Chapter XXIX: Canto THE TENTH: I (7)

The lady's voice ceased, and the thrilling wires
Died from the touch that kindled them to sound;
And the pause followed, which when song expires
Pervades a moment those who listen round;
And then of course the circle much admires,
Nor less applauds, as in politeness bound,
The tones, the feeling, and the execution,
To the performer's diffident confusion.

XLII.

Fair Adeline, though in a careless way,
As if she rated such accomplishment
As the mere pastime of an idle day,
Pursued an instant for her own content,
Would now and then as 'twere _without_ display,
Yet _with_ display in fact, at times relent
To such performances with haughty smile,
To show she _could_, if it were worth her while.

XLIII.

Now this (but we will whisper it aside)
Was--pardon the pedantic illustration--
Trampling on Plato's pride with greater pride,
As did the Cynic on some like occasion;
Deeming the sage would be much mortified,
Or thrown into a philosophic passion,
For a spoilt carpet--but the "Attic Bee"
Was much consoled by his own repartee.[783]

XLIV.

Thus Adeline would throw into the shade
(By doing easily, whene'er she chose,
What dilettanti do with vast parade)
Their sort of _half profession_; for it grows
To something like this when too oft displayed;
And that it is so, everybody knows,
Who have heard Miss That or This, or Lady T'other,
Show off--to please their company or mother.

XLV.

Oh! the long evenings of duets and trios!
The admirations and the speculations;
The "Mamma Mia's!" and the "Amor Mio's!"
The "Tanti palpiti's" on such occasions:
The "Lasciami's," and quavering "Addio's,"
Amongst our own most musical of nations!
With "Tu mi chamas's" from Portingale,[784]
To soothe our ears, lest Italy should fail.[785]

XLVI.

In Babylon's _bravuras_--as the Home-
Heart-Ballads of Green Erin or Grey Highlands,
That bring Lochaber back to eyes that roam
O'er far Atlantic continents or islands,
The calentures[786] of music which o'ercome
All mountaineers with dreams that they are nigh lands,
No more to be beheld but in such visions--
Was Adeline well versed, as compositions.

XLVII.

She also had a twilight tinge of "_Blue_,"
Could write rhymes, and compose more than she wrote,
Made epigrams occasionally too
Upon her friends, as everybody ought.
But still from that sublimer azure hue,[787]
So much the present dye, she was remote;
Was weak enough to deem Pope a great poet,
And what was worse, was not ashamed to show it.

XLVIII.

Aurora--since we are touching upon taste,
Which now-a-days is the thermometer
By whose degrees all characters are classed--
Was more Shakespearian, if I do not err.
The worlds beyond this World's perplexing waste
Had more of her existence, for in her
There was a depth of feeling to embrace
Thoughts, boundless, deep, but silent too as Space.

XLIX.

Not so her gracious, graceful, graceless Grace,
The full-grown Hebe of Fitz-Fulke, whose mind,
If she had any, was upon her face,
And that was of a fascinating kind.
A little turn for mischief you might trace
Also thereon,--but that's not much; we find
Few females without some such gentle leaven,
For fear we should suppose us quite in Heaven.

L.

I have not heard she was at all poetic,
Though once she was seen reading the _Bath Guide_,[788]
And Hayley's _Triumphs_,[789] which she deemed pathetic,
Because she said _her temper_ had been tried
So much, the bard had really been prophetic
Of what she had gone through with--since a bride.
But of all verse, what most ensured her praise
Were sonnets to herself, or _bouts rimés_.

LI.

'Twere difficult to say what was the object
Of Adeline, in bringing this same lay
To bear on what appeared to her the subject
Of Juan's nervous feelings on that day.
Perhaps she merely had the simple project
To laugh him out of his supposed dismay;
Perhaps she might wish to confirm him in it,
Though why I cannot say--at least this minute.

LII.

But so far the immediate effect
Was to restore him to his self-propriety,
A thing quite necessary to the elect,
Who wish to take the tone of their society:
In which you cannot be too circumspect,
Whether the mode be persiflage or piety,
But wear the newest mantle of hypocrisy,
On pain of much displeasing the gynocracy.[790]

LIII.

And therefore Juan now began to rally
His spirits, and without more explanation
To jest upon such themes in many a sally.
Her Grace, too, also seized the same occasion,
With various similar remarks to tally,
But wished for a still more detailed narration
Of this same mystic friar's curious doings,
About the present family's deaths and wooings.

LIV.

Of these few could say more than has been said;
They passed as such things do, for superstition
With some, while others, who had more in dread
The theme, half credited the strange tradition;
And much was talked on all sides on that head:
But Juan, when cross-questioned on the vision,
Which some supposed (though he had not avowed it)
Had stirred him, answered in a way to cloud it.

LV.

And then, the mid-day having worn to one,
The company prepared to separate;
Some to their several pastimes, or to none,
Some wondering 'twas so early, some so late.
There was a goodly match too, to be run
Between some greyhounds on my Lord's estate,
And a young race-horse of old pedigree,
Matched for the spring, whom several went to see.

LVI.

There was a picture-dealer who had brought
A special Titian, warranted original,
So precious that it was not to be bought,
Though Princes the possessor were besieging all--
The King himself had cheapened it, but thought
The civil list he deigns to accept (obliging all
His subjects by his gracious acceptation)--
Too scanty, in these times of low taxation.

LVII.

But as Lord Henry was a connoisseur,--
The friend of Artists, if not Arts,--the owner,
With motives the most classical and pure,
So that he would have been the very donor,
Rather than seller, had his wants been fewer,
So much he deemed his patronage an honour,
Had brought the _capo d'opera_, not for sale,
But for his judgment--never known to fail.

LVIII.

There was a modern Goth, I mean a Gothic
Bricklayer of Babel, called an architect,[ob]
Brought to survey these grey walls which, though so thick,
Might have from Time acquired some slight defect;
Who, after rummaging the Abbey through thick
And thin, produced a plan whereby to erect
New buildings of correctest conformation,
And throw down old--which he called _restoration_.[791]

LIX.

