XLII.

As they were plodding on their winding way, Through orange bowers, and jasmine, and so forth (Of which I might have a good deal to say,

There being no such profusion in the North Of oriental plants, «< et cetera,>>

But that of late your scribblers think it worth Their while to rear whole hotbeds in their works, Because one poet travell'd 'mongst the Turks):

XLIII.

As they were threading on their way, there came Into Don Juan's head a thought, which he Whisper'd to his companion ;-'t was the same

Which might have then occurr'd to you or me. « Methinks,» said he-« it would be no great shame If we should strike a stroke to set us free; Let's knock that old black fellow on the head, And march away-'t were easier done than said.>> XLIV.

«Yes,» said the other, «and when done, what then: How get out? how the devil got we in? And when we once were fairly out, and when

From Saint Bartholomew we have saved our skin, To-morrow'd see us in some other den,

And worse off than we hitherto have been; Besides, I'm hungry, and just now would take, Like Esau, for my birthright a beef-steak.

XLV.

« We must be near some place of man's abode;
For the old negro's confidence in creeping,
With his two captives, by so queer a road,
Shows that he thinks his friends have not been sleeping;
A single cry would bring them all abroad:

'Tis therefore better looking before leapingAnd there, you see, this turn has brought us through. By Jove, a noble palace !-lighted too.>>

XLVI.

It was indeed a wide extensive building

Which open'd on their view, and o'er the front There seem'd to be besprent a deal of gilding And various hues, as is the Turkish wont,A gaudy taste; for they are little skill'd in

The arts of which these lands were once the font: Each villa on the Bosphorus looks a screen New painted, or a pretty opera-scene. XLVII.

And nearer as they came, a genial savour

Of certain stews, and roast-meats, and pilaus, Things which in hungry mortals' eyes find favour, Made Juan in his harsh intentions pause, And put himself upon his good behaviour:

His friend, too, adding a new saving clause, Said, « In Heaven's name let 's get some supper now, And then I'm with you, if you 're for a row.»>

XLVIII.

Some talk of an appeal unto some passion,

Some to men's feelings, others to their reason: The last of these was never much the fashion, For reason thinks all reasoning out of season. Some speakers whine, and others lay the lash on, But more or less continue still to teaze on, With arguments according to their << forte ;» But no one ever dreams of being short.

XLIX.

But I digress: of all appeals,-although

I grant the power of pathos, and of gold, Of beauty, flattery, threats, a shilling,-no Method's more sure at moments to take hold Of the best feelings of mankind, which grow More tender, as we every day behold, Than that all-softening, over-powering knell, The tocsin of the soul-the dinner-bell.

L.

Turkey contains no bells, and yet men dine:
And Juan and his friend, albeit they heard
No Christian knoll to table, saw no line

Of lacqueys usher to the feast prepared,
Yet smelt roast-meat, beheld a huge fire shine,
And cooks in motion with their clean arms bared,
And gazed around them to the left and right
With the prophetic eye of appetite.

LI.

And giving up all notions of resistance,

They follow'd close behind their sable guide, Who little thought that his own crack'd existence Was on the point of being set aside:

He motion'd them to stop at some small distance,
And knocking at the gate, 't was open'd wide,
And a magnificent large hall display'd
The Asian pomp of Ottoman parade.

LII

I won't describe; description is my forte, f. vi.
But every fool describes in these bright days
His wond'rous journey to some foreign court,
And spawns his quarto, and demands your praise-
Death to his publisher, to him 't is sport;

While nature, tortured twenty thousand ways,
Resigns herself with exemplary patience
To guide-books, rhymes, tours, sketches, illustrations.
LIII.

Along this hall, and up and down, some, squatted
Upon their hams, were occupied at chess;

Others in monosyllable talk chatted,

And some seem'd much in love with their own dress; And divers smoked superb pipes decorated

With amber mouths of greater price or less; And several strutted, others slept, and some Prepared for supper with a glass of rum.5

LIV.

As the black eunuch enter'd with his brace
Of purchased infidels, some raised their eyes
A moment without slackening from their pace;
But those who sate ne'er stirr'd in any wise:
One or two stared the captives in the face,

Just as one views a horse to guess his price; Some nodded to the negro from their station, But no one troubled him with conversation.

LV.

He leads them through the hall, and, without stopping,
On through a farther range of goodly rooms,
Splendid but silent, save in one, where, dropping,6
A marble fountain echoes through the glooms
Of night, which robe the chamber, or where popping
Some female head most curiously presumes
To thrust its black eyes through the door or lattice,
As wondering what the devil noise that is.

