Lord Byron - Delphi Poets Series

by Lord Byron

  In kingly chambers or imperial halls,

  As also at the race and county balls.

  CIV

  He stood like Atlas, with a world of words

  About his ears, and nathless would not bend:

  The blood of all his line’s Castilian lords

  Boil’d in his veins, and rather than descend

  To stain his pedigree a thousand swords

  A thousand times of him had made an end;

  At length perceiving the “foot” could not stand,

  Baba proposed that he should kiss the hand.

  CV

  Here was an honourable compromise,

  A half-way house of diplomatic rest,

  Where they might meet in much more peaceful guise;

  And Juan now his willingness exprest

  To use all fit and proper courtesies,

  Adding, that this was commonest and best,

  For through the South the custom still commands

  The gentleman to kiss the lady’s hands.

  CVI

  And he advanced, though with but a bad grace,

  Though on more thorough-bred or fairer fingers

  No lips e’er left their transitory trace;

  On such as these the lip too fondly lingers,

  And for one kiss would fain imprint a brace,

  As you will see, if she you love shall bring hers

  In contact; and sometimes even a fair stranger’s

  An almost twelvemonth’s constancy endangers.

  CVII

  The lady eyed him o’er and o’er, and bade

  Baba retire, which he obey’d in style,

  As if well used to the retreating trade;

  And taking hints in good part all the while,

  He whisper’d Juan not to be afraid,

  And looking on him with a sort of smile,

  Took leave, with such a face of satisfaction

  As good men wear who have done a virtuous action.

  CVIII

  When he was gone, there was a sudden change:

  I know not what might be the lady’s thought,

  But o’er her bright brow flash’d a tumult strange,

  And into her dear cheek the blood was brought,

  Blood-red as sunset summer clouds which range

  The verge of Heaven; and in her large eyes wrought,

  A mixture of sensations might be scann’d,

  Of half voluptuousness and half command.

  CIX

  Her form had all the softness of her sex,

  Her features all the sweetness of the devil,

  When he put on the cherub to perplex

  Eve, and paved (God knows how) the road to evil;

  The sun himself was scarce more free from specks

  Than she from aught at which the eye could cavil;

  Yet, somehow, there was something somewhere wanting,

  As if she rather order’d than was granting.

  CX

  Something imperial, or imperious, threw

  A chain o’er all she did; that is, a chain

  Was thrown as ‘t were about the neck of you, —

  And rapture’s self will seem almost a pain

  With aught which looks like despotism in view:

  Our souls at least are free, and ‘t is in vain

  We would against them make the flesh obey —

  The spirit in the end will have its way.

  CXI

  Her very smile was haughty, though so sweet;

  Her very nod was not an inclination;

  There was a self-will even in her small feet,

  As though they were quite conscious of her station —

  They trod as upon necks; and to complete

  Her state (it is the custom of her nation),

  A poniard deck’d her girdle, as the sign

  She was a sultan’s bride (thank Heaven, not mine!).

  CXII

  “To hear and to obey” had been from birth

  The law of all around her; to fulfill

  All phantasies which yielded joy or mirth,

  Had been her slaves’ chief pleasure, as her will;

  Her blood was high, her beauty scarce of earth:

  Judge, then, if her caprices e’er stood still;

  Had she but been a Christian, I’ve a notion

  We should have found out the “perpetual motion.”

  CXIII

  Whate’er she saw and coveted was brought;

  Whate’er she did not see, if she supposed

  It might be seen, with diligence was sought,

  And when ‘t was found straightway the bargain closed;

  There was no end unto the things she bought,

  Nor to the trouble which her fancies caused;

  Yet even her tyranny had such a grace,

  The women pardon’d all except her face.

  CXIV

  Juan, the latest of her whims, had caught

  Her eye in passing on his way to sale;

  She order’d him directly to be bought,

  And Baba, who had ne’er been known to fail

  In any kind of mischief to be wrought,

  At all such auctions knew how to prevail:

  She had no prudence, but he had; and this

  Explains the garb which Juan took amiss.

  CXV

  His youth and features favour’d the disguise,

  And, should you ask how she, a sultan’s bride,

  Could risk or compass such strange phantasies,

  This I must leave sultanas to decide:

  Emperors are only husbands in wives’ eyes,

  And kings and consorts oft are mystified,

  As we may ascertain with due precision,

  Some by experience, others by tradition.

  CXVI

  But to the main point, where we have been tending: —

  She now conceived all difficulties past,

  And deem’d herself extremely condescending

  When, being made her property at last,

  Without more preface, in her blue eyes blending

  Passion and power, a glance on him she cast,

  And merely saying, “Christian, canst thou love?”

  Conceived that phrase was quite enough to move.