The cost would be a trifle--an "old song,"
Set to some thousands ('tis the usual burden
Of that same tune, when people hum it long)--
The price would speedily repay its worth in
An edifice no less sublime than strong,
By which Lord Henry's good taste would go forth in
Its glory, through all ages shining sunny,
For Gothic daring shown in English money.[792]

LX.

There were two lawyers busy on a mortgage
Lord Henry wished to raise for a new purchase;
Also a lawsuit upon tenures burgage,[793]
And one on tithes, which sure as Discord's torches,
Kindling Religion till she throws down _her_ gage,
"Untying" squires "to fight against the churches;"[794]
There was a prize ox, a prize pig, and ploughman,
For Henry was a sort of Sabine showman.

LXI.

There were two poachers caught in a steel trap,
Ready for gaol, their place of convalescence;
There was a country girl in a close cap
And scarlet cloak (I hate the sight to see, since--
Since--since--in youth, I had the sad mishap--
But luckily I have paid few parish fees since):[795]
That scarlet cloak, alas! unclosed with rigour,
Presents the problem of a double figure.

LXII.

A reel within a bottle is a mystery,
One can't tell how it e'er got in or out;
Therefore the present piece of natural history
I leave to those who are fond of solving doubt;
And merely state, though not for the Consistory,
Lord Henry was a Justice, and that Scout
The constable, beneath a warrant's banner,
Had bagged this poacher upon Nature's manor.

LXIII.

Now Justices of Peace must judge all pieces
Of mischief of all kinds, and keep the game
And morals of the country from caprices
Of those who have not a licence for the same;
And of all things, excepting tithes and leases,
Perhaps these are most difficult to tame:
Preserving partridges and pretty wenches
Are puzzles to the most precautious benches.

LXIV.

The present culprit was extremely pale,
Pale as if painted so; her cheek being red
By nature, as in higher dames less hale
'Tis white, at least when they just rise from bed.
Perhaps she was ashamed of seeming frail,
Poor soul! for she was country born and bred,
And knew no better in her immorality
Than to wax white--for blushes are for quality.

LXV.

Her black, bright, downcast, yet _espiègle_ eye,
Had gathered a large tear into its corner,
Which the poor thing at times essayed to dry,
For she was not a sentimental mourner
Parading all her sensibility,
Nor insolent enough to scorn the scorner,
But stood in trembling, patient tribulation,
To be called up for her examination.

LXVI.

Of course these groups were scattered here and there,
Not nigh the gay saloon of ladies gent.[796]
The lawyers in the study; and in air
The prize pig, ploughman, poachers: the men sent
From town, viz. architect and dealer, were
Both busy (as a General in his tent
Writing despatches) in their several stations,
Exulting in their brilliant lucubrations.

LXVII.

But this poor girl was left in the great hall,
While Scout, the parish guardian of the frail,
Discussed (he hated beer yclept the "small")
A mighty mug of _moral_ double ale.
She waited until Justice could recall
Its kind attentions to their proper pale,
To name a thing in nomenclature rather[oc]
Perplexing for most virgins--a child's father.

LXVIII.

You see here was enough of occupation
For the Lord Henry, linked with dogs and horses.
There was much bustle too, and preparation
Below stairs on the score of second courses;
Because, as suits their rank and situation,
Those who in counties have great land resources
Have "public days," when all men may carouse,
Though not exactly what's called "open house."

LXIX.

But once a week or fortnight, _un_invited
(Thus we translate a _general invitation_)
All country gentlemen, esquired or knighted,
May drop in without cards, and take their station
At the full board, and sit alike delighted
With fashionable wines and conversation;
And, as the isthmus of the grand connection,
Talk o'er themselves the past and next election.

LXX.

Lord Henry was a great electioneerer,
Burrowing for boroughs like a rat or rabbit.
But county contests cost him rather dearer,
Because the neighbouring Scotch Earl of Giftgabbit
Had English influence, in the self-same sphere here;
His son, the Honourable Dick Dicedrabbit,
Was member for the "other interest" (meaning
The same self-interest, with a different leaning).

LXXI.

Courteous and cautious therefore in his county,
He was all things to all men, and dispensed
To some civility, to others bounty,
And promises to all--which last commenced
To gather to a somewhat large amount, he
Not calculating how much they condensed;
But what with keeping some, and breaking others,
His word had the same value as another's.

LXXII.

A friend to Freedom and freeholders--yet
No less a friend to Government--he held,
That he exactly the just medium hit
Twixt Place and Patriotism--albeit compelled,
Such was his Sovereign's pleasure, (though unfit,
He added modestly, when rebels railed,)
To hold some sinecures he wished abolished,
But that with them all Law would be demolished.

LXXIII.

He was "free to confess"--(whence comes this phrase?
Is 't English? No--'tis only parliamentary)
That Innovation's spirit now-a-days
Had made more progress than for the last century.
He would not tread a factious path to praise,
Though for the public weal disposed to venture high;
As for his place, he could but say this of it,
That the fatigue was greater than the profit.

LXXIV.

Heaven, and his friends, knew that a private life
Had ever been his sole and whole ambition;
But could he quit his King in times of strife,
Which threatened the whole country with perdition?
When demagogues would with a butcher's knife
Cut through and through (oh! damnable incision!)
The Gordian or the G_e_ordi-an knot, whose strings
Have tied together Commons, Lords, and Kings.

LXXV.

Sooner "come Place into the Civil List
And champion him to the utmost[797]--" he would keep it,
Till duly disappointed or dismissed:
Profit he cared not for, let others reap it;
But should the day come when Place ceased to exist,
The country would have far more cause to weep it:
For how could it go on? Explain who can!
_He_ gloried in the name of Englishman.

LXXVI.

He was as independent--aye, much more--
Than those who were not paid for independence,
As common soldiers, or a common----shore,
Have in their several arts or parts ascendance
O'er the irregulars in lust or gore,
Who do not give professional attendance.
Thus on the mob all statesmen are as eager
To prove their pride, as footmen to a beggar.

LXXVII.

All this (save the last stanza) Henry said,
And thought. I say no more--I've said too much;
For all of us have either heard or read--
Off--or _upon_ the hustings--some slight such
Hints from the independent heart or head
Of the official candidate. I'll touch
No more on this--the dinner-bell hath rung,
And grace is said; the grace I _should_ have _sung_--

LXXVIII.

