CLVI.

"Perhaps 't is of Antonia you are jealous, You saw that she was sleeping by my side, When you broke in upon us with your fellows: Look where you please—we've nothing, sir, to hide; Only another time, I trust, you'll tell us, Or for the sake of decency abide A moment at the door, that we may be Dressed to receive so much good company.

CLVII.

"And now, sir, I have done, and say no more; The little I have said may serve to show The guileless heart in silence may grieve o'er[af] The wrongs to whose exposure it is slow:— I leave you to your conscience as before, 'T will one day ask you why you used me so? God grant you feel not then the bitterest grief!— Antonia! where's my pocket-handkerchief?"

CLVIII.

She ceased, and turned upon her pillow; pale She lay, her dark eyes flashing through their tears, Like skies that rain and lighten; as a veil, Waved and o'ershading her wan cheek, appears Her streaming hair; the black curls strive, but fail To hide the glossy shoulder, which uprears Its snow through all;—her soft lips lie apart, And louder than her breathing beats her heart.

CLIX.

The Senhor Don Alfonso stood confused; Antonia bustled round the ransacked room, And, turning up her nose, with looks abused Her master, and his myrmidons, of whom Not one, except the attorney, was amused; He, like Achates, faithful to the tomb, So there were quarrels, cared not for the cause, Knowing they must be settled by the laws.

CLX.

With prying snub-nose, and small eyes, he stood, Following Antonia's motions here and there, With much suspicion in his attitude; For reputations he had little care; So that a suit or action were made good, Small pity had he for the young and fair, And ne'er believed in negatives, till these Were proved by competent false witnesses.

CLXI.

But Don Alfonso stood with downcast looks, And, truth to say, he made a foolish figure; When, after searching in five hundred nooks, And treating a young wife with so much rigour, He gained no point, except some self-rebukes, Added to those his lady with such vigour Had poured upon him for the last half-hour, Quick, thick, and heavy—as a thunder-shower.

CLXII.

At first he tried to hammer an excuse, To which the sole reply was tears, and sobs, And indications of hysterics, whose Prologue is always certain throes, and throbs, Gasps, and whatever else the owners choose: Alfonso saw his wife, and thought of Job's;[77] He saw too, in perspective, her relations, And then he tried to muster all his patience.

CLXIII.

He stood in act to speak, or rather stammer, But sage Antonia cut him short before The anvil of his speech received the hammer, With "Pray, sir, leave the room, and say no more, Or madam dies."—Alfonso muttered, "D—n her,"[78] But nothing else, the time of words was o'er; He cast a rueful look or two, and did, He knew not wherefore, that which he was bid.

CLXIV.

With him retired his "posse comitatus," The attorney last, who lingered near the door Reluctantly, still tarrying there as late as Antonia let him—not a little sore At this most strange and unexplained "hiatus" In Don Alfonso's facts, which just now wore An awkward look; as he revolved the case, The door was fastened in his legal face.

CLXV.

No sooner was it bolted, than—Oh Shame! Oh Sin! Oh Sorrow! and Oh Womankind! How can you do such things and keep your fame, Unless this world, and t' other too, be blind? Nothing so dear as an unfilched good name! But to proceed—for there is more behind: With much heartfelt reluctance be it said, Young Juan slipped, half-smothered, from the bed.

CLXVI.

He had been hid—I don't pretend to say How, nor can I indeed describe the where— Young, slender, and packed easily, he lay, No doubt, in little compass, round or square; But pity him I neither must nor may His suffocation by that pretty pair; 'T were better, sure, to die so, than be shut With maudlin Clarence in his Malmsey butt.[ag]

CLXVII.

And, secondly, I pity not, because He had no business to commit a sin, Forbid by heavenly, fined by human laws;— At least 't was rather early to begin, But at sixteen the conscience rarely gnaws So much as when we call our old debts in At sixty years, and draw the accompts of evil, And find a deuced balance with the Devil.[ah]

CLXVIII.

Of his position I can give no notion: 'T is written in the Hebrew Chronicle, How the physicians, leaving pill and potion, Prescribed, by way of blister, a young belle, When old King David's blood grew dull in motion, And that the medicine answered very well; Perhaps 't was in a different way applied, For David lived, but Juan nearly died.

CLXIX.

What's to be done? Alfonso will be back The moment he has sent his fools away. Antonia's skill was put upon the rack, But no device could be brought into play— And how to parry the renewed attack? Besides, it wanted but few hours of day: Antonia puzzled; Julia did not speak, But pressed her bloodless lip to Juan's cheek.

CLXX.

He turned his lip to hers, and with his hand Called back the tangles of her wandering hair; Even then their love they could not all command, And half forgot their danger and despair: Antonia's patience now was at a stand— "Come, come, 't is no time now for fooling there," She whispered, in great wrath—"I must deposit This pretty gentleman within the closet:

CLXXI.

"Pray, keep your nonsense for some luckier night— Who can have put my master in this mood? What will become on 't—I'm in such a fright, The Devil's in the urchin, and no good— Is this a time for giggling? this a plight? Why, don't you know that it may end in blood? You'll lose your life, and I shall lose my place, My mistress all, for that half-girlish face.

CLXXII.

"Had it but been for a stout cavalier[79] Of twenty-five or thirty—(come, make haste) But for a child, what piece of work is here! I really, madam, wonder at your taste— (Come, sir, get in)—my master must be near: There, for the present, at the least, he's fast, And if we can but till the morning keep Our counsel—(Juan, mind, you must not sleep.)"

CLXXIII.

Now, Don Alfonso entering, but alone, Closed the oration of the trusty maid: She loitered, and he told her to be gone, An order somewhat sullenly obeyed; However, present remedy was none, And no great good seemed answered if she staid: Regarding both with slow and sidelong view, She snuffed the candle, curtsied, and withdrew.

CLXXIV.

Alfonso paused a minute—then begun Some strange excuses for his late proceeding; He would not justify what he had done, To say the best, it was extreme ill-breeding; But there were ample reasons for it, none Of which he specified in this his pleading: His speech was a fine sample, on the whole, Of rhetoric, which the learned call "rigmarole."

CLXXV.

Julia said nought; though all the while there rose A ready answer, which at once enables A matron, who her husband's foible knows, By a few timely words to turn the tables, Which, if it does not silence, still must pose,— Even if it should comprise a pack of fables; 'T is to retort with firmness, and when he Suspects with one, do you reproach with three.

CLXXVI.

Julia, in fact, had tolerable grounds,— Alfonso's loves with Inez were well known; But whether 't was that one's own guilt confounds— But that can't be, as has been often shown, A lady with apologies abounds;— It might be that her silence sprang alone From delicacy to Don Juan's ear, To whom she knew his mother's fame was dear.

CLXXVII.

There might be one more motive, which makes two; Alfonso ne'er to Juan had alluded,— Mentioned his jealousy, but never who Had been the happy lover, he concluded, Concealed amongst his premises; 't is true, His mind the more o'er this its mystery brooded; To speak of Inez now were, one may say, Like throwing Juan in Alfonso's way.

CLXXVIII.

A hint, in tender cases, is enough; Silence is best: besides, there is a tact[80]— (That modern phrase appears to me sad stuff, But it will serve to keep my verse compact)— Which keeps, when pushed by questions rather rough, A lady always distant from the fact: The charming creatures lie with such a grace, There's nothing so becoming to the face.

CLXXIX.

They blush, and we believe them; at least I Have always done so; 't is of no great use, In any case, attempting a reply, For then their eloquence grows quite profuse; And when at length they're out of breath, they sigh, And cast their languid eyes down, and let loose A tear or two, and then we make it up; And then—and then—and then—sit down and sup.

CLXXX.

Alfonso closed his speech, and begged her pardon, Which Julia half withheld, and then half granted, And laid conditions he thought very hard on, Denying several little things he wanted: He stood like Adam lingering near his garden, With useless penitence perplexed and haunted;[ai] Beseeching she no further would refuse, When, lo! he stumbled o'er a pair of shoes.

CLXXXI.

A pair of shoes![81]—what then? not much, if they Are such as fit with ladies' feet, but these (No one can tell how much I grieve to say) Were masculine; to see them, and to seize, Was but a moment's act.—Ah! well-a-day! My teeth begin to chatter, my veins freeze! Alfonso first examined well their fashion, And then flew out into another passion.

CLXXXII.

He left the room for his relinquished sword, And Julia instant to the closet flew. "Fly, Juan, fly! for Heaven's sake—not a word— The door is open—you may yet slip through The passage you so often have explored— Here is the garden-key—Fly—fly—Adieu! Haste—haste! I hear Alfonso's hurrying feet— Day has not broke—there's no one in the street."

CLXXXIII.

None can say that this was not good advice, The only mischief was, it came too late; Of all experience 't is the usual price, A sort of income-tax laid on by fate: Juan had reached the room-door in a trice, And might have done so by the garden-gate, But met Alfonso in his dressing-gown, Who threatened death—so Juan knocked him down.

CLXXXIV.

Dire was the scuffle, and out went the light; Antonia cried out "Rape!" and Julia "Fire!" But not a servant stirred to aid the fight. Alfonso, pommelled to his heart's desire, Swore lustily he'd be revenged this night; And Juan, too, blasphemed an octave higher; His blood was up: though young, he was a Tartar, And not at all disposed to prove a martyr.

CLXXXV.

Alfonso's sword had dropped ere he could draw it, And they continued battling hand to hand, For Juan very luckily ne'er saw it; His temper not being under great command, If at that moment he had chanced to claw it, Alfonso's days had not been in the land Much longer.—Think of husbands', lovers' lives! And how ye may be doubly widows—wives!

CLXXXVI.

Alfonso grappled to detain the foe, And Juan throttled him to get away, And blood ('t was from the nose) began to flow; At last, as they more faintly wrestling lay, Juan contrived to give an awkward blow, And then his only garment quite gave way; He fled, like Joseph, leaving it; but there, I doubt, all likeness ends between the pair.

CLXXXVII.

Lights came at length, and men, and maids, who found An awkward spectacle their eyes before; Antonia in hysterics, Julia swooned, Alfonso leaning, breathless, by the door; Some half-torn drapery scattered on the ground, Some blood, and several footsteps, but no more: Juan the gate gained, turned the key about, And liking not the inside, locked the out.

CLXXXVIII.

Here ends this canto.—Need I sing, or say, How Juan, naked, favoured by the night, Who favours what she should not, found his way,[aj] And reached his home in an unseemly plight? The pleasant scandal which arose next day, The nine days' wonder which was brought to light, And how Alfonso sued for a divorce, Were in the English newspapers, of course.

CLXXXIX.

If you would like to see the whole proceedings, The depositions, and the Cause at full, The names of all the witnesses, the pleadings Of Counsel to nonsuit, or to annul, There's more than one edition, and the readings Are various, but they none of them are dull: The best is that in short-hand ta'en by Gurney,[82] Who to Madrid on purpose made a journey.[83]

CXC.

