CXXVI.

But still there is unto a patriot nation, Which loves so well its country and its King, A subject of sublimest exultation— Bear it, ye Muses, on your brightest wing! Howe'er the mighty locust, Desolation, Strip your green fields, and to your harvests cling, Gaunt famine never shall approach the throne— Though Ireland starve, great George weighs twenty stone.[473]

CXXVII.

But let me put an end unto my theme: There was an end of Ismail—hapless town! Far flashed her burning towers o'er Danube's stream, And redly ran his blushing waters down. The horrid war-whoop and the shriller scream Rose still; but fainter were the thunders grown: Of forty thousand who had manned the wall, Some hundreds breathed—the rest were silent all![474]

CXXVIII.

In one thing ne'ertheless 't is fit to praise The Russian army upon this occasion, A virtue much in fashion now-a-days, And therefore worthy of commemoration:[ir] The topic's tender, so shall be my phrase— Perhaps the season's chill, and their long station In Winter's depth, or want of rest and victual, Had made them chaste;—they ravished very little.

CXXIX.

Much did they slay, more plunder, and no less Might here and there occur some violation In the other line;—but not to such excess As when the French, that dissipated nation, Take towns by storm: no causes can I guess, Except cold weather and commiseration;[is] But all the ladies, save some twenty score, Were almost as much virgins as before.

CXXX.

Some odd mistakes, too, happened in the dark, Which showed a want of lanterns, or of taste— Indeed the smoke was such they scarce could mark Their friends from foes,—besides such things from haste Occur, though rarely, when there is a spark Of light to save the venerably chaste: But six old damsels, each of seventy years, Were all deflowered by different grenadiers.

CXXXI.

But on the whole their continence was great; So that some disappointment there ensued To those who had felt the inconvenient state Of "single blessedness," and thought it good (Since it was not their fault, but only fate, To bear these crosses) for each waning prude To make a Roman sort of Sabine wedding, Without the expense and the suspense of bedding.

CXXII.

Some voices of the buxom middle-aged Were also heard to wonder in the din (Widows of forty were these birds long caged) "Wherefore the ravishing did not begin!" But while the thirst for gore and plunder raged, There was small leisure for superfluous sin; But whether they escaped or no, lies hid In darkness—I can only hope they did.

CXXXIII.

Suwarrow now was conqueror—a match For Timour or for Zinghis in his trade. While mosques and streets, beneath his eyes, like thatch Blazed, and the cannon's roar was scarce allayed, With bloody hands he wrote his first despatch; And here exactly follows what he said:— "Glory to God and to the Empress!" (Powers Eternal! such names mingled!) "Ismail's ours."[475]

CXXXIV.

Methinks these are the most tremendous words, Since "MENE, MENE, TEKEL," and "UPHARSIN," Which hands or pens have ever traced of swords. Heaven help me! I'm but little of a parson: What Daniel read was short-hand of the Lord's, Severe, sublime; the prophet wrote no farce on The fate of nations;—but this Russ so witty Could rhyme, like Nero, o'er a burning city.

CXXXV.

He wrote this Polar melody, and set it, Duly accompanied by shrieks and groans, Which few will sing, I trust, but none forget it— For I will teach, if possible, the stones To rise against Earth's tyrants. Never let it Be said that we still truckle unto thrones;— But ye—our children's children! think how we Showed what things were before the World was free!

CXXXVI.

That hour is not for us, but 't is for you: And as, in the great joy of your Millennium, You hardly will believe such things were true As now occur, I thought that I would pen you 'em; But may their very memory perish too!— Yet if perchance remembered, still disdain you 'em More than you scorn the savages of yore, Who painted their bare limbs, but not with gore.

CXXXVII.

And when you hear historians talk of thrones, And those that sate upon them, let it be As we now gaze upon the mammoth's bones, And wonder what old world such things could see, Or hieroglyphics on Egyptian stones, The pleasant riddles of futurity— Guessing at what shall happily be hid, As the real purpose of a pyramid.

CXXXVIII.

Reader! I have kept my word,—at least so far As the first Canto promised. You have now Had sketches of Love—Tempest—Travel—War,— All very accurate, you must allow, And Epic, if plain truth should prove no bar; For I have drawn much less with a long bow Than my forerunners. Carelessly I sing, But Phoebus lends me now and then a string,

CXXXIX.

With which I still can harp, and carp, and fiddle. What further hath befallen or may befall The hero of this grand poetic riddle, I by and by may tell you, if at all: But now I choose to break off in the middle, Worn out with battering Ismail's stubborn wall, While Juan is sent off with the despatch, For which all Petersburgh is on the watch.

CXL.

This special honour was conferred, because He had behaved with courage and humanity— Which last men like, when they have time to pause From their ferocities produced by vanity. His little captive gained him some applause For saving her amidst the wild insanity Of carnage,—and I think he was more glad in her Safety, than his new order of St. Vladimir.

CXLI.

The Moslem orphan went with her protector, For she was homeless, houseless, helpless; all Her friends, like the sad family of Hector, Had perished in the field or by the wall: Her very place of birth was but a spectre Of what it had been; there the Muezzin's call To prayer was heard no more!—and Juan wept, And made a vow to shield her, which he kept.

FOOTNOTES:

{331}[412] ["La nuit etait obscure; un brouillard epais ne nous permettait de distinguer autre chose que le feu de notre artillerie, dont l'horizon etait embrase de tous cotes: ce feu, partant du milieu du Danube, se reflechissait sur les eaux, et offrait un coup d'oeil tres-singulier."-Hist. de la Nouvelle Russie, ii. 209.]

{332}[413] ["A peine eut-on parcouru l'espace de quelques toises au-dela des batteries, que les Turcs, qui n'avaient point tire pendant toute la nuit s'appercevant de nos mouvemens, commencerent de leur cote un feu tres-vif, qui embrasa le reste de l'horizon: mais ce fut bien autre chose lorsque, avances davantage, le feu de la mousqueterie commenca dans toute l'etendue du rempart que nous appercevions. Ce fut alors que la place parut a nos yeux comme un volcan dont le feu sortait de toutes parts."-Hist. de la Nouvelle Russie, ii. 209.]

[414] ["Un cri universel d'allah, qui se repetait tout autour de la ville, vint encore rendre plus extraordinaire cet instant, dont il est impossible de se faire une idee."—Ibid., p. 209.]

[415] Allah Hu! is properly the war-cry of the Mussulmans, and they dwell on the last syllable, which gives it a wild and peculiar effect.

[See The Giaour, line 734, Poetical Works, 1900, iii. 120, note 1; see, too, Siege of Corinth, line 713, ibid., p. 481.]

[416] ["Toutes les colonnes etaient en mouvement; celles qui attaquaient par eau commandees par le general Arseniew, essuyerent un feu epouvantable, et perdirent avant le jour un tiers de leurs officiers."—Hist. de la Nouvelle Russie, ii. 209.]

[417]

"But Thy[*] most dreaded instrument, In working out a pure intent, Is Man—arrayed for mutual slaughter,— Yea, Carnage is thy daughter!"

Wordsworth's Thanksgiving Ode (January 18, 1816), stanza xii. lines 20, 23.

[*]To wit, the Deity's: this is perhaps as pretty a pedigree for murder as ever was found out by Garter King at Arms.—What would have been said, had any free-spoken people discovered such a lineage?

[Wordsworth omitted the lines in the last edition of his poems, which was revised by his own hand.]

{333}[ia] The Duc de Richelieu——.—[MS. erased.]

[418] ["Le Prince de Ligne fut blesse au genou; le Duc de Richelieu eut une balle entre le fond de son bonnet et sa tete."—Hist. de la Nouvelle Russie, ii. 210.

For the gallantry of Prince Charles de Ligne (died September 14, 1792) eldest son of Prince Charles Joseph de Ligne (1735-1814), see The Prince de Ligne, 1899, ii. 46.

Armand Emanuel du Plessis, Duc de Richelieu, born 1767, a grandson of Louis Francois Duc de Richelieu, the Marshal of France (1696-1780), served under Catherine II., and afterwards under the Czar Paul. On the restoration of Louis XVIII. he entered the King's household; and after the battle of Waterloo took office as President of the Council and Minister for Foreign Affairs. His Journal de mon Voyage en Allemagne, which was then unpublished, was placed at the disposal of the Marquis de Castelnau (see Hist. de la Nouvelle Russie, 1827, i. 241). It has been printed in full by the Societe Imperiale d'Histoire de Russie, 1886, tom. liv. pp. 111-198. See for further mention of the manuscript, Le Duc de Richelieu, par Raoul de Cisternes, 1898, Preface, p. 3, note 1. He died May 17, 1822, two months before Cantos VI., VII., VIII. were completed.]

{334}[419] ["Le brigadier Markow, insistant pour qu'on emportat le prince blesse, recut un coup de fusil qui lui fracassa le pied."—Hist. de la Nouvelle Russie, ii. 210.]

[420] ["Trois cents bouches a feu vomissaient sans interruption, et trente mille fusils alimentaient sans relache une grele de balles."—Ibid., p. 210.]

{335}[421] ["Les troupes, deja debarquees, se porterent a droite pour s'emparer d'une batterie; et celles debarquees plus bas, principalement composees des grenadiers de Fanagorie, escaladaient le retranchement et la palissade."—Hist. de la Nouvelle Russie, ii. 210.]

[422] A fact: see the Waterloo Gazettes. I recollect remarking at the time to a friend:—"There is fame! a man is killed, his name is Grose, and they print it Grove." I was at college with the deceased, who was a very amiable and clever man, and his society in great request for his wit, gaiety, and "Chansons a boire."

