Don Juan By Lord Byron Canto IX

Juan was none of these, but slight and slim,
  Blushing and beardless; and yet ne'ertheless
There was a something in his turn of limb,
  And still more in his eye, which seem'd to express,
That though he look'd one of the seraphim,
  There lurk'd a man beneath the spirit's dress.
Besides, the empress sometimes liked a boy,
And had just buried the fair-faced Lanskoi.

No wonder then that Yermoloff, or Momonoff,
  Or Scherbatoff, or any other off
Or on, might dread her majesty had not room enough
  Within her bosom (which was not too tough)
For a new flame; a thought to cast of gloom enough
  Along the aspect, whether smooth or rough,
Of him who, in the language of his station,
Then held that 'high official situation.'

O, gentle ladies! should you seek to know
  The import of this diplomatic phrase,
Bid Ireland's Londonderry's Marquess show
  His parts of speech; and in the strange displays
Of that odd string of words, all in a row,
  Which none divine, and every one obeys,
Perhaps you may pick out some queer no meaning,
Of that weak wordy harvest the sole gleaning.

I think I can explain myself without
  That sad inexplicable beast of prey —
That Sphinx, whose words would ever be a doubt,
  Did not his deeds unriddle them each day —
That monstrous hieroglyphic — that long spout
  Of blood and water, leaden Castlereagh!
And here I must an anecdote relate,
But luckily of no great length or weight.

An English lady ask'd of an Italian,
  What were the actual and official duties
Of the strange thing some women set a value on,
  Which hovers oft about some married beauties,
Called 'Cavalier servente?' — a Pygmalion
  Whose statues warm (I fear, alas! too true 't is)
Beneath his art. The dame, press'd to disclose them,
Said — 'Lady, I beseech you to suppose them.'

And thus I supplicate your supposition,
  And mildest, matron-like interpretation,
Of the imperial favourite's condition.
  'T was a high place, the highest in the nation
In fact, if not in rank; and the suspicion
  Of any one's attaining to his station,
No doubt gave pain, where each new pair of shoulders,
If rather broad, made stocks rise and their holders.

Juan, I said, was a most beauteous boy,
  And had retain'd his boyish look beyond
The usual hirsute seasons which destroy,
  With beards and whiskers, and the like, the fond
Parisian aspect which upset old Troy
  And founded Doctors' Commons: — I have conn'd
The history of divorces, which, though chequer'd,
Calls Ilion's the first damages on record.

And Catherine, who loved all things (save her lord,
  Who was gone to his place), and pass'd for much
Admiring those (by dainty dames abhorr'd)
  Gigantic gentlemen, yet had a touch
Of sentiment; and he she most adored
  Was the lamented Lanskoi, who was such
A lover as had cost her many a tear,
And yet but made a middling grenadier.

O thou 'teterrima causa' of all 'belli'-
  Thou gate of life and death — thou nondescript!
Whence is our exit and our entrance, — well I
  May pause in pondering how all souls are dipt
In thy perennial fountain: — how man fell I
  Know not, since knowledge saw her branches stript
Of her first fruit; but how he falls and rises
Since, thou hast settled beyond all surmises.

Some call thee 'the worst cause of war,' but I
  Maintain thou art the best: for after all
From thee we come, to thee we go, and why
  To get at thee not batter down a wall,
Or waste a world? since no one can deny
  Thou dost replenish worlds both great and small:
With, or without thee, all things at a stand
Are, or would be, thou sea of life's dry land!

Catherine, who was the grand epitome
  Of that great cause of war, or peace, or what
You please (it causes all the things which be,
  So you may take your choice of this or that) —
Catherine, I say, was very glad to see
  The handsome herald, on whose plumage sat
Victory; and pausing as she saw him kneel
With his despatch, forgot to break the seal.

Then recollecting the whole empress, nor
  forgetting quite the woman (which composed
At least three parts of this great whole), she tore
  The letter open with an air which posed
The court, that watch'd each look her visage wore,
  Until a royal smile at length disclosed
Fair weather for the day. Though rather spacious,
Her face was noble, her eyes fine, mouth gracious.

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