Chapter XXVIII: Canto THE TENTH: I (6)

From these they will be careful to select,
For this an heiress, and for that a beauty;
For one a songstress who hath no defect,
For t' other one who promises much duty;
For this a lady no one can reject,
Whose sole accomplishments were quite a booty;
A second for her excellent connections;
A third, because there can be no objections.

XXXV.

When Rapp the Harmonist embargoed Marriage[747]
In his harmonious settlement--(which flourishes
Strangely enough as yet without miscarriage,
Because it breeds no more mouths than it nourishes,
Without those sad expenses which disparage
What Nature naturally most encourages)--
Why called he "Harmony" a state sans wedlock?
Now here I've got the preacher at a dead lock.

XXXVI.

Because he either meant to sneer at Harmony
Or Marriage, by divorcing them thus oddly.
But whether reverend Rapp learned this in Germany
Or no, 't is said his sect is rich and godly,
Pious and pure, beyond what I can term any
Of ours, although they propagate more broadly.
My objection's to his title, not his ritual.
Although I wonder how it grew habitual.[nt]

XXXVII.

But Rapp is the reverse of zealous matrons,
Who favour, _malgré_ Malthus, Generation--
Professors of that genial art, and patrons
Of all the modest part of Propagation;
Which after all at such a desperate rate runs,
That half its produce tends to Emigration,
That sad result of passions and potatoes--
Two weeds which pose our economic Catos.

XXXVIII.

Had Adeline read Malthus? I can't tell;
I wish she had: his book's the eleventh commandment,
Which says, "Thou shall not marry," unless _well_:
This he (as far as I can understand) meant.
'T is not my purpose on his views to dwell,
Nor canvass what "so eminent a hand" meant;[748]
But, certes, it conducts to lives ascetic,
Or turning Marriage into Arithmetic.

XXXIX.

But Adeline, who probably presumed
That Juan had enough of maintenance,
Or _separate_ maintenance, in case 't was doomed--
As on the whole it is an even chance
That bridegrooms, after they are fairly _groomed_,
May retrograde a little in the Dance
Of Marriage--(which might form a painter's fame,
Like Holbein's "Dance of Death"[749]--but 't is the same)--

XL.

But Adeline determined Juan's wedding
In her own mind, and that's enough for Woman:
But then, with whom? There was the sage Miss Reading,
Miss Raw, Miss Flaw, Miss Showman, and Miss Knowman,[nu]
And the two fair co-heiresses Giltbedding.
She deemed his merits something more than common:
All these were unobjectionable matches,
And might go on, if well wound up, like watches.

XLI.

There was Miss Millpond, smooth as summer's sea,[nv]
That usual paragon, an only daughter,
Who seemed the cream of Equanimity,
Till skimmed--and then there was some milk and water,
With a slight shade of blue too, it might be,
Beneath the surface; but what did it matter?
Love's riotous, but Marriage should have quiet,
And being consumptive, live on a milk diet.

XLII.

And then there was the Miss Audacia Shoestring,
A dashing _demoiselle_ of good estate,
Whose heart was fixed upon a star or blue string;
But whether English Dukes grew rare of late,
Or that she had not harped upon the true string,
By which such Sirens can attract our great,
She took up with some foreign younger brother,
A Russ or Turk--the one's as good as t' other.

XLIII.

And then there was--but why should I go on,
Unless the ladies should go off?--there was
Indeed a certain fair and fairy one,
Of the best class, and better than her class,--
Aurora Raby, a young star who shone
O'er Life, too sweet an image for such glass,
A lovely being, scarcely formed or moulded,
A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded;

XLIV.

Rich, noble, but an orphan--left an only
Child to the care of guardians good and kind--
But still her aspect had an air so lonely;
Blood is not water; and where shall we find
Feelings of Youth like those which overthrown lie
By Death, when we are left, alas! behind,
To feel, in friendless palaces, a home
Is wanting, and our best ties in the tomb?

XLV.

Early in years, and yet more infantine
In figure, she had something of Sublime
In eyes which sadly shone, as Seraphs' shine.
All Youth--but with an aspect beyond Time;
Radiant and grave--as pitying Man's decline;
Mournful--but mournful of another's crime,
She looked as if she sat by Eden's door,
And grieved for those who could return no more.

XLVI.

She was a Catholic, too, sincere, austere,
As far as her own gentle heart allowed,
And deemed that fallen worship far more dear
Perhaps because 't was fallen: her Sires were proud
Of deeds and days when they had filled the ear
Of nations, and had never bent or bowed
To novel power; and as she was the last,
She held their old faith and old feelings fast.

XLVII.

She gazed upon a World she scarcely knew,
As seeking not to know it; silent, lone,
As grows a flower, thus quietly she grew,
And kept her heart serene within its zone.
There was awe in the homage which she drew;
Her Spirit seemed as seated on a throne
Apart from the surrounding world, and strong
In its own strength--most strange in one so young!

XLVIII.

Now it so happened, in the catalogue
Of Adeline, Aurora was omitted,
Although her birth and wealth had given her vogue,
Beyond the charmers we have already cited;
Her beauty also seemed to form no clog
Against her being mentioned as well fitted,
By many virtues, to be worth the trouble
Of single gentlemen who would be double.

XLIX.

And this omission, like that of the bust
Of Brutus at the pageant of Tiberius,[750]
Made Juan wonder, as no doubt he must.
This he expressed half smiling and half serious;
When Adeline replied with some disgust,
And with an air, to say the least, imperious,
She marvelled "what he saw in such a baby
As that prim, silent, cold Aurora Raby?"

L.

Juan rejoined--"She was a Catholic,
And therefore fittest, as of his persuasion;
Since he was sure his mother would fall sick,
And the Pope thunder excommunication,
If--" But here Adeline, who seemed to pique
Herself extremely on the inoculation
Of others with her own opinions, stated--
As usual--the same reason which she late did.

LI.

And wherefore not? A reasonable reason,
If good, is none the worse for repetition;
If bad, the best way's certainly to tease on,
And amplify: you lose much by concision,
Whereas insisting in or out of season
Convinces all men, even a politician;
Or--what is just the same--it wearies out.
So the end's gained, what signifies the route?

LII.