But I'm too late, and therefore must make play.
'Twas a great banquet, such as Albion old
Was wont to boast--as if a glutton's tray
Were something very glorious to behold.
But 'twas a public feast and public day,--
Quite full--right dull--guests hot, and dishes cold,--
Great plenty, much formality, small cheer,--
And everybody out of their own sphere.

LXXIX.

The squires familiarly formal, and
My Lords and Ladies proudly condescending;
The very servants puzzling how to hand
Their plates--without it might be too much bending
From their high places by the sideboard's stand--
Yet, like their masters, fearful of offending;
For any deviation from the graces
Might cost both man and master too--their _places_.

LXXX.

There were some hunters bold, and coursers keen,
Whose hounds ne'er erred, nor greyhounds deigned to lurch;
Some deadly shots too, Septembrizers,[798] seen
Earliest to rise, and last to quit the search
Of the poor partridge through his stubble screen.
There were some massy members of the church,
Takers of tithes, and makers of good matches,
And several who sung fewer psalms than catches.

LXXXI.

There were some country wags too--and, alas!
Some exiles from the Town, who had been driven
To gaze, instead of pavement, upon grass,
And rise at nine in lieu of long eleven.
And lo! upon that day it came to pass,
I sate next that o'erwhelming son of Heaven,
The very powerful parson, Peter Pith,[799]
The loudest wit I e'er was deafened with.

LXXXII.

I knew him in his livelier London days,
A brilliant diner-out, though but a curate,
And not a joke he cut but earned its praise,
Until Preferment, coming at a sure rate,
(O Providence! how wondrous are thy ways!
Who would suppose thy gifts sometimes obdurate?)
Gave him, to lay the Devil who looks o'er Lincoln,[800]
A fat fen vicarage, and nought to think on.

LXXXIII.

His jokes were sermons, and his sermons jokes;
But both were thrown away amongst the fens;
For Wit hath no great friend in aguish folks.[od]
No longer ready ears and short-hand pens
Imbibed the gay _bon-mot_, or happy hoax:[oe]
The poor priest was reduced to common sense,
Or to coarse efforts very loud and long,
To hammer a hoarse laugh from the thick throng.[of]

LXXXIV.

There _is_ a difference, says the song, "between
A beggar and a Queen,"[801] or _was_ (of late
The latter worse used of the two we've seen--
But we 'll say nothing of affairs of state);
A difference "'twixt a Bishop and a Dean,"
A difference between crockery ware and plate,
As between English beef and Spartan broth--
And yet great heroes have been bred by both.

LXXXV.

But of all Nature's discrepancies, none
Upon the whole is greater than the difference
Beheld between the Country and the Town,
Of which the latter merits every preference
From those who have few resources of their own.
And only think, or act, or feel, with reference
To some small plan of interest or ambition--
Both which are limited to no condition.

LXXXVI.

But _En avant!_ The light loves languish o'er
Long banquets and too many guests, although
A slight repast makes people love much more,
Bacchus and Ceres being, as we know,
Even from our grammar upwards, friends of yore
With vivifying Venus,[802] who doth owe
To these the invention of champagne and truffles:
Temperance delights her, but long fasting ruffles.

LXXXVII.

Dully passed o'er the dinner of the day;
And Juan took his place, he knew not where,
Confused, in the confusion, and _distrait_,
And sitting as if nailed upon his chair:
Though knives and forks clanked round as in a fray,
He seemed unconscious of all passing there,
Till some one, with a groan, expressed a wish
(Unheeded twice) to have a fin of fish.

LXXXVIII.

On which, at the _third_ asking of the banns,
He started; and perceiving smiles around
Broadening to grins, he coloured more than once,
And hastily--as nothing can confound
A wise man more than laughter from a dunce--
Inflicted on the dish a deadly wound,
And with such hurry, that, ere he could curb it,
He had paid his neighbour's prayer with half a turbot.

LXXXIX.

This was no bad mistake, as it occurred,
The supplicator being an amateur;
But others, who were left with scarce a third,
Were angry--as they well might, to be sure,
They wondered how a young man so absurd
Lord Henry at his table should endure;
And this, and his not knowing how much oats
Had fallen last market, cost his host three votes.

XC.

They little knew, or might have sympathized,
That he the night before had seen a ghost,
A prologue which but slightly harmonized
With the substantial company engrossed
By matter, and so much materialised,
That one scarce knew at what to marvel most
Of two things--_how_ (the question rather odd is)
Such bodies could have souls, or souls such bodies!

XCI.

But what confused him more than smile or stare
From all the 'squires and 'squiresses around,
Who wondered at the abstraction of his air,
Especially as he had been renowned
For some vivacity among the fair,
Even in the country circle's narrow bound--
(For little things upon my Lord's estate
Were good small talk for others still less great)--

XCII.

Was, that he caught Aurora's eye on his,
And something like a smile upon her cheek.
Now this he really rather took amiss;
In those who rarely smile, their smile bespeaks
A strong external motive; and in this
Smile of Aurora's there was nought to pique,
Or Hope, or Love--with any of the wiles
Which some pretend to trace in ladies' smiles.

XCIII.

'Twas a mere quiet smile of contemplation,
Indicative of some surprise and pity;
And Juan grew carnation with vexation,
Which was not very wise, and still less witty,
Since he had gained at least her observation,
A most important outwork of the city--
As Juan should have known, had not his senses
By last night's Ghost been driven from their defences.

XCIV.

But what was bad, she did not blush in turn,
Nor seem embarrassed--quite the contrary;
Her aspect was as usual, still--_not_ stern--
And she withdrew, but cast not down, her eye,
Yet grew a little pale--with what? concern?
I know not; but her colour ne'er was high--
Though sometimes faintly flushed--and always clear,
As deep seas in a sunny atmosphere.

XCV.

But Adeline was occupied by fame
This day; and watching, witching, condescending
To the consumers of fish, fowl, and game,
And dignity with courtesy so blending,
As all must blend whose part it is to aim
(Especially as the sixth year is ending)
At their lord's, son's, or similar connection's
Safe conduct through the rocks of re-elections.

