CLXXV. 175 Julia said nought; though all the while there rose By a few timely words to turn the tables, CLXXVI. Julia, in fact, had tolerable grounds, Alfonso's loves with Inez were well known; But whether 'twas that one's own guilt confounds But that can't be, as has been often shown; A lady with apologies abounds; It might be that her silence sprang alone From delicacy to Don Juan's ear, To whom she knew his mother's fame was dear. CLXXVII. There might be one more motive, which makes two: Mention'd his jealousy, but never who Had been the happy lover, he concluded, His mind the more o'er this its mystery brooded; CLXXVIII. A hint, in tender cases, is enough: Silence is best; besides there is a tact (That modern phrase appears to me sad stuff, Which keeps, when push'd by questions rather rough, The charming creatures lie with such a grace, CLXXIX. They blush, and we believe them; at least I In any case, attempting a reply, For then their eloquence grows quite profuse ; 176 177 178 179 CLXXX. Alfonso clos'd his speech, and begg'd her pardon, Denying several little things he wanted: CLXXXI. A pair of shoes!-what then? not much, if they 180 181 He left the room for his relinquish'd sword, "Fly, Juan, fly! for heaven's sake-not a word- The passage you so often have explor'd- CLXXXIII. None can say that this was not good advice, Of all experience 'tis the usual price, 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. CLXXXIV, Dire was the scuffle, and out went the light; But not a servant stirr'd to aid the fight. Swore lustily he'd be reveng'd this night; His blood was up; though young, he was a Tartar, 182 183 151 CLXXXV. 185 Alfonso's sword had dropp'd ere he could draw it, His temper not being under great command, CLXXXVI. Alfonso grappled to detain the foe, And then his only garment quite gave way; CLXXXVII. ; 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. CLXXXVIII. Here ends this canto.-Need I sing, or say, Who favours what she should not, found his way, The pleasant scandal which arose next day, The nine days' wonder which was brought to light, CLXXXIX. If you would like to see the whole proceedings, There's more than one edition, and the readings 186 187 189 183 CXC. But Donna Inez, to divert the train At least since the retirement of the Vandals, CXCI. She had resolv'd that he should travel through To mend his former morals, and get new, (At least this is the thing most people do.) Julia was sent into a convent: she Grieved, but, perhaps, her feelings may be better CXCII. "They tell me 'tis decided; you depart: 'Tis wise-'tis well, but not the less a pain; I used;-I write in haste, and if a stain My eyeballs burn and throb, but have no tears. CXCIII. "I loved, I love you, for this love have lost 190 191 192 193 State, station, heaven, mankind's, my own esteem And yet cannot regret what it hath cost, So dear is still the memory of that dream; Yet, if I name my guilt, 'tis not to boast,- CXCIV. "Man's love is of man's life a thing apart; 'Tis 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: 194 195 CXCV. "You will proceed in pleasure, and in pride, My shame and sorrow deep in my heart's core! CXCVI. "My breast has been all weakness, is so yet; To all, except one image, madly blind; CXCVII. "I have no more to say, but linger still, And dare not set my seal upon this sheet, And yet I may as well the task fulfil, 198 197 My misery can scarce be more complete; I had not liv'd till now, could sorrow kill; And I must even survive this last adieu, Death shuns the wretch who fain the blow would meet; And bear with life, to love and pray for you!" CXCVIII. This note was written upon gilt-edged paper, Her small white hand could hardly reach the taper, And yet she did not let one tear escape her; The seal a sunflower: "Elle vous suit partout," The motto cut upon a white cornelian; The wax was superfine, its hue vermilion. CXCIX. This was Don Juan's earliest scrape; but whether 198 199 Dependent on the public altogether; We'll see, however, what they say to this. Their favour in an author's cap's a feather, And no great mischief's done by their caprice; And if their approbation we experience, Perhaps they'll have some more about a year hence. |