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Don Juan, Canto 5

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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. 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 Serve a Sultana's sensual phantasy. '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.' 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. 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. 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. 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. 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? 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. 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. 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. 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 thirst of blood was quench'd in tears. 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 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. So he began to stammer some excuses; But words are not enough in such a matter, Although you borrow'd all that e'er the muses Have sung, or even a Dandy's dandiest chatter, Or all the figures Castlereagh abuses; Just as a languid smile began to flatter His peace was making, but before he ventured Further, old Baba rather briskly enter'd. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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