Don Juan
Page 54
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.
44
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.
45
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
To soothe our ears lest Italy should fail.
46
In Babylon’s bravuras – as the home
Heart ballads of green Erin or grey Highlands,
That brings Lochaber back to eyes that roam
O’er far Atlantic continents or islands,
The calentures 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.
47
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,
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.
48
Aurora – since we are touching upon taste,
Which nowadays 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.
49
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.
50
I have not heard she was at all poetic,
Though once she was seen reading the Bath Guide
And Hayley’s Triumphs, 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 insured her praise
Were sonnets to herself or bouts-rimés.
51
’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.
52
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.
53
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.
54
Of these, few could say more than has been said;
They passed, as such things do, for superstition
With some, while others, who held 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.
55
And then the midday 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.
56
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.
57
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 judgement, never known to fail.
58
There was a modern Goth, I mean a Gothic
Bricklayer of Babel, called an architect,
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.
59
The cost would be a trifle, an old song
Set to some thousands (’tis the usual burthen
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.
60
There were two lawyers busy on a mortgage
Lord Henry wished to raise for a new purchase,
Also a lawsuit upon tenures burgage,
And one on tithes, which sure are Discord’s torches,
Kindling Religion till she throws down her gage,
‘Untying’ squ
ires ‘to fight against the churches’.
There was a prize ox, a prize pig, and ploughman,
For Henry was a sort of Sabine showman.
61
There were two poachers caught in a steel trap,
Ready for jail, 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).
That scarlet cloak, alas, unclosed with rigour,
Presents the problem of a double figure.
62
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.
63
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.
64
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.
65
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.
66
Of course these groups were scattered here and there,
Not nigh the gay saloon of ladies gent.
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 dispatches) in their several stations,
Exulting in their brilliant lucubrations.
67
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
Perplexing for most virgins – a child’s father.
68
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’.
69
But once a week or fortnight, uninvited
(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 connexion
Talk o’er themselves, the past and next election.
70
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 selfsame sphere here.
His son, the Honourable Dick Dicedrabbit,
Was member for the ‘other interest’ (meaning
The same self-interest with a different leaning).
71
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.
72
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.
73
He was ‘free to confess’ (whence comes this phrase?
Is’t English? No, ’tis only parliamentary)
That innovation’s spirit nowadays
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.
74
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 Geordian knot, whose strings
Have tied together Commons, Lords, and Kings.
75
Sooner ‘come place into the Civil List
And champion him to the utmost.’ 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.
76
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.
77
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
&n
bsp; 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,
78
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.
79
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 men and master too – their places.
80
There were some hunters bold and coursers keen,
Whose hounds ne’er erred, nor greyhounds deigned lurch;
Some deadly shots too, Septembrizers, 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.
81
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,
The loudest wit I e’er was deafened with.
82
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
(Oh Providence! how wondrous are thy ways;
Who would suppose thy gifts sometimes obdurate?)
Gave him, to lay the devil who looks o’er Lincoln,
A fat fen vicarage and nought to think on.
83
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.
No longer ready ears and shorthand pens
Imbibed the gay bon mot or happy hoax.
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.
84
There is a difference, says the song, ‘between