⚡ The Handmaids Tale: A Criticism Of The Bible

Dan is later seen hanged Characteristics Of SDT the word "faggot" painted underneath him. Dudu, as has been said, was a sweet creature, Not very dashing, but extremely winning, With the most regulated charms of feature, Which painters cannot catch like faces sinning Against proportion—the wild strokes The Handmaids Tale: A Criticism Of The Bible nature Which they hit off at once in the beginning, Full of expression, right or wrong, Gender Roles In The Movie Little Mermaid strike, And pleasing or unpleasing, still are like. Aunt Lydia explains The Handmaids Tale: A Criticism Of The Bible her that she must choose between imprisonment, followed by execution after childbirth, or return as a handmaid; Of mice and men novel naturally chooses The Handmaids Tale: A Criticism Of The Bible latter option to survive. What kinds of materials and goods are Econopeople producing? June asks Steven if she can accompany a group to trade with another camp The Handmaids Tale: A Criticism Of The Bible to vacuum forming disadvantages the Nighthawk rebels, and he agrees after Janine vouches for The Handmaids Tale: A Criticism Of The Bible.

Margaret Atwood: ‘The Handmaid’s Tale is being read very differently now’

Aunt Lydia takes June out to show her Omar hanging on the wall, telling June that Omar's wife Heather is now a handmaid, their son Adam was given away, and this was June's fault. June feels responsible for other people's suffering and collapses under the knowledge of Omar's family's fate. Aunt Lydia encourages her to distinguish between Offred's identity and June's, saying June is to blame, not Offred. In a flashback, June is harassed by Luke's first wife Annie, who tells her that she and Luke made wedding vows before God, and June should back off, but Luke rejects Annie's plea.

May 16, Emotionally beaten and subservient once again, June burns some letters she had been keeping for Mayday. She notices vaginal bleeding but does not inform anyone. Nick notices June's apparent depression and informs Serena. Serena, alarmed at Nick's interest in June, apprises Fred, who arranges for Nick to be married at a Prayvaganza festival where loyal Guardians receive a wife. Nick's new, young bride, a year-old girl named Eden, moves into his room. He avoids sleeping with her. Nick later finds June bloody and unconscious and she is hospitalized. June awakens in the hospital and promises her unborn baby that they both will escape Gilead.

In the Colonies, the unbalanced Janine assures Emily that God is protecting them through their struggles in Gilead, and helps to arrange a small wedding for a dying worker, officiated by another unwoman who is a rabbi. Emily, who has begun to lose her teeth through radiation poisoning, argues with Janine for attempting to bring brightness to a place that otherwise seems so bleak. When the newlywed unwoman dies, the rabbi officiates at the burial as the deceased is lowered into her grave in a cemetery adorned with crosses.

May 23, Advised by a doctor that a harmonious household would benefit the child, Serena shows care for June, giving her the sitting room as a bedroom and inviting her friends for brunch. When Serena shows June the nursery for the baby, June asks to see Hannah. In retaliation, Serena moves June back to her previous room. Eden reveals to June that she fears Nick may be a "gender traitor" due to his reluctance for intimacy, so June warns him. Nick has sex with Eden, but only after he tells June that he loves her. Fred visits June and gives her a photograph of Hannah.

Suddenly, Ofglen No. Flashbacks show the beginning of the Gilead movement with Serena being attacked while promoting her book A Woman's Place. After being booed, Fred forces Serena to finish her speech, which is met by jeers and clapping, escalating when a protester shoots Serena in the abdomen. Fred executes a student involved in his wife's shooting. May 30, In the aftermath of the suicide bombing at the Rachel and Leah Center, 31 handmaids, 26 commanders including Commander Pryce , and many civilians were killed, plus dozens more wounded.

Despite being near the front of the building, Fred survives with serious injuries. Serena takes on some of his duties, forging his signature. Commander Cushing then takes Commander Pryce's role, increases checkpoints, and orders numerous people executed in the streets. He questions June and asks who aided her in trying to flee the country. June responds that she was kidnapped. Serena is alarmed at her household being targeted and the loss of temporary power she held, so she forges orders to have Commander Cushing arrested.

Because many handmaids were killed, some women from the Colonies are made to serve as handmaids again, including Janine and Emily. Both reunite with June in the grocery store, where Janine happily tells June that it was God's plan that she be rescued. June tells Emily her true name and several of the handmaids whisper their names to one another. Serena enlists June's help in performing Fred's work for him while he is hospitalized. Moira is revealed to have been a surrogate birth mother for a couple and Odette was their obstetrician.

In the present, Moira eventually finds photographs showing Odette was killed. June 6, Serena gives June a music box and flower for June's help in completing Fred's work while he continues to recover in the hospital. Serena tells June that the Putnams' child is ill and not gaining weight. June advocates for Janine to be able to see the baby, and Serena agrees to ask about it. Naomi Putnam dislikes the idea, but she is overruled by her husband. Serena petitions Fred to allow the child to be seen by a Martha who, prior to the Sons of Jacob coup, was a top neonatologist. Fred denies the request, so Serena forges Fred's signature on an order that temporarily transfers the Martha to the hospital.

Lydia tells June that she will hold her responsible if anything goes wrong with Janine's visit to the hospital. The neonatologist can find no physical explanation for the child's deterioration and recommends no further treatment other than supportive care. When Fred discovers that Serena forged his signature on an order to temporarily transfer the Martha, he straps Serena with his belt. After Eden rearranges Nick's garret and uncovers the bundle of handmaids' letters, he demands that Eden never touch his belongings.

Jeremy Podeswa. June 13, The Waterfords and Nick travel to Canada on a diplomatic mission. While they are away, a young Guardian named Isaac is left in charge of the household. Serena is approached by Mark Tuello, who works for a remnant of the U. At the Waterford residence, June tells Rita that when Hannah was baptized , she and Luke chose godparents for her, and that she wants Rita to be the godmother of her expected child as soon as it is born. June makes a similar request to Aunt Lydia, prompting Lydia to reveal she was previously the godmother to her sister's baby, who died in infancy. Luke, Moira, and Erin make the letters public, which prompts the Canadians to cancel the summit.

After returning to Gilead, Nick gives June news of Luke and Moira, adding that the letters were instrumental in curtailing the talks. June reveals that Moira is Hannah's godmother. June 20, The commander to whom Emily is newly assigned as handmaid collapses and dies from a sudden heart attack during the Ceremony. June suffers contractions while shopping, forcing her to go home and to endure a "birthing ceremony" as everyone awaits the birth of the child. However, it turns out to be a false alarm. June pleads to Fred to be positioned closer to her daughter Hannah after the eventual birth.

After Fred denies this request, June implies that the child she is carrying is not his and that he will never have a child of his own. Fred rapes June with Serena holding her down, under the guise of inducing labor. Meanwhile, Eden finds herself attracted to Isaac and meets with him at night. They kiss, but she stops once she sees Nick. She begs Nick's forgiveness, which he gives with a detachment that infuriates her.

She accuses Nick of liking June. Fred arranges for Nick to take June to a remote house for a visit with Hannah, now renamed Agnes. There is thick snow on the ground and the sound of wolves. Hannah is initially shy and detached, but then she embraces June, and mother and daughter have a brief reunion. After they are separated, Guardians take Nick captive, and June is left behind, having hidden in the house. June 27, After Nick is taken away from the house, June finds a Chevrolet Camaro in the garage and car keys, and after much difficulty is able to start the car. She returns to the house and gets a man's coat. Flashbacks throughout the episode show her first pregnancy and Hannah's birth and childhood.

Fred and Serena arrive at the house in a panic looking for June, and end up arguing, with Serena telling Fred she gave up everything for him and the cause, and only ever wanted a child in return. June finds a gun and from an upper floor and prepares to shoot them, but desists. The Waterfords are unable to find June and decide to leave, feeling both angry and concerned. After she is certain they are gone, June, having contractions, gets back into the car but cannot get it out of the garage, which is frozen shut. June is exhausted and in pain, lies down in front of the fire, and finally goes into labor and passes out. When she awakens she is covered in blood, but the baby still has not come. She crawls outside and discharges the gun to attract attention, then ends up delivering the baby by herself.

She whispers that the baby's name is Holly, after June's mother. Light comes in through the windows, indicating that a car has arrived at the house. July 4, June is separated from her baby but expected to provide milk. When she is unable to pump enough milk Aunt Lydia allows her to see the baby in order to induce lactation. As June's lactation increases during the meeting, Lydia convinces Fred to allow June back in the house for the baby's health. Nick, who is back in the Waterford household and presented as having been key to the rescue of June and the baby, suggests that he, June, and the baby should flee to Canada, and Fred attempts to renew elements of his relationship with June.

