Part 30

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Something imperial, or imperious, threw A chain o’er all she did; that is, a chain Was thrown as ’twere 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 ’tis in vain We would against them make the flesh obey— The spirit in the end will have its way.

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!).

‘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.’

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 ’twas 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.

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.

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.

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

And so it was, in proper time and place; But Juan, who had still his mind o’erflowing With Haidee’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.

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 ’tis a relief, to us a torture.

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 ’twas 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.

But nature teaches more than power can spoil, And, when a strong although a strange 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.

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.

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 tête-à-tête, To lose the hour would make her quite a martyr, And they had wasted now almost a quarter.

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.

Juan’s was good; and might have been still better, But he had got Haidee 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.

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.

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.