Lord Byron - Delphi Poets Series

by Lord Byron

  As doth a rainbow the just clearing air.

  XXIV

  Gulbeyaz and her lord were sleeping, or

  At least one of them! — Oh, the heavy night,

  When wicked wives, who love some bachelor,

  Lie down in dudgeon to sigh for the light

  Of the gray morning, and look vainly for

  Its twinkle through the lattice dusky quite —

  To toss, to tumble, doze, revive, and quake

  Lest their too lawful bed-fellow should wake!

  XXV

  These are beneath the canopy of heaven,

  Also beneath the canopy of beds

  Four-posted and silk curtain’d, which are given

  For rich men and their brides to lay their heads

  Upon, in sheets white as what bards call “driven

  Snow.” Well! ‘t is all hap-hazard when one weds.

  Gulbeyaz was an empress, but had been

  Perhaps as wretched if a peasant’s quean.

  XXVI

  Don Juan in his feminine disguise,

  With all the damsels in their long array,

  Had bow’d themselves before th’ imperial eyes,

  And at the usual signal ta’en their way

  Back to their chambers, those long galleries

  In the seraglio, where the ladies lay

  Their delicate limbs; a thousand bosoms there

  Beating for love, as the caged bird’s for air.

  XXVII

  I love the sex, and sometimes would reverse

  The tyrant’s wish, “that mankind only had

  One neck, which he with one fell stroke might pierce:”

  My wish is quite as wide, but not so bad,

  And much more tender on the whole than fierce;

  It being (not now, but only while a lad)

  That womankind had but one rosy mouth,

  To kiss them all at once from North to South.

  XXVIII

  Oh, enviable Briareus! with thy hands

  And heads, if thou hadst all things multiplied

  In such proportion! — But my Muse withstands

  The giant thought of being a Titan’s bride,

  Or travelling in Patagonian lands;

  So let us back to Lilliput, and guide

  Our hero through the labyrinth of love

  In which we left him several lines above.

  XXIX

  He went forth with the lovely Odalisques,

  At the given signal join’d to their array;

  And though he certainly ran many risks,

  Yet he could not at times keep, by the way

  (Although the consequences of such frisks

  Are worse than the worst damages men pay

  In moral England, where the thing’s a tax),

  From ogling all their charms from breasts to backs.

  XXX

  Still he forgot not his disguise: — along

  The galleries from room to room they walk’d,

  A virgin-like and edifying throng,

  By eunuchs flank’d; while at their head there stalk’d

  A dame who kept up discipline among

  The female ranks, so that none stirr’d or talk’d

  Without her sanction on their she-parades:

  Her title was “the Mother of the Maids.”

  XXXI

  Whether she was a “mother,” I know not,

  Or whether they were “maids” who call’d her mother;

  But this is her seraglio title, got

  I know not how, but good as any other;

  So Cantemir can tell you, or De Tott:

  Her office was to keep aloof or smother

  All bad propensities in fifteen hundred

  Young women, and correct them when they blunder’d.

  XXXII

  A goodly sinecure, no doubt! but made

  More easy by the absence of all men —

  Except his majesty, who, with her aid,

  And guards, and bolts, and walls, and now and then

  A slight example, just to cast a shade

  Along the rest, contrived to keep this den

  Of beauties cool as an Italian convent,

  Where all the passions have, alas! but one vent.

  XXXIII

  And what is that? Devotion, doubtless — how

  Could you ask such a question? — but we will

  Continue. As I said, this goodly row

  Of ladies of all countries at the will

  Of one good man, with stately march and slow,

  Like water-lilies floating down a rill —

  Or rather lake, for rills do not run slowly, —

  Paced on most maiden-like and melancholy.

  XXXIV

  But when they reach’d their own apartments, there,

  Like birds, or boys, or bedlamites broke loose,

  Waves at spring-tide, or women anywhere

  When freed from bonds (which are of no great use

  After all), or like Irish at a fair,

  Their guards being gone, and as it were a truce

  Establish’d between them and bondage, they

  Began to sing, dance, chatter, smile, and play.

  XXXV

  Their talk, of course, ran most on the new comer;

  Her shape, her hair, her air, her everything:

  Some thought her dress did not so much become her,

  Or wonder’d at her ears without a ring;

  Some said her years were getting nigh their summer,

  Others contended they were but in spring;

  Some thought her rather masculine in height,

  While others wish’d that she had been so quite.

  XXXVI

  But no one doubted on the whole, that she

  Was what her dress bespoke, a damsel fair,

  And fresh, and “beautiful exceedingly,”

  Who with the brightest Georgians might compare:

  They wonder’d how Gulbeyaz, too, could be

  So silly as to buy slaves who might share

  (If that his Highness wearied of his bride)

  Her throne and power, and every thing beside.