Meanwhile, Emily is reassigned to the Lawrence household as a handmaid after being rejected by four other couples. His unstable wife, Eleanor, reveals to Emily that Lawrence was the creator of the Colonies. Lawrence reveals that he knows much about Emily's past. Eden and Isaac elope but are caught. Eden and Nick admit their faults and ask each other's forgiveness. Eden and Isaac are brought to a public diving board above a swimming pool to be executed for infidelity; each of them is attached to chains and weights.

Both refuse to repent, and Eden instead begins to recite a biblical paean to love. They are both pushed off and drown to death. The baby is named Nichole. It is revealed that it was Eden's father who turned Eden and Isaac in. While searching through Eden's belongings, June discovers a Bible that Eden read from and annotated, despite it being illegal for women to read in Gilead. She is punished by having a finger removed. Emily is visited by Lydia and as Lydia leaves, Emily stabs her. Fred suggests to June that he could arrange for her to remain his handmaid, offering meetings with Hannah; June rejects the proposal. As a fire consumes a neighboring house, Rita tells June that she and Holly have a chance to get out. Nick prevents Fred from arranging their capture.

Serena catches June, but has a change of heart as she imagines the restricted future that awaits her daughter. She allows June to take Nichole, assisted by the Marthas. June is reunited with Emily, who is dropped off at the escape truck by Lawrence. Instead of escaping with them, June hands her baby to Emily, telling her to call her Nichole. June turns back to Gilead, determined to continue looking for her other daughter Hannah. After a treacherous journey, Emily escapes Gilead with June's baby Nichole into Canada, where they are granted asylum and Nichole is taken into the care of Luke and Moira.

Back in Gilead, June asks Commander Lawrence who had facilitated Emily and Nichole's escape to Canada to take her to Hannah before being recaptured by the Guardians and returned to the Waterfords, but not before Hannah's placement mother, Mrs. MacKenzie, warns June that any future visits could result in her execution in front of Hannah. In order to protect himself and Serena from her involvement in Nichole's "kidnapping", Fred publicly pins the blame on Emily, but privately, Serena defiantly tells him that she was the one who sent Nichole away and tries to kill herself by burning down the house, but is soon rescued by June.

June, who is now Ofjoseph, meets her new shopping partner, Ofmatthew, a handmaid who is deeply pious. At the Lawrence household, June joins an underground resistance cell consisting of the Marthas Beth and Cora. They are hiding a fugitive Martha named Alison, a former chemistry teacher who joined the Mayday resistance in order to make bombs to destroy the Gilead ruling government. It is also revealed that she made the bomb that blew up the new Rachel and Leah center.

June and Beth help Alison escape, however, the escape attempt fails and she later returns to the Lawrence household with another wounded Martha, who was shot by Guardians. Commander Lawrence reluctantly harbors the fugitive from the Guardians. Lawrence's wife, Eleanor, helps June and the Marthas hide the wounded woman. The Martha succumbs to her injury and June digs a grave for her in the backyard and then prays for her soul to rest in peace. Lawrence dismisses Cora for lying while June buries the Martha and Eleanor plants flowers over the grave. In Canada, Emily is staying with Luke, Moira, and Erin, and after some hesitation, is convinced by Moira to re-establish contact with her wife Sylvia. A new Martha, Sienna, replaces Cora's position in the Lawrence household.

June resolves to search for "allies with power" in order to survive Gilead. The commanders meet at Lawrence's house to discuss the fighting in Chicago including an incoming shipment of female captives. June encounters Nick, who has been promoted to commander, and the two share a tender moment. Lawrence conscripts June to select five Chicago women to serve as Marthas; the remainders will be shipped to the Colonies, which is ultimately a death sentence. While initially unwilling to be complicit in Lawrence's crimes, June eventually chooses five Marthas who would make good recruits for her resistance cell: an engineer, an IT technician, a journalist, a lawyer, and a thief.

Meanwhile, a despondent Serena goes to stay with her mother Pamela, who chastises her for losing her child and for not realizing that without Fred, Serena has no place in Gileadean society. June 12, June and some of her fellow handmaids attend a reception at the Putnam household. There, June convinces Fred to give Serena a "voice behind the scenes" in Gilead. Flashbacks throughout the episode show June and Luke's baptism of Hannah by a Christian priest before the hostile takeover by the Sons of Jacob, who now dedicate children , rather than baptize infants.

In the present, June learns that Ofmatthew has given birth to three babies. Janine, serving as Ofhoward, pleads with the Putnams to invite her back into the house so that she can produce a sibling for baby Angela. Aunt Lydia furiously beats her in full view of the commanders and the wives until June throws herself between Janine and Aunt Lydia. In shock, Aunt Lydia then apologizes for what happened and privately breaks down in tears.

Serena tells June that Hannah is at a school in Brookline, Massachusetts. June and the Waterfords later receive video footage of Nichole with Luke in Canada, during a demonstration condemning Gilead's hostile assault on Chicago. June is forced to confirm her husband's identity. In Canada, Emily finally reunites with her wife Sylvia and their son Oliver, and Luke and Moira ask a Christian priest to baptize Nichole, which they do in a church. Colin Watkinson. June 19, In exchange for a favor from Serena, June agrees to phone Luke to arrange a meeting between the Waterfords and Nichole. Mark Tuello whom Serena met the last time the Waterfords were in Canada is in charge of arranging the meeting.

Luke agrees to the meeting on the condition that only Serena attend the meeting and not Fred. Serena passes Luke a locket for Nichole, as well as a cassette tape she smuggled out of Gilead, containing a recorded message from June, revealing the name she gave to Nichole Holly and the baby's biological father Nick. After unsuccessfully trying to convince Serena to defect for a second time, Mark hides a satellite phone in Serena's purse when she returns to Gilead, so she can contact him if necessary. Later, June is picked up by Guardians and forced to participate in a televised broadcast in which the Waterfords state that they are a family mourning the kidnapping of Nichole and urge the Canadian government to return their daughter to Gilead.

Dearbhla Walsh. June 26, There, they meet with a delegation of Swiss diplomats who are seeking to negotiate between Gilead and Canada and prepare to take part in internationally broadcast mass prayers being held at the former Washington Monument that has now been turned into a giant cross, asking for the return of baby Nichole from Canada.

Once there, both June and Aunt Lydia are shocked and appalled at how in Washington, the leadership caste has taken the rules of Gilead to shocking extremes: forcing all handmaids living there to be muzzled at all times in order to cover up small ring piercings used to permanently keep their mouths closed. The two bond, as Aunt Lydia tells June she believes that handmaids should not be silenced. Commander Winslow suggests to Fred that he may have a position for him in D.

June reunites with Nick, who as a commander is now prepping military forces for the Chicago frontline against the rebels. June makes a deal with the Swiss to convince Nick to provide information on Gilead's power structure, however they reject talking to Nick upon obtaining information about unstated war crimes committed by him in the early days of the Gilead takeover. June and Serena later have an argument inside what used to be the Lincoln Memorial over Serena's change of heart regarding baby Nichole, and Serena reveals to June that Nick was a soldier in the crusade, implying that he was directly involved in the attacks on the White House and the Capitol.

Afterwards, the Waterfords force June to lead thousands of handmaids massed along what used to be the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool in a televised prayer for Nichole's return. July 3, While visiting the supermarket, June arranges with Frances the Mackenzies' Martha to visit Hannah at her school in Brookline. In Canada, Emily and Sylvia meet with one of the Swiss diplomats, who questions Emily about crimes she has been accused of committing in Gilead.

Emily acknowledges them, but does not regret the actions she took to survive there. Emily later befriends Moira and the two join a group of protesters who confront the Canadian Immigration Minister over his negotiations with Gilead, and they are arrested. Olivia Winslow recommends to Serena that her family move to Washington, D. Fred and Serena renew their love for each other while negotiations take place to secure Nichole's return and an extradition treaty with Canada. June convinces Eleanor to accompany her on a visit to Brookline, but the two are not permitted entry into the school. Afterwards, June participates in an execution where Frances and several others are hanged for "endangering a sacred child". June realizes that Ofmatthew was spying on her and reported Frances to Aunt Lydia.

June furiously attacks Ofmatthew, but is restrained by her fellow handmaids. July 10, After the execution, Ofmatthew is ostracized by the other handmaids. In a ritual in which handmaids are admonished to "testify" for their sins, June is singled out for being responsible for the death of Frances, which will negatively affect Hannah. June exposes Ofmatthew's doubts about wanting to carry another child to term. In the night, Handmaid Ofandy gives birth to a stillborn girl. Ofmatthew snaps when she is with June at a grocery store and after ferociously beating Janine, grabs a gun from a Guardian and prepares to shoot Aunt Lydia who addresses Ofmatthew by her real name, Natalie , before another Guardian shoots her and she is taken away.

