Don Juan Part 40

And then he talk'd with him about Madrid, Constantinople, and such distant places; Where people always did as they were bid, Or did what they should not with foreign graces.

Of coursers also spake they: Henry rid Well, like most Englishmen, and loved the races; And Juan, like a true-born Andalusian, Could back a horse, as despots ride a Russian.

And thus acquaintance grew, at n.o.ble routs, And diplomatic dinners, or at other-- For Juan stood well both with Ins and Outs, As in freemasonry a higher brother.

Upon his talent Henry had no doubts; His manner show'd him sprung from a high mother; And all men like to show their hospitality To him whose breeding matches with his quality.

At Blank-Blank Square;--for we will break no squares By naming streets: since men are so censorious, And apt to sow an author's wheat with tares, Reaping allusions private and inglorious, Where none were dreamt of, unto love's affairs, Which were, or are, or are to be notorious, That therefore do I previously declare, Lord Henry's mansion was in Blank-Blank Square.

Also there bin another pious reason For making squares and streets anonymous; Which is, that there is scarce a single season Which doth not shake some very splendid house With some slight heart-quake of domestic treason-- A topic scandal doth delight to rouse: Such I might stumble over unawares, Unless I knew the very chastest squares.

'T is true, I might have chosen Piccadilly, A place where peccadillos are unknown; But I have motives, whether wise or silly, For letting that pure sanctuary alone.

Therefore I name not square, street, place, until I Find one where nothing naughty can be shown, A vestal shrine of innocence of heart:

At Henry's mansion then, in Blank-Blank Square, Was Juan a recherche, welcome guest, As many other n.o.ble scions were; And some who had but talent for their crest; Or wealth, which is a pa.s.sport every where; Or even mere fashion, which indeed 's the best Recommendation; and to be well drest Will very often supersede the rest.

And since 'there 's safety in a mult.i.tude Of counsellors,' as Solomon has said, Or some one for him, in some sage, grave mood;-- Indeed we see the daily proof display'd In senates, at the bar, in wordy feud, Where'er collective wisdom can parade, Which is the only cause that we can guess Of Britain's present wealth and happiness;--

But as 'there 's safety' grafted in the number 'Of counsellors' for men, thus for the s.e.x A large acquaintance lets not Virtue slumber; Or should it shake, the choice will more perplex-- Variety itself will more enc.u.mber.

'Midst many rocks we guard more against wrecks; And thus with women: howsoe'er it shocks some's Self-love, there 's safety in a crowd of c.o.xcombs.

But Adeline had not the least occasion For such a shield, which leaves but little merit To virtue proper, or good education.

Her chief resource was in her own high spirit, Which judged mankind at their due estimation; And for coquetry, she disdain'd to wear it: Secure of admiration, its impression Was faint, as of an every-day possession.

To all she was polite without parade; To some she show'd attention of that kind Which flatters, but is flattery convey'd In such a sort as cannot leave behind A trace unworthy either wife or maid;-- A gentle, genial courtesy of mind, To those who were, or pa.s.s'd for meritorious, Just to console sad glory for being glorious;

Which is in all respects, save now and then, A dull and desolate appendage. Gaze Upon the shades of those distinguish'd men Who were or are the puppet-shows of praise, The praise of persecution; gaze again On the most favour'd; and amidst the blaze Of sunset halos o'er the laurel-brow'd, What can ye recognise?--a gilded cloud.

There also was of course in Adeline That calm patrician polish in the address, Which ne'er can pa.s.s the equinoctial line Of any thing which nature would express; Just as a mandarin finds nothing fine,-- At least his manner suffers not to guess That any thing he views can greatly please.

Perhaps we have borrow'd this from the Chinese--

Perhaps from Horace: his 'Nil admirari'

Was what he call'd the 'Art of Happiness;'

An art on which the artists greatly vary, And have not yet attain'd to much success.

However, 't is expedient to be wary: Indifference certes don't produce distress; And rash enthusiasm in good society Were nothing but a moral inebriety.

But Adeline was not indifferent: for (Now for a common-place!) beneath the snow, As a volcano holds the lava more Within--et caetera. Shall I go on?--No!

I hate to hunt down a tired metaphor, So let the often-used volcano go.

Poor thing! How frequently, by me and others, It hath been stirr'd up till its smoke quite smothers!

I 'll have another figure in a trice:-- What say you to a bottle of champagne?

Frozen into a very vinous ice, Which leaves few drops of that immortal rain, Yet in the very centre, past all price, About a liquid gla.s.sful will remain; And this is stronger than the strongest grape Could e'er express in its expanded shape:

'T is the whole spirit brought to a quintessence; And thus the chilliest aspects may concentre A hidden nectar under a cold presence.

And such are many--though I only meant her From whom I now deduce these moral lessons, On which the Muse has always sought to enter.

And your cold people are beyond all price, When once you have broken their confounded ice.

But after all they are a North-West Pa.s.sage Unto the glowing India of the soul; And as the good ships sent upon that message Have not exactly ascertain'd the Pole (Though Parry's efforts look a lucky presage), Thus gentlemen may run upon a shoal; For if the Pole 's not open, but all frost (A chance still), 't is a voyage or vessel lost.

And young beginners may as well commence With quiet cruising o'er the ocean woman; While those who are not beginners should have sense Enough to make for port, ere time shall summon With his grey signal-flag; and the past tense, The dreary 'Fuimus' of all things human, Must be declined, while life's thin thread 's spun out Between the gaping heir and gnawing gout.

