Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50) (208 page)

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, Madam — Madam — here’s my master,
    
With more than half the city at his back —
Was 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 fly —
Surely 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 abhorr’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
To 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 everywhere,
    
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 or footmarks, but the earth said nought;
And then they stared each other’s 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, barbarous 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 e’er
    
I yet have chosen from out the youth of Seville?
Is it for this I scarce went anywhere,
    
Except to bull-fights, mass, play, rout, and revel?
Is it for this, whate’er my suitors were,
    
I favor’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 the 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 indispensable
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 nor 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, sir, when you need —
Let every thing be noted with precision,
    
I would not you for nothing should be fee’d —
But, as my maid’s undrest, 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 antechamber — 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
    
Who
is the man you search for? how d’ ye 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 of 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
Drest 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?”

CLVIII

She ceased, and turn’d upon her pillow; pale
    
She lay, her dark eyes flashing through their tears,
Like skies that rain and lighten; as a veil,
    
Waved and o’ershading her wan cheek, appears
Her streaming hair; the black curls strive, but fail,
    
To hide the glossy shoulder, which uprears
Its snow through all; — her soft lips lie apart,
And louder than her breathing beats her heart.

CLIX

The Senhor Don Alfonso stood confused;
    
Antonia bustled round the ransack’d room,
And, turning up her nose, with looks abused
    
Her master and his myrmidons, of whom
Not one, except the attorney, was amused;
    
He, like Achates, faithful to the tomb,
So there were quarrels, cared not for the cause,
Knowing they must be settled by the laws.

CLX

With prying snub-nose, and small eyes, he stood,
    
Following Antonia’s motions here and there,
With much suspicion in his attitude;
    
For reputations he had little care;
So that a suit or action were made good,
    
Small pity had he for the young and fair,
And ne’er believed in negatives, till these
Were proved by competent false witnesses.

CLXI

But Don Alfonso stood with downcast looks,
    
And, truth to say, he made a foolish figure;
When, after searching in five hundred nooks,
    
And treating a young wife with so much rigour,
He gain’d no point, except some self-rebukes,
    
Added to those his lady with such vigour
Had pour’d upon him for the last half-hour,
Quick, thick, and heavy — as a thunder-shower.

CLXII

At first he tried to hammer an excuse,
    
To which the sole reply was tears and sobs,
And indications of hysterics, whose
    
Prologue is always certain throes, and throbs,
Gasps, and whatever else the owners choose:
  
  
Alfonso saw his wife, and thought of Job’s;
He saw too, in perspective, her relations,
And then he tried to muster all his patience.