Amours de Voyage | Page 5

belfries above them?
Or, on a bench
as I sit and abide for long hours, till thy whole vast
Round grows dim
as in dreams to my eyes, I repeople thy niches,
Not with the Martyrs,
and Saints, and Confessors, and Virgins, and children,
But with the
mightier forms of an older, austerer worship;
And I recite to myself,
how
Eager for battle here
Stood Vulcan, here matronal Juno,
And with
the bow to his shoulder faithful
He who with pure dew laveth of
Castaly
His flowing locks, who holdeth of Lycia
The oak forest and
the wood that bore him,
Delos' and Patara's own Apollo.*
0. Hic avidus stetit Vulcanus, hic matrona Juno, et Nunquam humeris
positurus arcum; Qui rore puro Castaliae lavit Crines solutos, qui
Lyciae tenet Dumeta natalemque silvam, Delius et Patareus
Apollo.
IX. Claude to Eustace.
Yet it is pleasant, I own it, to be in their company; pleasant,
Whatever
else it may be, to abide in the feminine presence.
Pleasant, but wrong,
will you say? But this happy, serene coexistence
Is to some poor soft
souls, I fear, a necessity simple,
Meat and drink and life, and music,
filling with sweetness,
Thrilling with melody sweet, with harmonies
strange overwhelming,
All the long-silent strings of an awkward,
meaningless fabric.
Yet as for that, I could live, I believe, with
children; to have those
Pure and delicate forms encompassing,

moving about you,
This were enough, I could think; and truly with
glad resignation
Could from the dream of Romance, from the fever of
flushed adolescence,
Look to escape and subside into peaceful
avuncular functions.
Nephews and nieces! alas, for as yet I have none!
and, moreover,
Mothers are jealous, I fear me, too often, too
rightfully; fathers
Think they have title exclusive to spoiling their
own little darlings;
And by the law of the land, in despite of
Malthusian doctrine,
No sort of proper provision is made for that
most patriotic,
Most meritorious subject, the childless and bachelor
uncle.
X. Claude to Eustace.
Ye, too, marvellous Twain, that erect on the Monte Cavallo
Stand by
your rearing steeds in the grace of your motionless movement,
Stand
with your upstretched arms and tranquil regardant faces,
Stand as
instinct with life in the might of immutable manhood,--
O ye mighty
and strange, ye ancient divine ones of Hellas.
Are ye Christian too? to
convert and redeem and renew you,
Will the brief form have sufficed,
that a Pope has set up on the apex
Of the Egyptian stone that o'ertops
you, the Christian symbol?
And ye, silent, supreme in serene and
victorious marble,
Ye that encircle the walls of the stately Vatican
chambers,
Juno and Ceres, Minerva, Apollo, the Muses and Bacchus,

Ye unto whom far and near come posting the Christian pilgrims,

Ye that are ranged in the halls of the mystic Christian Pontiff,
Are ye
also baptized? are ye of the kingdom of Heaven?
Utter, O some one,
the word that shall reconcile Ancient and Modern!
Am I to turn me
from this unto thee, great Chapel of Sixtus?
XI. Claude to Eustace.
These are the facts. The uncle, the elder brother, the squire (a
Little
embarrassed, I fancy), resides in the family place in
Cornwall, of
course; 'Papa is in business,' Mary informs me;
He's a good sensible

man, whatever his trade is. The mother
Is--shall I call it fine?--herself
she would tell you refined, and
Greatly, I fear me, looks down on my
bookish and maladroit manners;
Somewhat affecteth the blue; would
talk to me often of poets;
Quotes, which I hate, Childe Harold; but
also appreciates Wordsworth;
Sometimes adventures on Schiller; and
then to religion diverges;
Questions me much about Oxford; and yet,
in her loftiest flights still
Grates the fastidious ear with the slightly
mercantile accent.
Is it contemptible, Eustace--I'm perfectly ready to think so,--
Is
it,--the horrible pleasure of pleasing inferior people?
I am ashamed of
my own self; and yet true it is, if disgraceful,
That for the first time in
life I am living and moving with freedom.
I, who never could talk to
the people I meet with my uncle,--
I, who have always failed,--I, trust
me, can suit the Trevellyns;
I, believe me,--great conquest, am liked
by the country bankers.
And I am glad to be liked, and like in return
very kindly.
So it proceeds; laissez faire, laissez aller,--such is the
watchword.
Well, I know there are thousands as pretty and hundreds
as pleasant,
Girls by the dozen as good, and girls in abundance with
polish
Higher and manners more perfect than Susan or Mary
Trevellyn.
Well, I know, after all, it is only juxtaposition,--

Juxtaposition, in short; and what is juxtaposition?
XII. Claude to Eustace.
But I am in for it now,--laissez faire, of a truth, laissez aller.
Yes, I
am going,--I feel it, I feel and cannot recall it,--
Fusing with this thing
and that, entering into all sorts of relations,
Tying I know not what
ties, which, whatever they are, I know one thing,
Will, and must, woe
is me, be one day painfully broken,--
Broken with painful remorses,
with shrinkings of soul, and relentings,
Foolish delays, more foolish
evasions, most foolish renewals.
But I have made the step,