When June asks Lawrence about the whereabouts of Hannah and her family, he informs her that he does not know where they have relocated. Flashbacks show Aunt Lydia's past: she was a caring Christian teacher who was rejected by her school's principal when, at the urging of a neglectful single mother whom she had befriended, she made a pass at him during their first date. Seeing that the mother was dating several men and did not attend church and that her child wore dirty clothes, Lydia reported her to child protective services and her son was placed in a foster home. July 17, Natalie is rendered brain dead after the shooting and is placed on life support until her baby is born.

As punishment for her role in engineering Natalie's humiliation and death, June is kept in the hospital room, praying on her knees, all day for weeks, under Aunt Lydia's orders. After over a month, June struggles with her mental state as well as her culpability in Natalie's death. June makes two mercy killing attempts on Natalie, but is stopped by Janine, who tells her that Natalie is one of them, and that June has become selfish. June attacks Serena when she visits the hospital and suffers cuts to her hand, but Serena does not reveal the attack.

A sympathetic doctor stitches June's wounds, complimenting her for her bravery and June finds out he knew her mother. As Natalie's condition deteriorates, the doctors are forced to deliver her premature son by Caesarean section. In the hospital, June encounters a young girl who has reached menarche and wants to bear children. After the baby has been delivered, June is allowed to leave, but gets permission from Aunt Lydia to remain with Natalie in her final moments. June apologizes to the brain-dead Natalie for losing her way and tells her that her son is a fighter and vows to rescue as many children from Gilead as she can. Meanwhile, Aunt Lydia shows a softer side when she gifts Janine with an eye-patch to conceal her disfigured socket.

July 24, High Commander Winslow visits Boston , where he reveals plans to import the muzzling of handmaids currently implemented in Washington D. Fred arranges for Winslow, Serena, and Aunt Lydia to "witness" Lawrence's next "ceremony" with June in order to out Lawrence's refusal to bed his handmaids and eliminate him as a protector of June. June convinces Lawrence and Eleanor to go through with the ceremony, citing the fact that Fred would kill not just Lawrence and his wife but also their entire household, similar to the fate of the Deeds household after Ofglen 2's assault on the new Red Center.

After the doctor checks June to confirm that the ceremony was successful, June informs Lawrence of her plans to smuggle children out of Gilead and offers to have Lawrence take credit for the rescue so that he and Eleanor can defect to Canada without fear of reprisals for Lawrence's role in the government of Gilead. Serena confronts Fred over allowing Winslow influence in the district, having realized that Winslow has no intention of helping the Waterfords regain Nichole. July 31, June saves Lawrence after Eleanor points a gun at him, and in return she asks him to help her smuggle children out of Gilead.

Beth arranges for a group of Marthas to meet with June and agree to help her with her plan; they mention a man, named Billy, who works at Jezebels, who helps them. Lawrence tries to escape the country with Eleanor but is unable to cross checkpoints, so he returns home. June travels with Lawrence to Jezebels to meet Billy, and afterwards encounters Winslow, who attempts to rape her. June attacks and kills Winslow.

Afterwards, a Martha helps June escape, and she reveals to June that she was one of the five women from Chicago that June had saved from the Colonies. The Marthas working at the brothel clean the room and cremate Winslow's body. Meanwhile, the Waterfords travel to meet with Mark Tuello in order to expedite Nichole's return. They stop at their friends' house where they dine with their family and hear them sing Dona nobis pacem and imagine life in a world where the Sons of Jacob did not establish rule.

When the Waterfords drive to meet Tuello, he, unbeknownst to Fred, leads them to Canada where the Canadian Army arrests Fred for war crimes. August 7, Commanders Putnam and Calhoun meet with Lawrence to discuss the current events in Gilead. Beth informs June that the plan to get the children out of Gilead is underway with an airplane being expected to arrive in one week. In Canada, the Waterfords spend time in a detention facility and while Fred worries for Serena's safety, she reveals to him that she was involved in their capture, in order that she might get to spend time with Nichole. Luke and Moira meet with Fred and Serena respectively, and Serena is allowed to spend time with Nichole. In an argument over June, Luke punches Fred.

Eleanor almost spills news of June's plan to Olivia Winslow and Naomi Putnam when they come to visit the house to pray for the safety of Commander Winslow, who officials believe has been kidnapped. After June scolds Eleanor, she retreats to her room. June later goes to deliver food and drink to Eleanor, but sees that she has overdosed on medication to try to kill herself. Eleanor is groggy but still breathing, but ultimately June decides not to help her and quietly leaves.

Eleanor is found dead the next morning by Sienna, and a funeral is later held for her. A flashback shows June after being captured, where she witnesses disabled women being rounded up and presumably executed. She also tries to find out Hannah's whereabouts from a Guardian but he simply tells her to be quiet, and she is thrown into a truck with Janine. In the present, while the preparations to get children out of Gilead are underway, a Martha, Maggie, brings a child, Kiki, early to the Lawrence household, still in daylight.

Maggie later loses her nerve, changes her mind and threatens to leave with Kiki, but June stops her at the point of a gun, retaining Kiki. Maggie escapes and is caught on her way back to Lexington , causing Gilead to patrol the region. More children than originally planned arrive at the Lawrence household and when Janine informs June that soldiers are checking every house, they all start heading to the airport. In Canada, Fred in retaliation informs Tuello of the crimes Serena is responsible for and she is detained after previously having been given freedom to roam the city and spend time with Nichole.

At the airport, June and other handmaids and Marthas including Janine, Alma, Brianna, Beth and Sienna cause a distraction, throwing stones at two Guardian soldiers in order to allow Rita and the children to board the airplane. Luke, Moira and Emily are all volunteering at the airport in Canada, where Kiki whose real name is revealed to be Rebecca is reunited with her father. Rita informs Luke that June is responsible for the delivery of the children to safety. In a scuffle with a soldier, June is shot but later found by Janine, Alma, Brianna and more of her fellow handmaids who carry her out of the woods using her cloak. As she closes her eyes, she recites the words of Exodus —8.

A badly wounded June is taken to a Mayday safehouse by the other handmaids, which is a farmhouse run by Esther Keyes, the year-old bride of Commander Keyes. Esther has been sedating her elderly husband to keep him from finding out about her involvement with helping Mayday and with the arrival of June, helps the fugitive handmaids secure complete control over the compound. After learning that Esther was gang raped by her husband's associates, June promises that God will bring those men to justice.

One of the rapists later trespasses on the farm and Esther, under June's direction, executes him in the barn for the crimes of rape and treason. Serena and Fred meanwhile discover the arrival of the stolen children to Canada and the threat of war their arrival heralds as Gilead demands their return. They are also informed that they will be kept in custody as their trial will be postponed. Using the farmhouse as their base of operation, June visits a Jezebels to get the details of the next safe house. While at the Jezebels, June realises it is filled with visiting commanders and June decides to liberate the Jezebels. While informing Mrs. Keyes of the intention to move to the next safe house, with the help of Mrs. Keyes she decides to poison the commanders and leave for the safe house the next day.

June successfully returns from the Jezebels to find bullet casings on the ground and herself surrounded by snipers. Nick comes out of the shadows and reveals to be looking for the handmaids and takes June as prisoner. Meanwhile, Rita struggles with her new freedom in Canada, as the rescued children are reunited with family in Canada, though several express a desire to return to their adopted family in Gilead. Aunt Lydia is interrogated at the hands of the Commanders and is pardoned; she declares June a menace that must be destroyed before she takes down Gilead. Serena meets Fred in the facility's chapel and tries to reconcile with him to no avail; afterward, she is told by Mark Tuello that she is pregnant.

Elisabeth Moss. June is subjected to torture in order to coerce her to reveal the location of the other handmaids. When faced with having her fingernails forcibly removed, June lies about the location of her fellow handmaids and in retaliation, Beth and Sienna are thrown off the roof of the center to punish June for lying. Lawrence warns June that they will hurt Hannah if June does not disclose the handmaids' location.

After seeing Hannah and fearing for her safety, June reveals the location of her friends. June expects to be executed but Aunt Lydia explains that she and the others will be sent to a Magdalene Colony to labor in the fields and be visited by commanders and their wives for the ceremony. June, Aunt Lydia, and the other handmaids are traveling to the colony when they are stopped at a train crossing. The handmaids stage an escape, but the driver shoots and kills two handmaids as they run. June and Janine cross the tracks, but Alma and Brianna are both hit by the passing train, killing them. May 5, June and Janine escape Gilead in a milk tanker that is part of a train headed to Chicago. After Janine questions how they were found, June confesses that she revealed the location of the handmaids.

