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The Cabouat Tragedy.
The Roman bard feelingly laments that many great names have failed to reach posterity— Carent quia vate sacro. Those of Messrs. Cabouat and Simon, two of the most illustrious cut-throats of modern times, will at least not be lost for want of this advantage. It is but two days ago that we had to report their execution, and a poem of 150 stanzas is already published, composed by one of the most brilliant geniuses, which must immortalize their memory. We regret much that its length precludes our giving this splendid effusion entire and in its original language; “Half a loaf,” however, says the adage “is better than no bread,” and therefore we venture to Shenstonize a few verses, commencing with its opening address to “Tout bon et sensible cœur.”
Each tender heart that throbs with pity,
Your very cores will all turn pale
Before I've got through half my ditty.
Whose sons-in-law took much in dudgeon
A will they thought not quite the thing,
So beat his brains out with a bludgeon.
One); they who for his blood did hunger,
Were a sad and thorough-going scamp,
Call'd Adolphe Cabouat the younger,
In dress and mien though somewhat neater,
And Peter Simon was his name—
Ah! how unlike to Simon Peter!
The bard goes on to relate the marriages of the two daughters of Pseaume, the death of Cornelie, Simon's wife, and her fatal will which sowed the first seeds of enmity in her husband's breast, and eventually produced such a dreadful result. She thus consigns her children to the care of the Abbé:—
When I am gone and toll'd my knell is,
Be thou to them a new mamma,
And fill their little darling bellies.
According to my true intention;
They will be better far with thee
Than with that chap—I shall not mention.”
E'en then she could not charge a crime on
The man she once had lov'd, nor bring
Her pen to write “that rascal Simon.”
In describing the marriage of Eliza Pseaume with Cabouat, so reluctantly consented to by her father, he alludes to the efforts of Madame Pseaume to overcome her husband's reluctance to the match:—
And had a soul above base Mammon,
Cried, “Dearest, do indulge the child!”
The Abbé only answered, “Gammon!”
His then so seeming harsh denial
Had saved himself a bitter pill,
His daughter many a bitter trial;
Her future lot foreshadowing evil in;
She wept so while the knot was tied,
She set the very parson snivelling.
After recounting at great length the perpetration of the
Nor thought on him they'd used so cruelly,
All reckless that they soon might sup
On sulphur broth with brimstone bouilly.
Many just compliments are paid to the presiding judge, M. de Sansonetti, and the rest of the Bench, as well in prose as in verse, and the whole is at last wound up with the affecting adieus of Simon to his family and to the members of the Court that had condemned him:—
And thou, illustrious Sansonetti!
Sage Thiriet, counsel for the Crown!
Gents of the Jury, Grand and Petty!
Mercy I hope not, nor will ask it;
My knowledge-box into your basket!”
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