ALEXANDRA
A
BIRTHDAY ODE
suggested
by ABBEY'S masterpiece in the Academy of 1904
BEING
THE WATKIN TOWER OF ENGLISH LITERATURE
(vice
Kubla Khan and Hyperion retired hurt)
THE
UNFINISHED
OR MUTILATED (OR BOTH)
M
A N U S C R I P T
of
Mr ALFRED AUSTIN, Mr OWEN SEAMAN, or Mr A.N. OTHER
rescued
from the flames
AND
copied
fair, transcribed, edited, annotated, arranged, printed, published
BY
OPHELIA
COX (NÉE McHUNT)
and
DIAPER of the Woman's Monthly
SHANGHAI
1905
Five
Dollars
EDITORIAL
NOTE
Pleesm! said
my [Diaper's, not
Mrs Cox's] sloppy slavey one
brilliant
November morning
of last year, as the orangegold
clouds of deliciously
perfumed mist stole, in spite of the Eighth
commandment, down my chimney
in Fleet Street;
[of course Diaper does not live in a chimney:
she has a
deevie flat there and the flat has a chimney, two
chimneys, in fact, O.C.]
myav thister
litafir?
Woman! I replied
sternly, whence came it? My practised
eye had already
detected the indescribable
cachet of a treasure trove -- bene trovato, sin
non veri similitudo!
as the immortal Mantuan bardic anarch hath it -- ah!
dear, dear
old Dante! -- Dunnom! -- Oyussm! with a
vivid blush through
her smuts
(Euphemia knows that she cannot hope
to deceive me. What is my
secret? A simple
one: I always believe the worst: once in a thousand times
I may be wrong,
and it is only the next worst, but no matter.)
Without prolonging
the agony, I may say that it shortly transpired that
Euphemia Bugg --
such is her name -- has
for years been
the adored
(Platonic if
not Aristotelian) mistress of a distinguished litt‚rateur,
whom I have been
able with difficulty (the maid is
modest, as one
would
expect from the No 1 belle dame of either of these
cicisbeos), with one of
the gentlemen
whose name is on our title-page. The student of style will be
able to make his
or her choice.
All we care
about is that he or she should pay his or her money.
It is at least
certainly not a posthumous work of Walter
Pater or John
Addington Symonds:
only a crapulous mountebank would credit W.B. Yeats or
Robert Bridges
with it. The only question is: did not perhaps the late Lord
Tennyson foresee
events, and leave it to be published when the
right time
came? But in
this case, how account for Euphemia's possession of the dainty
thing? Anyway,
it's not Tennyson: don't worry: I was only teasing.
She had originally picked up the unfinished M.S.
to use as curl-papers. It
was indeed
written, as will be obvious
from the style,
on sheets of
thinnest, softest
(and I believe sterilised) paper
of a delicate and
pleasing pale
canary colour, mullioned at the shorter edges like a postage
stamp.
These she had placed
on my mantelpiece for pipe-spills, and forgotten about
them.
It is
my pride and privilege through my old and esteemed cons{oe}ur, as I
suppose I may
say for the lady of confrŠre, to
give the providentially
rescued
masterpiece; alas! too incomplete!! to the World of Society, though
even the humblest may enjoy (A navvy, when they
were repairing the street,
whom I asked up
to taste my delicious T. -- I think the abbreviation is so
clever, don't
you? -- and to whom I had read it, said: "B...y good, miss,
b...y
good". A simple heartfelt tribute from the People).
Alas! too
incomplete. But something at least is saved, -- honour, which if
you remember was all Sir George got out of King
Francis' great lion at the
battle of Pavium
-- you have read Mrs Browning's
scrumptious poemlet, of
course.
"Diaper" will at least avoid the Infernum proscribed
for John Stuart Mill,
Newton's dog,
and Mr Warburton's housemaid. Nunquam plaudite!
A
L E X A N D R A
-▼-
INTRODUCTORY
PINDARIC ODE
By
O.C.
