Asimov’s annotated Don Juan
Text by Lord Byron
Notes by Isaac Asimov
Doubleday, Hardback, 1972.
4to. [vi]+1153
pp. Dedication by the author [v]. “Byron: A Short Biography” [1-9]. Index to
annotations [1139-53]. Illustrated by Milton Glaser. First Edition.
Editor’s Note.
In bold, reference to the poem; Roman numbers for cantos, Arabic ones for
stanzas and lines, e.g. IV.12.8 stands for Canto IV, stanza 12, line 8; D =
Dedication. The annotated line (or part of it) is quoted in italics. If the
note refers to several lines, only the last is given; the classic Coleridge
edition (1903) may be conveniently consulted in such cases.
In round brackets at the end, number of the note in question. The notes are
occasionally abridged, and typos fixed (e.g. “frame” in No. 21), silently.
Editorial additions to the notes are inserted in square brackets and marked
with “Ed.”.
D.1.1: Bob Southey!
You’re a poet – Poet-laureate (4, 5)
Robert Southey (1774–1843) was an English poet whose success far outstripped his talents. His best-known poems today remain The Battle of Blenheim composed in 1798 and The Inchcape Rock written somewhat later. Neither is very important. Byron hated him with a fervor that seemed but to increase with time (the hate was returned) and Don Juan is dedicated to him with savage irony.
The poet
laureate is a court official appointed by the British Prime Minister. The poet
laureate (“laureate” means decked with laurel and therefore honored, for in
ancient Greece it was the custom to grant the winners at the Olympian games
wreaths of laurel leaves) was supposed to write odes in honor of the monarch on
his birthday and to celebrate other official occasions in similar fashion.
The poet
laureate was by no means assuredly the best poet in the nation, for there were
many who would be considered ineligible because their political views were
unsuitable or their poetry unedifying. And the best poets often did not want a
post which they viewed as that of the government’s tame poetic spaniel.
Nevertheless,
the post brought in a little money and a great deal of prestige (with the
non-poetic public) and, officially at least, the poet laureate might be
considered the chief of British poets (hence “representative of all the race”).
Southey was
the twelfth official poet laureate, having accepted the post in 1813, five
years before this dedication was written. Byron had only contempt for the man
and for the post, but that did not mean that he did not chafe at the fact that
the public generally, in awe of the post, were consequently impressed by the
man.
D.1.3: Although ‘tis
true that you’d turn’d out a Tory at (6)
The Tories
were the conservative party of the nation (and modern Conservatives in Britain
are still often referred to as Torries). They were the spokesmen of the landed
gentry, of the established Church, of the Crown. In short, they represent what
we would today call the Establishment.
Southey, in
his youth, had been caught up (like many other young Englishmen of the time) in
the revolutionary fervor that accompanied the French Revolution of 1789. With
age, however, Southey became steadily more conservative and eventually became a
pillar of the Tories and one of their most dependable spokesmen. In this
respect, he was like a number of other literary figures who had been
revolutionaries in their youth but who had hardened and yellowed with age and
prosperity, so that Southey’s change had “lately been a common case.” Byron,
who remained revolutionary and bitterly anti-Establishment to the end of his
days, felt self-righteously superior to
those he considered traitors to their youthful ideals, and his contempt for
them knew no bounds.
D.3.8: A fall, for
lack of moisture a dry, Bob! (12)
“A dry Bob”
seems to have been then-current slang for intercourse without ejaculation
(“lack of moisture”). The use of the phrase shocked and (of course) titillated
the public and was a particularly effective way indicating that Southey went
through the motions of writing poetry without producing anything poetic.
D. 4.1: And
Wordsworth, in a rather long “Excursion” (14)
Although many
of Wordsworth’s youthful poems are first-class, he wrote himself out by the
time he was forty, and the last half of his long life shows only occasional
flashes of power. His long poem The
Excursion, published in 1814, shows none of them and was almost entirely
pedestrian. Nevertheless, Wordsworth lived to succeed Southey as a poet
laureate in 1843, something that would have stirred Byron’s profoundest
disgust, had he lived to see it.
