Laughing at the King E-Book

Peter Pindar

• Herausgeber: Fyfield Books
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2011

Beschreibung

Peter Pindar (1738-1819), the pen name of John Wolcot, dared to ridicule the foibles, corruptions and misdemeanours of King George III and those in power in his kingdom. His satire was merciless, but Wolcot survived accusations of treason, protected by his wit and readership. His admirers included Lord Nelson and the Prince Regent himself; to Robert Burns he was 'a delightful fellow and a first favourite of mine'. Fascinating for what they reveal of the world of Hanoverian England, Peter Pindar's audacious poems still shock the modern reader into laughter at the unchanging characteristics of the arrogant and powerful. Fenella Copplestone's introduction and notes illuminate social and literary contexts of Pindar's writing.

Leseprobe

FyfieldBooks aim to make available some of the classics of world literature in clear, affordable formats, and to restore often neglected writers to their place in literary tradition.

FyfieldBooks take their name from the Fyfield elm in Matthew Arnold’s ‘Scholar Gypsy’ and ‘Thyrsis’. The tree stood not far from the village where the series was originally devised in 1971.

Roam on! The light we sought is shining still.

Dost thou ask proof? Our tree yet crowns the hill,

Our Scholar travels yet the loved hill-side

from ‘Thyrsis’

PETER PINDAR

Laughing at the King

SELECTED POEMS

Edited with an introduction byFENELLA COPPLESTONE

Ladies and Gentlemen,

Know that I scorn a prostituted pen:

No Royal Rotten wood my Verse veneers.

Oh! yield me for a moment, yield your ears.

Stubborn, and mean, and weak, nay fools indeed,

Though Kings may be, we must support the breed.

Yet join I issue with you: yes, ’tis granted,

That through the World such Royal folly rules,

As bids us think Thrones advertise for fools;

Yet is a King a Utensil much wanted:

A Screw, a Nail, a Bolt, to keep together

The Ship’s old leaky Sides in stormy weather;

Which Screw, or Nail, or Bolt, its work performs,

Though downright ignorant of Ships and Storms.

Peter Pindar, from ‘The Remonstrance’, 1791

This book is dedicated to the memory of my dearest friend, Frank Copplestone

Acknowledgements

I am grateful to Michael Schmidt of Carcanet Press for his belief that Peter Pindar should once again be brought to the reader’s attention, to Judith Willson, also of Carcanet, for her patient and good-humoured advice, and to Frances Hendron of Hendron Associates, Glasgow, for all her brilliant assistance with the preparation of this book. My thanks also to Simon Blundell, Librarian of the Reform Club, for his cheerful help in the early stages of book-finding.

Contents

Title Page

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Introduction

A Note on the Text

Suggestions for Further Reading

THE LOUSIAD: AN HEROI-COMIC POEM. 1785–1795

from Canto the First. September 1785

(Canto II. 1787)

from Canto the Third. April 1791

(Canto IV. December 1792)

from Canto the Fifth. November 1795

TALES OF THE KING

from An Apologetic Postscript to Ode upon Ode. 1787

The Apple Dumplings and a King

from Instructions to a Celebrated Laureat

Birth-day Ode (Alias Mr Whitbread’s Brewhouse).

May 1787

from Peter’s Pension. 1788

The Royal Sheep

The King and Parson Young

from The Royal Tour and Weymouth Amusements. 1795

The Royal Tour

About the Author

Copyright

Introduction

This selection from Peter Pindar’s twenty thousand lines of poetry presents some of his most popular poems between 1785 and 1795, a fascinating decade in the reign of George III (1760–1820). It begins with the indignant Whigs under Charles Fox mounting a campaign of ridicule against their former associate, young William Pitt, who had become the King’s Prime Minister in 1784. It continues through the French Revolution and the Reign of Terror; the King’s madness in 1789; the Regency Crisis which followed, and the treason trials of the 1790s when the Pitt government clamped down on British radicalism. Britain was at war yet again with France. Against the complexity of this historical background, Peter Pindar provided a vivid portrait of the controversial King, complete with all his foibles and follies, which is as much a figure of imagination as a king in an English nursery-rhyme or traditional tale.

