CXXXIII.

Man 's a phenomenon, one knows not what,
And wonderful beyond all wondrous measure;
'T is pity though, in this sublime world, that;

Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure.
Few mortals know what end they would be at,

But whether glory, power, or love, or treasure, The path is through perplexing ways, and when The goal is gain'd, we die, you know—and then

CXXXIV.

What then?—I do not know, no more do you—
And so good night.-Return we to our story:
'T was in November, when fine days are few,
And the far mountains wax a little hoary,
And clap a white cape on their mantles blue

And the sea dashes round the promontory,
And the loud breaker boils against the rock,
And sober suns must set at five o'clock.

CXXXV.

;

'T was, as the watchmen say, a cloudy night;
No moon, no stars, the wind was low or loud
By gusts, and many a sparkling hearth was bright
With the piled wood, round which the family crowd:
There's something cheerful in that sort of light,
Even as a summer sky 's without a cloud :
I'm fond of fire, and crickets, and all that,
A lobster salad, and champagne, and chat.

CXXXVI.

'T was midnight-Donna Julia was in bed,
Sleeping, most probably,-when at her door
Arose a clatter might awake the dead,

If they had never been awoke before-
And that they have been so we all have read,
And are to be so, at the least, once more.

The door was fasten'd, but, with voice and fist,
First knocks were heard, then "Madam-Madam-hist!

CXXXVII.

"For God's sake, Mad am-Madam-here 's my master, With more than half the city at his backWas ever heard of such a curst disaster?

'T is not my fault-I kept good watch-Alack!

Do, pray, undo the bolt a little faster

They 're on the stair just now, and in a crack Will all be here; perhaps he yet may flySurely the window 's not so very high!"

CXXXVIII.

By this time Don Alfonso was arrived,

With torches, friends, and servants in great number; The major part of them had long been wived,

And therefore paused not to disturb the slumber Of any wicked woman, who contrived

By stealth her husband's temples to encumber : Examples of this kind are so contagious,

Were one not punish'd, all would be outrageous.

CXXXIX.

I can't tell how, or why, or what suspicion
Could enter into Don Alfonso's head;
But for a cavalier of his condition

It surely was exceedingly ill-bred,
Without a word of previous admonition,

To hold a levee round his lady's bed,
And summon lackeys, arm'd with fire and sword,
To prove himself the thing he most abhor'd.

CXL.

Poor Donna Julia! starting as from sleep

(Mind-that I do not say-she had not slept),
Began at once to scream, and yawn, and weep;
Her maid Antonia, who was an adept,
Contrived to fling the bed-clothes in a heap,
As if she had just now from out them crept:
I can't tell why she should take all this trouble
Το
prove her mistress had been sleeping double,

CXLI.

But Julia mistress, and Antonia maid,

Appear'd like two poor harmless women, who Of goblins, but still more of men, afraid,

Had thought one man might be deterr'd by two, And therefore side by side were gently laid,

Until the hours of absence should run through, And truant husband should return, and say, "My dear, I was the first who came away.'

CXLII.

Now Julia found at length a voice, and cried, "In Heaven's name, Don Alfonso, what d' ye mean? Has madness seized you? would that I had died

Ere such a monster's victim I had been!

What may this midnight violence betide,

A sudden fit of drunkenness or spleen?

Dare you suspect me, whom the thought would kill? Search, then, the room!"-Alfonso said, "I will."

CXLIII.

He search'd, they search'd, and rummaged every where, Closet and clothes'-press, chest and window-seat, And found much linen, lace, and several pair

Of stockings, slippers, brushes, combs, complete, With other articles of ladies fair,

To keep them beautiful, or leave them neat : Arras they prick'd and curtains with their swords, And wounded several shutters, and some boards.

CXLIV.

Under the bed they search'd, and there they found—
No matter what—it was not that they sought;
They open'd windows, gazing if the ground

Had signs of foot-marks, but the earth said nought: And then they stared each others' faces round:

'T is odd, not one of all these seekers thought, And seems to me almost a sort of blunder, Of looking in the bed as well as under.

CXLV.

During this inquisition Julia's tongue

Was not asleep—“Yes, search and search," she cried, “Insult on insult heap, and wrong on wrong!

It was for this that I became a bride!