D.4.6: And may appear
so when the dog-star rages (15)
The “dog-star”
is Sirius, the brightest star in the sky (so-called because it is in the
constellation Canis Major, or Great Dog). It rises close to dawn during the
months of July and August and, in ancient times, was thought to radiate a
significant quantity of heat, thus making those months particularly hot. This
is not so, of course, but the hottest part of summer is still referred to as
the “dog days.” Since great heat can induce sunstroke and can, even short of
that, make anyone snappish and unreasonable, men were supposed to be more
likely to go mad during the dog days. Hence Byron’s comment implies that only
madmen would consider Wordsworth’s Excursion
to be poetry.
D.5.8: Which makes me
wish you’d change your lakes for ocean (18)
Byron had
traveled all over Europe (and was indeed, at the time he wrote this, living in
Venice in permanent exile from his native land). He could not help sneering at
the Lake poets for their narrow provincialism as compared with himself.
D.7.7: Scott, Rogers,
Campbell, Moore, and Crabbe (20-22)
Sir Walter
Scott (1771–1832) was a Scottish poet whose success came with The Lay of the
Last Minstrel, published in 1805, which contains the great set of patriotic
lines that begins “Breathes there a man with soul so dead…” Byron wrote
satirically at Scott’s expense in his youth, but the good-natured Scott
returned pleasant words for unkind ones, and in the end they were good friends
even though Scott was, and remained, a Tory. Scott was lame from an attack of
poliomyelitis in babyhood and this may have helped endear him to the
self-consciously clubfooted Byron. Scott was offered the laureateship on the
death of Pye but he refused it, something which also counted in his favor as
far as Byron was concerned.
Samuel Rogers
(1763–1855) was quite a second-rate poet, whose only literary fame came with the publication of The Pleasures of Memory in 1792.
The phrase “Not dead, but gone before,” seen on many a tombstone now, is his.
He was a kindly gentleman who gave good parties, was financially generous to
other poets, and was a friend of Byron’s. He lived long enough to be offered
the laureateship on Wordsworth’s death but refused it, and no doubt the shade
of Byron approved.
Thomas
Campbell (1777–1844) was a Scottish poet who wrote patriotic verse (Ye Mariners
of England, 1800) and ballads (Lord Ullin’s Daughter, 1804). He was, and
remained, a liberal, not only supporting the French Revolution, but also
denouncing the partition of Poland and inveighing against Negro slavery. He
received a pension from the Crown in 1803, but apparently Byron didn’t mind
that. He and Rogers (see note 21) were about the only contemporary British
writers never to suffer shafts of Byronic satire.
D.7.8: ‘Gainst you
the question with posterity (26)
The result of
the trial would not have pleased Byron, alas. None of the poets named in this
verse, despite Byron’s approval, were destined to compete with Wordsworth and
Coleridge in the eyes of posterity, though Scott at least probably transcends
Southey.
D.8.5-8: Is not the
certain path to future praise (28)
It is obvious
that Byron emphatically does not follow his own advice, but then few people do.
D.11.8: The
intellectual eunuch Castlereagh (34)
Robert
Stewart, Viscount Castlereagh (1769–1822), was Foreign Secretary from 1812 to
1822. In the years following Waterloo, he kept Great Britain on the side of
those Continental monarchies who attempted to crush the forces of liberalism in
Europe. This made him anathema to the English liberals, and no one was more
vivid in execrations against him than Byron was. He was also identified with
repressive policies at home.
Byron’s phrase
“intellectual eunuch” is double-barreled. He might well be impugning
Castlereagh’s intelligence and it is true that Castlereagh was a bad orator and
therefore sounded stupid at times. The phrase might refer more literally to a
real or fancied hyposexuality, for through his long marriage of thirty-five
years, Castlereagh had no child. This second implication is reinforced by
Byron’s deliberate use of “its” for “his” in the succeeding verses.
D.15.1-5: Eutropius of
its many masters (40)
Here again,
the matter of the “intellectual eunuch” is brought up, for Castlereagh’s mind
is “emasculated to the marrow.” Eutropius was a eunuch, literally, who served
as a minister to the East Roman Emperor Arcadius from 395 to 398. His
reputation in history was that of a vile and corrupt intriguer and he came to a
bad end, being executed in 399. (Castlereagh also came to a bad end, perhaps
even more tragic, four years after these words written. Byron could not know
that now – though he might hope.)
