The Works of Lord Byron Volume VI Part 43

LXXIII.

But many a Greek maid in a loving song Sighs o'er her name; and many an islander With her Sire's story makes the night less long; Valour was his, and Beauty dwelt with her: If she loved rashly, her life paid for wrong-- A heavy price must all pay who thus err, In some shape; let none think to fly the danger, For soon or late Love is his own avenger.

LXXIV.

But let me change this theme, which grows too sad, And lay this sheet of sorrows on the shelf; I don't much like describing people mad, For fear of seeming rather touched myself-- Besides, I've no more on this head to add; And as my Muse is a capricious elf, We'll put about, and try another tack With Juan, left half-killed some stanzas back.

LXXV.

Wounded and fettered, "cabined, cribbed, confined,"[248]

Some days and nights elapsed before that he Could altogether call the past to mind; And when he did, he found himself at sea, Sailing six knots an hour before the wind; The sh.o.r.es of Ilion lay beneath their lee-- Another time he might have liked to see 'em, But now was not much pleased with Cape Sigeum.

LXXVI.

There, on the green and village-cotted hill, is (Flanked by the h.e.l.lespont, and by the sea) Entombed the bravest of the brave, Achilles; They say so--(Bryant[249] says the contrary): And further downward, tall and towering still, is The tumulus--of whom? Heaven knows! 't may be Patroclus, Ajax, or Protesilaus-- All heroes, who if living still would slay us.[eb]

LXXVII.

High barrows, without marble, or a name, A vast, untilled, and mountain-skirted plain,[ec]

And Ida in the distance, still the same, And old Scamander (if 't is he) remain; The situation seems still formed for fame-- A hundred thousand men might fight again, With ease; but where I sought for Ilion's walls, The quiet sheep feeds, and the tortoise[250] crawls;[ed]

LXXVIII.

Troops of untended horses; here and there Some little hamlets, with new names uncouth; Some shepherds (unlike Paris) led to stare A moment at the European youth Whom to the spot their school-boy feelings bear;[ee]

A Turk, with beads in hand, and pipe in mouth, Extremely taken with his own religion, Are what I found there--but the devil a Phrygian.

LXXIX.

Don Juan, here permitted to emerge From his dull cabin, found himself a slave; Forlorn, and gazing on the deep blue surge, O'ershadowed there by many a Hero's grave; Weak still with loss of blood, he scarce could urge A few brief questions; and the answers gave No very satisfactory information About his past or present situation.

Lx.x.x.

He saw some fellow captives, who appeared To be Italians (as they were in fact)-- From them, at least, _their_ destiny he heard, Which was an odd one; a troop going to act In Sicily--all singers, duly reared In their vocation, had not been attacked In sailing from Livorno by the pirate, But sold by the _impresario_ at no high rate.[251]

Lx.x.xI.

By one of these, the _buffo_[252] of the party, Juan was told about their curious case; For although destined to the Turkish mart, he Still kept his spirits up--at least his face; The little fellow really looked quite hearty, And bore him with some gaiety and grace, Showing a much more reconciled demeanour, Than did the prima donna and the tenor.

Lx.x.xII.

In a few words he told their hapless story, Saying, "Our Machiavelian _impresario_, Making a signal off some promontory, Hailed a strange brig--_Corpo di Caio Mario!_ We were transferred on board her in a hurry, Without a single scudo of _salario_; But if the Sultan has a taste for song, We will revive our fortunes before long.

Lx.x.xIII.

"The prima donna, though a little old, And haggard with a dissipated life, And subject, when the house is thin, to cold, Has some good notes; and then the tenor's wife, With no great voice, is pleasing to behold; Last carnival she made a deal of strife, By carrying off Count Cesare Cicogna From an old Roman Princess at Bologna.

Lx.x.xIV.

"And then there are the dancers; there's the Nini, With more than one profession gains by all; Then there's that laughing s.l.u.t the Pelegrini, She, too, was fortunate last Carnival, And made at least five hundred good _zecchini_, But spends so fast, she has not now a paul; And then there's the Grotesca--such a dancer!

Where men have souls or bodies she must answer.

Lx.x.xV.

"As for the _figuranti_,[253] they are like The rest of all that tribe; with here and there A pretty person, which perhaps may strike-- The rest are hardly fitted for a fair; There's one, though tall and stiffer than a pike, Yet has a sentimental kind of air Which might go far, but she don't dance with vigour-- The more's the pity, with her face and figure.

Lx.x.xVI.

"As for the men, they are a middling set; The _musico_ is but a cracked old basin, But, being qualified in one way yet, May the seraglio do to set his face in,[ef]

And as a servant some preferment get; His singing I no further trust can place in: From all the Pope[254] makes yearly 't would perplex To find three perfect pipes of the _third_ s.e.x.

Lx.x.xVII.

"The tenor's voice is spoilt by affectation; And for the ba.s.s, the beast can only bellow-- In fact, he had no singing education, An ignorant, noteless, timeless, tuneless fellow; But being the prima donna's near relation, Who swore his voice was very rich and mellow, They hired him, though to hear him you'd believe An a.s.s was practising recitative.

Lx.x.xVIII.

"'T would not become myself to dwell upon My own merits, and though young--I see, Sir--you Have got a travelled air, which speaks you one To whom the opera is by no means new: You've heard of Raucocanti?--I'm the man; The time may come when you may hear me too; You was[255] not last year at the fair of Lugo, But next, when I'm engaged to sing there--do go.

Lx.x.xIX.

"Our baritone I almost had forgot, A pretty lad, but bursting with conceit; With graceful action, science not a jot, A voice of no great compa.s.s, and not sweet, He always is complaining of his lot, Forsooth, scarce fit for ballads in the street; In lovers' parts his pa.s.sion more to breathe, Having no heart to show, he shows his teeth."[eg]

XC.

Here Raucocanti's eloquent recital Was interrupted by the pirate crew, Who came at stated moments to invite all The captives back to their sad berths; each threw A rueful glance upon the waves, (which bright all From the blue skies derived a double blue, Dancing all free and happy in the sun,) And then went down the hatchway one by one.

XCI.

They heard next day--that in the Dardanelles, Waiting for his Sublimity's firman,[256]

The most imperative of sovereign spells, Which everybody does without who can, More to secure them in their naval cells, Lady to lady, well as man to man, Were to be chained and lotted out per couple, For the slave market of Constantinople.

XCII.

It seems when this allotment was made out, There chanced to be an odd male, and odd female, Who (after some discussion and some doubt, If the soprano might be deemed to be male, They placed him o'er the women as a scout) Were linked together, and it happened the male Was Juan,--who, an awkward thing at his age, Paired off with a Bacchante blooming visage.

XCIII.

With Raucocanti lucklessly was chained The tenor; these two hated with a hate Found only on the stage, and each more pained With this his tuneful neighbour than his fate; Sad strife arose, for they were so cross-grained, Instead of bearing up without debate, That each pulled different ways with many an oath, "Arcades ambo," _id est_--blackguards both.[eh]

XCIV.

Juan's companion was a Romagnole, But bred within the march of old Ancona, With eyes that looked into the very soul (And other chief points of a _bella donna_), Bright--and as black and burning as a coal; And through her clear brunette complexion shone a Great wish to please--a most attractive dower, Especially when added to the power.

XCV.

But all that power was wasted upon him, For Sorrow o'er each sense held stern command; Her eye might flash on his, but found it dim: And though thus chained, as natural her hand Touched his, nor that--nor any handsome limb (And she had some not easy to withstand) Could stir his pulse, or make his faith feel brittle; Perhaps his recent wounds might help a little.

XCVI.