_Why_ Adeline had this slight prejudice--
For prejudice it was--against a creature
As pure, as Sanctity itself, from Vice,--
With all the added charm of form and feature,--
For me appears a question far too nice,
Since Adeline was liberal by nature;
But Nature's Nature, and has more caprices
Than I have time, or will, to take to pieces.

LIII.

Perhaps she did not like the quiet way
With which Aurora on those baubles looked,
Which charm most people in their earlier day:
For there are few things by Mankind less brooked,
And Womankind too, if we so may say,
Than finding thus their genius stand rebuked,
Like "Antony's by Cæsar,"[751] by the few
Who look upon them as they ought to do.

LIV.

It was not envy--Adeline had none;
Her place was far beyond it, and her mind:
It was not scorn--which could not light on one
Whose greatest _fault_ was leaving few to find:
It was not jealousy, I think--but shun
Following the _ignes fatui_ of Mankind:
It was not----but 't is easier far, alas!
To say what it was _not_ than what it was.

LV.

Little Aurora deemed she was the theme
Of such discussion. She was there a guest;
A beauteous ripple of the brilliant stream
Of Rank and Youth, though purer than the rest,
Which flowed on for a moment in the beam
Time sheds a moment o'er each sparkling crest.
Had she known this, she would have calmly smiled--
She had so much, or little, of the child.

LVI.

The dashing and proud air of Adeline
Imposed not upon her: she saw her blaze
Much as she would have seen a glow-worm shine,
Then turned unto the stars for loftier rays.
Juan was something she could not divine,
Being no Sibyl in the new world's ways;
Yet she was nothing dazzled by the meteor,
Because she did not pin her faith on feature.

LVII.

His fame too,--for he had that kind of fame
Which sometimes plays the deuce with Womankind,
A heterogeneous mass of glorious blame,
Half virtues and whole vices being combined;
Faults which attract because they are not tame;
Follies tricked out so brightly that they blind:--
These seals upon her wax made no impression,
Such was her coldness or her self-possession.

LVIII.

Juan knew nought of such a character--
High, yet resembling not his lost Haidée;
Yet each was radiant in her proper sphere:
The island girl, bred up by the lone sea,
More warm, as lovely, and not less sincere,
Was Nature's all: Aurora could not be,
Nor would be thus:--the difference in them
Was such as lies between a flower and gem.

LIX.

Having wound up with this sublime comparison,
Methinks we may proceed upon our narrative,
And, as my friend Scott says, "I sound my warison;"[752]
Scott, the superlative of my comparative--
Scott, who can paint your Christian knight or Saracen,
Serf--Lord--Man, with such skill as none would share it, if
There had not been one Shakespeare and Voltaire,
Of one or both of whom he seems the heir.[nw]

LX.

I say, in my slight way I may proceed
To play upon the surface of Humanity.
I write the World, nor care if the World read,
At least for this I cannot spare its vanity.
My Muse hath bred, and still perhaps may breed
More foes by this same scroll: when I began it, I
Thought that it might turn out so--_now I know it_,[753]
But still I am, or was, a pretty poet.

LXI.

The conference or congress (for it ended
As Congresses of late do) of the Lady
Adeline and Don Juan rather blended
Some acids with the sweets--for she was heady;
But, ere the matter could be marred or mended,
The silvery bell rang, not for "dinner ready,"
But for that hour, called half-hour, given to dress,
Though ladies' robes seem scant enough for less.

LXII.

Great things were now to be achieved at table,
With massy plate for armour, knives and forks
For weapons; but what Muse since Homer's able
(His feasts are not the worst part of his works)
To draw up in array a single day-bill
Of modern dinners? where more mystery lurks,
In soups or sauces, or a sole _ragoút_,
Than witches, b--ches, or physicians, brew.

LXIII.

There was a goodly "soupe à la _bonne femme_"[754]
Though God knows whence it came from; there was, too,
A turbot for relief of those who cram,
Relieved with "dindon à la Périgeux;"
There also was----the sinner that I am!
How shall I get this gourmand stanza through?--
"Soupe à la Beauveau," whose relief was dory,
Relieved itself by pork, for greater glory.

LXIV.

But I must crowd all into one grand mess
Or mass; for should I stretch into detail,
My Muse would run much more into excess,
Than when some squeamish people deem her frail;
But though a _bonne vivante_, I must confess
Her stomach's not her peccant part; this tale
However doth require some slight refection,
Just to relieve her spirits from dejection.

LXV.

Fowls "à la Condé," slices eke of salmon,
With "sauces Génevoises," and haunch of venison;
Wines too, which might again have slain young Ammon--[755]
A man like whom I hope we sha'n't see many soon;
They also set a glazed Westphalian ham on,
Whereon Apicius would bestow his benison;
And then there was champagne with foaming whirls,
As white as Cleopatra's melted pearls.

LXVI.

Then there was God knows what "à l'Allemande,"
"A l'Espagnole," "timballe," and "salpicon"--
With things I can't withstand or understand,
Though swallowed with much zest upon the whole;
And _"entremets"_ to piddle with at hand,
Gently to lull down the subsiding soul;
While great Lucullus' _Robe triumphal_ muffles--
(_There's fame_)--young partridge fillets, decked with truffles.[756]

LXVII.

What are the _fillets_ on the Victor's brow
To these? They are rags or dust. Where is the arch
Which nodded to the nation's spoils below?
Where the triumphal chariots' haughty march?
Gone to where Victories must like dinners go.
Farther I shall not follow the research:
But oh! ye modern Heroes with your cartridges,
When will your names lend lustre e'en to partridges?

LXVIII.

Those truffles too are no bad accessaries,
Followed by "petits puits d'amour"--a dish
Of which perhaps the cookery rather varies,
So every one may dress it to his wish,
According to the best of dictionaries,
Which encyclopedize both flesh and fish;
But even, sans _confitures_, it no less true is,
There's pretty picking in those _petits puits_.[757]

LXIX.

The mind is lost in mighty contemplation
Of intellect expanded on two courses;
And Indigestion's grand multiplication
Requires arithmetic beyond my forces.
Who would suppose, from Adam's simple ration,
That cookery could have called forth such resources,
As form a science and a nomenclature
From out the commonest demands of Nature?

LXX.

