THE "BON GAULTIER BALLADS."
I will here leave the sporting novels for a time and introduce my reader to the "Bon Gaultier Ballads," and if he make his first acquaintance with that work through this introduction, I respectfully advise him to improve it by a more intimate knowledge, for he will not only find excellent reading, but illustrations by Richard Doyle and others, scarcely inferior to those by Leech.
It will be remembered that at the time of the Papal aggression Lord John Russell, according to Leech, chalked "No Popery" on Cardinal Wiseman's door and then ran away. In the "Bon Gaultier Ballads" we find his lordship face to face with Cardinal Wiseman, disguised as a friar, in Sherwood Forest, where Little John is supposed to reign in place of Robin Hood, deceased. The ballad is entitled "Little John and the Red Friar," and begins:
"The deer may leap within the glade,
The fawns may follow free—
For Robin is dead, and his bones are laid
Beneath the greenwood tree.
* * * * *
"Now, Little John was an outlaw proud,
A prouder ye never saw;
Through Nottingham and Leicestershires
He thought his word was law,
And he strutted through the greenwood wide
Like a pestilent jackdaw.
* * * * *
"Now, word had come to Little John,
As he lay upon the grass,
That a friar red was in merry Sherwood
Without his leave to pass."
Little John inquires from his little foot-page what manner of man is this burly friar who intrudes into his domain.
"'My master good,' the little page said,
'His name I wot not well;
But he wears on his head a hat so red,
With a monstrous scallop-shell.
"'He says he is Prior of Copmanhurst,
And Bishop of London town,
And he comes with a rope from our Father the Pope
To put the outlaws down.'"
Little John searches the forest for his scarlet enemy—
"O'er holt and hill, through brake and breere,
He took his way alone.
* * * * *
"Then Little John, he strutted on,
Till he came to an open bound,
And he was aware of a Red Friar
Was sitting upon the ground.
"His shoulders they were broad and strong,
And large was he of limb;
Few yeomen in the north countrie
Would care to mell with him.
* * * * *
"'What dost thou here, thou strong friar,
In Sherwood's merry round,
Without the leave of Little John
To range with hawk and hound?'
"'Small thought have I,' quoth the Red Friar,
'Of any leave, I trow;
But Little John is an outlawed thief,
And so, I ween, art thou!
"'Know I am, I am Prior of Copmanhurst,
And Bishop of London town,
And I bring a rope from our Father the Pope
To put the outlaws down.'
"Then out spoke Little John in wrath,
'I tell thee, burly frere,
The Pope may do as he likes at home,
But he sends no Bishops here!'"
"'Up and away, Red Friar,' he said,
'Up and away right speedilie;
And were it not for that cowl of thine,
Avenged on thy body I would be!'
Little John and Red Friar.
"'Nay, heed not that,' said the Red Friar,
'And let my cowl no hindrance be;
I warrant I can give as good
As ever I take from thee!'
"Little John he raised his quarter-staff,
And so did the burly priest;
And they fought beneath the greenwood tree
A stricken hour at least."
Little John gets much the worst of the fight, and endeavours to come to terms with the Red Friar:
"'There's some mistake, good friar,' he said;
'There's some mistake 'twixt thee and me;
I know thou art Prior of Copmanhurst,
But not beneath the greenwood tree.
"'And if you will take some other name,
You shall have ample time to bide;
With pasture also for your Bulls,
And power to range the forest wide.'
"'There's no mistake!' the friar said;
'I'll call myself just what I please:
My doctrine is that chalk is chalk,
And cheese is nothing else but cheese.'
"'So be it then!' quoth Little John"
from his refuge in the tree, to which, according to Leech, he has been tossed by the Popish Bull.
Cardinal Wiseman, as I remember him, was a huge burly figure, not unlike Leech's drawing; a stronger resemblance to Lord John can be traced in the swaggering little figure in the first illustration and also in the second.
