He waited and waited from mid-day to dark; But in vain-you might search through the whole of the church, Not a layman, alas! to the city's disgrace, From mid-day to dark showed his nose in the place. The pew-woman, organist, beadle, and clerk, Kept away from their work, and were dancing like mad Away in the streets with the other mad Not thinking to pray, but to guzzle and tipple How he went forth to bid them to prayer. How the grooms and lackeys jeered him. XII. Amidst this din and revelry throughout the city roaring, The silver morn rose silently, and high in heaven soaring; Prior Hyacinth was fervently upon his knees adoring: 66 Towards my precious patroness this conduct sure unfair is ; I cannot think, I must confess, what keeps the dignitaries And our good mayor away, unless some business them contraries." He puts his long white mantle on and forth the prior sallies (His pious thoughts were bent upon good deeds and not on malice): Heavens! how the banquet lights they shone about the mayor's palace! About the hall the scullions ran with meats both fresh and potted; The pages came with cup and can, all for the guests allotted; Ah, how they jeered that good fat man as up the stairs he trotted! He entered in the ante-rooms where sat the mayor's court in; He found a pack of drunken grooms a-dicing and a-sporting; The horrid wine and 'bacco fumes, they set the prior a-snorting! The prior thought he'd speak about their sins before he went hence, And lustily began to shout of sin and of repentance; The rogues, they kicked the prior out before he'd done a sentence ! And having got no portion small of buffeting and tussling, At last he reached the banquet-hall, where sat the mayor a-guzzling, And by his side his lady tall dressed out in white sprig muslin. Around the table in a ring the guests were drinking heavy; They drunk the church, and drunk the king, and the army and the navy; In fact they'd toasted every thing. The prior said "God save ye!" The mayor cried, “ Bring a silver cup—there's one upon the beaufét; And, prior, have the venison up-it's capital rechauffé. And so, Sir Priest, you've come to sup? And pray you, how's Saint Sophy ?" The prior's face quite red was grown, with horror and with anger; And the mayor, mayoress, and aldermen, being tipsie, refused to go to church. He flung the proffered goblet down-it made a hideous clangor; And 'gan a-preaching with a frown-he was a fierce haranguer. He tried the mayor and aldermen-they all set up a-jeering: He tried the common-councilmen-they too began a-sneering: He turned towards the may'ress then, and hoped to get a hearing. He knelt and seized her dinner-dress, made of the muslin snowy, "To church, to church, my sweet mistress!" he Alas, the lady-mayoress fell back as drunk as XIII. How the prior went back alone, Out from this dissolute and drunken court Went the good prior, his eyes with weeping dim: He tried the people of a meaner sort— They too, alas, were bent upon their sport, And not a single soul would follow him! But all were swigging schnaps and guzzling beer. He found the cits, their daughters, sons, and spouses, Spending the live-long night in fierce carouses: Alone he entered the cathedral gate, A dozen poor old pious men-no more. To think of those lost souls, given up to drink and The mighty outer gate well barred and fast, old bones, The old friars stirred their poor poor And pattering swiftly on the damp cold stones, They through the solitary chancel passed. The chancel walls looked black and dim and vast, And rendered, ghost-like, melancholy tones. Onward the fathers sped, till coming nigh a Which formed its chiefest ornament and grace. Here the good prior, his personal griefs and sorrows At once began to pray with voice sonorous; And passed the night in singing, praying, In honour of Sophia, that sweet virgin. And shut himself into Saint Sophia's chapel with his brethren. XIV. Leaving thus the pious priest in Let us to the walls repair. The episode of Walking by the sentry-boxes, Sneezoff was his designation, He but now Katinka quitted. Poor in purse were both, but rich in 'Tinka, maiden, tender-hearted Warm her soldier lad she wrapt in Called him "general" and "captain," "On your bosom wear this plaster, "All the night, my love, I'll miss you." He it is who calmly walks his Walk beneath the silver moon; He it is who boldly cocks his Detonating musketoon. |