The glasses jingled, and the palates tingled;
The diners of celebrity dined well;
The ladies with more moderation mingled
In the feast, pecking less than I can tell;
Also the younger men too: for a springald
Can't, like ripe Age, in _gourmandise_ excel,
But thinks less of good eating than the whisper
(When seated next him) of some pretty lisper.

LXXI.

Alas! I must leave undescribed the _gibier_,
The _salmi_, the _consommé_, the _purée_,
All which I use to make my rhymes run glibber
Than could roast beef in our rough John Bull way:
I must not introduce even a spare rib here,
"Bubble and squeak" would spoil my liquid lay:
But I have dined, and must forego, alas!
The chaste description even of a "bécasse;"

LXXII.

And fruits, and ice, and all that Art refines
From Nature for the service of the _goût_--
_Taste_ or the _gout_,--pronounce it as inclines
Your stomach! Ere you dine, the French will do;
But _after_, there are sometimes certain signs
Which prove plain English truer of the two.
Hast ever _had_ the _gout_? I have not had it--
But I may have, and you too, reader, dread it.

LXXIII.

The simple olives, best allies of wine,
Must I pass over in my bill of fare?
I must, although a favourite _plat_ of mine
In Spain, and Lucca, Athens, everywhere:
On them and bread 'twas oft my luck to dine--
The grass my table-cloth, in open air,
On Sunium or Hymettus, like Diogenes,
Of whom half my philosophy the progeny is.[758]

LXXIV.

Amidst this tumult of fish, flesh, and fowl,
And vegetables, all in masquerade,
The guests were placed according to their roll,
But various as the various meats displayed:
Don Juan sat next an "à l'Espagnole"--
No damsel, but a dish, as hath been said;[nx]
But so far like a lady, that 'twas drest
Superbly, and contained a world of zest.

LXXV.

By some odd chance too, he was placed between
Aurora and the Lady Adeline--
A situation difficult, I ween,
For man therein, with eyes and heart, to dine.
Also the conference which we have seen
Was not such as to encourage him to shine,
For Adeline, addressing few words to him,
With two transcendent eyes seemed to look through him.

LXXVI.

I sometimes almost think that eyes have ears:
This much is sure, that, out of earshot, things
Are somehow echoed to the pretty dears,
Of which I can't tell whence their knowledge springs.
Like that same mystic music of the spheres,
Which no one hears, so loudly though it rings,
'Tis wonderful how oft the sex have heard
Long dialogues--which passed without a word!

LXXVII.

Aurora sat with that indifference
Which piques a _preux chevalier_--as it ought:
Of all offences that's the worst offence,
Which seems to hint you are not worth a thought.
Now Juan, though no coxcomb in pretence,
Was not exactly pleased to be so caught;
Like a good ship entangled among ice--
And after so much excellent advice.

LXXVIII.

To his gay nothings, nothing was replied,
Or something which was nothing, as Urbanity
Required. Aurora scarcely looked aside,
Nor even smiled enough for any vanity.
The Devil was in the girl! Could it be pride?
Or modesty, or absence, or inanity?
Heaven knows! But Adeline's malicious eyes
Sparkled with her successful prophecies,

LXXIX.

And looked as much as if to say, "I said it;"
A kind of triumph I'll not recommend,
Because it sometimes, as I have seen or read it,
Both in the case of lover and of friend,
Will pique a gentleman, for his own credit,
To bring what was a jest to a serious end:
For all men prophesy what _is_ or _was_,
And hate those who won't let them come to pass.

LXXX.

Juan was drawn thus into some attentions,
Slight but select, and just enough to express,
To females of perspicuous comprehensions,
That he would rather make them more than less.
Aurora at the last (so history mentions,
Though probably much less a fact than guess)
So far relaxed her thoughts from their sweet prison,
As once or twice to smile, if not to listen.

LXXXI.

From answering she began to question: this
With her was rare; and Adeline, who as yet
Thought her predictions went not much amiss,
Began to dread she'd thaw to a coquette--
So very difficult, they say, it is
To keep extremes from meeting, when once set
In motion; but she here too much refined--
Aurora's spirit was not of that kind.

LXXXII.

But Juan had a sort of winning way,
A proud humility, if such there be,
Which showed such deference to what females say,
As if each charming word were a decree.
His tact, too, tempered him from grave to gay,
And taught him when to be reserved or free:
He had the art of drawing people out,
Without their seeing what he was about.

LXXXIII.

Aurora, who in her indifference
Confounded him in common with the crowd
Of flatterers, though she deemed he had more sense
Than whispering foplings, or than witlings loud--
Commenced[759] (from such slight things will great commence)
To feel that flattery which attracts the proud
Rather by deference than compliment,
And wins even by a delicate dissent.[ny]

LXXXIV.

And then he had good looks;--that point was carried
_Nem. con._ amongst the women, which I grieve
To say leads oft to _crim. con._ with the married--
A case which to the juries we may leave,
Since with digressions we too long have tarried.
Now though we know of old that looks deceive,
And always have done,--somehow these good looks
Make more impression than the best of books.

LXXXV.

Aurora, who looked more on books than faces,
Was very young, although so very sage,
Admiring more Minerva than the Graces,
Especially upon a printed page.
But Virtue's self, with all her tightest laces,
Has not the natural stays of strict old age;
And Socrates, that model of all duty,
Owned to a _penchant_, though discreet, for beauty.

LXXXVI.

And girls of sixteen are thus far Socratic,
But innocently so, as Socrates;
And really, if the Sage sublime and Attic
At seventy years had phantasies like these,
Which Plato in his dialogues dramatic
Has shown, I know not why they should displease
In virgins--always in a modest way,
Observe,--for that with me's a _sine quâ_.[760]

LXXXVII.

Also observe, that, like the great Lord Coke
(See Littleton), whene'er I have expressed
Opinions two, which at first sight may look
Twin opposites, the second is the best.
Perhaps I have a third too, in a nook,
Or none at all--which seems a sorry jest:
But if a writer should be quite consistent,
How could he possibly show things existent?

LXXXVIII.

If people contradict themselves, can I
Help contradicting them, and everybody,
Even my veracious self?--But that's a lie:
I never did so, never will--how should I?
He who doubts all things nothing can deny:
Truth's fountains may be clear--her streams are muddy,
And cut through such canals of contradiction,
That she must often navigate o'er fiction.