LVI.

Some faint lamps gleaming from the lofty walls
Gave light enough to hint their farther way,
But not enough to show the imperial halls
In all the flashing of their full array.
Perhaps there's nothing-I 'll not say appals,
But saddens more by night as well as day,
Than an enormous room without a soul
To break the lifeless splendor of the whole.
LVII.

Two or three seem so little, one seems nothing:
In deserts, forests, crowds, or by the shore,
There solitude, we know, has her full growth in
The spots which were her realms for evermore;
But in a mighty hall or gallery, both in

More modern buildings and those built of
A kind of death comes o'er us all alone,
Seeing what's meant for many with but one.
LVIII.

A neat, snug study on a winter's night,
A book, friend, single lady, or a glass

Of claret, sandwich, and an appetite,

yore,

Are things which make an English evening pass; Though certes by no means so grand a sight

As is a theatre lit up by gas.

I pass my evenings in long galleries solely,
And that's the reason I'm so melancholy.

LIX.

very

Alas! man makes that great which makes him little:
I grant you in a church 't is well:
What speaks of Heaven should by no means be brittle,
But strong and lasting, till no tongue can tell
Their names who rear'd it; but huge houses fit ill-
And huge tombs worse-mankind, since Adam fell :
Methinks the story of the tower of Babel
Might teach them this much better than I'm able.
LX.

Babel was Nimrod's hunting-seat, and then

A town of gardens, walls, and wealth amazing, Where Nabuchadonosor, king of men,

Reign'd, till one summer's day he took to grazing, And Daniel tamed the lions in their den,

The people's awe and admiration raising;

"T was famous, too, for Thisbe and for Pyramus, And the calumniated Queen Semiramis,

LXI.

LXII.

But to resume, should there be (what may not
Be in these days?) some infidels, who don't,
Because they can't find out the very spot

Of that same Babel, or because they won't
(Though Claudius Rich, esquire, some bricks has got,
And written lately two memoirs upon 't),
Believe the Jews, those unbelievers, who
Must be believed, though they believe not you :

LXIII.

Yet let them think that Horace has express'd
Shortly and sweetly the masonic folly

Of those, forgetting the great place of rest,
Who give themselves to architecture wholly.
We know where things and men must end at last;
A moral (like all morals) melancholy,

And « Et sepulcri immemor struis domos»

Shows that we build when we should but entomb us.

LXIV.

At last they reach'd a quarter most retired,

Where echo woke as if from a long slumber: Though full of all things which could be desired, One wonder'd what to do with such a number Of articles which nobody required.

Here wealth had done its utmost to encumber With furniture an exquisite apartment,

Which puzzled nature much to know what art meant. LXV.

It seem'd, however, but to open on

A range or suite of further chambers, which Might lead to heaven knows where; but in this one The moveables were prodigally rich:

Sofas 't was half a sin to sit upon,

So costly were they; carpets every stitch
Of workmanship so rare, that made you wish
You could glide o'er them like a golden fish.

LXVI.

The black, however, without hardly deigning
A glance at that which wrapt the slaves in wonder,
Trampled what they scarce trod for fear of staining,
As if the milky way their feet was under
With all its stars; and with a stretch attaining

A certain press or cupboard, niched in yonder
In that remote recess which you may see-
Or if you don't the fault is not in me :
LXVII.

I wish to be perspicuous; and the black,
I say, unlocking the recess, pull'd forth
A quantity of clothes fit for the back
Of

any Mussulman, whate'er his worth; And of variety there was no lack

And yet, though I have said there was no dearth, He chose himself to point out what he thought Most proper for the Christians he had bought.

LXVIII.

The suit he thought most suitable to each

Was, for the elder and the stouter, first

A Candiote cloak, which to the knee might reach, And trowsers not so tight that they would burst, But such as fit an Asiatic breech;

A shawl, whose folds in Cashmire had been nurst, Slippers of saffron, dagger rich and handy; In short, all things which form a Turkish Dandy.

LXIX.

While he was dressing, Baba, their black friend,
Hinted the vast advantages which they
Might probably attain both in the end,

If they would but pursue the proper way
Which Fortune plainly seem'd to recommend;
And then he added, that he needs must say,
«T would greatly tend to better their condition,
If they would condescend to circumcision.

LXXVII.

