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lUiber^itie ^SDition 
 
 THE POETIC AND DRAMATIC WORKS 
 OF ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 IN SIX VOLUMES 
 
 VOLUME IIL 
 
THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 WITH THE AUTHOR'S LATEST CORRECTIONS 
 
 ^S 
 
 
 ^wi 
 
 i 
 
 jfXiMr^ititliM 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 189 1 
 

 The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A. 
 Electrotyped and Printed by H. 0. Houghton & Company. 
 
 1^-; 
 
 c 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 THE RING AND THE BOOK. page 
 
 I. The Ring and the Book el 
 
 II. Half-Rome . . . . o . , . , 33 
 
 III. The Other Half-Rome 68 
 
 IV. Tertium Quid ...,.,,-- 106 
 V. Count Guido Franceschini .«..., 143 
 
 VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi . . , , . . , 189 
 
 VII. POMPILIA 237 
 
 VIII. DoMiNus Hyacinthus de Archangelis, pauperum pho- 
 
 CURATOR 279 
 
 IX. Juris Doctor Johannes-Baptista Bottinius, Fisci et 
 
 Rev. Cam. Apostol. Advocatus 320 
 
 X. The Pope 356 
 
 XI. Guido 404 
 
 XII. The Book and thb Ring . . , . o » 458 
 
THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 [1868-9] 
 
 I. 
 
 THE RING AND THE BOOK. 
 
 Do you see this Ring? 
 
 T* is Rome-work, made to match 
 (By Castellani's imitative craft) 
 Etrurian circlets found, some happy morn, 
 After a dropping April ; found alive 
 Spark-like 'mid unearthed slope-side figtree-roots 
 That roof old tombs at Chiusi : soft, you see, 
 Yet crisp as jewel-cutting. There 's one trick, 
 (Craftsmen instruct me) one approved device 
 And but one, fits such slivers of pure gold 
 As this was, — such mere oozings from the mine, 
 Virgin as oval tawny pendent tear 
 At beehive-edge when ripened combs o'erflow, — 
 To bear the file's tooth and the hammer's tap : 
 Since hammer needs must widen out the round, 
 And file emboss it fine with lily-flowers. 
 Ere the stuff grow a ring-thing right to wear. 
 That trick is : the artificer melts up wax 
 With honey, so to speak ; he mingles gold 
 With gold's alloy, and, duly tempering both, 
 Effects a manageable mass, then works : 
 But his work ended, once the thing a ring, 
 Oh, there 's repristination I Just a spirt 
 O' the proper fiery acid o'er its face. 
 And forth the alloy unfastened flies in fume ; 
 While, self-sufficient now, the shape remains, 
 The rondure brave, the lilied loveliness. 
 Gold as it was, is, shall be evermore : 
 Prime nature with an added artistry — 
 No carat lost, and you have gained a ring. 
 What of it ? 'T is a figure, a symbol, say ; 
 A thing's sign : now for the thing signified. 
 
THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Do you see this square old yellow Book, I toss 
 
 I' the air, and catch again, and twirl about 
 
 By the crumpled vellum covers, — pure crude fact 
 
 Secreted from man's life when hearts beat hard. 
 
 And brains, high-blooded, ticked two centuries since ? 
 
 Examine it yourselves ! I found this book. 
 
 Gave a lira for it, eightpence English just, 
 
 (Mark the predestination !) when a Hand, 
 
 Always above my shoulder, pushed me once. 
 
 One day still fierce 'mid many a day struck calm, 
 
 Across a Square in Florence, crammed with booths, 
 
 Buzzing and blaze, noontide and market-time. 
 
 Toward Baccio's marble, — ay, the basement-ledge 
 
 O' the pedestal where sits and menaces 
 
 John of the Black Bands with the upright spear, 
 
 'Twixt palace and church, — Riccardi where they lived, 
 
 His race, and San Lorenzo where they lie. 
 
 This book, — precisely on that palace-step 
 
 Which, meant for lounging knaves o' the Medici, 
 
 Now serves re-venders to display their ware, — 
 
 'Mongst odds and ends of ravage, picture-frames 
 
 White through the worn gilt, mirror-sconces chip])ed. 
 
 Bronze ang-el-heads once knobs attached to chests 
 
 (Handled when ancient dames chose forth brocade), 
 
 Modern chalk drawings, studies from the nude, 
 
 Samples of stone, jet, breccia, porphyry 
 
 Polished and rough, sundry amazing busts 
 
 In baked earth (broken. Providence be praised I) 
 
 A wreck of tapestry, proudly-purposed web 
 
 When reds and blues were indeed red and blue, 
 
 Now offered as a mat to save bare feet 
 
 (Since carpets constitute a cruel cost) 
 
 Treading the chill scagliola bedward ; then 
 
 A pile of brown-etched prints, two crazie each, 
 
 Stopped by a conch a-top from fluttering forth 
 
 — Sowing the Square with works of one and the same 
 
 Master, the imaginative Sienese 
 
 Great in the scenic backgrounds — (name and fame 
 
 None of you know, nor does he fare the worse : ) 
 
 From these . . . Oh, with a Lionard going cheap 
 
 If it should prove, as promised, that Joconde 
 
 Whereof a copy contents the Louvre I — these 
 
 I picked this book from. Five compeers in flank 
 
 Stood left and right of it as tempting more — 
 
 A dogseared Spicilegium, the fond tale 
 
 0' the Frail One of the Flower, by young Dumas, 
 
THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Vulgarized Horace for the use of schools, 
 The Life, Death, Miracles of Saint Somebody, 
 Saint Somebody Else, his Miracles, Death and Life, — 
 With this, one glance at the lettered back of which, 
 And " Stall ! " cried I : a lira made it mine. 
 
 Here it is, this I toss and take again ; 
 Small-quarto size, part print part manuscript : 
 A book in shape but, really, pure crude fact 
 Secreted from man's life when hearts beat hard. 
 And brains, high-blooded, ticked two centuries since. 
 Give it me back ! The thing 's restorative 
 I' the touch and sight. 
 
 That memorable day, 
 (June was the month, Lorenzo named the Square), 
 I leaned a little and overlooked my prize 
 By the low railing round the fountain-source 
 Close to the statue, where a step descends : 
 While clinked the cans of copper, as stooped and rose 
 Thick-ankled girls who brimmed them, and made place 
 For marketmen glad to pitch basket down, 
 Dip a broad melon-leaf that holds the wet. 
 And whisk their faded fresh. And on I read 
 Presently, though my path grew perilous 
 Between the outspread straw-work, piles of plait 
 Soon to be flapping, each o'er two black eyes 
 And swathe of Tuscan hair, on festas fine : 
 Through lire-irons, ti-ibes of tongs, shovels in sheaves, 
 Skeleton bedsteads, wardrobe-drawers agape, 
 Rows of tall slim brass lamps with dangling gear, — 
 And worse, cast clothes a-sweetening in the sun : 
 None of them took my eye from off my prize. 
 Still read I on, from written title-page 
 To wi'itten index, on, through street and street, 
 At the Strozzi, at the Pillar, at the Bridge ; 
 Till, by the time I stood at home again 
 In Casa Guidi by Felice Church, 
 Under the doorway where the black begins 
 With the first stone-slab of the staircase cold, 
 I had mastered the contents, knew the whole truth 
 Gathered together, bound up in this book, 
 Print three-fifths, written supplement the rest. 
 " Romana Homicidiormn " — nay. 
 Better translate — "A Roman murder-case : 
 Position of the entire criminal cause 
 
THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Of Guido Franceschini, nobleman, 
 With certain Four the cutthroats in his pay, 
 Tried, all five, and found guilty and put to death 
 By heading or hanging as befitted ranks, 
 At Rome on February Twenty Two, 
 Since our salvation Sixteen Ninety Eight : 
 Wherein it is disputed if, and when. 
 Husbands may kill adulterous wives, yet 'scape 
 The customary forfeit." 
 
 Word for word, 
 So ran the title-page : murder, or else 
 Legitimate punishment of the other crime, 
 Accounted murder by mistake, — just that 
 And no more, in a Latin cramp enough 
 When the law had her eloquence to launch. 
 But interfilleted with ItaUan streaks 
 When testimony stooped to mother-tongue, — 
 That, was this old square yellow book about. 
 
 Now, as the ingot, ere the ring was forged. 
 
 Lay gold, (beseech you, hold that figure fast!) 
 
 So, in this book lay absolutely truth, 
 
 Fanciless fact, the documents indeed. 
 
 Primary lawyer-pleadings for, against. 
 
 The aforesaid Five ; real summed-up circumstance 
 
 Adduced in proof of these on either side, 
 
 Put forth and printed, as the practice was. 
 
 At Rome, in the Apostolic Chamber's type, 
 
 And so submitted to the eye o' the Court 
 
 Presided over by His Reverence 
 
 Rome's Governor and Criminal Judge, — the trial 
 
 Itself, to all intents, being then as now 
 
 Here in the book and nowise out of it ; 
 
 Seeing, there properly was no judgment-bar, 
 
 No bringing of accuser and accused, 
 
 And whoso judged both parties, face to face 
 
 Before some court, as we conceive of courts. 
 