LXXXIX.

Apologue, Fable, Poesy, and Parable,
Are false, but may be rendered also true,
By those who sow them in a land that's arable:
'Tis wonderful what Fable will not do!
'Tis said it makes Reality more bearable:
But what's Reality? Who has its clue?
Philosophy? No; she too much rejects.
Religion? _Yes_; but which of all her sects?

XC.

Some millions must be wrong, that's pretty clear;
Perhaps it may turn out that all were right.
God help us! Since we have need on our career
To keep our holy beacons always bright,
'Tis time that some new prophet should appear,
Or _old_ indulge man with a second sight.
Opinions wear out in some thousand years,
Without a small refreshment from the spheres.

XCI.

But here again, why will I thus entangle
Myself with Metaphysics? None can hate
So much as I do any kind of wrangle;
And yet, such is my folly, or my fate,
I always knock my head against some angle
About the present, past, or future state:
Yet I wish well to Trojan and to Tyrian,
For I was bred a moderate Presbyterian.

XCII.

But though I am a temperate theologian,
And also meek as a metaphysician,
Impartial between Tyrian and Trojan,
As Eldon[761] on a lunatic commission,--
In politics my duty is to show John
Bull something of the lower world's condition.
It makes my blood boil like the springs of Hecla,[762]
To see men let these scoundrel Sovereigns break law.

XCIII.

But Politics, and Policy, and Piety,
Are topics which I sometimes introduce,
Not only for the sake of their variety,
But as subservient to a moral use;
Because my business is to _dress_ society,
And stuff with _sage_ that very verdant goose.
And now, that we may furnish with some matter all
Tastes, we are going to try the Supernatural.

XCIV.

And now I will give up all argument;
And positively, henceforth, no temptation
Shall "fool me to the top up of my bent:"--[763]
Yes, I'll begin a thorough reformation.
Indeed, I never knew what people meant
By deeming that my Muse's conversation
Was dangerous;--I think she is as harmless
As some who labour more and yet may charm less.

XCV.

Grim reader! did you ever see a ghost?
No; but you have heard--I understand--be dumb!
And don't regret the time you may have lost,
For you have got that pleasure still to come:
And do not think I mean to sneer at most
Of these things, or by ridicule benumb
That source of the Sublime and the Mysterious:--
For certain reasons my belief is serious.

XCVI.

Serious? You laugh;--you may: that will I not;
My smiles must be sincere or not at all.
I say I do believe a haunted spot
Exists--and where? That shall I not recall,
Because I'd rather it should be forgot,
"Shadows the soul of Richard"[764] may appal.
In short, upon that subject I've some qualms very
Like those of the philosopher of Malmsbury.[765]

XCVII.

The night--(I sing by night--sometimes an owl,
And now and then a nightingale)--is dim,
And the loud shriek of sage Minerva's fowl
Rattles around me her discordant hymn:
Old portraits from old walls upon me scowl--
I wish to Heaven they would not look so grim;
The dying embers dwindle in the grate--
I think too that I have sat up too late:

XCVIII.

And therefore, though 'tis by no means my way
To rhyme at noon--when I have other things
To think of, if I ever think--I say
I feel some chilly midnight shudderings,
And prudently postpone, until mid-day,
Treating a topic which, alas! but brings
Shadows;--but you must be in my condition,
Before you learn to call this superstition.

XCIX.

Between two worlds Life hovers like a star,
'Twixt Night and Morn, upon the horizon's verge.
How little do we know that which we are!
How less what we may be![766] The eternal surge
Of Time and Tide rolls on and bears afar
Our bubbles; as the old burst, new emerge,
Lashed from the foam of ages; while the graves
Of Empires heave but like some passing waves.[767]

FOOTNOTES:

{544}[733] [It is impossible to persuade the metaphor to march "on all-fours," but, to drag it home, by a kind of "frog's march," the unfulfilled wants of the soul, the "lurking thoughts" are as it were bubbles, which we would fain "break on the invisible Ocean" of Passion or Emotion the begetter of bubbles--Passion which, like the visible Ocean, images Eternity and portrays, but not to the sensual eye, the beatific vision of the things which are not seen, and, even so, "ministers to the Soul's delight"! But "who can tell"?]

{545}[ni] _While all without's indicative of rest_.--[MS. erased.]

{546}[nj]
_A thing on which dull Time should never print age_,
_For whom stern Nature should forego her debt_.--[MS.]

[734] [Ransom and Morland were Byron's bankers. Douglas Kinnaird was a partner in the firm. (See _Letters_, 1898, ii. 85, note 2.)]

[nk] _Old Skeleton with ages for your booty_.--[MS. erased.]

{547}[735] ["He turned himself into all manner of forms with more ease than the chameleon changes his colour.... Thus at Sparta he was all for exercise, frugal in his diet, and severe in his manners. In Asia he was as much for mirth and pleasure, luxury and ease."--Plutarch, _Alcibiades_, Langhorne's translation, 1838, p. 150.]

[736] [For the phrase "Cupidon Déchaîné," applied to Count D'Orsay, _vide ante_, p. 526, note 4.]

[737] [Plautus, _Truculentus_, act ii. sc. 8, line 14.]

[738] [Raphael's "Transfiguration" is in the Vatican.]

[739] As it is necessary in these times to avoid ambiguity, I say that I mean, by "Diviner still," CHRIST. If ever God was man--or man God--he was _both_. I never arraigned his creed, but the use--or abuse made of it. Mr. Canning one day quoted Christianity to sanction negro slavery, and Mr. Wilberforce had little to say in reply. And was Christ crucified, that black men might be scourged? If so, He had better been born a Mulatto, to give both colours an equal chance of freedom, or at least salvation.

[In a debate in the House of Commons, May 15, 1823 (_Parl. Deb._, N.S. vol. ix. pp. 278, 279), Canning, replying to Fowell Buxton's motion for the Abolition of Slavery, said, "God forbid that I should contend that the Christian religion is favourable to slavery ... but if it be meant that in the Christian religion there is a special denunciation against slavery, that slavery and Christianity cannot exist together,--I think that the honourable gentleman himself must admit that the proposition is historically false."]

{549}[nl]
---- _and One Name Greater still_
_Whose lot it was to be the most mistaken_.--[MS, erased.]