  XXXVII

  But what was strangest in this virgin crew,

  Although her beauty was enough to vex,

  After the first investigating view,

  They all found out as few, or fewer, specks

  In the fair form of their companion new,

  Than is the custom of the gentle sex,

  When they survey, with Christian eyes or Heathen,

  In a new face “the ugliest creature breathing.”

  XXXVIII

  And yet they had their little jealousies,

  Like all the rest; but upon this occasion,

  Whether there are such things as sympathies

  Without our knowledge or our approbation,

  Although they could not see through his disguise,

  All felt a soft kind of concatenation,

  Like magnetism, or devilism, or what

  You please — we will not quarrel about that:

  XXXIX

  But certain ‘tis they all felt for their new

  Companion something newer still, as ‘t were

  A sentimental friendship through and through,

  Extremely pure, which made them all concur

  In wishing her their sister, save a few

  Who wish’d they had a brother just like her,

  Whom, if they were at home in sweet Circassia,

  They would prefer to Padisha or Pacha.

  XL

  Of those who had most genius for this sort

  Of sentimental friendship, there were three,

  Lolah, Katinka, and Dudù; in short

  (To save description), fair as fair can be

  Were they, according to the best rep
ort,

  Though differing in stature and degree,

  And clime and time, and country and complexion;

  They all alike admired their new connection.

  XLI

  Lolah was dusk as India and as warm;

  Katinka was a Georgian, white and red,

  With great blue eyes, a lovely hand and arm,

  And feet so small they scarce seem’d made to tread,

  But rather skim the earth; while Dudù’s form

  Look’d more adapted to be put to bed,

  Being somewhat large, and languishing, and lazy,

  Yet of a beauty that would drive you crazy.

  XLII

  A kind of sleepy Venus seem’d Dudù,

  Yet very fit to “murder sleep” in those

  Who gazed upon her cheek’s transcendent hue,

  Her Attic forehead, and her Phidian nose:

  Few angles were there in her form, ‘t is true,

  Thinner she might have been, and yet scarce lose;

  Yet, after all, ‘t would puzzle to say where

  It would not spoil some separate charm to pare.

  XLIII

  She was not violently lively, but

  Stole on your spirit like a May-day breaking;

  Her eyes were not too sparkling, yet, half-shut,

  They put beholders in a tender taking;

  She look’d (this simile’s quite new) just cut

  From marble, like Pygmalion’s statue waking,

  The mortal and the marble still at strife,

  And timidly expanding into life.

  XLIV

  Lolah demanded the new damsel’s name —

  ”Juanna.” — Well, a pretty name enough.

  Katinka ask’d her also whence she came —

  ”From Spain.” — “But where is Spain?” — “Don’t ask such stuff,

  Nor show your Georgian ignorance — for shame!”

  Said Lolah, with an accent rather rough,

  To poor Katinka: “Spain’s an island near

  Morocco, betwixt Egypt and Tangier.”

  XLV

  Dudù said nothing, but sat down beside

  Juanna, playing with her veil or hair;

  And looking at her steadfastly, she sigh’d,

  As if she pitied her for being there,

  A pretty stranger without friend or guide,

  And all abash’d, too, at the general stare

  Which welcomes hapless strangers in all places,

  With kind remarks upon their mien and faces.

  XLVI

  But here the Mother of the Maids drew near,

  With, “Ladies, it is time to go to rest.

  I’m puzzled what to do with you, my dear,”

  She added to Juanna, their new guest:

  “Your coming has been unexpected here,

  And every couch is occupied; you had best

  Partake of mine; but by to-morrow early

  We will have all things settled for you fairly.”

  XLVII

  Here Lolah interposed — “Mamma, you know

  You don’t sleep soundly, and I cannot bear

  That anybody should disturb you so;

  I’ll take Juanna; we’re a slenderer pair

  Than you would make the half of; — don’t say no;

  And I of your young charge will take due care.”

  But here Katinka interfered, and said,

  “She also had compassion and a bed.

  XLVIII

  “Besides, I hate to sleep alone,” quoth she.

  The matron frown’d: “Why so?” — “For fear of ghosts,”

  Replied Katinka; “I am sure I see

  A phantom upon each of the four posts;

  And then I have the worst dreams that can be,

  Of Guebres, Giaours, and Ginns, and Gouls in hosts.”

  The dame replied, “Between your dreams and you,

  I fear Juanna’s dreams would be but few.

  XLIX

  “You, Lolah, must continue still to lie

  Alone, for reasons which don’t matter; you

  The same, Katinka, until by and by;

  And I shall place Juanna with Dudù,

  Who’s quiet, inoffensive, silent, shy,

  And will not toss and chatter the night through.