But Donna Inez, to divert the train Of one of the most circulating scandals That had for centuries been known in Spain, At least since the retirement of the Vandals, First vowed (and never had she vowed in vain) To Virgin Mary several pounds of candles; And then, by the advice of some old ladies, She sent her son to be shipped off from Cadiz.

CXCI.

She had resolved that he should travel through All European climes, by land or sea, To mend his former morals, and get new, Especially in France and Italy— (At least this is the thing most people do.) Julia was sent into a convent—she Grieved—but, perhaps, her feelings may be better[ak] Shown in the following copy of her Letter:—

CXCII.

"They tell me 't is decided you depart: 'T is wise—'t is well, but not the less a pain; I have no further claim on your young heart, Mine is the victim, and would be again: To love too much has been the only art I used;—I write in haste, and if a stain Be on this sheet, 't is not what it appears; My eyeballs burn and throb, but have no tears.

CXCIII.

"I loved, I love you, for this love have lost State, station, Heaven, Mankind's, my own esteem, And yet can not regret what it hath cost, So dear is still the memory of that dream; Yet, if I name my guilt, 't is not to boast, None can deem harshlier of me than I deem: I trace this scrawl because I cannot rest— I've nothing to reproach, or to request.

CXCIV.

"Man's love is of man's life a thing apart,[al] 'T is a Woman's whole existence; Man may range The Court, Camp, Church, the Vessel, and the Mart; Sword, Gown, Gain, Glory, offer in exchange Pride, Fame, Ambition, to fill up his heart, And few there are whom these can not estrange; Men have all these resources, We but one,[84] To love again, and be again undone."[am]

CXCV.

"You will proceed in pleasure, and in pride,[an] Beloved and loving many; all is o'er For me on earth, except some years to hide My shame and sorrow deep in my heart's core: These I could bear, but cannot cast aside The passion which still rages as before,— And so farewell—forgive me, love me—No, That word is idle now—but let it go.[ao]

CXCVI.

"My breast has been all weakness, is so yet; But still I think I can collect my mind;[ap] My blood still rushes where my spirit's set, As roll the waves before the settled wind; My heart is feminine, nor can forget— To all, except one image, madly blind; So shakes the needle, and so stands the pole, As vibrates my fond heart to my fixed soul.[aq]

CXCVII.

"I have no more to say, but linger still, And dare not set my seal upon this sheet, And yet I may as well the task fulfil, My misery can scarce be more complete; I had not lived till now, could sorrow kill; Death shuns the wretch who fain the blow would meet, And I must even survive this last adieu, And bear with life, to love and pray for you!"

CXCVIII.

This note was written upon gilt-edged paper With a neat little crow-quill, slight and new;[ar] Her small white hand could hardly reach the taper, It trembled as magnetic needles do, And yet she did not let one tear escape her; The seal a sun-flower; "Elle vous suit partout,"[85] The motto cut upon a white cornelian; The wax was superfine, its hue vermilion.

CXCIX.

This was Don Juan's earliest scrape; but whether I shall proceed with his adventures is Dependent on the public altogether; We'll see, however, what they say to this: Their favour in an author's cap's a feather, And no great mischief's done by their caprice; And if their approbation we experience, Perhaps they'll have some more about a year hence.

CC.

My poem's epic, and is meant to be Divided in twelve books; each book containing, With Love, and War, a heavy gale at sea, A list of ships, and captains, and kings reigning, New characters; the episodes are three:[as] A panoramic view of Hell's in training, After the style of Virgil and of Homer, So that my name of Epic's no misnomer.

CCI.

All these things will be specified in time, With strict regard to Aristotle's rules, The Vade Mecum of the true sublime, Which makes so many poets, and some fools: Prose poets like blank-verse, I'm fond of rhyme, Good workmen never quarrel with their tools; I've got new mythological machinery, And very handsome supernatural scenery.

CCII.

There's only one slight difference between Me and my epic brethren gone before, And here the advantage is my own, I ween (Not that I have not several merits more, But this will more peculiarly be seen); They so embellish, that 't is quite a bore Their labyrinth of fables to thread through, Whereas this story's actually true.

CCIII.

If any person doubt it, I appeal To History, Tradition, and to Facts, To newspapers, whose truth all know and feel, To plays in five, and operas in three acts;[at] All these confirm my statement a good deal, But that which more completely faith exacts Is, that myself, and several now in Seville, Saw Juan's last elopement with the Devil.

CCIV.

If ever I should condescend to prose, I'll write poetical commandments, which Shall supersede beyond all doubt all those That went before; in these I shall enrich My text with many things that no one knows, And carry precept to the highest pitch: I'll call the work "Longinus o'er a Bottle,[au] Or, Every Poet his own Aristotle."

CCV.

Thou shalt believe in Milton, Dryden, Pope; Thou shalt not set up Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey; Because the first is crazed beyond all hope, The second drunk,[86] the third so quaint and mouthy: With Crabbe it may be difficult to cope, And Campbell's Hippocrene is somewhat drouthy: Thou shalt not steal from Samuel Rogers, nor Commit—flirtation with the muse of Moore.

CCVI.

Thou shalt not covet Mr. Sotheby's Muse, His Pegasus, nor anything that's his; Thou shalt not bear false witness like "the Blues"— (There's one, at least, is very fond of this); Thou shalt not write, in short, but what I choose: This is true criticism, and you may kiss— Exactly as you please, or not,—the rod; But if you don't, I'll lay it on, by G—d!

CCVII.

If any person should presume to assert This story is not moral, first, I pray, That they will not cry out before they're hurt, Then that they'll read it o'er again, and say (But, doubtless, nobody will be so pert) That this is not a moral tale, though gay: Besides, in Canto Twelfth, I mean to show The very place where wicked people go.

CCVIII.

If, after all, there should be some so blind To their own good this warning to despise, Led by some tortuosity of mind, Not to believe my verse and their own eyes, And cry that they "the moral cannot find," I tell him, if a clergyman, he lies; Should captains the remark, or critics, make, They also lie too—under a mistake.

CCIX.

The public approbation I expect, And beg they'll take my word about the moral, Which I with their amusement will connect (So children cutting teeth receive a coral); Meantime they'll doubtless please to recollect My epical pretensions to the laurel: For fear some prudish readers should grow skittish, I've bribed my Grandmother's Review—the British.[87]

CCX.

I sent it in a letter to the Editor, Who thanked me duly by return of post— I'm for a handsome article his creditor; Yet, if my gentle Muse he please to roast, And break a promise after having made it her, Denying the receipt of what it cost, And smear his page with gall instead of honey, All I can say is—that he had the money.

CCXI.

I think that with this holy new alliance I may ensure the public, and defy All other magazines of art or science, Daily, or monthly, or three monthly; I Have not essayed to multiply their clients, Because they tell me 't were in vain to try, And that the Edinburgh Review and Quarterly Treat a dissenting author very martyrly.

CCXII.

"Non ego hoc ferrem calidus juventa Consule Planco"[88] Horace said, and so Say I; by which quotation there is meant a Hint that some six or seven good years ago (Long ere I dreamt of dating from the Brenta) I was most ready to return a blow, And would not brook at all this sort of thing In my hot youth—when George the Third was King.

CCXIII.

But now at thirty years my hair is grey— (I wonder what it will be like at forty? I thought of a peruke the other day—)[av] My heart is not much greener; and, in short, I Have squandered my whole summer while 't was May, And feel no more the spirit to retort; I Have spent my life, both interest and principal, And deem not, what I deemed—my soul invincible.

CCXIV.

No more—no more—Oh! never more on me The freshness of the heart can fall like dew, Which out of all the lovely things we see Extracts emotions beautiful and new, Hived[89] in our bosoms like the bag o' the bee. Think'st thou the honey with those objects grew? Alas! 't was not in them, but in thy power To double even the sweetness of a flower.

CCXV.

No more—no more—Oh! never more, my heart, Canst thou be my sole world, my universe! Once all in all, but now a thing apart, Thou canst not be my blessing or my curse: The illusion's gone for ever, and thou art Insensible, I trust, but none the worse, And in thy stead I've got a deal of judgment, Though Heaven knows how it ever found a lodgment.

CCXVI.

My days of love are over; me no more[90] The charms of maid, wife, and still less of widow, Can make the fool of which they made before,— In short, I must not lead the life I did do; The credulous hope of mutual minds is o'er, The copious use of claret is forbid too, So for a good old-gentlemanly vice, I think I must take up with avarice.

CCXVII.

Ambition was my idol, which was broken Before the shrines of Sorrow, and of Pleasure; And the two last have left me many a token O'er which reflection may be made at leisure: Now, like Friar Bacon's Brazen Head, I've spoken, "Time is, Time was, Time's past:"[91]—a chymic treasure Is glittering Youth, which I have spent betimes— My heart in passion, and my head on rhymes.

CCXVIII.

What is the end of Fame? 't is but to fill A certain portion of uncertain paper: Some liken it to climbing up a hill, Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour;[92] For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill, And bards burn what they call their "midnight taper," To have, when the original is dust, A name, a wretched picture and worse bust.[aw][93]

CCXIX.

What are the hopes of man? Old Egypt's King Cheops erected the first Pyramid And largest, thinking it was just the thing To keep his memory whole, and mummy hid; But somebody or other rummaging, Burglariously broke his coffin's lid: Let not a monument give you or me hopes, Since not a pinch of dust remains of Cheops.[94]

CCXX.

But I, being fond of true philosophy, Say very often to myself, "Alas! All things that have been born were born to die, And flesh (which Death mows down to hay) is grass; You've passed your youth not so unpleasantly, And if you had it o'er again—'t would pass— So thank your stars that matters are no worse, And read your Bible, sir, and mind your purse."

CCXXI.

But for the present, gentle reader! and Still gentler purchaser! the Bard—that's I— Must, with permission, shake you by the hand,[ax] And so—"your humble servant, and Good-bye!" We meet again, if we should understand Each other; and if not, I shall not try Your patience further than by this short sample— 'T were well if others followed my example.

CCXXII.

"Go, little Book, from this my solitude! I cast thee on the waters—go thy ways! And if, as I believe, thy vein be good, The World will find thee after many days."[95] When Southey's read, and Wordsworth understood, I can't help putting in my claim to praise— The four first rhymes are Southey's every line: For God's sake, reader! take them not for mine.

Nov. 1, 1818.

FOOTNOTES:

{11}[14] [Begun at Venice, September 6; finished November 1, 1818.]

