Don Juan Aux Enfers

Some day I will somehow summon the energy to post some of my own thoughts about the poems themselves. God knows I don't have much else to think about. I have cramps. That's all I can stay. I've started conceptually illustrating this whole she-bang. AND A. STILL DOESN'T LOVE ME!!!!! Boo hoo. Can't say we didn't see it coming.

This is a poem about Don Juan in hell. On one level it's nice to know that the philanderers in this world will get their comeuppance, although it is far less comforting to see how Don Juan reacts to all this.

Don Juan in Hell
When Don Juan descended toward the underground sea
And when he has given his offering to Charon,
A sullen beggar, his eye proud like Antisthenes,
With strong and vengeful arms he seized each oar.

Showing their hanging breasts and their open gowns
The women bent themselves under the black sky,
And, like a great herd of sacrificial victims,
A long moaning trailed behind them.

Laughing, Sganarelle demanded his wages,
While Don Luis with a trembling finger
Showed to all the rambling dead along the shore
The audacious son who scoffed at his white brow.

Shivering under her grief, the chaste and meager Elvira,
Close to her treacherous spouse who was her lover,
She seemed to ask for a final smile,
That would gleam with the sweetness of his first oath.

Altogether upright in his armor, a grand man of stone
Held himself to the bar and cut off the black tide;
But the cool-headed hero, leaning on his sword,
Regarded the slipstream and deigned to see nothing.

Don Juan aux enfers
Quand Don Juan descendit vers l'onde souterraine
Et lorsqu'il eut donné son obole à Charon,
Un sombre mendiant, l'oeil fier comme Antisthène,
D'un bras vengeur et fort saisit chaque aviron.

Montrant leurs seins pendants et leurs robes ouvertes,
Des femmes se tordaient sous le noir firmament,
Et, comme un grand troupeau de victimes offertes,
Derrière lui traînaient un long mugissement.

Sganarelle en riant lui réclamait ses gages,
Tandis que Don Luis avec un doigt tremblant
Montrait à tous les morts errant sur les rivages
Le fils audacieux qui railla son front blanc.

Frissonnant sous son deuil, la chaste et maigre Elvire,
Près de l'époux perfide et qui fut son amant,
Semblait lui réclamer un suprême sourire
Où brillât la douceur de son premier serment.

Tout droit dans son armure, un grand homme de pierre
Se tenait à la barre et coupait le flot noir;
Mais le calme héros, courbé sur sa rapière,
Regardait le sillage et ne daignait rien voir.