Selected Poems (107 page)

Carved at the prow, built lightly, but compactly,

Row’d by two rowers, each call’d ‘Gondolier,’

150

It glides along the water looking blackly,

Just like a coffin clapt in a canoe,

Where none can make out what you say or do.

XX

And up and down the long canals they go,

And under the Rialto shoot along,

155

By night and day, all paces, swift or slow,

And round the theatres, a sable throng,

They wait in their dusk livery of woe, –

But not to them do woful things belong,

For sometimes they contain a deal of fun,

160

Like mourning coaches when the funeral’s done.

XXI

But to my story. – ’Twas some years ago,

It may be thirty, forty, more or less,

The carnival was at its height, and so

Were all kinds of buffoonery and dress;

165

A certain lady went to see the show,

Her real name I know not, nor can guess,

And so we’ll call her Laura, if you please,

Because it slips into my verse with ease.

XXII

She was not old, nor young, nor at the years

170

Which certain people call a ‘certain age,’

Which yet the most uncertain age appears,

Because I never heard, nor could engage

A person yet by prayers, or bribes, or tears,

To name, define by speech, or write on page,

175

The period meant precisely by that word, –

Which surely is exceedingly absurd.

XXIII

Laura was blooming still, had made the best

Of time, and time return’d the compliment,

And treated her genteelly, so that, dress’d,

180

She look’d extremely well where’er she went;

A pretty woman is a welcome guest,

And Laura’s brow a frown had rarely bent,

Indeed she shone all smiles, and seem’d to flatter

Mankind with her black eyes for looking at her.

XXIV

185

She was a married woman; ’tis convenient,

Because in Christian countries ’tis a rule

To view their little slips with eyes more lenient;

Whereas if single ladies play the fool,

(Unless within the period intervenient

190

A well-timed wedding makes the scandal cool)

I don’t know how they ever can get over it,

Except they manage never to discover it.

XXV

Her husband sail’d upon the Adriatic,

And made some voyages, too, in other seas,

195

And when he lay in quarantine for pratique

(A forty days’ precaution ’gainst disease),

His wife would mount, at times, her highest attic,

For thence she could discern the ship with ease:

He was a merchant trading to Aleppo,

200

His name Giuseppe, call’d more briefly, Beppo.

XXVI

He was a man as dusky as a Spaniard,

Sunburnt with travel, yet a portly figure;

Though colour’d, as it were, within a tanyard,

He was a person both of sense and vigour –

205

A better seaman never yet did man yard:

And
she
, although her manners show’d no rigour,

Was deem’d a woman of the strictest principle,

So much as to be thought almost invincible.

XXVII

But several years elapsed since they had met;

210

Some people thought the ship was lost, and some

That he had somehow blunder’d into debt,

And did not like the thought of steering home;

And there were several offer’d any bet,

Or that he would, or that he would not come,

215

For most men (till by losing render’d sager)

Will back their own opinions with a wager.

XXVIII

’Tis said that their last parting was pathetic,

As partings often are, or ought to be,

And their presentiment was quite prophetic

220

That they should never more each other see,

(A sort of morbid feeling, half poetic,

Which I have known occur in two or three,)

When kneeling on the shore upon her sad knee,

He left this Adriatic Ariadne.

XXIX

225

And Laura waited long, and wept a little,

And thought of wearing weeds, as well she might;

She almost lost all appetite for victual,

And could not sleep with ease alone at night;

She deem’d the window-frames and shutters brittle

230

Against a daring housebreaker or sprite,

And so she thought it prudent to connect her

With a vice-husband,
chiefly
to protect her.

XXX

She chose, (and what is there they will not choose,

If only you will but oppose their choice?)

235

Till Beppo should return from his long cruise,

And bid once more her faithful heart rejoice,

A man some women like, and yet abuse –

A coxcomb was he by the public voice;

A Count of wealth, they said, as well as quality,

240

And in his pleasures of great liberality.

XXXI

And then he was a Count, and then he knew

Music, and dancing, fiddling, French and Tuscan;

The last not easy, be it known to you,

For few Italians speak the right Etruscan.

245

He was a critic upon operas, too,

And knew all niceties of the sock and buskin;

And no Venetian audience could endure a

Song, scene, or air, when he cried ‘seccatura!’

XXXII

His ‘bravo’ was decisive, for that sound

250

Hush’d ‘Academie’ sigh’d in silent awe;

The fiddlers trembled as he look’d around,

For fear of some false note’s detected flaw.

The ‘prima donna’s’ tuneful heart would bound,

Dreading the deep damnation of his ‘bah!’

255

Soprano, basso, even the contra-alto,

Wish’d him five fathom under the Rialto.

XXXIII

He patronised the Improvisatori,

Nay, could himself extemporise some stanzas,

Wrote rhymes, sang songs, could also tell a story,

260

Sold pictures, and was skilful in the dance as

Italians can be, though in this their glory

Must surely yield the palm to that which France has;

In short, he was a perfect cavaliero,

And to his very valet seem’d a hero.

XXXIV

265

Then he was faithful too, as well as amorous;

So that no sort of female could complain,

Although they’re now and then a little clamorous,

He never put the pretty souls in pain;

His heart was one of those which most enamour us,

270

Wax to receive, and marble to retain.

He was a lover of the good old school,

Who still become more constant as they cool.

XXXV

No wonder such accomplishments should turn

A female head, however sage and steady –

275

With scarce a hope that Beppo could return,

In law he was almost as good as dead, he

Nor sent, nor wrote, nor show’d the least concern,

And she had waited several years already;

And really if a man won’t let us know

280

That he’s alive, he’s
dead
, or should be so.

XXXVI

Besides, within the Alps, to every woman,

(Although, God knows, it is a grievous sin,)

’Tis, I may say, permitted to have
two
men;

I can’t tell who first brought the custom in,

285

But ‘Cavalier Serventes’ are quite common,

And no one notices nor cares a pin;

And we may call this (not to say the worst)

A
second
marriage which corrupts the
first
.

XXXVII

The word was formerly a ‘Cicisbeo, ‘

290

But
that
is now grown vulgar and indecent;

The Spaniards call the person a ‘Cortejo,’
¹

For the same mode subsists in Spain, though recent;

In short it reaches from the Po to Teio,

And may perhaps at last be o’er the sea sent.