by Lord Byron
I’m engaged to the Lady Bluebottle’s collation,
To partake of a luncheon and learn’d conversation:
‘Tis a sort of reunion for Scamp, on the days
Of his lecture, to treat him with cold tongue and praise. 140
And I own, for my own part, that ‘tis not unpleasant.
Will you go? There’s Miss Lilac will also be present.
Tra. That “metal’s attractive.”
Ink. No doubt — to the pocket.
Tra. You should rather encourage my passion than shock it.
But let us proceed; for I think by the hum — —
Ink. Very true; let us go, then, before they can come,
Or else we’ll be kept here an hour at their levee,
On the rack of cross questions, by all the blue bevy.
Hark! Zounds, they’ll be on us; I know by the drone
Of old Botherby’s spouting ex-cathedrâ tone. 150
Aye! there he is at it. Poor Scamp! better join
Your friends, or he’ll pay you back in your own coin.
Tra. All fair; ‘tis but lecture for lecture.
Ink. That’s clear.
But for God’s sake let’s go, or the Bore will be here.
Come, come: nay, I’m off.
[Exit Inkel.
Tra. You are right, and I’ll follow;
‘Tis high time for a “Sic me servavit Apollo.”
And yet we shall have the whole crew on our kibes,
Blues, dandies, and dowagers, and second-hand scribes,
All flocking to moisten their exquisite throttles
With a glass of Madeira at Lady Bluebottle’s. 160
[Exit Tracy.
ECLOGUE THE SECOND.
An Apartment in the House of Lady Bluebottle. — A Table prepared.
Sir Richard Bluebottle solus.
Was there ever a man who was married so sorry?
Like a fool, I must needs do the thing in a hurry.
My life is reversed, and my quiet destroyed;
My days, which once passed in so gentle a void,
Must now, every hour of the twelve, be employed;
The twelve, do I say? — of the whole twenty-four,
Is there one which I dare call my own any more?
What with driving and visiting, dancing and dining,
What with learning, and teaching, and scribbling, and shining,
In science and art, I’ll be cursed if I know 10
Myself from my wife; for although we are two,
Yet she somehow contrives that all things shall be done
In a style which proclaims us eternally one.
But the thing of all things which distresses me more
Than the bills of the week (though they trouble me sore)
Is the numerous, humorous, backbiting crew
Of scribblers, wits, lecturers, white, black, and blue,
Who are brought to my house as an inn, to my cost —
For the bill here, it seems, is defrayed by the host —
No pleasure! no leisure! no thought for my pains, 20
But to hear a vile jargon which addles my brains;
A smatter and chatter, gleaned out of reviews,
By the rag, tag, and bobtail, of those they call “Blues;”
A rabble who know not — — But soft, here they come!
Would to God I were deaf! as I’m not, I’ll be dumb.
Enter Lady Bluebottle, Miss Lilac, , MR. Botherby, Inkel, Tracy, Miss Mazarine, and others, with Scamp the Lecturer, etc., etc.
Lady Blueb.
Ah! Sir Richard, good morning: I’ve brought you some friends.
Sir Rich. (bows, and afterwards aside).
If friends, they’re the first.
Lady Blueb. But the luncheon attends.
I pray ye be seated, “sans cérémonie.”
Mr. Scamp, you’re fatigued; take your chair there, next me.
[They all sit.
Sir Rich. (aside). If he does, his fatigue is to come.
Lady Blueb. Mr. Tracy —
Lady Bluemount — Miss Lilac — be pleased, pray, to place ye; 31
And you, Mr. Botherby —
Both. Oh, my dear Lady,
I obey.
Lady Blueb. Mr. Inkel, I ought to upbraid ye:
You were not at the lecture.
Ink. Excuse me, I was;
But the heat forced me out in the best part — alas!
And when —
Lady Blueb. To be sure it was broiling; but then
You have lost such a lecture!
Both. The best of the ten.
Tra. How can you know that? there are two more.
Both. Because
I defy him to beat this day’s wondrous applause.
The very walls shook.
Ink. Oh, if that be the test, 40
I allow our friend Scamp has this day done his best.