 There was a Hall of Justice ; that came last : 
 
 For Justice had a chamber by the hall 
 
 Where she took evidence first, summed up the same, 
 
 Then sent accuser and accused alike, 
 
 In person of the advocate of each, 
 
 To weigh its worth, thereby arrange, array 
 
 The battle. 'T was the so-styled Fisc began, 
 
 Pleaded (and since he only spoke in print 
 
THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 The printed voice of him lives now as then) 
 The pubUc Prosecutor — " Murder 's proved ; 
 With five . . . what we call qualities of bad, 
 Worse, worst, and yet worse still, and still worse yet ; 
 Crest over crest crowning the cockatrice, 
 That beggar hell's regalia to enrich 
 Count Guido Franceschini : punish him ! " 
 Thus was the paper put before the court 
 In the next stage, (no noisy work at all,) 
 To study at ease. In due time like reply 
 Came from the so-styled Patron of the Poor, 
 Official mouthpiece of the five accused 
 Too poor to fee a better, — Guido's luck 
 Or else his fellows', — which, I hardly know, — 
 An outbreak as of wonder at the world, 
 A fury-fit of outraged innocence, 
 A passion of betrayed simplicity : 
 " Punish Count Guido ? For what crime, what hint 
 O' the color of a crime, inform us first ! 
 Reward him rather ! Recognize, we say. 
 In the deed done, a righteous judgment dealt ! 
 All conscience and all courage, — there's our Count 
 Charactered in a word ; and, what 's more strange, 
 He had companionship in privilege. 
 Found four courageous conscientious friends : 
 Absolve, applaud all five, as props of law, 
 Sustainers of society ! — perchance 
 A trifle over-hasty with the hand 
 To hold her tottering ark, had tumbled else ; 
 But that 's a splendid fault whereat we wink, 
 Wishing your cold correctness sparkled so ! " 
 Thus paper second followed paper first. 
 Thus did the two join issue — nay, the four, 
 Each pleader having an adjunct. " True, he killed 
 — So to speak — in a certain sort — his wife. 
 But laudably, since thus it happed ! " quoth one : 
 Whereat, more witness and the case postponed. 
 " Thus it happed not, since thus he did the deed. 
 And proved himself thereby portentousest 
 Of cutthroats and a prodigy of crime. 
 As the woman that he slaughtered was a saint. 
 Martyr and miracle ! " quoth the other to match : 
 Again, more witness, and the case postponed. 
 " A miracle, ay — of lust and impudence ; 
 
 Hear my new reasons I " interposed the first : 
 « — Coupled with more of mine ! " pursued his peer. 
 
THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 "'• Beside, the precedents, the authorities ! " 
 From both at once a cry with an echo, that I 
 That was a firebrand at each fox's tail 
 Unleashed in a cornfield : soon spread flare enough, 
 As hurtled thither and there heaped themselves 
 From earth's four corners, all authority 
 And precedent for putting wives to death. 
 Or letting wives live, sinful as they seem. 
 How legislated, now, in this respect, 
 Solon and his Athenians ? Quote the code 
 Of Romulus and Rome ! Justinian speak I 
 Nor modern Baldo, Bartolo be dumb ! 
 The Roman voice was potent, plentiful ; 
 Cornelia de Sicariis hurried to help 
 Pompeia de Parricidiis ; Jidia de 
 Something-or-other jostled Lex this-and-that ; 
 King Solomon confirmed Apostle Paul : 
 That nice decision of Dolabella, eh ? 
 That pregnant instance of Theodoric, oh ! 
 Down to that choice example -^lian gives 
 (An instance I find much insisted on) 
 Of the elephant who, brute-beast though he were, 
 Yet understood and punished on the spot 
 His master's naughty spouse and faithless friend ; 
 A true tale which has edified each child. 
 Much more shall flourish favored by our court ! 
 Pages of proof this way, and that way proof, 
 And always — once again the case postjDoned. 
 
 Thus wrangled, brangled, jangled they a month, 
 
 — Only on paper, pleadings all in print. 
 
 Nor ever was, except i' the brains of men. 
 
 More noise by word of mouth than you hear now — 
 
 Till the court cut all short with " Judged, your cause. 
 
 Receive our sentence ! Praise God ! We pronounce 
 
 Count Guido devilish and damnable : 
 
 His wife Pompilia in thought, word and deed, 
 
 Was perfect pure, he murdered her for that : 
 
 As for the Four who helped the One, all Five — 
 
 Why, let employer and hirelings share alike 
 
 In guilt and guilt's reward, the death their due I " 
 
 So was the trial at end, do you suppose ? 
 " Guilty you find him, death you doom him to ? 
 Ay, were not Guido, more than needs, a priest. 
 Priest and to spare ! " — this was a shot reserved ; 
 
THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 I learn this from epistles which begin 
 Here where the print ends, — see the pen and ink 
 Of the advocate, the ready at a pinch ! — 
 " My client boasts the clerkly privilege, 
 Has taken minor orders many enough, 
 Shows still sufficient chrism upon his pate 
 To neutralize a blood-stain : presbyter, 
 JPrimce tonsurce, sub(liaco?ius, 
 Sacerdos, so he slips from underneath 
 Your power, the temporal, slides inside the robe 
 Of mother Church : to her we make appeal 
 By the Pope, the Church's head ! " 
 
 A parlous plea, 
 Put in with noticeable effect, it seems ; 
 
 " Since straight," — resumes the zealous orator, 
 Making a friend acquainted with the facts, — 
 
 " Once the word ' clericality ' let fall. 
 Procedure stopped and freer breath was drawn 
 By all considerate and responsible Rome." 
 Quality took the decent part, of course ; 
 Held by the husband, who was noble too : 
 Or, for the matter of that, a churl would side 
 With too-refined susceptibility, 
 And honor which, tender in the extreme, 
 Stuno;' to the quick, must roughly right itself 
 At all risks, not sit still and whine for law 
 As a Jew would, if you squeezed him to the wall. 
 Brisk-trotting through the Ghetto. Nay, it seems. 
 Even the Emperor's Envoy had his say 
 To say on the subject ; might not see, unmoved, 
 Civility menaced throughout Christendom 
 By too harsh measure dealt her champion here. 
 Lastly, what made all safe, the Pope was kind, 
 From his youth up, reluctant to take life. 
 If mercy might be just and yet show grace ; 
 Much more unlikely then, in extreme age. 
 To take a life the general sense bade spare. 
 'T was plain that Guido would go scatheless yet. 
 
 But human promise, oli, how short of shine ! 
 How topple down the piles of hope we rear ! 
 How history proves . . . nay, read Herodotus ! 
 Suddenly starting from a nap, as it were, 
 A dog-sleep with one shut, one open orb. 
 Cried the Pope's great self, — Innocent by name 
 
THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 And nature too, and eighty-six years old, 
 
 Antonio Pignatelli of Naples, Pope 
 
 Who had trod many lands, known many deeds, 
 
 Probed many hearts, beginning with his own, 
 
 And now was far in readiness for God, — 
 
 'Twas he who first bade leave those souls in peace. 
 
 Those Jansenists, re-nicknamed Molinists, 
 
 ('Gainst whom the cry went, like a frowsy tune. 
 
 Tickling men's ears — the sect for a quarter of an hour 
 
 I' the teeth of the world which, clown-like, loves to chew 
 
 Be it but a straw 'twixt work and whistling-while, 
 
 Taste some vituperation, bite away. 
 
 Whether at marjoram-sprig or garlic-clove. 
 
 Aught it may sport with, spoil, and then spit forth,) 
 
 " Leave them alone," bade he, '' those Molinists ! 
 Who may have other light than we perceive, 
 Or why is it the whole world hates them thus ? " 
 Also he peeled off that last scandal-rag 
 Of Nepotism ; and so observed the poor 
 That men would merrily say, " Halt, deaf and blind, 
 Who feed on fat things, leave the master's self 
 To gather up the fragments of his feast, 
 These be the nephews of Pope Innocent ! — 
 His own meal costs but five carliiies a day. 
 Poor-priest's allowance, for he claims no more." 
 — He cried of a sudden, this great good old Pope, 
 When they appealed in last resort to him, 
 
 " I have mastered the whole matter : I nothing doubt. 
 Though Guido stood forth priest from head to heel, 
 Instead of, as alleged, a piece of one, — 
 And further, were he, from the tonsured scalp 
 To the sandaled sole of him, my son and Christ's, 
 Instead of touching us by finger-tip 
 As you assert, and pressing up so close 
 Only to set a blood-smutch on our robe, — 
 I and Christ would renounce all right in him. 
 Am I not Pope, and presently to die. 
 And busied how to render my account, 
 And shall I w^ait a day ere I decide 
 On doing or not doing justice here ? 
 Cut off his head to-morrow by this time, 
 Hang up his four mates, two on either hand, 
 And end one business more ! " 
 
 So said, so done — 
 Rather so writ, for the old Pope bade this, 
 
THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 I find, with his particular chirograph, 
 
 His own no such infirm hand, Friday night ; 
 
 And next day, February Twenty Two, 
 
 Since our salvation Sixteen Ninety Eight, 
 
 — Not at the proper head-and-hanging-place 
 
 On bridge-foot close by Castle Angelo, 
 
 Where custom somewhat staled the spectacle, 
 
 ('T was not so well i' the way of Rome, beside, 
 
 The noble Rome, the Rome of Guido's rank) 
 
 But at the city's newer gayer end, — 
 
 The cavalcading promenading place 
 
 Beside the gate and opposite the church 
 
 Under the Pincian gardens green with Spring, 
 
 'Neath the obelisk 'twixt the fountains in tiie Square, 
 
 Did Guido and his fellows find their fate. 
 
