THE WONDROUS ISLES AS A DYSTOPIA

... sets out across the Water of the title, a vast freshwater lake dotted with mysterious ‘wonder isles’ full of enchanted buildings, where men and women (not to mention a senior, children, maidens, depending on the island!) exist in a condition of permanent stasis, frozen in time like forgotten works of art. ...  After many twists and turns ...

Most of Morris’s late romances have a there-and-back-again structure which anticipates the organizing principle of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. ...  As we have seen, The Water of the Wondrous Isles is no exception. ... then passes on from house to house, ... before revisiting all these locations on its way back ..., and then to ... where it started. This process of return in fantasy fiction is often read as a conservative gesture, an expression of the middle-class desire for restoration of the status quo, but for Morris it serves a very different function. ... return ... sees ... transformed by ... adventures, an expert in many different models of cohabitation, and the added power this transformation lends ... gives rise to a radical domestic transformation. 

Between ... departure ... and ... return ..., ... visits a range of houses which articulate in different ways the conditions of their inhabitants. ... brings ... first to ... the Isle of Increase Unsought: a magnificent structure ‘nobly builded’ (p. 82), which incorporates a prison called the Wailing Tower where there are captive three young female slaves. One calls this structure the House of Death, and its unsound social foundations are later confirmed when it collapses as soon as its owner has been deprived of her magic powers. The Isle of the Young and the Old is inhabited only by children and one old man, and its once magnificent house is now ‘ruined and broken’ (p. 124), bereft of the solicitous care of strong and intelligent adult men and women. The Isle of Queens contains a ‘great house, white and fair, as if it were new-builded, and all glorious with pinnacles, and tabernacles set with imagery’ (p. 131); but this house holds only women, and the women are as motionless and breathless as statues, so that this building too could be called a House of Death. The same name would apply to the ‘castle, white, high, and hugely builded’ (p. 136) that stands on the Isle of the Kings, which is full of the motionless bodies of ‘all-armed men’ (p. 138). Each of these buildings speaks of a society that segregates genders and generations, unable to achieve the organic synchrony of elements which is the objective of William Morris’s ideal architecture. The final wondrous isle is the Isle of Nothing, which expresses the barrenness of such segregation; one is nearly stranded there in permanent solitude, with nowhere to go that suits one's needs as free.
...
... the states of entrapment to which ... is so often subjected: for instance, ... an imprisoning fog on the Island of Nothing, ...


So, to sum up the premises:
ARCHIPELAGO OF THE WONDROUS ISLES:

• a range of houses which articulate in different ways the conditions of their inhabitants, 
• all people exist in a condition of permanent stasis, frozen in time like forgotten works of art
• many different models of cohabitation in...
• a dystopia segregated by genders and ages/generations, where everyone is subjected to various states of entrapment according to those parameters (ie gender and age/generation):

1. ISLE OF INCREASE UNSOUGHT: young females - tower - captivity
2. ISLE OF THE YOUNG AND THE OLD: children + 1 senior - ruin - living in squalour
3. ISLE OF QUEENS: adult females - mansion - comatose
4. ISLE OF KINGS: adult males - castle - comatose
5. ISLE OF NOTHING: empty of people - desert island of permanent solitude - imprisoning fog 

(this segregation is unnatural; all the people on the Wondrous Isles were destined to be brought to the mainland and become part of one society, populating the same village)


Magic, then, in Morris’s work, is a way of intensifying the personality of the user; the way it is used provides an index to the user’s desires and values. In the process it also provides a means for Morris to emphasize how power works at its best and worst, since magic is raw power. When used by the unscrupulous it demonstrates the effects of tyrannical power on its victims, which is to bereave them of their personal powers. ..., replicating the effects of the mysterious magic that binds the noblemen and ladies on the Isles of Kings and Queens in a deathly sleep, the residents of the Isle of the Old and Young in perpetual childishness. ... Magic entraps, encloses, and curtails, or else it liberates, comforts, and affirms; but in every case the person who works it, and the person on whom it is worked, find their identities painted in bolder colours by its operations, much as the personality of the sitter is enhanced by the process of having their portrait painted.

(all people exist in a condition of permanent stasis, frozen in time like forgotten works of art: adults bound in comatose sleep; residents of the Isle of the Old and Young bound in perpetual childishness -like in Neverland, also the senior is in his 'second childishness'-; maidens kept in captivity... all people exist in a condition of permanent stasis, frozen in time like forgotten works of art, due to mysterious magic --dark magic that entraps, encloses, and curtails-- whose origin is never explained. Metaphor?)

**************************************************************************

The organic interweaving of diverse ingredients represented here – company, food, deft manual or mental activity – is repeated time and again in other houses: in the prison-chamber on the Isle of Increase Unsought, where fellow inmates sit down to eat and talk while keeping a sharp ear open for the arrival of their captor, ....

... next set of garments are symbolic of ... first entry into a community. ... arrives at the Isle of Increase Unsought, where ... is enslaved again ...; and the three slave women ... meets here invest ... with clothes of their own before helping ... escape for a second time. The garments they provide are not just decorative coverings, however – they are also messages to their knightly lovers. Each has a story woven into it, so to speak, having been given to its owner by her fiancé, and ... learns the narrative behind each item when ... meets the bereft young men at the Castle of the Quest. 


****************************************************************

On the return trip, the dystopia is healed:

In many cases old houses are repurposed as part of the journey towards this utopian future. ..., while the buildings on the ‘Wonder Isles’ of the enchanted Water have each been requisitioned by new inhabitants when ... visits them for a second time on ... journey back .... 

THE RETINUE OF ARES (AND SOME EXTRA MORRIS)

Fragment from a folktale retold by William Morris, explaining all the dire consequences of warfare, presented as the entourage of the god of war himself. If illustrated, the scene would be worth the paintbrush of a Goya in 1808:

A noise like echoes of a shout
Seemed in the cold air all about,
And therewithal came faint and thin
What seemed a far-off battle's din,
And on a sight most terrible
His eyes in that same minute fell,—
The images of slaughtered men,
With set eyes and wide wounds, as when
Upon the field they first lay slain;
And those who there had been their bane
With open mouths as if to shout,
And frightful eyes of rage and doubt,
And hate that never more should die.
Then went the shivering fleers by,
With death's fear ever in their eyes;
And then the heaped-up fatal prize,
The blood-stained coin, the unset gem,
The gold robe torn from hem to hem,
The headless, shattered golden god,
The dead priest's crushed divining-rod;
The captives, weak from blow and wound,
Toiling along; the maiden, bound
And helpless, in her raiment torn;
The ancient man's last day forlorn:
Onward they pressed, and though no sound
Their footfalls made upon the ground,
Most real indeed they seemed to be.
The spilt blood savoured horribly,
Heart-breaking the dumb writhings were,
Unuttered curses filled the air;
Yea, as the wretched band went past,
A dreadful look one woman cast
On Laurence, and upon his breast
A wounded blood-stained hand she pressed.

   But on the heels of these there came
A King, that through the night did flame,
For something more than steel or brass
The matter of his armour was;
Its fashion strange past words to say;
Who knows where first it saw the day?
On a red horse he rode; his face
Gave no more hope of any grace
Than through the blackness of the night
The swift-descending lightning might;
And yet therein great joy indeed
The brightness of his eyes did feed;—
A joy as of the leaping fire
Over the house-roof rising higher
To greet the noon-sun, when the glaive
Forbids all folk to help or save.

--------------------------------------------------------

In another poem by Morris, a retelling of the Psyche legend, warfare is also omnipresent:

Whose husbands wring from miserable hinds
What the first battle scatters to the winds;
............
   Thenceforth her back upon the world she turned
As she had known it; in her heart there burned
Such deathless love, that still untired she went:
The huntsman dropping down the woody bent,
In the still evening, saw her passing by,
And for her beauty fain would draw anigh,
But yet durst not; the shepherd on the down
Wondering, would shade his eyes with fingers brown,
As on the hill's brow, looking o’er the lands,
She stood with straining eyes and clasped hands,
While the wind blew the raiment from her feet;
The wandering soldier her grey eyes would meet,
That took no heed of him, and drop his own;
Like a thin dream she passed the clattering town;
On the thronged quays she watched the ships come in
Patient, amid the strange outlandish din;
Unscared she saw the sacked towns' miseries,
And marching armies passed before her eyes.
And still of her the god had such a care
None did her wrong, although alone and fair.
Through rough and smooth she wandered many a day,
Till all her hope had well-nigh passed away.