[In the London Gazette Extraordinary of June 22, 1815, Captain Grove, 1st Guards, is among the list of killed. In the supplement to the London Gazette, published July 3, 1815, the mistake was corrected, and the entry runs, "1st Guards, 3d Batt. Lieut. Edward Grose, (Captain)." I am indebted to the courtesy of the Registrar of the University of Cambridge for the information that Edward Grose matriculated at St. John's College as a pensioner, December 7, 1805. Thanks to the "misprint" in the Gazette, and to Byron, he is "a name for ever."—Vir nulla non donatus lauru!]

{337}[423] [At the Battle of Mollwitz, April 10, 1741, "the king vanishes for sixteen hours into the regions of Myth 'into Fairyland,' ... of the king's flight ... the king himself, who alone could have told us fully, maintained always rigorous silence, and nowhere drops the least hint. So that the small fact has come down to us involved in a great bulk of fabulous cobwebs, mostly of an ill-natured character, set a-going by Voltaire, Valori, and others."—Carlyle's Frederick the Great, 1862, iii. 314, 322, sq.]

[424] See General Valancey and Sir Lawrence Parsons.

[Charles Vallancey (1721-1812), general in the Royal Engineers, published an "Essay on the Celtic Language," etc., in 1782. "The language [the Iberno-Celtic]," he writes (p. 4), "we are now going to explain, had such an affinity with the Punic, that it may be said to have been, in a great degree, the language of Hanibal (sic), Hamilcar, and of Asdrubal." Sir Laurence Parsons (1758-1841), second Earl of Rosse, represented the University of Dublin 1782-90, and afterwards King's County, in the Irish House of Commons. He was an opponent of the Union. In a pamphlet entitled Defence of the Antient History of Ireland, published in 1795, he maintains (p. 158) "that the Carthaginian and the Irish language being originally the same, either the Carthaginians must have been descended from the Irish, or the Irish from the Carthaginians."]

{338}[425] The Portuguese proverb says that "hell is paved with good intentions."—[See Vision of Judgment, stanza xxxvii. line 8, Poetical Works, 1901, iv. 499, note 2.]

[ib] At least the sharp faints of that "burning marle."—[MS. erased.]

{339}[426] ["The Nervii marched to the number of sixty thousand, and fell upon Caesar, as he was fortifying his camp, and had not the least notion of so sudden an attack. They first routed his cavalry, and then surrounded the twelfth and the seventh legions, and killed all the officers. Had not Caesar snatched a buckler from one of his own men, forced his way through the combatants before him, and rushed upon the barbarians; or had not the tenth legion, seeing his danger, ran from the heights where they were posted, and mowed down the enemy's ranks, not one Roman would have survived the battle."—Plutarch, Caesar, Langhorne's translation, 1838, p. 502.]

[427] ["As near a field of corn, a stubborn ass ... E'en so great Ajax son of Telamon."

The Iliad, Lord Derby's translation, bk. xi. lines 639, 645.]

{339}[ic] Nor care a single damn about his corps.—[MS. erased.]

[428] ["N'apercevant plus le commandant du corps dont je faisais partie, et ignorant ou je devais porter mes pas, je crus reconnaitre le lieu ou le rempart etait situe; on y faisait un feu assez vif, que je jugeai etre celui ... du general-major de Lascy."—Hist. de la Nouvelle Russie, ii. 210. The speaker is the Duc de Richelieu. See, for original, his Journal de mon Voyage, etc., Soc. Imp. d'Hist. de Russie, tom. liv. p. 179]

[id] For he was dizzy, busy, and his blood Lightening along his veins, and where he heard The liveliest fire, and saw the fiercest flood Of Friar Bacon's mild discovery, shared By Turks and Christians equally, he could No longer now resist the attraction of gunpowder But flew to where the merry orchestra played louder.—[MS. erased.]

[429] Gunpowder is said to have been discovered by this friar. [N.B. Though Friar Bacon seems to have discovered gunpowder, he had the humanity not to record his discovery in intelligible language.]

{341}[ie] —— whose short breath, and long faces Kept always pushing onwards to the Glacis.—[MS. erased.]

{342}[430] [I Henry IV., act iii. sc. 1, line 53.]

[if] And that mechanic impulse——.—[MS. erased.]

[431] [Hamlet, act iii, sc. 1, lines 79, 80.]

{343}[432] ["Talus: the slope or inclination of a wall, whereby, reclining at the top so as to fall within its base, the thickness is gradually lessened according to the height."—Milit. Dict.]

[433] ["Appelant ceux des chasseurs qui etaient autour de moi en assez grand nombre, je m'avancai et reconnus ne m'etre point trompe dans mon calcul; c'etait en effet cette colonne qui a l'instant parvenait au sommet du rempart. Les Turcs de derriere les travers et les flancs des bastions voisins fasaient sur elle un feu tres-vif de canon et de mousqueterie. Je gravis, avec les gens qui m'avaient suivi, le talus interieur du rempart."—Hist. de la Nouvelle Russie, ii. 210.]

{344}[434] [Baron Menno van Coehoorn (circ. 1641-1704), a Dutch military engineer, the contemporary and rival of Vauban, invented a mortar which bore his name. He was the author of a celebrated work on fortification, published in 1692.]

[435] ["Ce fut dans cet instant que je reconnus combien l'ignorance du constructeur des palissades etait importante pour nous; car, comme elles etaient placees au milieu du parapet," etc.—Hist. de la Nouvelle Russie, ii. 211.]

[436] They were but two feet above the level.—[MS.]

["Il y avait de chaque cote neuf a dix pieds sur lesquels on pouvait marcher; et les soldats, apres etre montes, avaient pu se ranger commodement sur l'espace exterieur et enjamber ensuite les palissades, qui ne s'elevaient que d'a-peu-pres deux pieds au-dessus du niveau de la terre."—Ibid., p. 211.]

{345}[437] [Friederich Wilhelm, Baron von Buelow (1755-1816), was in command of the 4th corps of the Prussian Army at Waterloo. August Wilhelm Antonius Neidhart von Gneisenau (1760-1831) was chief of staff, and after Bluecher was disabled by a fall at Ligny, assumed temporary command, June 16-17, 1815. He headed the triumphant pursuit of the French on the night of the battle. For Bluecher's official account of the battles of Ligny and Waterloo (subscribed by Gneisenau), see W.H. Maxwell's Life of the Duke of Wellington, 1841, iii. 566-571; and for Wellington's acknowledgment of Bluecher's "cordial and timely assistance," see Dispatches, 1847, viii. 150. See, too, The Life of Wellington, by the Right Hon. Sir Herbert Maxwell, Bart., 1899, ii. 88, et passim.]

{346}[ig] —— as feminine of feature.—[MS.]

Led him on—although he was the gentlest creature, As kind in heart as feminine of feature.—[MS. erased.]

{347}[438] [Pistol's "Bezonian" is a corruption of bisognoso—a rogue, needy fellow. Byron, quoting from memory, confuses two passages. In 2 Henry VI., act iv. sc. 1, line 134, Suffolk says, "Great men oft die of vile bezonians;" in 2 Henry IV., act v. sc. 3, line 112, Pistol says, "Under which King, Besonian? speak or die."]

[439] ["Le General Lascy, voyant arriver un corps, si a-propos a son secours, s'avanca vers l'officier qui l'avait conduit, et, le prenant pour un Livonien, lui fit, en allemand, les complimens les plus flatteurs; le jeune militaire (le Duc de Richelieu) qui parlait parfaitement cette langue, y repondit avec sa modestie ordinaire."-Hist. de la Nouvelle Russie, ii. 211.]

{348}[440] [The Task, bk. i. line 749. It was pointed out to Cowper that the same thought had been expressed by Isaac Hawkins Browne, in The Fire-side, a Pastoral Soliloquy, lines 15, 16 (Poems, ed. 1768, p. 125)—

"I have said it at home, I have said it abroad, That the town is Man's world, but that this is of God."

There is a parallel passage in M.T. Varro, Rerum Rusticarum, lib. iii. I. 4, "Nee minim, quod divina natura dedit agros, ars humami aedificavit urbes."—See The Task, etc., ed. by H.T. Griffith, 1896, ii. 234.]

[441] [Sulla spoke of himself as the "fortunate," and in the twenty-second book of his Commentaries, finished only two days before his death, "he tells us that the Chaldeans had predicted, that after a life of glory he would depart in the height of his prosperity." He was fortunate, too, with regard to his funeral, for, at first, a brisk wind blew which fanned the pile into flame, and it was not till the fire had begun to die out that the rain, which had been expected throughout the day, began to fall in torrents.—Langhorne's Plutarch, 1838, pp. 334, 335. See, too, Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte, stanza vii. Poetical Works, 1900, in. 308, note I.]

[442] [Daniel Boone (1735-1820) was the grandson of an English settler, George Boone, of Exeter. His great work in life was the conquest of Kentucky. Following in the steps of another pioneer, John Finley, he left his home in North Carolina in May, 1769, and, after numerous adventures, effected a settlement on the Kentucky river. He constructed a fort, which he named Boonesborough, and carried on a protracted campaign with varying but final success against the Indians. When Kentucky was admitted into the Union, February 4, 1791, he failed to make good his title to his property at Boonesborough, and withdrew to Mount Pleasant, beyond the Ohio. Thence, in 1795, he removed to Missouri, then a Spanish possession. Napoleon wrested Missouri from the Spaniards, only to sell the territory to the United States, with the result that in 1810 he was confirmed in the possession of 850 out of the 8000 acres which he had acquired in 1795. "Boone was then seventy-five years of age, hale and strong. The charm of the hunter's life clung to him to the last, and in his eighty-second year he went on a hunting excursion to the mouth of the Kansas river."—Appleton's Encyclopedia, etc., art. "Boone." His fine and gracious nature reveals itself in his autobiography (The Adventures of Colonel Daniel Boon, Formerly a Hunter; Containing a Narrative of the Wars of Kentucky; Imlay's North America, 1793, ii. 52-54). "One day," he writes (pp. 330, sq.), "I undertook a tour through the country, and the diversity and beauties of nature ... expelled every gloomy and vexatious thought. Just at the close of day the gentle gales retired, and left the place to the disposal of a profound calm. Not a breeze shook the most tremulous leaf. I had gained the summit of a commanding ridge, and, looking round with astonishing delight, beheld the ample plains, the beauteous tracts below. On the other hand, I surveyed the famous river Ohio, that rolled in silent dignity, marking the western boundary of Kentucky with inconceivable grandeur. ... All things were still. I kindled a fire near a fountain of sweet water, and feasted on the loins of a buck, which a few hours before I had killed.... No populous city, with all the varieties of commerce and stately structures, could afford so much pleasure to my mind as the beauties of nature I found here." (See, too, The Kentucky Pioneers, by John Brown, Harper's New Monthly Magazine, 1887, vol. lxxv. pp. 48-71.)]