  What say you, child?” — Dudù said nothing, as

  Her talents were of the more silent class;

  L

  But she rose up, and kiss’d the matron’s brow

  Between the eyes, and Lolah on both cheeks,

  Katinka, too; and with a gentle bow

  (Curt’sies are neither used by Turks nor Greeks)

  She took Juanna by the hand to show

  Their place of rest, and left to both their piques,

  The others pouting at the matron’s preference

  Of Dudù, though they held their tongues from deference.

  LI

  It was a spacious chamber (Oda is

  The Turkish title), and ranged round the wall

  Were couches, toilets — and much more than this

  I might describe, as I have seen it all,

  But it suffices — little was amiss;

  ’T was on the whole a nobly furnish’d hall,

  With all things ladies want, save one or two,

  And even those were nearer than they knew.

  LII

  Dudù, as has been said, was a sweet creature,

  Not very dashing, but extremely winning,

  With the most regulated charms of feature,

  Which painters cannot catch like faces sinning

  Against proportion — the wild strokes of nature

  Which they hit off at once in the beginning,

  Full of expression, right or wrong, that strike,

  And pleasing or unpleasing, still are like.

  LIII

  But she was a soft landscape of mild earth,

  Where all was harmony, and calm, and quiet,

  Luxuriant, budding; cheerful without mirth,

  Which, if not happiness, is much more nigh it

  Than are your mighty passions and so forth,

  Which some call “the sublime:” I wish they’d try it:

  I’ve seen your stormy seas and stormy women,

  And pity lovers rather more than seamen.

  LIV

  But she was pensive more than melancholy,

  And serious more than pensive, and serene,

  It may be, more than either — not unholy

  Her thoughts, at least till now, appear to have been.

  The strangest thing was, beauteous, she was wholly

  Unconscious, albeit turn’d of quick seventeen,

  That she was fair, or dark, or short, or tall;

  She never thought about herself at all.

  LV

  And therefore was she kind and gentle as

  The Age of Gold (when gold was yet unknown,

  By which its nomenclature came to pass;

  Thus most appropriately has been shown

  “Lucus à non lucendo,” not what was,

  But what was not; a sort of style that’s grown

  Extremely common in this age, whose metal

  The devil may decompose, but never settle:

  LVI

  I think it may be of “Corinthian Brass,”

  Which was a mixture of all metals, but

  The brazen uppermost). Kind reader! pass

  This long parenthesis: I could not shut

  It sooner for the soul of me, and class

  My faults even with your own! which meaneth, Put

  A kind construction upon them and me:

  But that you won’t — then don’t — I am not less free.

  LVII

  ‘T is time we should return to plain narration,

&nbs
p; And thus my narrative proceeds: — Dudù,

  With every kindness short of ostentation,

  Show’d Juan, or Juanna, through and through

  This labyrinth of females, and each station

  Described — what’s strange — in words extremely few:

  I have but one simile, and that’s a blunder,

  For wordless woman, which is silent thunder.

  LVIII

  And next she gave her (I say her, because

  The gender still was epicene, at least

  In outward show, which is a saving clause)

  An outline of the customs of the East,

  With all their chaste integrity of laws,

  By which the more a haram is increased,

  The stricter doubtless grow the vestal duties

  Of any supernumerary beauties.

  LIX

  And then she gave Juanna a chaste kiss:

  Dudù was fond of kissing — which I’m sure

  That nobody can ever take amiss,

  Because ‘t is pleasant, so that it be pure,

  And between females means no more than this —

  That they have nothing better near, or newer.

  “Kiss” rhymes to “bliss” in fact as well as verse —

  I wish it never led to something worse.

  LX

  In perfect innocence she then unmade

  Her toilet, which cost little, for she was

  A child of Nature, carelessly array’d:

  If fond of a chance ogle at her glass,

  ‘T was like the fawn, which, in the lake display’d,

  Beholds her own shy, shadowy image pass,

  When first she starts, and then returns to peep,

  Admiring this new native of the deep.

  LXI

  And one by one her articles of dress

  Were laid aside; but not before she offer’d

  Her aid to fair Juanna, whose excess

  Of modesty declined the assistance proffer’d:

  Which pass’d well off — as she could do no less;

  Though by this politesse she rather suffer’d,

  Pricking her fingers with those cursed pins,

  Which surely were invented for our sins, —

  LXII

  Making a woman like a porcupine,

  Not to be rashly touch’d. But still more dread,

  Oh ye! whose fate it is, as once ‘t was mine,

  In early youth, to turn a lady’s maid; —

  I did my very boyish best to shine

  In tricking her out for a masquerade;

  The pins were placed sufficiently, but not

  Stuck all exactly in the proper spot.

  LXIII

  But these are foolish things to all the wise,

  And I love wisdom more than she loves me;

  My tendency is to philosophise

  On most things, from a tyrant to a tree;

  But still the spouseless virgin Knowledge flies.