[15] [The pantomime which Byron and his readers "all had seen," was an abbreviated and bowdlerized version of Shadwell's Libertine. "First produced by Mr. Garrick on the boards of Drury Lane Theatre," it was recomposed by Charles Anthony Delpini, and performed at the Royalty Theatre, in Goodman's Fields, in 1787. It was entitled Don Juan; or, The Libertine Destroyed: A Tragic Pantomimical Entertainment, In Two Acts. Music Composed by Mr. Gluck. "Scaramouch," the "Sganarelle" of Moliere's Festin de Pierre, was a favourite character of Joseph Grimaldi. He was cast for the part, in 1801, at Sadler's Wells, and, again, on a memorable occasion, November 28, 1809, at Covent Garden Theatre, when the O.P. riots were in full swing, and (see the Morning Chronicle, November 29, 1809) "there was considerable tumult in the pit." According to "Boz" (Memoirs of Joseph Grimaldi, 1846, ii. 81, 106, 107), Byron patronized Grimaldi's "benefits at Covent Garden," was repeatedly in his company, and when he left England, in 1816, "presented him with a valuable silver snuff-box." At the end of the pantomime "the Furies gather round him [Don Juan], and the Tyrant being bound in chains is hurried away and thrown into flames." The Devil is conspicuous by his absence.]

{12}[16] [Edward Vernon, Admiral (1684-1757), took Porto Bello in 1739.

William Augustus, second son of George II. (1721-1765), fought at the battles of Dettingen, 1743; Fontenoy, 1745; and at Culloden, 1746. For the "severity of the Duke of Cumberland," see Scott's Tales of a Grandfather, Prose Works, 1830, vii. 852, sq.

James Wolfe, General, born January 2, 1726, was killed at the siege of Quebec, September 13, 1759.

Edward, Lord Hawke, Admiral (1715-1781), totally defeated the French fleet in Quiberon Bay, November 20, 1759.

Ferdinand, Duke of Brunswick (1721-1792), gained the victory at Minden, August 1, 1759.

John Manners, Marquess of Granby (1721-1790), commanded the British forces in Germany (1766-1769).

John Burgoyne, General, defeated the Americans at Germantown, October 3, 1777, but surrendered to General Gates at Saratoga, October 17, 1778. He died in 1792.

Augustus, Viscount Keppel, Admiral (1725-1786), was tried by court-martial, January-February, 1779, for allowing the French fleet off Ushant to escape, July, 1778. He was honourably acquitted.

Richard, Earl Howe, Admiral (1725-1799), known by the sailors as "Black Dick," defeated the French off Ushant, June 1, 1794.]

[17] [Compare Macbeth, act iv. sc. i, line 65.]

[18] ["In the eighth and concluding lecture of Mr. Hazlitt's canons of criticism, delivered at the Surrey Institution (The English Poets, 1870, pp. 203, 204), I am accused of having 'lauded Buonaparte to the skies in the hour of his success, and then peevishly wreaking my disappointment on the god of my idolatry.' The first lines I ever wrote upon Buonaparte were the 'Ode to Napoleon,' after his abdication in 1814. All that I have ever written on that subject has been done since his decline;—I never 'met him in the hour of his success.' I have considered his character at different periods, in its strength and in its weakness: by his zealots I am accused of injustice—by his enemies as his warmest partisan, in many publications, both English and foreign.

"For the accuracy of my delineation I have high authority. A year and some months ago, I had the pleasure of seeing at Venice my friend the honourable Douglas Kinnaird. In his way through Germany, he told me that he had been honoured with a presentation to, and some interviews with, one of the nearest family connections of Napoleon (Eugene Beauharnais). During one of these, he read and translated the lines alluding to Buonaparte, in the Third Canto of Childe Harold. He informed me, that he was authorized by the illustrious personage—(still recognized as such by the Legitimacy in Europe)—to whom they were read, to say, that 'the delineation was complete,' or words to this effect. It is no puerile vanity which induces me to publish this fact;—but Mr. Hazlitt accuses my inconsistency, and infers my inaccuracy. Perhaps he will admit that, with regard to the latter, one of the most intimate family connections of the Emperor may be equally capable of deciding on the subject. I tell Mr. Hazlitt that I never flattered Napoleon on the throne, nor maligned him since his fall. I wrote what I think are the incredible antitheses of his character.

"Mr. Hazlitt accuses me further of delineating myself in Childe Harold, etc., etc. I have denied this long ago—but, even were it true, Locke tells us, that all his knowledge of human understanding was derived from studying his own mind. From Mr. Hazlitt's opinion of my poetry I do not appeal; but I request that gentleman not to insult me by imputing the basest of crimes,—viz. 'praising publicly the same man whom I wished to depreciate in his adversity:'—the first lines I ever wrote on Buonaparte were in his dispraise, in 1814,—the last, though not at all in his favour, were more impartial and discriminative, in 1818. Has he become more fortunate since 1814?" For Byron's various estimates of Napoleon's character and career, see Childe Harold, Canto III, stanza xxxvi. line 7, Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 238, note 1.]

{13}[19] [Charles Francois Duperier Dumouriez (1739-1823) defeated the Austrians at Jemappes, November 6, 1792, etc. He published his Memoires (Hamburg et Leipsic), 1794. For the spelling, see Memoirs of General Dumourier, written by himself, translated by John Fenwick. London, 1794. See, too, Lettre de Joseph Servan, Ex-ministre de la Guerre, Sur le memoire lu par M. Dumourier le 13 Juin a l'Assemblee Nationale; Bibiotheque Historique de la Revolution, "Justifications," 7, 8, 9.]

[20] [Antoine Pierre Joseph Barnave, born 1761, was appointed President of the Constituent Assembly in 1790. He was guillotined November 30, 1793.

Jean Pierre Brissot de Warville, philosopher and politician, born January 14, 1754, was one of the principal instigators of the revolt of the Champ de Mars, July, 1789. He was guillotined October 31, 1793.

Marie Jean Antoine, Marquis de Condorcet, born September 17, 1743, was appointed President of the Legislative Assembly in 1792. Proscribed by the Girondins, he poisoned himself to escape the guillotine, March 28, 1794.

Honore Gabriel Riquetti, Comte de Mirabeau, born March 9, 1749, died April 2, 1791.

Jerome Petion de Villeneuve, born 1753, Mayor of Paris in 1791, took an active part in the imprisonment of the king. In 1793 he fell under Robespierre's displeasure, and to escape proscription took refuge in the department of Calvados. In 1794 his body was found in a field, half eaten by wolves.

Jean Baptiste, Baron de Clootz (better known as Anacharsis Clootz), was born in 1755. In 1790, at the bar of the National Convention, he described himself as the "Speaker of Mankind." Being suspected by Robespierre, he was condemned to death, March 24, 1794. On the scaffold he begged to be executed last, "in order to establish certain principles." (See Carlyle's French Revolution, 1839, iii. 315.)

Georges Jacques Danton, born October 28, 1759, helped to establish the Revolutionary Tribunal, March 10, and the Committee of Public Safety, April 6, 1793; agreed to proscription of the Girondists, June, 1793; was executed with Camille Desmoulins and others, April 5, 1794.

Jean Paul Marat, born May 24, 1744, physician and man of science, proposed and carried out the wholesale massacre of September 2-5, 1792; was denounced to, but acquitted by, the Revolutionary Tribunal, May, 1793; assassinated by Charlotte Corday, July 13, 1793.

Marie Jean Paul, Marquis de La Fayette, born September 6, 1757, died May 19, 1834.

With the exception of La Fayette, who outlived Byron by ten years, and Lord St. Vincent, all "the famous persons" mentioned in stanzas ii.-iv. had passed away long before the First Canto of Don Juan was written.]

{14}[21] [Barthelemi Catherine Joubert, born April 14, 1769, distinguished himself at the engagements of Cava, Montebello, Rivoli, and in the Tyrol. He was afterwards sent to oppose Suvoroff, and was killed at Novi, August 15, 1799.

For Hoche and Marceau, vide ante, Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 296.

Jean Lannes, Duke of Montebello, born April 11, 1769, distinguished himself at Lodi, Aboukir, Acre, Austerlitz, Jena and, lastly, at Essling, where he was mortally wounded. He died May 31, 1809.

Louis Charles Antoine Desaix de Voygoux, born August 27, 1768, won the victory at the Pyramids, July 21, 1798. He was mortally wounded at Marengo, June 14, 1800.

Jean Victor Moreau, born August 11, 1763, was victorious at Engen, May 3, and at Hohenlinden, December 3, 1800. He was struck by a cannon-ball at the battle of Dresden, August 27, and died September 2, 1813.]

{15}[22] [Hor., Od., iv. c. ix. 1. 25— "Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona," etc.]

[23] [Hor., Epist. Ad Pisones, lines 148, 149— "Semper ad eventum festinat, et in medias res, Non secus ac notas, auditorem rapit—"]

[24] ["Quien no ha visto Sevilla, no ha visto maravilla."]

{16}[25] [In his reply to Blackwood (No. xxix. August, 1819), Byron somewhat disingenuously rebuts the charge that Don Juan contained "an elaborate satire on the character and manners of his wife." "If," he writes, "in a poem by no means ascertained to be my production there appears a disagreeable, casuistical, and by no means respectable female pedant, it is set down for my wife. Is there any resemblance? If there be, it is in those who make it—I can see none."—Letters, 1900, iv. 477. The allusions in stanzas xii.-xiv., and, again, in stanzas xxvii.-xxix., are, and must have been meant to be, unmistakable.]

[26] [Gregor von Feinagle, born? 1765, was the inventor of a system of mnemonics, "founded on the topical memory of the ancients," as described by Cicero and Quinctilian. He lectured, in 1811, at the Royal Institution and elsewhere. When Rogers was asked if he attended the lectures, he replied, "No; I wished to learn the Art of Forgetting" (Table-Talk of Samuel Rogers, 1856, p. 42).]

{17}[a] Little she spoke—but what she spoke was Attic all, With words and deeds in perfect unanimity.—[MS.]

[27] [Sir Samuel Romilly, born 1757, lost his wife on the 29th of October, and committed suicide on the 2nd of November, 1818.—"But there will come a day of reckoning, even if I should not live to see it. I have at least seen Romilly shivered, who was one of the assassins. When that felon or lunatic ... was doing his worst to uproot my whole family, tree, branch, and blossoms—when, after taking my retainer, he went over to them [see Letters, 1899, iii. 324]—when he was bringing desolation ... on my household gods—did he think that, in less than three years, a natural event—a severe, domestic, but an unexpected and common calamity—would lay his carcase in a cross-road, or stamp his name in a verdict of Lunacy! Did he (who in his drivelling sexagenary dotage had not the courage to survive his Nurse—for what else was a wife to him at his time of life?)—reflect or consider what my feelings must have been, when wife, and child, and sister, and name, and fame, and country, were to be my sacrifice on his legal altar,—and this at a moment when my health was declining, my fortune embarrassed, and my mind had been shaken by many kinds of disappointment—while I was yet young, and might have reformed what might be wrong in my conduct, and retrieved what was perplexing in my affairs! But the wretch is in his grave," etc.-Letter to Murray, June 7, 1819, Letters, 1900, iv. 316.]

[28] [Maria Edgeworth (1767-1849) published Castle Rackrent, etc., etc., etc., in 1800. "In 1813," says Byron, "I recollect to have met them [the Edgeworths] in the fashionable world of London.... She was a nice little unassuming 'Jeannie Deans-looking body,' as we Scotch say; and if not handsome, certainly not ill-looking" (Diary, January 19, 1821, Letters, 1901, v. 177-179).]

