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IV. MISCELLANEOUSTELEMACHUS VERSUS MENTOR
Don`t mind me, I beg you, old fellow,--I`ll do very well here alone;
You must not be kept from your "German" because I`ve dropped in like
a stone.
Leave all ceremony behind you, leave all thought of aught but
yourself;
And leave, if you like, the Madeira, and a dozen cigars on the shelf. As for me, you will say to your hostess--well, I scarcely need give
you a cue.
Chant my praise! All will list to Apollo, though Mercury pipe to a
few.
Say just what you please, my dear boy; there`s more eloquence lies
in youth`s rash
Outspoken heart-impulse than ever growled under this grizzling
mustache. Go, don the dress coat of our tyrant,--youth`s panoplied armor for
fight,--
And tie the white neckcloth that rumples, like pleasure, and lasts
but a night;
And pray the Nine Gods to avert you what time the Three Sisters
shall frown,
And you`ll lose your high-comedy figure, and sit more at ease in
your gown. He`s off! There`s his foot on the staircase. By Jove, what a bound!
Really now
Did I ever leap like this springald, with Love`s chaplet green on my
brow?
Was I such an ass? No, I fancy. Indeed, I remember quite plain
A gravity mixed with my transports, a cheerfulness softened my pain. He`s gone! There`s the slam of his cab door, there`s the clatter
of hoofs and the wheels;
And while he the light toe is tripping, in this armchair I`ll tilt
up my heels.
He`s gone, and for what? For a tremor from a waist like a teetotum
spun;
For a rosebud that`s crumpled by many before it is gathered by one. Is there naught in the halo of youth but the glow of a passionate
race--`Midst the cheers and applause of a crowd--to the goal of a
beautiful face?
A race that is not to the swift, a prize that no merits enforce,
But is won by some faineant youth, who shall simply walk over the
course? Poor boy! shall I shock his conceit? When he talks of her cheek`s
loveliness,
Shall I say `twas the air of the room, and was due to carbonic excess?
That when waltzing she drooped on his breast, and the veins of her
eyelids grew dim,
`Twas oxygen`s absence she felt, but never the presence of him? Shall I tell him first love is a fraud, a weakling that`s strangled
in birth,
Recalled with perfunctory tears, but lost in unsanctified mirth?
Or shall I go bid him believe in all womankind`s charm, and forget
In the light ringing laugh of the world the rattlesnake`s gay
castanet? Shall I tear out a leaf from my heart, from that book that forever
is shut
On the past? Shall I speak of my first love--Augusta--my Lalage?
But
I forget. Was it really Augusta? No. `Twas Lucy! No. Mary!
No. Di!
Never mind! they were all first and faithless, and yet--I`ve forgotten
just why. No, no! Let him dream on and ever. Alas! he will waken too soon;
And it doesn`t look well for October to always be preaching at June.
Poor boy! All his fond foolish trophies pinned yonder--a bow from
HER hair,
A few billets-doux, invitations, and--what`s this? My name, I
declare! Humph! "You`ll come, for I`ve got you a prize, with beauty and money
no end:
You know her, I think; `twas on dit she once was engaged to your
friend;
But she says that`s all over." Ah, is it? Sweet Ethel! incomparable
maid!
Or--what if the thing were a trick?--this letter so freely displayed!-- My opportune presence! No! nonsense! Will nobody answer the bell?
Call a cab! Half past ten. Not too late yet. Oh, Ethel! Why don`t
you go? Well?
"Master said you would wait"-- Hang your master! "Have I ever a
message to send?"
Yes, tell him I`ve gone to the German to dance with the friend of
his friend.
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