Most of the "Bon Gaultier Ballads" are illustrated by Doyle and other hands. Leech's contributions are confined to four of them. The next from which I select drawings is called "The Rhyme of Sir Launcelot Bogle." It appears that "this valiant knight, most terrible in fight," had married the sister of another valiant knight named George of Gorbals, and with his bride he had retired to his castle near Glasgow. For some reason or other this marriage was very distasteful to the brother of the bride—so distasteful, indeed, that nothing but the blood of Sir Launcelot would wipe out the disgrace. In pursuit of his revenge, George of Gorbals armed his followers and approached the castle, where
"A donjon keep arose, that might baffle any foes,
With its men-at-arms in rows
On the towers.
Little John and the Popish Bull.
"And the flag that flaunted there showed the grim and grizzly bear,
Which the Bogles always wear for their crest.
And I heard the warder call, as he stood upon the wall,
'Wake ye up! my comrades all,
From your rest!
"'For, by the blessed rood, there's a glimpse of armour good
In the deep Cowcaddens Wood, o'er the stream;
And I hear the stifled hum of a multitude that come,
Though they have not beat the drum,
It would seem!
"'Go tell it to my lord, lest he wish to man the ford
With partisan and sword just beneath;
Ho, Gilkison and Nares! Ho, Provan of Cowlairs!
We'll back the bonny bears
To the death.'
"To the towers above the moat, like one who heedeth not,
Came the bold Sir Launcelot, half undressed;
On the outer rim he stood, and peered into the wood,
With his arms across him glued
On his breast.
"And he muttered, 'Foe accurst, thou hast dared to seek me first?
George of Gorbals, do thy worst; for I swear
O'er thy gory corpse to ride, ere thy sister and my bride
From my undissevered side
Thou shalt tear!'"
* * * * *
Sir Launcelot, not being sure that Cowcaddens Wood really hides his mortal enemy, despatches a "herald stout," accompanied by
"Sir Roderick Dalgleish, and his foster-brother Neish,
With his bloodhounds in the leash,"
to see whether the party in the wood are friends or foes. All doubt on the subject is put to rest by a shower of arrows which
"Sped their force, and a pale and bleeding corse
He (the herald) sank from off his horse
On the plain!
"Back drew the bold Dalgleish, back started stalwart Neish,
With his bloodhounds in the leash from Brownlee.
'Now shame be to the sword that made thee knight and lord,
Thou caitiff thrice abhorred,
Shame on thee!'"
After this burst of not unnatural rage at the unhandsome treatment of a herald, whose office should have made his person sacred, Sir Launcelot gives orders that there must be
"'Forthwith no end of those heavy bolts;
Three angels to the brave who finds the foe a grave,
And a gallows for the slave
Who revolts!'
"Ten days the combat lasted; but the bold defenders fasted,
While the foemen, better pastied, fed their host;
You might hear the savage cheers of the hungry Gorbaliers,
As at night they dressed the steers
For the roast.
"And Sir Launcelot grew thin, and Provan's double chin
Showed sundry folds of skin down beneath;
In silence and in grief found Gilkison relief,
Nor did Neish the spell-word 'beef'
Dare to breathe."
Then Edith, the bride, made her appearance upon the ramparts.
"And she said unto her lord, as he leaned upon his sword,
'One short and little word may I speak?
I cannot bear to view those eyes so ghastly blue,
Or mark the sallow hue
Of thy cheek.
"'I know the rage and wrath that my furious brother hath
Is less against us both than at me.
Then, dearest, let me go, to find among the foe
An arrow from the bow,
Like Broomlee!'"
To this noble offer of self-sacrifice Sir Launcelot will not listen for a moment. He replies:
"'All our chances are not lost, as your brother and his host
Shall discover to their cost rather hard!
Ho, Provan! take this key; hoist up the malvoisie,
And heap it, d'ye see,
In the yard.