......................................................
So in a third homoerotic poem by the same author, where an overprotected teenage prince --just like Balder or Sleeping Beauty-- is exceedingly sheltered from an untimely fate, yet to no avail. Enter another, foreign prince, a twentyish exiled brother-slayer who has sought death on the battlefield and whose wartime yarns soon excite the younger prince... who is violently killed by chance by his more than friend. The whole story reminds me of Eugene Onegin or Apollo and Hyacinth:

The other one, that Atys had to name,
Grew up a fair youth, and of might and worth,
And well it seemed the race wherefrom he came
From him should never get reproach or shame:
But yet no stroke he struck before his death,
In no war-shout he spent his latest breath. 
   Now Crœsus, lying on his bed a-night,
Dreamed that he saw this dear son lying low,
And folk lamenting he was slain outright,
And that some iron thing had dealt the blow;
By whose hand guided he could nowise know,
Or if in peace by traitors it were done,
Or in some open war not yet begun.
 Three times one night this vision broke his sleep,
So that at last he rose up from his bed,
That he might ponder how he best might keep
The threatened danger from so dear a head;
And, since he now was old enough to wed,
The King sent men to search the lands around,
Until some matchless maiden should be found;
   That in her arms this Atys might forget
The praise of men, and fame of history,
Whereby full many a field has been made wet
With blood of men, and many a deep green sea
Been reddened therewithal, and yet shall be;
That her sweet voice might drown the people's praise,
Her eyes make bright the uneventful days.
So when at last a wonder they had brought,
From some sweet land down by the ocean's rim,
Than whom no fairer could by man be thought,
And ancient dames, scanning her limb by limb,
Had said that she was fair enough for him,
To her was Atys married with much show,
And looked to dwell with her in bliss enow.
   And in meantime afield he never went,
Either to hunting or the frontier war,
No dart was cast, nor any engine bent
Anigh him, and the Lydian men afar
Must rein their steeds, and the bright blossoms mar
If they have any lust of tourney now,
And in far meadows must they bend the bow.
   And also though the palace everywhere
The swords and spears were taken from the wall
That long with honour had been hanging there,
And from the golden pillars of the hall;
Lest by mischance some sacred blade should fall,
And in its falling bring revenge at last
For many a fatal battle overpast.
...
  Then did Adrastus rise and thank the King,
And the next day when yet low was the sun,
The sacrifice and every other thing
That unto these dread rites belonged, was done;
And there Adrastus dwelt, hated of none,
And loved of many, and the King loved him
For brave and wise he was and strong of limb.
   But chiefly amongst all did Atys love
The luckless stranger, whose fair tales of war
The Lydian's heart abundantly did move,
And much they talked of wandering afar
Some day, to lands where many marvels are,
With still the Phrygian through all things to be
The leader unto all felicity.
...
  And with that promise must they be content,
And so departed, having feasted well.
And yet some god or other ere they went,
If they were silent, this their tale must tell
To more than one man; therefore it befell,
That at the last Prince Atys knew the thing,
And came with angry eyes unto the King.
   "Father," he said, "since when am I grown vile?
Since when am I grown helpless of my hands?
Or else what folk, with words enwrought with guile,
Thine ears have poisoned; that when far-off lands
My fame might fill, by thy most strange commands
I needs must stay within this slothful home,
Whereto would God that I had never come?
   "What! wilt thou take mine honour quite away?
Wouldst thou, that, as with her I just have wed
I sit among thy folk at end of day,
She should be ever turning round her head
To watch some man for war apparelled,
Because he wears a sword that he may use,
Which grace to me thou ever wilt refuse?
   "Or dost thou think, when thou hast run thy race
And thou art gone, and in thy stead I reign,
The people will do honour to my place,
Or that the lords leal men will still remain,
If yet my father's sword be sharp in vain?
If on the wall his armour still hang up,
While for a spear I hold a drinking-cup?"
   "O Son!" quoth Crœsus, "well I know thee brave,
And worthy of high deeds of chivalry;
Therefore the more thy dear life would I save,
Which now is threatened by the gods on high;
Three times one night I dreamed I saw thee die,
Slain by some deadly iron-pointed thing,
While weeping lords stood round thee in a ring."
   Then loud laughed Atys, and he said again,
"Father, and did this ugly dream tell thee
What day it was on which I should be slain?
As may the gods grant I may one day be,
And not from sickness die right wretchedly,
Groaning with pain, my lords about my bed,
Wishing to God that I were fairly dead;
   "But slain in battle, as the Lydian kings
Have died ere now, in some great victory,
While all about the Lydian shouting rings
Death to the beaten foemen as they fly.
What death but this, O father! should I die?
But if my life by iron shall be done,
What steel to-day shall glitter in the sun? 
   "Yea, father, if to thee it seemeth good
To keep me from the bright steel-bearing throng,
Let me be brave at least within the wood;
---

But Atys drew the bright sword from his side,
   And to the tottering beast he drew anigh:
But as the sun's rays ran adown the blade
Adrastus threw a javelin hastily,
For of the mighty beast was he afraid,
Lest by his wounds he should not yet be stayed,
But with a last rush cast his life away,
And dying there, the son of Crœsus slay.
   But even as the feathered dart he hurled,
His strained, despairing eyes, beheld the end,
And changed seemed all the fashion of the world,
And past and future into one did blend,
As he beheld the fixed eyes of his friend,
That no reproach had in them, and no fear,
For Death had seized him ere he thought him near.
   Adrastus shrieked, and running up he caught
The falling man, and from his bleeding side
Drew out the dart, and seeing that death had brought
Deliverance to him, he thereby had died;
But ere his hand the luckless steel could guide,
And he the refuge of poor souls could win,
The horror-stricken huntsmen had rushed in.
   And these, with blows and cries he heeded nought,
His unresisting hands made haste to bind;
Then of the alder-boughs a bier they wrought,
And laid the corpse thereon, and ’gan to wind
Homeward amidst the tangled wood and blind,
And going slowly, at the eventide,
Some leagues from Sardis did that day abide.
   Onward next morn the slaughtered man they bore,
With him that slew him, and at end of day
Toward the king's palace did they take their way.
He in an open western chamber lay
Feasting, though inwardly his heart did burn
Until that Atys should to him return.
   And when those wails first smote upon his ear
He set the wine-cup down, and to his feet
He rose, and bitter all-consuming fear
Swallowed his joy, and nigh he went to meet
That which was coming through the weeping street:
But in the end he thought it good to wait,
And stood there doubting all the ills of fate. 
   But when at last up to that royal place
Folk brought the thing he once had held so dear,
Still stood the King, staring with ghastly face
As they brought forth Adrastus and the bier,
But spoke at last, slowly without a tear,
"O Phrygian man, that I did purify,
Is it through thee that Atys came to die?"
   "O King," Adrastus said, "take now my life,
With whatso torment seemeth good to thee,
As my word went, for I would end this strife,
And underneath the earth lie quietly;
Nor is it my will here alive to be:
For as my brother, so Prince Atys died,
And this unlucky hand some god did guide."
   Then as a man constrained, the tale he told
From end to end, nor spared himself one whit:
And as he spoke, the wood did still behold,
The trodden grass, and Atys dead on it;
And many a change o’er the King's face did flit
Of kingly rage, and hatred and despair,
As on the slayer's face he still did stare.
   At last he said, "Thy death avails me nought,
The gods themselves have done this bitter deed,
That I was all too happy was their thought,
Therefore thy heart is dead and mine doth bleed,
And I am helpless as a trodden weed:
Thou art but as the handle of the spear,
The caster sits far off from any fear.
   "Yet, if thy hurt they meant, I can do this,—
—Loose him and let him go in peace from me—
I will not slay the slayer of all my bliss;
Yet go, poor man, for when thy face I see
I curse the gods for their felicity.
Surely some other slayer they would have found,
If thou hadst long ago been under ground.
   "Alas, Adrastus! in my inmost heart
I knew the gods would one day do this thing,
But deemed indeed that it would be thy part
To comfort me amidst my sorrowing;
Make haste to go, for I am still a King!
Madness may take me, I have many hands
Who will not spare to do my worst commands."
   With that Adrastus’ bonds were done away,
And on the road where they had been that day
Rushed through the gathering night; and some lone man
Beheld next day his visage wild and wan,
Peering from out a thicket of the wood
Where he had spilt that well-beloved blood.

