That Inez had, ere Don Alfonso’s marriage,
Forgot with him her very prudent carriage,
67
And that still keeping up the old connexion,
Which time had lately rendered much more chaste,
She took his lady also in affection,
And certainly this course was much the best.
She flattered Julia with her sage protection
And complimented Don Alfonso’s taste;
And if she could not (who can?) silence scandal,
At least she left it a more slender handle.
68
I can’t tell whether Julia saw the affair
With other people’s eyes, or if her own
Discoveries made, but none could be aware
Of this; at least no symptom e’er was shown.
Perhaps she did not know or did not care,
Indifferent from the first or callous grown.
I’m really puzzled what to think or say,
She kept her counsel in so close a way.
69
Juan she saw and as a pretty child,
Caressed him often. Such a thing might be
Quite innocently done and harmless styled
When she had twenty years, and thirteen he;
But I am not so sure I should have smiled
When he was sixteen, Julia twenty-three.
These few short years make wondrous alterations,
Particularly amongst sunburnt nations.
70
Whate’er the cause might be, they had become
Changed, for the dame grew distant, the youth shy,
Their looks cast down, their greetings almost dumb,
And much embarrassment in either eye.
There surely will be little doubt with some
That Donna Julia knew the reason why,
But as for Juan, he had no more notion
Than he who never saw the sea of ocean.
71
Yet Julia’s very coldness still was kind,
And tremulously gentle her small hand
Withdrew itself from his, but left behind
A little pressure, thrilling and so bland
And slight, so very slight that to the mind
’Twas but a doubt; but ne’er magician’s wand
Wrought change with all Armida’s fairy art
Like what this light touch left on Juan’s heart.
72
And if she met him, though she smiled no more,
She looked a sadness sweeter than her smile,
As if her heart had deeper thoughts in store
She must not own, but cherished more the while,
For that compression in its burning core.
Even innocence itself has many a wile
And will not dare to trust itself with truth,
And love is taught hypocrisy from youth.
73
But passion most dissembles yet betrays
Even by its darkness; as the blackest sky
Foretells the heaviest tempest, it displays
Its workings through the vainly guarded eye,
And in whatever aspect it arrays
Itself,’tis still the same hypocrisy.
Coldness or anger, even disdain or hate
Are masks it often wears, and still too late.
74
Then there were sighs, the deeper for suppression,
And stolen glances, sweeter for the theft,
And burning blushes, though for no transgression,
Tremblings when met and restlessness when left.
All these are little preludes to possession,
Of which young passion cannot be bereft,
And merely tend to show how greatly love is
Embarrassed at first starting with a novice.
75
Poor Julia’s heart was in an awkward state;
She felt it going and resolved to make
The noblest efforts for herself and mate,
For honour’s, pride’s, religion’s, virtue’s sake.
Her resolutions were most truly great
And almost might have made a Tarquin quake.
She prayed the Virgin Mary for her grace,
As being the best judge of a lady’s case.
76
She vowed she never would see Juan more
And next day paid a visit to his mother
And looked extremely at the opening door,
Which by the Virgin’s grace, let in another.
Grateful she was and yet a little sore.
Again it opens, it can be no other,
’Tis surely Juan now. No, I’m afraid
That night the Virgin was no further prayed.
77
She now determined that a virtuous woman
Should rather face and overcome temptation,
That flight was base and dastardly, and no man
Should ever give her heart the least sensation,
That is to say, a thought beyond the common
Preference, that we must feel upon occasion
For people who are pleasanter than others,
But then they only seem so many brothers.
78
And even if by chance – and who can tell,
The devil’s so very sly – she should discover
That all within was not so very well,
And if still free, that such or such a lover
Might please perhaps, a virtuous wife can quell
Such thoughts and be the better when they’re over.
And if the man should ask,’tis but denial.
I recommend young ladies to make trial.
79
And then there are such things as love divine,
Bright and immaculate, unmixed and pure,
Such as the angels think so very fine,
And matrons who would be no less secure,
Platonic, perfect, ‘just such love as mine’.
Thus Julia said and thought so, to be sure.
And so I’d have her think, were I the man
On whom her reveries celestial ran.
80
Such love is innocent and may exist
Between young persons without any danger;
A hand may first, and then a lip be kist.