I.1.6: I’ll therefore
take our ancient friend Don Juan (48)
Don Juan is an
“ancient friend” because he was a well-known figure out of Spanish folklore. He
first received recognized literary presentation in a drama El Burlador de Sevilla, written in 1630 by the Spanish dramatist
Gabriel Téllez (who wrote under the pseudonym Tirso de Molina).
In the
original folk tale, Don Juan was the epitome of the licentious man, who aspired
(usually successfully) to make love to every woman he met, and who did so with
utter disregard for any law. The climax of his story is his liaison with a
noblewoman and its consequences. He kills the woman’s father in a duel. The
father is buried and an effigy of him is placed over the tomb. Don Juan, seeing
that effigy, mockingly invites it to dinner. The stone figure duly arrives at
the meal and drags the rake and blasphemer to Hell.
Various
versions of this legend had already appeared in Spain and elsewhere by Byron’s
time. Moliere had written a play on the theme and Mozart, an opera. Byron, with
no compunction whatever, utterly alters the plot in his own version. In fact,
all that Byron leaves of the traditional Don Juan, is his name and birthplace; nothing more! Don Juan’s character is
utterly changed. From a heartless blasphemer, seducer, and libertine (as the
world viewed Byron), he becomes an innocent, far more sinned against than
sinning (as Byron viewed himself).
[Mozart’s
opera, using the Italian version of the name, Don Giovanni, also altered
the title character a great deal, although nowhere near as much as Byron did.
Mozart’s Don Juan is creature of heroic defiance and tragic depth, far removed
from the usual lecher and blasphemer. Bernard Shaw later made fun of Byron’s
character in the “Epistle Dedicatory” to his Man and Superman
(1903), but in the play itself he was content to borrow silently Byron’s innovation
of Don Juan, not as the pursuer, but as the pursued. Ed.]
I.2.1-2: Prince
Ferdinand, Granby, Burgoyne, Keppel, Howe (50, 51, 56)
Edward Vernon
(1684–1757) was an English admiral who wore a grogram cloak (one woven of
coarse silk) in bad weather and was consequently called “Old Grog”. He was the
first to issue rations of rum and water to the crew. Diluted liquor, and then
liquor of any kind, came to be known as “grog” in sailor slang.
William
Augustus (1721–1765), a son of George II of Great Britain and an uncle of
George III, was created Duke of Cumberland in 1726. In 1745 he headed the
British forces fighting off the last Stuart attempt to regain the throne. On
April 16, 1746, he defeated the Scottish adherents of “Bonnie Prince Charlie”
at Culloden, then pursued and crushed the fleeing rebels with sufficient
cruelty to wipe out Stuart hopes forever and to earn for himself the nickname
“the butcher”.
John Burgoyne
(1722–1792) is best remembered (particularly in the United States) for the
defeat of his army and his surrender of Saratoga, New York, in 1777. This was
the turning point of the American Revolution.
[Burgoyne is
also a witty and memorable character from Bernard Shaw’s play The Devil’s Disciple
(1896). He was beautifully portrayed by Laurence Olivier in the 1959
movie. Ed.]
I.7.3-4: Forbids all
wandering as the worst of sinning (88)
The reader
will not be long in discovering that while writing these two lines, Byron has
his fingers firmly crossed.
I.8.1-4: So says the
proverb – and I quite agree (90)
The proverb is
Quien no ha visto Sevilla, no ha visto
maravilla. A free translation, keeping the internal rhyme, would be “To
miss Seville is to miss a thrill.”
I.9.2-3: Of Moor or
Hebrew blood, he traced his source (94)
The word hidalgo meaning, literally, “son of
something” implied that a person was of honorable descent and could therefore
use “Don” before his name. Since parts of Spain had been under the domination
of the Moors for seven centuries, and since during that time, the Jews had made
up a strong and prosperous minority, in the Moorish portions at least, there
had been interbreeding between the native Christian Spaniards and the others.
It was a point of honor among the Spanish nobility of later times that no Moors
or Jews were to be found in their
ancestry.