-------------------------------------
In Morris's version of the Holger Danske/Holger the Dane mythos, the bulk of it takes place in war-torn 100YW-era France:
[···] think that now ye are
In France, made dangerous with wasting war;
In Paris, where about each guarded gate,
Gathered in knots, the anxious people wait,
And press around each new-come man to learn
If Harfleur now the pagan wasters burn,
Or if the Rouen folk can keep their chain,
Or Pont de l’Arche unburnt still guards the Seine?
Or if 'tis true that Andelys succour wants?
That Vernon's folk are fleeing east to Mantes?
When will they come? or rather is it true
That a great band the Constable o’erthrew
Upon the marshes of the lower Seine,
And that their long ships, turning back again,
Caught by the high-raised waters of the bore
Were driven here and there and cast ashore?
   Such questions did they ask, and, as fresh men
Came hurrying in, they asked them o’er again,
And from scared folk, or fools, or ignorant,
Still got new lies, or tidings very scant.
---
But his changed life he needs must carry on;
For ye shall know the Queen was gathering men
To send unto the good King, who as then
In Rouen lay, beset by many a band
Of those who carried terror through the land,
And still by messengers for help he prayed:
Therefore a mighty muster was being made,
Of weak and strong, and brave and timorous,
Before the Queen anigh her royal house.
So thither on this morn did Holger turn,
Some certain news about the war to learn;
And when he came at last into the square,
And saw the ancient palace great and fair
Rise up before him as in other days,
And in the merry morn the bright sun's rays
Glittering on gathering helms and moving spears,
He ’gan to feel as in the long-past years,
And his heart stirred within him. Now the Queen
Came from within, right royally beseen,
And took her seat beneath a canopy,
With lords and captains of the war anigh;
And as she came a mighty shout arose,
And round about began the knights to close,
Their oath of fealty there to swear anew,
And learn what service they had got to do.
But so it was, that some their shouts must stay
To gaze at Holger as he took his way
Through the thronged place; and quickly too he gat
Unto the place whereas the Lady sat,
For men gave place unto him, fearing him:
For not alone was he most huge of limb,
And dangerous, but something in his face,
As his calm eyes looked o’er the crowded place,
Struck men with awe; and in the ancient days,
When men might hope alive on gods to gaze,
They would have thought, 'the Gods yet love our town,
And from the heavens have sent a great one down.'
   Withal unto the throne he came so near,
That he the Queen's sweet measured voice could hear;
And swiftly now within him wrought the change
That first he felt amid those faces strange;
And his heart burned to taste the hurrying life
With such desires, such changing sweetness rife.
While fainter still with love the Queen did grow
Hearing his words, beholding his grey eyes
Flashing with fire of warlike memories;
Yea, at the last he seemed so wise indeed
That she could give him now the charge, to lead
One wing of the great army that set out
From Paris’ gates, midst many a wavering shout,
Midst trembling prayers, and unchecked wails and tears,
And slender hopes and unresisted fears.
   Now ere he went, upon his bed he lay,
Newly awakened at the dawn of day,
Gathering perplexed thoughts of many a thing,
When, midst the carol that the birds did sing
Unto the coming of the hopeful sun,
He heard a sudden lovesome song begun
’Twixt two young voices in the garden green,
That seemed indeed the farewell of the Queen.

SONG.

SHE.

   In the white-flowered hawthorn brake,
Love, be merry for my sake;
Twine the blossoms in my. hair,
Kiss me where I am most fair—
Kiss me, love! for who knoweth
What thing cometh after death?

HE.

   Nay, the garlanded gold hair
Hides thee where thou art most fair;
Hides the rose-tinged hills of snow—
Ah, sweet love, I have thee now!
Kiss me, love! for who knoweth
What thing cometh after death?

SHE.

   Shall we weep for a dead day,
Or set Sorrow in our way?
Hidden by my golden hair,
Wilt thou weep that sweet days wear?
Kiss me, love! for who knoweth
What thing cometh after death?

HE.

Weep, O Love, the days that flit,
   Now, while I can feel thy breath;
Then may I remember it
   Sad and old, and near my death.
Kiss me, love! for who knoweth
What thing cometh after death?
Soothed by the pleasure that the music brought
And sweet desire, and vague and dreamy thought
Of happiness it seemed to promise him,
He lay and listened till his eyes grew dim,
And o’er him ’gan forgetfulness to creep
Till in the growing light he lay asleep,
Nor woke until the clanging trumpet-blast
Had summoned him all thought away to cast:
Yet one more joy of love indeed he had
Ere with the battle's noise he was made glad;
For, as on that May morning forth they rode
And passed before the Queen's most fair abode,
There at a window was she waiting them
In fair attire with gold in every hem,
And as the Ancient Knight beneath her passed
A wreath of flowering white-thorn down she cast,
And looked farewell to him, and forth he set
Thinking of all the pleasure he should get
From love and war, forgetting Avalon
And all that lovely life so lightly won;
Yea, now indeed the earthly life o’erpast
Ere on the loadstone rock his ship was cast
Was waxing dim, nor yet at all he learned
To ’scape the fire that erst his heart had burned.
And he forgat his deeds, forgat his fame,
Forgat the letters of his ancient name
As one waked fully shall forget a dream,
That once to him a wondrous tale did seem.
   Now I, though writing here no chronicle
E’en as I said, must nathless shortly tell
That, ere the army Rouen's gates could gain
By a broad arrow had the King been slain,
And helpless now the wretched country lay
Beneath the yoke, until the glorious day
When Holger fell at last upon the foe,
And scattered them as helplessly as though
They had been beaten men without a name:
So when to Paris town once more he came
Few folk the memory of the King did keep
Within their hearts, and if the folk did weep
At his returning, ’twas for joy indeed
That such a man had risen at their need
To work for them so great deliverance,
And loud they called on him for King of France.

   But if the Queen's heart were the more a-flame
For all that she had heard of his great fame,
I know not; rather with some hidden dread
Of coming fate, she heard her lord was dead,
And her false dream seemed coming true at last,
For the clear sky of love seemed overcast
With clouds of God's great judgments, and the fear
Of hate and final parting drawing near.
   So now when he before her throne did stand
Amidst the throng as saviour of the land,
And she her eyes to his kind eyes did raise,
And there before all her own love must praise;
Then did she fall a-weeping, and folk said,
"See, how she sorrows for the newly dead!
Amidst our joy she needs must think of him;
Let be, full surely shall her grief wax dim
And she shall wed again."

ANALYSIS ALLSORTS

TSQ-IV
The presence of the palace of the Prince and the Princess at the edge of the garden makes it likely that the garden signifies the sephira Tipharet (or Beauty).
...a chariot from the Prince and the Princess... may directly signify the trump card 'The Chariot' (VII).


TYK-II
The (second) dream reveals the death of the black (?) (sic) slaves who fish for pearls for the royal sceptre.
The second dream shows the young King a slave galley run by a black master.  The youngest of the slaves is forced to dive for pearls till he dies finding what is truly a pearl of great price, "fairer than all the pearls of Ormuz [. . .] shaped like the moon, and whiter than the morning star".

The young King’s second dream corresponds to the albedo phase. This is evident through the presence of ‘feminine’ alchemical signifiers: water, pearls, the full moon, the morning star.
The narrator remarks that, after witnessing the suffering of a pearl diver, ‘The young King tried to speak, but his tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of his mouth, and his lips refused to move’ (89). This indicates the completion of the nigredo phase in the introverted approach to alchemy, where his speech reveals the misery that he ignored. 

For example, those beautiful pearls are obtained at the price of slaves’ lives.

Within this dream there is time movement; a galley is journeying on a sea. A long voyage is semantically encapsulated in the adverbial phrase ‘. . . At last they reached a little bay . . .’; the painfully slow movement of dream events is conveyed in adverbial phrases like ‘. . . followed slowly . . .’, ‘. . . crept wearily . . .’and ‘. . . beating monotonously . . .’ The young slave looking for pearls surfaces ‘. . . after some time . . .’ and the painfully dragging length of time realized in adverbial phrase ‘. . . again and again . . .’, or adjectival modification,’. . . each time . . .’ and ‘. . . the last time . . .’ The protagonist wakes up and the real world time has moved further towards the day, the time expressed with a preposition and captured metaphorically this time in ‘. . . and through the window he saw the long grey fingers of the dawn clutching at the fading stars.’ The prepositional phrase ‘through the window’ orients the reader towards the two time scales on which this tale is moving: the dream time that is inside the room and real world time that is glimpsed outside the window. 

