And they have got him down, now, they think, well, for a while, poor William, after his fit of fury and petroleum: and can make their money out of him for years to come, in the old ways.
Did you chance, my friends, any of you, to see, the other day, the 83rd number of the Graphic, with the picture of the Queen’s concert in it? All the fine ladies sitting so trimly, and looking so sweet, and doing the whole duty of woman—wearing their fine clothes gracefully; and the pretty singer, white-throated, warbling “Home, sweet home” to them, so morally, and melodiously! Here was yet to be our ideal of virtuous life, thought the Graphic! Surely, we are safe back with our virtues in satin slippers and lace veils;—and our Kingdom of Heaven is come again, with observation, and crown diamonds of the dazzlingest. Cherubim and Seraphim in toilettes de Paris,—(blue-de-ciel—vert d’olivier-de-Noé—mauve de colombe-fusillée,) dancing to Coote and Tinney’s band; and vulgar Hell reserved for the canaille, as heretofore! Vulgar Hell shall be didactically pourtrayed, accordingly; (see page 17,)—Wickedness going its way to its poor Home—bitter-sweet. Ouvrier and petroleuse—prisoners at last—glaring wild on their way to die.
Alas! of these divided races, of whom one was appointed to teach and guide the other, which has indeed sinned deepest—the unteaching, or the untaught?—which now are guiltiest—these, who perish, or those—who forget?
Ouvrier and petroleuse; they are gone their way—to their death. But for these, the Virgin of France shall yet unfold the oriflamme above their graves, and lay her blanches lilies on their smirched dust. Yes, and for these, great Charles shall rouse his Roland, and bid him put ghostly trump to lip, and breathe a point of war; and the helmed Pucelle shall answer with a wood-note of Domrémy;—yes, and for these the Louis they mocked, like his master, shall raise his holy hands, and pray God’s peace.
“Not as the world giveth.” Everlasting shame only, and unrest, are the world’s gifts. These Swine of the five per cent. shall share them duly.
La sconoscente vita, che i fe’ sozzi
Ad ogni conoscenza or li fa bruni.[3]
Che tutto l’oro, ch’e sotto la luna,
E che già fù, di queste anime stanche
Non poterebbe farne posar una.[4]