American fighters raid the train and bring them to their living quarters, but the group is short on resources. June decides they must leave after the leader Steven asks for oral sex in exchange for taking them in, but Janine agrees to a sexual relationship with him, which provides the two with food and shelter. In flashbacks, Janine visits a crisis pregnancy center , where she is pressured to continue her pregnancy. She visits a physician, who gives her abortion pills. In Canada, Rita is told that there is no news of her relatives at any of the refugee camps but Moira assures her that Catholics are good at forging passports to escape Gilead.

Rita receives a request from Serena to visit her where she and Fred are awaiting trial; during the visit, Serena reveals that she is pregnant with a boy and gives her the fetal ultrasound as a gift, asking Rita's help to care for the child. A ball-room bard, a foolscap, hot-press darling? But to the narrative:—The vessel bound With slaves to sell off in the capital, After the usual process, might be found At anchor under the seraglio wall; Her cargo, from the plague being safe and sound, Were landed in the market, one and all, And there with Georgians, Russians, and Circassians, Bought up for different purposes and passions. A crowd of shivering slaves of every nation, And age, and sex, were in the market ranged; Each bevy with the merchant in his station: Poor creatures!

Like a backgammon board the place was dotted With whites and blacks, in groups on show for sale, Though rather more irregularly spotted: Some bought the jet, while others chose the pale. It chanced amongst the other people lotted, A man of thirty rather stout and hale, With resolution in his dark grey eye, Next Juan stood, till some might choose to buy. To strive, too, with our fate were such a strife As if the corn-sheaf should oppose the sickle: Men are the sport of circumstances, when The circumstances seem the sport of men. She did not run away, too,—did she, sir? All, when life is new, Commence with feelings warm, and prospects high; But time strips our illusions of their hue, And one by one in turn, some grand mistake Casts off its bright skin yearly like the snake.

As though they were in a mere Christian fair Cheapening an ox, an ass, a lamb, or kid; So that their bargain sounded like a battle For this superior yoke of human cattle. I wonder if his appetite was good? Or, if it were, if also his digestion? Methinks at meals some odd thoughts might intrude, And conscience ask a curious sort of question, About the right divine how far we should Sell flesh and blood.

When dinner has opprest one, I think it is perhaps the gloomiest hour Which turns up out of the sad twenty-four. Poor fellow! The trump and bugle till he spake were dumb— And now nought left him but the muffled drum. The scars of his old wounds were near his new, Those honourable scars which brought him fame; And horrid was the contrast to the view— But let me quit the theme; as such things claim Perhaps even more attention than is due From me: I gazed as oft I have gazed the same To try if I could wrench aught out of death Which should confirm, or shake, or make a faith; But it was all a mystery.

Here we are, And there we go:—but where? Can every element our elements mar? And air—earth—water—fire live—and we dead? We whose minds comprehend all things? No more; But let us to the story as before. How get out? Turkey contains no bells, and yet men dine; And Juan and his friend, albeit they heard No Christian knoll to table, saw no line Of lackeys usher to the feast prepared, Yet smelt roast-meat, beheld a huge fire shine, And cooks in motion with their clean arms bared, And gazed around them to the left and right With the prophetic eye of appetite.

And divers smoked superb pipes decorated With amber mouths of greater price or less; And several strutted, others slept, and some Prepared for supper with a glass of rum. He leads them through the hall, and, without stopping, On through a farther range of goodly rooms, Splendid but silent, save in one, where, dropping, A marble fountain echoes through the glooms Of night which robe the chamber, or where popping Some female head most curiously presumes To thrust its black eyes through the door or lattice, As wondering what the devil a noise that is.

But to resume,—should there be what may not Be in these days? The suit he thought most suitable to each Was, for the elder and the stouter, first A Candiote cloak, which to the knee might reach, And trousers not so tight that they would burst, But such as fit an Asiatic breech; A shawl, whose folds in Cashmire had been nurst, Slippers of saffron, dagger rich and handy; In short, all things which form a Turkish Dandy.

What fear you? I tell you no one means you harm. Keep your good name; though Eve herself once fell. I also would suggest the fitting time To gentlemen in any such like case, That is to say in a meridian clime— With us there is more law given to the chase, But here a small delay forms a great crime: So recollect that the extremest grace Is just two minutes for your declaration— A moment more would hurt your reputation. In this vile garb, the distaff, web, and woof, Were fitter for me: Love is for the free! Remember, or if you can not imagine, Ye, who have kept your chastity when young, While some more desperate dowager has been waging Love with you, and been in the dog-days stung By your refusal, recollect her raging! Or recollect all that was said or sung On such a subject; then suppose the face Of a young downright beauty in this case.

Suppose,—but you already have supposed, The spouse of Potiphar, the Lady Booby, Phaedra, and all which story has disclosed Of good examples; pity that so few by Poets and private tutors are exposed, To educate—ye youth of Europe—you by! Though he deserved it well for being so backward, The cutting off his head was not the art Most likely to attain her aim—his heart. Whose frown would put the spheres all out of tune, Whose smile makes all the planets dance with mirth, Your slave brings tidings—he hopes not too soon— Which your sublime attention may be worth: The Sun himself has sent me like a ray, To hint that he is coming up this way. I wish to heaven he would not shine till morning! But bid my women form the milky way.

Hence, my old comet! Her comrades, also, thought themselves undone: O! There was a general whisper, toss, and wriggle, But etiquette forbade them all to giggle. The Turks do well to shut—at least, sometimes— The women up, because, in sad reality, Their chastity in these unhappy climes Is not a thing of that astringent quality Which in the North prevents precocious crimes, And makes our snow less pure than our morality; The sun, which yearly melts the polar ice, Has quite the contrary effect on vice. But no doubt every thing is for the best— Of which the surest sign is in the end: When things are at the worst they sometimes mend.

There is a tide in the affairs of women Which, taken at the flood, leads—God knows where: Those navigators must be able seamen Whose charts lay down its current to a hair; Not all the reveries of Jacob Behmen With its strange whirls and eddies can compare: Men with their heads reflect on this and that— But women with their hearts on heaven knows what! He died at fifty for a queen of forty; I wish their years had been fifteen and twenty, For then wealth, kingdoms, worlds are but a sport—I Remember when, though I had no great plenty Of worlds to lose, yet still, to pay my court, I Gave what I had—a heart: as the world went, I Gave what was worth a world; for worlds could never Restore me those pure feelings, gone forever.

It is observed that ladies are litigious Upon all legal objects of possession, And not the least so when they are religious, Which doubles what they think of the transgression: With suits and prosecutions they besiege us, As the tribunals show through many a session, When they suspect that any one goes shares In that to which the law makes them sole heirs. If fair Gulbeyaz overdid her part, I know not—it succeeded, and success Is much in most things, not less in the heart Than other articles of female dress. Self-love in man, too, beats all female art; They lie, we lie, all lie, but love no less; And no one virtue yet, except starvation, Could stop that worst of vices—propagation. Bills, beasts, and men, and—no! With one good hearty curse I vent my gall, And then my stoicism leaves nought behind Which it can either pain or evil call, And I can give my whole soul up to mind; Though what is soul or mind, their birth or growth, Is more than I know—the deuce take them both!

Gulbeyaz and her lord were sleeping, or At least one of them! O, enviable Briareus! A goodly sinecure, no doubt! And what is that? Devotion, doubtless—how Could you ask such a question? As I said, this goodly row Of ladies of all countries at the will Of one good man, with stately march and slow, Like water-lilies floating down a rill— Or rather lake, for rills do not run slowly— Paced on most maiden-like and melancholy.

Of those who had most genius for this sort Of sentimental friendship, there were three, Lolah, Katinka, and Dudu; in short To save description , fair as fair can be Were they, according to the best report, Though differing in stature and degree, And clime and time, and country and complexion; They all alike admired their new connection. What say you, child? Dudu, as has been said, was a sweet creature, Not very dashing, but extremely winning, With the most regulated charms of feature, Which painters cannot catch like faces sinning Against proportion—the wild strokes of nature Which they hit off at once in the beginning, Full of expression, right or wrong, that strike, And pleasing or unpleasing, still are like.