For my part, to such doings I’m a stranger,
But hear these freedoms form the utmost list
Of all o’er which such love may be a ranger.
If people go beyond,’tis quite a crime,
But not my fault – I tell them all in time.
81
Love then, but love within its proper limits
Was Julia’s innocent determination
In young Don Juan’s favour; and to him its
Exertion might be useful on occasion,
And lighted at too pure a shrine to dim its
Ethereal lustre. With what sweet persuasion
He might be taught by love and her together,
I really don’t know what, nor Julia either.
82
Fraught with this fine intention and well fenced
In mail of proof, her purity of soul,
She for the future of her strength convinced,
And that her honour was a rock or mole,
Exceeding sagely from that hour dispensed
With any kind of troublesome control.
But whether Julia to the task was equal
Is that which must be mentioned in the sequel.
83
Her plan she deemed both innocent and feasible,
And surely with a stripling of sixteen
Not scandal’s fangs could fix on much that’s seizable,
Or if they did so, satisfied to mean
Nothing but what was good. Her breast was peaceable;
A quiet conscience makes one so serene.
Christians have burnt each other, quite persuaded
That all the apostles would h
ave done as they did.
84
And if in the meantime her husband died,
But heaven forbid that such a thought should cross
Her brain, though in a dream, and then she sighed.
Never could she survive that common loss.
But just suppose that moment should betide,
I only say suppose it inter nos.
(This should be entre nous, for Julia thought
In French, but then the rhyme would go for nought.)
85
I only say suppose this supposition:
Juan being then grown up to man’s estate
Would fully suit a widow of condition.
Even seven years hence it would not be too late,
And in the interim (to pursue this vision)
The mischief after all could not be great,
For he would learn the rudiments of love
(I mean the seraph way of those above).
86
So much for Julia; now we’ll turn to Juan.
Poor little fellow, he had no idea
Of his own case and never hit the true one.
In feelings quick as Ovid’s Miss Medea,
He puzzled over what he found, a new one,
But not as yet imagined it could be a
Thing quite in course and not at all alarming,
Which with a little patience might grow charming.
87
Silent and pensive, idle, restless, slow,
His home deserted for the lonely wood,
Tormented with a wound he could not know,
His, like all deep grief, plunged in solitude.
I’m fond myself of solitude or so,
But then I beg it may be understood;
By solitude I mean a sultan’s, not
A hermit’s, with a harem for a grot.
88
‘Oh Love! in such a wilderness as this,
Where transport and security entwine,
Here is the empire of thy perfect bliss,
And here thou art a god indeed divine.’
The bard I quote from does not sing amiss,
With the exception of the second line,
For that same twining ‘transport and security’
Are twisted to a phrase of some obscurity.
89
The poet meant, no doubt, and thus appeals
To the good sense and senses of mankind,
The very thing which everybody feels,
As all have found on trial, or may find,
That no one likes to be disturbed at meals
Or love. I won’t say more about ‘entwined’
Or ‘transport’, as we knew all that before,
But beg ‘security’ will bolt the door.
90
Young Juan wandered by the glassy brooks
Thinking unutterable things. He threw
Himself at length within the leafy nooks
Where the wild branch of the cork forest grew.
There poets find materials for their books,
And every now and then we read them through,
So that their plan and prosody are eligible,
Unless like Wordsworth they prove unintelligible.
91
He, Juan (and not Wordsworth), so pursued
His self-communion with his own high soul
Until his mighty heart in its great mood
Had mitigated part, though not the whole
Of its disease. He did the best he could
With things not very subject to control
And turned, without perceiving his condition,
Like Coleridge into a metaphysician.
92
He thought about himself and the whole earth,
Of man the wonderful and of the stars
And how the deuce they ever could have birth,
And then he thought of earthquakes and of wars,
How many miles the moon might have in girth,
Of air balloons and of the many bars
To perfect knowledge of the boundless skies.
And then he thought of Donna Julia’s eyes.
93
In thoughts like these true wisdom may discern
Longings sublime and aspirations high,
Which some are born with, but the most part learn
To plague themselves withal, they know not why.
’Twas strange that one so young should thus concern
His brain about the action of the sky.
If you think’twas philosophy that this did,
I can’t help thinking puberty assisted.
94
He pored upon the leaves and on the flowers
And heard a voice in all the winds; and then
He thought of wood nymphs and immortal bowers,
And how the goddesses came down to men.