  CXVII

  And so it was, in proper time and place;

  But Juan, who had still his mind o’erflowing

  With Haidée’s isle and soft Ionian face,

  Felt the warm blood, which in his face was glowing,

  Rush back upon his heart, which fill’d apace,

  And left his cheeks as pale as snowdrops blowing;

  These words went through his soul like Arab-spears,

  So that he spoke not, but burst into tears.

  CXVIII

  She was a good deal shock’d; not shock’d at tears,

  For women shed and use them at their liking;

  But there is something when man’s eye appears

  Wet, still more disagreeable and striking;

  A woman’s tear-drop melts, a man’s half sears,

  Like molten lead, as if you thrust a pike in

  His heart to force it out, for (to be shorter)

  To them ‘t is a relief, to us a torture.

  CXIX

  And she would have consoled, but knew not how:

  Having no equals, nothing which had e’er

  Infected her with sympathy till now,

  And never having dreamt what ‘t was to bear

  Aught of a serious, sorrowing kind, although

  There might arise some pouting petty care

  To cross her brow, she wonder’d how so near

  Her eyes another’s eye could shed a tear.

  CXX

  But nature teaches more than power can spoil,

  And, when a strong although a stra
nge sensation

  Moves — female hearts are such a genial soil

  For kinder feelings, whatsoe’er their nation,

  They naturally pour the “wine and oil,”

  Samaritans in every situation;

  And thus Gulbeyaz, though she knew not why,

  Felt an odd glistening moisture in her eye.

  CXXI

  But tears must stop like all things else; and soon

  Juan, who for an instant had been moved

  To such a sorrow by the intrusive tone

  Of one who dared to ask if “he had loved,”

  Call’d back the stoic to his eyes, which shone

  Bright with the very weakness he reproved;

  And although sensitive to beauty, he

  Felt most indignant still at not being free.

  CXXII

  Gulbeyaz, for the first time in her days,

  Was much embarrass’d, never having met

  In all her life with aught save prayers and praise;

  And as she also risk’d her life to get

  Him whom she meant to tutor in love’s ways

  Into a comfortable tete-a-tete,

  To lose the hour would make her quite a martyr,

  And they had wasted now almost a quarter.

  CXXIII

  I also would suggest the fitting time

  To gentlemen in any such like case,

  That is to say in a meridian clime —

  With us there is more law given to the chase,

  But here a small delay forms a great crime:

  So recollect that the extremest grace

  Is just two minutes for your declaration —

  A moment more would hurt your reputation.

  CXXIV

  Juan’s was good; and might have been still better,

  But he had got Haidée into his head:

  However strange, he could not yet forget her,

  Which made him seem exceedingly ill-bred.

  Gulbeyaz, who look’d on him as her debtor

  For having had him to her palace led,

  Began to blush up to the eyes, and then

  Grow deadly pale, and then blush back again.

  CXXV

  At length, in an imperial way, she laid

  Her hand on his, and bending on him eyes

  Which needed not an empire to persuade,

  Look’d into his for love, where none replies:

  Her brow grew black, but she would not upbraid,

  That being the last thing a proud woman tries;

  She rose, and pausing one chaste moment, threw

  Herself upon his breast, and there she grew.

  CXXVI

  This was an awkward test, as Juan found,

  But he was steel’d by sorrow, wrath, and pride:

  With gentle force her white arms he unwound,

  And seated her all drooping by his side,

  Then rising haughtily he glanced around,

  And looking coldly in her face, he cried,

  “The prison’d eagle will not pair, nor I

  Serve a Sultana’s sensual phantasy.

  CXXVII

  “Thou ask’st if I can love? be this the proof

  How much I have loved — that I love not thee!

  In this vile garb, the distaff, web, and woof,

  Were fitter for me: Love is for the free!

  I am not dazzled by this splendid roof,

  Whate’er thy power, and great it seems to be;

  Heads bow, knees bend, eyes watch around a throne,

  And hands obey — our hearts are still our own.”

  CXXVIII

  This was a truth to us extremely trite;

  Not so to her, who ne’er had heard such things:

  She deem’d her least command must yield delight,

  Earth being only made for queens and kings.

  If hearts lay on the left side or the right

  She hardly knew, to such perfection brings

  Legitimacy its born votaries, when

  Aware of their due royal rights o’er men.

  CXXIX

  Besides, as has been said, she was so fair

  As even in a much humbler lot had made

  A kingdom or confusion anywhere,

  And also, as may be presumed, she laid

  Some stress on charms, which seldom are, if e’er,

  By their possessors thrown into the shade:

  She thought hers gave a double “right divine;”

  And half of that opinion’s also mine.

  CXXX

  Remember, or (if you can not) imagine,

  Ye, who have kept your chastity when young,

  While some more desperate dowager has been waging

  Love with you, and been in the dog-days stung

  By your refusal, recollect her raging!