I.9.4: Through the
most Gothic gentlemen of Spain (95)
Before the
invading Moors conquered Spain in 711, Spain had for three centuries been under
the rule of a Gothic tribe called the Visigoths. To be able to trace one’s ancestry
beyond the Moorish era to the Visigoths themselves would, of course, be the
last word in Spanish nobility.
I.10.1-2: For every
branch of every science known (96)
Byron, who
valued women for parts other than their brains, detested female intellectuals. This
feeling of his was strengthened, broadened, deepened, and intensified by the
fact that Lady Byron (nee Annabella Milbanke) with whom he had contracted a
brief and disastrous marriage, followed by an even more disastrous (for Byron)
separation that led to his permanent exile, was a “learned lady.” There seems
no question but that Byron’s picture of Don Juan’s mother is intended as a
satire on Lady Byron.
[It is true
enough that Byron detested female intellectuals. He wrote a whole satirical
poem, The Blues (1823),
dedicated to them. But he could and did appreciate a few women for non-physical
characteristics, if not for their brains, certainly for their personalities and
common sense. The most notable example is Lady Melbourne with whom Byron
maintained fantastically frank correspondence. “I have no very high opinion of
your sex,” he wrote to her on 25 September 1812, “but when I do see a woman
superior not only to all of her own but to most of ours, I worship her in
proportion as I despise the rest”. Ed.]
I.14.8: The English
always use to govern d—n (103)
In Byron’s
time it was customary to leave “damn” unspelled out to avoid trouble with the
censor. Obviously, the inclusion of two letters and the necessity of rhyme
makes the word unmistakable, but censorship is characteristically concerned
with form rather than with reason.
I.25.2: And
mischief-making monkey from his birth (114)
In the entire
epic there is only one event that can be dated and that is the siege of Izmail
in Cantos VII and VIII. This took place in 1790 and in Juan was then eighteen,
as he might have been, he would have been born in 1772. However, Byron pays no
attention to dates at all, and it is enough to know that the time of the poem
is pre-Napoleonic but not much so.
I.44.1-8: Which saves,
in fact, the trouble of an index (133)
This sounds
unbelievable, but there was indeed such an edition published in Amsterdam in
1701, and it offers a particularly fine example of that odd phenomenon, the
mind of the censor.
I.47.7: As Saint
Augustine in his fine Confessions (137)
Aurelius
Augustinus (354–430), or St. Augustine, was converted in his early thirties. He
led the usual youthful life of a fourth-century pagan of good family (not
nearly as bad as the usual youthful life of a nineteenth-century Christian of
good family) and described his youth with candor in his later Confessions, perhaps the greatest
autobiography of ancient times.
I.49.4: As e’er to
man’s maturer growth was given (138)
Don Juan now
becomes Byron’s idealized version of himself. Byron, who was extremely
handsome, went through tortures of dieting to preserve his figure and secretly
curled his hair as well. Of course, he had a clubfoot – which Juan does not
have.
I.51.3: I knew his
father well (139)
Here is the
“Spanish Gentleman” speaking again. Still, since Don José was so close a
picture of Byron as a married man, the poet might be said to have known him
well.
I.54.5: Him almost
man; but she flew in a rage (143)
Since Don Juan
is now Byron’s idealization of himself, Donna Inez takes on some of the
characteristics of Byron’s mother; a much ill-used woman who was given to
tantrums and rages that were a large factor in making Byron’s childhood
hideous.
I.56.5: When proud
Granada fell (146)
By 1232 the
Christian kingdoms of northern Spain had extended their power over almost the
whole of the peninsula. Left in Moorish hands was only a small section of
southern Spain centered around the city of Granada. This kingdom of Granada
maintained itself for two and a half centuries, not capitulating to the
combined power of Castile and Aragon till 1492.
I.56.6: Boabdil wept
(147)
Abu-‘Abdullah
(called Boabdil by the Spaniards) was the last King of Granada. When defeated
in 1492 and forced to cross over into Africa, he paused on a hill outside
Granada to look one last time at the city which had been Moorish for nearly
eight centuries. The spot from which he looked back is called “El Último
Suspiro del Moro” (The Last Sigh of the Moor), and as he wept, his mother said
harshly, “You do well to weep like a woman for what you could not defend like a
man.”