Peter Pindar’s real name was Dr John Wolcot MD. Born in Devon in 1738 and brought up in Cornwall, Wolcot did not begin his career as a satirical poet until he was forty-four. His first satire was published in 1782, just four years before the Kilmarnock edition of the poetry of Robert Burns, with whom he would collaborate in George Thomson’s attempt to collect English and Scottish lyrics for ancient Scottish airs in 1793. Wordsworth began publishing in 1793. In 1798, he produced with Coleridge the Lyrical Ballads, with its Romantic manifesto. Byron dismissed their poetry in his satire English Bards and Scotch Reviewers of 1809, listing poets worth a drubbing. (He could hardly have included Peter Pindar, since his own poetry had clearly been influenced by the older satirist.) Wolcot died in 1819. Keats, many of whose great poems had already been ridiculed by William Gifford’s Quarterly Review, wrote about Wolcot in amusement in 1820, on the death of the King. Peter Pindar outsold all the Romantic poets except Byron.

His handling of reductive ‘low’ satire, a tradition derived from the broad humour of the mediaeval peasant fabliaux and familiar since Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, derived its realistic outlook on human frailty and folly from his medical experience. No man can be much of a hero to his doctor, particularly in the eighteenth century when the training of a surgeon-apothecary began with a seven-year stint as an apothecary’s assistant, among whose melancholy tasks was to administer enemas to the costive in his community with the fearsome glyster-pipe. Wolcot’s expertise at mixing and dispensing various kinds of rhyming verse made his adopted name famous in a very short time. Once he had negotiated an annuity from his customary publishers for the regular reprinting of his poems, it made him financially secure and, for a poet, relatively rich.

Satire was the dominant literary mode during the long reign of George III, a period of rapid economic expansion and political change, when Britain seemed almost permanently at war, mainly with France. In the burgeoning world of British art, portraiture was queen, and caricature her ugly sister, as celebrity became a cult. Dr Wolcot, like the visual caricaturists, grasped both the spirit and the commercial opportunities of the period. The creation of the character ‘Peter Pindar’ was one of his jokes. The ‘divine Peter’ was a caricature, and his speech a parody of the Theban poet who eulogised the celebrities of his day and mystified the grammar-school boys of the eighteenth century. The pleasantly alliterative name spliced together the names of the lofty Pindar and that of Wolcot’s favourite childhood pet, a stubborn little donkey.

As ‘Peter Pindar’, this West Country doctor became the best-selling poet of his time for two main reasons: first, he made a celebrity of the King, making people laugh at their monarch’s eccentricities; second, he invented a new style of poetry out of conventional models, and marketed it far and wide as quickly as possible. Like the proliferating newspapers of the day, his stream of poetic pamphlets kept up a running commentary on the people who captured the attention of the increasingly sophisticated reading public, yet his odes and epistles never descended to the level of doggerel. They remained recognisably poems, as defined by the rules of eighteenth-century prosody. The fables, tales, and songs he included among the satires made him a family favourite in an age when poetry was designed to be read aloud.

A celebrated raconteur and mimic, Dr Wolcot was an intensely convivial and clubbable man. Most of what he said and wrote was designed for the entertainment of a wide and diverse audience. Nevertheless, he was a serious poet who wrote something every day, even when he went blind in old age and could not actually see the squares of paper he was scribbling on. He was eighty-one when he died. He was buried in St Paul’s Churchyard, Covent Garden, his coffin touching that of Samuel Butler, the creator of ‘Sir Hudibras’ whose adventures were described in a distinctively English style of burlesque satirical poetry. Wolcot thus staked his claim to a rightful place within this vernacular tradition that began with Chaucer.