"'Of usquebaugh and rum you will find, I reckon, some,
Beside the beer and mum, extra stout;
Go straightway to your task, and roll me all the casks,
And also range the flasks
Just without.
"'If I know the Gorbaliers, they are sure to dip their ears
In the very inmost tiers of the drink.
Let them win the outer court, and hold it for their sport,
Since their time is rather short,
I should think!'
"With a loud triumphant yell, as the heavy drawbridge fell,
Rushed the Gorbaliers pell-mell, wild as Druids;
Mad with thirst for human gore, how they threatened and they swore,
Till they stumbled on the floor
O'er the fluids.
"Down their weapons then they threw, and each savage soldier drew
From his belt an iron screw in his fist;
George of Gorbals found it vain their excitement to restrain,
And, indeed, was rather fain
To assist.
"With a beaker in his hand, in the midst he took his stand,
And silence did command all below;
'Ho, Launcelot the bold! ere thy lips are icy cold,
In the centre of thy hold
Pledge me now!'
* * * * *
"Dumb as death stood Launcelot, as though he heard him not;
But his bosom Provan smote and he swore,
And Sir Roderick Dalgleish remarked aside to Neish,
'Never, sure, did thirsty fish
Swallow more!
"'Thirty casks are nearly done, yet the revel's scarce begun;
It were knightly sport and fun to strike in!'
'Nay, tarry till they come,' quoth Neish, 'unto the rum—
They are working at the mum
And the gin!'
"Then straight there did appear to each gallant Gorbalier
Twenty castles dancing near, all around;
The solid earth did shake, and the stones beneath them quake,
And sinuous as a snake
Moved the ground.
"Why and wherefore had they come seemed intricate unto some,
But all agreed the rum was divine;
And they looked with bitter scorn on their leader highly born,
Who preferred to fill his horn
Up with wine."
Like the fateful moment at Waterloo, the time had now come to strike, and Sir Launcelot and his friends took full advantage of it.
"'Now make the trumpets blast, and comrades follow fast,
Smite them down unto the last,'
Cried the knight.
* * * * *
"Saint Mungo be my guide! it was goodly in that tide
To see the Bogle ride in his haste;
He accompanied each blow with a cry of 'ah!' or 'oh!'
As he always cleft the foe
To the waist.
"'George of Gorbals, craven lord! thou didst threat me with the cord;
Come forth and brave my sword, if you dare!'
But he met with no reply, and never could descry
The glitter of his eye
Anywhere."
The Gorbaliers were destroyed to a man, and in obedience to an order from Sir Launcelot the casks and empty flasks were removed by the "cellar master," but not without a shock—
"For he swore he heard a shriek
Through the door.
"When the merry Christmas came, and the Yule-log lent its flame
To the face of squire and dame in the hall,
The cellarer went down to tap October brown,
Which was rather of renown
'Mongst them all.
"He placed the spigot low, and gave the cask a blow,
But his liquor would not flow through the pin;
'Sure, 'tis sweet as honeysuckles!' so he rapped it with his knuckles,
But a sound as if of buckles
Clashed within.
"'Bring a hatchet, varlets, here!' and they cleft the cask of beer—
What a spectacle of fear met their sight!
There George of Gorbals lay, skull and bones all blanched and gray,
In the arms he bore the day
Of the fight!"
George of Gorbals.
From Leech's contributions to the "Bon Gaultier Ballads" my third selection consists of an illustration of "The Lay of the Lover's Friend." The "Lay" is a capital skit on the propensity of certain lovers to inflict the sorrows caused by the loss of their hearts upon friends to whom the loss is a matter of indifference. Says the friend:
The Lover's Friend and the Lover.
"'I would all womankind were dead,
Or banished o'er the sea;
For they have been a bitter plague
These last six weeks to me.
It is not that I am touched myself,
For that I do not fear;
No female face has shown me grace
For many a bygone year.
But 'tis the most infernal bore,
Of all the bores I know,
To have a friend who's lost his heart
A short time ago.