He missed the pathway, he forgot the hours,
And when he looked upon his watch again,
He found how much old Time had been a winner.
He also found that he had lost his dinner.
95
Sometimes he turned to gaze upon his book,
Boscán or Garcilasso. By the wind
Even as the page is rustled while we look,
So by the poesy of his own mind
Over the mystic leaf his soul was shook,
As if’twere one whereon magicians bind
Their spells and give them to the passing gale,
According to some good old woman’s tale.
96
Thus would he while his lonely hours away
Dissatisfied, nor knowing what he wanted.
Nor glowing reverie nor poet’s lay
Could yield his spirit that for which it panted,
A bosom whereon he his head might lay
And hear the heart beat with the love it granted,
With several other things, which I forget
Or which at least I need not mention yet.
97
Those lonely walks and lengthening reveries
Could not escape the gentle Julia’s eyes;
She saw that Juan was not at his ease.
But that which chiefly may, and must surprise
Is that the Donna Inez did not tease
Her only son with question or surmise;
Whether it was she did not see, or would not,
Or like all very clever people, could not.
98
This may seem strange, but yet’tis very common;
For instance, gentlemen, whose ladies take
Leave to o’erstep the written rights of woman
And break the – which commandment is’t they break?
I have forgot the number and think no man
Should rashly quote for fear of a mistake.
I say, when these same gentlemen are jealous,
They make some blunder, which their ladies tell us.
99
A real husband always is suspicious,
But still no less suspects in the wrong place,
Jealous of someone who had no such wishes,
Or pandering blindly to his own disgrace
By harbouring some dear friend extremely vicious.
The last indeed’s infallibly the case,
And when the spouse and friend are gone off wholly,
He wonders at their vice, and not his folly.
100
Thus parents also are at times shortsighted.
Though watchful as the lynx, they ne’er discover,
The while the wicked world beholds delighted,
Young Hopeful’s mistress or Miss Fanny’s lover,
Till some confounded escapade has blighted
The plan of twenty years, and all is over,
And then the mother cries, the father swears
And wonders why the devil he got heirs.
101
But Inez was so anxious and so clear
Of sight that I must thin
k on this occasion
She had some other motive much more near
For leaving Juan to this new temptation.
But what that motive was I shan’t say here;
Perhaps to finish Juan’s education,
Perhaps to open Don Alfonso’s eyes
In case he thought his wife too great a prize.
102
It was upon a day, a summer’s day –
Summer’s indeed a very dangerous season,
And so is spring about the end of May.
The sun no doubt is the prevailing reason,
But whatsoe’er the cause is, one may say
And stand convicted of more truth than treason
That there are months which Nature grows more merry in.
March has its hares, and May must have its heroine.
103
’Twas on a summer’s day, the sixth of June –
I like to be particular in dates,
Not only of the age and year, but moon.
They are a sort of post-house, where the Fates
Change horses, making history change its tune,
Then spur away o’er empires and o’er states,
Leaving at last not much besides chronology,
Excepting the post-obits of theology.
104
’Twas on the sixth of June about the hour
Of half-past six, perhaps still nearer seven,
When Julia sate within as pretty a bower
As e’er held houri in that heathenish heaven
Described by Mahomet and Anacreon Moore,
To whom the lyre and laurels have been given
With all the trophies of triumphant song.
He won them well, and may he wear them long!
105
She sate, but not alone. I know not well
How this same interview had taken place,
And even if I knew, I should not tell.
People should hold their tongues in any case,
No matter how or why the thing befell.
But there were she and Juan face to face.
When two such faces are so,’twould be wise,
But very difficult, to shut their eyes.
106
How beautiful she looked! Her conscious heart
Glowed in her cheek, and yet she felt no wrong.
Oh Love, how perfect is thy mystic art,
Strengthening the weak and trampling on the strong.
How self-deceitful is the sagest part
Of mortals whom thy lure hath led along.
The precipice she stood on was immense,
So was her creed in her own innocence.
107
She thought of her own strength and Juan’s youth
And of the folly of all prudish fears,
Victorious virtue and domestic truth,
And then of Don Alfonso’s fifty years.
I wish these last had not occurred in sooth,
Because that number rarely much endears
And through all climes, the snowy and the sunny,
Don Juan Page 9