[29] [Sarah Trimmer (1741-1810) published, in 1782, Easy Introduction to the Study of Nature; History of the Robins (dedicated to the Princess Sophia) in 1786, etc.]

[30] [Hannah More (1745-1833) published Coelebs in Search of a Wife in 1809.]

[31] [Pope, Rape of the Lock, Canto II, line 17.]

{19}[32] [John Harrison (1693-1776), known as "Longitude" Harrison, was the inventor of watch compensation. He received, in slowly and reluctantly paid instalments, a sum of L20,000 from the Government, for producing a chronometer which should determine the longitude within half a degree. A watch which contained his latest improvements was worn by Captain Cook during his three years' circumnavigation of the globe.]

[33] "Description des vertus incomparables de l'Huile de Macassar." See the Advertisement. [An Historical, Philosophical and Practical Essay on the Human Hair, was published by Alexander Rowland, jun., in 1816. It was inscribed, "To her Royal Highness the Princess Charlotte of Wales and Cobourg."]

[b] Where all was innocence and quiet bliss.—[MS.]

[c] And so she seemed, in all outside formalities.—[MS.]

[34] ["'Zounds, an I were now by this rascal, I could brain him with his lady's fan."—I Henry IV., act ii, sc 3, lines 19, 20.]

{21}[d] Wishing each other damned, divorced, or dead.—[MS.]

[35] [According to Medwin (Conversations, 1824, p. 55), Byron "was surprised one day by a Doctor and a Lawyer almost forcing themselves at the same time into my room. I did not know," he adds, "till afterwards the real object of their visit. I thought their questions singular, frivolous, and somewhat importunate, if not impertinent: but what should I have thought, if I had known that they were sent to provide proofs of my insanity?" Lady Byron, in her Remarks on Mr. Moore's Life, etc. (Life, pp. 661-663), says that Dr. Baillie (vide post, p. 412, note 2), whom she consulted with regard to her husband's supposed insanity, "not having had access to Lord Byron, could not pronounce a positive opinion on this point." It appears, however, that another doctor, a Mr. Le Mann (see Letters, 1899, iii. 293, note 1, 295, 299, etc.), visited Byron professionally, and reported on his condition to Lady Byron. Hence, perhaps, the mention of "druggists."]

{22}[36] ["I deem it my duty to God to act as I am acting."—Letter of Lady Byron to Mrs. Leigh, February 14, 1816, Letters, 1899, iii. 311.]

[37] ["This is so very pointed."—[?Hobhouse.] "If people make application, it is their own fault."—Ḅ.—[Revise.]

[38] ["There is some doubt about this."—Ḥ "What has the 'doubt' to do with the poem? it is, at least, poetically true. Why apply everything to that absurd woman? I have no reference to living characters."—Ḅ.—[Revise.] Medwin (Conversations, 1824, p. 54) attributes the "breaking open my writing-desk" to Mrs. Charlment (i.e. Mrs. Clermont) the original of "A Sketch," Poetical Works, 1900, iii. 540-544. It is evident from Byron's reply to Hobhouse's remonstrance that Medwin did not invent this incident, but that some one, perhaps Fletcher's wife, had told him that his papers had been overhauled.]

{23}[e] First their friends tried at reconciliation.—[MS.]

[f] The lawyers recommended a divorce.—[MS.]

{24}[g] / besides was He had been ill brought up, bilious. besides being /

or, The reason was, perhaps, that he was bilious.—[MS.]

[h] / now but And we may own—since he is earth.—[MS.] laid in /

[39] ["I could have forgiven the dagger or the bowl,—any thing but the deliberate desolation piled upon me, when I stood alone upon my hearth, with my household gods shivered around me.... Do you suppose I have forgotten it? It has, comparatively swallowed up in me every other feeling, and I am only a spectator upon earth till a tenfold opportunity offers."—Letter to Moore, September 19, 1818, Letters, 1900, iv, 262, 263. Compare, too—

"I had one only fount of quiet left, And that they poisoned! My pure household gods Were shivered on my hearth, and o'er their shrine Sate grinning Ribaldry and sneering Scorn."

Marino Faliero, act iii. sc. II, lines 361-364.]

{25}[i] / litigation— Save death or so he died.—[MS.] banishment—/

{26}[40] [Compare Leigh Hunt on the illustrations to Andrew Tooke's Pantheon: "I see before me, as vividly now as ever, his Mars and Apollo ... and Venus very handsome, we thought, and not looking too modest in a 'light cymar.'"—Autobiography, 1860, p. 75.]

[j] Defending still their Iliads and Odysseys.—[MS.]

[41] See Longinus, Section 10, [Greek: "I/na me e(/n ti peri au)te
pa/thos phai/netai, pathon de sy/nodos."]

["The effect desired is that not one passion only should be seen in her, but a concourse of passions" (Longinis on the Sublime, by W. Rhys Roberts, 1899, pp. 70, 71).

The Ode alluded to is the famous [Greek: Phai/netai/ moi kenos i(/sos theisin, k.t.l.]

"Him rival to the gods I place; Him loftier yet, if loftier be, Who, Lesbia, sits before thy face, Who listens and who looks on thee."

W.E. Gladstone.

"I do not think you are quite held out by the quotation. Longinus says the circumstantial assemblage of the passions makes the sublime; he does not talk of the sublime being soaring and ample."—Ḥ "I do not care for this—it must stand."—Ḅ—[Marginal notes in Revise.]]

[42] [Bucol., Ecl. ii. "Alexis."]

{27}[k] / antique / elision Too much their bard by the —[MS.] downright / omission /

[43] Fact! There is, or was, such an edition, with all the obnoxious epigrams of Martial placed by themselves at the end.

[In the Delphin Martial (Amsterdam, 1701) the Epigrammata Obscaena are printed as an Appendix (pp. 2-56), "[Ne] quiequam desideraretur a morosis quibusdam hominibus."]

{28}[44] See his Confessions, lib. i. cap. ix.; [lib. ii. cap. ii., et passim]. By the representation which Saint Augustine gives of himself in his youth, it is easy to see that he was what we should call a rake. He avoided the school as the plague; he loved nothing but gaming and public shows; he robbed his father of everything he could find; he invented a thousand lies to escape the rod, which they were obliged to make use of to punish his irregularities.

{30}[45] [Byron's early letters are full of complaints of his mother's violent temper. See, for instance, letter to the Hon. Augusta Byron, April 23, 1805. In another letter to John M.B. Pigot, August 9, 1806, he speaks of her as "Mrs. Byron 'furiosa'" (Letters, 1898, i. 60, 101).]

[46] ["Having surrendered the last symbol of power, the unfortunate Boabdil continued on towards the Alpuxarras, that he might not behold the entrance of the Christians into his capital.... Having ascended an eminence commanding the last view of Granada, the Moors paused involuntarily to take a farewell gaze at their beloved city, which a few steps more would shut from their sight for ever.... The heart of Boabdil, softened by misfortunes, and overcharged with grief, could no longer contain itself. 'Allah achbar! God is great!' said he; but the words of resignation died upon his lips, and he burst into a flood of tears."—Chronicle of the Conquest of Granada, by Washington Irving, 1829, ii. 379-381.]

{31}[l] / silence! hush!_ _I'll tell you a secret——[MS.] which you'll hush_ /

{32}[m] Spouses from twenty years of age to thirty / strict Are most admired by women of virtue.—[MS.] staid /

[47] For the particulars of St. Anthony's recipe for hot blood in cold weather, see Mr. Alban Butler's Lives of the Saints.

["I am not sure it was not St. Francis who had the wife of snow—in that case the line must run, 'St. Francis back to reason.'"—[MS. M.]

For the seven snow-balls, of which "the greatest" was his wife, see Life of "St. Francis of Assisi" (The Golden Legend (edited by F.S. Ellis), 1900, v. 221). See, too, the Lives of the Saints, etc., by the Rev. Alban Butler, 1838, ii. 574.]

{34}[48] [The sorceress in Tasso's Gerusalemme Liberata. The story of Armida and Rinaldo forms the plot of operas by Glueck and Rossini.]

[49]Sec.35Sec. Thinking God might not understand the case.—[MS. M., Revise.]

{36}[50] ["Quel giorno piu non vi leggemmo avante." Dante, Inferno, canto v. line 138.]

{37}[51]

["Conscienzia m'assicura, La buona compagnia che l'uom francheggia Sotto l'osbergo del sentirsi pura."

Inferno, canto xxviii, lines 115-117.]

[n] Deemed that her thoughts no more required control.—[MS.]

{38}[52] [See Ovid, Metamorph., vii. 9, sq.]

{39}[53] Campbell's Gertrude of Wyoming—(I think)—the opening of Canto Second [Part III. stanza i. lines 1-4]—but quote from memory.

[54] [See Coleridge's Biographia Literaria, chap. i. (ed. 1847, i. 14, 15); and Dejection: An Ode, lines 86-93.]

{40}[o] I say this by the way—so don't look stern. But if you're angry, reader, pass it by.—[MS.]

[55] [Juan Boscan, of Barcelona (1500-1544), in concert with his friend Garcilasso, Italianized Castilian poetry. He was the author of the Leandro, a poem in blank verse, of canzoni, and sonnets after the model of Petrarch, and of The Allegory.—History of Spanish Literature, by George Ticknor, 1888, i. 513.]

[56] [Garcias Lasso or Garcilasso de la Vega (1503-1536), of a noble family at Toledo, was a warrior as well as a poet, "now seizing on the sword and now the pen." After serving with distinction in Germany, Africa, and Provence, he was killed at Muy, near Frejus, in 1536, by a stone, thrown from a tower, which fell on his head as he was leading on his battalion. He was the author of thirty-seven sonnets, five canzoni, and three pastorals.—Vide ibidem, pp. 522-535.]

{42}[p] A real wittol always is suspicious, But always also hunts in the wrong place.—[MS.]

{43}[q] Change horses every hour from night till noon.—[MS.]

[r] Except the promises of true theology.—[MS.]

[57]

["Oh, Susan! I've said, in the moments of mirth, What's devotion to thee or to me? I devoutly believe there's a heaven on earth, And believe that that heaven's in thee."

"The Catalogue," Poetical Works of the late Thomas Little, 1803, p. 128.]

{44}[s] She stood on Guilt's steep brink, in all the sense And full security of Innocence.—[MS.]

{45}[t] To leave these two young people then and there.—[MS.]

{46}[58] ["Age Xerxes.. eo usque luxuria gaudens, ut edicto praemium ei proponeret, qui novum voluptatis genus reperisset."—Val. Max, De Dictis, etc., lib. ix. cap. 1, ext. 3.]

[59] ["You certainly will be damned for all this scene."—Ḥ]

{48}[60] [Compare Childe Harold, Canto IV. stanza iii. line 2, Poetical Works, ii. 329, note 3.]

[u] Our coming, nor look brightly till we come.—[MS.]

[v] Sweet is a lawsuit to the attorney—sweet, etc.—[MS.]