It begins like the earlier similar sentence with a stylistically marked and at the beginning of the sentence that is chronological in its semantic import. The second and is also chronological, after falling asleep he dreams and third additive and serves as a lead into the description of his second dream. The dream this time is located away from his land takes him to wild seas, ships, galley masters and slaves. The dream narrative is made of predominantly additive and chronological and relations. The next two passages comprise of seven descriptive sentences containing five additive and one chronological and-conjunctions. The Young King finds himself on a galley being rowed by ‘a hundred slaves’. The master of the galley is painted with two additives: ‘On a carpet by his side the master of the galley was seated. He was black as ebony, and his turban was of crimson silk. Great earrings of silver dragged down the thick lobes of his ears, and in his hands he had a pair of ivory scales.’ The second passage describes the slaves and their plight with three additive and one chronological and relations: 
"The slaves were naked, but for a ragged loincloth, and each one was chained to his neighbour. The hot sun beat brightly upon them, and the negroes ran up and down the gangway and lashed them with whips of hide. They stretched out their lean arms and pulled the heavy oars through the water."
When this oriental galley reaches its destination we get the description of the place in two sentences. The first one contains a chronological and joining the two clauses. The second sentence contains a chronological and an additive and-conjunctions; ‘At last they reached a little bay, and began to take soundings. A light wind blew from the shore, and covered the deck and the great lateen sail with a fine red dust.’ The wildness and cruelty of the site is established by a violent attack on the galley crew that seems to have no link with the movement of the action in the dream except to 
introduce an element of fear. The clip contains action and we find it narrated with three chronological and-conjunctions in three sentences. The fourth sentence contains and as part of a phrase: 
"Three Arabs mounted on wild asses rode out and threw spears at them. The master of the galley took a painted bow in his hand and shot one of them in the throat. He fell heavily into the surf, and his companions galloped away. A woman wrapped in a yellow veil followed slowly on a camel, looking back now and then at the dead body."
Having got rid of the raiders, the crew gets to work and we get three passages in which they carry out their operation. Ten chronological, one additive and one phrasal and conjunctions are used to describe the activity: 
"As soon as they had cast anchor and hauled down the sail, the negroes went into the hold and brought up a long rope-ladder, heavily weighted with lead. The master of the galley threw it over the side, making the ends fast to two iron stanchions. Then the negroes seized the youngest of the slaves, and knocked his gyves off, and filled his nostrils and his ears with wax, and tied abig stone round his waist. He crept wearily down the ladder, and disappeared into the sea. A few bubbles rose where he sank. Some of the other slaves peered curiously over the side . . .
After some time the slave rose up out of the water, and clung panting to the ladder with a pearl in his right hand. The negroes seized it from him, and thrust him back . . .
Again and again he came up, and each time that he did so he brought with him a beautiful pearl. The master of the galley weighed them, and put them into a little bag of green leather."
The impact of this spectacle is so much more overwhelming than the first dream that the Young King is unable to speak. His predicament is shown in one sentence comprising of three clauses joined by two conjunctions, one of them an additive and; ‘The young King tried to speak, but his tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of his mouth, and his lips refused to move.’ The world of the galley is ruthlessly going on; so is the natural world. An additive and a phrasal and-conjunction describe the scene; ‘The negroes chattered to each other, and began to quarrel over a string of bright beads. Two cranes flew round and round the vessel.’ The final haul of pearls ends in his death. Two additives describe the precious pearl that he brings up and one additive and three chronological and applications narrate the process of his miserable and ruthless death:
"Then he came up for the last time, and the pearl that he brought with him was fairer than all the pearls of Ormuz, for it was shaped like the full moon, and whiter than the morning star. But his face was strangely pale, and as he fell upon the deck the blood gushed from his ears and nostrils. He quivered for a little, and then he was still. The negroes shrugged their shoulders, and threw the body overboard."
The next long sentence beginning by a stylistically marked chronological and joined by five more chronological and-conjunctions give us the reason and the conclusion to the whole adventure. The sentence gives the indifferent attitude of the galley master to the death adds to the cruelty of the scene:
"And the master of the galley laughed, and, reaching out, he took the pearl, and when he saw it he pressed it to his forehead and bowed. `It shall be,' he said, `for the sceptre of the young King,' and he made a sign to the negroes to draw up the anchor."
The Young King’s unasked question is answered to the worst that he fears. The conclusion to this narrative is similar to the first dream , the sentence begins by stylistically marked resultative and-conjunction, contains another chronological and that imports him back to the reality of the waking world and the third additive and links the passing night that is now close to dawn. In one sense the additive and conjunction serves to establish the temporal parameter of the tale at this point: 
"And when the young King heard this he gave a great cry, and woke, and through the window he saw the long grey fingers of the dawn clutching at the fading stars."



THE LOVELIEST OF THE QUEEN'S MAIDS OF HONOUR
A BEAUTIFUL GIRL AND HER LOVER
The second couple in the tale are also heterosexual. The lovers on the balcony do not seem to be successful in their relationship and have communication problems. The man is romantic and passionate whereas the maid-of-honour is portrayed as being cold, selfish, vain, and loveless. For example, the man romances the girl saying: "How beautiful the stars are, and how wonderful is the power of love!"; however, she replies that she is worried her dress will not be ready for the State-Ball and complains that the seamstress is "so lazy". Jacobs predicts that the indifference of the maid-of-honour and her inability to understand the lives of those who work for her will break down the lovers' relationship and the girl will be to blame. The relationship between the lovers... The female character conveys an attitude towards life and is unfocused on the fundamental needs of her relationship.
It is interesting to note that prior to the twentieth century, it was fully acceptable for men to express themselves romantically with poets such as Keats, Shelley, and Wordsworth as their role models.
Jacobs writes that Wilde inverts the usual stereotypes of the "manly male" and the "romantic female" rendering the last as materialistic, callous, and aggressive.

And the romantic couple on the palace balcony are a surprise.
Readers usually expect the comment about the lovely stars and the wonderful power of love to be attached with 'she said to him' but it's 'he said to her', inverting the usual stereotypes of the manly male and the romantic female. Not only that but, in a particularly sharp and even brutal piece of manipulation by Wilde, the beautiful girl is shown to be not only unromantic, and not only materialistic and callous, but her coldly aggressive remark cruelly contradicts what we ourselves...

Wilde is merely presenting the Victorian society stereotypes rather than expressing a mysoginistic attitude of his own.

The woman described as "the loveliest of the Queen's maids-of-honour" is supposed to appear smart "at the next Court ball" in "the satin gown". Wilde satirizes the injustice of how a woman shines in society at the expense of another. The noblewoman's worry is about the look of her dress.
The ballroom music of the time (18th century)... the young noblewoman who is going to wear the ball dress... the noblewoman insensitively complains about the seamstress's laziness...the vanity of the noblewoman...
... the ostentatious limits...

...the palace, as the only serious concern of the upper classes seems to be their dancing, the romantic atmosphere with the stars above and the approaching Court-ball. The lady there turns out to be the Queen’s maid of honor for whom the seamstress is embroidering the flowers, and she cold-heartedly criticizes and
does not appreciate the value of the labor the seamstress pays to her struggle.

the pampered princess ... is concerned that her dress 'will be ready in time for the State-ball'

...unas pasionarias en un vestido que lucirá una camarera de la reina en un baile, ...
En contraste, la mujer que usará el vestido, y a quien su amante le expresa la maravillosa fuerza del amor al ver las hermosas estrellas, se queja de la pereza de las costureras, ...

............................

  Oscar Wilde analyzed by Nino Kirvalidze, 2018

... by a balcony of that beautiful maid-of-honour of the Queen speaking to her lover about the Court-ball, and complaining that ... to embroider passion flowers on her dress. Wilde displays the selfish nature of the rich. Ironically, the lovers speak about the power of love though it is obvious that they are not aware of its true essence which is not merely love of pleasures but sacrifice and self-denial for the sake of spiritual perfection that leads to true happiness. Wilde does his best to make this concept clear. His use of irony to reveal hypocrisy is poignant.