{350}[443] [For John Kyrle, "the Man of Ross" (1635-1724), see Pope's Moral Essays, epist. iii. lines 249-284. See, too, Letters of S.T. Coleridge, 1895 (letter to R. Southey, July 13, 1794), i. 77.]

{351}[444] [Byron seems to have derived his knowledge of Catherine's vie intime from the Memoires Secrets sur la Russie, of C.F.P. Masson, which were published in Amsterdam in 1800, and translated into English in the same year.]

[445] [Michailo Smolenskoi Koutousof (1743-1813), who was raised to eminence through the influence of Potemkin, was in command of the Austro-Russian Army at Austerlitz. During the retreat from Moscow he repulsed Napoleon at Malo-yaroslavetz, and pursued the French to Kalisz. Tolstoi introduces Koutousof in his novel, War and Peace, and dwells on his fatalism.]

{352}[446] ["Parmi les colonnes, une de celles qui souffrirent le plus etait commandee par le general Koutouzow (aujourd'hui Prince de Smolensko). Ce brave militaire reunit l'intrepidite a un grand nombre de connaissances acquises; il marche au feu avec la meme gaiete qu'il va a une fete; il sait commander avec autant de sang froid qu'il deploie d'esprit et d'amabilite dans le commerce habituel de la vie."—Hist. de la Nouvelle Russie, ii. 212.]

[447] ["Ce brave Koutouzow se jeta dans le fosse, fut suivi des siens, et ne penetra jusqu'au haut du parapet qu'apres avoir eprouve des difficultes incroyables. (Le brigadier de Ribaupierre perdit la vie dans cette occasion: il avail fixe l'estime generale, et sa mort occasionna beaucoup de regrets.) Les Turcs accoururent en grand nombre; cette multitude repoussa deux fois le general jusqu'au fosse."—Ibid., p. 212.]

[448] ["Quelques troupes russes, emportees par le courant, n'ayant pu debarquer sur le terrain qu'on leur avait prescrit," etc.—Ibid., p. 213.]

[449] ["A 'Cavalier' is an elevation of earth, situated ordinarily in the gorge of a bastion, bordered with a parapet, and cut into more or fewer embrasures, according to its capacity."—Milit. Dict.]

{353}[450] [" ... longerent le rempart, apres la prise du cavalier, et ouvrirent la porte dite de Kilia aux soldats du general Koutouzow."—Hist, de la Nouvelle Russie, ii. 213.]

[451] ["Il etait reserve aux Kozaks de combler de leurs corps la partie du fosse ou ils combattaient; leur colonne avail ete divisee entre MM. Platow et d'Orlow ..."—Ibid., p. 213.]

[452] [" ... la premiere partie, devant se joindre a la gauche du general Arseniew, fut foudroyee par le feu des batteries, et parvint neanmoins au haut du rempart."—Ibid., p. 213.]

[453] ["Les Turcs la laisserent un peu s'avancer, dans la ville, et firent deux sorties par les angles saillans des bastions."—Ibid., p. 213.]

[ih] Fatal to warriors as to women—these.—[MS.]

{354}[454] ["Alors, se trouvant prise en queue, elle fut ecrasee; cependant le Lieutenant-colonel Yesouskoi, qui commandait la reserve composee d'un bataillon du regiment de Polozk, traversa le fosse sur les cadavres des Kozaks ..."—Hist. de la Nouvell Russia, ii. 212.]

[455] [" ... et extermina tous les Turcs qu'il eut en tete: ce brave homme fut tue pendant l'action."—Ibid., p. 213.]

[456] ["L'autre partie des Kozaks, qu' Orlow commandait, souffrit de la maniere la plus cruelle: elle attaqua a maintes reprises, fut souvent repoussee, et perdit les deux tiers de son monde (c'est ici le lieu de placer une observation, que nous prenons dans les memoires qui nous guident; elle fait remarquer combien il est raal vu de donner beaucoup de cartouches aux soldats qui doivent emporter un poste de vive force, et par consequent ou la baionnette doit principalement agir; ils pensent ne devoir se servir de cette derniere arme, que lorsque les cartouches sont epuisees: dans cette persuasion, ils retardent leur marche, et restent plus long-temps exposes au canon et a la mitraille de l'ennemi)."—Ibid., p. 214.]

{355}[457] ["La jonction de la colonne de Meknop—(le general fut nial seconde et tue)—ne put s'effectuer avec celle qui l'avoisinait, ... ces colonnes attaquerent un bastion, et eprouverent une resistance opiniatre; raais bientot des cris de victoire se font entendre de toutes parts, et le bastion est emporte: le seraskier defendait cette partie."—Hist. de la Nouvelle Russie, ii. 214.]

[458] [" ... un officier de marine Anglais veut le faire prisonnier, et recoit un coup de pistolet qui l'etend roide mort."—Ibid., p. 214.]

[459] ["Les Russes passent trois mille Turcs au fil de l'epee; seize baionnettes percent a la fois le seraskier."—Ibid., p. 214.]

[460] ["La ville est emportee; l'image de la mort et de la desolation se represente de tous les cotes le soldat furieux n'ecoute plus la voix de ses officiers, il ne respire que le carnage; altere de sang, tout est indifferent pour lui."—Hist. de la Nouvelle Russie, ii. 214.]

{356}[ii] As do the subtle snake's denounced of old.—[MS.]

{357}[ij] Which most of all doth man characterise.—[MS. Alternative reading.]

[ik] As Autumn winds disperse the yellow leaves.—[MS. erased.]

[461] [See The Blues, ecl. i. line 25, Poetical Works, 1901, iv. 574, note 3.]

{358}[462] ["Je sauvai la vie a une fille de dix ans, don't l'innocence et la candeur formaient un contraste bien frappant avec la rage de tout ce qui m'environnait. En arrivant sur le bastion ou commenca le carnage, j'apercus un groupe de quatre femmes egorgees, entre lesquelles cet enfant, d'une figure charmante, cherchait un asile contre la fureur de deux Kozaks qui etaient sur le point de la massacrer,"—Duc de Richelieu. (See Hist. de la Nouvelle Russie, ii. 217.)]

[463] ["Who never mentions Hell to ears polite."—Pope, Moral Essays, ep. iv, line 150.]

{359}[464] ["Ce spectacle m'attira bientot, et je n'hesitai pas, comme on peut le croire, a prendre entre mes bras cette infortunee, que les barbares voulaient y poursuivre encore. J'eus bien de la peine a me retenir et a ne pas percer ces miserables du sabre que je tenais suspendu sur leur tete:—je me contentai cependant de les eloigner, non sans leur prodiguer les coups et les injures qu'ils meritaient...."—Duc de Richelieu, vide Hist, de la Nouvelle Russie, ii. 217.]

[465] [" ... J'eus le plaisir d'apercevoir que ma petite prisonniere n'avait d'autre mal qu'une coupure legere que lui avail faite au visage le meme fer qui avail perce sa mere."—Duc de Richelieu, ibid.

The Turks clamoured for the child, and Richelieu was forced to give way. But in the original the story ends unhappily.

"Je fus oblige de ceder a leurs instances et a celles de l'officier qui parlementait avec eux; ... ce ne fut pas sans de grandes difficultes et sans une promesse expresse de la parl de cet officier [Colonel Ribas] de me la faire rendre aussitot que les Tures auraient mis bas les armes. Je me separai donc de cet enfant qui m'etait deja devenu tres-cher, et meme a present, je ne puis penser a ce moment sans amertume, puisque malgre toutes les recherches et les peines que je me donnai pour la retrouver, il me fut impossible d'y reussir, el je n'ai que trop sujet de craindre qu'elle n'ait peri malheureusement."—Societe Imperiale d'Histoire de Russie, tom. liv. p. 185.]

{360}[466] [Sir Walter Scott (Quarterly Review, October, 1816, vol. xvi. p. 177) says that a "brother-poet" compared Byron's features to the sculpture of a beautiful alabaster vase, only seen to perfection when lighted up from within. Byron alludes to this comparison in his Detached Thoughts, October 15, 1821, Letters, 1901, v. 408. It may be noted that Lorenzo Bartolini, the Italian sculptor who took a bust of Byron at Pisa, in the spring of 1822, had been employed by Napoleon, in 1814, to design marble vases for a terrace at Elba, which were to be illuminated at night "from within."]

[467] A Russian military order.

{362}[468] ["Le sultan perit dans l'action en brave homme, digne d'un meilleur destin; ce fut lui qui rallia les Turcs lorsque l'ennemi penetra dans la place ... ce sultan, d'une valeur eprouvee, surpassait en generosite les plus civilises de sa nation; cinq de ses fils combattaient a ses cotes, il les encourageait par son exemple."—Hist. de la Nouvelle Russie, ii. 215.]

[469] ["When Charles XII. reached Bender, August 1, 1709, he refused, in the first instance, to cross the river Dniester, and on yielding to the representations of the Turks, he declined to enter the town, but decided on remaining encamped on an island, in spite of the assurances of the inhabitants that it was occasionally flooded." But, perhaps, Byron had in mind Voltaire's remarks on Charles's Opiniatrete. (See Histoire de Charles XII., 1772, p. 377. See, too, Charles XII., by Oscar Browning, 1899, pp. 231-234.)]