I.56.7: Some went to
Africa, some stay’d in Spain (148)
One of the
terms of the surrender of Granada was that Moors who remained in Spain would be
accorded freedom of worship. The Christian zeal of the Spanish priesthood in
succeeding decades made the promise a mockery. By 1525 the Moors were forced
either to convert or to leave. Even the converted Moors remained suspect,
however, and were constantly hounded under the suspicion of being secretly
Mohammedan and in league with the African states south of the Mediterranean.
Finally, in
1609, they were forced out of Spain and the country lost nearly a million of
its most industrious and capable citizens, serving thus its own ruin. By then,
however, there had been numerous intermarriages and many Spaniards could find
traces of Moorish ancestry – if they looked.
I.79.5: Platonic,
perfect, “just such love as mine” (156)
“Platonic”
love is the ideal love described by Socrates in Plato’s Symposium, spiritual rather than physical, inspired by the loved
one’s character and virtue, rather than by mere bodily beauty.
I.104.4: As e’er held
houri in that heathenish heaven (164)
A houri was a
nymph who was imagined by Moslems to exist in Heaven for the delectation of the
faithful. Houris were ever-beautiful and ever-willing, yet managed to be
ever-virginal as well as (if they desired) ever-fruitful. No mentioned is made
of intelligence.
I.132.8: Perhaps, as
shooting them at Waterloo (190)
The battle of
Waterloo, fought on June 18, 1815, was, in Byron’s time, and for a century
after, a kind of military watershed. It was the battle at which Napoleon’s
power had been broken once and for all, and the battle at which Great Britain’s
military prestige reached its all-time high point. Byron view Waterloo as a
defeat, however, for by it the reactionary monarchs of Europe were enabled to
turn the clock back and erase the advances toward freedom begun by the French
Revolution.
I.149.1-3: Did not his
countryman, Count Corniani (194)
There was
indeed a Count Giambattista Corniani (1742–1813) of this period, but he was a
harmless historian of Italian literature and is surely not referred to here.
Probably the name is used as a play on cornuto,
the Italian word for “cuckold.” The name, Cazzani, two lines before may be a
play on the Italian vulgarism cazzo,
meaning “penis.”
I.150.4: I wonder in
what quarter now the moon is (195)
The moon was
thought to induce madness at certain times. In fact, the word “lunacy” is from luna, the Latin word for the moon.
I.194.1: Man’s love is
of man’s life a thing apart (205)
This is one of
the most famous passages in the poem. Few of those who quote it, in season and
out, know it is from Don Juan or even
that Byron wrote it.
[Presumably
the whole stanza is meant. Ed.]
I.205.1: Thou shalt
believe in Milton, Dryden, Pope (210)
Alexander Pope
(1688–1744) was an English poet, undersized and deformed (but with giant wit
and intelligence), who wrote mock-heroic epics such as The Rape of the Lock in
1712. He wrote almost entirely in couplets and was, of all English poets, the
only one who may have been Byron’s superior in the savagery of his wit. Byron
admired Pope more than any other poet and Byron’s first satire English Bards and Scotch Reviewers (1809) was a deliberate, and effective, piece of
writing in the style of Pope.
I.206.1: Thou shalt not
covet Mr. Sotheby’s Muse (211)
William
Sotheby was a minor literary figure whom Byron disliked. He believed Sotheby to
have been the author of an anonymous and unfavorable review condemning Byron’s Prisoner of Chillon. The surest way to
worm one’s self into Byron’s disfavor was to criticize his poetry (something in
which Byron closely resembles all other literary figures I have ever heard of).
I.206.3: Thou shalt not
bear false witness like “the Blues” (212)
The “Blues”
(short for “bluestockings”) are the learned ladies whom Byron abhors. The one
referred to in the next line in very likely Lady Byron.
II.26.7: For the sky
show’d it would come on to blow (234)
Much of the second
canto is taken up with the gruesome details of shipwreck. Byron got many of
those details from a book Shipwrecks and
Disasters at Sea by Sir G. Dalzell, published in 1812. His borrowing
extended to even such small details as the fact that ships’ pumps were
manufactured by “Mr. Mann of London” (see three stanzas further on). Byron
thought it better in such cases to be accurate by borrowing than to be creative
at the cost of absurdity. He takes the same attitude in later cantos to in
connection with the siege of Izmail.