And then he swore; and, sighing, on he slipp'd
A pair of trowsers of flesh-colour'd silk;
Next with a virgin zone he was equipp'd,
Which girt a slight chemise as white as milk;
But,stugging on his petticoat, he tripp'd,

Which as we say-or as the Scotch say, whilk,
(The rhyme obliges me to this:-sometimes
Kings are not more imperative than rhymes)→
LXXVIII.

Whilk, which (or what you please) was owing to
His garment's novelty, and his being awkward;
And yet at last he managed to get through

His toilet, though no doubt a little backward:
The negro Baba help'd a little too,

When some untoward part of raiment stuck hard; And, wrestling both his arms into a gown,

He paused and took a survey up and down.

LXXIX.

You put me out in what I had to say.

Sir!-as I said, as soon as I have supp'd,
I shall perpend if your proposal may
Be such as I can properly accept:
Provided always your great goodness still
Remits the matter to our own free will.»
LXXIII.

Baba eyed Juan, and said, « Be so good

As dress yourself—» and pointed out a suit In which a princess with great pleasure would Array her limbs; but Juan standing mute, As not being in a masquerading mood,

Gave it a slight kick with his christian foot; And when the old negro told him to « Get ready,» Replied, «Old gentleman, I'm not a lady.»

LXXIV.

<<What you may be, I neither know nor care,>>
Said Baba, « but pray do as I desire;
I've no more time nor many words to spare.>>
« At least,» said Juan, « sure I may inquire
The cause of this odd travesty ?»-« Forbear,»
Said Baba,« to be curious: 't will transpire,
No doubt, in proper place, and time, and season:
I've no authority to tell the reason,»

LXXV.

<< Then if I do,» said Juan, « I 'll be -»« Hold!»
Rejoin'd the negro, « pray be not provoking;
This spirit's well, but it may wax too bold,
And you will find us not too fond of joking.»
« What, sir!» said Juan, « shall it e'er be told
That I unsex'd my dress!» But Baba, stroking
The things down, said-« Incense me, and I call
Those who will leave you of no sex at all.

LXXVI.

« I offer you a handsome suit of clothes:

A woman's, true, but then there is a cause

So

Was hardly long enough; but Baba found many false long tresses all to spare,

That soon his head was most completely crown'd, After the manner then in fashion there;

And this addition with such gems was bound

As suited the ensemble of his toilet,

While Baba made him comb his head and oil it.

LXXX.

And now being femininely all array'd,

With some small aid from scissars, paint, and tweezers, He look'd in almost all respects a maid,

And Baba smilingly exclaim'd, « You see, sirs,

A perfect transformation here display'd;
And now, then, you must come along with, me, sirs,
That is the lady :»-clapping his hands twice,
Four blacks were at his elbow in a trice.

LXXXI.

«You, sir,» said Baba, nodding to the one,
Will please to accompany those gentlemen
To supper; but you, worthy christian nun,
Will follow me: no trifling, sir: for when
I say a thing it must at once be done.
What fear
you? think you this a lion's den?
Why 't is a palace, where the truly wise
Anticipate the Prophet's paradise.

LXXXII.

«You fool! I tell you no one means you harm.>> << So much the better,» Juan said, « for them: Else they shall feel the weight of this my arm,

Which is not quite so light as you may deem.

I yield thus far; but soon will break the charm, If any take me for that which I seem;

So that I trust, for every body's sake,

That this disguise may lead to no mistake.»>

LXXXIII.

«Blockhead! come on and see,» quoth Baba; while Don Juan, turning to his comrade, who,

soul loathes

The effeminate garb?»-Thus after a short pause, Sigh'd Juan, muttering also some slight oaths, « What the devil shall I do with all this gauze ?»

Thus he profanely term'd the finest lace
Which e'er set off a marriage-morning face.

Upon the metamorphosis in view.

« Farewell!» they mutually exclaim'd: « this soil Seems fertile in adventures strange and new; One's turn'd half Mussulman, and one a maid, By this old black enchanter's unsought aid.»>

LXXXIV.

<< Farewell!» said Juan; « should we meet no more, I wish you a good appetite.»-« Farewell!» Replied the other; « though it grieves me sore;

When we next meet we 'll have a tale to tell: We needs must follow when Fate puts from shore.. Keep your good name; though Eve herself once fell. >> «Nay,»quoth the maid, «the Sultan's self shan't carry me, Unless his highness promises to marry me.»

