How about me and Terry going on the trolley and meeting you at Abe's?
I'd kind of like to ride on the street car myself, for a change. In Mr. Granville's office were gathered the higher nobility of the Jupiter-Triumph-Tait organization, to listen to the completed scenario of "His Majesty, Junior," the film suggested three weeks ago by Lilac Lavery Lugg. But before Miss Lugg had a chance to read it, Wiggins, the press agent, prowling up and down in the ecstasy of an idea as he talked, announced that the evening newspapers said young Maximilian III of Slovaria, with his mother, Queen Sidonie, was about to visit London. It was hinted in the papers that the astute Sidonie wanted to secure the sympathy and alliance of the British people by exhibiting the boy king.
Bessie, you and Tom and Terry go to London. I'll stay out of it, so they won't smell a mice. Clapham, our London agent, is a smart publicity grabber, anyway. You fix it, somehow, so Terry and this King Maximilian get acquainted. The two boy kings, see? They get photographed together, see? Tait looked doubtful. Poppy Peaks she knew, and Hollywood was her oyster, but neither she nor T. Benescoten nor Terry had ever tackled the dread unknown lands beyond the Atlantic.
But she brightened and looked resolute as Wiggins cunningly added:. In the sacred recesses of the Benescoten Tait home, in the Etruscan breakfast room, where love birds and Himalayan canaries billed and cooed and caroled in red enameled cages, and the solid-marble dining table glowed prettily with nineteen dollars' worth of orchids, the Tait family discussed the invasion of Europe.
They had just returned from Mr. Granville's office, where they had accepted Lilac's scenario of "His Majesty, Junior. Benescoten, "that if we get held up in London very long, I'll run over to Paris, if you don't mind, Bessie. Why, I just want to see the city. You know, get acquainted with French customs.
Nothing so broadening as travel. Fat chance, you going to Paris by yourself and drinking a lot of hootch and chasing around after a lot of wild women. In fact, come to think of it, Rabbit, I guess Terry and I can pull this off better if we leave you home. Bessie faced her two men with her hands on her hips, her jaw out, and when she stood thus, no one who knew her opposed her, unless he was looking for death.
Benescoten grumbled, Terry wailed, but Bessie glared them down. Then she stalked to the telephone and ordered the immediate attendance of a dressmaker, a women's tailor, a shoemaker, a milliner, a hairdresser, a masseuse, an osteopath, a French tutor and a Higher Thought lecturer. When, two weeks later, she took the train, she had fourteen new evening frocks, eight new ensembles, thirty-seven new hats, eight new pairs of snake-skin shoes, a thumb ring of opals, a gold-mounted dressing bag, and a lovely new calm manner purchased from the Higher Thought lecturer.
All the way from Poppy Peaks to New York, Terry and his smiling, his tender mother were hailed by the millions to whom Terry had become the symbol of joyous yet wistful boyhood. Wiggins had generously let the press of each city and town through which they would pass know just when the King of Boy Comedians would arrive, and at every stop Terry was dragged, wailing, to bow and smile his famous Little Lord Fauntleroy smile at the cheering gangs.
The horror of facing the staring eyes, the horror of trying to look superhuman for the benefit of these gloating worshipers, while he felt within like a lonely and scared little boy, so grew on Terry that it was only his mother's raging, only the fury of Mr. Abraham Hamilton Granville and the coaxing of Wiggins, that would draw Terry out of his safe drawing room to the platform. Despite a certain apprehension about the perils of the deep, despite a slight worry as to how he would talk to King Maximilian--who was, said the papers, to arrive in London one day before the Taits were due--Terry was delighted when Wiggins and Granville had left them, when the steamer had snarled its way out to sea, and he could hide in a corner of the S.
Megalomaniac's royal suite. He slept for sixteen hours, then, and even the indomitable Bessie Tait slept, while the S. Megalomaniac thrust out to sea, and expectant Europe awaited them as it awaited the other royal family from Slovaria. Aside from gently persuading Terry to be the star in the ship's concert, at which he recited "The Shooting of Dan McGrew" and "Gunga Din," and gave imitations of Napoleon and a sitting hen; aside from permitting him to be photographed by every passenger aboard, and lovingly insisting that he wear a new costume every afternoon--including the polo costume, the baseball suit, the Eton suit with top hat, and the Fauntleroy black velvet with lace collar--aside from these lighter diversions, Bessie gave Terry a rest on the crossing.