 All Rome for witness, and — my writer adds — 
 
 Remonstrant in its universal grief. 
 
 Since Guido had the suffrage of all Rome. 
 
 This is the bookful ; thus far take the truth. 
 
 The untemj^ered gold, the fact untampered with, 
 
 The mere ring-metal ere the ring be made ! 
 
 And what has hitherto come of it ? Who preserves 
 
 The memory of this Guido, and his wife 
 
 Pompilia, more than Ademollo's name, 
 
 The etcher of those prints, two crazie each, 
 
 Saved by a stone from snowing broad the Square 
 
 With scenic backgrounds ? Was this truth of force ? 
 
 Able to take its own part as truth should, 
 
 Sufficient, self-sustaining ? Why, if so — 
 
 Yonder 's a fire, into it goes my book, 
 
 As who shall say me nay, and what the loss? 
 
 You know the tale already : I may ask, 
 
 Rather than think to tell you, more thereof, — 
 
 Ask you not merely who were he and she, 
 
 Husband and wife, what manner of mankind, 
 
 But how you hold concerning this and that 
 
 Other yet-unnamed actor in the piece. 
 
 The young frank handsome courtly Canon, now, 
 
 The priest, declared the lover of the wife. 
 
 He who, no question, did elope with her. 
 
 For certain bring the tragedy about, 
 
 Giuseppe Caponsacchi ; — his strange course 
 
 I' the matter, was it right or wrong or both ? 
 
 Then the old couple, slaughtered with the wife 
 
 By the husband as accomplices in crime, 
 
10 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Those Comparini, Pietro and his spouse, — 
 
 What say you to the right or wrong of that. 
 
 When, at a known name whispered through the door 
 
 Of a lone villa on a Christmas night, 
 
 It opened that the joyous hearts inside 
 
 Might welcome as it were an angel-guest 
 
 Come in Christ's name to knock and enter, sup 
 
 Anl satisfy the loving ones he saved ; 
 
 And so did welcome devils and their death ? 
 
 I have been silent on that circumstance 
 
 Although the couple passed for close of kin 
 
 To wife and husband, were by some accounts 
 
 Pompilia's very parents : you know best. 
 
 Also that infant the great joy was for, 
 
 That Gaetano, the wife's two-weeks' babe, 
 
 The husband's first-born child, his son and heir, 
 
 Whose birth and being turned his night to day — 
 
 Why must the father kill the mother thus 
 
 Because she bore his son and saved himself ? 
 
 Well, British Public, ye who like me not, 
 
 (God love you !) and will have your proper laugh 
 
 At the dark question, laugh it ! I laugh first. 
 
 Truth must prevail, the proverb vows ; and truth 
 
 — Here is it all i' the book at last, as first 
 
 There it was all i' the heads and hearts of Rome 
 
 Gentle and simple, never to fall nor fade 
 
 Nor be forgotten. Yet, a little while. 
 
 The passage of a century or so, 
 
 Decads thrice five, and here 's time paid his tax, 
 
 Oblivion gone home with her harvesting. 
 
 And all left smooth again as scythe could shave. 
 
 Far from beginning with you London folk, 
 
 I took my book to Rome first, tried truth's power 
 
 On likely people. " Have you met such names ? 
 
 Is a tradition extant of such facts ? 
 
 Your law-courts stand, your records frown a-row : 
 
 What if I rove and rummage ? " " — Why, you '11 waste 
 
 Your pains and end as wise as you began ! " 
 
 Every one snickered : '' names and facts thus old 
 
 Are newer much than Europe news we find 
 
 Down in to-day's Dlario. Records, quotha ? 
 
 Why, the French burned them, what else do the French ? 
 
 The rap-and-rendlng nation I And it tells 
 
 Against the Church, no doubt, — another gird 
 
 At the Temporality, your Trial, of course ? " 
 
THE RING AND THE BOOK 11 
 
 " — Quite otherwise this time," submitted I ; 
 
 *' Clean for the Church and dead against the world, 
 The flesh and the devil, does it tell for once." 
 
 *' — The rarer and the happier ! All the same, 
 Content you with your treasure of a book. 
 And waive what 's wanting ! Take a friend's advice ! 
 It 's not the custom of the country. Mend 
 Your ways indeed and we may stretch a point : 
 Go get you manned by Manning and new-manned 
 By Newman and, mayhap, wise-manned to boot 
 By Wiseman, and we '11 see or else we won't ! 
 Thanks meantime for the story, long and strong, 
 A pretty piece of narrative enough, 
 Which scarce ought so to drop out, one would think, 
 From the more curious annals of our kind. 
 Do you tell the story, now, in off-hand style, 
 Straight from the book ? Or simply here and there, 
 (The while you vault it through the loose and large) 
 Hang to a hint ? Or is there book at all, 
 And don't you deal in poetry, make-believe. 
 And the white lies it sounds like "i " 
 
 Yes and no 1 
 From the book, yes ; thence bit by bit I dug 
 The lingot truth, that memorable day, 
 Assayed and knew my piecemeal gain was gold, — 
 Yes ; but from something else surpassing that. 
 Something of mine which, mixed up with the mass, 
 Made it bear hammer and be firm to file. 
 Fancy with fact is just one fact the more ; 
 To wit, that fancy has informed, transpierced, 
 Thridded and so thrown fast the facts else free, 
 As right through ring and ring runs the djereed 
 And binds the loose, one bar without a break. 
 I fused my live soul and that inert stuff. 
 Before attempting smithcraft, on the night 
 After the day when — truth thus grasped and gained — 
 The book was shut and done with and laid by 
 On the cream-colored massive asrate, broad 
 'Neath the twin cherubs in the tarnished frame 
 O' the mirror, tall thence to the ceiling-top. 
 And from the reading, and that slab I leant 
 My elbow on, the while I read and read, 
 I turned, to free m^^self and find the world. 
 And stepped out on the narrow terrace, built 
 Over the street and opposite the church, 
 And paced its lozenge-brickwork sprinkled cool ; 
 
12 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Because Felice-church-side stretched, aglow 
 
 Through each squai*e window frioged for festival, 
 
 Wlience came the clear voice of the cloistered ones 
 
 Chanting a chant made for midsummer nights — 
 
 I know not what particular praise of God, 
 
 It always came and went with June. Beneath 
 
 I the streety quick s^hown by openings of the sky 
 
 When flame fell silently from cloud to cloud. 
 
 Richer than that gold snow Jove rained on Rhodes, 
 
 The townsmen walked by twos and threes, and talked, 
 
 Drinking the blackness in default of air — 
 
 A busy human sense beneath my feet : 
 
 While in and out the terrace-plants, and round 
 
 One branch of tall datura, waxed and waned 
 
 The lamp-fly lured there, wanting the white flower. 
 
 Over the roof o' the lighted church I looked 
 
 A bowshot to the street's end, north away 
 
 Out of the Roman gate to the Roman road 
 
 By the river, till I felt the Apennine. 
 
 And there would lie Arezzo, the man's town, 
 
 The woman's trap and cage and torture-place. 
 
 Also the stage where the priest played his part, 
 
 A spectacle for angels, — ay, indeed. 
 
 There lay Arezzo ! Farther then I fared. 
 
 Feeling my way on through the hot and dense, 
 
 Romeward, until I found the wayside inn 
 
 By Castelnuovo's few mean hut-like homes 
 
 Huddled together on the hill-foot bleak, 
 
 Bare, broken only by that tree or two 
 
 Against the sudden bloody splendor poured 
 
 Cursewise in day's departure by the sun 
 
 O'er the low house-roof of that squalid inn 
 
 Where they three, for the first time and the last. 
 
 Husband and wife and priest, met face to face. 
 
 Whence I went on again, the end was near. 
 
 Step by step, missing none and marking all. 
 
 Till Rome itself, the ghastly goal, I reached. 
 
 Why, all the while, — how could it otherwise ? — 
 
 The life in me abolished the death of things, 
 
 Deep calling unto deep : as then and there 
 
 Acted itself over ag-ain once more 
 
 The tragic piece. I saw with my own eyes 
 
 In Florence as I trod the terrace, breathed 
 
 The beauty and the fearfulness of night. 
 
 How it had run, this round from Rome to Rome — 
 
 Because, you are to know, they lived at Rome, 
 
THE RING AND THE BOOK 13 
 
 Pompllia's parents, as they thought themselves, 
 
 Two ])oor ignoble hearts who did their best 
 
 Part God's way, part the other way than God's, 
 
 To somehow make a shift and scramble throuoh 
 
 The world's mud, careless if it splashed and spoiled. 
 
 Provided they might so hold high, keep clean 
 
 Their child's soul, one soul white enough for three, 
 
 And lift it to whatever star should stoop, 
 
 What possible sphere of purer life than theirs 
 
 Should come in aid of whiteness hard to save. 
 