But she was pensive more than melancholy, And serious more than pensive, and serene, It may be, more than either—not unholy Her thoughts, at least till now, appear to have been. Kind reader! And next she gave her I say her, because The gender still was epicene, at least In outward show, which is a saving clause An outline of the customs of the East, With all their chaste integrity of laws, By which the more a haram is increased, The stricter doubtless grow the vestal duties Of any supernumerary beauties. But still more dread, O ye! But these are foolish things to all the wise, And I love wisdom more than she loves me; My tendency is to philosophise On most things, from a tyrant to a tree; But still the spouseless virgin Knowledge flies.

What are we? Are questions answerless, and yet incessant. Many and beautiful lay those around, Like flowers of different hue, and dime, and root, In some exotic garden sometimes found, With cost, and care, and warmth induced to shoot. And lo! But what was strange—and a strong proof how great A blessing is sound sleep—Juanna lay As fast as ever husband by his mate In holy matrimony snores away. And now commenced a strict investigation, Which, as all spoke at once and more than once, Conjecturing, wondering, asking a narration, Alike might puzzle either wit or dunce To answer in a very clear oration. All this she told with some confusion and Dismay, the usual consequence of dreams Of the unpleasant kind, with none at hand To expound their vain and visionary gleams.

The damsels, who had thoughts of some great harm, Began, as is the consequence of fear, To scold a little at the false alarm That broke for nothing on their sleeping car. You surely are unwell, child! And so good night to them,—or, if you will, Good morrow—for the cock had crown, and light Began to clothe each Asiatic hill, And the mosque crescent struggled into sight Of the long caravan, which in the chill Of dewy dawn wound slowly round each height That stretches to the stony belt, which girds Asia, where Kaff looks down upon the Kurds.

The nightingale that sings with the deep thorn, Which fable places in her breast of wail, Is lighter far of heart and voice than those Whose headlong passions form their proper woes. But as it was, his Highness had to hold His daily council upon ways and means How to encounter with this martial scold, This modern Amazon and queen of queans; And the perplexity could not be told Of all the pillars of the state, which leans Sometimes a little heavy on the backs Of those who cannot lay on a new tax. Bring the two slaves! Even should all the rest Be hidden by the rolling waves, which hide Already many a once love-beaten breast Deep in the caverns of the deadly tide— You love this boyish, new, seraglio guest, And if this violent remedy be tried— Excuse my freedom, when I here assure you, That killing him is not the way to cure you.

I leave them for the present with good wishes, Though doubts of their well doing, to arrange Another part of history; for the dishes Of this our banquet we must sometimes change; And trusting Juan may escape the fishes, Although his situation now seems strange And scarce secure, as such digressions are fair, The Muse will take a little touch at warfare. O Glory! They accuse me—Me—the present writer of The present poem—of—I know not what— A tendency to under-rate and scoff At human power and virtue, and all that; And this they say in language rather rough.

Good God! I wonder what they would be at! Newton that proverb of the mind , alas! Dogs, or men! As little as the moon stops for the baying Of wolves, will the bright muse withdraw one ray From out her skies—then howl your idle wrath! How shall I spell the name of each Cossacque Who were immortal, could one tell their story? Then there were foreigners of much renown, Of various nations, and all volunteers; Not fighting for their country or its crown, But wishing to be one day brigadiers; Also to have the sacking of a town,— A pleasant thing to young men at their years. I hope this little question is no sin, Because, though I am but a simple noddy, I think one Shakspeare puts the same thought in The mouth of some one in his plays so doting, Which many people pass for wits by quoting.

The Russians, having built two batteries on An isle near Ismail, had two ends in view; The first was to bombard it, and knock down The public buildings and the private too, No matter what poor souls might be undone. One bark blew up, a second near the works Running aground, was taken by the Turks. But here are men who fought in gallant actions As gallantly as ever heroes fought, But buried in the heap of such transactions Their names are rarely found, nor often sought. This was Potemkin—a great thing in days When homicide and harlotry made great; If stars and titles could entail long praise, His glory might half equal his estate. This fellow, being six foot high, could raise A kind of phantasy proportionate In the then sovereign of the Russian people, Who measured men as you would do a steeple.

While things were in abeyance, Ribas sent A courier to the prince, and he succeeded In ordering matters after his own bent; I cannot tell the way in which he pleaded, But shortly he had cause to be content. They had but little baggage at their backs, For there were but three shirts between the two; But on they rode upon two Ukraine hacks, Till, in approaching, were at length descried In this plain pair, Suwarrow and his guide. But to the tale:—great joy unto the camp! But certes matters took a different face; There was enthusiasm and much applause, The fleet and camp saluted with great grace, And all presaged good fortune to their cause. The whole camp rung with joy; you would have thought That they were going to a marriage feast This metaphor, I think, holds good as aught, Since there is discord after both at least : There was not now a luggage boy but sought Danger and spoil with ardour much increased; And why?

Most things were in this posture on the eve Of the assault, and all the camp was in A stern repose; which you would scarce conceive; Yet men resolved to dash through thick and thin Are very silent when they once believe That all is settled:—there was little din, For some were thinking of their home and friends, And others of themselves and latter ends. Suwarrow chiefly was on the alert, Surveying, drilling, ordering, jesting, pondering; For the man was, we safely may assert, A thing to wonder at beyond most wondering; Hero, buffoon, half-demon, and half-dirt, Praying, instructing, desolating, plundering; Now Mars, now Momus; and when bent to storm A fortress, Harlequin in uniform.

And this young fellow—say what can he do? He with the beardless chin and garments torn? Johnson, who knew by this long colloquy Himself a favourite, ventured to address Suwarrow, though engaged with accents high In his resumed amusement. I was busy, and forgot. Why, you Will join your former regiment, which should be Now under arms. The women may be sent To the other baggage, or to the sick tent. O, foolish mortals! Always taught in vain! O, glorious laurel! They shall be shown All the attention possible, and seen In safety to the waggons, where alone In fact they can be safe.

You should have been Aware this kind of baggage never thrives: Save wed a year, I hate recruits with wives. To me this kind of life is not so new; To them, poor things, it is an awkward scrape. I therefore, if you wish me to fight freely, Request that they may both be used genteelly. John Johnson, seeing their extreme dismay, Though little versed in feelings oriental, Suggested some slight comfort in his way: Don Juan, who was much more sentimental, Swore they should see him by the dawn of day, Or that the Russian army should repent all: And, strange to say, they found some consolation In this—for females like exaggeration. O, thou eternal Homer! Souls of immortal generals! Phoebus watches To colour up his rays from your despatches.

O, ye great bulletins of Bonaparte! Shade of Leonidas, who fought so hearty, When my poor Greece was once, as now, surrounded! At least he feels it, and some say he sees, Because he runs before it like a pig; Or, if that simple sentence should displease, Say, that he scuds before it like a brig, A schooner, or—but it is time to ease This Canto, ere my Muse perceives fatigue. The next shall ring a peal to shake all people, Like a bob-major from a village steeple. Here pause we for the present—as even then That awful pause, dividing life from death, Struck for an instant on the hearts of men, Thousands of whom were drawing their last breath! A moment—and all will be life again!

The march! O blood and thunder! These are but vulgar oaths, as you may deem, Too gentle reader! Call them Mars, Bellona, what you will—they mean but wars. All was prepared—the fire, the sword, the men To wield them in their terrible array. The drying up a single tear has more Of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore. And why? And such they are—and such they will be found: Not so Leonidas and Washington, Whose every battle-field is holy ground, Which breathes of nations saved, not worlds undone.

How sweetly on the ear such echoes sound! Also the General Markow, Brigadier, Insisting on removal of the prince Amidst some groaning thousands dying near,— All common fellows, who might writhe and wince, And shriek for water into a deaf ear,— The General Markow, who could thus evince His sympathy for rank, by the same token, To teach him greater, had his own leg broken. Three hundred cannon threw up their emetic, And thirty thousand muskets flung their pills Like hail, to make a bloody diuretic. And this was admirable; for so hot The fire was, that were red Vesuvius loaded, Besides its lava, with all sorts of shot And shells or hells, it could not more have goaded.

Of officers a third fell on the spot, A thing which victory by no means boded To gentlemen engaged in the assault: Hounds, when the huntsman tumbles, are at fault. Indeed he could not. But what if he had? Their reasons were uncertainty, or shame At shrinking from a bullet or a bomb, And that odd impulse, which in wars or creeds Makes men, like cattle, follow him who leads.

