A change comes o'er the Wizard's face, And his solemn look by degrees gives place To a half grave, half comical, kind of grimace. "For good or for ill, I work your will! Yours be the risk and mine the skill; Blame not my art if unpleasant the pill!"
He takes from a shelf, and he pops on his head, A square sort of cap, black, and turned up with red, And desires not a syllable more may be said; He goes on to mutter, And stutter, and sputter Hard words, such as no men but Wizards dare utter. "Dies mies!—Hocus pocus— Adsis Demon! non est jokus! Hi Cocolorum—don't provoke us!— Adesto! Presto! Put forth your best toe!" And many more words, to repeat which would choke us,— Such a sniff then of brimstone!—it did not last long, Or they could not have borne it, the smell was so strong.
A mirror is near, So large and so clear, If you priced such a one in a drawing-room here, And was ask'd fifty pounds, you'd not say it was dear; But a mist gather'd round at the words of the Seer, Till at length, as the gloom Was subsiding, a room On its broad polish'd surface began to appear, And the Count and his comrade saw plainly before 'em The room Lady Isabel called her "Sanctorum." They start, well they might, With surprise at the sight, Methinks I hear some lady say, "Serve 'em right!"
THE LORD OF THOULOUSE.
For on one side the fire Is seated the Prior, At the opposite corner a fat little Friar; By the side of each gentleman, easy and free, Sits a lady, as close as close well may be, She might almost as well have been perch'd on his knee. Dear me! dear me! Why, one's Isabel—she On the opposite side's La Marquise Rigmaree!— To judge from the spread On the board, you'd have said That the partie quarrée had like aldermen fed, And now from long flasks, with necks covered with lead, They were helping themselves to champagne, white and red Hobbing and nobbing, And nodding and bobbing, With many a sip Both from cup and from lip, And with many a toast followed up by a "Hip!— Hip!—hip!—huzzay!" —The Count, by the way, Though he sees all they're doing, can't hear what they say, Notwithstanding both he And Mar-quis Rigmaree Are so vex'd and excited at what they can see, That each utters a sad word beginning with D.
That word once spoke, The silence broke, In an instant the vision is cover'd with smoke! But enough has been seen. "Horse! horse! and away!" They have, neither, the least inclination to stay, E'en to thank Nostradamus, or ask what's to pay.— They rush down the stair, How, they know not, nor care, The next moment the Count is astride on his bay, And my Lord Rigmaree on his mettlesome grey; They dash through the town, Now up, and now down, And the stones rattle under their hoofs as they ride, As if poor Thoulouse were as mad as Cheapside;[65] Through lane, alley, and street, Over all that they meet; The Count leads the way on his courser so fleet, My Lord Rigmaree close pursuing his beat, With the Page in the rear to protect the retreat. Where the bridge spans the river, so wide and so deep, Their headlong career o'er the causeway they keep, Upsetting the Watchman, two dogs, and a Sweep, All the town population that was not asleep. They at length reach the castle, just outside the town, Where—in peace it was usual with Knights of renown— The portcullis was up, and the drawbridge was down. They dash by the sentinels—"France et Thoulouse!" Ev'ry soldier (—they then wore cock'd hats and long queues, Appendages banish'd from modern reviews), His arquebus lower'd, and bow'd to his shoes; While Count Raymond pushed on to his lady's boudoir—he Had made up his mind to make one at her soirée. He rush'd to that door, Where ever before He had rapped with his knuckles, and "tirled at the pin," Till he heard the soft sound of his Lady's "Come in!" But now, with a kick from his iron-heel'd boot, Which, applied to a brick wall, at once had gone through't, He dash'd open the lock; It gave way at the shock! (—Dear ladies, don't think, in recording the fact, That your bard's for one moment defending the act, No—it is not a gentleman's—none but a low body Now—could perform it)—and there he saw—NOBODY!! Nobody?—No!! Oh, ho!—Oh, ho! There was not a table—there was not a chair Of all that Count Raymond had ever seen there (They'd maroon-leather bottoms well stuff'd with horse-hair), That was out of its place!— There was not a trace Of a party—there was not a dish or a plate— No sign of a tablecloth—nothing to prate Of a supper, symposium, or sitting up late; There was not a spark of fire left in the grate, It had all been poked out, and remained in that state. If there was not a fire, Still less was there Friar, Marquise, or long glasses, or Countess, or Prior, And the Count, who rush'd in open mouth'd, was struck dumb, And could only ejaculate, "Well, this is rum!"
He rang for the maids—had them into the room, With the butler, the footman, the coachman, the groom. He examined them all very strictly—but no! Notwithstanding he cross- and re-question'd them so, 'Twas in vain—it was clearly a case of "No Go!" "Their Lady," they said, "Had gone early to bed, Having rather complain'd of a cold in her head— The stout little Friar, as round as an apple, Had pass'd the whole night in a vigil in chapel, While the Prior himself, as he'd usually done, Had rung in the morning, at half-after one, For his jug of cold water and twopenny bun, And been visible, since they were brought him, to none. But," the servants averr'd, "From the sounds that were heard To proceed now and then from the father's sacellum, They thought he was purging His sins with a scourging, And making good use of his knotted flagellum." For Madame Rigmaree, They all testified, she Had gone up to her bed-chamber soon after tea, And they really supposed that there still she must be, Which her spouse, the Mar-quis, Found at once to agree With the rest of their tale, when he ran up to see.