John Wolcot’s background in the West Country was solidly conventional and professional. One of a long line of doctors, he grew up within a resourceful, hard-working and public-spirited family that was marked by death – like King George, he lost his father when he was thirteen. Adopted by his father’s bachelor brother, a surgeon-apothecary in the small seafaring town of Fowey, Wolcot was well educated in the classics at local grammar schools. Nonetheless, he resented his removal from Devon and the small free grammar school in Kingsbridge where he had been praised for his translation of classical texts into English poetry by a kindly Quaker headmaster. He disliked his strict and overbearing childless aunts who managed his uncle’s apothecary shop. His family disparaged his interest in poetry, music and painting as ‘a dangerous interruption to business’, sowing the seeds of his defiance and resentment of authority. He became known among his school fellows for his sardonic humour and skill in sarcastic repartee. Writing admiring lyrics to young girls of the family’s acquaintance and publishing them in small magazines occupied much of his free time as an adolescent, away from the pestle and mortar. The chiming sounds of the various utensils of his trade, he claimed, formed the basis of his rhythmical skill in poetry. He genuinely did not want to become a doctor and the twelve years of training for this profession were trying to a soul longing for creative outlets little admired by a community which wrestled a living from their ancient pursuit of tin mining and from the sea.

Two formative events marked that long period of preparation. One was a mysterious year in France before he began his apprenticeship at seventeen. Wolcot never discussed his reasons for going there. He returned with fluent French but a hatred of France. He despised the French, calling them ‘shrugging dogs’, ridiculing the peasantry’s superstitions, and exempting only Voltaire and La Fontaine from his diatribes on French treachery and cold self-interest. His suspicion of France would stand him in good stead during the French Revolution. The other was his two-year stay studying anatomy and chemistry in London, from 1762 to 1764. Memorable performances in the theatre and the chance to hear good musicians captivated his imagination. Briefly free from family pressures, he perceived opportunities in that artistic world for someone of his varied talents.

In 1767, after Wolcot had obtained an external M.D. from Aberdeen University, a Cornish neighbour, Sir William Trelawney, offered him a post as his personal physician in Jamaica. A post captain brought up in the navy, and a supporter of Pitt the Elder as a Member of Parliament, Trelawney had gained the governorship of the island through the patronage of the rich and radical Earl of Shelburne. All the Governor’s entourage were presented to the King and Queen at the Court of St James. In ceremonial garb, Wolcot got to meet his sovereign in the flesh. In fact, he almost fell on him. His unaccustomed sword got caught between his legs and sent him ‘nosing the ground’ for several yards, causing public amusement.

In Jamaica, the convivial Governor called upon his physician to act as his Master of Ceremonies. This social role, entertaining the company with his fiddle-playing, songs and poetry, gave Wolcot an audience, a sense of importance and a good deal of poise that he was hitherto conscious of lacking. Equally valuable was the opportunity to learn from Trelawney the realities of British politics and patronage. The Governor ruled Jamaica independent of party obligations, but the only advancement he could offer his friend was through the riches of the Anglican Church. Somewhat cynically, since Wolcot had no discernable Christian faith, Trelawney dispatched him to be ordained by the Bishop of London in order to take up the lucrative living of St Anne’s where the incumbent was dangerously ill – a post worth £1,500 per year.

It took only a day for Wolcot to become a priest, on 25 June 1769, but he did not return to Jamaica until March 1770. A medical student in London at the height of the John Wilkes’ affair, he could now read the mysterious ‘Junius’ letters in the Daily Advertiser. Gossip in the coffee-houses pointed at Trelawney’s patron Shelburne. The King, resenting Shelburne’s earlier support of Wilkes in the Lords, had peremptorily thrust him out of office; Shelburne had pulled the Earl of Chatham with him in his fall from short-lived royal favour. ‘Junius’ redefined for the English their historic constitutional rights as individuals, particularly with regard to freedom of speech and of the press, and drew attention to how the government had infringed them, upbraiding the King himself. His daring, style and wit won him a large following. Wolcot learned much from this audacious attempt to hold the unaccountable responsible for their actions.