Don Juan Part 51

Dully past o'er the dinner of the day; And Juan took his place, he knew not where, Confused, in the confusion, and distrait, And sitting as if nail'd upon his chair: Though knives and forks clank'd round as in a fray, He seem'd unconscious of all pa.s.sing there, Till some one, with a groan, exprest a wish (Unheeded twice) to have a fin of fish.

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

This was no bad mistake, as it occurr'd, The supplicator being an amateur; But others, who were left with scarce a third, Were angry--as they well might, to be sure.

They wonder'd how a young man so absurd Lord Henry at his table should endure; And this, and his not knowing how much oats Had fallen last market, cost his host three votes.

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

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

Was, that he caught Aurora's eye on his, And something like a smile upon her cheek.

Now this he really rather took amiss: In those who rarely smile, their smiles bespeak A strong external motive; and in this Smile of Aurora's there was nought to pique Or hope, or love, with any of the wiles Which some pretend to trace in ladies' smiles.

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

But what was bad, she did not blush in turn, Nor seem embarra.s.s'd--quite the contrary; Her aspect was as usual, still--not stern-- And she withdrew, but cast not down, her eye, Yet grew a little pale--with what? concern?

I know not; but her colour ne'er was high-- Though sometimes faintly flush'd--and always clear, As deep seas in a sunny atmosphere.

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

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

So well she acted all and every part By turns--with that vivacious versatility, Which many people take for want of heart.

They err--'t is merely what is call'd mobility, A thing of temperament and not of art, Though seeming so, from its supposed facility; And false--though true; for surely they 're sincerest Who are strongly acted on by what is nearest.

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

The poets of arithmetic are they Who, though they prove not two and two to be Five, as they might do in a modest way, Have plainly made it out that four are three, Judging by what they take, and what they pay.

The Sinking Fund's unfathomable sea, That most unliquidating liquid, leaves The debt unsunk, yet sinks all it receives.

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

However, the day closed, as days must close; The evening also waned--and coffee came.

Each carriage was announced, and ladies rose, And curtsying off, as curtsies country dame, Retired: with most unfashionable bows Their docile esquires also did the same, Delighted with their dinner and their host, But with the Lady Adeline the most.

Some praised her beauty; others her great grace; The warmth of her politeness, whose sincerity Was obvious in each feature of her face, Whose traits were radiant with the rays of verity.

Yes; she was truly worthy her high place!

No one could envy her deserved prosperity.

And then her dress--what beautiful simplicity Draperied her form with curious felicity!

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

True, she said little--'t was the rest that broke Forth into universal epigram; But then 't was to the purpose what she spoke: Like Addison's 'faint praise,' so wont to d.a.m.n, Her own but served to set off every joke, As music chimes in with a melodrame.

How sweet the task to shield an absent friend!

I ask but this of mine, to--not defend.

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

'T is true he saw Aurora look as though She approved his silence; she perhaps mistook Its motive for that charity we owe But seldom pay the absent, nor would look Farther--it might or might not be so.

But Juan, sitting silent in his nook, Observing little in his reverie, Yet saw this much, which he was glad to see.

The ghost at least had done him this much good, In making him as silent as a ghost, If in the circ.u.mstances which ensued He gain'd esteem where it was worth the most.

And certainly Aurora had renew'd In him some feelings he had lately lost, Or harden'd; feelings which, perhaps ideal, Are so divine, that I must deem them real:--

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

Who would not sigh Ai ai Tan Kuuerheian That hath a memory, or that had a heart?

Alas! her star must fade like that of Dian: Ray fades on ray, as years on years depart.

Anacreon only had the soul to tie an Unwithering myrtle round the unblunted dart Of Eros: but though thou hast play'd us many tricks, Still we respect thee, 'Alma Venus Genetrix!'

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

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

And not in vain he listen'd;--Hush! what 's that?

I see--I see--Ah, no!--'t is not--yet 't is-- Ye powers! it is the--the--the--Pooh! the cat!

The devil may take that stealthy pace of his!

So like a spiritual pit-a-pat, Or tiptoe of an amatory Miss, Gliding the first time to a rendezvous, And dreading the chaste echoes of her shoe.

Again--what is 't? The wind? No, no--this time It is the sable friar as before, With awful footsteps regular as rhyme, Or (as rhymes may be in these days) much more.

Again through shadows of the night sublime, When deep sleep fell on men, and the world wore The starry darkness round her like a girdle Spangled with gems--the monk made his blood curdle.

A noise like to wet fingers drawn on gla.s.s, Which sets the teeth on edge; and a slight clatter, Like showers which on the midnight gusts will pa.s.s, Sounding like very supernatural water, Came over Juan's ear, which throbb'd, alas!

For immaterialism 's a serious matter; So that even those whose faith is the most great In souls immortal, shun them tete-a-tete.

Were his eyes open?--Yes! and his mouth too.

Surprise has this effect--to make one dumb, Yet leave the gate which eloquence slips through As wide as if a long speech were to come.

Nigh and more nigh the awful echoes drew, Tremendous to a mortal tympanum: His eyes were open, and (as was before Stated) his mouth. What open'd next?--the door.

It open'd with a most infernal creak, Like that of h.e.l.l. 'Lasciate ogni speranza Voi che entrate!' The hinge seem'd to speak, Dreadful as Dante's rhima, or this stanza; Or--but all words upon such themes are weak: A single shade 's sufficient to entrance Hero--for what is substance to a spirit?

Or how is 't matter trembles to come near it?

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

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! The eternal surge Of time and tide rolls on, and bears afar Our bubbles; as the old burst, new emerge, Lash'd from the foam of ages; while the graves Of empires heave but like some pa.s.sing waves.

Don Juan shook, as erst he had been shaken The night before, but being sick of shaking, He first inclined to think he had been mistaken, And then to be ashamed of such mistaking.

His own internal ghost began to awaken Within him and to quell his corporal quaking, Hinting that soul and body on the whole Were odds against a disembodied soul.

And then his dread grew wrath, and his wrath fierce, And he arose, advanced. The shade retreated, But Juan, eager now the truth to pierce, Followed, his veins no longer cold, but heated, Resolved to thrust the mystery carte and tierce, At whatsoever risk of being defeated.

The ghost stopped, menaced, then retired, until He reached the ancient wall, then stood stone still.

Juan put forth one arm. Eternal powers!

It touched no soul nor body, but the wall, On which the moonbeams fell in silvery showers Checkered with all the tracery of the hall.

He shuddered, as no doubt the bravest cowers When he can't tell what 'tis that doth appal.

How odd, a single hobgoblin's nonent.i.ty Should cause more fear than a whole host's ident.i.ty.