A man of thirty, rather stout and hale,
With resolution in his dark grey eye,
Next Juan stood, till some might choose to buy.
XI
He had an English look; that is, was square
In make, of a complexion white and ruddy,
Good teeth, with curling rather dark brown hair,
And, it might be from thought, or toil, or study,
An open brow a little marked with care:
One arm had on a bandage rather bloody;
And there he stood with such sang froid, that greater
Could scarce be shown even by a mere spectator.
XII
But seeing at his elbow a mere lad,
Of a high spirit evidently, though
At present weighed down by a doom which had
O’erthrown even men, he soon began to show
A kind of blunt compassion for the sad
Lot of so young a partner in the woe,
Which for himself he seemed to deem no worse
Than any other scrape, a thing of course.
XIII
“My boy!”—said he, “amidst this motley crew
Of Georgians, Russians, Nubians, and what not,
All ragamuffins differing but in hue,
With whom it is our luck to cast our lot,
The only gentlemen seem I and you;
So let us be acquainted, as we ought:
If I could yield you any consolation,
’T would give me pleasure.—Pray, what is your nation?”
XIV
When Juan answered—“Spanish!” he replied,
“I thought, in fact, you could not be a Greek;
Those servile dogs are not so proudly eyed:
Fortune has played you here a pretty freak,
But that’s her way with all men, till they’re tried;
But never mind—she’ll turn, perhaps, next week;
She has served me also much the same as you,
Except that I have found it nothing new.”
XV
“Pray, sir,” said Juan, “if I may presume,
What brought you here?”—“Oh! nothing very rare—
Six Tartars and a drag-chain—”—“To this doom
But what conducted, if the question ’s fair,
Is that which I would learn.”—“I served for some
Months with the Russian army here and there;
And taking lately, by Suwarrow’s bidding,
A town, was ta’en myself instead of Widdin.”436
XVI
“Have you no friends?”—“I had—but, by God’s blessing,
Have not been troubled with them lately. Now
I have answered all your questions without pressing,
And you an equal courtesy should show.”
“Alas!” said Juan, “ ’twere a tale distressing,
And long besides.”—“Oh! if ’tis really so,
You’re right on both accounts to hold your tongue;
A sad tale saddens doubly when ’tis long.
XVII
“But droop not: Fortune at your time of life,
Although a female moderately fickle,
Will hardly leave you (as she’s not your wife)
For any length of days in such a pickle.
To strive, too, with our fate were such a strife
As if the corn-sheaf should oppose the sickle:
Men are the sport of circumstances, when
The circumstances seem the sport of men.”
XVIII
“ ’Tis not,” said Juan, “for my present doom
I mourn, but for the past;—I loved a maid:”—
He paused, and his dark eye grew full of gloom;
A single tear upon his eyelash staid
A moment, and then dropped; “but to resume,
’Tis not my present lot, as I have said,
Which I deplore so much; for I have borne
Hardships which have the hardiest overworn,
XIX
“On the rough deep. But this last blow—” and here
He stopped again, and turned away his face.
“Aye,” quoth his friend, “I thought it would appear
That there had been a lady in the case;
And these are things which ask a tender tear,
Such as I, too, would shed if in your place:
I cried upon my first wife’s dying day,
And also when my second ran away:
XX
“My third—”—“Your third!” quoth Juan, turning round;
“You scarcely can be thirty: have you three?”
“No—only two at present above ground:
Surely ’tis nothing wonderful to see
One person thrice in holy wedlock bound!”
“Well, then, your third,” said Juan; “what did she?
She did not run away, too—did she, sir?”
“No, faith.”—“What then?”—“I ran away from her.”
XXI
“You take things coolly, sir,” said Juan. “Why,”
Replied the other, “what can a man do?
There still are many rainbows in your sky,
But mine have vanished. All, when Life is new,
Commence with feelings warm, and prospects high;
But Time strips our illusions of their hue,
And one by one in turn, some grand mistake
Casts off its bright skin yearly like the snake.
XXII
“ ’Tis true, it gets another bright and fresh,
Or fresher, brighter; but the year gone through,
This skin must go the way, too, of all flesh,
Or sometimes only wear a week or two;—
Love’s the first net which spreads its deadly mesh;
Ambition, Avarice, Vengeance, Glory, glue
The glittering lime-twigs of our latter days,
Where still we flutter on for pence or praise.”
XXIII
“All this is very fine, and may be true,”
Said Juan; “but I really don’t see how
It betters present times with me or you.”
“No?” quoth the other; “yet you will allow
By setting things in their right point of view,
Knowledge, at least, is gained; for instance, now,
We know what slavery is, and our disasters
May teach us better to behave when masters.”
XXIV
“Would we were masters now, if but to try
Their present lessons on our Pagan friends here,”
Said Juan—swallowing a heart-burning sigh:
“Heaven help the scholar, whom his fortune sends here!”
“Perhaps we shall be one day, by and by,”
Rejoined the other, “when our bad luck mends here;
Meantime (yon old black eunuch seems to eye us)
I wish to G‑d that somebody would buy us.
XXV
“But after all, what is our present state?
’Tis bad, and may be better—all men’s lot:
Most men are slaves, none more so than the great,
To their own whims and passions, and what not;
Society itself, which should create
Kindness, destroys what little we had got:
To feel for none is the true social art
Of the world’s Stoics—men without a heart.”
XXVI
Just now a black old neutral personage
Of the third sex stepped up, and peering over
The captives seemed to mark their looks and age,
And capabilities, as to
