Here Raucocanti's eloquent recital Was interrupted by the pirate crew, Who came at stated moments to invite all The captives back to their sad berths; each threw A rueful glance upon the waves, (which bright all From the blue skies derived a double blue, Dancing all free and happy in the sun,) And then went down the hatchway one by one. XCI. They heard next day--that in the Dardanelles, Waiting for his Sublimity's firman,[256] The most imperative of sovereign spells, Which everybody does without who can, More to secure them in their naval cells, Lady to lady, well as man to man, Were to be chained and lotted out per couple, For the slave market of Constantinople. XCII. It seems when this allotment was made out, There chanced to be an odd male, and odd female, Who (after some discussion and some doubt, If the soprano might be deemed to be male, They placed him o'er the women as a scout) Were linked together, and it happened the male Was Juan,--who, an awkward thing at his age, Paired off with a Bacchante blooming visage. XCIII. With Raucocanti lucklessly was chained The tenor; these two hated with a hate Found only on the stage, and each more pained With this his tuneful neighbour than his fate; Sad strife arose, for they were so cross-grained, Instead of bearing up without debate, That each pulled different ways with many an oath, "Arcades ambo," _id est_--blackguards both.[eh] XCIV. Juan's companion was a Romagnole, But bred within the march of old Ancona, With eyes that looked into the very soul (And other chief points of a _bella donna_), Bright--and as black and burning as a coal; And through her clear brunette complexion shone a Great wish to please--a most attractive dower, Especially when added to the power. XCV. But all that power was wasted upon him, For Sorrow o'er each sense held stern command; Her eye might flash on his, but found it dim: And though thus chained, as natural her hand Touched his, nor that--nor any handsome limb (And she had some not easy to withstand) Could stir his pulse, or make his faith feel brittle; Perhaps his recent wounds might help a little. XCVI. No matter; we should ne'er too much inquire, But facts are facts: no Knight could be more true, And firmer faith no Ladye-love desire; We will omit the proofs, save one or two: 'T is said no one in hand "can hold a fire By thought of frosty Caucasus"[257]--but few, I really think--yet Juan's then ordeal Was more triumphant, and not much less real. XCVII.