He must be saved to overwhelm London, Britain, and Queen Sidonie. Bessie was disappointed in landing at Southampton when she saw no crowd hysterical with desire to worship the King of Boy Comedians. In fact, no one was awaiting them save Mr. Percival S. Clapham, press agent and secretary to the chairman of the Anglo-Jupiter Film Distributing Corporation, which acted as missionary in introducing the Terrytaits to Britain.
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Clapham greeted Bessie and Terry in what he considered American: "Pleased to meet you! At your service, folks, as long as you're here. Bessie and Clapham looked at each other with no great affection. The international brotherhood was not working out; the hands across the sea were growing cold; and when the three of them were settled in a railway compartment, Bessie demanded crisply:. I don't want to hustle you, but have you fixed it up yet for Terry to meet this kid king and the quince?
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Oh, I see! The queen! Of course. I see. No, I'm sorry; not quite arranged yet. I expect they've seen a lot of his pictures. If you haven't made a date for us, I guess we'd better just send in our cards. Or had we better phone? Where they staying? This is an unofficial visit.
And really, my dear lady, it would be quite impossible for you even to try to call on His Young Majesty and Queen Sidonie! It simply isn't done, d'you see? It isn't done! You must make application to your ambassador, who will present the request to the British foreign office, who will communicate with the Slovarian foreign office, who will determine whether or not they care to submit the request to Queen Sidonie's secretary, who may care to bring the matter to Her Majesty's attention, at which time--". Benescoten Tait, "hell will have frozen over a second time. Now listen! I'm not much up on meeting queens, but I guess I'm about as chummy with the royalty as you are!
Now listen--". Clapham's native ruddiness paled as he heard the subversive, the almost sacrilegious plans of Bessie Tait. Which profound and mysterious statement puzzled Mr. Clapham until the train drew in at Waterloo. There were five reporters and a group of thirty or forty admirers, very juvenile, to greet them. The most respectable Mr. Turner, chairman of the Anglo-Jupiter Corporation and boss of Mr. Clapham, met them with his car.
That's where King Maximilian and his ma are staying, isn't it? It's the swellest hotel in town, isn't it? Turner looked agitated, as he fretted: "But I say! A lady traveling alone, with a boy, couldn't go to the Picardie! People might think it a bit fast!
I've taken a suite for you at Garborough's Hotel--most respectable family hotel. When was it built? Good heavens, I don't know, madame. I should suppose about Turner's car left the station to a slight rustle of cheering from Terry's youthful admirers and to earnest questions from the reporters as to how many cocktails American boys of ten usually consume before dinner.
But after that, there was no sign that London knew it was entertaining another king. Fog packed in about them. The sooty house fronts disappeared in saffron-gray. Bessie thrust out her hand with a gesture of timid affection which she rarely used toward that rare and golden goose, Terry. The living room of their suite at Garborough's Hotel was brown and dingy. To Bessie, accustomed to hotel rooms the size of a railroad terminal, the room was shockingly small.
It was but little bigger than the entire cottage she had occupied four years before. What kind of a bunch do you get here? For the moment she looked beaten. I wish I'd brought old Rabbit! Come on, Bess! Here's where we show this old run-down Europe what an honest-to-goodness American lady can do! They had arrived at Garborough's at three of the afternoon. At five, in a black velvet costume which made her look like a vamp--as far up as her chin--Bessie was stalking into the lobby of the Hotel Picardie. The reception clerk at Garborough's had been a stringy young woman in black alpaca and a state of disapproval, but at the Picardie he was a young Spanish count in a morning coat.
The clerk leaped into action and brought out from a glass-enclosed holy of holies an assistant manager who was more dapperly mustached, more sleekly frock-coated, more soapily attentive than himself. And--uh--is Madame's husband with Madame?
English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers, by Byron
I'm the mother of Terry Tait, the movie, I mean cinema, star. I'm here with him; just us two. I'd like a parlor and coupla of bedrooms and a few private dining rooms. I guess you need references here. May I show you some suites? The first suite that he showed was almost as large, it had almost as much gilt, paneling, omelet-marble table tops, telephone extensions, water taps and Persian rugs as a hotel in Spokane, Schenectady, or St.