For this in silence I have suffer'd long

A husband like Alfonso at my side;

But now I'll bear no more, nor here remain,
If there be law, or lawyers, in all Spain.

CXLVI.

"Yes, Don Alfonso, husband now no more,
If ever you indeed deserved the name,
Is 't worthy of your years?-you have threescore,
Fifty, or sixty-it is all the same—

Is 't wise or fitting causeless to explore

For facts against a virtuous woman's fame? Ungrateful, perjured, barb'rous Don Alfonso! How dare you think your lady would go on so?

CXLVII.

"Is it for this I have disdain'd to hold

The common privileges of my sex ?
That I have chosen a confessor so old

And deaf, that any other it would vex?
And never once he has had cause to scold,
But found my very innocence perplex
So much, he always doubted I was married-
How sorry you will be when I 've miscarried!

CXLVIII.

"Was it for this that no Cortejo ere

I

yet have chosen from out the youth of Seville? Is it for this I scarce went any where,

Except to bull-fights, mass, play, rout, and revel? Is it for this, whate'er my suitors were,

I favour'd none-nay, was almost uncivil?
Is it for this that General Count O'Reilly,
Who took Algiers, declares I used him vilely?"

CXLIX.

"Did not th' Italian Musico Cazzani

Sing at my heart six months at least in vain?
Did not his countryman, Count Corniani,

Call me the only virtuous wife in Spain?
Were there not also Russians, English, many?
The Count Strongstroganoff I put in pain,
And Lord Mount Coffeehouse, the Irish peer,
Who kill'd himself for love (with wine) last year.

CL.

"Have I not had two bishops at my feet,

The Duke of Ichar, and Don Fernan Nunez? And is it thus a faithful wife you treat?

I wonder in what quarter now the moon is:

I praise your vast forbearance not to beat

Me also, since the time so opportune is

Oh, valiant man! with sword drawn and cock'd trigger, Now, tell me, don't you cut a pretty figure?

CLI.

"Was it for this you took your sudden journey, Under pretence of business indispensible, With that sublime of rascals, your attorney,

Whom I see standing there, and looking sensible Of having play'd the fool? though both I spurn,

he

Deserves the worst, his conduct 's less defensible,

Because, no doubt, 't was for his dirty fee,
And not from any love to you or me.

CLII.

"If he comes here to take a deposition,
By all means let the gentleman proceed;
You've made the apartment in a fit condition :
There's pen and ink for you,

Let

sir,

when you need

every thing be noted with precision,

I would not you for nothing should be fee'd—

But, as my maid 's undress'd, pray turn your spies out." "Oh!” sobb'd Antonia, "I could tear their eyes out."

CLIII.

"There is the closet, there the toilet, there
The ante-chamber-search them under, over :
There is the sofa, there the great arm-chair,
The chimney-which would really hold a lover.
I wish to sleep, and beg you will take care,
And make no further noise, till you discover
The secret cavern of this lurking treasure-
And, when 't is found, let me, too, have that pleasure.

CLIV.

"And now, hidalgo! now that you have thrown
Doubt upon me, confusion over all,
Pray have the courtesy to make it known—

ye

Who is the man you search for ? how d' call
Him? what's his lineage? let him but be shown---
I hope he 's young and handsome—is he tall?
Tell me and be assured, that since you stain
My honour thus, it shall not be in vain.

CLV.

"At least, perhaps, he has not sixty years-
At that age he would be too old for slaughter,
Or for so young a husband's jealous fears-
(Antonia! let me have a glass of water).
I am ashamed for having shed these tears,
They are unworthy of my father's daughter;
My mother dream'd not in my natal hour
That I should fall into a monster's power.

CLVI.

Perhaps 't is of Antonia you are jealous,

You saw that she was sleeping by my side

When you broke in upon us with your fellows :

Look where you please-we 've nothing, sir, to hide ;

Only another time, I trust, you'll tell us,

Or for the sake of decency abide

A moment at the door, that we may be
Dress'd to receive so much good company.

CLVII.

"And now, sir, I have done, and say no more;
The little I have said may serve to show
The guileless heart in silence may grieve o'er
The wrongs to whose exposure it is slow :-
I leave you to your conscience as before,

'T will one day ask you why you used me so? God grant you feel not then the bitterest grief!— Antonia! where 's my pocket-handkerchief?"