[61] [So, too, Falstaff, Henry IV., act ii. sc. 2, lines 79, 80.]

{49}[w] Who've made us wait—God knows how long already, For an entailed estate, or country-seat, Wishing them not exactly damned, but dead—he Knows nought of grief, who has not so been worried— 'T is strange old people don't like to be buried.—[MS.]

[62] [Byron has not been forgotten at Harrow, though it is a bend of the Cam (Byron's Pool), not his favourite Duck Pool (now "Ducker") which bears his name.]

{50}[63] [The reference is to the metallic tractors of Benjamin Charles Perkins, which were advertised as a "cure for all disorders, Red Noses," etc. Compare English Bards, etc., lines 131, 132—

"What varied wonders tempt us as they pass! The Cow-pox, Tractors, Galvanism, and Gas."

See Poetical Works, 1898, i. 307, note 3.]

[64] [Edward Jenner (1749-1823) made his first experiments in vaccination, May 14, 1796. Napoleon caused his soldiers to be vaccinated, and imagined that the English would be gratified by his recognition of Jenner's discovery.

Sir William Congreve (1772-1828) invented "Congreve rockets" or shells in 1804. They were used with great effect at the battle of Leipzig, in 1813.]

[65] ["Mon cher ne touchez pas a la petite Verole."—Ḥ—[Revise.]]

[66] [Experiments in galvanism were made on the body of Forster the murderer, by Galvani's nephew, Professor Aldini, January and February, 1803.]

[67] ["Put out these lines, and keep the others."—Ḥ—[Revise.]]

{51}[68] [Sir Humphry Davy, P.R.S. (1778-1829), invented the safety-lamp in 1815.]

[69] [In a critique of An Account of the Empire of Marocco.... To which is added an ... account of Tombuctoo, the great Emporium of Central Africa, by James Grey Jackson, London, 1809, the reviewer comments on the author's pedantry in correcting "the common orthography of African names." "We do not," he writes, "greatly object to ... Fas for Fez, or even Timbuctoo for Tombuctoo, but Marocco for Morocco is a little too much."—Edinburgh Review, July, 1809 vol. xiv. p. 307.]

[70] [Sir John Ross (1777-1856) published A Voyage of Discovery ... for the purpose of Exploring Baffin's Bay, etc., in 1819; Sir W.E. Parry (1790-1855) published his Journal of a Voyage of Discovery to the Arctic Regions between 4th April and 18th November, 1818, in 1820.]

[x] Not only pleasure's sin, but sin's a pleasure.—[MS.]

[y] And lose in shining snow their summits blue.—[MS.]

[z] 'Twas midnight—dark and sombre was the night, etc.—[MS.]

[aa] And supper, punch, ghost-stories, and such chat.—[MS.]

[71] ["'All that, Egad,' as Bayes says" [in the Duke of Buckingham's play The Rehearsal].—Letter to Murray, September 28, 1820, Letters, 1901, v. 80.]

[72] ["Lobster-sallad, not a lobster-salad. Have you been at a London ball, and not known a Lobster-sallad?"—Ḥ—[Revise.] ]

[73] ["To-night, as Countess Guiccioli observed me poring over Don Juan, she stumbled by mere chance on the 137th stanza of the First Canto, and asked me what it meant. I told her, 'Nothing,—but your husband is coming.' As I said this in Italian with some emphasis, she started up in a fright, and said, 'Oh, my God, is he coming?' thinking it was her own....You may suppose we laughed when she found out the mistake. You will be amused, as I was;—it happened not three hours ago."—Letter to Murray, November 8, 1819, Letters, 1900, iv. 374.

It should be borne in mind that the loves of Juan and Julia, the irruption of Don Alfonso, etc., were rather of the nature of prophecy than of reminiscence. The First Canto had been completed before the Countess Guiccioli appeared on the scene.]

[ab] And thus as 'twere herself from out them crept.—[MS. M.]

{54}[ac] Ere I the wife of such a man had been!—[MS.]

{55}[ad] But while this search was making, Julia's tongue.—[MS.]

[74] The Spanish "Cortejo" is much the same as the Italian "Cavalier Servente."

{56}[75] Donna Julia here made a mistake. Count O'Reilly did not take Algiers—but Algiers very nearly took him: he and his army and fleet retreated with great loss, and not much credit, from before that city, in the year 1775.

[Alexander O'Reilly, born 1722, a Spanish general of Irish extraction, failed in an expedition against Algiers in 1775, in which the Spaniards lost four thousand men. In 1794 he was appointed commander-in-chief of the forces equipped against the army of the French National Convention. He died March 23, 1794.]

[76] [The Italian names have an obvious signification.]

[ae] The chimney—fit retreat for any lover!—[MS.]

{58}[af] —— may deplore.—[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

{59}[77] ["Thou speakest as one of the foolish women speaketh" (Job ii. 10).]

[78] ["Don't be read aloud."—Ḥ—[Revise.]]

{60}[ag] —— than be put To drown with Clarence in his Malmsey butt.—[MS.]

[ah] And reckon up our balance with the devil.—[MS.]

{62}[79] ["Carissimo, do review the whole scene, and think what you would say of it, if written by another."—Ḥ "I would say, read 'The Miracle' ['A Tale from Boccace'] in Hobhouse's poems, and 'January and May,' and 'Paulo Purganti,' and 'Hans Carvel,' and 'Joconde.' These are laughable: it is the serious—Little's poems and Lalla Rookh—that affect seriously. Now Lust is a serious passion, and cannot be excited by the ludicrous."—Ḅ—Marginal Notes in Revise.]

For the "Miracle," see Imitations and Translations, 1809, pp. 111—128. "January and May" is Pope's version of Chaucer's Merchant's Tale. "Paulo Purganti" and "Hans Carvel" are by Matthew Prior; and for "Joconde" (Nouvelle Tiree de L'Ariosto, canto xxviii.) see Contes et Nouvelles en Vers, de Mr. de la Fontaine, 1691, i. 1-19.]

{63}[80] [Compare "The use made in the French tongue of the word tact, to denote that delicate sense of propriety, which enables a man to feel his way in the difficult intercourse of polished society, seems to have been suggested by similar considerations (i.e. similar to those which suggested the use of the word taste)."—Outlines of Moral Philosophy, by Dugald Stewart, Part I. sect. x. ed. 1855, p. 48. For D'Alembert's use of tact, to denote "that peculiar delicacy of perception (which, like the nice touch of a blind man) arises from habits of close attention to those slighter feelings which escape general notice," see Philosophical Essays, by Dugald Stewart, 1818, p. 603.]

{64}[ai] With base suspicion now no longer haunted.—[MS.]

[81] [For the incident of the shoes, Lord Byron was probably indebted to the Scottish ballad—

"Our goodman came hame at e'en, and hame came he; He spy'd a pair of jack-boots, where nae boots should be, What's this now, goodwife? What's this I see? How came these boots there, without the leave o' me! Boots! quo' she: Ay, boots, quo' he. Shame fa' your cuckold face, and ill mat ye see, It's but a pair of water stoups the cooper sent to me," etc.

See James Johnson's Musical Museum, 1787, etc., v. 466.]

{66}[aj] Found—heaven knows how—his solitary way.—[MS.]

[82] [William Brodie Gurney (1777-1855), the son and grandson of eminent shorthand writers, "reported the proceedings against the Duke of York in 1809, the trials of Lord Cochrane in 1814, and of Thistlewood in 1820, and the proceedings against Queen Caroline."—Dict. of Nat. Biog., art. "Gurney."]

{67}[83] ["Venice, December 7, 1818.

"After that stanza in the first canto of Don Juan (sent by Lord Lauderdale) towards the conclusion of the canto—I speak of the stanza whose two last lines are—

"'The best is that in short-hand ta'en by Gurney, Who to Madrid on purpose made a journey,'

insert the following stanzas, 'But Donna Inez,' etc."—B.

The text is based on a second or revised copy of stanzas cxc.-cxcviii. Many of the corrections and emendations which were inserted in the first draft are omitted in the later and presumably improved version. Byron's first intention was to insert seven stanzas after stanza clxxxix., descriptive and highly depreciatory of Brougham, but for reasons of "fairness" (vide infra) he changed his mind. The casual mention of "blundering Brougham" in English Bards, etc. (line 524, Poetical Works, 1898, i. 338, note 2), is a proof that his suspicions were not aroused as to the authorship of the review of Hours of Idleness (Edin. Rev., January, 1808), and it is certain that Byron's animosity was due to the part played by Brougham at the time of the Separation. (In a letter to Byron, dated February 18, 1817, Murray speaks of a certain B. "as your incessant persecutor—the source of all affected public opinion respecting you.") The stanzas, with the accompanying notes, are not included in the editions of 1833 or 1837, and are now printed for the first time.

I.

"'Twas a fine cause for those in law delighting— 'Tis pity that they had no Brougham in Spain, Famous for always talking, and ne'er fighting, For calling names, and taking them again; For blustering, bungling, trimming, wrangling, writing, Groping all paths to power, and all in vain— Losing elections, character, and temper, A foolish, clever, fellow—Idem semper!

II.

"Bully in Senates, skulker in the Field,A The Adulterer's advocate when duly feed, The libeller's gratis Counsel, dirty shield Which Law affords to many a dirty deed; A wondrous Warrior against those who yield— A rod to Weakness, to the brave a reed— The People's sycophant, the Prince's foe, And serving him the more by being so.

III.

"Tory by nurture, Whig by Circumstance, A Democrat some once or twice a year, Whene'er it suits his purpose to advance His vain ambition in its vague career: A sort of Orator by sufferance, Less for the comprehension than the ear; With all the arrogance of endless power, Without the sense to keep it for an hour.

IV.

"The House-of-Commons Damocles of words— Above him, hanging by a single hair, On each harangue depend some hostile Swords; And deems he that we always will forbear? Although Defiance oft declined affords A blotted shield no Shire's true knight would wear: Thersites of the House. ParollesB of Law, The double BobadillC takes Scorn for Awe.

V.

"How noble is his language—never pert— How grand his sentiments which ne'er run riot! As when he swore 'by God he'd sell his shirt To head the poll!' I wonder who would buy it The skin has passed through such a deal of dirt In grovelling on to power—such stains now dye it— So black the long-worn Lion's hide in hue, You'd swear his very heart had sweated through.

VI.

"Panting for power—as harts for cooling streams— Yet half afraid to venture for the draught; A go-between, yet blundering in extremes, And tossed along the vessel fore and aft; Now shrinking back, now midst the first he seems, Patriot by force, and courtisanD by craft; Quick without wit, and violent without strength— A disappointed Lawyer, at full length.

VII.

"A strange example of the force of Law, And hasty temper on a kindling mind— Are these the dreams his young Ambition saw? Poor fellow! he had better far been blind! I'm sorry thus to probe a wound so raw— But, then, as Bard my duty to Mankind, For warning to the rest, compels these raps— As Geographers lay down a Shoal in Maps."

