Punch, or the London Charivari
Volume 98, June 28th 1890
edited by Sir Francis Burnand
MODERN TYPES.
(By Mr. Punch's own Type Writer.)
NO. XIV.—THE LADY FROM CLOUDLAND.
At intervals of a few years the torpor of London Society is stirredby the carefully disseminated intelligence that a new planet hasbegun to twinkle in the firmament of fashion, and the telescopes ofall those who are in search of novelty are immediately directed tothe spot. Partially dropping metaphor, it may be stated that ahitherto unknown lady emerges, like the planet, from a cloud underwhich, as the envious afterwards declare, the greater part of herprevious existence has been spent. But Society, under the influenceof boredom, is tolerant of new sensations and of those who seek toprovide them. Those who guard its portals are, in these latter days,bidden not to be over-curious in the inquiries they make of applicantsfor admission, and eventually it may come to pass that theapproaches and avenues are opened as readily to one who comestrailing clouds of obscurity, as to herwho shines with the steady lustre ofacknowledged position.
The Lady from Cloudland soarsinto the ken of fashion in variousplaces. Very often she is found forthe first time in the little mocktemple which pious worshippers atthe shrine of rank build for themselveson the Riviera. They havetheir ceremonial closely copied fromthe London model. They dance, theyreceive, they organise bazaars. Theylaunch out into tea-parties, and growwarm over the discussion of scandals.They elect unto themselves leaders,and bow their foreheads to the dustbefore the golden splendour of anoccasional scion of Royalty; in short,they cling as closely as foreign skiesand foreign associations permit to theobservances which have made EnglishSociety pre-eminent in its own respect,and in the good-natured ridicule ofless-favoured nations. But since themajority of them have come in searchof health, they cannot despise orreject one who qualifies for considerationand interest by suffering, andwho, to the piquancy of an unknown origin, adds the high recommendationof good looks—which are not too good—of a cheerfultemper, and an easy tact, which can only come of much knowledgeof many worlds. Such a one is the Lady from Cloudland. Manyare the questions asked about her, and even more various are theanswers given. "My dear," one lady will say to another, at thehouse of a common friend, where the Lady from Cloudland hasbecome the centre of a throng of admirers, "I hear, on the very bestauthority, that her mother used to sell flowers in the City, and thatshe herself was for some years a Circus Rider in America. WheneverI meet her I feel a dreadful inclination to say Houp-là!, insteadof, How do you do?" To which her friend will reply that she, onher side, has been informed that the lady in question was formerlyattached to the conjugal tribe of an Indian Rajah, and was rescuedby a Russian, whom she shortly afterwards poisoned. They will thenboth invite her to their next entertainments, asking her by no meansto forget those delightful Burmese love-ditties which only she cansing as they ought to be sung.
The Lady from Cloudland, however, does not limit her ambitionto the hybrid Society of the South of France. She intends to makefor herself a position in London, the Mecca of the a