XCVI.

Though this was most expedient on the whole
And usual--Juan, when he cast a glance
On Adeline while playing her grand _rôle_,
Which she went through as though it were a dance,
Betraying only now and then her soul
By a look scarce perceptibly askance
(Of weariness or scorn), began to feel
Some doubt how much of Adeline was _real_;

XCVII.

So well she acted all and every part
By turns--with that vivacious versatility,
Which many people take for want of heart.
They err--'tis merely what is called mobility,[803]
A thing of temperament and not of art,
Though seeming so, from its supposed facility;
And false--though true; for, surely, they're sincerest
Who are strongly acted on by what is nearest.

XCVIII.

This makes your actors, artists, and romancers,
Heroes sometimes, though seldom--sages never:
But speakers, bards, diplomatists, and dancers,
Little that's great, but much of what is clever;
Most orators, but very few financiers,
Though all Exchequer Chancellors endeavour,
Of late years, to dispense with Cocker's rigours,[804]
And grow quite figurative with their figures.

XCIX.

The poets of Arithmetic are they
Who, though they prove not two and two to be
Five, as they might do in a modest way,
Have plainly made it out that four are three,
Judging by what they take, and what they pay:
The Sinking Fund's unfathomable sea,
That most unliquidating liquid, leaves
The debt unsunk, yet sinks all it receives.

C.

While Adeline dispensed her airs and graces,
The fair Fitz-Fulke seemed very much at ease;
Though too well bred to quiz men to their faces,
Her laughing blue eyes with a glance could seize
The ridicules of people in all places--
That honey of your fashionable bees--
And store it up for mischievous enjoyment;
And this at present was her kind employment.

CI.

However, the day closed, as days must close;
The evening also waned--and coffee came.
Each carriage was announced, and ladies rose,
And curtsying off, as curtsies country dame,
Retired: with most unfashionable bows
Their docile Esquires also did the same,
Delighted with their dinner and their Host,
But with the Lady Adeline the most.

CII.

Some praised her beauty: others her great grace;
The warmth of her politeness, whose sincerity
Was obvious in each feature of her face,
Whose traits were radiant with the rays of verity.
Yes; _she_ was truly worthy _her_ high place!
No one could envy her deserved prosperity.
And then her dress--what beautiful simplicity
Draperied her form with curious felicity![805]

CIII.

Meanwhile sweet Adeline deserved their praises,
By an impartial indemnification
For all her past exertion and soft phrases,
In a most edifying conversation,
Which turned upon their late guests' miens and faces,
Their families, even to the last relation;
Their hideous wives, their horrid selves and dresses,
And truculent distortion of their tresses.

CIV.

True, _she_ said little--'twas the rest that broke
Forth into universal epigram;
But then 'twas to the purpose what she spoke:
Like Addison's "faint praise,"[806] so wont to damn,
Her own but served to set off every joke,
As music chimes in with a melodrame.
How sweet the task to shield an absent friend!
I ask but this of mine, to----_not_ defend.

CV.

There were but two exceptions to this keen
Skirmish of wits o'er the departed; one,
Aurora, with her pure and placid mien;
And Juan, too, in general behind none
In gay remark on what he had heard or seen,
Sate silent now, his usual spirits gone:
In vain he heard the others rail or rally,
He would not join them in a single sally.

CVI.

'Tis true he saw Aurora look as though
She approved his silence; she perhaps mistook
Its motive for that charity we owe
But seldom pay the absent, nor would look
Farther--it might or it might not be so.
But Juan, sitting silent in his nook,
Observing little in his reverie,
Yet saw this much, which he was glad to see.

CVII.

The Ghost at least had done him this much good,
In making him as silent as a ghost,
If in the circumstances which ensued
He gained esteem where it was worth the most;
And, certainly, Aurora had renewed
In him some feelings he had lately lost,
Or hardened; feelings which, perhaps ideal,
Are so divine, that I must deem them real:--

CVIII.

The love of higher things and better days;
The unbounded hope, and heavenly ignorance
Of what is called the World, and the World's ways;
The moments when we gather from a glance
More joy than from all future pride or praise,
Which kindle manhood, but can ne'er entrance
The Heart in an existence of its own,
Of which another's bosom is the zone.

CIX.

Who would not sigh Αἴ αἴ τὰν Κυθέρειαν [Greek: Ai)/ ai)/ ta\n Kythe/reian][807]
That _hath_ a memory, or that _had_ a heart?
Alas! _her_ star must fade like that of Dian:
Ray fades on ray, as years on years depart.
Anacreon only had the soul to tie an
Unwithering myrtle round the unblunted dart
Of Eros: but though thou hast played us many tricks,
Still we respect thee, "_Alma Venus Genetrix!_"[808]

CX.

And full of sentiments, sublime as billows
Heaving between this World and Worlds beyond,
Don Juan, when the midnight hour of pillows
Arrived, retired to his; but to despond
Rather than rest. Instead of poppies, willows
Waved o'er his couch; he meditated, fond
Of those sweet bitter thoughts which banish sleep,
And make the worldling sneer, the youngling weep.

CXI.

The night was as before: he was undrest,
Saving his night-gown, which is an undress;
Completely _sans culotte_, and without vest;
In short, he hardly could be clothed with less:
But apprehensive of his spectral guest,
He sate with feelings awkward to express
(By those who have not had such visitations),
Expectant of the Ghost's fresh operations.

CXII.

And not in vain he listened;--Hush! what's that?
I see--I see--Ah, no!--'t is not--yet 't is--
Ye powers! it is the--the--the--Pooh! the cat!
The Devil may take that stealthy pace of his!
So like a spiritual pit-a-pat,
Or tiptoe of an amatory Miss,
Gliding the first time to a _rendezvous_,
And dreading the chaste echoes of her shoe.

CXIII.

Again--what is 't? The wind? No, no,--this time
It is the sable Friar as before,
With awful footsteps regular as rhyme,
Or (as rhymes may be in these days) much more.
Again through shadows of the night sublime,
When deep sleep fell on men,[809] and the World wore
The starry darkness round her like a girdle
Spangled with gems--the Monk made his blood curdle.

CXIV.