[nm] _To leave the world by bigot fashions shaken_.--[MS. erased.]

[nn] _Which never flatters either Whig or Tory_.--[MS. erased.]

{550}[740] [Martial, _Epig._, x. 46.]

[741] ["Feeble" for "foible" is found in the writings of Mrs. Behn and Sir R. L'Estrange (_N. Engl. Dict._).]

[no] _But now I can't tell when it will be done_.--[MS. erased.]

[742] [The _N. Engl. Dict._ quotes W. Hooper's _Rational Recreations_ (1794) as an earlier authority for the use of "concision" in the sense of conciseness.]

[np] _Who now are weltering_----.--[MS. erased.]

[743] ["The cat will mew and dog will have his day." _Hamlet_, act v. sc. 1, line 280.]

[nq]
_I should not be the foremost to deride_
_Their fault--but quickly take a sword the other way,_
_And wax an Ultra-royalist, where Royalty_
_Had nothing left it but a desperate Loyalty_.--[MS. erased.]

{551}[744]

["And hold no sin so deeply red
As that of breaking Priscian's head."

Butler's _Hudibras_, Part II. Canto II. lines 223, 224.]

[745] [Brougham, in the famous critique of _Hours of Idleness_ (_Edinburgh Review_, January, 1808, vol. xi. pp. 285-289), was pleased "to counsel him that he do forthwith abandon poetry and turn his talents, which are considerable, and his opportunities, which are great, to better account." Others, however, gave him encouragement. See, for instance, a review by J.H. Markland, who afterwards made his name as editor of the Roxburgh Club issue of the Chester Mysteries (whence, perhaps, Byron derived his knowledge of "Mysteries and Moralities"), which concludes thus: "Heartily hoping that the 'illness and depression of spirits,' which evidently pervade the greater part of these effusions, are entirely dispelled; confident that 'George Gordon, Lord Byron' will have a conspicuous niche in the future editions of 'Royal and Noble Authors,' etc."--_Gent. Mag._, 1807, vol. lxxvii. p. 1217.]

[nr] _To marshal onwards to the Delphian Height._--[MS.]

{552}[746] ["Three small vessels were apparently all that Columbus had requested. Two of them were light barques, called caravels, not superior to river and coasting craft of more modern days.... That such long and perilous expeditions into unknown seas, should be undertaken in vessels without decks, and that they should live through the violent tempests by which they were frequently assailed, remain among the singular circumstances of those daring voyages."--_History of the Life and Voyages of Christopher Columbus_, by Washington Irving, 1831, i. 78.]

[ns] _As Women seldom think by halves_----.--[MS. erased.]

{554}[747] This extraordinary and flourishing German colony in America does not entirely exclude matrimony, as the "Shakers" do; but lays such restrictions upon it as prevents more than a certain quantum of births within a certain number of years; which births (as Mr. Hulme [perhaps Thomas Hulme, whose _Journal_ is quoted in _Hints to Emigrants_, 1817, pp. 5-18] observes) generally arrive "in a little flock like those of a farmer's lambs, all within the same month perhaps." These Harmonists (so called from the name of their settlement) are represented as a remarkably flourishing, pious, and quiet people. See the various recent writers on America.

[The Harmonists were emigrants from Würtemburg, who settled (1803-1805) under the auspices of George Rapp, in a township 120 miles north of Philadelphia. This they sold, and "trekked" westwards to Indiana. One of their customs was to keep watch by nights and to cry the hours to this tune: "Again a day is past and a step made nearer to our end. Our time runs away, and the joys of Heaven are our reward." (See _The Philanthropist_, No. xx., 1815, vol. v, pp. 277-288.)]

[nt] _Which test I leave unto the Lords spiritual_.--[MS. erased.]

{555}[748] Jacob Tonson, according to Mr. Pope, was accustomed to call his writers "able pens," "persons of honour," and, especially, "eminent hands." _Vide_ Correspondence, etc., etc.

["Perhaps I should myself be much better pleased, if I were told you called me your little friend, than if you complimented me with the title of a 'great genius,' or an eminent hand, as Jacob does all his authors."--_Pope to Steele_, November 29, 1712, _Works of Alexander Pope_, 1871, vi. 396.]

[749] [See D'Israeli's _Curiosities of Literature_, 1841, pp. 450-452, and the Dissertation prefixed to Francis Douce's edition of Holbein's _Dance of Death_, 1858, pp. 1-218.]

{556}[nu] ---- _Miss Allman and Miss Noman_.--[MS. erased.]

[nv]
---- _that smooth placid sea_
_Which did not show and yet concealed a storm_.--[MS. erased.]

{558}[750] [Compare _Childe Harold_, Canto IV. stanza lix. line 3, _Poetical Works_, 1899, ii. 374, note 2.]

{559}[751]

[" ... And, under him,
My Genius is rebuked; as it is said
Mark Antony's was by Cæsar."

_Macbeth_, act iii, sc. 1, lines 54-56.]

{560}[752] [_Warison_--cri-de-guerre--note of assault:--

"Either receive within these towers
Two hundred of my master's powers,
Or straight they sound their _warrison_,
And storm and spoil this garrison."

_Lay of the Last Minstrel_, Canto IV. stanza xxiv, lines 17-20.]

{561}[nw] _And adds a third to what was late a pair_.--[MS. erased.]

[753] [Compare:

"Life's a jest, and all things show it;
I thought so once, and _now I know it_."

Gay's Epitaph.]

[754] [For "Potage à la bonne femme," "Dindon à la Périgueux," "Soupe à la Beauveau," "Le dorey garni d'éperlans frits," "Le cuisseau de pore à demi sel, garni de choux," "Le salmi de perdreaux à l'Espagnole," "Les bécasses," see "Bill of Fare for November," _The French Cook_, by Louis Eustache Ude, 1813, p. viii. For "Les poulardes à la Condé," "Le jambon de Westphalie à l'Espagnole," "Les petites timballes d'un salpicon à la Monglas" (?Montglat), "Les filets de perdreaux sautés à la Lucullus," _vide ibid._, p. ix., and for "Petits puits d'amour garnis de confitures," _vide_ Plate of Second Course (to face) p. vi.]

{562}[755] [Alexander the Great.]