 1 saw the star stoop, that they strained to touch, 
 
 And did touch and depose their treasure on, 
 
 As Guido Franceschini took away 
 
 Pompilia to be his forevermore, 
 
 While they sang " Now let us depart in peace, 
 
 Having beheld thy glory, Guido's wife ! " 
 
 I saw the star supposed, but fog o' the fen, 
 
 Gilded star-fashion by a glint from hell ; 
 
 Having been heaved up, haled on its gross way, 
 
 By hands unguessed before, invisible help 
 
 From a dark brotherhood, and specially 
 
 Two obscure goblin creatures, fox-faced this, 
 
 Cat-clawed the other, called his next of kin 
 
 By Guido the main monster, — cloaked and caped, 
 
 Making as they were priests, to mock God more, — 
 
 Abate Paul, Canon Girolamo. 
 
 These who had rolled the starlike pest to Rome 
 
 And stationed it to suck up and absorb 
 
 The sweetness of Pompilia, rolled again 
 
 That bloated bubble, with her soul inside. 
 
 Back to Arezzo and a palace there — 
 
 Or say, a fissure in the honest earth 
 
 Whence long ago had curled the vapor first, 
 
 Blown big by nether fires to appall day : 
 
 It touched home, broke, and blasted far and wide. 
 
 I saw the cheated couple find the cheat 
 
 And guess what foul rite they were captured for, — 
 
 Too fain to follow over hill and dale 
 
 That child of theirs caught up thus in the cloud 
 
 And carried by the Prince o' the Power of the Air 
 
 Whither he would, to wilderness or sea. 
 
 I saw them, in the potency of fear. 
 
 Break somehow through the satyr-family 
 
 (For a gray mother with a monkey-mien, 
 
 Mopping and mowing, was apparent too, 
 
 As, confident of capture, all took hands 
 
14 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 And danced about the captives in a ring) 
 
 — Saw them break through, breathe safe, at Rome again, 
 Saved by the selfish instinct, losing so 
 
 Their loved one left with haters. These I saw, 
 
 In recrudescency of baffled hate, 
 
 Prepare to wring the uttermost revenge 
 
 From body and soul thus left them : all was sure, 
 
 Fire laid and caldron set, the obscene ring traced, 
 
 The victim stripped and prostrate : what of God ? 
 
 The cleaving of a cloud, a cry, a crash. 
 
 Quenched lay their caldron, cowered i' the dust the crew, 
 
 As, in a glory of armor like Saint George, 
 
 Out again sprang the young good beauteous priest 
 
 Bearing away the lady in his arms. 
 
 Saved for a splendid minute and no more. 
 
 For, whom i' the path did that priest come upon. 
 
 He and the poor lost lady borne so brave, 
 
 — Checking the song of praise in me, had else 
 Swelled to the full for God's will done on earth — 
 Whom but a dusk misfeatured messenger. 
 
 No other than the angel of this life, 
 
 Whose care is lest men see too much at once. 
 
 He made the sign, such God-glimpse must suffice, 
 
 Nor prejudice the Prince o' the Power of the Air, 
 
 Whose ministration piles us overhead 
 
 What we call, first, earth's roof and, last, heaven's floor. 
 
 Now grate o' the trap, then outlet of the cage : 
 
 So took the lady, left the priest alone. 
 
 And once more canopied the world with black. 
 
 But through the blackness I saw Rome again, 
 
 And where a solitary villa stood 
 
 In a lone garden-quarter : it was eve. 
 
 The second of the year, and oh so cold ! 
 
 Ever and anon there flittered through the air 
 
 A snow-flake, and a scanty couch of snow 
 
 Crusted the grass-walk and the garden-mould. 
 
 All was grave, silent, sinister, — when, ha? 
 
 Glimmeringly did a pack of were-wolves pad 
 
 The snow, those flames were Guido's eyes in front, 
 
 And all five found and footed it, the track. 
 
 To where a threshold-streak of warmth and light 
 
 Betrayed the villa-door with life inside. 
 
 While an inch outside were those blood-bright eyes, 
 
 And black lips wrinkling o'er the flash of teeth. 
 
 And tongues that lolled — O God that madest man ! 
 
 They parleyed in their language. Then one whined — 
 
THE RING AND THE BOOK^ 15 
 
 That was the policy and master-stroke — 
 
 Deep in his throat whispered what seemed a name — 
 " Open to Caponsacchi ! " Guido cried : 
 " Gabriel ! " cried Lucifer at p:den-gate. 
 
 Wide as a heart, opened the door at once, 
 
 Showing the joyous couple, and their child 
 
 The two-weeks' mother, to the wolves, the wolves 
 
 To them. Close eyes ! And when the corpses lay 
 
 Stark-stretched, and those the wolves, their wolf-work done, 
 
 Were safe-embosomed by the night again, 
 
 I knew a necessary change in things ; 
 
 As when the worst watch of the night gives way, 
 
 And there comes duly, to take cognizance, 
 
 The scrutinizing eye-point of some star — 
 
 And who despairs of a new daybreak now ? 
 
 Lo, the first ray protruded on those five ! 
 
 It reached them, and each felon writhed transfixed. 
 
 Awhile they palpitated on the spear 
 
 Motionless over Tophet : stand or fall ? 
 " I say, the spear should fall — should stand, I say . 
 
 Cried the world come to judgment, granting grace 
 Or dealing doom according to world's wont. 
 
 Those world's-bystanders grouped on Rome's cross-road 
 
 At prick and summons of the primal curse 
 
 Which bids man love as well as make a lie. 
 
 There prattled they, discoursed the right and wrong. 
 
 Turned wrong to right, proved wolves sheep and sheep wolves. 
 
 So that you scarce distinguished fell from fleece ; 
 
 Till out spoke a great guardian of the fold, 
 
 Stood up, put forth his hand that held the crook, 
 
 And motioned that the arrested point decline : 
 
 Horribly off, the wriggling dead-weight reeled. 
 
 Rushed to the bottom and lay ruined there. 
 
 Though still at the pit's mouth, despite the smoke 
 
 O' the burning, tarriers turned again to talk 
 
 And trim the balance, and detect at least 
 
 A touch of wolf in what showed whitest sheep, 
 
 A cross of sheep redeeming the whole wolf, — 
 
 Vex truth a little longer : — less and less. 
 
 Because years came and went, and more and more 
 
 Brought new lies with them to be loved in turn. 
 
 Till all at once the memory of the thing, — 
 
 The fact that, wolves or sheep, such creatures were, — 
 
 Which hitherto, however men supposed, 
 
 Had somehow plain and pillar-like prevailed 
 
 I' the midst of them, indisputably fact. 
 
16 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Granite, time's tooth should grate against, not graze, — 
 
 Why, this proved sandstone, friable, last to fly 
 
 And give its grain away at vrish o' the wind. 
 
 Ever and ever more diminutive, 
 
 Base gone, shaft lost, only entablature, 
 
 Dwindled into no bigger than a book. 
 
 Lay of the column ; and that little, left 
 
 By the roadside 'mid the ordure, shards and weeds. 
 
 Until I haply, wandering that lone way, 
 
 Kicked it up, turned it over, and recognized, 
 
 For all the crumblement, this abacus. 
 
 This square old yellow book, — could calculate 
 
 By this the lost proportions of the style. 
 
 This was it from, my fancy with those facts, 
 
 I used to tell the tale, turned gay to grave. 
 
 But lacked a listener seldom ; such alloy, 
 
 Such substance of me interfused the gold 
 
 Which, wrought into a shapely ring therewith. 
 
 Hammered and filed, fingered and favored, last 
 
 Lay ready for the renovating wash 
 
 O' the water. " How much of the tale was true ? " 
 
 I disappeared ; the book grew all in all ; 
 
 The lawyers' pleadings swelled back to their size, — 
 
 Doubled in two, the crease upon them yet. 
 
 For more commodity of carriage, see ! — 
 
 And these are letters, veritable sheets 
 
 That brought post-haste the news to Florence, writ 
 
 At Rome the day Count Guido died, we find, 
 
 To stay the craving of a client there. 
 
 Who bound the same and so produced my book. 
 
 Lovers of dead truth, did ye fare the worse ? 
 
 Lovers of live truth, found ye false my tale ? 
 
 Well, now ; there 's nothing in nor out o' the world 
 
 Good except truth : yet this, the something else. 
 
 What 's this then, which proves good yet seems untrue ? 
 
 This that I mixed with truth, motions of mine 
 
 That quickened, made the inertness mall eolable 
 
 O' the gold was not mine, — what 's your name for this ? 
 
 Are means to the end, themselves in part the end ? 
 
 Is fiction which makes fact alive, fact too ? 
 
 The somehow may be thishow. 
 
 I find first 
 Writ down for very A B C of fact, 
 " In the beginning God made heaven and earth ; " 
 
THE RING AND THE BOOK 17 
 
 From which, no matter with what lisp, I spell 
 
 And speak you out a consequence — that man, 
 
 Man, — as befits the made, the inferior thing, — 
 
 Purposed, since made, to grow, not make in turn, 
 
 Yet forced to try and make, else fail to grow, — 
 
 Formed to rise, reach at, if not grasp and gain 
 
 The good beyond him, — which attempt is growth, — 
 
 Repeats God's process in man's due degree, 
 
 Attaining man's proportionate result, — 
 
 Creates, no, but resuscitates, perhaps. 
 
 Inalienable, the arch-prerogative 
 
 Which turns thought, act — conceives, expresses too ! 
 
 No less, man, bounded, yearning to be free. 
 
