He hoped, indeed he thought, he could be sure Juan had not betray'd himself; in fact 'T was certain that his conduct had been pure, Because a foolish or imprudent act Would not alone have made him insecure, But ended in his being found out and sack'd, And thrown into the sea.- Thus Baba spoke Of all save Dudu's dream, which was no joke.
This he discreetly kept in the background, And talk'd away- and might have talk'd till now, For any further answer that he found, So deep an anguish wrung Gulbeyaz' brow:
Her cheek turn'd ashes, ears rung, brain whirl'd round, As if she had received a sudden blow, And the heart's dew of pain sprang fast and chilly O'er her fair front, like Morning's on a lily.
Although she was not of the fainting sort, Baba thought she would faint, but there he err'd-It was but a convulsion, which though short Can never be described; we all have heard, And some of us have felt thus 'all amort,'
When things beyond the common have occurr'd;-Gulbeyaz proved in that brief agony What she could ne'er express- then how should I?
She stood a moment as a Pythones Stands on her tripod, agonised, and full Of inspiration gather'd from distress, When all the heart-strings like wild horses pull The heart asunder;- then, as more or lees Their speed abated or their strength grew dull, She sunk down on her seat by slow degrees, And bow'd her throbbing head o'er trembling knees.
Her face declined and was unseen; her hair Fell in long tresses like the weeping willow, Sweeping the marble underneath her chair, Or rather sofa (for it was all pillow, A low soft ottoman), and black despair Stirr'd up and down her bosom like a billow, Which rushes to some shore whose shingles check Its farther course, but must receive its wreck.
Her head hung down, and her long hair in stooping Conceal'd her features better than a veil;
And one hand o'er the ottoman lay drooping, White, waxen, and as alabaster pale:
Would that I were a painter! to be grouping All that a poet drags into detail Oh that my words were colours! but their tints May serve perhaps as outlines or slight hints.
Baba, who knew by experience when to talk And when to hold his tongue, now held it till This passion might blow o'er, nor dared to balk Gulbeyaz' taciturn or speaking will.
At length she rose up, and began to walk Slowly along the room, but silent still, And her brow clear'd, but not her troubled eye;
The wind was down, but still the sea ran high.
She stopp'd, and raised her head to speak- but paused, And then moved on again with rapid pace;
Then slacken'd it, which is the march most caused By deep emotion:- you may sometimes trace A feeling in each footstep, as disclosed By Sallust in his Catiline, who, chased By all the demons of all passions, show'd Their work even by the way in which he trode.
Gulbeyaz stopp'd and beckon'd Baba:- 'Slave!
Bring the two slaves!' she said in a low tone, But one which Baba did not like to brave, And yet he shudder'd, and seem'd rather prone To prove reluctant, and begg'd leave to crave (Though he well knew the meaning) to be shown What slaves her highness wish'd to indicate, For fear of any error, like the late.
'The Georgian and her paramour,' replied The imperial bride- and added, 'Let the boat Be ready by the secret portal's side:
You know the rest.' The words stuck in her throat, Despite her injured love and fiery pride;
And of this Baba willingly took note, And begg'd by every hair of Mahomet's beard, She would revoke the order he had heard.
'To hear is to obey,' he said; 'but still, Sultana, think upon the consequence:
It is not that I shall not all fulfil Your orders, even in their severest sense;
But such precipitation may end ill, Even at your own imperative expense:
I do not mean destruction and exposure, In case of any premature disclosure;
'But your own feelings. Even should all the rest Be hidden by the rolling waves, which hide Already many a once love-beaten breast Deep in the caverns of the deadly tide-You love this boyish, new, seraglio guest, And if this violent remedy be tried-Excuse my freedom, when I here assure you, That killing him is not the way to cure you.'
'What dost thou know of love or feeling?- Wretch!
Begone!' she cried, with kindling eyes- 'and do My bidding!' Baba vanish'd, for to stretch His own remonstrance further he well knew Might end in acting as his own 'Jack Ketch;'
And though he wish'd extremely to get through This awkward business without harm to others, He still preferr'd his own neck to another's.
Away he went then upon his commission, Growling and grumbling in good Turkish phrase Against all women of whate'er condition, Especially sultanas and their ways;
Their obstinacy, pride, and indecision, Their never knowing their own mind two days, The trouble that they gave, their immorality, Which made him daily bless his own neutrality.
And then he call'd his brethren to his aid, And sent one on a summons to the pair, That they must instantly be well array'd, And above all be comb'd even to a hair, And brought before the empress, who had made Inquiries after them with kindest care:
At which Dudu look'd strange, and Juan silly;
But go they must at once, and will I- nill I.
And here I leave them at their preparation For the imperial presence, wherein whether Gulbeyaz show'd them both commiseration, Or got rid of the parties altogether, Like other angry ladies of her nation,-Are things the turning of a hair or feather May settle; but far be 't from me to anticipate In what way feminine caprice may dissipate.
I leave them for the present with good wishes, Though doubts of their well doing, to arrange Another part of history; for the dishes Of this our banquet we must sometimes change;
And trusting Juan may escape the fishes, Although his situation now seems strange And scarce secure, as such digressions are fair, The Muse will take a little touch at warfare.