[il]—— like celestial patience.—[MS. erased.]

[im] Because a hunchback——.—[MS. erased.]

{364}[in] In battle to old age and ugliness.—[MS. erased.]

{365}[io] In one immortal glance, and then he died.—[MS. erased]

[470] ["Tous cinq furent tous tues sous ces yeux: il ne cessa point de se battre, repondit par des coups de sabre aux propositions de se rendre, et ne fut atteint du coup mortel qu'apres avoir abattu de sa main beaucoup de Kozaks des plus acharnee a sa prise; le reste de sa troupe fut massacre."—Hist. de la Nouvelle Russie, ii. 215.]

{366}[471] ["Quoique les Russes fussent repandus dans la ville, le bastion de pierre resistait encore; il etait defendu par un vicillard, pacha a trois queues, et commandant les forces reunies a Ismael. On lui proposa une capitulation; il demanda si le reste de la ville etait conquis; sur cette reponse, il autorisa quelques-uns de ces officiers a capituler avec M. de Ribas."—Hist. de la Nouvelle Russie, ii. 215.]

[472] ["Pendant ce colloque, il resta etendu sur des tapis places sur les ruines de la forteresse, fumant sa pipe avec la meme tranquillite et la meme indifference que s'il eut ete etranger a tout ce qui se passait."—Ibid., p. 215.]

{367}[ip] Of burning cities, those full moons of slaughter Was imaged back in blood instead of water.—[MS. Alternative reading.]

[iq] Would you do less, "pro focis et pro aris"?—[MS. erased.]

{368}[473] [Compare—

"Spread—spread for Vitellius, the royal repast, Till the gluttonous despot be stuffed to the gorge!"

The Irish Avatar, stanza 20, Poetical Works, 1891, iv. 559.]

[474] ["On egorgea indistinctement, on saccagea la place; et la rage du vainqueur ... se repandit comme un torrent furieux qui a renverse les digues qui le retenaient: personne obtint de grace, et trente huit mille huit cent soixante Turcs perirent dans cette journee de sang."—Hist. de la Nouvelle Russie, ii. 216.]

[ir]—— of my peroration.—[MS. erased.]

{369}[is] —— the cause I cannot guess— I hardly think it was commiseration.—[MS. erased.]

{370}[475] In the original Russian—

"Slava bogu! slava vam! Krepost vzata i ya tam;"

a kind of couplet; for he was a poet.

[J.H. Castera (Vie de Catherine II., 1797, ii. 374) relates this incident in connection with the fall of Turtukey (or Tutrakaw) in Bulgaria, giving the words in French, "Gloire a Dieu! Louange a Catherine! Toutoukai est pris. Souwaroff y est entre." W. Tooke (Life of Catherine II., 1800, iii. 278). Castera's translator, gives the original Russian with an English version. But according to Spalding (Suvoroff, 1890, pp. 42, 43), the words, which were written on a scrap of paper, and addressed to Soltikoff, ran thus: "Your Excellency, we have conquered. Glory to God! Glory to you! Alexander Suvoroff." When Ismail was taken he wrote to Potemkin, "The Russian standard floats above the walls of Ismail," and to the Empress, "Proud Ismail lies at your Majesty's feet." The tenour of the poetical message on the fall of Tutrakaw recalls the triumphant piety of the Emperor William I. of Germany. See, too, for "mad Suwarrow's rhymes," Canto IX. stanza lx. lines 1-4.]



CANTO THE NINTH.

I.[476]

Oh, Wellington! (or "Villainton"[477]—for Fame[it] Sounds the heroic syllables both ways; France could not even conquer your great name, But punned it down to this facetious phrase— Beating or beaten she will laugh the same,) You have obtained great pensions and much praise: Glory like yours should any dare gainsay, Humanity would rise, and thunder "Nay!"[478]

II.

I don't think that you used Kinnaird quite well In Marinet's affair[479]—in fact, 't was shabby, And like some other things won't do to tell Upon your tomb in Westminster's old Abbey. Upon the rest 't is not worth while to dwell, Such tales being for the tea-hours of some tabby;[480] But though your years as man tend fast to zero, In fact your Grace is still but a young Hero.

III.

Though Britain owes (and pays you too) so much, Yet Europe doubtless owes you greatly more: You have repaired Legitimacy's crutch, A prop not quite so certain as before: The Spanish, and the French, as well as Dutch, Have seen, and felt, how strongly you restore; And Waterloo has made the world your debtor (I wish your bards would sing it rather better).

IV.

You are "the best of cut-throats:"[481]—do not start; The phrase is Shakespeare's, and not misapplied:— War's a brain-spattering, windpipe-slitting art, Unless her cause by right be sanctified. If you have acted once a generous part, The World, not the World's masters, will decide, And I shall be delighted to learn who, Save you and yours, have gained by Waterloo?

V.

I am no flatterer—you've supped full of flattery:[482] They say you like it too—'t is no great wonder. He whose whole life has been assault and battery, At last may get a little tired of thunder; And swallowing eulogy much more than satire, he May like being praised for every lucky blunder, Called "Saviour of the Nations"—not yet saved,— And "Europe's Liberator"—still enslaved.[483]

VI.

I've done. Now go and dine from off the plate Presented by the Prince of the Brazils, And send the sentinel before your gate A slice or two from your luxurious meals:[484] He fought, but has not fed so well of late. Some hunger, too, they say the people feels:— There is no doubt that you deserve your ration, But pray give back a little to the nation.

VII.

I don't mean to reflect—a man so great as You, my lord Duke! is far above reflection: The high Roman fashion, too, of Cincinnatus, With modern history has but small connection: Though as an Irishman you love potatoes, You need not take them under your direction; And half a million for your Sabine farm Is rather dear!—I'm sure I mean no harm.

VIII.

Great men have always scorned great recompenses: Epaminondas saved his Thebes, and died, Not leaving even his funeral expenses:[485] George Washington had thanks, and nought beside, Except the all-cloudless glory (which few men's is) To free his country: Pitt too had his pride, And as a high-souled Minister of state is Renowned for ruining Great Britain gratis.[486]

IX.

Never had mortal man such opportunity, Except Napoleon, or abused it more: You might have freed fallen Europe from the unity Of Tyrants, and been blest from shore to shore: And now—what is your fame? Shall the Muse tune it ye? Now—that the rabble's first vain shouts are o'er? Go! hear it in your famished country's cries! Behold the World! and curse your victories!

X.

As these new cantos touch on warlike feats, To you the unflattering Muse deigns to inscribe[iu] Truths, that you will not read in the Gazettes, But which 't is time to teach the hireling tribe Who fatten on their country's gore, and debts, Must be recited—and without a bribe. You did great things, but not being great in mind, Have left undone the greatest—and mankind.

XI.

Death laughs—Go ponder o'er the skeleton With which men image out the unknown thing That hides the past world, like to a set sun Which still elsewhere may rouse a brighter spring— Death laughs at all you weep for!—look upon This hourly dread of all! whose threatened sting Turns Life to terror, even though in its sheath: Mark! how its lipless mouth grins without breath!

XII.

Mark! how it laughs and scorns at all you are! And yet was what you are; from ear to ear It laughs not—there is now no fleshy bar So called; the Antic long hath ceased to hear, But still he smiles; and whether near or far, He strips from man that mantle (far more dear Than even the tailor's), his incarnate skin,[iv] White, black, or copper—the dead bones will grin.

XIII.

And thus Death laughs,—it is sad merriment, But still it is so; and with such example Why should not Life be equally content With his Superior, in a smile to trample Upon the nothings which are daily spent Like bubbles on an Ocean much less ample Than the Eternal Deluge, which devours Suns as rays—worlds like atoms—years like hours?

XIV.

"To be, or not to be? that is the question," Says Shakespeare,[487] who just now is much in fashion. I am neither Alexander nor Hephaestion, Nor ever had for abstract fame much passion; But would much rather have a sound digestion Than Buonaparte's cancer:—could I dash on Through fifty victories to shame or fame— Without a stomach what were a good name?

XV.

"O dura ilia messorum!"[488]—"Oh Ye rigid guts of reapers!" I translate[iw] For the great benefit of those who know What indigestion is—that inward fate Which makes all Styx through one small liver flow. A peasant's sweat is worth his lord's estate: Let this one toil for bread—that rack for rent, He who sleeps best may be the most content.

XVI.

"To be, or not to be?"—Ere I decide, I should be glad to know that which is being. 'T is true we speculate both far and wide, And deem, because we see, we are all-seeing: For my part, I'll enlist on neither side, Until I see both sides for once agreeing. For me, I sometimes think that Life is Death, Rather than Life a mere affair of breath.

XVII.

"Que scais-je"[489] was the motto of Montaigne, As also of the first academicians: That all is dubious which man may attain, Was one of their most favourite positions. There's no such thing as certainty, that's plain As any of Mortality's conditions; So little do we know what we're about in This world, I doubt if doubt itself be doubting.

XVIII.

It is a pleasant voyage perhaps to float, Like Pyrrho,[490] on a sea of speculation; But what if carrying sail capsize the boat? Your wise men don't know much of navigation; And swimming long in the abyss of thought Is apt to tire: a calm and shallow station Well nigh the shore, where one stoops down and gathers Some pretty shell, is best for moderate bathers.

XIX.

"But Heaven," as Cassio says, "is above all—[491] No more of this, then, let us pray!" We have Souls to save, since Eve's slip and Adam's fall, Which tumbled all mankind into the grave, Besides fish, beasts, and birds. "The sparrow's fall Is special providence,"[492] though how it gave Offence, we know not; probably it perched Upon the tree which Eve so fondly searched.

XX.

