Juan was taught from out the best edition,
Expurgated by learned men, who place
Judiciously from out the schoolboy's vision
The grosser parts: but fearful to deface
Too much their modest bard by this omission,
And pitying sore his mutilated case,
They only add them all in an appendix, [4]
Which saves, in fact, the trouble of an index!
For there we have them all at one fell swoop,
Instead of being scatter'd through the pages;
They stand forth marshall'd in a handsome troop,
To meet the ingenuous youth of future ages,
Till some less rigid editor shall stoop
To call them back into their separate cages,
Instead of standing staring altogether,
Like garden gods-and not so decent either.
The Missal too (it was the family Missal)
Was ornamented in a sort of way
Which ancient mass books often are, and this all
Kinds of grotesques illumined; and how they,
Who saw those figures on the margin kiss all,
Could turn their optics to the next and pray
Is more than I know-but Don Juan's mother
Kept this herself, and gave her son another.
Sermons he read, and Lectures he endured,
And homilies, and lives of all the saints;
To Jerome and to Chrysostom inured,
He did not take such studies for restraints But how faith is acquired, and then insured, So well not one of the aforesaid paints As Saint Augustine in his fine Confessions, Which makes the reader envy his transgressions.
This, too, was a sealed book to little Juan,
I can't but say that his mamma was right,
If such an education was the true one:
She scarcely trusted him from out her sight;
Her maids were old, and if she took a new one
You might be sure she was a perfect fright,
She did this during even her husband's life-
I recommend as much to every wife.
Young Juan wax'd in goodliness and grace;
At six a charming child, and at eleven
With all the promise of as fine a face,
As e'er to man's maturer growth was given :
He studied steadily, and grew apace,
And seem'd at least in the right road to heaven, For half his days were pass'd at church, the other Between his tutors, confessor, and mother.
At six, I said, he was a charming child,
At twelve, he was a fine but quiet boy;
Although in infancy a little wild,
They tamed him down amongst them; to destroy His natural spirit-not in vain they toil'd,
At least it seem'd so; and his mother's joy Was to declare how sage, and still, and steady, Her young philosopher was grown already.
I had my doubts, perhaps I have them still,
But what I say is neither here nor there :
I knew his father well, and have some skill
In character-but it would not be fair
From sire to son to augur good or ill:
He and his wife were an ill-sorted pair-
But scandal's my aversion-I protest
Against all evil speaking, even in jest.
For my part I say nothing-nothing-but
This I will say my reasons are my own-
That if I had an only son to put
To school, (as God be praised that I have none) "Tis not with Donna Inez I would shut
Him up to learn his catechism alone,
No, no-I'd send him out betimes to college,
For there it was I pick'd up my own knowledge.
For there one learns-'tis not for me to boast,
Though I acquired-but I pass over that,
As well as all the Greek I since have lost :
I say that there's the place--but “ Verbum sat,”
I think I pick'd up too, as well as most,
Knowledge of matters-but no matter what-
I never married-but I think I know
That sons should not be educated so.
Young Juan now was sixteen
Tall, handsome, slender, but well knit! he seem'd
Active, though not so sprightly as a page;
And every body but his mother deem'd Him almost man; but she flew in a rage,
And bit her lips (for else she might have scream'd) If any said said so, for to be precocious Was in her eyes a thing the most atrocious.
Amongst her numerous acquaintance, all
Selected for discretion and devotion,
There was the Donna Julia, whom to call
Pretty were but to give a feeble notion
Of many charms in her as natural
As sweetness to the flower, or salt to ocean,
Her zone to Venus, or his bow to Cupid,
(But this last simile is trite and stupid.)
The darkness of her oriental eye
Accorded with her Moorish origin!
(Her blood was not all Spanish, by the by:
In Spain, you know, this is a sort of sin.)
When proud Grenada fell, and, forced to fly,
Boabdill wept, of Donna Julia's kin
Some went to Africa; some staid in Spain,
Her great great grandmamma chose to remain.
She married (I forgot the pedigree)
With an Hidalgo, who transmitted down
His blood less noble than such blood should be ;
At such alliances his sires would frown,
In that point so precise in each degree
That they bred in and in, as might be shown, Marrying their cousins-nay, their aunts and nieces, Which always spoils the breed, if it increases.
This heathenish cross restored the breed again,
Ruin'd its blood, but much improved its flesh;
For, from a root, the ugliest in Old Spain,
Sprung up a branch as beautiful as fresh;
The sons no more were short, the daughters plain :
But there's a rumour which I fain would hush,
"Tis said that Donna Julia's grandmamma
Produced her Don more heirs at love than law.
However this might be, the race went on
Improving still through every generation,
Until it center'd in an only son,
Who left an only daughter; my narration
May have suggested that this single one
Could be but Julia, (whom on this occasion I shall have much to speak about) and she Was married, charming, chaste, and twenty-three,
Her eye (I'm very fond of handsome eyes)
Was large and dark, suppressing half its fire
Until she spoke, then through its soft disguise
Flash'd an expression more of pride than ire,
And love than either-and there would arise
A something in them which was not desire,
But would have been, perhaps, but for the soul
Which struggled through and chasten'd down the whole.
Her glossy hair was cluster'd o'er a brow
Bright with intelligence, and fair, and smooth;
Her eyebrow's shape was like the ærial bow,
Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth,
Mounting, at times, to a transparent glow,
As if her veins ran lightning; she, in sooth,
Possess'd an air and grace by no means common-
Her stature tall-I hate a dumpy woman.
Wedded she was some years, and to a man
Of fifty, and such husbands are in plenty;
And yet, I think, instead of such a ONE,
"Twere better to have Two of five and twenty, Especially in countries near the sun;
And now I think on't, "mi vien in mente,"
Ladies even of the most uneasy virtue
Prefer a spouse whose age is short of thirty.
'Tis a sad thing, I cannot choose but say,
And all the fault of that indecent sun,
Who cannot leave alone our helpless clay,
But will keep baking, broiling, burning on,
That howsoever people fast and pray,
The flesh is frail, and so the soul undone :
What men call gallantry, and gods adultery,,
Is much more common where the climate's sultry.
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