"'Whene'er we steam it to Blackwall,
Or down to Greenwich run,
To quaff the pleasant cider-cup,
Or feed on fish and fun;
Or climb the slopes of Richmond Hill
To catch a breath of air—
Then, for my sins, he straight begins
To rave about his fair.
Oh, 'tis the most tremendous bore,
Of all the bores I know,
To have a friend who's lost his heart
A short time ago.'"
Judging from the angry face of "the lover's friend" as he stretches out his hand towards the claret, it will require even more than the consolation to be derived from the finest brand to enable him to endure his friend's moaning with common patience. One studies with wonder and admiration the few touches with which the story is told in this little drawing. See the handsome frowning face of "the lover's friend," so perfectly in contrast with that of the absorbed lover, whose voice can almost be heard expatiating on the beauty of the lost one, and the hardness of her heart!
[CHAPTER XVII.]
Sporting Novels (continued).
"Handley Cross" is another of the sporting novels so admirably illustrated by Leech. The hero of this book is a certain Mr. Jorrocks, a retired "great city grocer of the old school." A fortune gained in the grocery business enabled Mr. Jorrocks to retire into country life, where the sports of the field awaited him. He became a mighty hunter, the possessor of the finest horses and "the best pack of 'ounds in all the world," who would make the foxes cry "Capevi!" He is M.F.H., and so great an authority on sporting matters as to warrant his announcing himself as a lecturer on the duties of all concerned in the truly British sport of the chasing of the fox. Mr. Jorrocks's antecedents were such as to preclude the possibility of the display of brilliant oratorical powers. His mode of expression—including the absence of the letter "h," where it should be used, and its presence where it should not—was what might have been expected from the retired grocer whose little figure adorns the illustration.
Leech's old friend, Mr. Adams, tells me that a man named Nicholls, Lady Louise Clinton's coachman, was the model for Mr. Jorrocks. Leech never went anywhere, not even to church, without his little sketch-book; and on a special Sunday at Barkway Church, where Lady Clinton had her pew, she was followed by a little man who, after handing her ladyship her books of devotion, took his seat outside the pew, and became an unconscious study for Leech; who in a few minutes transferred an exact likeness to the sketch-book, which was afterwards as exactly reproduced in the "hunting lecture."
A curious reader can study Mr. Jorrocks's lecture in the pages of "Handley Cross." He will there wonder with me how it came about, that so distinguished an audience of aristocratic men, and lovely women, could listen for many minutes to an oration which must have lasted at least two hours, and which ends with the following peroration: "So shall little Spooney jog on rejoicin'! Each succeedin' year shall find him better mounted, and at each fresh deal he will become a wiser and I 'opes a nappier man."
Mr. Jorrocks concluded amidst loud and universal applause.
Leech's mastery of character—unexaggerated, true to nature, without a trace of caricature—can be seen in the foreground figures of this etching. The man standing behind the lady with the lovely profile is a gentleman, though perhaps not a wise one; but what can the beautiful profile find in Mr. Jorrocks's discourse to amuse or enlighten her? And those pretty creatures in the distance, who certainly seem a little bored, how is it that they did not slip away with their cavaliers behind them, and so leave Mr. Jorrocks to talk about 'unting to 'is 'eart's content?
One of Mr. Jorrocks's sporting friends is Mr. Charley Stobbs, a good-looking young gentleman who finds himself belated after a hard day's hunting. He wanders about an unknown country, darkness comes upon him, and he endeavours in vain to find his way to Handley Cross. "The night was drear and dark, the wind whistled and howled with uncommon keenness, the cutting hail drifted with the sharpness of needles against his face. Horse and rider were equally dispirited," says the chronicler. This free and easy, or, rather uneasy, fox-hunter, determined to seek shelter for the night at the first house he came to, that promised from its appearance a comfortable bed, with, perhaps, an introductory supper. He soon found himself "under the lee of a large house, and having dismounted, and broken his shins against a scraper, he at length discovered a bell-pull in the door-post, which having sounded, the echoing notes from afar proclaimed the size and importance of the mansion." "A little maiden" gave Charley admission, and, with surprising alacrity, provided him with "ham sandwiches, hot water, lemon, nutmeg," etc., to say nothing of a bottle of sherry!