Oh! ye immortal Gods! what is Theogony? Oh! thou, too, mortal man! what is Philanthropy? Oh! World, which was and is, what is Cosmogony? Some people have accused me of Misanthropy; And yet I know no more than the mahogany That forms this desk, of what they mean;—Lykanthropy[493] I comprehend, for without transformation Men become wolves on any slight occasion.

XXI.

But I, the mildest, meekest of mankind, Like Moses, or Melancthon,[494] who have ne'er[ix] Done anything exceedingly unkind,— And (though I could not now and then forbear Following the bent of body or of mind) Have always had a tendency to spare,— Why do they call me Misanthrope? Because They hate me, not I them:—and here we'll pause.

XXII.

'T is time we should proceed with our good poem,— For I maintain that it is really good, Not only in the body but the proem, However little both are understood Just now,—but by and by the Truth will show 'em Herself in her sublimest attitude: And till she doth, I fain must be content To share her beauty and her banishment.

XXIII.

Our hero (and, I trust, kind reader! yours) Was left upon his way to the chief city Of the immortal Peter's polished boors, Who still have shown themselves more brave than witty. I know its mighty Empire now allures Much flattery—even Voltaire's,[495] and that's a pity. For me, I deem an absolute autocrat Not a barbarian, but much worse than that.

XXIV.

And I will war, at least in words (and—should My chance so happen—deeds), with all who war With Thought;—and of Thought's foes by far most rude, Tyrants and sycophants have been and are. I know not who may conquer: if I could Have such a prescience, it should be no bar To this my plain, sworn, downright detestation Of every despotism in every nation.[iy]

XXV.

It is not that I adulate the people: Without me, there are demagogues enough,[496] And infidels, to pull down every steeple, And set up in their stead some proper stuff. Whether they may sow scepticism to reap Hell, As is the Christian dogma rather rough, I do not know;—I wish men to be free As much from mobs as kings—from you as me.

XXVI.

The consequence is, being of no party, I shall offend all parties:—never mind! My words, at least, are more sincere and hearty Than if I sought to sail before the wind. He who has nought to gain can have small art: he Who neither wishes to be bound nor bind, May still expatiate freely, as will I, Nor give my voice to slavery's jackal cry.[iz]

XXVII.

That's an appropriate simile, that jackal;— I've heard them in the Ephesian ruins howl[497] By night, as do that mercenary pack all, Power's base purveyors, who for pickings prowl, And scent the prey their masters would attack all. However, the poor jackals are less foul (As being the brave lions' keen providers) Than human insects, catering for spiders.[ja]

XXVIII.

Raise but an arm! 't will brush their web away, And without that, their poison and their claws Are useless. Mind, good people! what I say— (Or rather Peoples)—go on without pause! The web of these Tarantulas each day Increases, till you shall make common cause: None, save the Spanish Fly and Attic Bee, As yet are strongly stinging to be free.[jb]

XXIX.

Don Juan, who had shone in the late slaughter, Was left upon his way with the despatch, Where blood was talked of as we would of water; And carcasses that lay as thick as thatch O'er silenced cities, merely served to flatter Fair Catherine's pastime—who looked on the match Between these nations as a main of cocks, Wherein she liked her own to stand like rocks.

XXX.

And there in a kibitka he rolled on, (A cursed sort of carriage without springs, Which on rough roads leaves scarcely a whole bone,) Pondering on Glory, Chivalry, and Kings, And Orders, and on all that he had done— And wishing that post-horses had the wings Of Pegasus, or at the least post-chaises Had feathers, when a traveller on deep ways is.

XXXI.

At every jolt—and they were many—still He turned his eyes upon his little charge, As if he wished that she should fare less ill Than he, in these sad highways left at large To ruts, and flints, and lovely Nature's skill, Who is no paviour, nor admits a barge On her canals, where God takes sea and land, Fishery and farm, both into his own hand.

XXXII.

At least he pays no rent, and has best right To be the first of what we used to call "Gentlemen farmers"—a race worn out quite, Since lately there have been no rents at all, And "gentlemen" are in a piteous plight, And "farmers" can't raise Ceres from her fall: She fell with Buonaparte,[498]—What strange thoughts Arise, when we see Emperors fall with oats!

XXXIII.

But Juan turned his eyes on the sweet child Whom he had saved from slaughter—what a trophy Oh! ye who build up monuments, defiled With gore, like Nadir Shah,[499] that costive Sophy, Who, after leaving Hindostan a wild, And scarce to the Mogul a cup of coffee To soothe his woes withal, was slain, the sinner! Because he could no more digest his dinner;—[jc][500]

XXXIV.

Oh ye! or we! or he! or she! reflect, That one life saved, especially if young Or pretty, is a thing to recollect Far sweeter than the greenest laurels sprung From the manure of human clay, though decked With all the praises ever said or sung: Though hymned by every harp, unless within Your heart joins chorus, Fame is but a din.

XXXV.

Oh! ye great authors luminous, voluminous! Ye twice ten hundred thousand daily scribes! Whose pamphlets, volumes, newspapers, illumine us! Whether you're paid by government in bribes, To prove the public debt is not consuming us— Or, roughly treading on the "courtier's kibes" With clownish heel[501] your popular circulation Feeds you by printing half the realm's starvation;—

XXXVI.

Oh, ye great authors!—A propos des bottes,— I have forgotten what I meant to say, As sometimes have been greater sages' lots;— 'T was something calculated to allay All wrath in barracks, palaces, or cots: Certes it would have been but thrown away, And that's one comfort for my lost advice, Although no doubt it was beyond all price.

XXXVII.

But let it go:—it will one day be found With other relics of "a former World," When this World shall be former, underground, Thrown topsy-turvy, twisted, crisped, and curled, Baked, fried, or burnt, turned inside-out, or drowned, Like all the worlds before, which have been hurled First out of, and then back again to chaos— The superstratum which will overlay us.[jd]

XXXVIII.

So Cuvier says:[502]—and then shall come again Unto the new creation, rising out From our old crash, some mystic, ancient strain Of things destroyed and left in airy doubt; Like to the notions we now entertain Of Titans, giants, fellows of about Some hundred feet in height, not to say miles, And mammoths, and your winged crocodiles.

XXXIX.

Think if then George the Fourth should be dug up![503] How the new worldlings of the then new East Will wonder where such animals could sup! (For they themselves will be but of the least: Even worlds miscarry, when too oft they pup, And every new creation hath decreased In size, from overworking the material— Men are but maggots of some huge Earth's burial.)

XL.

How will—to these young people, just thrust out From some fresh Paradise, and set to plough, And dig, and sweat, and turn themselves about, And plant, and reap, and spin, and grind, and sow, Till all the arts at length are brought about, Especially of War and taxing,—how, I say, will these great relics, when they see 'em, Look like the monsters of a new Museum!

XLI.

But I am apt to grow too metaphysical: "The time is out of joint,"[504]—and so am I; I quite forget this poem's merely quizzical, And deviate into matters rather dry. I ne'er decide what I shall say, and this I call[je] Much too poetical: men should know why They write, and for what end; but, note or text, I never know the word which will come next.

XLII.

So on I ramble, now and then narrating, Now pondering:—it is time we should narrate. I left Don Juan with his horses baiting— Now we'll get o'er the ground at a great rate: I shall not be particular in stating His journey, we've so many tours of late: Suppose him then at Petersburgh; suppose That pleasant capital of painted snows;[505]

XLIII.

Suppose him in a handsome uniform— A scarlet coat, black facings, a long plume, Waving, like sails new shivered in a storm, Over a cocked hat in a crowded room, And brilliant breeches, bright as a Cairn Gorme, Of yellow casimire we may presume, White stockings drawn uncurdled as new milk O'er limbs whose symmetry set off the silk;[jf]

XLIV.

Suppose him sword by side, and hat in hand, Made up by Youth, Fame, and an army tailor— That great enchanter, at whose rod's command Beauty springs forth, and Nature's self turns paler, Seeing how Art can make her work more grand (When she don't pin men's limbs in like a gaoler),— Behold him placed as if upon a pillar! He[jg] Seems Love turned a Lieutenant of Artillery![506]

XLV.

His bandage slipped down into a cravat— His wings subdued to epaulettes—his quiver Shrunk to a scabbard, with his arrows at His side as a small sword, but sharp as ever— His bow converted into a cocked hat— But still so like, that Psyche were more clever Than some wives (who make blunders no less stupid), If she had not mistaken him for Cupid.

XLVI.

The courtiers stared, the ladies whispered, and The Empress smiled: the reigning favourite frowned—[jh] I quite forget which of them was in hand Just then, as they are rather numerous found,[507] Who took, by turns, that difficult command Since first her Majesty was singly crowned:[508] But they were mostly nervous six-foot fellows, All fit to make a Patagonian jealous.

XLVII.

Juan was none of these, but slight and slim, Blushing and beardless; and, yet, ne'ertheless, There was a something in his turn of limb, And still more in his eye, which seemed to express, That, though he looked one of the Seraphim, There lurked a man beneath the Spirit's dress. Besides, the Empress sometimes liked a boy, And had just buried the fair-faced Lanskoi.[ji][509]

XLVIII.

No wonder then that Yermoloff, or Momonoff,[510] Or Scherbatoff, or any other off Or on, might dread her Majesty had not room enough Within her bosom (which was not too tough), For a new flame; a thought to cast of gloom enough Along the aspect, whether smooth or rough, Of him who, in the language of his station, Then held that "high official situation."

XLIX.

O gentle ladies! should you seek to know The import of this diplomatic phrase, Bid Ireland's Londonderry's Marquess[511] show His parts of speech, and in the strange displays Of that odd string of words, all in a row, Which none divine, and every one obeys, Perhaps you may pick out some queer no meaning,— Of that weak wordy harvest the sole gleaning.

L.

I think I can explain myself without That sad inexplicable beast of prey— That Sphinx, whose words would ever be a doubt, Did not his deeds unriddle them each day— That monstrous hieroglyphic—that long spout Of blood and water—leaden Castlereagh! And here I must an anecdote relate, But luckily of no great length or weight.