{563}[756] A dish "à la Lucullus." This hero, who conquered the East, has left his more extended celebrity to the transplantation of cherries (which he first brought into Europe), and the nomenclature of some very good dishes;--and I am not sure that (barring indigestion) he has not done more service to mankind by his cookery than by his conquests. A cherry tree may weigh against a bloody laurel; besides, he has contrived to earn celebrity from both.

[According to Pliny (_Nat, Hist._, lib. xv. cap. xxv. ed. 1593, ii. 131), there were no cherry trees in Italy until L. Lucullus brought them home with him from Pontus after the Mithridatic War (B.C. 74), and it was not for another hundred and twenty years that the cherry tree crossed the Channel and was introduced into Britain.]

[757] "Petits puits d'amour garnis de confitures,"--a classical and well-known dish for part of the flank of a second course [_vide ante_, p. 562].

{564}[758] ["To-day in a palace, to-morrow in a cow-house--this day with a Pacha, the next with a shepherd."--Letter to his mother, July 30, 1810, _Letters_, 1898, i. 295.]

[nx] _No lady but a dish_----.--[MS.]

{567}[759] ["This construction ('commence' with the infinitive) has been objected to by stylists," says the _New English Dictionary_ (see art. "Commence"). Its use is sanctioned by the authority of Pope, Landor, Helps, and Lytton; but even so, it is questionable, if not objectionable.]

[ny] _Sweet Lord! she was so sagely innocent_.--[MS.]

{568}[760] Subauditur "_non_;" omitted for the sake of euphony.

{569}[761] [John Scott, Earl of Eldon, Lord Chancellor, 1801 to 1827, sat as judge (November 7, 1822) to hear the petition of Henry Wallop Fellowes, that a commission of inquiry should be issued to ascertain whether his uncle, Lord Portsmouth (who married Mary Anne Hanson, the daughter of Byron's solicitor), was of sound mind, "and capable of managing his own person and property." The Chancellor gave judgment that a commission be issued, and the jury, February, 1823, returned a verdict that Lord Portsmouth had been a lunatic since 1809. (See _Letters_, 1898, ii. 393, note 3, _et ibid._, 1901, vi. 170, note i.)]

[762] Hecla is a famous hot-spring in Iceland. [Byron seems to mistake the volcano for the Geysers.]

{570}[763] [_Hamlet_, act iii. sc. 2, line 367.]

[764]

["By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night
Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard
Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers," etc.

_Richard III._, act v. sc. 3, lines 216-218.]

[765] Hobbes: who, doubting of his own soul, paid that compliment to the souls of other people as to decline their visits, of which he had some apprehension.

[Bayle (see art. "Hobbes" [_Dict. Crit. and Hist._, 1736, iii. 471, note N.]) quotes from _Vita Hobb._, p. 106: "He was as falsely accused by some of being unwilling to be alone, because he was afraid of spectres and apparitions, vain bugbears of fools, which he had chased away by the light of his Philosophy," and proceeds to argue that, perhaps, after all, Hobbes was afraid of the dark. "He was timorous to the last degree, and consequently he had reason to distrust his imagination when he was alone in a chamber in the night; for in spite of him the memory of what he had read and heard concerning apparitions would revive, though he was not persuaded of the reality of these things." See, however, for his own testimony that he was "not afrayd of sprights," _Letters and Lives of Eminent Persons_, by John Aubrey, 1813, vol. ii. pt. ii. p. 624.]

{571}[766] [_Hamlet_, act iv. sc. 5, lines 41, 42.]

[767] End of Canto 15^th^. M^ch^. 25, 1823. B.--[MS.]

CANTO THE SIXTEENTH.[768]

I.

The antique Persians taught three useful things,
To draw the bow, to ride, and speak the truth,[769]
This was the mode of Cyrus, best of kings--
A mode adopted since by modern youth.
Bows have they, generally with two strings;
Horses they ride without remorse or ruth;
At speaking truth perhaps they are less clever,
But draw the long bow better now than ever.

II.

The cause of this effect, or this defect,--
"For this effect defective comes by cause,"--[770]
Is what I have not leisure to inspect;
But this I must say in my own applause,
Of all the Muses that I recollect,
Whate'er may be her follies or her flaws
In some things, mine's beyond all contradiction
The most sincere that ever dealt in fiction.

III.

And as she treats all things, and ne'er retreats
From anything, this Epic will contain
A wilderness of the most rare conceits,
Which you might elsewhere hope to find in vain.
'Tis true there be some bitters with the sweets,
Yet mixed so slightly, that you can't complain,
But wonder they so few are, since my tale is
"_De rebus cunctis et quibusdam aliis._"[771]

IV.

But of all truths which she has told, the most
True is that which she is about to tell.
I said it was a story of a ghost--
What then? I only know it so befell.
Have you explored the limits of the coast,
Where all the dwellers of the earth must dwell?
'Tis time to strike such puny doubters dumb as
The sceptics who would not believe Columbus.

V.

Some people would impose now with authority,
Turpin's or Monmouth Geoffry's Chronicle;
Men whose historical superiority
Is always greatest at a miracle.
But Saint Augustine has the great priority,
Who bids all men believe the impossible,
_Because 'tis so._ Who nibble, scribble, quibble, he
Quiets at once with "_quia impossibile._"[772]

VI.

And therefore, mortals, cavil not at all;
Believe:--if 'tis improbable, you _must_,
And if it is impossible, you _shall_:
'Tis always best to take things upon trust.
I do not speak profanely to recall
Those holier Mysteries which the wise and just
Receive as Gospel, and which grow more rooted,
As all truths must, the more they are disputed:

VII.

I merely mean to say what Johnson said,
That in the course of some six thousand years,
All nations have believed that from the dead
A visitant at intervals appears:[773]
And what is strangest upon this strange head,
Is, that whatever bar the reason rears
'Gainst such belief, there's something stronger still
In its behalf--let those deny who will.

VIII.

The dinner and the _soirée_ too were done,
The supper too discussed, the dames admired,
The banqueteers had dropped off one by one--
The song was silent, and the dance expired:
The last thin petticoats were vanished, gone
Like fleecy clouds into the sky retired,
And nothing brighter gleamed through the saloon
Than dying tapers--and the peeping moon.

IX.