Miss Lilac, permit me to help you; — a wing?
Miss Lil. No more, sir, I thank you. Who lectures next spring?
Both. Dick Dunder.
Ink. That is, if he lives.
Miss Lil. And why not?
Ink. No reason whatever, save that he’s a sot.
Lady Bluemount! a glass of Madeira?
Lady Bluem. With pleasure.
Ink. How does your friend Wordswords, that Windermere treasure?
Does he stick to his lakes, like the leeches he sings,
And their gatherers, as Homer sung warriors and kings?
Lady Bluem. He has just got a place.
Ink. As a footman?
Lady Bluem. For shame!
Nor profane with your sneers so poetic a name. 51
Ink. Nay, I meant him no evil, but pitied his master;
For the poet of pedlers ‘twere, sure, no disaster
To wear a new livery; the more, as ‘tis not
The first time he has turned both his creed and his coat.
Lady Bluem. For shame! I repeat. If Sir George could but hear —
Lady Blueb. Never mind our friend Inkel; we all know, my dear,
‘Tis his way.
Sir Rich. But this place — —
Ink. Is perhaps like friend Scamp’s,
A lecturer’s.
Lady Bluem. Excuse me — ’tis one in the “Stamps:”
He is made a collector.
Tra. Collector!
Sir Rich. How?
Miss Lil. What? 60
Ink. I shall think of him oft when I buy a new hat:
There his works will appear — —
Lady Bluem. Sir, they reach to the Ganges.
Ink. I sha’n’t go so far — I can have them at Grange’s.
Lady Bluem. Oh fie!
Miss Lil. And for shame!
Lady Bluem. You’re too bad.
Both. Very good!
Lady Bluem. How good?
Lady Blueb. He means nought — ’tis his phrase.
Lady Bluem. He grows rude.
Lady Blueb. He means nothing; nay, ask him.
Lady Bluem. Pray, Sir! did you mean
What you say?
Ink. Never mind if he did; ‘twill be seen
That whatever he means won’t alloy what he says.
Both. Sir!
Ink. Pray be content with your portion of praise;
‘Twas in your defence.
Both. If you please, with submission 70
I can make out my own.
Ink. It would be your perdition.
While you live, my dear Botherby, never defend
Yourself or your works; but leave both to a friend.
Apropos — Is your play then accepted at last?
Both. At last?
Ink. Why I thought — that’s to say — there had passed
A few green-room whispers, which hinted, — you know
That the taste of the actors at best is so so.
Both. Sir, the green-room’s in rapture, and so’s the Committee.
Ink. Aye — yours are the plays for exciting our “pity
And fear,” as the Greek says: for “purging the mind,” 80
I doubt if you’ll leave us an equal behind.
Both. I have written the prologue, and meant to have prayed
For a spice of your wit in an epilogue’s aid.
Ink. Well, time enough yet, when the play’s to be played.
Is it cast yet?
Both. The actors are fighting for parts,
As is usual in that most litigious of arts.
Lady Blueb. We’ll all make a party, and go the first night.
Tra. And you promised the epilogue, Inkel.
Ink. Not quite.
However, to save my friend Botherby trouble,
I’ll do what I can, though my pains must be double. 90
Tra. Why so?
Ink. To do justice to what goes before.
Both. Sir, I’m happy to say, I’ve no fears on that score.
Your parts, Mr. Inkel, are — —
Ink. Never mind mine;
Stick to those of your play, which is quite your own line.
Lady Bluem. You’re a fugitive writer, I think, sir, of rhymes?
Ink. Yes, ma’am; and a fugitive reader sometimes.
On Wordswords, for instance, I seldom alight,
Or on Mouthey, his friend, without taking to flight.
Lady Bluem. Sir, your taste is too common; but time and posterity
Will right these great men, and this age’s severity 100
Become its reproach.
Ink. I’ve no sort of objection,
So I’m not of the party to take the infection.
Lady Blueb. Perhaps you have doubts that they ever will take?
Ink. Not at all; on the contrary, those of the lake
Have taken already, and still will continue
To take — what they can, from a groat to a guinea,
Of pension or place; — but the subject’s a bore.