 May so project his surplusage of soul 
 
 In search of body, so add self to self 
 
 By owning what lay ownerless before, — 
 
 So find, so fill full, so appro})riate forms — 
 
 That, although nothing which had never life 
 
 Shall get life from him, be, not having been, 
 
 Yet, something dead may get to live again. 
 
 Something with too much life or not enough, 
 
 Which, either way imperfect, ended once : 
 
 An end whereat man's imi)ulse intervenes. 
 
 Makes new beginning, starts the dead alive, 
 
 Completes the incomplete and saves the thing. 
 
 Man's breath were vain to light a virgin wick, — 
 
 Half -burned-out, all but quite-quenched wicks o' the lamp 
 
 Stationed for temple-service on this earth, 
 
 These indeed let him breathe on and relume ! 
 
 For such man's feat is, in the due degree, 
 
 — Mimic creation, galvanism for life, 
 
 But still a glory portioned in the scale. 
 
 Why did the mage say — feeling as we are wont 
 
 For truth, and stopping midway short of truth, 
 
 And resting on a lie — " I raise a ghost " ? 
 
 Because," he taught adepts, '" man makes not man. 
 
 Yet by a special gift, an art of arts. 
 
 More insiofht and more outsioht and much more 
 
 Will to use both of these than boast my mates, 
 
 I can detach from me, commission forth 
 
 Half of my soul ; which in its pilgrimage 
 
 O'er old unwandered waste ways of the world, 
 
 May chance upon some fragment of a whole, 
 
 Rag of flesh, scrap of bone in dim disuse. 
 
 Smoking flax that fed fire once : prompt therein 
 
 I enter, spark-like, put old powers to play. 
 
18 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Push lines out to the Hmit, lead forth last 
 
 (By a moonrise through a ruin of a crypt) 
 
 What shall be mistily seen, murmuringly heard. 
 
 Mistakenly felt : then write my name with Faust's ! " 
 
 Oh, Faust, why Faust ? Was not Elisha once ? — 
 
 Who bade them lay his staff on a corpse-face. 
 
 There was no voice, no hearing : he went in 
 
 Therefore, and shut the door upon them twain, 
 
 And prayed unto the Lord : and he went up 
 
 And lay upon the corpse, dead on the couch. 
 
 And put his mouth upon its mouth, his eyes 
 
 Upon its eyes, his hands upon its hands, 
 
 And stretched him on the flesh ; the flesh waxed warm 
 
 And he returned, walked to and fro the house, 
 
 And went up, stretched him on the flesh again. 
 
 And the eyes opened. 'T is a credible feat 
 
 With the right man and way. 
 
 Enouo-h of me ! 
 The Book ! T turn its medicinable leaves 
 In London now till, as in Florence erst, 
 A spirit laughs and leaps through every limb, 
 And lights my eye, and lifts me by the hair, 
 Letting me have my wiU again with these 
 — How title I the dead alive once more ? 
 
 Count Guido Franceschini the Aretine, 
 
 Descended of an ancient house, though poor, 
 
 A beak-nosed bushy-bearded black-haired lord. 
 
 Lean, pallid, low of stature yet robust. 
 
 Fifty years old, — having four years ago 
 
 Married Pompilia Comparini, young, 
 
 Good, beautiful, at Rome, where she was born, 
 
 And brought her to Arezzo, where they lived 
 
 Unhappy lives, whatever curse the cause, — 
 
 This husband, taking four accomplices. 
 
 Followed this wife to Rome, where she was fled 
 
 From their Arezzo to find peace again, 
 
 In convoy, eight months earlier, of a priest, 
 
 Aretine also, of still nobler birth, 
 
 Griuseppe Caponsacchi, — caught her there 
 
 Quiet in a villa on a Christmas night, 
 
 vVith only Pietro and Violante by, 
 
 Both her putative parents ; killed the three, 
 
 Aged, they, seventy each, and she, seventeen, 
 
 And, two weeks since, the mother of his babe 
 
THE RISG AND THE BOOK 19 
 
 First-born and heir to what the style was worth 
 O' the Guido who determined, dared and did 
 This deed just as he purposed point by point. 
 Then, bent upon escape, but hotly pressed, 
 And captured with his co-mates that same night, 
 He, brought to trial, stood on this defence — 
 Injury to his honor caused the act ; 
 And since his wife was false, (as manifest 
 By flight from home in such companionship,) 
 Death, punishment deserved of the false wife 
 And faithless parents who abetted her 
 I' the flight aforesaid, wronged nor God nor man. 
 ''Nor false she, nor yet faithless they," replied 
 The accuser ; "• cloaked and masked this murder glooms ,• 
 True was Pompilia, loyal too the pair ; 
 Out of the man's own heart a monster curled, 
 Which crime coiled with connivancy at crime — 
 His victim's breast, he tells you, hatched and reared ; 
 Uncoil we and stretch stark the worm of hell ! " 
 A month the trial swayed this way and that 
 Ere judgment settled down on Guido's guilt ; 
 Then was the Pope, that good Twelfth Innocent, 
 Appealed to : who well weighed what went before, 
 Affirmed the guilt and gave the guilty doom. 
 
 Let this old woe step on the stage again ! 
 
 Act itself o'er anew for men to judge, 
 
 Not by the very sense and sight indeed — 
 
 (Which take at best imperfect cognizance, 
 
 Since, how heart moves brain, and how both move hand, 
 
 What mortal ever in entirety saw ?) 
 
 — No dose of purer truth than man digests, 
 
 But truth with falsehood, milk that feeds him now, 
 
 Not strong meat he may get to bear some day — 
 
 To wit, by voices we call evidence. 
 
 Uproar in the echo, live fact deadened down, 
 
 Talked over, bruited abroad, whispered away. 
 
 Yet helping us to all we seem to hear : 
 
 For how else know we save by worth of word ? 
 
 Here are the voices presently shall sound 
 
 In due succession. First, the world's outcry 
 
 Around the rush and ripple of any fact 
 
 Fallen stonewise, plumb on the smooth face of things ; 
 
 The world's guess, as it crowds the bank o' the pool. 
 
 At what were figure and substance, by their splash : 
 
20 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Then, by vibrations in the general mind. 
 
 At depth of deed already out of reach. 
 
 This threefold murder of the day before, — 
 
 Say, Half-Rome 's feel after the vanished truth ; 
 
 Honest enough, as the way is : all the same, 
 
 Harboring- in the centre of its sense 
 
 A hidden germ of failure, shy but sure, 
 
 To neutralize that honesty and leave 
 
 That feel for truth at fault, as the way is too. 
 
 Some prepossession such as starts amiss, 
 
 By but a hair's breadth at the shoulder-blade, 
 
 The arm o' the feeler, dip he ne'er so bold ; 
 
 So leads arm waveringly, lets fall wide 
 
 O' the mark its finger, sent to find and fix 
 
 Truth at the bottom, that deceptive speck. 
 
 With this Half-Rome, — the source of swerving, call 
 
 Over-belief in Guido's right and wrong 
 
 Rather than in Pompilia's wrong and right : 
 
 Who shall say how, who shall say why ? 'Tis there - 
 
 The instinctive theorizing whence a fact 
 
 Looks to the eye as the eye likes the look. 
 
 Gossip in a public place, a sample-speech. 
 
 Some worthy, with his previous hint to find 
 
 A husband's side the safer, and no whit 
 
 Aware he is not ^acus the while, — 
 
 How such an one supposes and states fact 
 
 To whosoever of a multitude 
 
 Will listen, and perhaps prolong thereby 
 
 The not-unpleasant flutter at the breast, 
 
 Born of a certain spectacle shut in 
 
 By the church Lorenzo opposite. So, they lounge 
 
 Midway the mouth o' the street, on Corso side, 
 
 'Twixt palace Fiano and palace Ruspoli, 
 
 Linger and listen ; keeping clear o' the crowd, 
 
 Yet wishful one could lend that crowd one's eyes, 
 
 (So universal is its plague of squint) 
 
 And make hearts beat our time that flutter false : 
 
 — All for the truth's sake, mere truth, nothing else ! 
 
 How Half-Rome found for Guido much excuse. 
 
 Next, from Rome's other half, the opposite feel 
 
 For truth with a like swerve, like unsuccess, — 
 
 Or if success, by no skill but more luck. 
 
 This time, through siding rather with the wife 
 
 Because a fancy-fit inclined that way, 
 
 Than with the husband. One wears drab, one pink ; 
 
THE RING AND THE BOOK 21 
 
 Who wears pink, ask him " Which shall win the race, 
 
 Of coupled runners like as egg and Qg^ ? " 
 
 — Why, if I must choose, he with the pink scarf." 
 
 Doubtless for some such reason choice fell here. 
 
 A piece of public talk to correspond 
 
 At the next stage of the story ; just a day 
 
 Let pass and new day brings the proper change. 
 
 Another sample-speech i' the market-place 
 
 O' the Barberini by the Capucins ; 
 
 Where the old Triton, at his fountain-sport, 
 
 Bernini's creature jjlated to the paps, 
 
 Puffs up steel sleet which breaks to diamond dust, 
 
 A spray of sparkles snorted from his conch, 
 
 High over the caritellas, out o' the way 
 
 O' the motley merchandizing multitude. 
 
 Our murder has been done three days ago, 
 
 The frost is over and gone, the south wind laughs. 
 