A noise like to wet fingers drawn on glass,[810]
Which sets the teeth on edge; and a slight clatter,
Like showers which on the midnight gusts will pass,
Sounding like very supernatural water,
Came over Juan's ear, which throbbed, alas!
For Immaterialism's a serious matter;
So that even those whose faith is the most great
In Souls immortal, shun them _tête-à-tête_.

CXV.

Were his eyes open?--Yes! and his mouth too.
Surprise has this effect--to make one dumb,
Yet leave the gate which Eloquence slips through
As wide as if a long speech were to come.
Nigh and more nigh the awful echoes drew,
Tremendous to a mortal tympanum:
His eyes were open, and (as was before
Stated) his mouth. What opened next?--the door.

CXVI.

It opened with a most infernal creak,
Like that of Hell. "Lasciate ogni speranza,
Voi, ch' entrate!"[811] The hinge seemed to speak,
Dreadful as Dante's _rima_, or this stanza;
Or--but all words upon such themes are weak:
A single shade's sufficient to entrance a
Hero--for what is Substance to a Spirit?
Or how is 't _Matter_ trembles to come near it?[og]

CXVII.

The door flew wide, not swiftly,--but, as fly
The sea-gulls, with a steady, sober flight--
And then swung back; nor close--but stood awry,
Half letting in long shadows on the light,
Which still in Juan's candlesticks burned high,
For he had two, both tolerably bright,
And in the doorway, darkening darkness, stood
The sable Friar in his solemn hood.

CXVIII.

Don Juan shook, as erst he had been shaken
The night before; but being sick of shaking,
He first inclined to think he had been mistaken;
And then to be ashamed of such mistaking;
His own internal ghost began to awaken
Within him, and to quell his corporal quaking--
Hinting that Soul and Body on the whole
Were odds against a disembodied Soul.

CXIX.

And then his dread grew wrath, and his wrath fierce,
And he arose, advanced--the Shade retreated;
But Juan, eager now the truth to pierce,
Followed, his veins no longer cold, but heated,
Resolved to thrust the mystery _carte_ and _tierce_,
At whatsoever risk of being defeated:
The Ghost stopped, menaced, then retired, until
He reached the ancient wall, then stood stone still.

CXX.

Juan put forth one arm--Eternal powers!
It touched no soul, nor body, but the wall,
On which the moonbeams fell in silvery showers,
Chequered with all the tracery of the Hall;
He shuddered, as no doubt the bravest cowers
When he can't tell what 'tis that doth appal.
How odd, a single hobgoblin's nonentity
Should cause more fear than a whole host's identity!

CXXI.

But still the Shade remained: the blue eyes glared,
And rather variably for stony death;
Yet one thing rather good the grave had spared,
The Ghost had a remarkably sweet breath:
A straggling curl showed he had been fair-haired;
A red lip, with two rows of pearls beneath,
Gleamed forth, as through the casement's ivy shroud
The Moon peeped, just escaped from a grey cloud.

CXXII.

And Juan, puzzled, but still curious, thrust
His other arm forth--Wonder upon wonder!
It pressed upon a hard but glowing bust,
Which beat as if there was a warm heart under.
He found, as people on most trials must,
That he had made at first a silly blunder,
And that in his confusion he had caught
Only the wall, instead of what he sought.

CXXIII.

The Ghost, if Ghost it were, seemed a sweet soul
As ever lurked beneath a holy hood:
A dimpled chin,[oh] a neck of ivory, stole
Forth into something much like flesh and blood;
Back fell the sable frock and dreary cowl,
And they revealed--alas! that e'er they should!
In full, voluptuous, but _not o'er_grown bulk,
The phantom of her frolic Grace--Fitz-Fulke![812]

FOOTNOTES:

{572}[768] March 29, 1823.

[769] [Herodotus, _Hist._, i. 136.]

[770] [_Hamlet_, act ii. sc. 2, line 103.]

{573}[771] [The story is told of St. Thomas Aquinas, that he wrote a work _De Omnibus Rebus_, which was followed by a second treatise, _De Quibusdam Aliis._]

[772] [Not St. Augustine, but Tertullian. See his treatise, _De Carne Christi_, cap. V. c. (_Opera_, 1744, p. 310): "Crucifixus est Dei filius: non pudet, quia pudendum est: et mortuus est Dei filius: prorsus credibile est, quia ineptum est: et sepultus resurrexit: certum est quia impossibile est."]

{574}[773] ["That the dead are seen no more," said Imlac, "I will not undertake to maintain, against the concurrent and unvaried testimony of all ages, and of all nations. There is no people, rude or unlearned, among whom apparitions of the dead are not related and believed. This opinion, which perhaps prevails as far as human nature is diffused, could become universal only by its truth; those that never heard of one another would not have agreed in a tale which nothing but experience can make credible. That it is doubted by single cavillers, can very little weaken the general evidence; and some, who deny it with their tongues, confess it with their fears."--_Rasselas_, chap. xxx., _Works_, ed. 1806, iii. 372, 373.]

{575}[774] The composition of the old Tyrian purple, whether from a shell-fish, or from cochineal, or from kermes, is still an article of dispute; and even its colour--some say purple, others scarlet: I say nothing.

[Kermes is cochineal, the Greek κόκκινον. [Greek: ko/kkinon.] The shell-fish (_murex_) is the _Purpura patula_. Both substances were used as dyes.]

[775] [See Ovid, _Heroid_, Epist. ix. line 161.]

[776] [Titus used to promise to "bear in mind," "to keep on his list," the petitions of all his supplicants, and once, at dinner-time, his conscience smote him, that he had let a day go by without a single grant, or pardon, or promotion. Hence his confession. "Amici, diem perdidi!" _Vide_ Suetonius, _De XII. Cæs._, "Titus," lib. viii. cap. 8.]

[777] [_Tuism_ is not in Johnson's _Dictionary_. Coleridge has a note dated 1800 (_Literary Remains_, i. 292), on "egotizing in _tuism_" but it was not included in Southey's _Omniana_ of 1812, and must have been unknown to Byron.]

{576}[778] [Sc. _toilette_, a Gallicism.]