Lady Bluem. Well, sir, the time’s coming.
Ink. Scamp! don’t you feel sore?
What say you to this?
Scamp. They have merit, I own;
Though their system’s absurdity keeps it unknown, 110
Ink. Then why not unearth it in one of your lectures?
Scamp. It is only time past which comes under my strictures.
Lady Blueb. Come, a truce with all tartness; — the joy of my heart
Is to see Nature’s triumph o’er all that is art.
Wild Nature! — Grand Shakespeare!
Both. And down Aristotle!
Lady Bluem. Sir George thinks exactly with Lady Bluebottle:
And my Lord Seventy-four, who protects our dear Bard,
And who gave him his place, has the greatest regard
For the poet, who, singing of pedlers and asses,
Has found out the way to dispense with Parnassus. 120
Tra. And you, Scamp! —
Scamp. I needs must confess I’m embarrassed.
Ink. Don’t call upon Scamp, who’s already so harassed
With old schools, and new schools, and no schools, and all schools.
Tra. Well, one thing is certain, that some must be fools.
I should like to know who.
Ink. And I should not be sorry
To know who are not: — it would save us some worry.
Lady Blueb. A truce with remark, and let nothing control
This “feast of our reason, and flow of the soul.”
Oh! my dear Mr. Botherby! sympathise! — I
Now feel such a rapture, I’m ready to fly, 130
I feel so elastic — ”so buoyant — so buoyant!”
Ink. Tracy! open the window.
Tra. I wish her much joy on’t.
Both. For God’s sake, my Lady Bluebottle, check not
This gentle emotion, so seldom our lot
Upon earth. Give it way: ‘tis an impulse which lifts
Our spirits from earth — the sublimest of gifts;
For which poor Prometheus was chained to his mountain:
‘Tis the source of all sentiment — feeling’s true fountain;
‘Tis the Vision of Heaven upon Earth: ‘tis the gas
Of the soul: ‘tis the seizing of shades as they pass, 140
And making them substance: ‘tis something divine: —
Ink. Shall I help you, my friend, to a little more wine?
Both. I thank you: not any more, sir, till I dine.
Ink. Apropos — Do you dine with Sir Humphry to day?
Tra. I should think with Duke Humphry was more in your way.
Ink. It might be of yore; but we authors now look
To the Knight, as a landlord, much more than the Duke.
The truth is, each writer now quite at his ease is,
And (except with his publisher) dines where he pleases.
But ‘tis now nearly five, and I must to the Park. 150
Tra. And I’ll take a turn with you there till ‘tis dark.
And you, Scamp —
Scamp. Excuse me! I must to my notes,
For my lecture next week.
Ink. He must mind whom he quotes
Out of “Elegant Extracts.”
Lady Blueb. Well, now we break up;
But remember Miss Diddle invites us to sup.
Ink. Then at two hours past midnight we all meet again,
For the sciences, sandwiches, hock, and champagne!
Tra. And the sweet lobster salad!
Both. I honour that meal;
For ‘tis then that our feelings most genuinely — feel.
Ink. True; feeling is truest then, far beyond question:
I wish to the gods ‘twas the same with digestion! 161
Lady Blueb. Pshaw! — never mind that; for one moment of feeling
Is worth — God knows what.
Ink. ’Tis at least worth concealing
For itself, or what follows — But here comes your carriage.
Sir Rich. (aside).
I wish all these people were d — — d with my marriage!
[Exeunt.
THE VISION OF JUDGMENT.
BY
QUEVEDO REDIVIVUS.
SUGGESTED BY THE COMPOSITION SO ENTITLED BY THE AUTHOR OF “WAT TYLER.”
“A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel!
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.”
Merchant of Venice, act iv. sc. 1, lines 218, 336.
INTRODUCTION
Byron’s Vision of Judgment is a parody of Southey’s Vision of Judgement.