The evaporation of a joyous day
Is like the last glass of champagne, without
The foam which made its virgin bumper gay;
Or like a system coupled with a doubt;
Or like a soda bottle when its spray
Has sparkled and let half its spirit out;
Or like a billow left by storms behind,
Without the animation of the wind;

X.

Or like an opiate, which brings troubled rest,
Or none; or like--like nothing that I know
Except itself;--such is the human breast;
A thing, of which similitudes can show
No real likeness,--like the old Tyrian vest
Dyed purple, none at present can tell how,
If from a shell-fish or from cochineal.[774]
So perish every Tyrant's robe piece-meal!

XI.

But next to dressing for a rout or ball,
Undressing is a woe; our _robe de chambre_
May sit like that of Nessus,[775] and recall
Thoughts quite as yellow, but less clear than amber.
Titus exclaimed, "I've lost a day!"[776] Of all
The nights and days most people can remember,
(I have had of both, some not to be disdained,)
I wish they'd state how many they have gained.

XII.

And Juan, on retiring for the night,
Felt restless, and perplexed, and compromised:
He thought Aurora Raby's eyes more bright
Than Adeline (such is advice) advised;
If he had known exactly his own plight,
He probably would have philosophised:
A great resource to all, and ne'er denied
Till wanted; therefore Juan only sighed.

XIII.

He sighed;--the next resource is the full moon,
Where all sighs are deposited; and now
It happened luckily, the chaste orb shone
As clear as such a climate will allow;
And Juan's mind was in the proper tone
To hail her with the apostrophe--"O thou!"
Of amatory egotism the _Tuism_,[777]
Which further to explain would be a truism.

XIV.

But Lover, Poet, or Astronomer--
Shepherd, or swain--whoever may behold,
Feel some abstraction when they gaze on her;
Great thoughts we catch from thence (besides a cold
Sometimes, unless my feelings rather err);
Deep secrets to her rolling light are told;
The Ocean's tides and mortals' brains she sways,
And also hearts--if there be truth in lays.

XV.

Juan felt somewhat pensive, and disposed
For contemplation rather than his pillow:
The Gothic chamber, where he was enclosed,
Let in the rippling sound of the lake's billow,
With all the mystery by midnight caused:
Below his window waved (of course) willow;
And he stood gazing out on the cascade
That flashed and after darkened in the shade.

XVI.

Upon his table or his toilet,[778]--_which_
Of these is not exactly ascertained,--
(I state this, for I am cautious to a pitch
Of nicety, where a fact is to be gained,)
A lamp burned high, while he leant from a niche,
Where many a Gothic ornament remained,
In chiselled stone and painted glass, and all
That Time has left our fathers of their Hall.

XVII.

Then, as the night was clear though cold, he threw
His chamber door wide open[779]--and went forth
Into a gallery of a sombre hue,
Long, furnished with old pictures of great worth,
Of knights and dames heroic and chaste too,
As doubtless should be people of high birth;
But by dim lights the portraits of the dead
Have something ghastly, desolate, and dread.

XVIII.

The forms of the grim Knight and pictured Saint
Look living in the moon; and as you turn
Backward and forward to the echoes faint
Of your own footsteps--voices from the Urn
Appear to wake, and shadows wild and quaint
Start from the frames which fence their aspects stern,
As if to ask how you can dare to keep
A vigil there, where all but Death should sleep.

XIX.

And the pale smile of Beauties in the grave,
The charms of other days, in starlight gleams,
Glimmer on high; their buried locks still wave
Along the canvas; their eyes glance like dreams
On ours, or spars within some dusky cave,[780]
But Death is imaged in their shadowy beams.
A picture is the past; even ere its frame
Be gilt, who sate hath ceased to be the same.

XX.

As Juan mused on Mutability,
Or on his Mistress--terms synonymous--
No sound except the echo of his sigh
Or step ran sadly through that antique house;
When suddenly he heard, or thought so, nigh,
A supernatural agent--or a mouse,
Whose little nibbling rustle will embarrass
Most people as it plays along the arras.

XXI.

It was no mouse--but lo! a monk, arrayed[781]
In cowl and beads, and dusky garb, appeared,
Now in the moonlight, and now lapsed in shade,
With steps that trod as heavy, yet unheard;
His garments only a slight murmur made;
He moved as shadowy as the Sisters weird,[782]
But slowly; and as he passed Juan by,
Glanced, without pausing, on him a bright eye.

XXII.

Juan was petrified; he had heard a hint
Of such a Spirit in these halls of old,
But thought, like most men, that there was nothing in 't
Beyond the rumour which such spots unfold,
Coined from surviving Superstition's mint,
Which passes ghosts in currency like gold,
But rarely seen, like gold compared with paper.
And did he see this? or was it a vapour?

XXIII.

Once, twice, thrice passed, repassed--the thing of air,
Or earth beneath, or Heaven, or t' other place;
And Juan gazed upon it with a stare,
Yet could not speak or move; but, on its base
As stands a statue, stood: he felt his hair
Twine like a knot of snakes around his face;
He taxed his tongue for words, which were not granted,
To ask the reverend person what he wanted.

XXIV.

The third time, after a still longer pause,
The shadow passed away--but where? the hall
Was long, and thus far there was no great cause
To think his vanishing unnatural:
Doors there were many, through which, by the laws
Of physics, bodies whether short or tall
Might come or go; but Juan could not state
Through which the Spectre seemed to evaporate.

XXV.

He stood--how long he knew not, but it seemed
An age--expectant, powerless, with his eyes
Strained on the spot where first the figure gleamed
Then by degrees recalled his energies,
And would have passed the whole off as a dream,
But could not wake; he was, he did surmise,
Waking already, and returned at length
Back to his chamber, shorn of half his strength.

XXVI.

All there was as he left it: still his taper
Burned, and not _blue_, as modest tapers use,
Receiving sprites with sympathetic vapour;
He rubbed his eyes, and they did not refuse
Their office: he took up an old newspaper;
The paper was right easy to peruse;
He read an article the King attacking,
And a long eulogy of "Patent Blacking."

XXVII.

This savoured of this world; but his hand shook:
He shut his door, and after having read
A paragraph, I think about Horne Tooke,
Undressed, and rather slowly went to bed.
There, couched all snugly on his pillow's nook,
With what he had seen his phantasy he fed;
And though it was no opiate, slumber crept
Upon him by degrees, and so he slept.

