Why, then, did he choose the name, and what was the scheme or motif of his poem? Something is to be gathered from his own remarks and reflections; but it must be borne in mind that he is on the defensive, and that his half-humorous paradoxes were provoked by advice and opposition. Writing to Moore (September 19, 1818), he says, “I have finished the first canto … of a poem in the style and manner of Beppo, encouraged by the good success of the same. It is … meant to be a little quietly facetious upon everything. But I doubt whether it is not—at least as far as it has gone—too free for these very modest days.” The critics before and after publication thought that Don Juan was “too free,” and, a month after the two first cantos had been issued, he writes to Murray (August 12, 1819), “You ask me for the plan of Donny Johnny; I have no plan—I had no plan; but I had or have materials. … You are too earnest and eager about a work never intended to be serious. Do you suppose that I could have any intention but to giggle and make giggle?—a playful satire, with as little poetry as could be helped, was what I meant.” Again, after the completion but before the publication of Cantos III, IV, V, in a letter to Murray (February 16, 1821), he writes, “The Fifth is so far from being the last of Don Juan, that it is hardly the beginning. I meant to take him the tour of Europe, with a proper mixture of siege, battle, and adventure, and to make him finish as Anacharsis Cloots in the French Revolution. … I meant to have made him a Cavalier Servente in Italy, and a cause for a divorce in England, and a Sentimental ‘Werther-faced’ man in Germany, so as to show the different ridicules of the society in each of these countries, and to have displayed him gradually gâté and blasé, as he grew older, as is natural. But I had not quite fixed whether to make him end in Hell, or in an unhappy marriage, not knowing which would be the severest.”
Byron meant what he said, but he kept back the larger truth. Great works, in which the poet speaks ex animo, and the man lays bare the very pulse of the machine, are not conceived or composed unconsciously and at haphazard. Byron did not “whistle” Don Juan “for want of thought.” He had found a thing to say, and he meant to make the world listen. He had read with angry disapproval, but he had read, Coleridge’s Critique on [Maturin’s] Bertram (vide post, note 11), and, it may be, had caught an inspiration from one brilliant sentence which depicts the Don Juan of the legend somewhat after the likeness of Childe Harold, if not of Lord Byron: “Rank, fortune, wit, talent, acquired knowledge, and liberal accomplishments, with beauty of person, vigorous health, … all these advantages, elevated by the habits and sympathies of noble birth and natural character, are … combined in Don Juan, so as to give him the means of carrying into all its practical consequences the doctrine of a godless nature … Obedience to nature is the only virtue.” Again, “It is not the wickedness of Don Juan … which constitutes the character an abstraction, … but the rapid succession of the correspondent acts and incidents, his intellectual superiority, and the splendid accumulation of his gifts and desirable qualities as coexistent with entire wickedness in one and the same person.” Here was at once a suggestion and a challenge.
Would it not be possible to conceive and to depict an ideal character, gifted, gracious, and delightful, who should “carry into all its practical consequences” the doctrine of a mundane, if not godless doctrine, and, at the same time, retain the charities and virtues of uncelestial but not devilish manhood? In defiance of monition and in spite of resolution, the primrose path is trodden by all sorts and conditions of men, sinners no doubt, but not necessarily abstractions of sin, and to assert the contrary makes for cant and not for righteousness. The form and substance of the poem were due to the compulsion of Genius and the determination of Art, but the argument is a vindication of the natural man. It is Byron’s “criticism of life.” Don Juan was taboo from the first. The earlier issues of the first five cantos were doubly anonymous. Neither author nor publisher subscribed their names on the title-page. The book was a monster, and, as its maker had foreseen, “all the world” shuddered. Immoral, in the sense that it advocates immoral tenets, or prefers evil to good, it is not, but it is unquestionably a dangerous book, which (to quote Kingsley’s words used in another connection) “the young and innocent will do well to leave altogether unread.” It is dangerous because it ignores resistance and presumes submission to passion; it is dangerous because, as Byron admitted, it is “now and then voluptuous;” and it is dangerous, in a lesser degree, because, here and there, the purport of the quips and allusions is
