The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 192

The same _fauteuils_ and girondoles-- The same gold a.s.ses,[8]pretty souls!

That in this rich and cla.s.sic dome Appear so perfectly at home.

The same bright river 'mong the dishes, But _not_--ah! not the same dear fishes-- Late hours and claret killed the old ones-- So 'stead of silver and of gold ones, (It being rather hard to raise Fish of that _specie_ now-a-days) Some sprats have been by Yarmouth's wish, Promoted into _Silver_ Fish, And Gudgeons (so Vansittart told The Regent) are as good as _Gold_!

So, prithee, come--our Fete will be But half a Fete if wanting thee.

[1] An amateur actor of much risible renown.

[2] The crest of Mr. Coates, the very amusing amateur tragedian here alluded to, was a c.o.c.k; and most profusely were his liveries, harness, etc. covered wit this ornament.

[3] To those who neither go to b.a.l.l.s nor read _The Morning Post_, it may be necessary to mention, that the floors of Ballrooms, in general, are chalked for safety and for ornament with various fanciful devices.

[4] A foreign artist much patronized by the Prince Regent.

[5] The name of a popular country-dance.

[6] "Carleton House will exhibit a complete _facsimile_ in respect to interior ornament, to what it did at the last Fete. The same splendid draperies," etc.--_Morning Post_.

[7] Mr. Walsh Porter, to whose taste was left the furnis.h.i.+ng of the rooms of Carletone House.

[8] The salt-cellars on the Prince's _own_ table were in the form of an a.s.s with panniers.

APPENDIX.

LETTER IV. PAGE 584.

Among the papers, enclosed in Dr. Duigenan's Letter, was found an Heroic Epistle in Latin verse, from Pope Joan to her Lover, of which, as it is rather a curious doc.u.ment, I shall venture to give some account. This female Pontiff was a native of England, (or, according to others of Germany,) who at an early age disguised herself in male attire and followed her lover, a young ecclesiastic, to Athens where she studied with such effect that upon her arrival at Rome she was thought worthy of being raised to the Pontificate. This Epistle is addressed to her Lover (whom she had elevated to the dignity of Cardinal), soon after the fatal _accouchement_, by which her Fallibility was betrayed.

She begins by reminding him tenderly of the time, when they were together at Athens--when, as she says,

--"by Ilissus' stream "We whispering walkt along, and learned to speak "The tenderest feelings in the purest Greek; "Ah! then how little did we think or hope, "Dearest of men, that I should e'er be Pope![1]

"That I, the humble Joan, whose housewife art "Seemed just enough to keep thy house and heart, "(And those, alas! at sixes and at sevens,) "Should soon keep all the keys of all the heavens!"

Still less (she continues to say) could they have foreseen, that such a catastrophe as had happened in Council would befall them--that she

"Should thus surprise the Conclave's grave decorum, "And let a _little Pope_ pop out before 'em-- "Pope _Innocent_! alas, the only one "That name could e'er be justly fixt upon."

She then very pathetically laments the downfall of her greatness, and enumerates the various treasures to which she is doomed to bid farewell forever:--

"But oh, more dear, more precious ten times over-- "Farewell my Lord, my Cardinal, my Lover!

"I made _thee_ Cardinal--thou madest _me_--ah!

"Thou madest the Papa of the world Mamma!"

I have not time at present to translate any more of this Epistle; but I presume the argument which the Right Hon. Doctor and his friends mean to deduce from it, is (in their usual convincing strain) that Romanists must be unworthy of Emanc.i.p.ation _now_, because they had a Petticoat Pope in the Ninth Century. Nothing can be more logically clear, and I find that Horace had exactly the same views upon the subject.

Roma.n.u.s (_eheu posteri negabitis_!) emanc.i.p.atus FOEMINAE _fert vallum_!

[1] Spanheim attributes the unanimity with which Joan was elected to that innate and irresistible charm by which her s.e.x, though latent, operated upon the instinct of the Cardinals.

LETTER VII. PAGE 588.

The Ma.n.u.script, found enclosed in the Bookseller's Letter, turns out to be a Melo-Drama, in two Acts, ent.i.tled "The Book,"[1] of which the Theatres, of course, had had the refusal, before it was presented to Messrs.

Lackington and Co. This rejected Drama however possesses considerable merit and I shall take the liberty of laying a sketch of it before my Readers.

The first Act opens in a very awful manner--_Time_, three o'clock in the morning--_Scene_, the Bourbon Chamber[2] in Carleton House-- Enter the Prince Regent _solus_--After a few broken sentences, he thus exclaims:--

Away--Away-- Thou haunt'st my fancy so, thou devilish Book, I meet thee--trace thee, whereso'er I look.

I see thy d.a.m.ned _ink_ in Eldon's brows-- I see thy _foolscap_ on my Hertford's Spouse-- Vansittart's head recalls thy _leathern_ case, And all thy _blank-leaves_ stare from R--d--r's face!