By Jove! Though their lids so Oft are soon closed, all heroes are not blind, But when they light upon immediate death, Retire a little, merely to take breath. But Johnson only ran off, to return With many other warriors, as we said, Unto that rather somewhat misty bourn, Which Hamlet tells us is a pass of dread. The thirst Of glory, which so pierces through and through one, Pervaded him—although a generous creature, As warm in heart as feminine in feature. But here he was! Oh eternity! Crime came not near him—she is not the child Of solitude; Health shrank not from him—for Her home is in the rarely trodden wild, Where if men seek her not, and death be more Their choice than life, forgive them, as beguiled By habit to what their own hearts abhor— In cities caged.

Motion was in their days, rest in their slumbers, And cheerfulness the handmaid of their toil; Nor yet too many nor too few their numbers; Corruption could not make their hearts her soil; The lust which stings, the splendour which encumbers, With the free foresters divide no spoil; Serene, not sullen, were the solitudes Of this unsighing people of the woods. So much for Nature:—by way of variety, Now back to thy great joys, Civilisation! Their natures? On, boy! And such is victory, and such is man! At least nine tenths of what we call so;—God May have another name for half we scan As human beings, or his ways are odd. Neither—but a good, plain, old, temperate man, Who fought with his five children in the van.

To take him was the point. But he would not be taken, and replied To all the propositions of surrender By mowing Christians down on every side, As obstinate as Swedish Charles at Bender. His five brave boys no less the foe defied; Whereon the Russian pathos grew less tender, As being a virtue, like terrestrial patience, Apt to wear out on trifling provocations. Your houris also have a natural pleasure In lopping off your lately married men, Before the bridal hours have danced their measure And the sad, second moon grows dim again, Or dull repentance hath had dreary leisure To wish him back a bachelor now and then. And thus your houri it may be disputes Of these brief blossoms the immediate fruits. Cockneys of London! Muscadins of Paris!

Just ponder what a pious pastime war is. Meantime the Taxes, Castlereagh, and Debt, Are hints as good as sermons, or as rhymes. But still there is unto a patriot nation, Which loves so well its country and its king, A subject of sublimest exultation— Bear it, ye Muses, on your brightest wing! But let me put an end unto my theme: There was an end of Ismail—hapless town! Much did they slay, more plunder, and no less Might here and there occur some violation In the other line;—but not to such excess As when the French, that dissipated nation, Take towns by storm: no causes can I guess, Except cold weather and commiseration; But all the ladies, save some twenty score, Were almost as much virgins as before.

Suwarrow now was conqueror—a match For Timour or for Zinghis in his trade. Heaven help me! I have kept my word,—at least so far As the first Canto promised. You have now Had sketches of love, tempest, travel, war— All very accurate, you must allow, And epic, if plain truth should prove no bar; For I have drawn much less with a long bow Than my forerunners. Carelessly I sing, But Phoebus lends me now and then a string, With which I still can harp, and carp, and fiddle.

O, Wellington! Now go and dine from off the plate Presented by the Prince of the Brazils, And send the sentinel before your gate A slice or two from your luxurious meals: He fought, but has not fed so well of late. Some hunger, too, they say the people feels:— There is no doubt that you deserve your ration, But pray give back a little to the nation. Never had mortal man such opportunity, Except Napoleon, or abused it more: You might have freed fallen Europe from the unity Of tyrants, and been blest from shore to shore: And now—what is your fame?

Shall the Muse tune it ye? Behold the world! You did great things; but not being great in mind, Have left undone the greatest—and mankind. Mark how it laughs and scorns at all you are! And thus Death laughs,—it is sad merriment, But still it is so; and with such example Why should not Life be equally content With his superior, in a smile to trample Upon the nothings which are daily spent Like bubbles on an ocean much less ample Than the eternal deluge, which devours Suns as rays—worlds like atoms—years like hours?

For me, I sometimes think that life is death, Rather than life a mere affair of breath. It is a pleasant voyage perhaps to float, Like Pyrrho, on a sea of speculation; But what if carrying sail capsize the boat? O, ye immortal gods! O, thou too, mortal man! O, world! Some people have accused me of misanthropy; And yet I know no more than the mahogany That forms this desk, of what they mean; lykanthropy I comprehend, for without transformation Men become wolves on any slight occasion. Because They hate me, not I them.

For me, I deem an absolute autocrat Not a barbarian, but much worse than that. I know not who may conquer: if I could Have such a prescience, it should be no bar To this my plain, sworn, downright detestation Of every depotism in every nation. It is not that I adulate the people: Without me, there are demagogues enough, And infidels, to pull down every steeple, And set up in their stead some proper stuff. Whether they may sow scepticism to reap hell, As is the Christian dogma rather rough, I do not know;—I wish men to be free As much from mobs as kings—from you as me.

The consequence is, being of no party, I shall offend all parties: never mind! My words, at least, are more sincere and hearty Than if I sought to sail before the wind. Raise but an arm! Mind, good people! The web of these tarantulas each day Increases, till you shall make common cause: None, save the Spanish fly and Attic bee, As yet are strongly stinging to be free. Because he could no more digest his dinner;— O ye! Ye twice ten hundred thousand daily scribes! Whose pamphlets, volumes, newspapers, illumine us! Think if then George the Fourth should be dug up! How the new worldlings of the then new East Will wonder where such animals could sup! So on I ramble, now and then narrating, Now pondering:—it is time we should narrate. Besides, the empress sometimes liked a boy, And had just buried the fair-faced Lanskoi.

I think I can explain myself without That sad inexplicable beast of prey— That Sphinx, whose words would ever be a doubt, Did not his deeds unriddle them each day— That monstrous hieroglyphic—that long spout Of blood and water, leaden Castlereagh! And here I must an anecdote relate, But luckily of no great length or weight. Whence is our exit and our entrance,—well I May pause in pondering how all souls are dipt In thy perennial fountain:—how man fell I Know not, since knowledge saw her branches stript Of her first fruit; but how he falls and rises Since, thou hast settled beyond all surmises. Catherine, who was the grand epitome Of that great cause of war, or peace, or what You please it causes all the things which be, So you may take your choice of this or that — Catherine, I say, was very glad to see The handsome herald, on whose plumage sat Victory; and pausing as she saw him kneel With his despatch, forgot to break the seal.

Though rather spacious, Her face was noble, her eyes fine, mouth gracious. But when on the lieutenant at her feet Her majesty, who liked to gaze on youth Almost as much as on a new despatch, Glanced mildly, all the world was on the watch. Though somewhat large, exuberant, and truculent, When wroth—while pleased, she was as fine a figure As those who like things rosy, ripe, and succulent, Would wish to look on, while they are in vigour. What a strange thing is man? What a whirlwind is her head, And what a whirlpool full of depth and danger Is all the rest about her!

O Catherine! How beautiful that moment! What a curious way The whole thing is of clothing souls in clay! The whole court melted into one wide whisper, And all lips were applied unto all ears! All the ambassadors of all the powers Enquired, Who was this very new young man, Who promised to be great in some few hours? Which is full soon—though life is but a span. Already they beheld the silver showers Of rubles rain, as fast as specie can, Upon his cabinet, besides the presents Of several ribands, and some thousand peasants. Also the softer silks were heard to rustle Of gentle dames, among whose recreations It is to speculate on handsome faces, Especially when such lead to high places.

Juan, who found himself, he knew not how, A general object of attention, made His answers with a very graceful bow, As if born for the ministerial trade. With her then, as in humble duty bound, Juan retired,—and so will I, until My Pegasus shall tire of touching ground. And wherefore this exordium? But soon they grow again and leave their nest. Such difference doth a few months make. But Juan was not meant to die so soon. Much rather should he court the ray, To hoard up warmth against a wintry day.

Some reckon women by their suns or years, I rather think the moon should date the dears. Old flames, new wives, become our bitterest foes— Converted foes should scorn to join with those. The lawyer and the critic but behold The baser sides of literature and life, And nought remains unseen, but much untold, By those who scour those double vales of strife. About this time, as might have been anticipated, Seduced by youth and dangerous examples, Don Juan grew, I fear, a little dissipated; Which is a sad thing, and not only tramples On our fresh feelings, but—as being participated With all kinds of incorrigible samples Of frail humanity—must make us selfish, And shut our souls up in us like a shell-fish.

This we pass over. We will also pass The usual progress of intrigues between Unequal matches, such as are, alas! Oh for a hymn Loud as the virtues thou dost loudly vaunt, Not practise! Oh for trumps of cherubim! Or the ear-trumpet of my good old aunt, Who, though her spectacles at last grew dim, Drew quiet consolation through its hint, When she no more could read the pious print. Mannae optim. The climate was too cold, they said, for him, Meridian-born, to bloom in. Your queens Are generally prosperous in reigning; Which puzzles us to know what Fortune means.

