"But, oh! the love that gold must crown!
Better, better, the love of the clown, Who admires his la.s.s in her Sunday gown, As if all the fairies had dressed her!
Whose brain to no crooked thought gives birth, Except that he never will part on earth With his truelove"s crooked tester!
"Alas! for the love that"s linked with gold, Better, better a thousand times told-- More honest and happy and laudable, The downright loving of pretty Ciss, Who wipes her lips, though there"s nothing amiss, And takes a kiss, and gives a kiss, In which her heart is audible."
The Count has been accepted; he has presented his betrothed
"With a miniature sketch of his hooky nose, And his dear dark eyes as black as sloes, And his beard and whiskers as black as those.
The lady"s consent he requited: And instead of the lock that lovers beg, The Count received from Miss Kilmansegg A model, in small, of her precious leg-- And so the couple were plighted!"
But a short time probably elapsed between the betrothal and the marriage, which was solemnized, with golden splendour, of course, at St.
James"s Church. Thus the poet sings:
""Twas morn--a most auspicious one!
From the golden east, the golden sun Came forth his glorious race to run Through clouds of most splendid tinges; Clouds that had lately slept in shade, But now seemed made Of gold brocade, With magnificent gold fringes.
"In short, "twas the year"s most golden day, By mortals called the first of May, When Miss Kilmansegg, Of the golden leg With a golden ring was married.
"And then to see the groom! the Count With Foreign Orders to such an amount, And whiskers so wild--nay, b.e.s.t.i.a.l; He seemed to have borrowed the s.h.a.ggy hair, As well as the stars, of the Polar Bear, To make him look celestial!"
Of course the church was crowded inside and out,
"For next to that interesting job, The hanging of Jack, or Bill, or Bob, There"s nothing that draws a London mob As the noosing of very rich people.
"And then, great Jove! the struggle, the crush, The screams, the heaving, the awful rush, The swearing, the tearing, the fighting; The hats and bonnets, smashed like an egg, To catch a glimpse of the golden leg, Which between the steps and Miss Kilmansegg Was fully displayed in alighting.
"But although a magnificent veil she wore, Such as never was seen before, In case of blushes, she blushed no more Than George the First on a guinea!
"Bravely she shone--and shone the more, As she sailed through the crowd of squalid and poor, Thief, beggar, and tatterdemalion; Led by the Count, with his sloe-black eyes, Bright with triumph, and some surprise, Like Anson, in making sure of his prize, The famous Mexican galleon.
"Six "Handsome Fortunes," all in white, Came to help the marriage rite, And rehea.r.s.e their own hymeneals; And then the bright procession to close, They were followed by just as many beaux-- Quite fine enough for ideals.
"And how did the bride perform her part?
Like any bride who is cold at heart, Mere snow with the ice"s glitter; What but a life of winter for her?
Bright but chilly, alive without stir, So splendidly comfortless, just like a fir When the frost is severe and bitter.
"Yet wedlock"s an awful thing!
"Tis something like that feat in the ring Which requires good nerve to do it, When one of a "grand equestrian troop"
Makes a jump at a gilded hoop, Not certain at all Of what may befall After his getting through it.
"Such were the future of man and wife, Whose bale or bliss to the end of life A few short words were to settle: Wilt thou have this woman?
I will--and then, Wilt thou have this man?
I will, and Amen---- And those two were one flesh in the angels" ken, Except one leg--that was metal."
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE WEDDING--"WILT THOU HAVE THIS WOMAN?"]
Here we have the Count in profile, only more agreeable because the view affords less of his villainous face.
I confess I am disappointed with Leech"s rendering of Miss Kilmansegg. I cannot see why she should be deprived of a portion of the sympathy one always feels for "beauty in distress." Why should she be represented as the commonplace, red-nosed creature who plays the part of the bride in Leech"s drawing? To be sure, the contrast she affords to the sweet little bridesmaid behind her heightens that young lady"s attractions; but I cannot help thinking the heiress is hardly treated.
I pa.s.s over the wedding-breakfast, which was composed of everything in season, and of much that was out of it--
"For wealthy palates there be that scout What is _in_ season for what is _out_, And prefer all precocious savour; For instance, early green peas, of the sort That costs some four or five guineas a quart, Where _mint_ is the princ.i.p.al flavour."
The inevitable honeymoon follows--
"To the loving a bright and constant sphere That makes earth"s commonest scenes appear All poetic, romantic, and tender; Hanging with jewels a cabbage-stump, And investing a common post or a pump, A currant-bush or a gooseberry clump, With a halo of dream-like splendour."
"Oh, happy, happy, thrice happy state, When such a bright planet governs the fate Of a pair of united lovers!
Tis theirs, in spite of the serpent"s hiss, To enjoy the pure primeval kiss, With as much of the old original bliss As mortality ever recovers."
[Ill.u.s.tration: "LOVE AT THE BOARD."]
I hope my readers will agree with me, that amongst the pleasures we receive from this delightful poem, one of the greatest is the charming little sketch which it has suggested to Leech in these two happy lovers, completely wrapped up in each other, with love in the cottage, at the board, and all about them.
But the Kilmansegg moon!
"Now, the Kilmansegg moon, it must be told, Though instead of silver it tipped with gold, Shone rather wan, and distant, and cold; And before its days were thirty, Such gloomy clouds began to collect, With an ominous ring of ill-effect, As gave but too much cause to expect Such weather as seamen call dirty.
"She hated lanes, she hated fields, She hated all that the country yields, And barely knew turnips from clover; She hated walking in any shape, And a country stile was an awkward sc.r.a.pe, Without the bribe of a mob to gape At the leg in clambering over.
"Gold, still gold, her standard of old-- All pastoral joys were tried by gold, Or by fancies golden and crural, Till ere she had pa.s.sed one week unblest As her agricultural uncle"s guest, Her mind was made up and fully imprest That felicity could not be rural."
And the Count?
"To the snow-white lambs at play, And all the scents and sights of May, And the birds that warbled their pa.s.sion, His ears, and dark eyes, and decided nose, Were as deaf, and as blind, and as dull as those That overlook the Bouquet de Rose, The Huile Antique, And Parfum Unique, In a Barber"s Temple of Fashion.
"And yet had that fault been his only one, The pair might have had few quarrels or none, For their tastes thus far were in common; But faults he had that a haughty bride With a golden leg could hardly abide-- Faults that would even have roused the pride Of a far less metalsome woman.
"He left her, in spite of her tender regards, And those loving murmurs described by bards, For the rattling of dice and the shuffling of cards And the poking of b.a.l.l.s into pockets.
"Moreover, he loved the deepest stake And the heaviest bets the players would make, And he drank--the reverse of sparely!
And he used strange curses that made her fret; And when he played with herself at picquet, She found to her cost-- For she always lost-- That the Count did not count quite fairly.