[A For Brougham's Fabian tactics with regard to duelling, vide post, Canto XIII. stanza lxxxiv. line 1, p. 506, note 1.]

[B Vide post, Canto XIII. stanza lxxxiv. line 1, p. 506, note 1.]

[C For "Captain Bobadill, a Paul's man," see Ben Jonson's Every Man in his Humour, act iv. sc. 5, et passim.]

[D The N. Eng. Dict., quotes a passage in Phil. Trans., iv. 286 (1669), as the latest instance of "courtisan" for "courtier."]

NOTE TO THE ANNEXED STANZAS ON BROUGHAM.

"Distrusted by the Democracy, disliked by the Whigs, and detested by the Tories, too much of a lawyer for the people, and too much of a demagogue for Parliament, a contestor of counties, and a Candidate for cities, the refuse of half the Electors of England, and representative at last upon sufferance of the proprietor of some rotten borough, which it would have been more independent to have purchased, a speaker upon all questions, and the outcast of all parties, his support has become alike formidable to all his enemies (for he has no friends), and his vote can be only valuable when accompanied by his Silence. A disappointed man with a bad temper, he is endowed with considerable but not first-rate abilities, and has blundered on through life, remarkable only for a fluency, in which he has many rivals at the bar and in the Senate, and an eloquence in which he has several Superiors. 'Willing to wound and not afraid to strike, until he receives a blow in return, he has not yet betrayed any illegal ardour, or Irish alacrity, in accepting the defiances, and resenting the disgraceful terms which his proneness to evil-speaking have (sic) brought upon him. In the cases of Mackinnon and Manners,E he sheltered himself behind those parliamentary privileges, which Fox, Pitt, Canning, Castlereagh, Tierney, Adam, Shelburne, Grattan, Corry, Curran, and Clare disdained to adopt as their buckler. The House of Commons became the Asylum of his Slander, as the Churches of Rome were once the Sanctuary of Assassins.

"His literary reputation (with the exception of one work of his early career) rests upon some anonymous articles imputed to him in a celebrated periodical work; but even these are surpassed by the Essays of others in the same Journal. He has tried every thing and succeeded in nothing; and he may perhaps finish as a Lawyer without practice, as he has already been occasionally an orator without an audience, if not soon cut short in his career.

"The above character is not written impartially, but by one who has had occasion to know some of the baser parts of it, and regards him accordingly with shuddering abhorrence, and just so much fear as he deserves. In him is to be dreaded the crawling of the centipede, not the spring of the tiger—the venom of the reptile, not the strength of the animal—the rancour of the miscreant, not the courage of the Man.

"In case the prose or verse of the above should be actionable, I put my name, that the man may rather proceed against me than the publisher—not without some faint hope that the brand with which I blast him may induce him, however reluctantly, to a manlier revenge."

E [Possibly George Manners (1778-1853), editor of The Satirist, whose appointment to a foreign consulate Brougham sharply criticized in the House of Commons, July 9, 1817 (Parl. Deb., vol. xxxvi. pp. 1320, 1321); and Daniel Mackinnon (1791-1836), the nephew of Henry Mackinnon, who fell at Ciudad Rodrigo. Byron met "Dan" Mackinnon at Lisbon in 1809, and (Gronow, Reminiscences, 1889, ii. 259, 260) was amused by his "various funny stories."]

EXTRACT FROM LETTER TO MURRAY.

"I enclose you the stanzas which were intended for 1st Canto, after the line

'Who to Madrid on purpose made a journey:'

but I do not mean them for present publication, because I will not, at this distance, publish that of a Man, for which he has a claim upon another too remote to give him redress.

"With regard to the Miscreant Brougham, however, it was only long after the fact, and I was made acquainted with the language he had held of me on my leaving England (with regard to the D^ss^ of D.'s house),F and his letter to Me. de Stael, and various matters for all of which the first time he and I foregather—be it in England, be it on earth—he shall account, and one of the two be carried home.

"As I have no wish to have mysteries, I merely prohibit the publication of these stanzas in print, for the reasons of fairness mentioned; but I by no means wish him not to know their existence or their tenor, nor my intentions as to himself: he has shown no forbearance, and he shall find none. You may show them to him and to all whom it may concern, with the explanation that the only reason that I have not had satisfaction of this man has been, that I have never had an opportunity since I was aware of the facts, which my friends had carefully concealed from me; and it was only by slow degrees, and by piecemeal, that I got at them. I have not sought him, nor gone out of my way for him; but I will find him, and then we can have it out: he has shown so little courage, that he must fight at last in his absolute necessity to escape utter degradation.

"I send you the stanzas, which (except the last) have been written nearly two years, merely because I have been lately copying out most of the MSS. which were in my drawers."

F [Byron's town-house, in 1815-1816, No. 13, Piccadilly, belonged to the Duchess of Devonshire. When he went abroad in April, 1816, the rent was still unpaid. The duchess, through her agent, distrained, but was unable to recover the debt. See Byron's "Letter to Elizabeth, Duchess of Devonshire," November 3, 1817, Letters, 1900, iv. 178.]

{71}[ak] Julia was sent into a nunnery, And there, perhaps, her feelings may be better.—[MS. M.]

[al] Man's love is of his life——.—[MS. M.]

[84] ["Que les hommes sont heureux d'aller a la guerre, d'exposer leur vie, de se livrer a l'enthousiasme de l'honneur et du danger! Mais il n'y a rien au-dehors qui soulage les femmes."—Corinne, ou L'Italie, Madame de Stael, liv., xviii. chap. v. ed. 1835, iii. 209.]

[am] To mourn alone the love which has undone. or, To lift our fatal love to God from man.

Take that which, of these three, seems the best prescription.—B.

{72}[an] You will proceed in beauty and in pride, You will return——.—[MS. M.]

[ao] / fatal now Or, That word is —but let it go.—[MS. M.] deadly now /

[ap] I struggle, but can not collect my mind.—[MS.]

[aq] As turns the needle trembling to the pole It ne'er can reach—so turns to you my soul.—[MS.]

[ar] With a neat crow-quill, rather hard, but new.—[MS.]

{73}[85] [Byron had a seal bearing this motto.]

[as] And there are other incidents remaining Which shall be specified in fitting time, With good discretion, and in current rhyme.—[MS.]

{74}[at] To newspapers, to sermons, which the zeal Of pious men have published on his acts.—[MS.]

[au] I'll call the work "Reflections o'er a Bottle."—[MS.]

[86] [Here, and elsewhere in Don Juan, Byron attacked Coleridge fiercely and venomously, because he believed that his protege had accepted patronage and money, and, notwithstanding, had retailed scandalous statements to the detriment and dishonour of his advocate and benefactor (see letter to Murray, November 24, 1818, Letters, 1900, iv. 272; and "Introduction to the Vision of Judgment," Poetical Works, 1901, iv. 475). Byron does not substantiate his charge of ingratitude, and there is nothing to show whether Coleridge ever knew why a once friendly countenance was changed towards him. He might have asked, with the Courtenays, Ubi lapsus, quid feci? If Byron had been on his mind or his conscience he would have drawn up an elaborate explanation or apology; but nothing of the kind is extant. He took the abuse as he had taken the favours—for the unmerited gifts of the blind goddess Fortune. (See, too, Letter ..., by John Bull, 1821, p. 14.)]

{76}[87] [Compare Byron's "Letter to the Editor of My Grandmother's Review," Letters, 1900, iv. Appendix VII. 465-470; and letter to Murray, August 24, 1819, ibid., p. 348: "I wrote to you by last post, enclosing a buffooning letter for publication, addressed to the buffoon Roberts, who has thought proper to tie a canister to his own tail. It was written off-hand, and in the midst of circumstances not very favourable to facetiousness, so that there may, perhaps, be more bitterness than enough for that sort of small acid punch." The letter was in reply to a criticism of Don Juan (Cantos I., II.) in the British Review (No. xxvii., 1819, vol. 14, pp. 266-268), in which the Editor assumed, or feigned to assume, that the accusation of bribery was to be taken au grand serieux.]

{77}[88] [Hor., Od. III. C. xiv. lines 27, 28.]

[av] I thought of dyeing it the other day.—[MS.]

[89] [Compare Childe Harold, Canto III. stanza cvii. line 2.]

{78}[90]

"Me nec femina, nec puer Jam, nec spes animi credula mutui, Nec certare juvat mero; Nec vincire novis tempora floribus."

Hor., Od. IV. i. 30.

[In the revise the words nec puer Jam were omitted. On this Hobhouse comments, "Better add the whole or scratch out all after femina."—"Quote the whole then—it was only in compliance with your settentrionale notions that I left out the remnant of the line."—Ḅ]

[91] [For "How Fryer Bacon made a Brazen head to speak," see The Famous Historie of Fryer Bacon (Reprint, London, 1815, pp. 13-18); see, too, Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay, by Robert Greene, ed. Rev. Alexander Dyce, 1861, pp. 153-181.]

[92]

["Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar?" etc.

Beattie's Minstrel, Bk. I. stanza i. lines 1, 2.]

{79}[aw] A book—a damned bad picture—and worse bust.—[MS.]

["Don't swear again—the third 'damn.'"—Ḥ—[Revise.]]

[93] [Byron sat for his bust to Thorwaldsen, in May, 1817.]

[94] [This stanza appears to have been suggested by the following passage in the Quarterly Review, April, 1818, vol. xix. p. 203: "[It was] the opinion of the Egyptians, that the soul never deserted the body while the latter continued in a perfect state. To secure this union, King Cheops is said, by Herodotus, to have employed three hundred and sixty thousand of his subjects for twenty years in raising over the 'angusta domus' destined to hold his remains, a pile of stone equal in weight to six millions of tons, which is just three times that of the vast Breakwater thrown across Plymouth Sound; and, to render this precious dust still more secure, the narrow chamber was made accessible only by small, intricate passages, obstructed by stones of an enormous weight, and so carefully closed externally as not to be perceptible.—Yet, how vain are all the precautions of man! Not a bone was left of Cheops, either in the stone coffin, or in the vault, when Shaw entered the gloomy chamber.]

{80}[ax] Must bid you both farewell in accents bland.—[MS.]

[95] [Lines 1-4 are taken from the last stanza of the Epilogue to the Lay of the Laureate, entitled "L'Envoy." (See Poetical Works of Robert Southey, 1838, x. 174.)]



CANTO THE SECOND.[96]

I.

OH ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations, Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain, I pray ye flog them upon all occasions— It mends their morals, never mind the pain: The best of mothers and of educations In Juan's case were but employed in vain, Since, in a way that's rather of the oddest, he Became divested of his native modesty.[ay]

II.

Had he but been placed at a public school, In the third form, or even in the fourth, His daily task had kept his fancy cool, At least, had he been nurtured in the North; Spain may prove an exception to the rule, But then exceptions always prove its worth— A lad of sixteen causing a divorce Puzzled his tutors very much, of course.

III.

I can't say that it puzzles me at all, If all things be considered: first, there was His lady-mother, mathematical, A——never mind;—his tutor, an old ass; A pretty woman—(that's quite natural, Or else the thing had hardly come to pass) A husband rather old, not much in unity With his young wife—a time, and opportunity.