But time, the comforter, will come at last; And four-and-twenty hours, and twice that number Of candidates requesting to be placed, Made Catherine taste next night a quiet slumber:— Not that she meant to fix again in haste, Nor did she find the quantity encumber, But always choosing with deliberation, Kept the place open for their emulation. Don Juan loved her, and she loved him, as Nor brother, father, sister, daughter love. My guard! From Poland they came on through Prussia Proper, And Konigsberg the capital, whose vaunt, Besides some veins of iron, lead, or copper, Has lately been the great Professor Kant.

Juan, who cared not a tobacco-stopper About philosophy, pursued his jaunt To Germany, whose somewhat tardy millions Have princes who spur more than their postilions. But Juan posted on through Manheim, Bonn, Which Drachenfels frowns over like a spectre Of the good feudal times forever gone, On which I have not time just now to lecture. From thence he was drawn onwards to Cologne, A city which presents to the inspector Eleven thousand maidenheads of bone, The greatest number flesh hath ever known.

The nations are In prison,—but the gaoler, what is he? No less a victim to the bolt and bar. Is the poor privilege to turn the key Upon the captive, freedom? On with the horses! Off to Canterbury! All Ends in a rusty casque and dubious bone, Half-solved into these sodas or magnesias; Which form that bitter draught, the human species. So smooth, so level, such a mode of shaving The earth, as scarce the eagle in the broad Air can accomplish, with his wide wings waving. So said the Florentine: ye monarchs, hearken To your instructor. He paused—and so will I; as doth a crew Before they give their broadside. Fry, With a soft besom will I sweep your halls, And brush a web or two from off the walls. O Mrs. Why go to Newgate? Why Preach to poor rogues? And wherefore not begin With Carlton, or with other houses?

I thought you had more religion, Mrs. I would shatter Gladly all matters down to stone or lead, Or adamant, to find the world a spirit, And wear my head, denying that I wear it. O Doubt! To our Theme. But what is to be done? O for a glass of max! Poor Tom was once a kiddy upon town, A thorough varmint, and a real swell, Full flash, all fancy, until fairly diddled, His pockets first and then his body riddled. He from the world had cut off a great man, Who in his time had made heroic bustle. Who in a row like Tom could lead the van, Booze in the ken, or at the spellken hustle? Who queer a flat? Who on a lark, with black-eyed Sal his blowing , So prime, so swell, so nutty, and so knowing? Thamis, Hail! The French were not yet a lamp-lighting nation, And when they grew so—on their new-found lantern, Instead of wicks, they made a wicked man turn.

So they lead In safety to the place for which you start, What matters if the road be head or heart? Juan presented in the proper place, To proper placemen, every Russ credential; And was received with all the due grimace By those who govern in the mood potential, Who, seeing a handsome stripling with smooth face, Thought what in state affairs is most essential That they as easily might do the youngster, As hawks may pounce upon a woodland songster.

And, after all, what is a lie? The very shadow of true Truth would shut Up annals, revelations, poesy, And prophecy—except it should be dated Some years before the incidents related. Praised be all liars and all lies! Who now Can tax my mild Muse with misanthropy? Man In islands is, it seems, downright and thorough, More than on continents—as if the sea See Billingsgate made even the tongue more free. For downright rudeness, ye may stay at home; For true or false politeness and scarce that Now you may cross the blue deep and white foam— The first the emblem rarely though of what You leave behind, the next of much you come To meet.

In the great world,—which, being interpreted, Meaneth the west or worst end of a city, And about twice two thousand people bred By no means to be very wise or witty, But to sit up while others lie in bed, And look down on the universe with pity,— Juan, as an inveterate patrician, Was well received by persons of condition. And whether in his travels he saw Ilion?

Juan, who was a little superficial, And not in literature a great Drawcansir, Examined by this learned and especial Jury of matrons, scarce knew what to answer: His duties warlike, loving or official, His steady application as a dancer, Had kept him from the brink of Hippocrene, Which now he found was blue instead of green. The list grows long of live and dead pretenders To that which none will gain—or none will know The conqueror at least; who, ere Time renders His last award, will have the long grass grow Above his burnt-out brain, and sapless cinders. Then dress, then dinner, then awakes the world! Full many an eager gentleman oft rues His haste: impatience is a blundering guide, Amongst a people famous for reflection, Who like to play the fool with circumspection.

But, if you can contrive, get next at supper; Or, if forestalled, get opposite and ogle:— O, ye ambrosial moments! Ill Can tender souls relate the rise and fall Of hopes and fears which shake a single ball. Our hero, as a hero, young and handsome, Noble, rich, celebrated, and a stranger, Like other slaves of course must pay his ransom, Before he can escape from so much danger As will environ a conspicuous man. Where is the world of eight years past? Where is Napoleon the Grand? God knows. Where little Castlereagh? The devil can tell: Where Grattan, Curran, Sheridan, all those Who bound the bar or senate in their spell? Where is the unhappy Queen, with all her woes? And where the Daughter, whom the Isles loved well? And where—oh, where the devil are the rents?

Where is his will? Where is Lord This? And where my Lady That? The Honourable Mistresses and Misses? Some laid aside like an old Opera hat, Married, unmarried, and remarried this is An evolution oft performed of late. Where are the Dublin shouts—and London hisses? Where are the Grenvilles? Where My friends the Whigs? Exactly where they were. Where are the Lady Carolines and Franceses? Divorced or doing thereanent. Ye annals So brilliant, where the list of routs and dances is,— Thou Morning Post, sole record of the panels Broken in carriages, and all the phantasies Of fashion,—say what streams now fill those channels?

Some die, some fly, some languish on the Continent, Because the times have hardly left them one tenant. Talk not of seventy years as age; in seven I have seen more changes, down from monarchs to The humblest individual under heaven, Than might suffice a moderate century through. I have seen a Duke No matter which turn politician stupider, If that can well be, than his wooden look.

What Juan saw and underwent shall be My topic, with of course the due restriction Which is required by proper courtesy; And recollect the work is only fiction, And that I sing of neither mine nor me, Though every scribe, in some slight turn of diction, Will hint allusions never meant. Thus far, go forth, thou lay, which I will back Against the same given quantity of rhyme, For being as much the subject of attack As ever yet was any work sublime, By those who love to say that white is black. So much the better! O Gold! Why call we misers miserable? Theirs is the pleasure that can never pall; Theirs is the best bower anchor, the chain cable Which holds fast other pleasures great and small.

Ye who but see the saving man at table, And scorn his temperate board, as none at all, And wonder how the wealthy can be sparing, Know not what visions spring from each cheese-paring. I still prefer thee unto paper, Which makes bank credit like a bank of vapour. Who hold the balance of the world? Who rouse the shirtless patriots of Spain? Who keep the world, both old and new, in pain Or pleasure? Who make politics run glibber all? Those, and the truly liberal Lafitte, Are the true lords of Europe. Every loan Is not a merely speculative hit, But seats a nation or upsets a throne. Why call the miser miserable? Perhaps he hath great projects in his mind, To build a college, or to found a race, A hospital, a church,—and leave behind Some dome surmounted by his meagre face: Perhaps he fain would liberate mankind Even with the very ore which makes them base; Perhaps he would be wealthiest of his nation, Or revel in the joys of calculation.

Or do they benefit mankind? Lean miser! How beauteous are rouleaus! Is not all love prohibited whatever, Excepting marriage? That suit in Chancery,—which some persons plead In an appeal to the unborn, whom they, In the faith of their procreative creed, Baptize posterity, or future clay,— To me seems but a dubious kind of reed To lean on for support in any way; Since odds are that posterity will know No more of them, than they of her, I trow. Not a hundred. Mankind just now seem wrapt in mediation On constitutions and steam-boats of vapour; While sages write against all procreation, Unless a man can calculate his means Of feeding brats the moment his wife weans.

And now to business. But I am sick of politics. The women much divided—as is usual Amongst the sex in little things or great. Why waltz with him? Why, I pray, Look yes last night, and yet say no to-day? For sometimes they accept some long pursuer, Worn out with importunity; or fall But here perhaps the instances are fewer To the lot of him who scarce pursued at all. O, pardon my digression—or at least Peruse! Like many people everybody knows, Don Juan was delighted to secure A goodly guardian for his infant charge, Who might not profit much by being at large. And these vicissitudes tell best in youth; For when they happen at a riper age, People are apt to blame the Fates, forsooth, And wonder Providence is not more sage.

How far it profits is another matter. I call such things transmission; for there is A floating balance of accomplishment Which forms a pedigree from Miss to Miss, According as their minds or backs are bent. But now I will begin my poem. These first twelve books are merely flourishes, Preludios, trying just a string or two Upon my lyre, or making the pegs sure; And when so, you shall have the overture.