The acts or fyttes of the quarrel between Byron and Southey occur in the following order. In the summer of 1817 Southey, accompanied by his friends, Humphrey Senhouse and the artist Edward Nash, passed some weeks (July) in Switzerland. They visited Chamouni, and at Montanvert, in the travellers’ album, they found, in Shelley’s handwriting, a Greek hexameter verse, in which he affirmed that he was an “atheist,” together with an indignant comment (“fool!” also in Greek) superadded in an unknown hand (see Life of Shelley, by E. Dowden, 1886, ii. 30, note). Southey copied this entry into his note-book, and “spoke of the circumstance on his return” (circ. August 12, 1817). In the course of the next year some one told Byron that a rumour had reached England that he and Shelley “had formed a league of incest with two sisters,” and that Southey and Coleridge were the authors of the scandal. There is nothing to show through what channel the report of the rumour reached Byron’s ears, but it may be inferred that it was in his mind (see Letter to Murray, November 24, 1818, Letters, 1900, iv. 272) when he assailed Southey in the “Dedication” (“in good, simple, savage verse”) to the First Canto of Don Juan, which was begun Sep
tember 6, 1818. Shelley, who was already embittered against Southey (see the account of a dinner at Godwin’s, November 6, 1817, Diary of H. C. Robinson, 1869, ii. 67), heard Byron read this “Dedication,” and, in a letter to Peacock (October 8, 1818), describes it as being “more like a mixture of wormwood and verdigrease than satire.”
When Don Juan appeared (July 15, 1819), the “Dedication” was not forthcoming, but of its existence and character Southey had been informed. “Have you heard,” he asks (Letter to the Rev. H. Hill, Selections from the Letters, etc., 1856, iii. 142), “that Don Juan came over with a Dedication to me, in which Lord Castlereagh and I … were coupled together for abuse as the ‘two Roberts’? A fear of persecution (sic) from the one Robert is supposed to be the reason why it has been suppressed. Lord Byron might have done well to remember that the other can write dedications also; and make his own cause good, if it were needful, in prose or rhyme, against a villain, as well as against a slanderer.”
When George III. died (January 29, 1820), it became the duty of the “laurel-honouring laureate” to write a funeral ode, and in composing a Preface, in vindication of the English hexameter, he took occasion “incidentally to repay some of his obligations to Lord Byron by a few comments on Don Juan” (Letter to the Rev. H. Hill, January 8, 1821, Selections, etc., iii. 225). He was, no doubt, impelled by other and higher motives to constitute himself a censor morum, and take up his parable against the spirit of the age as displayed and fostered in Don Juan (see a letter to Wynne, March 23, 1821, Selections, etc., iii. 238), but the suppressed “Dedication” and certain gibes, which had been suffered to appear, may be reckoned as the immediate causes of his anathema.
Southey’s Vision of Judgement was published April 11, 1821 — an undivine comedy, in which the apotheosis of George III., the beatification of the virtuous, and the bale and damnation of such egregious spirits as Robespierre, Wilkes, and Junius, are “thrown upon the screen” of the showman or lecturer. Southey said that the “Vision” ought to be read aloud, and, if the subject could be forgotten and ignored, the hexameters might not sound amiss, but the subject and its treatment are impossible and intolerable. The “Vision” would have “made sport” for Byron in any case, but, in the Preface, Southey went out of his way to attack and denounce the anonymous author of Don Juan.
“What, then,” he asks (ed. 1838, x. 204), “should be said of those for whom the thoughtlessness and inebriety of wanton youth can no longer be pleaded, but who have written in sober manhood, and with deliberate purpose?... Men of diseased hearts and depraved imaginations, who, forming a system of opinions to suit their own unhappy course of conduct, have rebelled against the holiest ordinances of human society, and hating that revealed religion which, with all their efforts and bravadoes, they are unable entirely to disbelieve, labour to make others as miserable as themselves, by infecting them with a moral virus that eats into the soul! The school which they have set up may properly be called the Satanic school; for, though their productions breathe the spirit of Belial in their lascivious parts, and the spirit of Moloch in those loathsome images of atrocities and horrors which they delight to represent, they are more especially characterized by a Satanic pride and audacious impiety, which still betrays the wretched feeling of hopelessness wherewith it is allied.”