It’s worth mentioning that the author uses examples of parallel constructions in a figurative It’s worth mentioning that the author uses examples of parallel constructions in a figurative way, and it makes his writing style more expressive and more impressive:
The second couple in the tale are also heterosexual. The lovers on the balcony do not seem to be successful in their relationship and have communication problems. The man is romantic and passionate whereas the maid-of-honour is portrayed as being cold, selfish, vain, and loveless. For example, the man romances the girl saying: "How beautiful the stars are, and how wonderful is the power of love!"; however, she replies that she is worried her dress will not be ready for the State-Ball and complains that the seamstress is "so lazy". Richard Jacobs predicts that the indifference of the maid-of-honour and her inability to understand the lives of those who work for her will break down the lovers' relationship and the girl will be to blame. The relationship between the lovers ... is similar to some measure. The female character conveys an attitude towards life and is unfocused on the fundamental needs of her relationship.
It is interesting to note that prior to the twentieth century, it was fully acceptable for men to express themselves romantically with poets such as Keats, Shelley, and Wordsworth as their role models.
Hence, I (Layla Bseiso) disagree with Richard Jacobs who writes that Wilde inverts the usual stereotypes of the "manly male" and the "romantic female" rendering the last as materialistic, callous, and aggressive. Wilde is merely presenting the Victorian society stereotypes rather than expressing a mysoginistic attitude of his own.
(Layla Bseiso, Högskolan Dalarna)

-- And the romantic couple on the palace balcony are a surprise. Readers usually expect the comment about the lovely stars and the wonderful power of love to be attached with 'she said to him' but it's 'he said to her', inverting the usual stereotypes of the manly male and the romantic female. Not only that but, in a particularly sharp and even brutal piece of manipulation by Wilde, the beautiful girl is shown to be not only unromantic, and not only materialistic and callous, but her coldly aggressive remark cruelly contradicts what we ourselves know to be the case, ... on this girl's dress. So this relationship presumably will break down and it will be the young woman's fault, because she's a - well, choose your own term of abuse.
(Richard Jacobs) --
way, and it makes his writing style more expressive and more impressive: It’s worth mentioning that the author uses examples of parallel constructions in a figurative way, and it makes his writing style more expressive and more impressive:

THE ART PROFESSOR AT THE UNIVERSITY
On the basis of ... ugliness, the Art Professor at the University recommends the removal...

By presenting the Art Professor, who says "As...is no longer beautiful...is no longer useful", as a follower of the art for art's sake creed, Wilde locates this selfish character specifically within the nineteenth century.

As I mentioned above, Wilde supported the attitude of "art for art's sake", and sought aestheticism as long as he lived. He considered the Art Professor at the University, who supported "art for life's sake", a trivial person.

 to the dictum of the art professor at the University that, since ‘... is no longer beautiful, ...is no longer useful.’” 

The upper classes in the fairy-world show no understanding for beauty without purpose, and art for art’s sake.

Wilde, through the posture of the art professor, provides a compelling argument for his belief that art is useful in itself, and should not have to serve a higher purpose.

Even the art professor who is expected to value the inner beauty of objects notes that ... is no longer beautiful, thus no longer useful.

Characters appearing in the fairy tale
the Art Professor

[was] no longer beautiful [was] no longer useful", as stated by the Art Professor.
 For these people, the true value ... lay in the former glory, with its jewels and gold...

...no longer beautiful and therefore no longer useful...
On the one hand, Wilde promotes the idea that art is merely art, the l’art-pour-l’art principle that was also demonstrated by his mentor Walter Pater. This can be seen in the fact that the people only enjoy and value...  when it is beautiful. The value... then becomes merely superficial, only the way it looks matters and it has no use in any way. The moment ... has lost its superficial value, it is no longer art and has to be taken down. Wilde also displays this sentiment in the preface to The Picture of Dorian Gray, when he says that “all art is quite useless.”
... the superficial sphere of art seems to be most important on earth...
...but the narrator never seems to favour ... Pater’s philosophy ... : 
the story takes no sides, but rather it illustrates the debate between opposing philosophies.
...is also said not to be useful anymore, because ... has lost ... beauty.
..., showing that the social value of art is ignored and that it is merely appreciated when it is useless and beautiful.
the dominance of the superficial in life in line with the philosophies of Walter Pater.


 a lo que le sigue una crítica ante la afirmación del profesor de estética según la cual lo que carece de belleza es inútil; De este modo, al amor en el dolor se le suma la idea de la muerte que cuestiona una vez más el esteticismo y la utilidad. Más que una crítica a la afirmación de la acción sin interés, cuestiona el sentido del común.

Walter Pater, indeed, may have been the inspiration behind the character of the Art Professor at the University (and also for Lord Henry Wotton!). A great man of letters, I recommend his novel Marius the Epicurean (isn't the title tempting?), about a young gay man from the Roman provinces during the cosmopolitan, eclectic reign of Hadrian and Marcus Aurelius. A queer novel, a philosophical novel, and a sensitive young lover of a hero to enjoy.

PS. Updated in December 2017
According to the notes by John Sloan in Oscar Wilde's Complete Short Stories, the Art Professor at the University and his remark about beauty and usefulness is:
an allusion perhaps to William Morris (1834-96) who in his lecture 'The Beauty of Life' (1880), published in pamphlet form the same year under the title 'Labour and Pleasure versus Labour and Sorrow', stated: 'Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful.'

FAVOURITE STANZAS OF NARRATIVE POEMS (INSPIRATION)

    Now long a lord and clad in rich attire,
In his fair hall he sat before the wine
Watching the evening sun's yet burning fire,
Through the close branches of his pleasance shine,
In that mood when man thinks himself divine,
Remembering not whereto we all must come,
Not thinking aught but of his happy home.

“Yea,” saith the ranger, “that may well be wise,
But haste, for this eve am I well at ease,
Nor would be wearied with such folk as these.”

But for the ranger, left alone in peace,
He bade his folk bring in the minstrelsy;
And thinking of his life, and fair increase
Of all his goods, a happy man was he...

 William Morris, on an upstart ranger (huntsman) having a momeny of relaxation.
This recalls both Westeros and the Ringstetten Saga...
..............................................................................................................................................

Suppose him in a handsome uniform,—
       A scarlet coat, black facings, a long plume,
     Waving, like sails new shiver'd in a storm,
       Over a cock'd hat in a crowded room,
     And brilliant breeches, bright as a Cairn Gorme,
       Of yellow casimere we may presume,
     White stocking drawn uncurdled as new milk
     O'er limbs whose symmetry set off the silk;

     Suppose him sword by side, and hat in hand,
       Made up by youth, fame, and an army tailor—
     That great enchanter, at whose rod's command
       Beauty springs forth, and Nature's self turns paler,
     Seeing how Art can make her work more grand
       (When she don't pin men's limbs in like a gaoler),—
     Behold him placed as if upon a pillar! He
     Seems Love turn'd a lieutenant of artillery:—

     His bandage slipp'd down into a cravat;
       His wings subdued to epaulettes; his quiver
     Shrunk to a scabbard, with his arrows at
       His side as a small sword, but sharp as ever;
     His bow converted into a cock'd hat; 

 The courtiers stared, the ladies whisper'd, and
       The empress smiled: the reigning favourite frown'd—
     I quite forget which of them was in hand
       Just then; as they are rather numerous found,
     Who took by turns that difficult command
       Since first her majesty was singly crown'd...

   Besides, the empress sometimes liked a boy, 
 And had just buried the fair-faced Lanskoi.

And Catherine, who loved all things (save her lord,
  Who was gone to his place), and pass'd for much
Admiring those (by dainty dames abhorr'd)
  Gigantic gentlemen, yet had a touch
Of sentiment; and he she most adored
  Was the lamented Lanskoi, who was such
A lover as had cost her many a tear,
And yet but made a middling grenadier.
Her next amusement was more fanciful;
  She smiled at mad Suwarrow's rhymes, who threw
Into a Russian couplet rather dull
  The whole gazette of thousands whom he slew.
Her third was feminine enough to annul
  The shudder which runs naturally through
Our veins, when things call'd sovereigns think it best
To kill, and generals turn it into jest.

The two first feelings ran their course complete,

     And lighted first her eye, and then her mouth:

The whole court look'd immediately most sweet,

     Like flowers well water'd after a long drouth.

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.

Shakspeare talks of 'the herald Mercury
  New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill;'
And some such visions cross'd her majesty,
  While her young herald knelt before her still.
'T is very true the hill seem'd rather high,
  For a lieutenant to climb up; but skill
Smooth'd even the Simplon's steep, and by God's blessing
With youth and health all kisses are 'heaven-kissing.'

 Her majesty look'd down, the youth look'd up—
       And so they fell in love;—she with his face,
     His grace, his God-knows-what: for Cupid's cup
       With the first draught intoxicates apace,
     A quintessential laudanum or 'black drop,'
       Which makes one drunk at once, without the base
     Expedient of full bumpers; for the eye
     In love drinks all life's fountains (save tears) dry.