Petersburg, Florida. But look here, I heard somewhere that Queen Sidonie and her boy are staying here. We have reserved the entire floor for Their Majesties and their suite. The police would be very nasty if we even attempted such a thing. Bessie unhappily recalled the days when she had first gone to Hollywood with Terry and tried to persuade a castiron-faced guard to let them through to the casting director. Not since then had anyone spoken to her so firmly.
It was a dejected Bessie Tait from Mechanicville who besought, "Well, then, I'd like to be on the floor right above them or below them. I'll make it worth your while, manager. Oh, I know I can't bribe you, but I don't like to bother anybody without I pay for their trouble, and it would be worth ten of your pounds, or whatever you callum, to have a nice suite just above Their Majesties.
From her gold-link purse Bessie drew out the edge of a ten-pound note. At that beautiful sight the assistant manager sighed, and murmured respectfully, "I'll see what can be done, madame. Ten minutes later Bessie had a voluptuous suite guaranteed to be just above that of Queen Sidonie. Someone had informed Bessie Tait that English people dined as late as eight in the evening.
It scarcely seemed possible. But, "I'll try anything once," said Bessie. At eight, she sat in a corner of the Renaissance Salon of the Hotel Picardie, in a striking white tulle frock with gold sequins, and with her was Master Tait, in full evening clothes. It was in French, but if the supercilious captain of waiters expected the American lady not to understand French, he was mistaken, for in eighteen lessons at Poppy Peaks she had learned not only the vocabulary of food but also the French for "I should like to take a horseback ride on a horse tomorrow," "How much costs a hat of this fashion?
She said rapidly to the captain, " Donnyma deh pottage German one order crevettes and one wheats, deh rosbifs, pom de terres, and some poissons--no, pois--and deh fois ice cream and hustle it will you, please? First I want a valet for my son. I want Terry should have a high-class English valet--and I don't want none that talks bad English, neither. Her husband, Sir Edward Frisbie, was a linen draper, and mayor of Bournemouth. Oh, yes, you'll find Miss Tingle most refined. That's what I'm always telling these roughnecks in Hollywood--like when they wanted Terry to play a comic part, bell boy in a harem--'No, sir,' I said, 'Terry's got a refined father and mother, and he'll be refined himself or I'll bust his head!
The assistant manager promised. After his going, Bessie received Mr. Turner and Mr. Clapham of the Anglo-Jupiter Corporation. We have, in fact, gone into the matter most thoroughly. I rang up a gentleman connected with the press, and he assured me that the proper way would be for you to apply to your ambassador, and that doubtless the matter could be arranged in a year or two--doubtless you would have to go to Slovaria. Now Mr. Turner and I have talked it over, and it seems to both of us that it would be better to have a little subtler publicity.
So if you care to have him do so, your son will address the Lads' Brigade of St. Crispin's, Golder's Green, next Thursday evening--the papers will give several paragraphs to this interesting occasion. And then--I do a bit in the literary way, you know--I have ventured to write an interview with you which I hope to have used by one of the papers. It goes as follows:. Say, dod gast my cats, this yere is by gosh all whillikens one big burg,' was the first remark of Mrs. Tait, mother of the well-known juvenile cinema star, Terry Tait, upon arrival in London yesterday.
Left alone by Turner and Clapham, with the promise that within a few days they would arrange other feats of publicity at least equal to the chance to address the Lads' Brigade of Golder's Green, Bessie sat down and sighed. But the next morning she resolutely marched into Terry's modest 24 x 42 bedroom, where he was reading Treasure Island, and she ordered, "Come on, son; we're going out and buy the town.
Think I'm going to have a lot of kings dropping into your room and seeing you without a lot of swell toys? Books never did nobody no good. Come on! By suggestion of the concierge, they took a taxi for an enormous Toy Bazaar on Oxford Street. Bessie firmly bought for Terry an electric train, an electric Derby game, a portable chemical laboratory, a set of boxing gloves, and a choice article in the way of a model of the Colosseum in which electric lions devoured electric Early Christians. Ever since they had left Poppy Peaks, Terry had mourned for the disgraceful mongrel which the English quarantine regulations had compelled him to leave at home, and he cried now, "Oh, Mother, I want a dog!