LI.

An English lady asked of an Italian, What were the actual and official duties Of the strange thing some women set a value on, Which hovers oft about some married beauties, Called "Cavalier Servente?"[512]—a Pygmalion Whose statues warm (I fear, alas! too true 't is) Beneath his art:[jj]—the dame, pressed to disclose them, Said—"Lady, I beseech you to suppose them."

LII.

And thus I supplicate your supposition, And mildest, matron-like interpretation, Of the imperial favourite's condition. 'T was a high place, the highest in the nation In fact, if not in rank; and the suspicion Of any one's attaining to his station, No doubt gave pain, where each new pair of shoulders, If rather broad, made stocks rise—and their holders.

LIII.

Juan, I said, was a most beauteous boy, And had retained his boyish look beyond The usual hirsute seasons which destroy, With beards and whiskers, and the like, the fond Parisian aspect, which upset old Troy And founded Doctors' Commons:[jk]—I have conned The history of divorces, which, though chequered, Calls Ilion's the first damages on record.

LIV.

And Catherine, who loved all things (save her Lord, Who was gone to his place), and passed for much, Admiring those (by dainty dames abhorred) Gigantic gentlemen, yet had a touch Of sentiment: and he she most adored Was the lamented Lanskoi, who was such A lover as had cost her many a tear, And yet but made a middling grenadier.

LV.

Oh thou "teterrima causa" of all "belli"—[513] Thou gate of Life and Death—thou nondescript! Whence is our exit and our entrance,—well I May pause in pondering how all souls are dipped In thy perennial fountain:—how man fell I Know not, since Knowledge saw her branches stripped Of her first fruit; but how he falls and rises Since,—thou hast settled beyond all surmises.

LVI.

Some call thee "the worst cause of War," but I Maintain thou art the best.—for after all, From thee we come, to thee we go, and why To get at thee not batter down a wall, Or waste a World? since no one can deny Thou dost replenish worlds both great and small: With—or without thee—all things at a stand[jl] Are, or would be, thou sea of Life's dry land![jm]

LVII.

Catherine, who was the grand Epitome Of that great cause of War, or Peace, or what You please (it causes all the things which be, So you may take your choice of this or that)— Catherine, I say, was very glad to see The handsome herald, on whose plumage sat[514] Victory; and, pausing as she saw him kneel With his despatch, forgot to break the seal.

LVIII.

Then recollecting the whole Empress, nor Forgetting quite the Woman (which composed At least three parts of this great whole), she tore The letter open with an air which posed The Court, that watched each look her visage wore, Until a royal smile at length disclosed Fair weather for the day. Though rather spacious, Her face was noble, her eyes fine, mouth gracious.[515]

LIX.

Great joy was hers, or rather joys: the first Was a ta'en city, thirty thousand slain: Glory and triumph o'er her aspect burst, As an East Indian sunrise on the main:— These quenched a moment her Ambition's thirst— So Arab deserts drink in Summer's rain: In vain!—As fall the dews on quenchless sands, Blood only serves to wash Ambition's hands!

LX.

Her next amusement was more fanciful; She smiled at mad Suwarrow's rhymes, who threw Into a Russian couplet rather dull The whole gazette of thousands whom he slew: Her third was feminine enough to annul The shudder which runs naturally through Our veins, when things called Sovereigns think it best To kill, and Generals turn it into jest.

LXI.

The two first feelings ran their course complete, And lighted first her eye, and then her mouth: The whole court looked immediately most sweet, Like flowers well watered after a long drouth:— But when on the Lieutenant at her feet Her Majesty, who liked to gaze on youth Almost as much as on a new despatch, Glanced mildly,—all the world was on the watch.

LXII.

Though somewhat large, exuberant, and truculent, When wroth—while pleased, she was as fine a figure As those who like things rosy, ripe, and succulent, Would wish to look on, while they are in vigour. She could repay each amatory look you lent With interest, and, in turn, was wont with rigour To exact of Cupid's bills the full amount At sight, nor would permit you to discount.

LXIII.

With her the latter, though at times convenient, Was not so necessary; for they tell That she was handsome, and though fierce looked lenient, And always used her favourites too well. If once beyond her boudoir's precincts in ye went, Your "fortune" was in a fair way "to swell A man" (as Giles says);[516] for though she would widow all Nations, she liked Man as an individual.

LXIV.

What a strange thing is Man! and what a stranger Is Woman! What a whirlwind is her head, And what a whirlpool full of depth and danger Is all the rest about her! Whether wed, Or widow—maid—or mother, she can change her Mind like the wind: whatever she has said Or done, is light to what she'll say or do;— The oldest thing on record, and yet new!

LXV.

Oh Catherine! (for of all interjections, To thee both oh! and ah! belong, of right, In Love and War) how odd are the connections Of human thoughts, which jostle in their flight! Just now yours were cut out in different sections: First Ismail's capture caught your fancy quite; Next of new knights, the fresh and glorious batch: And thirdly he who brought you the despatch!

LXVI.

Shakespeare talks of "the herald Mercury New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill:"[517] And some such visions crossed her Majesty, While her young herald knelt before her still. 'T is very true the hill seemed rather high, For a Lieutenant to climb up; but skill Smoothed even the Simplon's steep, and by God's blessing, With Youth and Health all kisses are "Heaven-kissing."

LXVII.

Her Majesty looked down, the youth looked up— And so they fell in love;—she with his face, His grace, his God-knows-what: for Cupid's cup With the first draught intoxicates apace, A quintessential laudanum or "Black Drop," Which makes one drunk at once, without the base Expedient of full bumpers; for the eye In love drinks all Life's fountains (save tears) dry.

LXVIII.

He, on the other hand, if not in love, Fell into that no less imperious passion, Self-love—which, when some sort of thing above Ourselves, a singer, dancer, much in fashion, Or Duchess—Princess—Empress, "deigns to prove"[518] ('T is Pope's phrase) a great longing, though a rash one, For one especial person out of many, Make us believe ourselves as good as any.

LXIX.

Besides, he was of that delighted age Which makes all female ages equal—when We don't much care with whom we may engage, As bold as Daniel in the lions' den, So that we can our native sun assuage In the next ocean, which may flow just then— To make a twilight in, just as Sol's heat is Quenched in the lap of the salt sea, or Thetis.

LXX.

And Catherine (we must say thus much for Catherine), Though bold and bloody, was the kind of thing Whose temporary passion was quite flattering, Because each lover looked a sort of King, Made up upon an amatory pattern, A royal husband in all save the ring—[jn] Which, (being the damnedest part of matrimony,) Seemed taking out the sting to leave the honey:

LXXI.

And when you add to this, her Womanhood In its meridian, her blue eyes[519] or gray— (The last, if they have soul, are quite as good, Or better, as the best examples say: Napoleon's, Mary's[520] (Queen of Scotland), should Lend to that colour a transcendent ray; And Pallas also sanctions the same hue, Too wise to look through optics black or blue)—

LXXII.

Her sweet smile, and her then majestic figure,[jo] Her plumpness, her imperial condescension, Her preference of a boy to men much bigger (Fellows whom Messalina's self would pension), Her prime of life, just now in juicy vigour, With other extras, which we need not mention,— All these, or any one of these, explain Enough to make a stripling very vain.

LXXIII.

And that's enough, for Love is vanity, Selfish in its beginning as its end,[jp] Except where 't is a mere insanity, A maddening spirit which would strive to blend Itself with Beauty's frail inanity, On which the Passion's self seems to depend; And hence some heathenish philosophers Make Love the main-spring of the Universe.

LXXIV.

Besides Platonic love, besides the love Of God, the love of sentiment, the loving Of faithful pairs—(I needs must rhyme with dove, That good old steam-boat which keeps verses moving 'Gainst reason—Reason ne'er was hand-and-glove With rhyme, but always leant less to improving The sound than sense)—besides all these pretences To Love, there are those things which words name senses;

LXXV.

Those movements, those improvements in our bodies Which make all bodies anxious to get out Of their own sand-pits, to mix with a goddess, For such all women are at first no doubt.[jq] How beautiful that moment! and how odd is That fever which precedes the languid rout Of our sensations! What a curious way The whole thing is of clothing souls in clay![jr]

LXXVI.[521]

The noblest kind of love is love Platonical, To end or to begin with; the next grand Is that which may be christened love canonical, Because the clergy take the thing in hand; The third sort to be noted in our chronicle As flourishing in every Christian land, Is when chaste matrons to their other ties Add what may be called marriage in disguise.

LXXVII.

Well, we won't analyse—our story must Tell for itself: the Sovereign was smitten, Juan much flattered by her love, or lust;— I cannot stop to alter words once written, And the two are so mixed with human dust, That he who names one, both perchance may hit on: But in such matters Russia's mighty Empress Behaved no better than a common sempstress.

LXXVIII.

The whole court melted into one wide whisper, And all lips were applied unto all ears! The elder ladies' wrinkles curled much crisper As they beheld; the younger cast some leers On one another, and each lovely lisper Smiled as she talked the matter o'er; but tears Of rivalship rose in each clouded eye Of all the standing army who stood by.

LXXIX.

All the ambassadors of all the powers Inquired, Who was this very new young man, Who promised to be great in some few hours? Which is full soon (though Life is but a span). Already they beheld the silver showers Of rubles rain, as fast as specie can, Upon his cabinet, besides the presents Of several ribands, and some thousand peasants.[522]

LXXX.

Catherine was generous,—all such ladies are: Love—that great opener of the heart and all The ways that lead there, be they near or far, Above, below, by turnpikes great or small,— Love—(though she had a cursed taste for War, And was not the best wife unless we call Such Clytemnestra, though perhaps 't is better That one should die—than two drag on the fetter)—

LXXXI.