 And, to the very tiles of each red roof 
 
 A-smoke i' the sunshine, Rome lies gold and glad : 
 
 So, listen how, to the other half of Rome, 
 
 Pompilia seemed a saint and martyr both ! 
 
 Then, yet another day let come and go, 
 
 With pause prelusive still of novelty, 
 
 Hear a fresh speaker ! — neither this nor that 
 
 Half-Rome aforesaid ; something bred of both : 
 
 One and one breed the inevitable three. 
 
 Sach is the personage harangues you next ; 
 
 The elaborated product, tertium quid : 
 
 Rome's first commotion in subsidence gives 
 
 Tiie curd o' the cream, flower o' the wheat, as it were. 
 
 And finer sense o' the city. Is this plain ? 
 
 You get a reasoned statement of the case, 
 
 Eventual verdict of the curious few 
 
 Who care to sift a business to the bran 
 
 Nor coarsely bolt it like the simpler sort. 
 
 Here, after ignorance, instruction speaks ; 
 
 Here, clarity of candor, history's soul. 
 
 The critical mind, in short : no gossip-guess. 
 
 What the superior social section thinks. 
 
 In person of some man of quality 
 
 Who — breathing musk from lace-work and brocade. 
 
 His solitaire amid the flow of frill, 
 
 Powdered peruke on nose, and bag at back. 
 
 And cane dependent from the ruffled wrist — 
 
 Harangues in silvery and selectest phrase 
 
22 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 'Neath waxlight in a glorified saloon 
 Where mirrors multiply the girandole : 
 Courting the approbation of no mob, 
 But Eminence This and All-Illustrious That 
 Who take snuff softly, range in well-bred ring, 
 Card-table-quitters for observance' sake, 
 Around the argument, the rational word — 
 Still, spite its weight and worth, a sample-speech. 
 How Quality dissertated on the case. 
 
 So much for Rome and rumor ; smoke comes first . 
 Once let smoke rise untroubled, we descry 
 Clearlier what tongues of flame may spire and spit 
 To eye and ear, each with appropriate tinge 
 According to its food, or pure or foul. 
 The actors, no mere rumors of the act, 
 Intervene. First you hear Count Guido's voice, 
 In a small chamber that adjoins the court, 
 Where Governor and Judges^ summoned thence, 
 Tommati, Venturini and the rest. 
 Find the accused ripe for declaring truth. 
 Soft-cushioned sits he ; yet shifts seat, shirks touch, 
 As, with a twitchy brow and wincing lip 
 And cheek that changes to all kinds of white, 
 He proffers his defence, in tones subdued 
 Near to mock-mildness now, so mournful seems 
 The obtuser sense truth fails to satisfy ; 
 Now, moved, from pathos at the wrong endured, 
 To passion ; for the natural man is roused 
 At fools who first do wrong, then pour the blame 
 Of their wrong-doing, Satan-like, on Job. 
 Also his tongue at times is hard to curb ; 
 Incisive, nigli satiric bites the phrase, 
 Rough-raw, yet somehow claiming privilege 
 
 — It is so hard for shrewdness to admit 
 
 Folly means no harm when she calls black white ! 
 
 — Eruption momentary at the most. 
 Modified forthwith by a fall o' the fire. 
 
 Sage acquiescence ; for the world 's the world, 
 
 And, what it errs in. Judges rectify : 
 
 He feels he has a fist, then folds his arms 
 
 Crosswise and makes his mind up to be meek. 
 
 And never once does he detach his eye 
 
 From those ranged there to slay him or to save, 
 
 But does his best man's-service for himself, 
 
 Despite, — what twitches brow and makes lip wince, 
 
THE RING AND THE BOOK 23 
 
 His limbs' late taste of what was called the Cord, 
 Or Vigil-torture more facetiously. 
 Even so ; they were wont to tease the truth 
 Out of loath witness (toying, trifling time) 
 By torture : 't was a trick, a vice of the age, 
 Here, there and everywhere, what would you have? 
 Religion used to tell Humanity 
 She gave him warrant or denied him course. 
 And since the course was much to his own mind, 
 Of pinching flesh and pulling bone frojn bone 
 To unhusk truth a-hiding in its hulls, 
 Nor whisper of a warning stopped the way, 
 He, in their joint behalf, the burly slave. 
 Bestirred him, mauled and maimed all recusants, 
 While, prim in place. Religion overlooked ; 
 And so had done till doomsday, never a sign 
 Nor sound of interference from her mouth. 
 But that at last the burly slave wiped brow. 
 Let eye give notice as if soul were there. 
 Muttered " 'T is a vile trick, foolish more than vile, 
 Should have been counted sin ; I make it so : 
 At any rate no more of it for me — 
 Nay, for I break the torture-engine thus ! " 
 Then did Religion start up, stare amain. 
 Look round for help and see none, smile and say 
 " What, broken is the rack ? Well done of thee ! 
 Did I forget to abrogate its use ? 
 Be the mistake in common with us both ! 
 — One more fault our blind age shall answer for, 
 Down in my book denounced though it must be 
 Somewhere. Henceforth find truth by milder means ! " 
 Ah but, Religion, did we wait for thee 
 To ope the book, that serves to sit upon. 
 And pick such place out, we should wait indeed ! 
 That is all history : and what is not now, 
 Was then, defendants found it to their cost. 
 How Guido, after being tortured, spoke. 
 
 Also hear Caponsacchi who comes next, 
 
 Man and priest — could you comprehend the coil ! — 
 
 In days when that was rife which now is rare. 
 
 How, mingling each its multifarious wires. 
 
 Now heaven, now earth, now heaven and earth at once, 
 
 Had pkicked at and perplexed their puppet here. 
 
 Played off the young frank personable priest ; 
 
 Sworn fast and tonsured plain heaven's celibate, 
 
24 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 And yet earth's clear-accepted servitor, 
 
 A courtly spiritual Cupid, squire of dames 
 
 By law of love and mandate of the mode. 
 
 The Church's own, or why parade her seal, 
 
 "Wherefore that chrism and consecrative work ? 
 
 Yet verily the world's, or why go badged 
 
 A prince of sonneteers and lutanists, 
 
 Show color of each vanity in vogue 
 
 Borne with decorum due on blameless breast? 
 
 All that is changed now, as he tells the court 
 
 How he had played the part excepted at ; 
 
 Tells it, moreover, now the second time : 
 
 Since, for his cause of scandal, his own share 
 
 I' the flight from home and husband of the wife. 
 
 He has been censured, punished in a sort 
 
 By relegation, — exile, we should say, 
 
 To a short distance for a little time, — 
 
 Whence he is summoned on a sudden now, 
 
 Informed that slie, he thought to save, is lost. 
 
 And, in a breath, bidden re-tell his tale. 
 
 Since the first telling somehow missed effect, 
 
 And then advise in the matter. There stands he, 
 
 While the same grim black-panelled chamber blinks 
 
 As though rubbed shiny with the sins of Rome 
 
 Told the same oak for ages — wave-washed wall 
 
 Against which sets a sea of wickedness. 
 
 There, where you yesterday heard Guido speak, 
 
 Speaks Caponsacchi ; and there face him too 
 
 Tommati, Venturini and the rest 
 
 Who, eight months earlier, scarce repressed the smile, 
 
 Forewent the wink ; waived recoanition so 
 
 Of peccadillos incident to youth, 
 
 ICspecially youth high-born ; for youth means love, 
 
 Vows can't change nature, priests are only men, 
 
 And love likes stratagem and subterfuge : 
 
 Which age, that once was youth, should recognize, 
 
 May blame, but needs not press too hard upon. 
 
 Here sit the old Judges then, but with no grace 
 
 Of reverend carriage, magisterial port. 
 
 For why ? The accused of eight months since, — the same 
 
 Who cut the conscious figure of a fool. 
 
 Changed countenance, dropped bashful gaze to ground, 
 
 While hesitating for an answer then, — 
 
 Now is grown judge himself, terrifies now 
 
 This, now the other culprit called a judge, 
 
 Whose turn it is to stammer and look strange, 
 
THE RING AND THE BOOK 25 
 
 As he speaks rapidly, angrily, speech that smites : 
 
 And they keep silence, bear blow after blow. 
 
 Because the seeming-solitary man, 
 
 Speaking for God, may have an audience too, 
 
 Invisible, no discreet judge provokes. 
 
 How the priest Caponsacchi said his say. 
 
 Then a soul sighs its lowest and its last 
 After the loud ones, — so much breath remains 
 Unused by the four-days '-dying ; for she lived 
 Thus long, miraculously long, 't was thouglit, 
 Just that Pompilia might defend herself. 
 How, while the hireling and the alien stoop, 
 Comfort, yet question, — since the time is brief, 
 And folk, allowably inquisitive, 
 Encircle the low pallet where she lies 
 In the good house that helps the poor to die, — 
 Pompilia tells the story of her life. 
 For friend and lover, — leech and man of law 
 Do service ; busy helpful ministrants 
 As varied in their calling as their mind, 
 Temper and age : and yet from all of these. 
 About the white bed under the arched roof. 
 Is somehow, as it were, evolved a one, — 
 Small separate sympathies combined and large. 
 Nothings that were, grown something very much : 
 As if the bystanders gave each his straw. 
 All he had, though a trifle in itself. 
 Which, plaited all together, made a Cross 
 Fit to die looking on and praying with. 
 Just as well as if ivory or gold. 
 So, to the common kindliness she speaks, 
 There being scarce more privacy at the last 
 'For mind than body : but she is used to bear, 
 And only unused to the brotherly look. 
 How she endeavored to explain her life. 
 