While, turning here (_laying his hand on his heart_,) I find, ah wretched elf, Thy _List_ of dire _Errata_ in myself.

(_Walks the stage in considerable agitation_.) Oh Roman Punch! oh potent Curacoa!

Oh Mareschino! Mareschino oh!

Delicious drams! why have you not the art To kill this gnawing _Book-worm_ in my heart?

He is here interrupted in his Soliloquy by perceiving on the ground some scribbled fragments of paper, which he instantly collects, and "by the light of two magnificent candelabras" discovers the following unconnected words, "_Wife neglected"--"the Book"--"Wrong Measures"--"the Queen"--"Mr.

Lambert"--"the Regent_."

Ha! treason in my house!--Curst words, that wither My princely soul, (_shaking the papers violently_) what Demon brought you hither?

"My Wife;"--"the Book" too!--stay--a nearer look-- (_holding the fragments closer to the Candelabras_) Alas! too plain, B, double O, K, Book-- Death and destruction!

He here rings all the bells, and a whole legion of valets enter. A scene of cursing and swearing (very much in the German style) ensues, in the course of which messengers are despatched, in different directions, for the Lord Chancellor, the Duke of c.u.mberland, etc. The intermediate time is filled up by another Soliloquy, at the conclusion of which the aforesaid Personages rush on alarmed; the Duke with his stays only half-laced, and the Chancellor with his wig thrown hastily over an old red night-cap, "to maintain the becoming splendor of his office."[3] The Regent produces the appalling fragments, upon which the Chancellor breaks out into exclamations of loyalty and tenderness, and relates the following portentous dream:

'Tis scarcely two hours since I had a fearful dream of thee, my Prince!-- Methought I heard thee midst a courtly crowd Say from thy throne of gold, in mandate loud, "Wors.h.i.+p my whiskers!"--(_weeps_) not a knee was there But bent and wors.h.i.+pt the Ill.u.s.trious Pair, Which curled in conscious majesty! (_pulls out his handkerchief_)-- while cries Of "Whiskers; whiskers!" shook the echoing skies.-- Just in that glorious hour, me-thought, there came, With looks of injured pride, a Princely Dame And a young maiden, clinging by her side, As if she feared some tyrant would divide Two hearts that nature and affection tied!

The Matron came--within her _right_ hand glowed A radiant torch; while from her _left_ a load Of Papers hung--(_wipes his eyes_) collected in her veil-- The venal evidence, the slanderous tale, The wounding hint, the current lies that pa.s.s From _Post_ to _Courier_, formed the motley ma.s.s; Which with disdain before the Throne she throws, And lights the Pile beneath thy princely nose.

(_Weeps_.)

Heavens, how it blazed!--I'd ask no livelier fire, (With animation) To roast a Papist by, my gracious Sire!-- But ah! the Evidence--_(weeps again)_ I mourned to see-- Cast as it burned, a deadly light on thee: And Tales and Hints their random sparkles flung, And hissed and crackled, like an old maid's tongue; While _Post_ and _Courier_, faithful to their fame, Made up in stink for what they lackt in flame.

When, lo, ye G.o.ds! the fire ascending brisker, Now singes _one_ now lights the _other_ whisker.

Ah! where was then the Sylphid that unfurls Her fairy standard in defence of curls?

Throne, Whiskers, Wig soon vanisht into smoke, The watchman cried "Past One," and--I awoke.

Here his Lords.h.i.+p weeps more profusely than ever, and the Regents (who has been very much agitated during the recital of the Dream) by a movement as characteristic as that of Charles XII. when he was shot, claps his hands to his whiskers to feel if all be really safe. A Privy Council is held-- all the Servants, etc. are examined, and it appears that a Tailor, who had come to measure the Regent for a Dress (which takes three whole pages of the best superfine _clinquant_ in describing) was the only person who had been in the Bourbon Chamber during the day. It is, accordingly, determined to seize the Tailor, and the Council breaks up with a unanimous resolution to be vigorous.

The commencement of the Second Act turns chiefly upon the Trial and Imprisonment of two Brothers[4]--but as this forms the _under_ plot of the Drama, I shall content myself with extracting from it the following speech, which is addressed to the two Brothers, as they "_exeunt_ severally" to Prison:--

Go to your prisons--tho' the air of Spring No mountain coolness to your cheeks shall bring; Tho' Summer flowers shall pa.s.s unseen away, And all your portion of the glorious day May be some solitary beam that falls At morn or eve upon your dreary walls-- Some beam that enters, trembling as if awed, To tell how gay the young world laughs abroad!

Yet go--for thoughts as blessed as the air Of Spring or Summer flowers await you there; Thoughts such as He who feasts his courtly crew In rich conservatories _never_ knew; Pure self-esteem--the smiles that light within-- The Zeal, whose circling charities begin With the few loved-ones Heaven has placed it near, And spread till all Mankind are in its sphere; The Pride that suffers without vaunt or plea.