IV.

Well—well; the World must turn upon its axis, And all Mankind turn with it, heads or tails, And live and die, make love and pay our taxes, And as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails; The King commands us, and the Doctor quacks us, The Priest instructs, and so our life exhales, A little breath, love, wine, ambition, fame, Fighting, devotion, dust,—perhaps a name.

V.

I said that Juan had been sent to Cadiz— A pretty town, I recollect it well— 'T is there the mart of the colonial trade is, (Or was, before Peru learned to rebel), And such sweet girls![97]—I mean, such graceful ladies, Their very walk would make your bosom swell; I can't describe it, though so much it strike, Nor liken it—I never saw the like:[az]

VI.

An Arab horse, a stately stag, a barb New broke, a camelopard, a gazelle, No—none of these will do;—and then their garb, Their veil and petticoat—Alas! to dwell Upon such things would very near absorb A canto—then their feet and ankles,—well, Thank Heaven I've got no metaphor quite ready, (And so, my sober Muse—come, let's be steady—

VII.

Chaste Muse!—well,—if you must, you must)—the veil Thrown back a moment with the glancing hand, While the o'erpowering eye, that turns you pale, Flashes into the heart:—All sunny land Of Love! when I forget you, may I fail To——say my prayers—but never was there planned A dress through which the eyes give such a volley, Excepting the Venetian Fazzioli.[98] VIII.

But to our tale: the Donna Inez sent Her son to Cadiz only to embark; To stay there had not answered her intent, But why?—we leave the reader in the dark— 'T was for a voyage the young man was meant, As if a Spanish ship were Noah's ark, To wean him from the wickedness of earth, And send him like a Dove of Promise forth.

IX.

Don Juan bade his valet pack his things According to direction, then received A lecture and some money: for four springs He was to travel; and though Inez grieved (As every kind of parting has its stings), She hoped he would improve—perhaps believed: A letter, too, she gave (he never read it) Of good advice—and two or three of credit.

X.

In the mean time, to pass her hours away, Brave Inez now set up a Sunday school For naughty children, who would rather play (Like truant rogues) the devil, or the fool; Infants of three years old were taught that day, Dunces were whipped, or set upon a stool: The great success of Juan's education Spurred her to teach another generation.[ba]

XI.

Juan embarked—the ship got under way, The wind was fair, the water passing rough; A devil of a sea rolls in that bay, As I, who've crossed it oft, know well enough; And, standing on the deck, the dashing spray Flies in one's face, and makes it weather-tough: And there he stood to take, and take again, His first—perhaps his last—farewell of Spain.

XII.

I can't but say it is an awkward sight To see one's native land receding through The growing waters; it unmans one quite, Especially when life is rather new: I recollect Great Britain's coast looks white,[99] But almost every other country's blue, When gazing on them, mystified by distance, We enter on our nautical existence.

XIII.

So Juan stood, bewildered on the deck: The wind sung, cordage strained, and sailors swore, And the ship creaked, the town became a speck, From which away so fair and fast they bore. The best of remedies is a beef-steak Against sea-sickness: try it, Sir, before You sneer, and I assure you this is true, For I have found it answer—so may you.

XIV.

Don Juan stood, and, gazing from the stern, Beheld his native Spain receding far: First partings form a lesson hard to learn, Even nations feel this when they go to war; There is a sort of unexpressed concern, A kind of shock that sets one's heart ajar, At leaving even the most unpleasant people And places—one keeps looking at the steeple.

XV.

But Juan had got many things to leave, His mother, and a mistress, and no wife, So that he had much better cause to grieve Than many persons more advanced in life: And if we now and then a sigh must heave At quitting even those we quit in strife, No doubt we weep for those the heart endears— That is, till deeper griefs congeal our tears.

XVI.

So Juan wept, as wept the captive Jews By Babel's waters, still remembering Sion: I'd weep,—but mine is not a weeping Muse, And such light griefs are not a thing to die on; Young men should travel, if but to amuse Themselves; and the next time their servants tie on Behind their carriages their new portmanteau, Perhaps it may be lined with this my canto.

XVII.

And Juan wept, and much he sighed and thought, While his salt tears dropped into the salt sea, "Sweets to the sweet;" (I like so much to quote; You must excuse this extract,—'t is where she, The Queen of Denmark, for Ophelia brought Flowers to the grave;) and, sobbing often, he Reflected on his present situation, And seriously resolved on reformation.

XVIII.

"Farewell, my Spain! a long farewell!" he cried, "Perhaps I may revisit thee no more, But die, as many an exiled heart hath died, Of its own thirst to see again thy shore: Farewell, where Guadalquivir's waters glide! Farewell, my mother! and, since all is o'er, Farewell, too, dearest Julia!—(here he drew Her letter out again, and read it through.)

XIX.

"And oh! if e'er I should forget, I swear— But that's impossible, and cannot be— Sooner shall this blue Ocean melt to air, Sooner shall Earth resolve itself to sea, Than I resign thine image, oh, my fair! Or think of anything, excepting thee; A mind diseased no remedy can physic— (Here the ship gave a lurch, and he grew sea-sick.)

XX.

"Sooner shall Heaven kiss earth—(here he fell sicker) Oh, Julia! what is every other woe?— (For God's sake let me have a glass of liquor; Pedro, Battista, help me down below.) Julia, my love!—(you rascal, Pedro, quicker)— Oh, Julia!—(this curst vessel pitches so)— Beloved Julia, hear me still beseeching!" (Here he grew inarticulate with retching.)

XXI.

He felt that chilling heaviness of heart, Or rather stomach, which, alas! attends, Beyond the best apothecary's art, The loss of Love, the treachery of friends, Or death of those we dote on, when a part Of us dies with them as each fond hope ends: No doubt he would have been much more pathetic, But the sea acted as a strong emetic.

XXII.

Love's a capricious power: I've known it hold Out through a fever caused by its own heat, But be much puzzled by a cough and cold, And find a quinsy very hard to treat; Against all noble maladies he's bold, But vulgar illnesses don't like to meet, Nor that a sneeze should interrupt his sigh, Nor inflammations redden his blind eye.

XXIII.

But worst of all is nausea, or a pain About the lower region of the bowels; Love, who heroically breathes a vein,[100] Shrinks from the application of hot towels, And purgatives are dangerous to his reign, Sea-sickness death: his love was perfect, how else[bb] Could Juan's passion, while the billows roar, Resist his stomach, ne'er at sea before?

XXIV.

The ship, called the most holy "Trinidada,"[101] Was steering duly for the port Leghorn; For there the Spanish family Moncada Were settled long ere Juan's sire was born: They were relations, and for them he had a Letter of introduction, which the morn Of his departure had been sent him by His Spanish friends for those in Italy.

XXV.

His suite consisted of three servants and A tutor, the licentiate Pedrillo, Who several languages did understand, But now lay sick and speechless on his pillow And, rocking in his hammock, longed for land, His headache being increased by every billow; And the waves oozing through the port-hole made His berth a little damp, and him afraid.

XXVI.

'T was not without some reason, for the wind Increased at night, until it blew a gale; And though 't was not much to a naval mind, Some landsmen would have looked a little pale, For sailors are, in fact, a different kind: At sunset they began to take in sail, For the sky showed it would come on to blow, And carry away, perhaps, a mast or so.

XXVII.

At one o'clock the wind with sudden shift Threw the ship right into the trough of the sea, Which struck her aft, and made an awkward rift, Started the stern-post, also shattered the Whole of her stern-frame, and, ere she could lift Herself from out her present jeopardy, The rudder tore away: 't was time to sound The pumps, and there were four feet water found.

XXVIII.

One gang of people instantly was put Upon the pumps, and the remainder set To get up part of the cargo, and what not; But they could not come at the leak as yet; At last they did get at it really, but Still their salvation was an even bet: The water rushed through in a way quite puzzling, While they thrust sheets, shirts, jackets, bales of muslin,

XXIX.

Into the opening; but all such ingredients Would have been vain, and they must have gone down, Despite of all their efforts and expedients, But for the pumps: I'm glad to make them known To all the brother tars who may have need hence, For fifty tons of water were upthrown By them per hour, and they had all been undone, But for the maker, Mr. Mann, of London.[102]

XXX.

As day advanced the weather seemed to abate, And then the leak they reckoned to reduce, And keep the ship afloat, though three feet yet Kept two hand—and one chain-pump still in use. The wind blew fresh again: as it grew late A squall came on, and while some guns broke loose, A gust—which all descriptive power transcends— Laid with one blast the ship on her beam ends.

XXXI.

There she lay, motionless, and seemed upset; The water left the hold, and washed the decks, And made a scene men do not soon forget; For they remember battles, fires, and wrecks, Or any other thing that brings regret Or breaks their hopes, or hearts, or heads, or necks: Thus drownings are much talked of by the divers, And swimmers, who may chance to be survivors.

XXXII.

Immediately the masts were cut away, Both main and mizen; first the mizen went, The main-mast followed: but the ship still lay Like a mere log, and baffled our intent. Foremast and bowsprit were cut down, and they Eased her at last (although we never meant To part with all till every hope was blighted), And then with violence the old ship righted.[103]

XXXIII.

It may be easily supposed, while this Was going on, some people were unquiet, That passengers would find it much amiss To lose their lives, as well as spoil their diet; That even the able seaman, deeming his Days nearly o'er, might be disposed to riot, As upon such occasions tars will ask For grog, and sometimes drink rum from the cask.

XXXIV.

There's nought, no doubt, so much the spirit calms As rum and true religion: thus it was, Some plundered, some drank spirits, some sung psalms, The high wind made the treble, and as bass The hoarse harsh waves kept time; fright cured the qualms Of all the luckless landsmen's sea-sick maws: Strange sounds of wailing, blasphemy, devotion, Clamoured in chorus to the roaring Ocean.

XXXV.

Perhaps more mischief had been done, but for[bc] Our Juan, who, with sense beyond his years, Got to the spirit-room, and stood before It with a pair of pistols;[104] and their fears, As if Death were more dreadful by his door Of fire than water, spite of oaths and tears, Kept still aloof the crew, who, ere they sunk, Thought it would be becoming to die drunk.

XXXVI.

"Give us more grog," they cried, "for it will be All one an hour hence." Juan answered, "No! 'T is true that Death awaits both you and me, But let us die like men, not sink below Like brutes:"—and thus his dangerous post kept he, And none liked to anticipate the blow; And even Pedrillo, his most reverend tutor, Was for some rum a disappointed suitor.

XXXVII.

The good old gentleman was quite aghast, And made a loud and pious lamentation; Repented all his sins, and made a last Irrevocable vow of reformation; Nothing should tempt him more (this peril past) To quit his academic occupation, In cloisters of the classic Salamanca, To follow Juan's wake, like Sancho Panca.

XXXVIII.