 Then, since a Trial ensued, a touch o' the same 
 
 To sober us, flustered with frothy talk, 
 
 And teach our common sense its helplessness. 
 
 For why deal simply with divining-rod, 
 
 Scrape where v^e fancy secret sources flow. 
 
 And ignore law, the recognized machine, 
 
 Elaborate display of pipe and wheel 
 
 Framed to un choke, pump up and pour apace 
 
 Truth till a flowery foam sb^U wash the world ? 
 
26 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 The patent truth-extracting process, — ha ? 
 
 Let us make that grave mystery turn one wheel, 
 
 Give you a single grind of law at least ! 
 
 One orator, of two on either side, 
 
 Shall teach us the puissance of the tongue 
 
 — That is, o' the pen which simulated tongue 
 On paper and saved all except the sound 
 
 Which never was. Law's speech heside law's thought ? 
 
 That were too stunning, too immense an odds : 
 
 Tiiat point of vantage law lets nobly pass. 
 
 One lawyer shall admit us to behold 
 
 The manner of the making out a case, 
 
 First fashion of a speech ; the chick in e^^, 
 
 The masterpiece law's bosom incubates. 
 
 How Don Giacinto of the Arcangeli, 
 
 Called Procurator of the Poor at Rome, 
 
 Now advocate for Guido and his mates, — 
 
 The jolly learned man of middle age. 
 
 Cheek and jowl all in laps with fat and law, 
 
 IVIii'thful as mighty, yet, as great hearts use. 
 
 Despite the name and fame that tempt our flesh, 
 
 Constant to that devotion of the hearth, 
 
 Still captive in those dear domestic ties ! — 
 
 How he, — having a cause to triumph with, 
 
 All kind of interests to keep intact, 
 
 More than one efficacious personage 
 
 To tranquillize, conciliate and secure, 
 
 And above all, public anxiety 
 
 To quiet, show its Guido in good hands, — 
 
 Also, as if such burdens were too light, 
 
 A certain family-feast to claim his care, 
 
 The birthday-banquet for the only son — 
 
 Paternity at smiling strife with law — 
 
 How he brings both to buckle in cne bond ; 
 
 And, thick at throat, with waterish under-eye. 
 
 Turns to his task and settles in his seat 
 
 And puts his utmost means to practice now : 
 
 Wheezes out law-phraS3, whiffles Latin forth, 
 
 And, just as though roast lamb would never be, 
 
 Makes lo^'ic leviofate the biff crime small : 
 
 Rubs palm on palm, rakes foot with itchy foot, 
 
 Conceives and inchoates the argument, 
 
 Sprinkling each flower appropriate to the time, 
 
 — Ovidian quip or Ciceronian crank, 
 A-bubble in the larynx while he laughs. 
 As he had fritters deep down frying there. 
 
THE RING AND THE BOOK 27 
 
 How he turns, twists, and tries the oily thing 
 
 Shall be — first speech for Guido 'gainst the Fisc. 
 
 Then with a skip as it were from heel to head, 
 
 Leaving yourselves fill up the middle bulk 
 
 O' the Trial, reconstruct its shape august, 
 
 From such exordium clap we to the close ; 
 
 Give you, if we dare wing to such a height. 
 
 The absolute glory in some full-grown speech 
 
 On the other side, some finished butterfly, 
 
 Some breathing diamond-flake with leaf-gold fans. 
 
 That takes the air, no trace of worm it was, 
 
 Or cabbage-bed it had production from. 
 
 Giovambattista o' the Bottini, Fisc, 
 
 Pompilia's patron by the chance of the hour, 
 
 To-morrow her persecutor, — composite, he. 
 
 As becomes who must meet such various calls — 
 
 Odds of age joined in him with ends of youth. 
 
 A man of ready smile and facile tear. 
 
 Improvised hopes, despairs at nod and beck, 
 
 And language — ah, the gift of eloquence ! 
 
 Language that goes, goes, easy as a glove, 
 
 O'er good and evil, smoothens both to one. 
 
 Rashness helps caution with him, fires the straw. 
 
 In free enthusiastic careless fit, 
 
 On the first proper pinnacle of rock 
 
 Which offers, as reward for all that zeal, 
 
 To lure some bark to founder and bring gain : 
 
 While calm sits Caution, rapt with heavenward eye, 
 
 A true confessor's gaze, amid the glare 
 
 Beaconing to the breaker, death and hell. 
 " Well done, thou good and faithful ! " she approves : 
 " Hadst thou let slip a fagot to the beach, 
 
 The crew might surely spy thy precipice 
 
 And save their boat ; the simple and the slow 
 
 Might so, forsooth, forestall the wrecker's fee ! 
 
 Let the next crew be wise and hail in time ! " 
 
 Just so compounded is the outside man. 
 
 Blue juvenile pare eye and pippin cheek. 
 
 And brow all prematurely soiled and seamed 
 
 With sudden age, bright devastated hair. 
 
 Ah, but you miss the very tones o' the voice, 
 
 The scrannel pipe that screams in heights of head, 
 
 As, in his modest studio, all alone. 
 
 The tall wight stands a-tiptoe, strives and strains. 
 
 Both eyes shut, like the cockerel that would crow, 
 
 Tries to his own self amorously o'er 
 
28 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 What never will be uttered else than so — 
 
 Since to the four walls, Forum and Mars' Hill, 
 
 Speaks out the poesy which, penned, turns prose. 
 
 Clavecinist debarred his instrument, 
 
 He yet thrums — shirking neither turn nor trill, 
 
 With desperate finger on dumb table-edge — 
 
 The sovereign rondo, shall conclude his Suite, 
 
 Charm an imaginary audience there. 
 
 From old Corelli to young Haendel, both 
 
 I' the flesh at Rome, ere he perforce go print 
 
 The cold black score, mere music for the mind — 
 
 The last speech against Guido and his gang, 
 
 With special end to prove Pompilia pure. 
 
 How the Fisc vindicates Pompilia's fame. 
 
 Then comes the all but end, the ultimate 
 
 Judgment save yours. Pope Innocent the Twelfth, 
 
 Simple, sagacious, mild ye.t resolute, 
 
 With prudence, probity and — what beside 
 
 From the other world he feels' impress at times, 
 
 Having attained to fourscore years and six, — 
 
 How, when the court found Guido and the rest 
 
 Guilty, but law supplied a subterfuge 
 
 And passed the final sentence to the Pope, 
 
 He, bringing his intelligence to bear 
 
 This last time on what ball behoves him drop 
 
 In the urn, or white or black, does drop a black, 
 
 Send five souls more to just precede his own, 
 
 Stand him in stead and witness, if need were, 
 
 How he is wont to do God's work on earth. 
 
 The manner of his sitting out the dim 
 
 Droop of a sombre February day 
 
 In the plain closet where he does such work, 
 
 With, from all Peter's treasury, one stool. 
 
 One table and one lathen crucifix. 
 
 There sits the Pope, his thoughts for company ; 
 
 Gra-'^e but not sad, — nay, something like a cheer 
 
 Leaves the lips free to be benevolent, 
 
 Which, all day long, did duty firm and fast. 
 
 A cherishing there is of foot and knee, 
 
 A chafing loose-skinned large-veined hand with hand, — 
 
 What steward but knows when stewardship earns its wage^ 
 
 May levy praise, anticipate the lord ? 
 
 He reads, notes, lays the papers down at last, 
 
 Muses, then takes a turn about the room ; 
 
 Unclasps a huge tome in an antique guise, 
 
 Primitive print and tongue half obsolete, 
 
THE RING AND THE BOOK 29 
 
 That stands him in diurnal stead ; opes page, 
 
 Finds place where falls the passage to be conned 
 
 According to an order long in use : 
 
 And, as he comes upon the evening's chance. 
 
 Starts somewhat, solemnizes straight his smile^ 
 
 Then reads aloud that portion first to last, 
 
 And at the end lets flow his own thoughts forth 
 
 Likewise aloud, for respite and relief, 
 
 Till by the dreary relics of the west 
 
 Wan through the half-moon window, all his light, 
 
 He bows the head while the lips move in prayer. 
 
 Writes some three brief lines, signs and seals the same, 
 
 Tinkles a hand-bell, bids the obsequious Sir 
 
 Who i^uts foot presently o' the closet-sill 
 
 He watched outside of, bear as superscribed 
 
 That mandate to the Governor forthwith : 
 
 Then heaves abroad his cares in one good sigh, 
 
 Traverses corridor with no arm's help, 
 
 And so to sup as a clear conscience should. 
 
 The manner of the judgment of the Pope. 
 
 Then must speak Guido yet a second time, 
 
 Satan's old saw being apt here — skin for skin, 
 
 All a man hath that will he give for life. 
 
 While life was graspable and gainable. 
 
 And bird-like buzzed her wings round Guide's brow, 
 
 Not much truth stiffened out the web of words 
 
 He wove to catch her : when away she flew 
 
 And death came, death's breath rivelled up the lies, 
 
 Left bare the metal thread, the fibre fine 
 
 Of truth, i' the spinning : the true words shone last. 
 
 How Guido, to another purjDose quite. 
 