II.105.8: Leander, Mr.
Ekenhead, and I did (257, 258)
Leander, the
hero of a romance that appears first in Ovid, was native of Abydos, a city on
the Asian side of the Hellespont. He was in love with Hero, a priestess of
Aphrodite in Sestos, a town on the European side. Leander swam the Hellespont
every night to be with Hero, guided by a light she placed in her window. One
stormy night the light was blown out; Leander lost his way and was drowned.
When his dead body was washed ashore, the grief-stricken Hero plunged into the
waters to her own death. For many centuries readers wept over the sad tale.
Like many a
person who suffered a physical handicap, Byron over-compensated. He played
cricket well, learned to box, fence, and shoot, and was an excellent swimmer.
In 1810, while he was touring the east, the frigate Salsette was carrying him to Constantinople. He decided to try to
repeat Leander’s feat. On his second try, on May 3, he managed to swim from
Sestos to Abydos in one hour and ten minutes. Allowing for the current, he may
have swum four miles. Lieutenant William Ekenhead of the frigate swam the
course with him. Byron was proud of this feat and managed to mention it
frequently in his writings. (A year before, he had swum across the Tagus River
at Lisbon, a more difficult feat, but lacking in classical associations.) Byron
suggested that Leander could scarcely have been in the mood for love after an
hour or more in the cold current. (The same thought occurred to me, quite
independently, years ago.)
[The sentence
between the two couples of brackets probably refers to a letter Byron wrote to
Henry Drury on the very same day of his swimming stunt. Having boasted of it,
he observed that the currents make the stunt dangerous, “so much so that I
doubt whether Leander’s conjugal affection must not have been a little chilled
in his passage to Paradise.” The letter is reprinted abridged in Selected Letters and Journals, ed.
Peter Gunn, Penguin [1972], 1984. pp. 53-4; and complete in a collection with
the same title edited
by Leslie Marchand, John Murray, 1982, pp. 34-8. Six days later, Byron completed
a famous
poem about the event.]
II.137.8: To those
related in my grand-dad’s “Narrative” (267)
Byron’s
“grand-dad” was John Byron (1723–1786). He was called “Foul-weather Jack” since
he encountered more storms in his nautical career than one had a right to
expect. In 1741 he was on board one of the ships under the command of Capitan
George Anson (1697–1762), who was on a voyage of circumnavigation of the earth.
Anson successfully completed his trip, but the ship on which John Byron sailed,
the Wager, was wrecked off the shores
of Chile. Byron went through a series of horrors but ended in safety on Chilean
soil, only to land in a Spanish prison there. He was finally released and
returned to England in 1745.
He eventually
wrote up the story of his grisly adventures, publishing it in 1768 under an
enormously long title usually abbreviated to its second word Narrative. Don Juan’s
hardships were indeed comparative to “grand-dad’s” since Byron borrowed
liberally from his grandfather’s book. It was John Byron, for instance, who,
like Juan, had to eat the forepaw of his own spaniel (see Stanza LXXI of this
canto).
In 1764 John
Byron led a fleet of his own in a two-year circumnavigation of the world and in
1779 fought on the British side of the naval battles involved in the American
Revolution. In the last-mentioned year he ran into one of the worst Atlantic
hurricanes on record, as befitted one called “Foul-weather Jack.”
II.201.8: Some play the
devil, and then write a novel (292)
This is a
clear reference to the half-mad Lady Caroline Lamb, who had carried on a frenzied
affair with Byron in 1812, one from which the poet had only with the greatest
difficulty extricated himself. She pursued him shamelessly thereafter and on
May 9, 1816, after Byron had left England, she vengefully published a perfectly
terrible novel, Glenarvon, in which
she idealized herself and made Byron look considerably worse than he was. The
fact that it openly described the details of their affair (she even included
the letter Byron had written her breaking it off, with changes introduced to
make him look like a cad) made it a sensation and Byron’s enemies were
jubilant.
Lady Caroline,
misled by the success of Glenarvon,
thought she was a writer and over the next seven years published two other
novels which easily attained oblivion.