to chatter, my veins freeze--Alfonso first examined well their fashion,
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And then flew out into another passion.
He left the room for his relinquish'd sword,
And Julia instant to the closet flew.
'Fly, Juan, fly! for heaven's sake--not a word-- The door is open--you may yet slip through The passage you so often have explored-- Here is the garden-key--Fly--fly--Adieu! Haste--haste! I hear Alfonso's hurrying feet--
Day has not broke--there 's no one in the street:
None can say that this was not good advice, The only mischief was, it came too late;
Of all experience 't is the usual price, A sort of income-tax laid on by fate:
Juan had reach'd the room-door in a. trice, And might have done so by the garden-gate, But met Alfonso in his dressing-gown,
Who threaten'd death--so Juan knock'd him down.
Dire was the scuffle, and out went the light; Antonia cried out 'Rape!' and Julia 'Fire!' But not a servant stirr'd to aid the fight. Alfonso, pommell'd to his heart's desire, Swore lustily he'd be revenged this night;
And Juan, too, blasphemed an octave higher;
His blood was up: though young, he was a Tartar, And not at all disposed to prove a martyr.
Alfonso's sword had dropp'd ere he could draw it, And they continued battling hand to hand,
For Juan very luckily ne'er saw it;
His temper not being under great command, If at that moment he had chanced to claw it, Alfonso's days had not been in the land
Much longer.--Think of husbands', lovers' lives! And how ye may be doubly widows--wives!
Alfonso grappled to detain the foe, And Juan throttled him to get away,
And blood ('t was from the nose) began to flow;
At last, as they more faintly wrestling lay, Juan contrived to give an awkward blow, And then his only garment quite gave way; He fled, like Joseph, leaving it; but there,
I doubt, all likeness ends between the pair.
Lights came at length, and men, and maids, who found
An awkward spectacle their eyes before; Antonia in hysterics, Julia swoon'd, Alfonso leaning, breathless, by the door;
Some half-torn drapery scatter'd on the ground, Some blood, and several footsteps, but no more: Juan the gate gain'd, turn'd the key about,
And liking not the inside, lock'd the out.
Here ends this canto.--Need I sing, or say, How Juan naked, favour'd by the night,
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Who favours what she should not, found his way, And reach'd his home in an unseemly plight?
The pleasant scandal which arose next day,
The nine days' wonder which was brought to light, And how Alfonso sued for a divorce,
Were in the English newspapers, of course.
If you would like to see the whole proceedings, The depositions, and the cause at full,
The names of all the witnesses, the pleadings
Of counsel to nonsuit, or to annul,
There 's more than one edition, and the readings
Are various, but they none of them are dull; The best is that in short-hand ta'en by Gurney, Who to Madrid on purpose made a journey.
But Donna Inez, to divert the train
Of one of the most circulating scandals That had for centuries been known in Spain, At least since the retirement of the Vandals, First vow'd (and never had she vow'd in vain) To Virgin Mary several pounds of candles; And then, by the advice of some old ladies,
She sent her son to be shipp'd off from Cadiz.
She had resolved that he should travel through
All European climes, by land or sea,
To mend his former morals, and get new, Especially in France and Italy
(At least this is the thing most people do). Julia was sent into a convent: she
Grieved, but, perhaps, her feelings may be better
Shown in the following copy of her Letter:--
'They tell me 't is decided; you depart:
'T is wise--'t is well, but not the less a pain; I have no further claim on your young heart, Mine is the victim, and would be again;
To love too much has been the only art
I used;--I write in haste, and if a stain
Be on this sheet, 't is not what it appears;
My eyeballs burn and throb, but have no tears.
'I loved, I love you, for this love have lost
State, station, heaven, mankind's, my own esteem, And yet can not regret what it hath cost,
So dear is still the memory of that dream; Yet, if I name my guilt, 't is not to boast, None can deem harshlier of me than I deem:
I trace this scrawl because I cannot rest-- I 've nothing to reproach, or to request.
'Man's love is of man's life a thing apart,
'T is woman's whole existence; man may range The court, camp, church, the vessel, and the mart; Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in exchange
Pride, fame, ambition, to fill up his heart,
And few there are whom these cannot estrange;
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Men have all these resources, we but one, To love again, and be again undone.
'You will proceed in pleasure, and in pride, Beloved and loving many; all is o'er
For me on earth, except some years to hide
My shame and sorrow deep in my heart's core; These I could bear, but cannot cast aside
The passion which still rages as before-- And so farewell--forgive me, love me--No, That word is idle now--but let it go.
'My breast has been all weakness, is so yet; But still I think I can collect my mind;
My blood still rushes where my spirit 's set, As roll the waves before the settled wind; My heart is feminine, nor can forget--
To all, except one image, madly blind;
So shakes the needle, and so stands the pole,