[779] [Byron loved to make fact and fancy walk together, but, here, his memory played him false, or his art kept him true. The Black Friar walked and walks in the Guests' Refectory (or Banqueting Hall, or "Gallery" of this stanza), which adjoins the Prior's Parlour, but the room where Byron slept (in a four-post bed--a coronet, at each corner, atop) is on the floor above the Prior's Parlour, and can only be approached by a spiral staircase. Both rooms look west, and command a view of the "lake's billow" and the "cascade." Moreover, the Guests' Refectory was never hung with "old pictures." It would seem that Don Juan (perhaps Byron on an emergency) slept in the Prior's Parlour, and that in the visionary Newstead the pictures forsook the Grand Drawing-Room for the Hall. Hence the scene! _El Libertado_ steps out of the Gothic Chamber "forth" into the "gallery," and lo! "a monk in cowl and beads." But, _Quien sabe?_ The Psalmist's caution with regard to princes is not inapplicable to poets.]

{577}[780] [Compare Mariner's description of the cave in Hoonga Island (_Poetical Works_, 1901, v. 629, note 1).]

{578}[781] ["The place," wrote Byron to Moore, August 13, 1814, "is worth seeing as a ruin, and I can assure you there _was_ some fun there, even in my time; but that is past. The ghosts, however, and the Gothics, and the waters, and the desolation, make it very lively still." "It was," comments Moore (_Life_, p. 262, note 1), "if I mistake not, during his recent visit to Newstead, that he himself actually fancied he saw the ghost of the Black Friar, which was supposed to have haunted the Abbey from the time of the dissolution of the monasteries, and which he thus describes from the recollection, perhaps, of his own fantasy, in _Don Juan_.... It is said that the Newstead ghost appeared, also, to Lord Byron's cousin, Miss Fanny Parkins, and that she made a sketch of him from memory." The legend of the Black Friar may, it is believed at Newstead (_et vide post_, "Song," stanza ii. line 5, p. 583), be traced to the alarm and suspicion of the country-folk, who, on visiting the Abbey, would now and then catch sight of an aged lay-brother, or monkish domestic, who had been retained in the service of the Byrons long after the Canons had been "turned adrift." He would naturally keep out of sight of a generation who knew not monks, and, when surprised in the cloisters or ruins of the church, would glide back to his own quarters in the dormitories.]

[782]

["Shew his eyes, and grieve his heart;
Come like shadows, so depart."

_Macbeth_, act iv. sc. 1, lines 110, 111.]

{582}[nz]
_With that she rose as graceful as a Roe_
_Slips from the mountain in the month of June,_
_And opening her Piano 'gan to play_
_Forthwith--"It was a Friar of Orders Gray."_--[MS. erased.]

{584}[oa] _By their bed of death he receives their_ [_breath_].--[MS. erased.]

{585}[783] I think that it was a carpet on which Diogenes trod, with--"Thus I trample on the pride of Plato!"--"With greater pride," as the other replied. But as carpets are meant to be trodden upon, my memory probably misgives me, and it might be a robe, or tapestry, or a table-cloth, or some other expensive and uncynical piece of furniture.

[It was Plato's couch or lounge which Diogenes stamped upon. "So much for Plato's pride!" "And how much for yours, Diogenes?" "Calco Platonis fastum!" "Ast fastu alio?" (_Vide_ Diogenis Laertii _De Vita et Sententiis_, lib. vi. ed. 1595, p. 321.)

For "Attic Bee," _vide_ Cic. I. _De Div._, xxxvi. § 78, "At Platoni cum in cunis parvulo dormienti apes in labellis consedissent, responsum est, singulari illum suavitate orationis fore."]

{586}[784] [For two translations of this Portuguese song, see _Poetical Works_, 1900, iii. 71.]

[785] I remember that the mayoress of a provincial town, somewhat surfeited with a similar display from foreign parts, did rather indecorously break through the applauses of an intelligent audience--intelligent, I mean, as to music--for the words, besides being in recondite languages (it was some years before the peace, ere all the world had travelled, and while I was a collegian), were sorely disguised by the performers:--this mayoress, I say, broke out with, "Rot your Italianos! for my part, I loves a simple ballat!" Rossini will go a good way to bring most people to the same opinion some day. Who would imagine that he was to be the successor of Mozart? However, I state this with diffidence, as a liege and loyal admirer of Italian music in general, and of much of Rossini's; but we may say, as the connoisseur did of painting in _The Vicar of Wakefield_, that "the picture would be better painted if the painter had taken more pains."

[A little while, and Rossini is being lauded at the expense of a degenerate modern rival. Compare Browning's _Bishop Blougram's Apology_. "Where sits Rossini patient in his stall."--_Poetical Works_, ed. 1868, v. 276.]

[786] [Compare _The Two Foscari_, act iii. sc. 1, line 172, _Poetical Works_, 1901, v. 159, note 1.]

{587}[787] [Of Lady Beaumont, who was "weak enough" to admire Wordsworth, see _The Blues_, Ecl. II. line 47, _sq._, _Poetical Works_, 1901, iv. 582.]

[788] [Christopher Anstey (1724-1802) published his _New Bath Guide_ in 1766.]

[789] [Compare _English Bards, etc._, lines 309-318, _Poetical Works_, 1898, i. 321, note 1.]

{588}[790] [For "Gynocracy," _vide ante_, p. 473, note 1.]

{589}[ob] _Thrower down of buildings_----.--[MS. erased.]

[791] [Byron had, no doubt, inspected the plan of Colonel Wildman's elaborate restoration of the Abbey, which was carried out at a cost of one hundred thousand pounds (see stanza lix. lines 1, 2). The kitchen and domestic offices, which extended at right angles to the west front of the Abbey (see "Newstead from a Picture by Peter Tilleman, _circ._ 1720" _Letters_, 1898, i. (to face p.) 216), were pulled down and rebuilt, the massive Sussex Tower (so named in honour of H.R.H. the Duke of Sussex) was erected at the south-west corner of the Abbey, and the south front was, in part, rebuilt and redecorated. Byron had been ready to "leave everything" with regard to his beloved Newstead to Wildman's "own feelings, present or future" (see his letter, November 18, 1818, _Letters_, 1900, iv. 270); but when the time came, the necessary and, on the whole, judicious alterations of his successor, must have cost the "banished Lord" many a pang.]

