“Sir,
“The following is a free translation from the French, a little imperfect I must confess; for a waggish friend of mine maltreated the commencement of it (as far as the chasm) after I had parted with the original composition, and I was consequently obliged to patch his alterations and the remaining fragment together as well as I could.
“The writing came into my hands in the following
manner:—As I was taking my chop in Sweetings-alley the other day, I
observed that my next neighbour was in some distress, and that it appeared
to arise from a pamphlet which he held in his hand. The person was about
four feet and-a-half high, had a foreign aspect, and wore a small hat,
almost receding to a point at the top, and which seemed altogether
supported by the profusion of black, shaggy hair that adorned his head, and
the whiskers that adorned his sallow cheeks. After having made a temperate
meal off a kidney and a pint of beer (which circumstance I should have
attributed to poverty had I not perceived a multitude of gold and silver
rings on all his fingers), he wiped his eyes and addressed me. He said that
he had the honour of being a Frenchman—that he had experienced the most
profound and invincible attachment to Mademoiselle Bias for some years—that he was overwhelmed
with sorrow at reading the statements made in M.
Waters’ Pamphlet—that although he was penetrated with
respect for M. Waters (who, as the head of an
establishment wherein ‘artists’ from Italy and France were
exclusively employed, must be a gentleman of the first taste), yet he must,
it was with regret, but he must, as a native of the Great Nation, do
something to wipe off the stigma that would attach to it, if the statements
contained in the Pamphlet remained uncontradicted. Those statements he must
at present presume arose from mistake, especially those which referred to
Mademoiselle
| 336 | APPENDIX. |
“I am, Sir,
“Your most obedient servant,
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“Fanny Bias as
Flora—dear creature! you’d swear,
When her delicate feet in the dance twinkle
round,
That her steps are of light, and her home is the air,
And she only par complaisance touches the
ground.”—
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Oh! Med’moiselle
Fanny!—Ah, ah! is it so?
Faith, and “His to some tune” you’d be
turning your toe—
Methinks you have left your ethereal tent,
Where you dwelt like a nymph—nay, I’m forced to lament
That—Miss Bias—(though still may be lofty
her bound)
No longer, “par complaisance, touches the ground;”
But, that when her bright presence she deigns to unfold
To us mortals—we mortals must pay her “in gold.”
But I jest
Oh! my Fanny—and was it
for thee,
(The queen of the dance and the Flora of show)
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To be like the D——s, or the craving
Miss G.
Or that great, bouncing dancing-girl, Madame Le
Gros.
Let V—— (who sings like a lord) still
disclaim
All “haggling” forsooth, ’cause ’twill
sully his fame—
Let the “Buffo, B. C.” in his
impudence ask
“Fourteen covers” to fatten
him fit for his task—
Let the Milanese Miss, and the Lady at Turin
Provoke one, with eight stipulations alluring—
The other with five—but such five—by my life!
It tempts one to wish for Miss T. for a
wife.
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Away with these o’er-reaching wretches, but you
To mix with the paltry, exorbitant crew!!
I feel “au
desespoir:” you were all my delight,
I loved you—I thought you a daughter of light—
Oh! come forward, my love, and the slander deny,
Or begone, like an angel, at once to the sky;
And if you ne’er drop from your dwelling again,
I shall know it was envy that drove you
from men.
Till I hear from you, Fanny, I’ll never believe
That I could be cosened, or you could deceive—
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| BARRY CORNWALL. | 337 |
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Let me hear! and ’till then you shall live in my heart
As tho’, like my destiny, never to part.
If you’re silent I’ll think that you’ve
wander’d above,
And there, too, shall wander
Pontarlier’s love.
My good wishes shall follow you, darling afar,
And should in the heaven, some beautiful star
Ever flash its pale lustre alone upon me,*
I shall know ’tis the home, sweet, allotted to thee.
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