The Manuscript, found enclosed in the Bookseller's Letter, turns out to be
a Melo-Drama, in two Acts, entitled "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 damned _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 Curaçoa!
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 Cumberland, 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,
"Worship my whiskers!"--(_weeps_) not a knee was there
But bent and worshipt the Illustrious 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 pass
From _Post_ to _Courier_, formed the motley mass;
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 Gods! 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 Lordship 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 pass 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.
And the fresh Spirit that can warble free
Thro' prison-bars its hymn to Liberty!
The Scene next changes to a Tailor's Workshop, and a fancifully-arranged
group of these Artists is discovered upon the Shop-board--Their task
evidently of a _royal_ nature, from the profusion of gold-lace, frogs,
etc., that lie about--They all rise and come forward, while one of them
sings the following Stanzas to the tune of "Derry Down."
My brave brother Tailors, come, straighten your knees,
For a moment, like gentlemen, stand up at ease,
While I sing of our Prince (and a fig for his railers),
The Shop-board's delight! the Maecenas of Tailors!
Derry down, down, down
derry down.
Some monarchs take roundabout ways into note,
While _His_ short cut to fame is--the cut of his coat;
Philip's Son thought the World was too small for his Soul,
But our Regent's finds room in a laced button-hole.
Derry down, etc.
Look thro' all Europe's Kings--those, at least, who go loose--
Not a King of them all's such a friend to the Goose.
So, God keep him increasing in size and renown,
Still the fattest and best fitted Prince about town!
Derry down, etc.
During the "Derry down" of this last verse, a messenger from the Secretary
of State's Office rushes on, and the singer (who, luckily for the effect
of the scene, is the very Tailor suspected of the mysterious fragments) is
interrupted in the midst of his laudatory exertions and hurried away, to
the no small surprise and consternation of his comrades. The Plot now
hastens rapidly in its development--the management of the Tailor's
examination is highly skilful, and the alarm which he is made to betray is
natural without being ludicrous. The explanation too which he finally
gives is not more simple than satisfactory. It appears that the said
fragments formed part of a self-exculpatory note, which he had intended to
send to Colonel M'Mahon upon subjects purely professional, and the
corresponding bits (which still lie luckily in his pocket) being produced
and skilfully laid beside the others, the following _billet-doux_ is the
satisfactory result of their juxtaposition,
Honored Colonel--my Wife, who's the Queen of all slatterns,
Neglected to put up the Book of new Patterns.
She sent the wrong Measures too--shamefully wrong--
They're the same used for poor Mr. Lambert, when young;
But, bless you! they wouldnt go half round the Regent--
So, hope you'll excuse yours till death, most obedient.
This fully explains the whole mystery--the Regent resumes his wonted
smiles, and the Drama terminates as usual to the satisfaction of all
parties.
[1] There was, in like manner, a mysterious Book, in the 16th Century,
which employed all the anxious curiosity of the Learned of that time.
Every one spoke of it; many wrote against it; though it does not appear
that anybody had ever seen it; and Grotius is of opinion that no such Book
ever existed. It was entitled, "_Liber de tribus impostoribus_." (See
Morhof. Cap. "_de Libris damnatis_.")
[2] The same Chamber, doubtless, that was prepared for the reception of
the Bourbons at the first Grand Fête, and which was ornamented (all "for
the Deliverance of Europe") with _fleurs de-lys_.
[3] "To enable the individual who holds the office of Chancellor to
maintain it in becoming splendor." (_A loud laugh_.)--Lord
CASTLEREAGH'S _Speech upon the Vice Chancellor's Bill_.
[4] Mr. Leigh Hunt and his brother.