But now there came a flash of hope once more; Day broke, and the wind lulled: the masts were gone The leak increased; shoals round her, but no shore, The vessel swam, yet still she held her own.[105] They tried the pumps again, and though before Their desperate efforts seemed all useless grown, A glimpse of sunshine set some hands to bale— The stronger pumped, the weaker thrummed a sail.

XXXIX.

Under the vessel's keel the sail was passed, And for the moment it had some effect; But with a leak, and not a stick of mast, Nor rag of canvas, what could they expect? But still 't is best to struggle to the last, 'T is never too late to be wholly wrecked: And though 't is true that man can only die once, 'T is not so pleasant in the Gulf of Lyons.[bd]

XL.

There winds and waves had hurled them, and from thence, Without their will, they carried them away; For they were forced with steering to dispense, And never had as yet a quiet day On which they might repose, or even commence A jurymast or rudder, or could say The ship would swim an hour, which, by good luck, Still swam—though not exactly like a duck.

XLI.

The wind, in fact, perhaps, was rather less, But the ship laboured so, they scarce could hope To weather out much longer; the distress Was also great with which they had to cope For want of water, and their solid mess Was scant enough: in vain the telescope Was used—nor sail nor shore appeared in sight, Nought but the heavy sea, and coming night.

XLII.

Again the weather threatened,—again blew A gale, and in the fore and after hold Water appeared; yet, though the people knew All this, the most were patient, and some bold, Until the chains and leathers were worn through Of all our pumps:—a wreck complete she rolled, At mercy of the waves, whose mercies are Like human beings during civil war.

XLIII.

Then came the carpenter, at last, with tears In his rough eyes, and told the captain, he Could do no more: he was a man in years, And long had voyaged through many a stormy sea, And if he wept at length they were not fears That made his eyelids as a woman's be, But he, poor fellow, had a wife and children,— Two things for dying people quite bewildering.

XLIV.

The ship was evidently settling now Fast by the head; and, all distinction gone, Some went to prayers again, and made a vow Of candles to their saints[106]—but there were none To pay them with; and some looked o'er the bow; Some hoisted out the boats; and there was one That begged Pedrillo for an absolution, Who told him to be damned—in his confusion.[107]

XLV.

Some lashed them in their hammocks; some put on Their best clothes, as if going to a fair; Some cursed the day on which they saw the Sun, And gnashed their teeth, and, howling, tore their hair; And others went on as they had begun, Getting the boats out, being well aware That a tight boat will live in a rough sea, Unless with breakers close beneath her lee.[108]

XLVI.

The worst of all was, that in their condition, Having been several days in great distress, 'T was difficult to get out such provision As now might render their long suffering less: Men, even when dying, dislike inanition;[be] Their stock was damaged by the weather's stress: Two casks of biscuit, and a keg of butter, Were all that could be thrown into the cutter.

XLVII.

But in the long-boat they contrived to stow Some pounds of bread, though injured by the wet; Water, a twenty-gallon cask or so; Six flasks of wine; and they contrived to get A portion of their beef up from below,[109] And with a piece of pork, moreover, met, But scarce enough to serve them for a luncheon— Then there was rum, eight gallons in a puncheon.

XLVIII.

The other boats, the yawl and pinnace, had Been stove in the beginning of the gale;[110] And the long-boat's condition was but bad, As there were but two blankets for a sail,[111] And one oar for a mast, which a young lad Threw in by good luck over the ship's rail; And two boats could not hold, far less be stored, To save one half the people then on board.

XLIX.

'T was twilight, and the sunless day went down Over the waste of waters; like a veil, Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown[bf] Of one whose hate is masked but to assail. Thus to their hopeless eyes the night was shown, And grimly darkled o'er the faces pale, And the dim desolate deep: twelve days had Fear[bg] Been their familiar, and now Death was here.

L.

Some trial had been making at a raft, With little hope in such a rolling sea, A sort of thing at which one would have laughed,[112] If any laughter at such times could be, Unless with people who too much have quaffed, And have a kind of wild and horrid glee, Half epileptical, and half hysterical:— Their preservation would have been a miracle.

LI.

At half-past eight o'clock, booms, hencoops, spars, And all things, for a chance, had been cast loose, That still could keep afloat the struggling tars,[113] For yet they strove, although of no great use: There was no light in heaven but a few stars, The boats put off o'ercrowded with their crews; She gave a heel, and then a lurch to port, And, going down head foremost—sunk, in short.[114]

LII.

Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell— Then shrieked the timid, and stood still the brave,— Then some leaped overboard with dreadful yell,[115] As eager to anticipate their grave; And the sea yawned around her like a hell, And down she sucked with her the whirling wave, Like one who grapples with his enemy, And strives to strangle him before he die.

LIII.

And first one universal shriek there rushed, Louder than the loud Ocean, like a crash Of echoing thunder; and then all was hushed, Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash Of billows; but at intervals there gushed, Accompanied by a convulsive splash, A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry Of some strong swimmer in his agony.

LIV.

The boats, as stated, had got off before, And in them crowded several of the crew; And yet their present hope was hardly more Than what it had been, for so strong it blew There was slight chance of reaching any shore; And then they were too many, though so few— Nine in the cutter, thirty in the boat, Were counted in them when they got afloat.

LV.

All the rest perished; near two hundred souls Had left their bodies; and what's worse, alas! When over Catholics the Ocean rolls, They must wait several weeks before a mass Takes off one peck of purgatorial coals, Because, till people know what's come to pass, They won't lay out their money on the dead— It costs three francs for every mass that's said.

LVI.

Juan got into the long-boat, and there Contrived to help Pedrillo to a place; It seemed as if they had exchanged their care, For Juan wore the magisterial face Which courage gives, while poor Pedrillo's pair Of eyes were crying for their owner's case: Battista, though, (a name called shortly Tita), Was lost by getting at some aqua-vita.

LVII.

Pedro, his valet, too, he tried to save, But the same cause, conducive to his loss, Left him so drunk, he jumped into the wave, As o'er the cutter's edge he tried to cross, And so he found a wine-and-watery grave; They could not rescue him although so close, Because the sea ran higher every minute, And for the boat—the crew kept crowding in it.

LVIII.

A small old spaniel,—which had been Don Jose's, His father's, whom he loved, as ye may think, For on such things the memory reposes With tenderness—stood howling on the brink, Knowing, (dogs have such intellectual noses!) No doubt, the vessel was about to sink; And Juan caught him up, and ere he stepped Off threw him in, then after him he leaped.[116]

LIX.

He also stuffed his money where he could About his person, and Pedrillo's too, Who let him do, in fact, whate'er he would, Not knowing what himself to say, or do, As every rising wave his dread renewed; But Juan, trusting they might still get through, And deeming there were remedies for any ill, Thus re-embarked his tutor and his spaniel.

LX.

'T was a rough night, and blew so stiffly yet, That the sail was becalmed between the seas,[117] Though on the wave's high top too much to set, They dared not take it in for all the breeze: Each sea curled o'er the stern, and kept them wet, And made them bale without a moment's ease,[118] So that themselves as well as hopes were damped, And the poor little cutter quickly swamped.

LXI.

Nine souls more went in her: the long-boat still Kept above water, with an oar for mast, Two blankets stitched together, answering ill Instead of sail, were to the oar made fast; Though every wave rolled menacing to fill, And present peril all before surpassed,[119] They grieved for those who perished with the cutter, And also for the biscuit-casks and butter.

LXII.

The sun rose red and fiery, a sure sign Of the continuance of the gale: to run Before the sea until it should grow fine, Was all that for the present could be done: A few tea-spoonfuls of their rum and wine Were served out to the people, who begun[120] To faint, and damaged bread wet through the bags, And most of them had little clothes but rags.

LXIII.

They counted thirty, crowded in a space Which left scarce room for motion or exertion; They did their best to modify their case, One half sate up, though numbed with the immersion, While t' other half were laid down in their place, At watch and watch; thus, shivering like the tertian Ague in its cold fit, they filled their boat, With nothing but the sky for a great coat.[121]

LXIV.

'T is very certain the desire of life Prolongs it: this is obvious to physicians, When patients, neither plagued with friends nor wife, Survive through very desperate conditions, Because they still can hope, nor shines the knife Nor shears of Atropos before their visions: Despair of all recovery spoils longevity, And makes men's misery of alarming brevity.

LXV.

'T is said that persons living on annuities Are longer lived than others,—God knows why, Unless to plague the grantors,—yet so true it is, That some, I really think, do never die: Of any creditors the worst a Jew it is, And that's their mode of furnishing supply: In my young days they lent me cash that way, Which I found very troublesome to pay.[122]

LXVI.

'T is thus with people in an open boat, They live upon the love of Life, and bear More than can be believed, or even thought, And stand like rocks the tempest's wear and tear; And hardship still has been the sailor's lot, Since Noah's ark went cruising here and there; She had a curious crew as well as cargo, Like the first old Greek privateer, the Argo.

LXVII.

But man is a carnivorous production, And must have meals, at least one meal a day; He cannot live, like woodcocks, upon suction, But, like the shark and tiger, must have prey; Although his anatomical construction Bears vegetables, in a grumbling way, Your labouring people think, beyond all question, Beef, veal, and mutton, better for digestion.

LXVIII.

And thus it was with this our hapless crew; For on the third day there came on a calm, And though at first their strength it might renew, And lying on their weariness like balm, Lulled them like turtles sleeping on the blue Of Ocean, when they woke they felt a qualm, And fell all ravenously on their provision, Instead of hoarding it with due precision.

LXIX.

The consequence was easily foreseen— They ate up all they had, and drank their wine, In spite of all remonstrances, and then On what, in fact, next day were they to dine? They hoped the wind would rise, these foolish men! And carry them to shore; these hopes were fine, But as they had but one oar, and that brittle, It would have been more wise to save their victual.

LXX.

The fourth day came, but not a breath of air, And Ocean slumbered like an unweaned child: The fifth day, and their boat lay floating there, The sea and sky were blue, and clear, and mild— With their one oar (I wish they had had a pair) What could they do? and Hunger's rage grew wild: So Juan's spaniel, spite of his entreating, Was killed, and portioned out for present eating.[123]

LXXI.

On the sixth day they fed upon his hide, And Juan, who had still refused, because The creature was his father's dog that died, Now feeling all the vulture in his jaws, With some remorse received (though first denied) As a great favour one of the fore-paws,[124] Which he divided with Pedrillo, who Devoured it, longing for the other too.

LXXII.

The seventh day, and no wind—the burning sun Blistered and scorched, and, stagnant on the sea, They lay like carcasses; and hope was none, Save in the breeze that came not: savagely They glared upon each other—all was done, Water, and wine, and food,—and you might see The longings of the cannibal arise (Although they spoke not) in their wolfish eyes.

LXXIII.

At length one whispered his companion, who Whispered another, and thus it went round, And then into a hoarser murmur grew, An ominous, and wild, and desperate sound; And when his comrade's thought each sufferer knew, 'T was but his own, suppressed till now, he found: And out they spoke of lots for flesh and blood, And who should die to be his fellow's food.