Now here I’ve got the preacher at a dead lock.
XXXVI
Because he either meant to sneer at Harmony
Or Marriage, by divorcing them thus oddly.
But whether reverend Rapp learned this in Germany
Or no, ’tis said his sect is rich and godly,
Pious and pure, beyond what I can term any
Of ours, although they propagate more broadly.
My objection’s to his title, not his ritual.
Although I wonder how it grew habitual.1131
XXXVII
But Rapp is the reverse of zealous matrons,
Who favour, malgré Malthus, Generation—
Professors of that genial art, and patrons
Of all the modest part of Propagation;
Which after all at such a desperate rate runs,
That half its produce tends to Emigration,
That sad result of passions and potatoes—
Two weeds which pose our economic Catos.
XXXVIII
Had Adeline read Malthus? I can’t tell;
I wish she had: his book’s the eleventh commandment,
Which says, “Thou shall not marry,” unless well:
This he (as far as I can understand) meant.
’Tis not my purpose on his views to dwell,
Nor canvass what “so eminent a hand” meant;1132
But, certes, it conducts to lives ascetic,
Or turning Marriage into Arithmetic.
XXXIX
But Adeline, who probably presumed
That Juan had enough of maintenance,
Or separate maintenance, in case ’twas doomed—
As on the whole it is an even chance
That bridegrooms, after they are fairly groomed,
May retrograde a little in the Dance
Of Marriage—(which might form a painter’s fame,
Like Holbein’s “Dance of Death”1133—but ’tis the same)—
XL
But Adeline determined Juan’s wedding
In her own mind, and that’s enough for Woman:
But then, with whom? There was the sage Miss Reading,
Miss Raw, Miss Flaw, Miss Showman, and Miss Knowman,1134
And the two fair co-heiresses Giltbedding.
She deemed his merits something more than common:
All these were unobjectionable matches,
And might go on, if well wound up, like watches.
XLI
There was Miss Millpond, smooth as summer’s sea,1135
That usual paragon, an only daughter,
Who seemed the cream of Equanimity,
Till skimmed—and then there was some milk and water,
With a slight shade of blue too, it might be,
Beneath the surface; but what did it matter?
Love’s riotous, but Marriage should have quiet,
And being consumptive, live on a milk diet.
XLII
And then there was the Miss Audacia Shoestring,
A dashing demoiselle of good estate,
Whose heart was fixed upon a star or blue string;
But whether English Dukes grew rare of late,
Or that she had not harped upon the true string,
By which such Sirens can attract our great,
She took up with some foreign younger brother,
A Russ or Turk—the one’s as good as t’ other.
XLIII
And then there was—but why should I go on,
Unless the ladies should go off?—there was
Indeed a certain fair and fairy one,
Of the best class, and better than her class—
Aurora Raby, a young star who shone
O’er Life, too sweet an image for such glass,
A lovely being, scarcely formed or moulded,
A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded;
XLIV
Rich, noble, but an orphan—left an only
Child to the care of guardians good and kind—
But still her aspect had an air so lonely;
Blood is not water; and where shall we find
Feelings of Youth like those which overthrown lie
By Death, when we are left, alas! behind,
To feel, in friendless palaces, a home
Is wanting, and our best ties in the tomb?
XLV
Early in years, and yet more infantine
In figure, she had something of Sublime
In eyes which sadly shone, as Seraphs’ shine.
All Youth—but with an aspect beyond Time;
Radiant and grave—as pitying Man’s decline;
Mournful—but mournful of another’s crime,
She looked as if she sat by Eden’s door,
And grieved for those who could return no more.
XLVI
She was a Catholic, too, sincere, austere,
As far as her own gentle heart allowed,
And deemed that fallen worship far more dear
Perhaps because ’twas fallen: her Sires were proud
Of deeds and days when they had filled the ear
Of nations, and had never bent or bowed
To novel power; and as she was the last,
She held their old faith and old feelings fast.
XLVII
She gazed upon a World she scarcely knew,
As seeking not to know it; silent, lone,
As grows a flower, thus quietly she grew,
And kept her heart serene within its zone.
There was awe in the homage which she drew;
Her Spirit seemed as seated on a throne
Apart from the surrounding world, and strong
In its own strength—most strange in one so young!
XLVIII
Now it so happened, in the catalogue
Of Adeline, Aurora was omitted,
Although her birth and wealth had given her vogue,
Beyond the charmers we have already cited;
Her beauty also seemed to form no clog
Against her being mentioned as well fitted,
By many virtues, to be worth the trouble
Of single gentlemen who would be double.
XLIX
And this omission, like that of the bust
Of Brutus at the pageant of Tiberius,1136
Made Juan wonder, as no doubt he must.
This he expressed half smiling and half serious;
When Adeline replied with some disgust,
And with an air, to say the least, imperious,
She marvelled “what he saw in such a baby
As that prim, silent, cold Aurora Raby?”
L
Juan rejoined—“She was a Catholic,
And therefore fittest, as of his persuasion;
Since he was sure his mother would fall sick,
And the Pope thunder excommunication,
If—” But here Adeline, who seemed to pique
Herself extremely on the inoculation
Of others with her own opinions, stated—
As usual—the same reason which she late did.
LI
And wherefore not? A reasonable reason,
If good, is none the worse for repetition;
If bad, the best way’s certainly to tease on,
And amplify: you lose much by concision,
Whereas insisting in or out of season
Convinces all men, even a politician;
Or—what is just the same—it wearies out.
So the end’s gained, what signifies the route?
LII
Why Adeline had this slight prejudice—
For prejudice it was—against a creature
As pure, as Sanctity itself, from