{590}[792] "Ausu Romano, sere Veneto" is the inscription (and well inscribed in this instance) on the sea walls between the Adriatic and Venice. The walls were a republican work of the Venetians; the inscription, I believe, Imperial; and inscribed by Napoleon the _First_. It is time to continue to him that title--there will be a second by and by, "Spes altera mundi," _if he live_; let him not defeat it like his father. But in any case, he will be preferable to "_Imbéciles_." There is a glorious field for him, if he know how to cultivate it.

[Francis Charles Joseph Napoleon, Duke of Reichstadt, died at Vienna, July 22, 1832. But, none the less, Byron's prophecy was fulfilled.]

[793] [Burgage, or tenure in burgage, is where the king or some other person is lord of an ancient borough, in which the tenements are held by a yearly rent certain.]

[794]

["I conjure you, by that which you profess,
(Howe'er you come to know it) answer me:
Though you _untie_ the winds, and let them fight
Against the _churches_."

_Macbeth_, act iv. sc. 1, lines 50-53.]

{591}[795] [See the lines "To my Son," _Poetical Works_, 1898, i. 260, note 1.]

{592}[796] [See Spenser's _Faëry Queen_, Book I. Canto IX. stanza 6, line 1.]

[oc]
_To name what passes for a puzzle rather,_
_Although there must be such a thing--a father_.--[MS. erased.]

{594}[797]

["Rather than so, come, Fate, into the list,
And champion me to the utterance."

_Macbeth_, act iii. sc. 1, lines 70, 71.]

{595}[798] [For "Septemberers (_Septembriseurs_)," see Carlyle's _French Revolution_, 1839, iii. 50.]

{596}[799] ["Query, _Sydney Smith_, author of Peter Plymley's Letters?--Printer's Devil."--Ed. 1833. Byron must have met Sydney Smith (1771-1845) at Holland House. The "fat fen vicarage" (_vide infra_, stanza lxxxii. line 8) was Foston-le-Clay (Foston, All Saints), near Barton Hill, Yorkshire, which Lord Chancellor Erskine presented to Sydney Smith in 1806. The "living" consisted of "three hundred acres of glebe-land of the stiffest clay," and there was no parsonage house.--See _A Memoir of the Rev. Sydney Smith_, by Lady Holland, 1855, i. 100-107.]

[800] ["Observe, also, three grotesque figures in the blank arches of the gable which forms the eastern end of St. Hugh's Chapel," and of these, "one is popularly said to represent the 'Devil looking over Lincoln.'"--_Handbook to the Cathedrals of England_, by R.J. King, _Eastern Division_, p. 394, note x.

The devil looked over Lincoln because the unexampled height of the central tower of the cathedral excited his envy and alarm; or, as Fuller (_Worthies: Lincolnshire_) has it, "overlooked this church, when first finished, with a torve and tetrick countenance, as maligning men's costly devotions." So, at least, the vanity of later ages interpreted the saying; but a time was when the devil "looked over" Lincoln to some purpose, for in A.D. 1185 an earthquake clave the Church of Remigius in twain, and in 1235 a great part of the central tower, which had been erected by Bishop Hugh de Wells, fell and injured the rest of the building.]

{597}[od] _For laughter rarely shakes these aguish folks_.--[MS, erased.]

[oe] _Took down the gay_ bon-mot----.--[MS. erased.]

[of] _To hammer half a laugh_----.--[MS. erased.]

[801]

["There's a difference to be seen between a beggar and a Queen;
And I 'll tell you the reason why;
A Queen does not swagger, nor get drunk like a beggar,
Nor be half so merry as I," etc.

"There's a difference to be seen,'twixt a Bishop and a Dean,
And I'll tell you the reason why;
A Dean can not dish up a dinner like a Bishop,
And that's the reason why!"]

{598}[802] ["Sine Cerere et Libero friget Venus." Terentius, _Eun._, act iv. sc. 5, line 6.]

{601}[803] In French "_mobilité_." I am not sure that mobility is English; but it is expressive of a quality which rather belongs to other climates, though it is sometimes seen to a great extent in our own. It may be defined as an excessive susceptibility of immediate impressions--at the same time without _losing_ the past: and is, though sometimes apparently useful to the possessor, a most painful and unhappy attribute.

["That he was fully aware not only of the abundance of this quality in his own nature, but of the danger in which it placed consistency and singleness of character, did not require the note on this passage to assure us. The consciousness, indeed, of his own natural tendency to yield thus to every chance impression, and change with every passing impulse, was not only for ever present in his mind, but ... had the effect of keeping him in that general line of consistency, on certain great subjects, which ... he continued to preserve throughout life."--_Life_, p. 646. "Mobility" is not the tendency to yield to _every_ impression, to change with _every_ impulse, but the capability of being moved by many and various impressions, of responding to an ever-renewed succession of impulses. Byron is defending the enthusiastic temperament from the charge of inconstancy and insincerity.]

[804] [The first edition of Cocker's _Arithmetic_ was published in 1677. There are many allusions to Cocker in Arthur Murphy's _Apprentice_ (1756), whence, perhaps, the saying, "according to Cocker."]

{602}[805] "[Et Horatii] Curiosa felicitas."--Petronius Arbiter, _Salyricôn_, cap. cxviii.

[806]

["Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer,
And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer."

Pope _on Addison, Prologue to the Satires_, lines 201, 202.]

{604}[807] [Bion, _Epitaphium Adonidis_, line 28.]

[808] [" ... genetrix hominum, divômque voluptas, Alma Venus!" Lucret., _De Rerum Nat_., lib. i. lines 1, 2.]

{605}[809] [_Job_ iv. 13.]

[810] See the account of the ghost of the uncle of Prince Charles of Saxony, raised by Schroepfer--"Karl--Karl--was willst du mit mir?"

[For Johann Georg Schrepfer (1730(?)-1774), see J.S.B. Schlegel's _Tagebuch, etc._, 1806, and _Schwärmer und Schwindler_, von Dr. Eugen Sierke, 1874, pp. 298-332.]

