GODIVA.
(A Pose Plastique, by Madame Warton, before the forthcoming picture by Edwin Landseer, R.A.)
OR, THE PEEPING GENT OF COVENTRY STREET.
I waited in the street named Coventry;
I hung outside the 'bus from Putney Bridge,
To watch the three short fares; and there I shaped
The last new "Tableau Vivant" into this.
NOT only we, the smartest blades on Town,
Fast men that with the speed of an express
Run down the slow, not only we, that prate
Of gents and snobs, have loved the genus well,
And loathed to see them unamused; but she
Did more, and undertook, and overcame,
The Venus of the Tableaux Vivans—Madame
Warton, Queen of the Walhalla, near the street
Of Coventry: for when there was nought up
To take the Town, the Gents all came to her,
Clamouring, "If this last, we die of slowness!"
She sought a painter, found him where he strode
About the room, among his dogs, alone,
His beard shaved close before him, and his hair
Cropped short behind. She told him the Gents' fears,
And prayed him, "If this last, they die of slowness!"
Whereat he stared, replying, half-amazed,
"What would you have me do—an animal painter—
For such as these?" "A Tableau paint," said she.
He laughed, and talked about Sir Peter Laurie.[12]
Then chucked her playfully beneath the chin;
"O, ay, ay, ay, you talk!" "Talk! yes!" she said.
"But paint it, and prove what I will not do."
And with a sly wink there was no mistaking,
He answered, "Ride you as the famed Godiva,"
And I will paint it," she nodded, and in jest
They parted, and a cabman drove her home.
All was arranged. The boardmen in the street,
As curs about a bone, with snarl and blow
Made war upon each other for a board:
The best man won. She sent bill-stickers forth,
And bade them cover over every hoarding
With large placards, announcing she would please
Her favourite gents; who, as they loved her well,
From then till Monday next, in crowds should come
And gaze at her,—each one his shilling paying
For seats within the public promenade.
Then went she to her dressing room, and there
Unhooked the wedded fastenings of her gown,
Some soft one's gift; but every now and then
She lingered, looking in her toilette glass,
Rougeing her cheek: anon she shook herself,
And showered the rumpled raiment 'neath her knee;
Then clad herself in silk; adown the stair
Stole on; and like a bashful maiden slid
Through passage and through passage, until she reached
The platform; there she found her palfrey trapt
With pewter logies and mosaic gold.
Then rode she forth, clothed all in silken tights:
The fiddles played beneath her as she rode,
And the reserved seats hardly breathed for fear.
The little wide-mouthed heads beyond the stalls
Had cunning eyes to see: the crimson rouge
Made her cheek flame: a fast man, winking, shot
Light horrors through her pulses: the saloon
Was all in darkness; though from overhead
The flickering gas-light dimly flared: but she
Not less through all bore up, till, last she gave
The signal to the workmen in the flats,
And round upon the pivot slow she turned.
Then rode she back, clothed all in silken tights:
And one low Gent, decked out in Joinville tie,
The certain symbol of a Gentish taste,
Using an ivory opera-glass he'd hired,
Peeped—but the glasses, ere he had his fill,
Were shivered into pieces, and the curtain
Was dropt before him; so that the deposit
Left on the glass was forfeit to the Jew;
And he that knew it grieved: Now all at once,
With twelve great shocks of sound, the interlude
Was scraped on cat-gut from a dozen fiddles,
One after one, for neither did keep time,
Nor play in tune: and Madame Warton gained
Her chamber; whence re-issuing, as "Venus
Rising from the Sea," the ennui passed away,
And she made everlasting lots of tin.
The Puppet Show, April 1, 1848.