Alexandra!
Alexandra!
Lege! non ero
Cassandra.
Ego scribam qu‘
me decet:
Xenophon non
nimis fecit.
Alexandra!
Alexandra!
Non ero mala
Cassandra.
De te poetam,
fac, ver, me!
Regne! Vive!
Ama! Germe!
Alexandra! me
inerme!
Regne! Ama!
Germe! Vive!
Ex ad te it
cupido cive.
Gratiam Deo
demus mutuam
In cubili si te
futuam.
Non ero mala
Cassandra,
Alexandra!
Alexandra!<1>
(Mrs Cox's
Latinity is sometimes not quite up to
Fleet Street mark:
and
these lines are
decidedly not regular hexameters: Professor Jibb, to whom I
submitted the
point, was quite
at one with me upon it, after a days'
consideration.
But the acrostic is beautifully
carried out: and
the
sentiment is throughout loyal, enthusiastic, generous,
delicate, forceful,
noble, svelte,
admirable, delicate, reverently
amorous, respectfully
familiar (Mrs
Cox is in the very
best set at Shanghai) and as I have
elsewhere
observed, above all, delicate.
In particular
the male vigour of, ll. 11-13 is
all her own:
there is
nothing like
it in Sappho, at least in those of her works that I have
hitherto had the
glorious privilege of perusing. It
is, by the way, my
favourite
pastime when I have, as we say in Fleet Street, the "blunt" to go
down to
Marlow or Maidenhead
in a punt, and there lie in
some shady
favourite
backwater with my favourite girl friend in front. What a thing
friendship is,
world without end!
-- and my favourite old black
briar
between my lips,
and her sweet face fixed on my old favourite thumb-worn --
copy of Sappho,
and pore over the deevie pages, hour after hour, bound by
the Woman's
Guild. No! Sappho has nothing
like this in all her scroll of
gorgeous rhyme:
Cox has, and I am proud to have been to her what I have.
Rosie
Brooks (Diaper)
A
L E X A N D R A
-▼-
I
The sixty
summers that have rolled away
Since first thy fame by bard and sage was
sung
Leave thee to
England and to us to-day
Still fair and young.
I saw thee limned
in all the robes and pearls,
Diamonds and ermine that proclaim thee
queen:
Thou wast (or I
know nothing about girls)
Barely eighteen.<2>
▼
▼ ▼
VII
Thy royal
Edward's undivided love
Hath been thy lifelong privilege, 'tis
true!
Still, is he
not, though us so far above,
Our Edward too?
▼
▼ ▼
XII
Why did the
heathen Hindoo's loyal roar
Acclaim that dream brighter than bard
e'er dreamt?<3>
He worshipped
thee<4> ...
'Twas not thy George's
viking frame that set
Australia cheering: but their souls
surprise
The God within
his magian deeply-set
Mysterious eyes.<5>
▼
▼ ▼
XIX
Thou with thy
smile<6> encouraged<7> all the sages<8>
Who strove to alleviate<9> man's
bitter lot:<10>
Thou
saved<11> the pigeons in their trappy cages,
From being shot.<12>
Marriage
declines (our sobbing statesmen<13> own)
The birthrate shows mysterious decay:
'Tis that each
loyal bosom knows alone
Thy single sway.
Maidens and
wives<14> take tribute of our days:
We love them (nous leur jurons nos grands
dieux!)
'Tis but (in von
Krafft-Ebing's pregnant phrase)
Faute de mieux.
With wives and
sweethearts for awhile we dally:
We haunt the Empire,<15> pace the
piteous Strand:<16>
Or friendless,
coinless, for a spurt we rally
The faltering hand.<17>
We prate of
Pamela, we pipe of Polly,<18>
We stock the loved disciple's shady
wood:<19>
All this is
merely visionary folly:
It does no good.
We turn us from
the tedious trivial traffic
To vests that hold (your choicest spoil,
be sure,
O Illustrated
London News or Graphic!)