{606}[811] [_Inferno_, Canto III. line 9.]

[og] _When once discovered it don't like to come near it_.--[MS.]

{607}[oh] _A beardless chin_----.--[MS.]

[812] [End of Canto 16. B. My. 6, 1823.--MS.]

CANTO THE SEVENTEENTH.[813]

I.

The world is full of orphans: firstly, those
Who are so in the strict sense of the phrase;
But many a lonely tree the loftier grows
Than others crowded in the Forest's maze--
The next are such as are not doomed to lose
Their tender parents, in their budding days,
But, merely, their parental tenderness,
Which leaves them orphans of the heart no less.

II.

The next are "_only_ Children," as they are styled,
Who grow up _Children_ only, since th' old saw
Pronounces that an "only's" a spoilt child--
But not to go too far, I hold it law,
That where their education, harsh or mild,
Transgresses the great bounds of love or awe,
The sufferers--be 't in heart or intellect--
Whate'er the _cause_, are orphans in _effect_.

III.

But to return unto the stricter rule--
As far as words make rules--our common notion
Of orphan paints at once a parish school,
A half-starved babe, a wreck upon Life's ocean,
A human (what the Italians nickname) "Mule!"[814]
A theme for Pity or some worse emotion;
Yet, if examined, it might be admitted
The wealthiest orphans are to be more pitied.

IV.

Too soon they are Parents to themselves: for what
Are Tutors, Guardians, and so forth, compared
With Nature's genial Genitors? so that
A child of Chancery, that Star-Chamber ward,
(I'll take the likeness I can first come at,)
Is like--a duckling by Dame Partlett reared,
And frights--especially if 'tis a daughter,
Th' old Hen--by running headlong to the water.

V.

There is a common-place book argument,
Which glibly glides from every tongue;
When any dare a new light to present,
"If you are right, then everybody's wrong"!
Suppose the converse of this precedent
So often urged, so loudly and so long;
"If you are wrong, then everybody's right"!
Was ever everybody yet so quite?

VI.

Therefore I would solicit free discussion
Upon all points--no matter what, or whose--
Because as Ages upon Ages push on,
The last is apt the former to accuse
Of pillowing its head on a pin-cushion,
Heedless of pricks because it was obtuse:
What was a paradox becomes a truth or
A something like it--witness Luther!

VII.

The Sacraments have been reduced to two,
And Witches unto none, though somewhat late
Since burning agéd women (save a few--
Not witches only b--ches--who create
Mischief in families, as some know or knew,
Should still be singed, but lightly, let me state,)
Has been declared an act of inurbanity,
_Malgré_ Sir Matthew Hales's great humanity.

VIII.

Great Galileo was debarred the Sun,
Because he fixed it; and, to stop his talking,
How Earth could round the solar orbit run,
Found his own legs embargoed from mere walking:
The man was well-nigh dead, ere men begun
To think his skull had not some need of caulking;
But now, it seems, he's right--his notion just:
No doubt a consolation to his dust.

IX.

Pythagoras, Locke, Socrates--but pages
Might be filled up, as vainly as before,
With the sad usage of all sorts of sages,
Who in his life-time, each, was deemed a Bore!
The loftiest minds outrun their tardy ages:
This they must bear with and, perhaps, much more;
The wise man's sure when he no more can share it, he
Will have a firm Post Obit on posterity.

X.

If such doom waits each intellectual Giant,
We little people in our lesser way,
In Life's small rubs should surely be more pliant,
And so for one will I--as well I may--
Would that I were less bilious--but, oh, fie on 't!
Just as I make my mind up every day,
To be a "_totus, teres_," Stoic, Sage,
The wind shifts and I fly into a rage.

XI.

Temperate I am--yet never had a temper;
Modest I am--yet with some slight assurance;
Changeable too--yet somehow "_Idem semper_:"
Patient--but not enamoured of endurance;
Cheerful--but, sometimes, rather apt to whimper:
Mild--but at times a sort of "_Hercules furens_:"
So that I almost think that the same skin
For one without--has two or three within.

XII.

Our Hero was, in Canto the Sixteenth,
Left in a tender moonlight situation,
Such as enables Man to show his strength
Moral or physical: on this occasion
Whether his virtue triumphed--or, at length,
His vice--for he was of a kindling nation--
Is more than I shall venture to describe;--
Unless some Beauty with a kiss should bribe.

XIII.

I leave the thing a problem, like all things:--
The morning came--and breakfast, tea and toast,
Of which most men partake, but no one sings.
The company whose birth, wealth, worth, has cost
My trembling Lyre already several strings,
Assembled with our hostess, and mine host;
The guests dropped in--the last but one, Her Grace,
The latest, Juan, with his virgin face.

XIV.

Which best it is to encounter--Ghost, or none,
'Twere difficult to say--but Juan looked
As if he had combated with more than one,
Being wan and worn, with eyes that hardly brooked
The light, that through the Gothic window shone:
Her Grace, too, had a sort of air rebuked--
Seemed pale and shivered, as if she had kept
A vigil, or dreamt rather more than slept.

THE END.

FOOTNOTES:

{608}[813] [May 8, 1823.--_MS_. More than one "Seventeenth Canto," or so-called continuation of _Don Juan_, has been published. Some of these "Sequels" pretend to be genuine, while others are undisguisedly imitations or parodies. For an account of these spurious and altogether worthless continuations, see "Bibliography," vol. vii. There was, however, a foundation for the myth. Before Byron left Italy he had begun (May 8, 1823) a seventeenth canto, and when he sailed for Greece he took the new stanzas with him. Trelawny found "fifteen stanzas of the seventeenth canto of _Don Juan_" in Byron's room at Missolonghi (_Recollections, etc._, 1858, p. 237). The MS., together with other papers, was handed over to John Cam Hobhouse, and is now in the possession of his daughter, the Lady Dorchester. The copyright was purchased by the late John Murray. The fourteen (not fifteen) stanzas are now printed and published for the first time.]

{609}[814] The Italians, at least in some parts of Italy, call bastards and foundlings the _mules--why_, I cannot see, unless they mean to infer that the offspring of matrimony are asses.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Works of Lord Byron, Volume 6, by Lord Byron