But heaven must be diverted; its diversion Is sometimes truculent--but never mind: The world upon the whole is worth the a.s.sertion (If but for comfort) that all things are kind: And that same devilish doctrine of the Persian, Of the two principles, but leaves behind As many doubts as any other doctrine Has ever puzzled Faith withal, or yoked her in.

The English winter--ending in July, To recommence in August--now was done.

'T is the postilion's paradise: wheels fly; On roads, east, south, north, west, there is a run.

But for post-horses who finds sympathy?

Man's pity 's for himself, or for his son, Always premising that said son at college Has not contracted much more debt than knowledge.

The London winter 's ended in July-- Sometimes a little later. I don't err In this: whatever other blunders lie Upon my shoulders, here I must aver My Muse a gla.s.s of weatherology; For parliament is our barometer: Let radicals its other acts attack, Its sessions form our only almanack.

When its quicksilver 's down at zero,--lo Coach, chariot, luggage, baggage, equipage!

Wheels whirl from Carlton palace to Soho, And happiest they who horses can engage; The turnpikes glow with dust; and Rotten Row Sleeps from the chivalry of this bright age; And tradesmen, with long bills and longer faces, Sigh--as the postboys fasten on the traces.

They and their bills, 'Arcadians both,' are left To the Greek kalends of another session.

Alas! to them of ready cash bereft, What hope remains? Of hope the full possession, Or generous draft, conceded as a gift, At a long date--till they can get a fresh one-- Hawk'd about at a discount, small or large; Also the solace of an overcharge.

But these are trifles. Downward flies my lord, Nodding beside my lady in his carriage.

Away! away! 'Fresh horses!' are the word, And changed as quickly as hearts after marriage; The obsequious landlord hath the change restored; The postboys have no reason to disparage Their fee; but ere the water'd wheels may hiss hence, The ostler pleads too for a reminiscence.

'T is granted; and the valet mounts the d.i.c.key-- That gentleman of lords and gentlemen; Also my lady's gentlewoman, tricky, Trick'd out, but modest more than poet's pen Can paint,--'Cosi viaggino i Ricchi!'

(Excuse a foreign slipslop now and then, If but to show I 've travell'd; and what 's travel, Unless it teaches one to quote and cavil?)

The London winter and the country summer Were well nigh over. 'T is perhaps a pity, When nature wears the gown that doth become her, To lose those best months in a sweaty city, And wait until the nightingale grows dumber, Listening debates not very wise or witty, Ere patriots their true country can remember;-- But there 's no shooting (save grouse) till September.

I 've done with my tirade. The world was gone; The twice two thousand, for whom earth was made, Were vanish'd to be what they call alone-- That is, with thirty servants for parade, As many guests, or more; before whom groan As many covers, duly, daily, laid.

Let none accuse Old England's hospitality-- Its quant.i.ty is but condensed to quality.

Lord Henry and the Lady Adeline Departed like the rest of their compeers, The peerage, to a mansion very fine; The Gothic Babel of a thousand years.

None than themselves could boast a longer line, Where time through heroes and through beauties steers; And oaks as olden as their pedigree Told of their sires, a tomb in every tree.

A paragraph in every paper told Of their departure: such is modern fame: 'T is pity that it takes no farther hold Than an advertis.e.m.e.nt, or much the same; When, ere the ink be dry, the sound grows cold.

The Morning Post was foremost to proclaim-- 'Departure, for his country seat, to-day, Lord H. Amundeville and Lady A.

'We understand the splendid host intends To entertain, this autumn, a select And numerous party of his n.o.ble friends; 'Midst whom we have heard, from sources quite correct, With many more by rank and fashion deck'd; Also a foreigner of high condition, The envoy of the secret Russian mission.'

And thus we see--who doubts the Morning Post?

(Whose articles are like the 'Thirty-nine,'

Which those most swear to who believe them most)-- Our gay Russ Spaniard was ordain'd to shine, Deck'd by the rays reflected from his host, With those who, Pope says, 'greatly daring dine.'

'T is odd, but true,--last war the News abounded More with these dinners than the kill'd or wounded;--

As thus: 'On Thursday there was a grand dinner; Present, Lords A. B. C.'--Earls, dukes, by name Announced with no less pomp than victory's winner: Then underneath, and in the very same Column; date, 'Falmouth. There has lately been here The Slap-dash regiment, so well known to fame, Whose loss in the late action we regret: The vacancies are fill'd up--see Gazette.'

To Norman Abbey whirl'd the n.o.ble pair,-- An old, old monastery once, and now Still older mansion; of a rich and rare Mix'd Gothic, such as artists all allow Few specimens yet left us can compare Withal: it lies perhaps a little low, Because the monks preferr'd a hill behind, To shelter their devotion from the wind.

It stood embosom'd in a happy valley, Crown'd by high woodlands, where the Druid oak Stood like Caractacus in act to rally His host, with broad arms 'gainst the thunderstroke; And from beneath his boughs were seen to sally The dappled foresters--as day awoke, The branching stag swept down with all his herd, To quaff a brook which murmur'd like a bird.

Before the mansion lay a lucid lake, Broad as transparent, deep, and freshly fed By a river, which its soften'd way did take In currents through the calmer water spread Around: the wildfowl nestled in the brake And sedges, brooding in their liquid bed: The woods sloped downwards to its brink, and stood With their green faces fix'd upon the flood.

Its outlet dash'd into a deep cascade, Sparkling with foam, until again subsiding, Its shriller echoes--like an infant made Quiet--sank into softer ripples, gliding Into a rivulet; and thus allay'd, Pursued its course, now gleaming, and now hiding Its windings through the woods; now clear, now blue, According as the skies their shadows threw.