To the common mind the ease with which Mr. Charles Stobbs managed to procure for himself a supper and lodging in a stranger's mansion will be a matter of surprise; in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred he would have met with a very different reception. We rejoice in his success, because it gives us a likeness of his good-looking self, in conjunction with that of one of the prettiest and daintiest waiting-maids ever created by Leech's pencil.
Had I been permitted I should have selected a drawing from "Handley Cross," which heads a chapter called "The Waning Season," not from its subject (which has little interest), but because it is an admirable example of Leech's mastery of landscape. The figure of the old hedger, with his big gauntlets and bill-hook, is as true as possible to nature, well drawn, and perfect in action, as he stoops over the faggots he has collected; but I would call more attention to the drawing of the foreground and distance of the landscape; the stunted tree and the wattled fence in its perspective cunningly going off almost to the horizon—thus leading the eye into space—with its lines so skilfully broken by the leafless trees. The sky, too, though represented by a few lines, composes artistically with the forms in the distance and the rest of the wintry landscape.
With "Ask Mamma"—another of the many sporting books illustrated by Leech—I shall close my selections from that kind of literature for the present.
In the frontispiece of the book, which represents "The Ancestors of our Hero," the female ancestor is such a bewitching creature as to make a reproduction of her in this place irresistible. This charming person is Mrs. William Pringle, née Willing, about whose birth, parentage, and education history is silent. Her acquaintance is first made by the reader of "Ask Mamma" in the position of assistant in a milliner's shop, which she soon left for a shop of her own. In this venture Miss Willing failed disastrously, and, leaving dressmaking, she became a lady's-maid in the service of "the beautiful, newly-married Countess Delacey." "It was to the service of the Countess Delacey," says our author, "that Miss Willing was indebted for becoming the wife of Mr. William Pringle." The acquaintance between Miss Willing and Mr. Pringle, which soon ripened into love and marriage, began on the stage-coach, in which Miss Willing was journeying to London to buy dresses for her mistress, the Countess. Alas! it must be confessed that Miss Willing was an unscrupulous adventuress, and Mr. Pringle a very green goose indeed; for when he found Miss Willing installed in the Countess's house in Grosvenor Square, dressed in her mistress's emerald-green velvet costume, he believed her to be, as she represented herself, the mistress of the mansion. A big footman played into Miss Willing's hand, and "my lady'd" her to her heart's content, and to the delight of Mr. Pringle, as the refreshments were supplied to which the victim had been invited. Under the inspiring influence of brandy-and-water Mr. Pringle's love grew apace; and in reply to the lady's prudent inquiries as to his means of keeping her surrounded by the luxury to which she had been accustomed, she was assured that "she should have everything she wanted: a tall footman with good legs, an Arab horse, an Erard harp, a royal pianoforte, a silver tea-urn, a gold coffee pot, a service of gold, eat gold if she liked;" and, as he made this declaration, "he dropped upon his salmon-coloured knees, and with his glass of brandy in one hand and hers in the other, looked imploring up at her—a beautiful specimen of heavy sentimentality."
As one looks at the comical figure of Mr. Pringle, it would be difficult to believe that, even with the golden advantages with which he surrounds himself, he could be rendered acceptable to the lovely creature of Leech's fancy; if a finger could not be put upon couples amongst our own acquaintances even more strangely contrasted.
With respect to personal appearance, Mr. Pringle fares better at Leech's hands in a drawing representing a halt in the stage-coach journey to London. The passengers have stopped for refreshment. The coachman attends for his fee. Mr. Pringle, "who was bent upon doing the magnificent, produced a large green-and-gold tasselled purse, almost as big as a stocking, and drew therefrom a great five-shilling piece, which he handed ostentatiously to the man, saying: 'For this lady and me,' just as if she belonged to him."
