Looked more adapted to be put to bed,
Being somewhat large, and languishing, and lazy,
Yet of a beauty that would drive you crazy.
XLII
A kind of sleepy Venus seemed Dudù,
Yet very fit to “murder sleep”553 in those
Who gazed upon her cheek’s transcendent hue,
Her Attic forehead, and her Phidian nose:
Few angles were there in her form, ’tis true,
Thinner she might have been, and yet scarce lose;
Yet, after all, ’t would puzzle to say where
It would not spoil some separate charm to pare.
XLIII
She was not violently lively, but
Stole on your spirit like a May-day breaking;
Her eyes were not too sparkling, yet, half-shut,
They put beholders in a tender taking;
She looked (this simile’s quite new) just cut
From marble, like Pygmalion’s statue waking,
The mortal and the marble still at strife,
And timidly expanding into Life.
XLIV
Lolah demanded the new damsel’s name—
“Juanna.”—Well, a pretty name enough.
Katinka asked her also whence she came—
“From Spain.”—“But where is Spain?”—“Don’t ask such stuff,
Nor show your Georgian ignorance—for shame!”
Said Lolah, with an accent rather rough,
To poor Katinka: “Spain’s an island near
Morocco, betwixt Egypt and Tangier.”
XLV
Dudù said nothing, but sat down beside
Juanna, playing with her veil or hair;
And, looking at her steadfastly, she sighed,
As if she pitied her for being there,
A pretty stranger without friend or guide,
And all abashed, too, at the general stare
Which welcomes hapless strangers in all places,
With kind remarks upon their mien and faces.
XLVI
But here the Mother of the Maids drew near,
With “Ladies, it is time to go to rest.
I’m puzzled what to do with you, my dear!”
She added to Juanna, their new guest:
“Your coming has been unexpected here,
And every couch is occupied; you had best
Partake of mine; but by to-morrow early
We will have all things settled for you fairly.”
XLVII
Here Lolah interposed—“Mamma, you know
You don’t sleep soundly, and I cannot bear
That anybody should disturb you so;
I’ll take Juanna; we’re a slenderer pair
Than you would make the half of;—don’t say no;
And I of your young charge will take due care.”
But here Katinka interfered, and said,
“She also had compassion and a bed.”
XLVIII
“Besides, I hate to sleep alone,” quoth she.
The matron frowned: “Why so?”—“For fear of ghosts,”
Replied Katinka; “I am sure I see
A phantom upon each of the four posts;
And then I have the worst dreams that can be,
Of Guebres, Giaours, and Ginns, and Gouls in hosts.”
The dame replied, “Between your dreams and you,
I fear Juanna’s dreams would be but few.
XLIX
“You, Lolah, must continue still to lie
Alone, for reasons which don’t matter; you
The same, Katinka, until by and by:
And I shall place Juanna with Dudù,
Who’s quiet, inoffensive, silent, shy,
And will not toss and chatter the night through.
What say you, child?”—Dudù said nothing, as
Her talents were of the more silent class;
L
But she rose up, and kissed the matron’s brow
Between the eyes, and Lolah on both cheeks,
Katinka too; and with a gentle bow
(Curt’sies are neither used by Turks nor Greeks)
She took Juanna by the hand to show
Their place of rest, and left to both their piques,
The others pouting at the matron’s preference
Of Dudù, though they held their tongues from deference.
LI
It was a spacious chamber (Oda is
The Turkish title), and ranged round the wall
Were couches, toilets—and much more than this
I might describe, as I have seen it all,
But it suffices—little was amiss;
’Twas on the whole a nobly furnished hall,
With all things ladies want, save one or two,
And even those were nearer than they knew.
LII
Dudù, as has been said, was a sweet creature,
Not very dashing, but extremely winning,
With the most regulated charms of feature,
Which painters cannot catch like faces sinning
Against proportion—the wild strokes of nature
Which they hit off at once in the beginning,
Full of expression, right or wrong, that strike,
And pleasing, or unpleasing, still are like.
LIII
But she was a soft landscape of mild earth,
Where all was harmony, and calm, and quiet,
Luxuriant, budding; cheerful without mirth,
Which, if not happiness, is much more nigh it
Than are your mighty passions and so forth,
Which, some call “the Sublime:” I wish they’d try it:
I’ve seen your stormy seas and stormy women,
And pity lovers rather more than seamen.
LIV
But she was pensive more than melancholy,
And serious more than pensive, and serene,
It may be, more than either—not unholy
Her thoughts, at least till now, appear to have been.
The strangest thing was, beauteous, she was wholly
Unconscious, albeit turned of quick seventeen,
That she was fair, or dark, or short, or tall;
She never thought about herself at all.
LV
And therefore was she kind and gentle as
The Age of Gold (when gold was yet unknown,
By which its nomenclature came to pass;554
Thus most appropriately has been shown
“Lucus à non lucendo,” not what was,
But what was not; a sort of style that’s grown
Extremely common in this age, whose metal
The Devil may decompose, but never settle:555
LVI
I think it may be of “Corinthian Brass,”556
Which was a mixture of all metals, but
The brazen uppermost). Kind reader! pass
This long parenthesis: I could not shut
It sooner for the soul of me, and class
My faults even with your own! which meaneth, Put
A kind construction upon them and me:
But that you won’t—then don’t—I am not less free.
LVII
’Tis time we should return to plain narration,
And thus my narrative proceeds:—Dudù,
With every kindness short of ostentation,
Showed Juan, or Juanna, through and through
This labyrinth of females, and each station
Described—what’s strange—in words extremely few:
I have but one simile, and that’s a blunder,
For wordless woman, which is silent thunder.557
LVIII
And next she gave her (I say her, because
The gender still was epicene, at least
In outward show, which is a saving
