CHAPTER XXX
Having arrived in England once more, the greatest rejoicings were made
for my return; the whole city seemed one general blaze of
illumination, and the Colossus of Rhodes, hearing of my astonishing
feats, came on purpose to England to congratulate me on such
unparalleled achievements. But above all other rejoicings on my
return, the musical oratorio and song of triumph were magnificent in
the extreme. Gog and Magog were ordered to take the maiden tower of
Windsor, and make a tambourine or great drum of it. For this purpose
they extended an elephant's hide, tanned and prepared for the design,
across the summit of the tower, from parapet to parapet, so that in
proportion this extended elephant's hide was to the whole of the
castle what the parchment is to a drum, in such a manner that the
whole became one great instrument of war.
To correspond with this, Colossus took Guildhall and Westminster
Abbey, and turning the foundations towards the heavens, so that the
roofs of the edifices were upon the ground, he strung them across with
brass and steel wire from side to side, and thus, when strung, they
had the appearance of most noble dulcimers. He then took the great
dome of St. Paul's, raising it off the earth with as much facility as
you would a decanter of claret. And when once risen up it had the
appearance of a quart bottle. Colossus instantly, with his teeth,
cracked off the superior part of the cupola, and then applying his
lips to the instrument, began to sound it like a trumpet. 'Twas
martial beyond description--/tantara!/--/tara!/--/ta!/
During the concert I walked in the park with Lady Fragrantia: she was
dressed that morning in a /chemise à la reine/. "I like," said she,
"the dew of the morning, 'tis delicate and ethereal, and, by thus
bespangling me, I think it will more approximate me to the nature of
the rose [for her looks were like Aurora]; and to confirm the
vermilion I shall go to Spa." "And drink the Podhon spring?" added I,
gazing at her from top to toe. "Yes," replied the lovely Fragrantia,
"with all my heart; 'tis the drink of sweetness and delicacy. Never
were there any creatures like the water-drinkers at spa; they seem
like so many thirsty blossoms on a peach-tree, that suck up the shower
in the scorching heat. There is a certain something in the waters that
gives vigour to the whole frame, and expands every heart with rapture
and benevolence. They drink! good gods! how they do drink! and then,
how they sleep! Pray, my dear Baron, were you ever at the falls of
Niagara?" "Yes, my lady," replied I, surprised at such a strange
association of ideas; "I have been, many years ago, at the Falls of
Niagara, and found no more difficulty in swimming up and down the
cataracts than I should to move a minuet." At that moment she dropped
her nosegay. "Ah," said she, as I presented it to her, "there is no
great variety in these polyanthuses. I do assure you, my dear Baron,
that there is taste in the selection of flowers as well as everything
else, and were I a girl of sixteen I should wear some rosebuds in my
bosom, but at five-and-twenty I think it would be more /apropos/ to
wear a full-blown rose, quite ripe, and ready to drop off the stalk
for want of being pulled--heigh-ho!" "But pray, my lady," said I, "how
do you like the concert?" "Alas!" said she, languishingly, while she
laid her hand upon my shoulder, "what are these bodiless sounds and
vibration to me? and yet what an exquisite sweetness in the songs of
the northern part of our island:--'/Thou art gone awa' from me,
Mary!/' How pathetic and divine the little airs of Scotland and the
Hebrides! But never, never can I think of that same Doctor Johnson--
that CONSTABLE, as Fergus MacLeod calls him--but I have an idea of a
great brown full-bottomed wig and a hogshead of porter! Oh, 'twas
base! to be treated everywhere with politeness and hospitality, and in
return invidiously to smellfungus them all over; to go to the country
of Kate of Aberdeen, of Auld Robin Gray, 'midst rural innocence and
sweetness, take up their plaids, and dance. Oh! Doctor, Doctor!"
"And what would you say, Fragrantia, if you were to write a tour to
the Hebrides?" "Peace to the heroes," replied she, in a delicate and
theatrical tone; "peace to the heroes who sleep in the isle of Iona;
the sons of the wave, and the chiefs of the dark-brown shield! The
tear of the sympathising stranger is scattered by the wind over the
hoary stones as she meditates sorrowfully on the times of old! Such
could I say, sitting upon some druidical heap or tumulus. The fact is
this, there is a right and wrong handle to everything, and there is
more pleasure in thinking with pure nobility of heart than with the
illiberal enmities and sarcasm of a blackguard."