LXXXV.

And thus they parted, each by separate doors;
Baba led Juan onward, room by room,
Through glittering galleries and o'er marble floors,
Till a gigantic portal through the gloom,
Haughty and huge, along the distance towers;
And wafted far arose a rich perfume:
It seem'd as though they came upon a shrine,
For all was vast, still, fragrant, and divine.

LXXXVI.

The giant door was broad, and bright and high, Of gilded bronze, and carved in curious guise; Warriors thereon were battling furiously;

Here stalks the victor, there the vanquish'd lies; There captives led in triumph droop the eye,

And in perspective many a squadron flies: It seems the work of times before the line Of Rome transplanted fell with Constantine.

LXXXVII.

This massy portal stood at the wide close
Of a huge hall, and on its either side
Two little dwarfs, the least you could suppose,
Were sate, like ugly imps, as if allied
In mockery to the enormous gate which rose
O'er them in almost pyramidic pride:
The gate so splendid was in all its features,7
You never thought about those little creatures,
LXXXVIII.

Until you nearly trod on them, and then,

You started back in horror to survey The wondrous hideousness of those small men, Whose colour was not black, nor white, nor grey, But an extraneous mixture, which no pen

Can trace, although perhaps the pencil may; They were mis-shapen pigmies, deaf and dumbMonsters, who cost a no less monstrous sum.

LXXXIX.

Their duty was--for they were strong, and though They look'd so little, did strong things at timesTo ope this door, which they could really do,

The hinges being as smooth as Rogers' rhymes; And now and then, with tough strings of the bow, As is the custom of those eastern climes,

To give some rebel Pacha a cravat;
For mutes are generally used for that.

XC.

They spoke by signs-that is, not spoke at all: And, looking like two incubi, they glared

As Baba with his fingers made them fall

To heaving back the portal folds: it scared Juan a moment, as this pair so small

With shrinking serpent optics on him stared; It was as if their little looks could poison Or fascinate whome'er they fix'd their eyes on.

XCI.

« to stint

Before they entered, Baba paused to hint To Juan some slight lessons as his guide: « If you could just contrive,» he said, That somewhat manly majesty of stride, 'T would be as well, and (though there 's not much in 't),

To swing a little less from side to side,
Which has at times an aspect of the oddest;
And also, could you look a little modest,
XCII.

'T would be convenient; for these mutes have eyes
Like needles, which might pierce those petticoats;
And if they should discover your disguise,
You know how near us the deep Bosphorus floats;
And you and I may chance, ere morning rise,
To find our way to Marmora without boats,
Stitch'd up in sacks-a mode of navigation
A good deal practised here upon occasion.»>
XCIII.

With this encouragement, he led the way
Into a room still nobler than the last;

A rich confusion form'd a disarray

In such sort, that the eye along it cast Could hardly carry any thing away,

Object on object flash'd so bright and fast; A dazzling mass of gems, and gold, and glitter, Magnificently mingled in a litter.

XCIV.

Wealth had done wonders-taste not much; such things
Occur in orient palaces, and even

In the more chastened domes of western kings
(Of which I've also seen some six or seven),
Where I can't say or gold or diamond things
Much lustre, there is much to be forgiven;
Groups of bad statues, tables, chairs and pictures,
On which I cannot pause to make my strictures.
XCV.

In this imperial hall at distance lay
Under a canopy, and there reclined
Quite in a confidential queenly way,

A lady. Baba stopp'd, and kneeling, sign'd
To Juan, who, though not much used to pray,
Knelt down by instinct, wondering in his mind
What all this meant: while Baba bow'd and bended
His head, until the ceremony ended.

XCVI.

The lady, rising up with such an air

As Venus rose with from the wave, on them Bent like an antelope a Paphian pair

Of eyes, which put out each surrounding gem: And, raising up an arm, as moonlight fair,

She sign'd to Baba, who first kiss'd the hem Of her deep purple robe, and, speaking low, Pointed to Juan, who remain'd below.

XCVII.

Her presence was as lofty as her state;
Her beauty of that overpowering kind,
Whose force description only would abate:
I'd rather leave it much to your own mind,
Than lessen it by what I could relate

Of forms and features; it would strike you blind Could I do justice to the full detail;

So, luckily for both, my phrases fail.

XCVIII.