Here Mr. Pringle fairly resembles a good-looking buck of sixty years ago, and the coachman might have been one of those whom I remember on my own first journey to London, with his "Beg pardon, sir, I've drove you fifty miles," when his fee was less than he expected. The coat of many capes, the red cheeks and redder nose, the action of the man as he holds his hat and whip, are all true to life; here again without the least exaggeration. In composition, light and shade, and general effect, this drawing leaves nothing to wish for. The expression of Miss Willing, as she looks sideways at her victim, should be noted.
Mr. William Pringle did not long enjoy his married life, for his only son (the hero of "Ask Mamma") was but a child, when, "after an inordinate kidney supper, Mr. Pringle was found dead in his chair."
The widow was very rich, and after educating her son regardless of expense, she launched him into high life, and somehow or other brought about an acquaintance between "Billy" and a sporting nobleman, the Earl of Ladythorne. From that time "Ask Mamma" becomes a chronicle of sporting adventure, with which I shall not trouble my reader, beyond the explanation required for the understanding of one or two examples of Leech's work.
The noble Earl of Ladythorne seems to have been a very impressionable personage, in a constant state of suffering from "Cupid's shafts"; and though for some reason or other he objected to hunting ladies, an "equestrian coquette, Miss De Glancey, of half the watering-places in England, and some on the Continent," had but to show herself amongst the field and the noble lord was again transfixed; this time the dart seems to have gone through and through the tender heart, only to be released by an event which occurred shortly afterwards.
It appears that Miss De Glancey's love of hunting was affected, in order to further her designs upon the Earl; she really feared and hated it; and though on the fatal day, which was destined to extinguish her hope of becoming a Countess, she had ridden boldly by the Earl through what he calls "a monstrous fine run," she "found no fun in it at all," and was "monstrous glad when it was over." No sooner was the fox despatched, than the sky darkened, the lightning flashed, the thunder bellowed, and the rain came down in torrents. "Poor Miss De Glancey," says our author, "was ready to sink into the earth." There was nothing for it but to seek the nearest shelter, which seems to have been the Punch Bowl at Rockbeer, in search of which "my lord" and the coquette ride off together. "An opportune flash of lightning so lit up the landscape as to show the clump of large elms at the entrance to Rockbeer." The hard driving rain beats downways and sideways, frontways and backways—all ways at once. The horses know not which way to duck to evade the storm. In less than a minute Miss De Glancey is as drenched as if she had taken a shower-bath. "The smart hat and feather are annihilated; the dubious frizette falls out; down comes the hair; the bella-donna-inspired radiance of her eyes is quenched; the crinoline and wadding dissolve like ice before the fire; and ere the love-cured Earl lifts her off her horse at the Punch Bowl at Rockbeer, she has no more shape or figure than an icicle. Indeed, she much resembles one, for the cold sleet, freezing as it fell, has encrusted her in a rich coat of iced lace, causing her saturated garments to cling to her with the utmost pertinacity. A more complete wreck of a belle was perhaps never seen."
"Brief as woman's love," says Shakspeare. That this remark will sometimes apply to man's love cannot be contested, for have we not an example before us in the rapid way in which our noble friend's passion was, so to speak, washed out of him? The love-stricken Earl "cured" by a shower of rain! We ought to be thankful for the downpour, for it was the cause of Leech's drawing, in which the unfortunate coquette is still, under the artist's tender treatment, an elegant creature, with grace and beauty in every line of her bedraggled form. How admirable, too, is the Earl! the rain dripping from the brim of his hat, and with every opportunity for making him ridiculous, he is still dignified, his face and figure noble, as he bends forward to meet the storm. It goes without saying that the horses are admirable in character and action, and that the whole scene exactly realizes a wet and stormy night.