     He, on the other hand, if not in love,
       Fell into that no less imperious passion,
     Self-love... which, when some sort of thing above
       Ourselves, a singer, dancer, much in fashion,
     Or duchess, princess, empress, 'deigns to prove'
       ('Tis Pope's phrase) a great longing, though a rash one,
     For one especial person out of many,
     Makes us believe ourselves as good as any.

Besides, he was of that delighted age
     Which makes all female ages equal -- when
We don't much care with whom we may engage,
     As bold as Daniel in the lion's den,
So that we can our native sun assuage
     In the next ocean, which may flow just then,
To make a twilight in, just as Sol's heat is
Quench'd in the lap of the salt sea, or Thetis.

And Catherine (we must say thus much for Catherine),
  Though bold and bloody, was the kind of thing
Whose temporary passion was quite flattering,
  Because each lover look'd a sort of king,
Made up upon an amatory pattern,
  A royal husband in all save the ring — 
Which, being the damn'dest part of matrimony,
Seem'd taking out the sting to leave the honey.

And when you add to this, her womanhood
     In its meridian, her blue eyes or gray
(The last, if they have soul, are quite as good,
     Or better, as the best examples say:
Napoleon's, Mary's (queen of Scotland), should
     Lend to that colour a transcendent ray;
And Pallas also sanctions the same hue,
Too wise to look through optics black or blue) --

Her sweet smile, and her then majestic figure,
     Her plumpness, her imperial condescension,
Her preference of a boy to men much bigger
     (Fellows whom Messalina's self would pension),
Her prime of life, just now in juicy vigour,
     With other extras, which we need not mention, --
All these, or any one of these, explain
Enough to make a stripling very vain.

And that's enough, for love is vanity,
     Selfish in its beginning as its end,
Except where 't is a mere insanity,
     A maddening spirit which would strive to blend
Itself with beauty's frail inanity,
     On which the passion's self seems to depend:
And hence some heathenish philosophers
Make love the main spring of the universe.

Besides Platonic love, besides the love
     Of God, the love of sentiment, the loving
Of faithful pairs (I needs must rhyme with dove,
     That good old steam-boat which keeps verses moving
'Gainst reason -- Reason ne'er was hand-and-glove
     With rhyme, but always leant less to improving
The sound than sense) -- beside all these pretences
To love, there are those things which words name senses;

Those movements, those improvements in our bodies
     Which make all bodies anxious to get out
Of their own sand-pits, to mix with a goddess,
     For such all women are at first no doubt.
How beautiful that moment! and how odd is
     That fever which precedes the languid rout
Of our sensations! What a curious way
The whole thing is of clothing souls in clay!

The noblest kind of love is love Platonical,
     To end or to begin with; the next grand
Is that which may be christen'd love canonical,
     Because the clergy take the thing in hand;
The third sort to be noted in our chronicle
     As flourishing in every Christian land,
Is when chaste matrons to their other ties
Add what may be call'd marriage in disguise.

Well, we won't analyse -- our story must
     Tell for itself: the sovereign was smitten,
Juan much flatter'd by her love, or lust; --
     I cannot stop to alter words once written,
And the two are so mix'd with human dust,
     That he who names one, both perchance may hit on:
But in such matters Russia's mighty empress
Behaved no better than a common sempstress.

     The whole court melted into one wide whisper,
       And all lips were applied unto all ears!
     The elder ladies' wrinkles curl'd much crisper
       As they beheld; the younger cast some leers
     On one another, and each lovely lisper
       Smiled as she talk'd the matter o'er; but tears
     Of rivalship rose in each clouded eye
     Of all the standing army who stood by.

     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.

     Catherine was generous,—all such ladies are:
       Love, that great opener of the heart and all
     The ways that lead there, be they near or far,
       Above, below, by turnpikes great or small,—
     Love (though she had a cursed taste for war,
       And was not the best wife, unless we call
     Such Clytemnestra, though perhaps 't is better
     That one should die, than two drag on the fetter)—

     Love had made Catherine make each lover's fortune,
       Unlike our own half-chaste Elizabeth,
     Whose avarice all disbursements did importune,
       If history, the grand liar, ever saith
     The truth; and though grief her old age might shorten,
       Because she put a favourite to death,
     Her vile, ambiguous method of flirtation,
     And stinginess, disgrace her sex and station.

     But when the levee rose, and all was bustle
       In the dissolving circle, all the nations'
     Ambassadors began as 't were to hustle
       Round the young man with their congratulations.
     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.
     Though modest, on his unembarrass'd brow
       Nature had written 'gentleman.' He said
     Little, but to the purpose; and his manner
     Flung hovering graces o'er him like a banner.

     An order from her majesty consign'd
       Our young lieutenant to the genial care
     Of those in office: all the world look'd kind
       (As it will look sometimes with the first stare,
     Which youth would not act ill to keep in mind),
       As also did Miss Protasoff then there,
     Named from her mystic office 'l'Eprouveuse,'
     A term inexplicable to the Muse.

     The favour of the empress was agreeable;
       And though the duty wax'd a little hard,
     Young people at his time of life should be able
       To come off handsomely in that regard.
     He was now growing up like a green tree, able
       For love, war, or ambition, which reward
     Their luckier votaries, till old age's tedium
     Make some prefer the circulating medium.

This we pass over. We will also pass
     The usual progress of intrigues between
Unequal matches, such as are, alas!
     A young lieutenant's with a not old queen,
But one who is not so youthful as she was
     In all the royalty of sweet seventeen.
Sovereigns may sway materials, but not matter,
And wrinkles, the d----d democrats! won't flatter.

I don't know how it was, but he grew sick:
     The empress was alarm'd, and her physician
(The same who physick'd Peter) found the tick
     Of his fierce pulse betoken a condition
Which augur'd of the dead, however quick
     Itself, and show'd a feverish disposition;
At which the whole court was extremely troubled,
The sovereign shock'd, and all his medicines doubled.

Low were the whispers, manifold the rumours:
     Some said he had been poison'd by Potemkin;
Others talk'd learnedly of certain tumours,
     Exhaustion, or disorders of the same kin;
Some said 't was a concoction of the humours,
     Which with the blood too readily will claim kin;
Others again were ready to maintain,
"'Twas only the fatigue of last campaign."

The climate was too cold, they said, for him,
     Meridian-born, to bloom in. This opinion
Made the chaste Catherine look a little grim,
     Who did not like at first to lose her minion:
But when she saw his dazzling eye wax dim,
     And drooping like an eagle's with clipt pinion,
She then resolved to send him on a mission,
But in a style becoming his condition.

Lord Byron: on Catherine the Great falling for an officer newly arrived from the war front, who soon becomes her favourite...

Here's Talis Qualis's Swedish translation, which perfectly captures the spirit of the original:


Tänk er vår vän i högröd uniform, 

Trekantig hatt med plym, som ståtligt svängde 

Lik sönderslitna segel i en storm, 

Bland allt det folk, som sig kring salen trängde; 

Benkläder, lysande som en Cairn Gorme, 

Af gula kasimirn, der sabeln hängde, 

Och hvita strumpor, spända tätt åt ben 

Med förin långt vackrare än silkets sken. 

44. 

Stäld på en piedestal, med hatt i hand, Af äran, 
ungdomen och skräddarn smyckad, Den erketrollkarl, mot 
hvars konst ibland Naturen synes arm och förolyckad, 
(Så snart han icke i för snäfva band Snör in en kropp, 
som om han varit styckad) Det vore kärleksguden - 
icke sant? - Förvandlad till artillerilöjtnant. 

Hans bindel glidit ned till en kravatt, Hans vingar
krympt till epåletter redan, Hans koger, fäldt i hop,
som balja satt, Och pilarne förträngts till sabel
sedan Och bågen formats till trekantig hatt - Ja,
Psyche skulle sjelf i hast (emedan Hon, som de andra,
kan begå en bock) Ha tagit honom för Kupido ock.

46.

Fruntimren hviskade, hofmännen glodde,

Zarinnan log och ond var favoriten -

Fast jag har glömt nu, hvem hon anförtrodde

Den tiden denna post åt bland eliten,

Ty från den stund hon af sig sjelf berodde,

Förgrenades åt flera håll aptiten,

Dock var det sex fots karlar mest, och käcka,

Som kunnat patagoniers afund väcka.

47.