Love had made Catherine make each lover's fortune, Unlike our own half-chaste Elizabeth, Whose avarice all disbursements did importune, If History, the grand liar, ever saith The truth; and though grief her old age might shorten, Because she put a favourite to death, Her vile, ambiguous method of flirtation, And stinginess, disgrace her sex and station.

LXXXII.

But when the levee rose, and all was bustle In the dissolving circle, all the nations' Ambassadors began as 't were to hustle Round the young man with their congratulations. Also the softer silks were heard to rustle Of gentle dames, among whose recreations It is to speculate on handsome faces, Especially when such lead to high places.

LXXXIII.

Juan, who found himself, he knew not how, A general object of attention, made His answers with a very graceful bow, As if born for the ministerial trade. Though modest, on his unembarrassed brow Nature had written "Gentleman!" He said Little, but to the purpose; and his manner Flung hovering graces o'er him like a banner.

LXXXIV.

An order from her Majesty consigned Our young Lieutenant to the genial care Of those in office: all the world looked kind, (As it will look sometimes with the first stare, Which Youth would not act ill to keep in mind,) As also did Miss Protasoff[523] then there,[js] Named from her mystic office "l'Eprouveuse," A term inexplicable to the Muse.

LXXXV.

With her then, as in humble duty bound, Juan retired,—and so will I, until My Pegasus shall tire of touching ground. We have just lit on a "heaven-kissing hill," So lofty that I feel my brain turn round, And all my fancies whirling like a mill; Which is a signal to my nerves and brain, To take a quiet ride in some green lane.[524]

FOOTNOTES:

{373}[476] [Stanzas i.-viii., which are headed "Don Juan, Canto III., July 10, 1819," are in the handwriting of (?) the Countess Guiccioli. Stanzas ix., x., which were written on the same sheet of paper, are in Byron's handwriting. The original MS. opens with stanza xi., "Death laughs," etc. (See letter to Moore, July 12, 1822, Letters, 1901, vi. 96.)]

[477]

["Faut qu' lord Villain-ton ait tout pris; N'y a plus d' argent dans c' gueux de Paris."

De Beranger, "Complainte d'une de ces Demoiselles a l'Occasion des Affaires du Temps (Fevrier, 1816)," Chansons, 1821, ii. 17.

Compare a retaliatory epigram which appeared in a contemporary newspaper—

"These French petit-maitres who the spectacle throng, Say of Wellington's dress qu'il fait vilain ton! But, at Waterloo, Wellington made the French stare When their army he dressed a la mode Angleterre!"]

[it] Oh Wellington (or "Vilainton")——.—[MS. B.]

[478] Query, Ney?—Printer's Devil. [Michel Ney, Duke of Elchingen, "the bravest of the brave" (see Ode from the French, stanza i. Poetical Works, 1900, iii. 431), born January 10, 1769, was arrested August 5, and shot December 7, 1815.]

[479] [The story of the attempted assassination (February 11, 1818) of the Duke of Wellington, which is dismissed by Alison in a few words (Hist. of Europe (1815-1852), 1853, i. 577, 578), occupies many pages of the Supplementary Despatches (1865, xii. 271-546). Byron probably drew his own conclusions as to the Kinnaird-Marinet incident, from the Letter to the Duke of Wellington on the Arrest of M. Marinet, by Lord Kinnaird, 1818. The story, which is full of interest, may be briefly recounted. On January 30, 1818, Lord Kinnaird informed Sir George Murray (Chief of the Staff of the Army of Occupation) that a person, whose name he withheld, had revealed to him the existence of a plot to assassinate the Duke of Wellington. At 12.30 a.m., February 11, 1818, the Duke, on returning to his Hotel, was fired at by an unknown person; and then, but not till then, he wrote to urge Lord Clancarty to advise the Prince Regent to take steps to persuade or force Kinnaird to disclose the name of his informant. A Mr. G.W. Chad, of the Consular Service, was empowered to proceed to Brussels, and to seek an interview with Kinnaird. He carried with him, among other documents, a letter from the Duke to Lord Clancarty, dated February 12, 1818. A postscript contained this intimation: "It may be proper to mention to you that the French Government are disposed to go every length in the way of negotiation with the person mentioned by Lord Kinnaird, or others, to discover the plot."

Kinnaird absolutely declined to give up the name of his informant, but, acting on the strength of the postscript, which had been read but not shown to him, started for Paris with "the great unknown." Some days after their arrival, and while Kinnaird was a guest of the Duke, the man was arrested, and discovered to be one Nicholle or Marinet, who had been appointed receveur under the restored government of Louis XVIII., but during the Cent jours had fled to Belgium, retaining the funds he had amassed during his term of office. Kinnaird regarded this action of the French Government as a breach of faith, and in a "Memorial" to the French Chamber of Peers, and his Letter, maintained that the Duke's postscript implied a promise of a safe conduct for Marinet to and from Paris to Brussels. The Duke, on the other hand, was equally positive (see his letter to Lord Liverpool, May 30, 1818) "that he never intended to have any negotiations with anybody." Kinnaird was a "dog with a bad name," He had been accused (see his Letter to the Earl of Liverpool, 1816, p. 16) of "the promulgation of dangerous opinions," and of intimacy "with persons suspected." The Duke speaks of him as "the friend of Revolutionists"! It is evident that he held the dangerous doctrine that a promise to a rogue is a promise, and that the authorities took a different view of the ethics of the situation. It is clear, too, that the Duke's postscript was ambiguous, but that it did not warrant the assumption that if Marinet went to Paris he should be protected. The air was full of plots. The great Duke despised and was inclined to ignore the pistol or the dagger of the assassin; but he believed that "mischief was afoot," and that "great personages" might or might not be responsible. He was beset by difficulties at every turn, and would have been more than mortal if he had put too favourable a construction on the scruples, or condoned the imprudence of a "friend of Revolutionists."]

{374}[480] [The reference may be to the Duke of Wellington's intimacy with Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster. Byron had "passed that way" himself (see Letters, 1898, ii. 251, note i, 323, etc.), and could hardly attack the Duke on that score.]

[481] ["Thou art the best o' the cut-throats." Macbeth, act iii. sc. 4, line 17.]

[482] ["I have supped full of horrors." Macbeth, act v. sc. 5, line 13.]

[483] Vide speeches in Parliament, after the battle of Waterloo.

{376}[484] ["I at this time got a post, being for fatigue, with four others. We were sent to break biscuit, and make a mess for Lord Wellington's hounds. I was very hungry, and thought it a good job at the time, as we got our own fill, while we broke the biscuit,—a thing I had not got for some days. When thus engaged, the Prodigal Son was never once out of my mind; and I sighed, as I fed the dogs, over my humble situation and my ruined hopes."—Journal of a Soldier of the 71st Regiment, 1806 to 1815 (Edinburgh, 1822), pp. 132, 133.]

[485] ["We are assured that Epaminondas died so poor that the Thebans buried him at the public charge; for at his death nothing was found in his house but an iron spit."—Plutarch's Fabius Maximus, Langhorne's translation, 1838, p. 140. See, too, Cornelius Nepos, Epam., cap. iii. "Paupertatem adeo facile perpessus est, ut de Republica nihil praeter gloriam ceperit."]

[486] [For Pitt's refusal to accept L100,000 from the merchants of London towards the payment of his debts, or L30,000 from the King's Privy Purse, see Pitt, by Lord Rosebery, 1891. p. 231.]

{377}[iu] To you this one unflattering Muse inscribes.—[MS. erased.]

{377}[iv] He strips from man his mantle (which is dear Though beautiful in youth) his carnal skin.—[MS. erased.]

[487] [Hamlet, act iii. sc. i, line 56.]

[488] ["O dura messorum ilia!" etc.-Hor., Epod. iii. 4.]

[iw] Ye iron guts——.—[MS. erased.]

{379}[489] ["Ce n'est qu'a l'edition de 1635 qu'on voit paraitre la devise que Montaigne avait adoptee, le que sais-je? avec l'embleme des balances. ... Ce que sais-je que Pascal a si severement analyse se lit au chapitre douze du livre ii; il caracterise parfaitement la philosophie de Montaigne; il est la consequence de cette maxime qu'il avait inscrite en grec sur les solives de sa librairie: 'Il n'est point de raisonnement au quel on n'oppose un raissonnement contraire.'"—Oeuvres de ... Montaigne, 1837, "Notice Bibliographique," p. xvii.]

[490] [Concerning the Pyrrhonists or Sceptics and their master Pyrrho, who held that Truth was incomprehensible (inprensibilis), and that you may not affirm of aught that it be rather this or that, or neither this nor that ([Greek: ou) ma~llon ou(/tos e(/chei to/de e) e)kei/nos e) ou)dete/ros]), see Aul. Gellii Noct. Attic., lib. xi. cap. v.]

[491] See Othello, [act ii. sc. 3, lines 206, 207: "Well, God's above all, and there be souls must be saved; and there be souls must not be saved—Let's have no more of this."]

{380}[492] [Hamlet, act v. sc. 2, lines 94, 98, 102.]

[493] [For "Lycanthropy," see "The Soldier's Story" in the Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter, cap. 62; see, too, Letters on Demonology, etc., by Sir W. Scott, 1830, pp. 211, 212.]

[494] [In respect of suavity and forbearance Melancthon was the counterpart of Luther. John Arrowsmith (1602-1657), in his Tractica Sacra, describes him as "Vir in quo cum pietate doctrina, et cum utraque candor certavit."]

[ix] Like Moses or like Cobbett who have ne'er.

Moses and Cobbet proclaim themselves the "meekest of men." See their writings.—[MS.]

Like Moses who was "very meek" had ne'er.—[MS. erased.]

{381}[495] [See his "Correspondance avec L'Imperatrice de Russie," Oeuvres Completes de Voltaire, 1836, x. 393-477. M. Waliszewski, in his Story of a Throne, 1895, i. 224, has gathered a handful of these flowers of speech: "She is the chief person in the world.... She is the fire and life of nations.... She is a saint.... She is above all saints.... She is equal to the mother of God.... She is the divinity of the North.—Te Catherinam laudamus, te Dominam confitemur, etc., etc."]