I'll have this bird Clapham write your speech. What have you got good today? The inner, the still Mechanicvillized Bessie Tait was calculating, "Great grief--that's five hundred bucks for a pooch! Benescoten Tait was remarking evenly, "Rather a lot, but I might consider--Does it please you, Terry? She could keep up the strain of refinement no longer; and most briskly, much more happily, she remarked to the clerk, "This is my son, Terry Tait.
You've probably seen him in the movies. They call him the King of Boy Comedians. We are honored in being allowed to serve you. And with that the canine blotter would have been sold, but for one accident. Terry sighed, "Mother, I don't like him. But if you don't like him--". While Bessie grew momently more impatient, Terry was offered, and declined, such delightful pets as a Pekingese that looked like a misanthropic bug and an Airedale like a rolled-up doormat.
Then he stopped before a cage and, his hands clasped in ecstasy, exulted, "Oh, there's the dog I want! Terry's choice was a canine social error. He was, probably, a cross between a police dog and a collie, with a little Scotch terrier and a trace of cocker spaniel. He had bright eyes, a wide and foolish mouth, and paws so enormous that he resembled a pup on snowshoes.
And he had none of the dignity and aloof tolerance of the pedigreed dogs whom Terry had rejected; he laughed at them and wagged at them and barked an ill-bred joyful bark. We are exhibiting him only out of deference to the widow of a country customer. I really shouldn't care to recommend him. Bessie telephoned to those unseen powers that somewhere in the mysterious heart of every hotel regulate all human destinies, "Will you please send up a bell boy at once? There appeared at her suite a small boy whom she immediately longed to put on the stage.
He was red-headed, freckle-faced, and he carried his snub nose high and cockily. He wore a skin-tight blue uniform with a row of brass buttons incredibly close together, and on the corner of his head rode an impudent pill-box cap of soldierly scarlet. I'm familiar with Master Tait in the pictures, if I may say so, madame.
While Ginger looked dazed, she led the two boys into Terry's bedroom, pointed an imperial forefinger at the new toys which she had brought home in the taxicab, and loftily left them. Do you mind playing with an electric train? Terry had begun to open the case containing the electric train. Ginger sprang to help him. As he lifted out an electric locomotive, a dozen railroad carriages which represented the Flying Scotsman in miniature, a station on whose platform a tiny station master waved a flag when the set was connected with the electric-light socket, a tunnel through a conveniently portable mountain, and an even more miraculously portable bridge across a mighty tin river three feet long, Ginger muttered, "I'll be jiggered.
But Terry was impressed by the admiration of this obviously competent Ginger, this fortunate young man who was allowed to wear brass buttons and live in the joyous informality of kitchens and linen closets. He's a dandy dog. His name is Corn Beef and Cabbage. Okaloma wolf'ound. I've 'eard of that breed, sir. I say! Let's put one of the passengers on the track, and then the train runs into 'im and we could 'ave a funeral. Miss Tingle, the refined lady secretary recommended by the hotel, had arrived at noon, and had been engaged.
Back in Hollywood, I thought I could sling the King's English all right, but in England, seems like every time I say anything they repeat what I say and register astonishment! I guess I'm kind of a lady Buffalo Bill. Well, let's get to it. Now listen. She explained the scheme for the capture of publicity by making Terry and King Maximilian chums. Of course Terry's publicity comes first. I just sacrifice everything to that boy. But same time I've seen pictures of Sidonie. Somehow I just feel Do you believe in the Higher Thought? Oh, dear! But I guess unselfishness never goes unrewarded.
So look. We'll just write her a little letter and send it down by hand. Of course I want to enclose a card, so's she'll know whom I am. Which of these cards would do the trick better, do you think? One of the two cards was a highly restrained document: merely "Mrs. Benescoten Tait," in engraved script. But the other card was baroque. It was impressive. It announced:. Castello Marino, Poppy Peaks, Cal.
The Legend of Total Drama Island
It was embossed in red, blue, silver, and canary-yellow, and while it was slightly smaller than a motor-license plate, it was much more striking. Miss Tingle was terrified yet fascinated. But the big card cost a lot of money. Well, now, will you take dictation on a letter?