From them, at least, their destiny he heard,
Which was an odd one; a troop going to act
In Sicily—all singers, duly reared
In their vocation, had not been attacked
In sailing from Livorno by the pirate,
But sold by the impresario at no high rate.395
LXXXI
By one of these, the buffo396 of the party,
Juan was told about their curious case;
For although destined to the Turkish mart, he
Still kept his spirits up—at least his face;
The little fellow really looked quite hearty,
And bore him with some gaiety and grace,
Showing a much more reconciled demeanour,
Than did the prima donna and the tenor.
LXXXII
In a few words he told their hapless story,
Saying, “Our Machiavelian impresario,
Making a signal off some promontory,
Hailed a strange brig—Corpo di Caio Mario!
We were transferred on board her in a hurry,
Without a single scudo of salario;
But if the Sultan has a taste for song,
We will revive our fortunes before long.
LXXXIII
“The prima donna, though a little old,
And haggard with a dissipated life,
And subject, when the house is thin, to cold,
Has some good notes; and then the tenor’s wife,
With no great voice, is pleasing to behold;
Last carnival she made a deal of strife,
By carrying off Count Cesare Cicogna
From an old Roman Princess at Bologna.
LXXXIV
“And then there are the dancers; there’s the Nini,
With more than one profession gains by all;
Then there’s that laughing slut the Pelegrini,
She, too, was fortunate last Carnival,
And made at least five hundred good zecchini,
But spends so fast, she has not now a paul;
And then there’s the Grotesca—such a dancer!
Where men have souls or bodies she must answer.
LXXXV
“As for the figuranti,397 they are like
The rest of all that tribe; with here and there
A pretty person, which perhaps may strike—
The rest are hardly fitted for a fair;
There’s one, though tall and stiffer than a pike,
Yet has a sentimental kind of air
Which might go far, but she don’t dance with vigour—
The more’s the pity, with her face and figure.
LXXXVI
“As for the men, they are a middling set;
The musico is but a cracked old basin,
But, being qualified in one way yet,
May the seraglio do to set his face in,398
And as a servant some preferment get;
His singing I no further trust can place in:
From all the Pope399 makes yearly ’t would perplex
To find three perfect pipes of the third sex.
LXXXVII
“The tenor’s voice is spoilt by affectation;
And for the bass, the beast can only bellow—
In fact, he had no singing education,
An ignorant, noteless, timeless, tuneless fellow;
But being the prima donna’s near relation,
Who swore his voice was very rich and mellow,
They hired him, though to hear him you’d believe
An ass was practising recitative.
LXXXVIII
“ ’T would not become myself to dwell upon
My own merits, and though young—I see, Sir—you
Have got a travelled air, which speaks you one
To whom the opera is by no means new:
You’ve heard of Raucocanti?—I’m the man;
The time may come when you may hear me too;
You was400 not last year at the fair of Lugo,
But next, when I’m engaged to sing there—do go.
LXXXIX
“Our baritone I almost had forgot,
A pretty lad, but bursting with conceit;
With graceful action, science not a jot,
A voice of no great compass, and not sweet,
He always is complaining of his lot,
Forsooth, scarce fit for ballads in the street;
In lovers’ parts his passion more to breathe,
Having no heart to show, he shows his teeth.”401
XC
Here Raucocanti’s eloquent recital
Was interrupted by the pirate crew,
Who came at stated moments to invite all
The captives back to their sad berths; each threw
A rueful glance upon the waves, (which bright all
From the blue skies derived a double blue,
Dancing all free and happy in the sun,)
And then went down the hatchway one by one.
XCI
They heard next day—that in the Dardanelles,
Waiting for his Sublimity’s firman,402
The most imperative of sovereign spells,
Which everybody does without who can,
More to secure them in their naval cells,
Lady to lady, well as man to man,
Were to be chained and lotted out per couple,
For the slave market of Constantinople.
XCII
It seems when this allotment was made out,
There chanced to be an odd male, and odd female,
Who (after some discussion and some doubt,
If the soprano might be deemed to be male,
They placed him o’er the women as a scout)
Were linked together, and it happened the male
Was Juan—who, an awkward thing at his age,
Paired off with a Bacchante blooming visage.
XCIII
With Raucocanti lucklessly was chained
The tenor; these two hated with a hate
Found only on the stage, and each more pained
With this his tuneful neighbour than his fate;
Sad strife arose, for they were so cross-grained,
Instead of bearing up without debate,
That each pulled different ways with many an oath,
“Arcades ambo,” id est—blackguards both.403
XCIV
Juan’s companion was a Romagnole,
But bred within the march of old Ancona,
With eyes that looked into the very soul
(And other chief points of a bella donna),
Bright—and as black and burning as a coal;
And through her clear brunette complexion shone a
Great wish to please—a most attractive dower,
Especially when added to the power.
XCV
But all that power was wasted upon him,
For Sorrow o’er each sense held stern command;
Her eye might flash on his, but found it dim:
And though thus chained, as natural her hand
Touched his, nor that—nor any handsome limb
(And she had some not easy to withstand)
Could stir his pulse, or make his faith feel brittle;
Perhaps his recent wounds might help a little.
XCVI
No matter; we should ne’er too