Thy miniature.<20>
To Ann, Bess,
Clara, Dora, Ethel, Florrie,
Grace, Helen, Ida, Jane, Kate, Lily, May,
Nan, Olga,
Prudence, Queenie, we say "Sorry!"
And turn away.
Even from Rose,
Sal, Tabs, Ulrica, Violet,
Winnie, Xantippe, Yolande, Zaza, we
Turn like the
magnet to the sailor's eyelet<21>
To thee -- to thee.<22>
Hell ...
Desunt cetera.
[Footnotes]
<1> Translation by Mr A.B. Waulkphast. Alexandra!
Alexandra! Read!
I will not be a
Cassandra. (i.e. a prophetess of evil.)
I will write
those things
which become me: Xenophon (an ancient writer ... ah!
did you once see
Shelley plain? in his extant
masterpiece) did no
more. Alexandra!
Alexandra! I will not be a bad
Cassandra. (i.e. a
seer of future
misfortunes.) O spring! make
me a poet (poetess)
concerning thee!
Reign! Live! Love!
Be fruitful! Alexandra!
I
being unarmed.
(Because Mrs Cox is a woman. Cf.
Voltaire: "O che
sciagura essere
sin cogl ...") Reign! Love! Be fruitful!
Live! Out of
the citizen
desire goes to thee. We will give grateful mutual thanks
to God if I
shall ... (I do not know what futuam can mean. (Look up
your Latin
Dic., though I
admit it is
an unusual word in this
connection, and
may seem unjustifiable to those who have not
seen my
cl... O.C.
(MS. illegible. Printer)))
... thee in bed. I will not
be a bad
Cassandra. (i.e. a prognosticatress of calamity.) Alexandra!
Alexandra!
<2> Cancelled passage: verse III.
"Will not
some hero, loyal, leal, and true,"
(Men fainting cried) "the accursed
chromo take?"
The nation took
the chromo, queen, and you,
You took the cake.
<3> Clearly refers to the late Duke of Clarence
and Avondale.
<4> Suggested restoration by Dr Verrall and
Brugsch Bey:
... and made
allowance for
A first attempt.
<5> v.l. ... his Hoffmann's violet
Aniline eyes.
<6> v.l. You with your smile ... with that
smile.
<7> v.l. encouragedst.
<8> v.l. all the savants ... in their trappy
caverns
... all the Magi ... (Oh anthropophagi!)
<9> v.l. to 'meliorate.'
<10> It is
an open secret that the late Herbert Spencer was solely inspired
in his laborious
labours by a desire to gratify
his august though
bewitching sovereign.
It is related that in his early days as a
student Her
Majesty was visiting the school where
he studied. "What
are you
doing, Herbert?" asked the beautiful but insouciant girl, as
she then, as she
now is, was. "Studying philosophy, miss!"
was the
brusque yet
courtly reply. "Why
study it? Rather synthesize
it!"
observed the
thoughtful though dazzling
monarch. "I will,
miss!"
cried the
youth, the flash of genius
leaping to his eyes. And as we
all know, he kept
his word.
<11> v.l.
You saved ... savedst.
<12> It is
said that on the occasion of an important
shooting match at
Hurlingham, in
which the Prince
of Wales was to take part, Queen
Alexandra in
full regalia rushed between No. 3 trap
and the 24-yard
mark, and, in noble imitation of the Empress
Agrippina, smote herself
in the region of
the uterus and cried "Strike here!" From that moment
the doom of
pigeon-shooting (save the mark!) at least in England, ever
leader of
humanitarian exacerbation, was sealed.
<13> v.l.
... our statisticians own ... our J. Holt Schoolings.
<14> v.l.
Maids, matross, mots ...
<15> v.l.
Oxford.
<16> i.e.
we occupy various official positions in India and the Colonies.