Don Juan saw that microcosm on stilts, Yclept the Great World; for it is the least, Although the highest: but as swords have hilts By which their power of mischief is increased, When man in battle or in quarrel tilts, Thus the low world, north, south, or west, or east, Must still obey the high—which is their handle, Their moon, their sun, their gas, their farthing candle. This works a world of sentimental woe, And sends new Werters yearly to their coffin; But yet is merely innocent flirtation, Not quite adultery, but adulteration. A verdict—grievous foe to those who cause it!

But they who blunder thus are raw beginners; A little genial sprinkling of hypocrisy Has saved the fame of thousand splendid sinners, The loveliest oligarchs of our gynocracy; You may see such at all the balls and dinners, Among the proudest of our aristocracy, So gentle, charming, charitable, chaste— And all by having tact as well as taste. At first he did not think the women pretty. I say at first—for he found out at last, But by degrees, that they were fairer far Than the more glowing dames whose lot is cast Beneath the influence of the eastern star. A further proof we should not judge in haste; Yet inexperience could not be his bar To taste:—the truth is, if men would confess, That novelties please less than they impress.

It is. I will not swear that black is white; But I suspect in fact that white is black, And the whole matter rests upon eyesight. Ask a blind man, the best judge. A dubious spark. Like Russians rushing from hot baths to snows Are they, at bottom virtuous even when vicious: They warm into a scrape, but keep of course, As a reserve, a plunge into remorse. But this has nought to do with their outsides.

I said that Juan did not think them pretty At the first blush; for a fair Briton hides Half her attractions—probably from pity— And rather calmly into the heart glides, Than storms it as a foe would take a city; But once there if you doubt this, prithee try She keeps it for you like a true ally. Abroad, though doubtless they do much amiss, An erring woman finds an opener door For her return to Virtue—as they cal That lady, who should be at home to all. For me, I leave the matter where I find it, Knowing that such uneasy virtue leads People some ten times less in fact to mind it, And care but for discoveries and not deeds. He saw, however, at the closing session, That noble sight, when really free the nation, A king in constitutional possession Of such a throne as is the proudest station, Though despots know it not—till the progression Of freedom shall complete their education.

Here the twelfth Canto of our introduction Ends. And if my thunderbolt not always rattles, Remember, reader! My plan but I, if but for singularity, Reserve it will be very sure to take. Meantime, read all the national debt-sinkers, And tell me what you think of your great thinkers. The struggle to be pilots in a storm? The landed and the monied speculation? The joys of mutual hate to keep them warm, Instead of love, that mere hallucination? Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure; Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure. If I sneer sometimes, It is because I cannot well do less, And now and then it also suits my rhymes.

But his adventures form a sorry sight; A sorrier still is the great moral taught By that real epic unto all who have thought. Redressing injury, revenging wrong, To aid the damsel and destroy the caitiff; Opposing singly the united strong, From foreign yoke to free the helpless native:— Alas! It chanced some diplomatical relations, Arising out of business, often brought Himself and Juan in their mutual stations Into close contact. And thus Lord Henry, who was cautious as Reserve and pride could make him, and full slow In judging men—when once his judgment was Determined, right or wrong, on friend or foe, Had all the pertinacity pride has, Which knows no ebb to its imperious flow, And loves or hates, disdaining to be guided, Because its own good pleasure hath decided.

These were advantages: and then he thought— It was his foible, but by no means sinister— That few or none more than himself had caught Court mysteries, having been himself a minister: He liked to teach that which he had been taught, And greatly shone whenever there had been a stir; And reconciled all qualities which grace man, Always a patriot, and sometimes a placeman. Of coursers also spake they: Henry rid Well, like most Englishmen, and loved the races; And Juan, like a true-born Andalusian, Could back a horse, as despots ride a Russian. And thus acquaintance grew, at noble routs, And diplomatic dinners, or at other— For Juan stood well both with Ins and Outs, As in freemasonry a higher brother. Also there bin another pious reason For making squares and streets anonymous; Which is, that there is scarce a single season Which doth not shake some very splendid house With some slight heart-quake of domestic treason— A topic scandal doth delight to rouse: Such I might stumble over unawares, Unless I knew the very chastest squares.

Therefore I name not square, street, place, until I Find one where nothing naughty can be shown, A vestal shrine of innocence of heart: Such are—but I have lost the London Chart. But Adeline had not the least occasion For such a shield, which leaves but little merit To virtue proper, or good education. But Adeline was not indifferent: for Now for a common-place! Shall I go on? I hate to hunt down a tired metaphor, So let the often-used volcano go.

Poor thing! And such are many—though I only meant her From whom I now deduce these moral lessons, On which the Muse has always sought to enter. And your cold people are beyond all price, When once you have broken their confounded ice. But heaven must be diverted; its diversion Is sometimes truculent—but never mind: The world upon the whole is worth the assertion If but for comfort that all things are kind: And that same devilish doctrine of the Persian, Of the two principles, but leaves behind As many doubts as any other doctrine Has ever puzzled Faith withal, or yoked her in. The English winter—ending in July, To recommence in August—now was done. But for post-horses who finds sympathy?

Wheels whirl from Carlton palace to Soho, And happiest they who horses can engage; The turnpikes glow with dust; and Rotten Row Sleeps from the chivalry of this bright age; And tradesmen, with long bills and longer faces, Sigh—as the postboys fasten on the traces. But these are trifles. Downward flies my lord, Nodding beside my lady in his carriage. The London winter and the country summer Were well nigh over. None than themselves could boast a longer line, Where time through heroes and through beauties steers; And oaks as olden as their pedigree Told of their sires, a tomb in every tree. Amundeville and Lady A.

Within a niche, nigh to its pinnacle, Twelve saints had once stood sanctified in stone; But these had fallen, not when the friars fell, But in the war which struck Charles from his throne, When each house was a fortalice, as tell The annals of full many a line undone,— The gallant cavaliers, who fought in vain For those who knew not to resign or reign. This may be superstition, weak or wild, But even the faintest relics of a shrine Of any worship wake some thoughts divine.

But in the noontide of the moon, and when The wind is winged from one point of heaven, There moans a strange unearthly sound, which then Is musical—a dying accent driven Through the huge arch, which soars and sinks again. O reader! But, reader, thou hast patient been of late, While I, without remorse of rhyme, or fear, Have built and laid out ground at such a rate, Dan Phoebus takes me for an auctioneer. The mellow autumn came, and with it came The promised party, to enjoy its sweets. The corn is cut, the manor full of game; The pointer ranges, and the sportsman beats In russet jacket:—lynx-like is his aim; Full grows his bag, and wonderful his feats.

Ah, nut-brown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants! And ah, ye poachers! If Britain mourn her bleakness, we can tell her, The very best of vineyards is the cellar. The party might consist of thirty-three Of highest caste—the Brahmins of the ton. There was Parolles, too, the legal bully, Who limits all his battles to the bar And senate: when invited elsewhere, truly, He shows more appetite for words than war. There were the six Miss Rawbolds—pretty dears! All song and sentiment; whose hearts were set Less on a convent than a coronet. There was Dick Dubious, the metaphysician, Who loved philosophy and a good dinner; Angle, the soi-disant mathematician; Sir Henry Silvercup, the great race-winner.

My Muse, the butterfly hath but her wings, Not stings, and flits through ether without aim, Alighting rarely:—were she but a hornet, Perhaps there might be vices which would mourn it. Strongbow was like a new-tuned harpsichord; But Longbow wild as an AEolian harp, With which the winds of heaven can claim accord, And make a music, whether flat or sharp. If all these seem a heterogeneous mas To be assembled at a country seat, Yet think, a specimen of every class Is better than a humdrum tete-a-tete. The days of Comedy are gone, alas! Its great impression in my youth Was made by Mrs.

I must not quite omit the talking sage, Kit-Cat, the famous Conversationist, Who, in his common-place book, had a page Prepared each morn for evenings. I will not dwell upon ragouts or roasts, Albeit all human history attests That happiness for man—the hungry sinner! Youth fades, and leaves our days no longer sunny; We tire of mistresses and parasites; But oh, ambrosial cash!

When we no more can use, or even abuse thee! The gentlemen got up betimes to shoot, Or hunt: the young, because they liked the sport— The first thing boys like after play and fruit; The middle-aged to make the day more short; For ennui is a growth of English root, Though nameless in our language:—we retort The fact for words, and let the French translate That awful yawn which sleep can not abate. Each rose up at his own, and had to spare What time he chose for dress, and broke his fast When, where, and how he chose for that repast.

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