from Canto I

51

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.

52

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.

53

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.

54

Young Juan now was sixteen years of age,
     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 so, for to be precocious
Was in her eyes a thing the most atrocious.

55

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).

56

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,
    Boabdil wept, of Donna Julia’s kin
Some went to Africa, some staid in Spain,
Her great great grandmamma chose to remain.

57

She married (I forget 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.

58

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.

59

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.

60

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.