Så ofatt var ej Juan, utan fin,

Och skär och röd och skägglös såsom Fröja;

Men ändå var det något i hans min

Och i hans rörelser, som tycktes röja,

Att liknade han än en kerubin,

Så stack dock mannen fram ur engelns tröja,

Och stundom kejsarinnan föredrog

En pilt; det sågs på Lanskoi, han, som dog. 

52. 

På så sätt ber jag äfven er förklara, 

- Och skonsamt som en qvinnotunga kan - 

Hvad kejsarinnans gunstling kunde vara, 

Det var en svåra hög och uppsatt man, 

Fast ej i rang just; men han skrämdes, bara 

Han vädrade rivalen i en ann, 

Än mer då skulderbredden lätteliga 

Kom egarn, liksom fonderna, att stiga. 

54. 

Zarinnan, kär i allt (blott ej sin man, 
Som också 
var sin kos), men mest betagen 
I resår (fasliga för 
mången ann), 
Greps stundom af de blidare behagen; 
Ja, mången tår för salig Lanskoi rann, 
Till hvilken 
framför allt hon känt sig dragen 

Och som vardt henne innerligen kär,
 Ändock han var en måttlig grenadier. 
 

Katrina, detta stora sammandrag 

Af »krigets upphof», eller fredens, (Hymen 

Är alltings stora upphof, menar jag, 

Välj derför hvad du anser i kostymen) - 

Katrina såg med lifligt välbehag 

Budbäraren, med segerns gud på plymen, 

Och glömde - när han framgaf, stödd på knät,, 

Suwarows bref - en stund att brvta det. 

Dock var hon snart å nyo kejsarinnan. Men dolde icke 
derför hvad som var Tre fjerdedelar minst af henne - 
qvinnan; Och då hon sedan brefvet öfverskar Stod hela 
hofvet som på nålar, innan Ett äkta kungligt löje 
spådde klar Temperatur. De voro stora, dragen, 
Men munnen fin och ögat klart som dagen. 

60. 

Det andra nöjet tog hon mera lätt, Suwarows 
halfförryckta rim, och snöda, Som sammandrogo i 
en rysk kuplett En hel gazette med fulla spalter 
döda; Det tredje (märk!) var hennes lätta sätt Att 
smälta hvad som kostar männer möda: Hur en despot 
ett slagtande bestämt, Som generaler drifva som ett 
skämt. 

61. 

På munnens krusning syntes en minut Hur nöjd zarinnan 
blef vid de två första; Och hofvet såg så genom 
lyckligt ut Som blommor, som fått regn, ifrån att 
törsta; Men när hon log mot löjtnanten till slut, - 
Ty unga karlars åsyn var det största Behag hon viste, 
näst en ny rapport - Så gjordes stora ögon inom kort. 

62. 

Var hennes yttre något för manhaftigt, 

Då hon var barsk, så var hon - helst för denr 

Som tror sig om hvad moget är, och saftigt - 

Som glad en ganska läcker syn igen. 

Hon blef ej ögonkasten skyldig; men 

Betalas skulle - det blef inskärpt kraftigt - 

Kupidos vexlar strax till fullt belopp, 

En prompt liqvid, som ej fick skjutas opp. 

66.

Hos Shakspeare nämns »härolden Hermes, som På
himlakyssande bergstoppar sänkt sig»; Och något dylikt
- när vår härold kom - Tycks äfven hennes majestät ha
tänkt sig. Visst stod herr löjtnanten lågt nedanom,
Men Simplon sjelf för snillet sammanträngt sig, Och
ungdomskraft gör alla kyssar till Ett »himlakyssande»,
om inan så vill.

67.

Hon såg i nåde ned - och upp såg han - Och strax
betogos de - hon af hans höga Figur, hans blick
och . . . Ja, Kupido kan Berusa med en klunk jemväl
de tröga Och slipper hälla stoptals, påstår inan;
Ty den, som kär är, dricker med sitt öga Hvar enda
lifsbrunn läns (med undantag Af tårarne, sorn räcka,
tänker jag).

68.

Och han betogs, om ej af kärlek just,

Af en passion fullt lika stark i längden,

Sjelf kärleken, den der - när ett robust

Modelejon, eller högdjur ur den engden,

Som vi ej nå till, »värdes» fatta lust

(Popes fras) till någon viss person bland mängden -

Strax alstrar föreställningen, att man

Ar lika god, bevars, som någon ann. 

70. 

Och om Katrina vi på lifvet rycke, Var hon, så karsk 
hon syns, en vänlig själ, Och den, som för en tid vann 
hennes tycke, Kom ej vid törnen med sin nakna häl, Men 
var liksom en kung i månget stycke, Ett slags gemål, 
men utan ring likväl! Och desto mindre kom han der 
till korta, Som honungen var qvar och gadderi borta. 

71. 

Lägg dertill, att hon stod i flor som qvinna 

Samt hennes blåa ögon, eller grå 

(Ty lyser själ ur globerna, så vinna 

De senare i klarhet på de blå: 

Så hos Maria, Skotlands herskarinna, 

Och Frankrikes Napoleon också, 

Och Pallas se’n, för klarsynt, som jag menar, 

Att hafva sett ur mörka ögonstenar) - 

72. 

En ståtlig växt, som framstod oombedd, En huldrikhet 
(för att det så benämna), Som föredrog en pilt, trots 
män af bredd, Som kunnat Messalinas panna jemna; 
En yppig frodighet, och väl beredd, Samt andra item, 
som vi utelemna - Allt, eller hvart för sig, var nog 
att få En pojke fåfäng, kan inan lätt förstå, 

73. 

Och mer än nog; ty kärlek är och blifver En 
sjelfvisk inbilskhet, der han ej är Bindgalenskap, som 
obetingadt gifver Sig blotta skönheten i våld, det der 
Förgängliga rent ingenting, som drifver Passionens 
spel: och derföre han lär Af flere hedendomens 
lärofäder Betraktats som tillvarons hufvudfjäder. 

Det der må dikten - icke jag - förråda. 

Vår Juan ganska smickrad var och glad 

Ät majestätets kärlek, eller klåda. 

Nej, bed mig icke ändra denna rad! 

De sammansmält med menskligt stoft, de båda 

Förnimmelserna, till en sådan grad, 

Att de tu äro ett - och derutinnan 

Var hon så god som sömmerskan, zarinnan.

78. 

En hviskning hela hofvet genomgick, Och alla läppar 
alla öron mötte, Hvar enda statsfru dubbla rynkor 
fick, Och frökenskaran ögonspelet skötte Samt fick 
ett fasligt bry ett ögonblick; An mer: rivalitetens 
tårar blötte Förtrutna ögon också der och hvar På 
mången grof, uniformerad karl. 

79. 

Det tog gesandterne just på det ömma, Och alla frågade 
nu, hvem han var, Den unge man, som, af det här att 
döma, Såg ut att bli i hast en mägtig karl. De sågo 
redan silfverrubler strömma I hans chatull, så tätt 
som hagel far, Och ordnar ösas ut med fulla händer 
Och bönder flera tusental i sänder. 

80. 

Katrina var - som alla i den vägen - Frikostig. 
Och Kupido, som förstår Behändigt öppna, uppmärksam 
och trägen. Hvar enda slagbom, som till hjertat går, 
Lät aldrig (fast hon var för krig benägen Och kan ske 
gått i Klytemnestras spår, Som kan i ett fall vara bra 
- när kifvet Tar slut med att den ene offrar lifvet) 

81. 

Zarinnans gunstlingar bli obönhörda. Vårt lands 
Elisabet gaf knappt en slant, Men ansåg hvarje utgift 
för en börda, I fall storljugarn haf den här sagt 
sant; Och grämde hon sig äfven samvetsgrant Till 
döds för favoriten hon lät mörda, Var dock en slem - 
och nidsk - lättfärdighet En fläck på hennes kön och 
värdighet. 

82. 

När hofvet skildes och levéen var slut, Så trängdes 
alla främmande gesandter Omkring den unge mannen 
hvar minut, Lyckönskande, liksom en flock drabanter; 
Fruntimren sjelfva dröjde att gå ut, Och siden frasade 
på alla kanter, Ty på en vacker karl de lägga an, 
Särdeles när till råns; det leda kan. 

83. 

Don Juan, som, han viste icke hur, Vardt fjäsad 
öfverallt, å daga lade Så rigtig takt vid denna 
grannlåtsskur, Som om han till minister danats hade; 
Det låg en fin instinkt i hans natur Och kort, 
men träffande, var hvad han sade, Kring hans person, 
dessutom, och manér, Behagen fladdrade som ett banér. 

