Keats and Chapman, of an evening, when not engaged in the imbibing of
porter, were wont, in the nature of unmarried Dublin gentleman of a
certain age, indeed of a lately lamented era of manners, to take high
tea with Chapman's elderly aunts.
On one such engagement with Great Aunt Aggie the conversation fell to
the dreadful state of affairs of the world and how it was all in a state
of chassis compared with a previous age. Thus they engaged in a state of
being, without knowing it, termed Weldschmertz. That is, the state of
angst or depression brought on through a comparison of the state of the
world as it is to how one deems it should be.
"In the oldren times" opined Keats, with his large, thick, black rimed
nicotine stained index fingernail protruding through the delicate arch
of Aunt Aggie's bone china, slurping noisily with his prehensile lips to
balance the tea cup for want of traction, "people had more respect for
each other". Aunt Aggie concurred, demurely.
"You could leave your door unlocked of a night,", he continued, "the
childer would call you 'sir', or 'ma'am', you could walk from Ringsend
to Stoneybather at any time of the day or night with no fear of adverse
molestation. The state of law and order was of a high degree that is not
currently seen. The porter was better, much less gassy, and the quality
of the bread and Battenburg to be had from Messrs Johnson Mooney and
O'Brien was far superior to that obtainable today. Progress, I ask
you!". Aunt Aggie crimsoned deeply as she observed the assorted pile of
cakes on display, including the recently maligned Battenburg.
Chapman, having placed his tea to one side, delicately nudged a small
piece of gur cake out of his path with the dexterity of a
prestidigitator, the better to gain hold of a rather larger slice of
Battenburg nestling oilily at the bottom of the tray. He countered
Keats, and came to Aggie's defence as a hostess, whilst munching
greedily, with the following jibe: "But what of the advantages of the
modthren age? Are not the technological and scientific, not to mention
literary and social advances worth the price? Are not the erosion of
boundaries and barriers to the advancement of the human spirit the
paramount concern? Much as I love my Battenburg, I am prepared to forego
the many admitted excellences of yore, for the many advantageous
progressions of the present" (with a nod to a placated Aggie).
Keats was forced to concede the point, sighing sadly to himself, and
addressing no one in particular as he exhaled "When one waxes nostalgic,
it is easy to forget that one can't always maintain the great ideas and
confections of the past, while also reaping the benefits of progress. I
suppose it's true then that we can't have archaic and eat it".
From the look on Chapman's face, he appeared to have found a weevil in
his Battenburg, and excused himself from the room.