  Or recollect all that was said or sung

  On such a subject; then suppose the face

  Of a young downright beauty in this case.

  CXXXI

  Suppose, — but you already have supposed,

  The spouse of Potiphar, the Lady Booby,

  Phaedra, and all which story has disclosed

  Of good examples; pity that so few by

  Poets and private tutors are exposed,

  To educate — ye youth of Europe — you by!

  But when you have supposed the few we know,

  You can’t suppose Gulbeyaz’ angry brow.

  CXXXII

  A tigress robb’d of young, a lioness,

  Or any interesting beast of prey,

  Are similes at hand for the distress

  Of ladies who can not have their own way;

  But though my turn will not be served with less,

  These don’t express one half what I should say:

  For what is stealing young ones, few or many,

  To cutting short their hopes of having any?

  CXXXIII

  The love of offspring’s nature’s general law,

  From tigresses and cubs to ducks and ducklings;

  There’s nothing whets the beak, or arms the claw

  Like an invasion of their babes and sucklings;

  And all who have seen a human nursery, saw

  How mothers love their children’s squalls and chucklings;

  This strong extreme effect (to tire no longer

  Your patience) shows the cause must still be stronger.

  CXXXIV

  If I said fire flash’d from Gulbeyaz’ eyes,

  ’T were nothing — for her eyes flash’d always fire;

  Or said her cheeks assumed the deepest dyes,

  I should but bring disgrace upon the dyer,

  So supernatural was her passion’s rise;

  For ne’er till now she knew a check’d desire:

  Even ye who know what a check’d woman is

  (Enough, God knows!) would much fall short of this.

  CXXXV

  Her rage was but a minute’s, and ‘t was well —

  A moment’s more had slain her; but the while

  It lasted ‘t was like a short glimpse of hell:

  Nought’s more sublime than energetic bile,

  Though horrible to see yet grand to tell,

  Like ocean warring ‘gainst a rocky isle;

  And the deep passions flashing through her form

  Made her a beautiful embodied storm.

  CXXXVI

  A vulgar tempest ‘t were to a typhoon

  To match a common fury with her rage,

  And yet she did not want to reach the moon,

  Like moderate Hotspur on the immortal page;

  Her anger pitch’d into a lower tune,

  Perhaps the fault of her soft sex and age —

  Her wish was but to “kill, kill, kill,” like Lear’s,

  And then her thi
rst of blood was quench’d in tears.

  CXXXVII

  A storm it raged, and like the storm it pass’d,

  Pass’d without words — in fact she could not speak;

  And then her sex’s shame broke in at last,

  A sentiment till then in her but weak,

  But now it flow’d in natural and fast,

  As water through an unexpected leak;

  For she felt humbled — and humiliation

  Is sometimes good for people in her station

  CXXXVIII

  It teaches them that they are flesh and blood,

  It also gently hints to them that others,

  Although of clay, are yet not quite of mud;

  That urns and pipkins are but fragile brothers,

  And works of the same pottery, bad or good,

  Though not all born of the same sires and mothers:

  It teaches — Heaven knows only what it teaches,

  But sometimes it may mend, and often reaches.

  CXXXIX

  Her first thought was to cut off Juan’s head;

  Her second, to cut only his — acquaintance;

  Her third, to ask him where he had been bred;

  Her fourth, to rally him into repentance;

  Her fifth, to call her maids and go to bed;

  Her sixth, to stab herself; her seventh, to sentence

  The lash to Baba: — but her grand resource

  Was to sit down again, and cry of course.

  CXL

  She thought to stab herself, but then she had

  The dagger close at hand, which made it awkward;

  For Eastern stays are little made to pad,

  So that a poniard pierces if ‘t is stuck hard:

  She thought of killing Juan — but, poor lad!

  Though he deserved it well for being so backward,

  The cutting off his head was not the art

  Most likely to attain her aim — his heart.

  CXLI

  Juan was moved; he had made up his mind

  To be impaled, or quarter’d as a dish

  For dogs, or to be slain with pangs refined,

  Or thrown to lions, or made baits for fish,

  And thus heroically stood resign’d,

  Rather than sin — except to his own wish:

  But all his great preparatives for dying

  Dissolved like snow before a woman crying.

  CXLII

  As through his palms Bob Acres’ valour oozed,

  So Juan’s virtue ebb’d, I know not how;

  And first he wonder’d why he had refused;

  And then, if matters could be made up now;

  And next his savage virtue he accused,

  Just as a friar may accuse his vow,

  Or as a dame repents her of her oath,

  Which mostly ends in some small breach of both.

  CXLIII

  So he began to stammer some excuses;

  But words are not enough in such a matter,