84. 

På hög befallning togs vår vän om händer Af hof 
uppvaktningen, som nu slapp lös; Nu voro alla som 
hans såta fränder (Och att i början oftast socker 
strös Till efterrättelse för ungdom länder), Miss 
Protasoff bland andra - l’Eprouveuse - Så nämnd 
ifrån sin mystiska förrättning, Som ej kan återges 
i öfversättning. 

Don Juan vardt en ryss af ton ined tiden. Och sättet 
anar ni nog, gissar jag. Få unge män gå segrande ur 
striden Mot frestelser af tarfligaste slag - Och hans 
låg bredd som en paulun af siden I Med fester, dans 
och tärnor dag från dag Och späckad börs, har inan 
ej rner att önska, Och is blir paradis och vintern 
grönska. 

99 

_._.. 

Han fann sig väl af Höghetens begäran; Och vardt hans 
tjenst än något mödosam, Så icke väcker det ungt folks 
förfäran, Som nog i ty fall vet att slå sig fram. Med 
könet till sitt fria val, och äran, Han svalde lik 
en ung och saftig stam, Som alla göra, innan de bli 
gamla, Då en och annan föredrar att samla. 

23. 

Bedårad af sitt ungmod, i förening Med dåliga exempel, 
blef han snart En smula tygellös, i sämre mening: 
Den slemma odygd, som förstör med fart Vår känslas 
friska brodd och, i förening Med andra böjelser af 
lägre art, Plär sjelfviskhetens hårda hylsa fostra, 
Der själen stänger in sig som en östra. 

24. 

Men det hör icke hit. Ni känner spåren. Som leda 
från och till omaka par, En löjtnant till exempel, 
skägglös karl, Och en furstinna, ej ännu till åren, 
Om också ej precis i ungdomsvåren, Som när sitt 
stolta sjuttontal hon bar, Ty köttet krusar ej för 
potentater Och skrynklor äro f-n till demokrater. 

25. 

Och Döden, den stormägtigste (som är Förgänglighetens 
Gracchus, den man hatar, För det han med sin lex 
agraria plär Begränsa den, som frossar, yfs och 
ståtar, Till samma lilla jordfläck ungefär 

- Med benmjöl gödslad - som de stackars satar, Som 
aldrig egt en torfva), Döden är 

- Jag går så långt - en revolutionär. 

26. 

Han (Juan, icke Döden) lefde jemt I nåd, 
och öfverdåd, och glans, och glitter, I detta 
Björnskinns-Eden, som jag nämnt, Der raggen (måtte 
jag ej bli för bitter) Ur »guld och sölke» sticker 
fram på skämt 
[···] och gör, Att purpurn knappt 
tycks garfvad innanför. 

29. 

Don Juan, långt ifrån att fjäsa släpet, Vardt fjäsad 
för sin ungdom och sitt mod, Om hvilket ryktet redan 
tält så häpet, Samt för sitt gry af racehäst - för 
sitt blod, Ja, för sin uniform, som satt så näpet Och 
klädde honom, hur han gick och stod, - Likt dessa 
moln i rödt, som solen smycka - Men mest för det en 
gumma gjort hans lycka. 

37. 

Don Juan blomstrade, men kunde bli I vissa stunder 
lik en sensitiva, Som drar sig undan (som för poesi 
Monarker, när ej folk som Southey skrifva). Kan ske 
han drömde sig till baka i Klimat, der Newan skulle 
löst sin drifva Förr än i Maj; kan ske han haft behof 
Af fägring mer än höga kärleksprof. 

38. 

Kan ske, men hvartill är kanske nödvändigt Uti ett 
fall som detta? Matken tär En frisk och fager kind 
fullt så behändigt Som han vet laka ut det visset 
är. Bekymmer ge, likt en hotellvärd, ständigt Sin 
veckoräkning in, som, hur man svär, Får liqvideras. 
Sex dars lugn vi njute, Men på den sjunde står en 
björn der ute. 

39. 

Hvad det nu kom sig af, rnen kränk vardt hany 

Och kejsarinnan all slags tröst försmådde, 

Då doktorn (som kurerat Peter) fann 

En puls, som alltför lifligt förespådde 

En kan ske dödlig utgång och förrådde 

Den feberglöd, som i hans ådror brann, 

En upptäckt, hvarvid hofvet grymt förskräcktes 

Och dubbla doser åt den sjuke räcktes. 

40. 

Der hviskades man vid i sin förstämning: 

Potemkin nämndes och giftblanderi, 

En tydde på en svulst i följd af klämning. 

En annan talte lärdt om anemi, 

En tredje om en vätskornas förskämning, 

Om tvinsot och ohjelplig dyskrasi, 

En fjerde såg deri, trots dessa satser, 

»En följd af sista fälttågets strapatser.» 

41. 

Tills vidare vid ett recept vi 
stanne: Sodae sulph. 3vj. 3ij. Sennae 
tinct. Aq. ferv. f. 3jss. 3ss. optim. Mannae 
Haustus" (här koppades han mycket flinkt) »R. 
ulv. Com. gr. iij Ipecacuanhae" (Mot mera reste sig 
vår väns instinkt) "Bolus Potassae Sulphuret. sumendus 
Et haustus ter in die capiendus."


42. 

På så sätt hjelps man, eller stjelps, må vara, 

Af läkarne, som vi begabba, när 

Vi ega helsan, men vid minsta fara 

Få brådt att kalla. Nalkas vi den der 

Hiatus maxime deflendus bara, 

Som spaden fyller, få de nog besvär 

- På det vi ej må segla utför Lethe - 

Vår snälla Baillie och vår Abernethy. 

43. 

Om vräkning hade döden fält ett hot, Men Juan drog ej 
derför sina färde, Hans ungdomskraft stod ypperligt 
emot Och visade på andra spår de lärde. Det onda låg 
dock qvar uti sin rot Och på hans kinders späda rosor 
tärde Till bryderi för fakulteten, som Tillstyrkte 
resor och att se sig om. 

44. 

Klimatet var för kallt för detta fina, Sydländska 
blomstånd, sade de förtäckt: Ett nålstyng för den 
kyska Katarina, Som vid en vink om skiljas blef 
förskräckt. Men då hon såg hans ögon modlöst skina, 
Liksom en örns, som fått sin vinge stäckt, Beslöt 
hon ge sin älskling ofördröjligt En hög mission, 
så ärofull som möjligt. 

.........................................................................................................................................

"When thou unto the other side art come,
A palace shalt thou see of fiery gold,
And thou mayst pass into a glorious hall
Where many a wonder hangs upon the wall;
But far more wonderful than anything
The fair slim consort of the gloomy King,
Arrayed all royally shalt thou behold,
Who sitting on a carven throne of gold,
Whene’er thou enterest shall rise up to thee,
And bid thee welcome there most lovingly,
And pray thee on a royal bed to sit,
And share her feast; yet eat thou not of it,
But sitting on the ground eat bread alone,
Then do thy message kneeling by her throne…
   And there in that grey country, like a flame
Before her eyes rose up the house of gold,
And at the gate she met the beast threefold,
And so she came into the mighty hall,
And saw those wonders hanging on the wall,
That all with pomegranates was covered o’er
In memory of the meal on this sad shore,
Whereby fair Enna was bewept in vain,
And this became a kingdom and a chain.

But on a throne, the Queen of all the dead
She saw therein with gold-embraced head,
In royal raiment, beautiful and pale;
In worship of her, who said, "Welcome here,
O messenger of Venus! thou art dear
To me thyself indeed, for of thy grace
And loveliness we know e’en in this place;
Rest thee then, fair one, on this royal bed
And with some dainty food shalt thou be fed;
Ho, ye who wait, bring in the tables now!"
Therewith were brought things glorious of show
On cloths and tables royally beseen,
By damsels each one fairer than a queen.
The very latchets of whose shoes were worth
The royal crown of any queen on earth;
That all these dainty matters without flaw
Were strange of shape and of strange-blended hues,
So every cup and plate did she refuse
Those lovely hands brought to her, and she said,
"O Queen, to me amidst my awe and dread
These things are nought, my message is not done,
So let me rest upon this cold grey stone,
And while my eyes no higher than thy feet
Are lifted, eat the food that mortals eat."

William Morris on Persephone and her palace...
If I died, I'd be most likely to end up in such a lovely underworld!