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Don Juan, Canto 5

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Baba stopp'd, and kneeling sign'd To Juan, who though not much used to pray, Knelt down by instinct, wondering in his mind, What all this meant: while Baba bow'd and bended His head, until the ceremony ended. The lady rising up with such an air As Venus rose with from the wave, on them Bent like an antelope a Paphian pair Of eyes, which put out each surrounding gem; And raising up an arm as moonlight fair, She sign'd to Baba, who first kiss'd the hem Of her deep purple robe, and speaking low, Pointed to Juan who remain'd below. Her presence was as lofty as her state; Her beauty of that overpowering kind, Whose force description only would abate: I 'd rather leave it much to your own mind, Than lessen it by what I could relate Of forms and features; it would strike you blind Could I do justice to the full detail; So, luckily for both, my phrases fail. Thus much however I may add,—her years Were ripe, they might make six-and-twenty springs; But there are forms which Time to touch forbears, And turns aside his scythe to vulgar things, Such as was Mary's Queen of Scots; true—tears And love destroy; and sapping sorrow wrings Charms from the charmer, yet some never grow Ugly; for instance—Ninon de l'Enclos. She spake some words to her attendants, who Composed a choir of girls, ten or a dozen, And were all clad alike; like Juan, too, Who wore their uniform, by Baba chosen; They form'd a very nymph-like looking crew, Which might have call'd Diana's chorus 'cousin,' As far as outward show may correspond; I won't be bail for anything beyond. They bow'd obeisance and withdrew, retiring, But not by the same door through which came in Baba and Juan, which last stood admiring, At some small distance, all he saw within This strange saloon, much fitted for inspiring Marvel and praise; for both or none things win; And I must say, I ne'er could see the very Great happiness of the 'Nil Admirari.' 'Not to admire is all the art I know (Plain truth, dear Murray, needs few flowers of speech) To make men happy, or to keep them so' (So take it in the very words of Creech)— Thus Horace wrote we all know long ago; And thus Pope quotes the precept to re-teach From his translation; but had none admired, Would Pope have sung, or Horace been inspired? Baba, when all the damsels were withdrawn, Motion'd to Juan to approach, and then A second time desired him to kneel down, And kiss the lady's foot; which maxim when He heard repeated, Juan with a frown Drew himself up to his full height again, And said, 'It grieved him, but he could not stoop To any shoe, unless it shod the Pope.' Baba, indignant at this ill-timed pride, Made fierce remonstrances, and then a threat He mutter'd (but the last was given aside) About a bow-string—quite in vain; not yet Would Juan bend, though 't were to Mahomet's bride: There 's nothing in the world like etiquette In kingly chambers or imperial halls, As also at the race and county balls. He stood like Atlas, with a world of words About his ears, and nathless would not bend: The blood of all his line 's Castilian lords Boil'd in his veins, and rather than descend To stain his pedigree a thousand swords A thousand times of him had made an end; At length perceiving the 'foot' could not stand, Baba proposed that he should kiss the hand. Here was an honourable compromise, A half-way house of diplomatic rest, Where they might meet in much more peaceful guise; And Juan now his willingness exprest To use all fit and proper courtesies, Adding, that this was commonest and best, For through the South the custom still commands The gentleman to kiss the lady's hands. And he advanced, though with but a bad grace, Though on more thorough-bred or fairer fingers No lips e'er left their transitory trace; On such as these the lip too fondly lingers, And for one kiss would fain imprint a brace, As you will see, if she you love shall bring hers In contact; and sometimes even a fair stranger's An almost twelvemonth's constancy endangers. The lady eyed him o'er and o'er, and bade Baba retire, which he obey'd in style, As if well used to the retreating trade; And taking hints in good part all the while, He whisper'd Juan not to be afraid, And looking on him with a sort of smile, Took leave, with such a face of satisfaction As good men wear who have done a virtuous action. When he was gone, there was a sudden change: I know not what might be the lady's thought, But o'er her bright brow flash'd a tumult strange, And into her dear cheek the blood was brought, Blood-red as sunset summer clouds which range The verge of Heaven; and in her large eyes wrought, A mixture of sensations might be scann'd, Of half voluptuousness and half command. Her form had all the softness of her sex, Her features all the sweetness of the devil, When he put on the cherub to perplex Eve, and paved (God knows how) the road to evil; The sun himself was scarce more free from specks Than she from aught at which the eye could cavil; Yet, somehow, there was something somewhere wanting, As if she rather order'd than was granting. Something imperial, or imperious, threw A chain o'er all she did; that is, a chain Was thrown as 't were about the neck of you,— And rapture's self will seem almost a pain With aught which looks like despotism in view: Our souls at least are free, and 't is in vain We would against them make the flesh obey— The spirit in the end will have its way. Her very smile was haughty, though so sweet; Her very nod was not an inclination; There was a self-will even in her small feet, As though they were quite conscious of her station— They trod as upon necks; and to complete Her state (it is the custom of her nation), A poniard deck'd her girdle, as the sign She was a sultan's bride (thank Heaven, not mine!). 'To hear and to obey' had been from birth The law of all around her; to fulfill All phantasies which yielded joy or mirth, Had been her slaves' chief pleasure, as her will; Her blood was high, her beauty scarce of earth: Judge, then, if her caprices e'er stood still; Had she but been a Christian, I 've a notion We should have found out the 'perpetual motion.' Whate'er she saw and coveted was brought; Whate'er she did not see, if she supposed It might be seen, with diligence was sought, And when 't was found straightway the bargain closed; There was no end unto the things she bought, Nor to the trouble which her fancies caused; Yet even her tyranny had such a grace, The women pardon'd all except her face. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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