Strand: i.e.,
the foreign strand. Cf. Heber (not the Kenite)
"India's
coral strand". The phrase denotes homesickness. But the whole stanza
is certainly
obscure.
<17>
Probably waving to
the distant shores
of beloved Albion.
But
"friendless,
coinless" suggests rather the dead-beat than the Indian,
or Colonial
official.
<18> vv.
ll. We ask for Anne, we argue over
Ada,
All is foredoomed to fail; like the Armada:
We bleat of Barbara, we brawl of Bertha,
All this is like an edict of Jugurtha.
We cuddle Clara, we caress Corinna,
They are not worth the simple "Ta' ala
hinna!"
We chatter of Chilperic, we chirp of
Cholly,
(As in text)
We drivel of Dorine, we drone of Dolly,
(As in text)
We eulogize Elaine, we egg on Emma,
They
do not draw us from our drear dilemma:
We fiddle of Fifine, we fife of Fanny,
This is as gruesome as to grind one's
granny:
We ... Fifine, we ... with Fanny.*
This is as gruesome as to grind one's
granny:
We gloat on Gabrielle, we goo-goo Gertie,
This is unsatisfactory and dirty:
We howl of Helen, we hurrah for Hertha,
(As for B)
We inspan Ivy, we invoke Irene,
Like sound advice to Mr. Mantalini,
We joke with Julia, we jolly Jessie,
This is a proposition really messy:
We kiss Kathleen, we knock up Katherina,
Like Bonaparte's success at Beresina,
We leer at Lilian, we long for Lottie,
This is admittedly extremely dotty:
We maunder of Marie, we miaul of Molly,
(As in text)
We nuzzle up to Norah, we nudge Nancy,
All this is but the play of idle fancy:
We ogle Olive, we oblate to Olga,
This dodge is vain as dreams upon the
Volga:
We quiz Querida, quarrel over Queenie,
(As for I)
We rave of Rowena, we rant of Rachel,
All's a mirage like sailors see in
Seychelles:
We sing of Sue, we serenade Selina,
(As for K)
We talk of Tabitha, we troll of Thais,
Like Shelley's effort to save Adonais,
We undress Undine, we up Ugolina,
(As for K)
We violate Vivien, we vault on Vera,
All's an unsatisfactory chim‘ra;
We waste for Wilhelmine, we wail for
Winnie,
The harmony is harsh, the tune is tinny;
We xylo Xenia, we X-ray Xantippe,
We disagree with Fra Filippo Lippi:
We xylo Xavier, we X-ray Xerxes,
This is a vision like a drunken Turk sees:
We yammer of Yvonne, we yell Yolande,
This is weak tea to Alexandra's brandy:
We zeal for Zelma, zig-zag after Zaza,
No! happiness is never … la casa:
* Verbs illegible; and we cannot give the
remotest guess. Ed.
<19>
The loved disciple is perhaps St
John. But Patmos is a rocky, not a
wooded, island. Obscure.
<20>
Not a
painted miniature, of course. More
probably a black and white
reproduction, or possibly a coloured one,
of a sketch or photograph.
Only
the gentlemen and
noblemen about the
court would be in a
position to order a painting on ivory by
an artist such as Sargent or
Herkomer from such sketch or photograph.
<21> The
nautical reference is, on
the authority of
Lloyd's journal,
obscure.
<22>
Cancelled passage, vv. XXXI, XXXII.
Who turn? Why,
Arthur, Bertie, Charles, Dick, Edward,
Frank, George, Hal, Ike, John, Kenneth,
Leonard, Mike,
Nat, Oliver,
Pete, Quintus, wend them bedward
Alone, alike.
So Roger, Sam, Tom, Unus,
Victor, Willie,
Xenocrates, Yeo, Zeno, frown on fun,
Disdain, delight, cry:
"Though you think us silly,
A.R. or none!"
The line
"Alone, alike"
resembled too nearly "Aloft, alone", in the
famous Diamond
Jubilee Ode. Hence the whole passage had to go.