Don Juan Part 2

Her eye (I 'm very fond of handsome eyes) Was large and dark, suppressing half its fire Until she spoke, then through its soft disguise Flash'd an expression more of pride than ire, And love than either; and there would arise A something in them which was not desire, But would have been, perhaps, but for the soul Which struggled through and chasten'd down the whole.

Her glossy hair was cl.u.s.ter'd o'er a brow Bright with intelligence, and fair, and smooth; Her eyebrow's shape was like th' aerial bow, Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth, Mounting at times to a transparent glow, As if her veins ran lightning; she, in sooth, Possess'd an air and grace by no means common: Her stature tall--I hate a dumpy woman.

Wedded she was some years, and to a man Of fifty, and such husbands are in plenty; And yet, I think, instead of such a ONE 'T were better to have TWO of five-and-twenty, Especially in countries near the sun: And now I think on 't, 'mi vien in mente,'

Ladies even of the most uneasy virtue Prefer a spouse whose age is short of thirty.

'T is a sad thing, I cannot choose but say, And all the fault of that indecent sun, Who cannot leave alone our helpless clay, But will keep baking, broiling, burning on, That howsoever people fast and pray, The flesh is frail, and so the soul undone: What men call gallantry, and G.o.ds adultery, Is much more common where the climate 's sultry.

Happy the nations of the moral North!

Where all is virtue, and the winter season Sends sin, without a rag on, s.h.i.+vering forth ('T was snow that brought St. Anthony to reason); Where juries cast up what a wife is worth, By laying whate'er sum in mulct they please on The lover, who must pay a handsome price, Because it is a marketable vice.

Alfonso was the name of Julia's lord, A man well looking for his years, and who Was neither much beloved nor yet abhorr'd: They lived together, as most people do, Suffering each other's foibles by accord, And not exactly either one or two; Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.

Julia was--yet I never could see why-- With Donna Inez quite a favourite friend; Between their tastes there was small sympathy, For not a line had Julia ever penn'd: Some people whisper but no doubt they lie, For malice still imputes some private end, That Inez had, ere Don Alfonso's marriage, Forgot with him her very prudent carriage;

And that still keeping up the old connection, Which time had lately render'd much more chaste, She took his lady also in affection, And certainly this course was much the best: She flatter'd 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.

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.

Juan she saw, and, as a pretty child, Caress'd 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 sun-burnt nations.

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 embarra.s.sment 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.

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 'T was 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.

And if she met him, though she smiled no more, She look'd a sadness sweeter than her smile, As if her heart had deeper thoughts in store She must not own, but cherish'd 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.

But pa.s.sion 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, 't is still the same hypocrisy; Coldness or anger, even disdain or hate, Are masks it often wears, and still too late.

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 pa.s.sion cannot be bereft, And merely tend to show how greatly love is Embarra.s.s'd at first starting with a novice.

Poor Julia's heart was in an awkward state; She felt it going, and resolved to make The n.o.blest 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 pray'd the Virgin Mary for her grace, As being the best judge of a lady's case.

She vow'd she never would see Juan more, And next day paid a visit to his mother, And look'd 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, 'T is surely Juan now--No! I 'm afraid That night the Virgin was no further pray'd.

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.

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, 't is but denial: I recommend young ladies to make trial.

And then there are such things as love divine, Bright and immaculate, unmix'd 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.

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, 't is quite a crime, But not my fault--I tell them all in time.

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 l.u.s.tre, with what sweet persuasion He might be taught, by love and her together-- I really don't know what, nor Julia either.

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 mention'd in the sequel.

Her plan she deem'd 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 have done as they did.

And if in the mean time her husband died, But Heaven forbid that such a thought should cross Her brain, though in a dream! (and then she sigh'd) 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 naught.)

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.

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 Thing quite in course, and not at all alarming, Which, with a little patience, might grow charming.

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 haram for a grot.

'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 G.o.d 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.

The poet meant, no doubt, and thus appeals To the good sense and senses of mankind, The very thing which every body feels, As all have found on trial, or may find, That no one likes to be disturb'd 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.

Young Juan wander'd by the gla.s.sy 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.

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 turn'd, without perceiving his condition, Like Coleridge, into a metaphysician.

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.

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: 'T was strange that one so young should thus concern His brain about the action of the sky; If you think 't was philosophy that this did, I can't help thinking p.u.b.erty a.s.sisted.

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 G.o.ddesses came down to men: He miss'd the pathway, he forgot the hours, And when he look'd upon his watch again, He found how much old Time had been a winner-- He also found that he had lost his dinner.

Sometimes he turn'd to gaze upon his book, Boscan, or Garcila.s.so;--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 't were one whereon magicians bind Their spells, and give them to the pa.s.sing gale, According to some good old woman's tale.

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.

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.

This may seem strange, but yet 't is 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.

A real husband always is suspicious, But still no less suspects in the wrong place, Jealous of some one 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.

Thus parents also are at times short-sighted; Though watchful as the lynx, they ne'er discover, The while the wicked world beholds delighted, Young Hopeful's mistress, or Miss f.a.n.n.y'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.

But Inez was so anxious, and so clear Of sight, that I must think, on this occasion, She had some other motive much more near For leaving Juan to this new temptation; But what that motive was, I sha'n'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.

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.