This much however, I may add―her years

Were ripe, they might make six and twenty springs, But there are forms which Time to touch forbears,

And turns aside his scythe to vulgar things, Such as was Mary's, Queen of Scots : true-tears And love destroy, and sapping sorrow wrings Charms from the charmer, yet some never grow Ugly; for instance-Ninon de l'Enclos.

XCIX.

She spake some words to her attendants, who
Composed a choir of girls, ten or a dozen,
And were all clad alike; like Juan, too,

Who wore their uniform, by Baba chosen:
They form'd a very nymph-like looking crew,

Which might have call'd Diana's chorus « cousin,» As far as outward show may correspond; I won't be bail for any thing beyond.

C.

They bow'd obeisance and withdrew, retiring,
But not by the same door through which came in
Baba and Juan, which last stood admiring,

At some small distance, all he saw within
This strange saloon, much fitted for inspiring
Marvel and praise: for both or none things win;
And I must say I ne'er could see the very
Great happiness of the « Nil admirari »
CI.

«Not to admire is all the art I know

(Plain truth, dear Murray, needs few flowers of speech) To make men happy, or to keep them so;» (So take it in the very words of Creech.) Thus Horace wrote, we all know, long ago;

And thus Pope quotes the precept, to re-teach From his translation; but had none admired, Would Pope have sung, or Horace been inspired?

CII.

Baba, when all the damsels were withdrawn,
Motion'd to Juan to approach, and then
A second time desired him to kneel down
And kiss the lady's foot; which maxim when

He heard repeated, Juan with a frown

Drew himself up to his full height again, And said, « It grieved him, but he could not stoop To any shoe, unless it shod the Pope.»>

CIII.

Baba, indignant at this ill-timed pride,

Made fierce remonstrances, and then a threat He mutter'd (but the last was given aside)

About a bowstring-quite in vain; not yet

Would Juan stoop, though 't were to Mahomet's bride:
There's nothing in the world like etiquette,

In kingly chambers or imperial halls,
As also at the race and county balls.
CIV.

He stood like Atlas, with a world of words
About his ears, and nathless would not bend;
The blood of all his line's Castilian lords

Boil'd in his veins, and rather than descend
To stain his pedigree, a thousand swords

A thousand times of him had made an end; At length perceiving the « foot» could not stand, Baba proposed that he should kiss the hand.

་

CV.

Here was an honourable compromise,

A half-way house of diplomatic rest,

Where they might meet in much more peaceful guise; And Juan now his willingness express'd

To use all fit and proper courtesies,

Adding, that this was commonest and best, For through the South the custom still commands The gentleman to kiss the lady's hands.

CVI.

And he advanced, though with but a bad grace,
Though on more thorough-bred or fairer fingers
No lips e'er left their transitory trace:

On such as these the lip too fondly lingers,
And for one kiss would fain imprint a brace,
As
you will see, if she you love will bring hers
In contact; and sometimes even a fair stranger's
An almost twelvemonth's constancy endangers.

CVII.

The lady eyed him o'er and o'er, and bade
Baba retire, which he obey'd in style,
As if well used to the retreating trade;
And taking hints in good part all the while,
He whisper'd Juan not to be afraid,

And, looking on him with a sort of smile,
Took leave with such a face of satisfaction,
As good men wear who have done a virtuous action
CVIII.

When he was gone, there was a sudden change :
I know not what might be the lady's thought,
But o'er her bright brow flash'd a tumult strange,
And into her clear cheek the blood was brought,
Blood-red as sunset summer clouds which range
The verge of heaven; and in her large eyes wrought
A mixture of sensations might be scann'd,
Of half voluptuousness and half command.

CIX.

Her form had all the softness of her sex,

Her features all the sweetness of the devil, When he put on the cherub to perplex

Eve, and paved (God knows how) the road to evil: The sun himself was scarce more free from specks Than she from aught at which the eye could cavil; Yet somehow there was something somewhere wanting, As if she rather order'd than was granting.—

CX.

Something imperial, or imperious, threw

A chain o'er all she did; that is a chain Was thrown as 't were about the neck of you,And rapture's self will seem almost a pain With aught which looks like despotism in view. Our souls at least are free, and 't is in vain We would against them make the flesh obey— The spirit in the end will have its way.

CXI.

Her very smile was haughty, though so sweet;
Her very nod was not an inclination;
There was a self-will even in her small feet,

As though they were quite conscious of her stationThey trod as upon necks; and to complete

Her state (it is the custom of her nation),

A poniard deck'd her girdle, as the sign

She was a sultan's bride (thank Heaven, not mine).