XXVIII.

He woke betimes; and, as may be supposed,
Pondered upon his visitant or vision,
And whether it ought not to be disclosed,
At risk of being quizzed for superstition.
The more he thought, the more his mind was posed:
In the mean time, his valet, whose precision
Was great, because his master brooked no less,
Knocked to inform him it was time to dress.

XXIX.

He dressed; and like young people he was wont
To take some trouble with his toilet, but
This morning rather spent less time upon 't;
Aside his very mirror soon was put;
His curls fell negligently o'er his front,
His clothes were not curbed to their usual cut,
His very neckcloth's Gordian knot was tied
Almost an hair's breadth too much on one side.

XXX.

And when he walked down into the Saloon,
He sate him pensive o'er a dish of tea,
Which he perhaps had not discovered soon,
Had it not happened scalding hot to be,
Which made him have recourse unto his spoon;
So much _distrait_ he was, that all could see
That something was the matter--Adeline
The first--but _what_ she could not well divine.

XXXI.

She looked, and saw him pale, and turned as pale
Herself; then hastily looked down, and muttered
Something, but what's not stated in my tale.
Lord Henry said, his muffin was ill buttered;
The Duchess of Fitz-Fulke played with her veil,
And looked at Juan hard, but nothing uttered.
Aurora Raby with her large dark eyes
Surveyed him with a kind of calm surprise.

XXXII.

But seeing him all cold and silent still,
And everybody wondering more or less,
Fair Adeline inquired, "If he were ill?"
He started, and said, "Yes--no--rather--yes."
The family physician had great skill,
And being present, now began to express
His readiness to feel his pulse and tell
The cause, but Juan said, he was "quite well."

XXXIII.

"Quite well; yes,--no."--These answers were mysterious,
And yet his looks appeared to sanction both,
However they might savour of delirious;
Something like illness of a sudden growth
Weighed on his spirit, though by no means serious:
But for the rest, as he himself seemed both
To state the case, it might be ta'en for granted
It was not the physician that he wanted.

XXXIV.

Lord Henry, who had now discussed his chocolate,
Also the muffin whereof he complained,
Said, Juan had not got his usual look elate,
At which he marvelled, since it had not rained;
Then asked her Grace what news were of the Duke of late?
_Her_ Grace replied, _his_ Grace was rather pained
With some slight, light, hereditary twinges
Of gout, which rusts aristocratic hinges.

XXXV.

Then Henry turned to Juan, and addressed
A few words of condolence on his state:
"You look," quoth he, "as if you had had your rest
Broke in upon by the Black Friar of late."
"What Friar?" said Juan; and he did his best
To put the question with an air sedate,
Or careless; but the effort was not valid
To hinder him from growing still more pallid.

XXXVI.

"Oh! have you never heard of the Black Friar?
The Spirit of these walls?"--"In truth not I."
"Why Fame--but Fame you know's sometimes a liar--
Tells an odd story, of which by and by:
Whether with time the Spectre has grown shyer,
Or that our Sires had a more gifted eye
For such sights, though the tale is half believed,
The Friar of late has not been oft perceived.

XXXVII.

"The last time was----"--"I pray," said Adeline--
(Who watched the changes of Don Juan's brow,
And from its context thought she could divine
Connections stronger than he chose to avow
With this same legend)--"if you but design
To jest, you'll choose some other theme just now,
Because the present tale has oft been told,
And is not much improved by growing old."

XXXVIII.

"Jest!" quoth Milor; "why, Adeline, you know
That we ourselves--'twas in the honey moon
Saw----"--"Well, no matter, 'twas so long ago;
But, come, I'll set your story to a tune."
Graceful as Dian when she draws her bow,
She seized her harp, whose strings were kindled soon
As touched, and plaintively began to play
The air of "'Twas a Friar of Orders Gray."[nz]

XXXIX.

"But add the words," cried Henry, "which you made;
For Adeline is half a poetess,"
Turning round to the rest, he smiling said.
Of course the others could not but express
In courtesy their wish to see displayed
By one _three_ talents, for there were no less--
The voice, the words, the harper's skill, at once,
Could hardly be united by a dunce.

XL.

After some fascinating hesitation,--
The charming of these charmers, who seem bound,
I can't tell why, to this dissimulation,--
Fair Adeline, with eyes fixed on the ground
At first, then kindling into animation,
Added her sweet voice to the lyric sound,
And sang with much simplicity,--a merit
Not the less precious, that we seldom hear it.

1.

Beware! beware! of the Black Friar,
Who sitteth by Norman stone,
For he mutters his prayer in the midnight air,
And his mass of the days that are gone.
When the Lord of the Hill, Amundeville,
Made Norman Church his prey,
And expelled the friars, one friar still
Would not be driven away.

2.

Though he came in his might, with King Henry's right,
To turn church lands to lay,
With sword in hand, and torch to light
Their walls, if they said nay;
A monk remained, unchased, unchained,
And he did not seem formed of clay,
For he's seen in the porch, and he's seen in the church,
Though he is not seen by day.

3.

And whether for good, or whether for ill,
It is not mine to say;
But still with the house of Amundeville
He abideth night and day.
By the marriage-bed of their lords, 'tis said,
He flits on the bridal eve;
And 'tis held as faith, to their bed of Death[oa]
He comes--but not to grieve.

4.

When an heir is born, he's heard to mourn,
And when aught is to befall
That ancient line, in the pale moonshine
He walks from hall to hall.
His form you may trace, but not his face,
'Tis shadowed by his cowl;
But his eyes may be seen from the folds between,
And they seem of a parted soul.

5.

But beware! beware! of the Black Friar,
He still retains his sway,
For he is yet the Church's heir,
Whoever may be the lay.
Amundeville is Lord by day,
But the monk is Lord by night;
Nor wine nor wassail could raise a vassal
To question that Friar's right.

6.

Say nought to him as he walks the Hall,
And he'll say nought to you;
He sweeps along in his dusky pall,
As o'er the grass the dew.
Then grammercy! for the Black Friar;
Heaven sain him! fair or foul,--
And whatsoe'er may be his prayer,
Let ours be for his soul.

XLI.