[iy] Of everything that ever cursed a nation.—[MS. erased.]

[496] ["It is still more difficult to say which form of government is the worst—all are so bad. As for democracy, it is the worst of the whole; for what is (in fact) democracy?—an Aristocracy of Blackguards."—See "My Dictionary" (May 1, 1821), Letters, 1901, v. 405, 406.]

{382}[iz] Though priests and slaves may join the servile cry.—[MS. erased.]

[497] In Greece I never saw or heard these animals; but among the ruins of Ephesus I have heard them by hundreds.

[See Childe Harold, Canto IV. stanza cliii. line 6, Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 441; and Siege of Corinth, line 329, ibid., 1900, iii. 462, note 1.]

[ja] Whereas the others hunt for rascal spiders.—[MS. erased.]

[jb] Which still are strongly fluttering to be free.—[MS. erased.]

{383}[498] [Compare The Age of Bronze, line 576, sq., Poetical Works, 1901, v. 570.]

{384}[499] [Nadir Shah, or Thamas Kouli Khan, born November, 1688, invaded India, 1739-40, was assassinated June 19, 1747.]

[jc] —— went mad and was Killed because what he swallowed would not pass.—[MS. erased.]

[500] He was killed in a conspiracy, after his temper had been exasperated by his extreme costivity to a degree of insanity.

[To such a height had his madness (attributed to melancholia produced by dropsy) attained, that he actually ordered the Afghan chiefs to rise suddenly upon the Persian guard, and seize the ... chief nobles; but the project being discovered, the intended victims conspired in turn, and a body of them, including Nadir's guard, and the chief of his own tribe of Afshar, entered his tent at midnight, and, after a moment's involuntary pause—when challenged by the deep voice at which they had so often trembled—rushed upon the king, who being brought to the ground by a sabre-stroke, begged for life, and attempted to rise, but soon expired beneath the repeated blows of the conspirators.—The Indian Empire, by R. Montgomery Martin (1857), i. 172.]

[501] [Compare Childe Harold, Canto I. stanza lxvii. line 5, Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 64, note 3.]

{385}[jd] Or the substrata——.—[MS.]

[502] [Compare Preface to Cain, Poetical Works, 1901, V. 210, note 1.]

[503] [Vide ante, Canto VIII. stanza cxxvi. line 9, p. 368.]

{386}[504] [Hamlet, act i. sc. 5, line 189.]

[je] I never know what's next to come——.—[MS. erased.]

[505] [It is possible that the phrase "painted snows" was suggested by Tooke's description of the winter-garden of the Taurida Palace: "The genial warmth, ... the voluptuous silence that reigns in this enchanting garden, lull the fancy into sweet romantic dreams: we think ourselves in the groves of Italy, while torpid nature, through the windows of this pavilion, announces the severity of a northern winter" (The Life, etc., 1800, iii. 48).]

{387}[jf] O'er limits which mightily——:—[MS. erased.]

[jg]—— in Youth and Glory's pillory.—[MS. erased.]

[506] [In his Notes sur le Don Juanisme (Mercure de France, 1898, xxvi. 66), M. Bruchard says that this phrase defines and summarizes the Byronic Don Juan.]

[jh] The Empress smiled while all the Orloff frowned— A numerous family, to whose heart or hand Mild Catherine owed the chance of being crowned,.—[MS. erased.]

{388}[507] [C.F.P. Masson, in his Memoires Secrets, etc., 1880, i. 150-178, gives a list of twelve favourites, and in this Canto, Don Juan takes upon himself the characteristics of at least three, Lanskoi, Zoritch (or Zovitch), and Plato Zoubof. For example (p. 167), "Zoritch ... est le seul etranger qu'elle ait ose creer son favori pendant son regne. C'etoit un Servien echappe du bagne de Constantinople ou il etoit prisonnier: il parut, pour la premiere fois, en habit de hussard a la cour. Il eblouit tout le monde par sa beaute, et les vielles dames en parlent encore comme d'un Adonis." M. Waliszewski, in his Romance of an Empress (1894), devotes a chapter to "Private Life and Favouritism" (ii. 234-286), in which he graphically describes the election and inauguration of the Vremienchtchik, "the man of the moment," paramour regnant, and consort of the Empress pro hac vice: "'We may observe in Russia a sort of interregnum in affairs, caused by the displacement of one favourite and the installation of his successor.' ... The interregnums are, however, of very short duration. Only one lasts for several months, between the death of Lanskoi (1784) and the succession of Iermolof.... There is no lack of candidates. The place is good.... Sometimes, too, on the height by the throne, reached at a bound, these spoilt children of fate grow giddy.... It is over in an instant, at an evening reception it is noticed that the Empress has gazed attentively at some obscure lieutenant, presented but just before ... next day it is reported that he has been appointed aide-de-camp to her Majesty. What that means is well known. Next day he finds himself in the special suite of rooms.... The rooms are already vacated, and everything is prepared for the new-comer. All imaginable comfort and luxury ... await him; and, on opening a drawer, he finds a hundred thousand roubles [about L20,000], the usual first gift, a foretaste of Pactolus. That evening, before the assembled court, the Empress appears, leaning familiarly on his arm, and on the stroke of ten, as she retires, the new favourite follows her" (ibid., pp. 246-249).]

[508] [After the death or murder of her husband, Peter III., Catherine Alexievna (1729-1796) (born Sophia Augusta), daughter of the Prince of Anhalt Zerbst, was solemnly crowned (September, 1762) Empress of all the Russias.]

{389}[ji] And almost died for the scarce-fledged Lanskoi.—[MS. erased.]

[509] He was the grande passion of the grande Catherine. See her Lives under the head of "Lanskoi."

[Lanskoi was a youth of as fine and interesting a figure as the imagination can paint. Of all Catherine's favourites, he was the man whom she loved the most. In 1784 he was attacked with a fever, and perished in the arms of her Majesty. When he was no more, Catherine gave herself up to the most poignant grief, and remained three months without going out of her palace of Tzarsko-selo. She afterwards raised a superb monument to his memory. (See Life of Catherine II., by W. Tooke, 1800, iii. 88, 89.)]

[510] [Ten months after the death of Lanskoi, the Empress consoled herself with Iermolof, described, by Bezborodky, as "a modest refined young man, who cultivates the society of serious people." In less than a year this excellent youth is, in turn, displaced by Dmitrief Mamonof. His petit nom was Red Coat, and, for a time, he is a "priceless creature." "He has," says Catherine, "two superb black eyes, with eyebrows outlined as one rarely sees; about the middle height, noble in manner, easy in demeanour." But Mamonof suffered from "scruples of conscience," and, after a while, with Catherine's consent and blessing, was happily married to the Princess Shtcherbatof, a maid of honour, and not, as Byron supposed, a rival "man of the moment."—See The Story of a Throne, by K. Waliszewski, 1895, ii. 135, sq.]

[511] This was written long before the suicide of that person. [For "his parts of speech" compare—

" ... that long mandarin C-stle-r-agh (whom Fum calls the Confucius of Prose) Was rehearsing a speech upon Europe's repose To the deep double bass of the fat Idol's nose."

Moore's Fum and Hum, The Two Birds of Royalty.]

{390}[512] [Compare Beppo, stanza xvii. line 8, Poetical Works, 1901, iv. 165. See, too, letter to Hoppner, December 31, 1819, Letters, 1900, iv. 393.]

[jj] Beneath his chisel— or, Beneath his touches——.—[MS. erased.]

{391}[jk] —— and bound fair Helen in a bond.—[MS. erased.]

[513] Hor., Sat., lib. i. sat. iii. lines 107, 108.

[jl] That Riddle which all read, none understand.—[MS. erased.]

[jm]—— thou Sea which lavest Life's sand.—[MS. erased.]

{392}[514] ["Fortune and victory sit on thy helm."—Richard III., act v, sc. 3, line 79.]

[515] ["Catherine had been handsome in her youth, and she preserved a gracefulness and majesty to the last period of her life. She was of a moderate stature, but well proportioned; and as she carried her head very high, she appeared rather tall. She had an open front, an aquiline nose, an agreeable mouth, and her chin, though long, was not mis-shapen. Her hair was auburn, her eyebrows black and rather thick, and her blue eyes had a gentleness which was often affected, but oftener still a mixture of pride. Her physiognomy was not deficient in expression; but this expression never discovered what was passing in the soul of Catherine, or rather it served her the better to disguise it."—Life of Catherine II., by W. Tooke, in. 381 (translated from Vie de Catherine II. (J.H. Castera), 1797, ii. 450).]

{393}[516] ["His fortune swells him: 'Tis rank, he's married."—Sir Giles Overreach, in Massinger's New Way to pay Old Debts, act v. sc. 1.]

{394}[517] [Hamlet, act iii. sc. iv. lines 58, 59.]

{395}[518]

["Not Caesar's empress would I deign to prove; No! make me mistress to the man I love."

Pope, Eloisa to Abelard, lines 87, 88.]

[jn] O'er whom an Empress her Crown-jewels scattering Was wed with something better than a ring.—[MS. erased.]

[519] ["Several persons who lived at the court affirm that Catherine had very blue eyes, and not brown, as M. Rulhieres has stated."—Life of Catherine II., by W. Tooke, 1800, iii. 382.]

{396}[520] [The historic Catherine (aet. 62) was past her meridian in the spring of 1791.]

[jo] Her figure, and her vigour, and her rigour.—[MS. erased.]

[jp] In its sincere beginning, or dull end.—[MS. erased.]

{397}[jq] For such all women are just then, no doubt.—[MS.]

[jr] Of such sensations, in the drowsy drear After—which shadows the, say—second year.—[MS.] Of that sad heavy, drowsy, doubly drear After, which shadows the first—say, year.—[MS. erased.]