 Speaks and despairs, the last night of his life, 
 
 In that New Prison by Castle Angelo 
 
 At the bridge-foot : the same man, another voice. 
 
 On a stone bench in a close fetid cell, 
 
 Where the hot vapor of an agony, 
 
 Struck into drops on the cold wall, runs down — 
 
 Horrible worms made out of sweat and tears — 
 
 There crouch, wellnigh to the knees in dungeon-straw, 
 
 Lit by the sole lamp suffered for their sake, 
 
 Two awe-struck figures, this a Cardinal, 
 
 That an Abate, both of old styled friends 
 
 0' the thing part man part monster in the midst, 
 
 So changed is Franceschini's gentle blood. 
 
 The tiger-cat screams now, that whined before, 
 
30 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 That pried and tried and trod so gingerly, 
 Till in its silkiness the trap-teeth joined ; 
 Then you know how the bristling fury foams. 
 They listen, this wrapped in his folds of red, 
 While his feet fumble for the filth below ; 
 The other, as beseems a stouter heart, 
 Workino" his best with beads and cross to ban 
 The enemy that comes in like a flood 
 Spite of the standard set up, verily 
 And in no trope at all, against him there : 
 For at the prison-gate, just a few steps 
 Outside, already, in the doubtful dawn. 
 Thither, from this side and from that, slow sweep 
 And settle down in silence solidly, 
 Crow-wise, the frightful Brotherhood of Death. 
 Black-hatted and black-hooded huddle they. 
 Black rosaries a-dangiing from each waist ; 
 So take they their grim station at the door, 
 Torches lit, skull-and-cross-bones-banner spread. 
 And that gigantic Christ with open arms, 
 Grounded. Nor lacks there aught but that the group 
 Break forth, intone the lamentable psalm, 
 " Out of the deeps. Lord, have I cried to thee ! " — 
 When inside, from the true profound, a sign 
 Shall bear intelligence that the foe is foiled, 
 Count Guido Franceschini has confessed, 
 And is absolved and reconciled with God. 
 Then they, intoning, may begin their march, 
 Make by the longest way for the People's Square, 
 Carry the criminal to his crime's award : 
 A mob to cleave, a scaffolding to reach. 
 Two gallows and Mannaia crowning all. 
 How Guido made defence a second time. 
 
 Finally, even as thus by step and step 
 
 I led you from the level of to-day 
 
 Up to the summit of so long ago. 
 
 Here, whence I point you the wide prospect round — 
 
 Let me, by like steps, slope you back to smooth. 
 
 Land you on mother-earth, no whit the worse, 
 
 To feed o' the fat o' the furrow : free to dwell. 
 
 Taste our time's better things profusely spread 
 
 For all who love the level, corn and wine. 
 
 Much cattle and the many-folded fleece. 
 
 Shall not my friends go feast again on sward, 
 
 Though cognizant of country in the clouds 
 
THE RING AND THE BOOK 31 
 
 Higher than wistful eagle's horny eye 
 
 Ever unclosed for, 'raid ancestral crags, 
 
 When morning broke and Spring was back once more, 
 
 And he died, heaven, save by his heart, unreached ? 
 
 Yet heaven my fancy lifts to, ladder-like, — - 
 
 As Jack reached, liolpen of his beanstalk-rungs ! 
 
 A novel country : I might make it mine 
 
 By choosing which one aspect of the year 
 
 Suited mood best, and putting solely that 
 
 On panel somewhere in the House of Fame, 
 
 Landscaping what I saved, not what I saw : 
 
 — Might fix you, whether frost in goblin-time 
 
 Startled the moon with his abrupt bright laugh. 
 
 Or, August's hair afloat in filmy fire. 
 
 She fell, arms wide, face foremost on the world, 
 
 Swooned there and so singed out the strength of things. 
 
 Thus were abolished Spring and Autumn both, 
 
 The land dwarfed to one likeness of the land, 
 
 Life cramped corpse-fashion. Rather learn and love 
 
 Each facet-flash of the revolving year ! — 
 
 Red, green and blue that whirl into a white. 
 
 The variance now, the eventual unity, 
 
 Which make the miracle. See it for yourselves. 
 
 This man's act, changeable because alive ! 
 
 Action now shrouds, nor shows the informing thought ; 
 
 Man, like a glass ball with a spark a-top. 
 
 Out of the magic fire that lurks inside, 
 
 Shows one tint at a time to take the eye : 
 
 Which, let a finger touch the silent sleep. 
 
 Shifted a hair's-breadth shoots you dark for bright, 
 
 Suffuses bright with dark, and bafiles so 
 
 Your sentence absolute for shine or shade. 
 
 Once set such orbs, — white styled, black stigmatized, — 
 
 A-rolling, see them once on the other side 
 
 Your good men and your bad men every one, 
 
 From Guido Franceschini to Guy Faux, 
 
 Oft would you rub your eyes and change your names. 
 
 Such, British Public, ye who like me not, 
 (God love you I) — whom I yet have labored for, 
 Perchance more careful whoso runs may read 
 Than erst when all, it seemed, could read who ran 
 Perchance more careless whoso reads may praise 
 Than late when he who praised and read and wr 
 Was apt to find himself the selfsame me, — 
 
82 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Such labor had such issue, so I wrought 
 This arc, by furtherance of such alloy, 
 And so, by one spirt, take away its trace 
 Till, justifiably golden, rounds my ring. 
 
 A ring without a posy, and that ring mine ? 
 
 O lyric Love, half angel and half bird. 
 
 And all a wonder and a wild desire, — 
 
 Boldest of hearts that ever braved the sun, 
 
 Took sanctuary within the holier blue. 
 
 And sang a kindred soul out to his face, — 
 
 Yet human at the red-ripe of the heart — 
 
 When the first summons from the darkling earth 
 
 Reached thee amid thy chambers, blanched their blue, 
 
 And bared them of the glory — to drop down. 
 
 To toil for man, to suffer or to die, — 
 
 This is the same voice : can thy soul know change ? 
 
 Hail then, and hearken from the realms of help ! 
 
 Never may I commence my song, my due 
 
 To God who best taught song by gift of thee. 
 
 Except with bent head and beseeching hand — 
 
 That still, despite the distance and the dark. 
 
 What was, again may be ; some interchange 
 
 Of grace, some splendor once thy very thought, 
 
 Some benediction anciently thy smile : 
 
 — Never conclude, but raising hand and head 
 
 Thither where eyes, that cannot reach, yet yearn 
 
 For all hope, all sustainment, all reward, 
 
 Tlieir utmost up and on, — so blessing back 
 
 In those thy realms of help, that heaven thy home. 
 
 Some whiteness which, I judge, thy face makes proud. 
 
 Some wanness where, I think, thy foot may fall ! 
 
n. 
 
 HALF-ROME. 
 
 What, you, Sir, come too ? (Just the man I 'd meet.) 
 
 Be ruled by me and have a care o' the crowd : 
 
 This way, while fresh folk go and get their gaze : 
 
 I '11 tell you like a book and save your shins. 
 
 Fie, what a roaring day we 've had ! Wliose fault ? 
 
 Lorenzo in Lucina, — here 's a church 
 
 To hold a crowd at need, accommodate 
 
 All comers from the Corso ! If this crush 
 
 Make not its priests ashamed of what they show 
 
 For temple-room, don't prick them to di-aw purse 
 
 And down with bricks and mortar, eke us out 
 
 The beggarly transept with its bit of apse 
 
 Into a decent space for Christian ease, 
 
 Why, to-day's lucky pearl is cast to swine. 
 
 Listen and estimate the luck they 've had ! 
 
 (The right man, and I hold him.) 
 
 Sir, do you see, 
 They laid both bodies in the church, this morn 
 The first thing, on the chancel two steps up, 
 Behind the little marble balustrade ; 
 Disposed them, Pietro the old murdered fool 
 To the right of the altar, and his wretched wife 
 On the other side. In trying to count stabs, 
 People supposed Violante showed the most, 
 Till somebody explained us that mistake ; 
 His wounds had been dealt out indifferent where. 
 But she took all her stabbings in the face, 
 Since punished thus solely for honor's sake, 
 Honoris causa, that 's the proper term. 
 A delicacy there is, our gallants hold, 
 When you avenge your honor and only then, 
 That you disfigure the subject, fray the face, 
 Not just take life and end, in clownish guise. 
 It was Violante gave the first offence. 
 Got therefore the conspicuous punishment : 
 While Pietro, who helped merely, his mere death 
 
84 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Answered the purpose, so his face went free. 
 We fancied even, free as you j^lease, that face 
 Showed itself still intolerably wronged ; 
 "Was wrinkled over with resentment yet, 
 Nor calm at all, as murdered faces use, 
 Once the worst ended : an indignant air 
 O' the head there was — 't is said the body turned 
 Round and away, rolled from Violante's side 
 Where they had laid it loving-husband-like. 
 If so, if corpses can be sensitive, 
 Why did not he roll right down altar-step, 
 Roll on through nave, roll fairly out of church, 
 Deprive Lorenzo of the spectacle, 
 Pay back thus the succession of affronts 
 Whereto this church had served as theatre ? 
 For see : at that same altar where he lies, 
 To that same inch of step, was brought the babe 
 For blessing after baptism, and there styled 
 Pompilia, and a string of names beside. 
 By his bad wife, some seventeen years ago. 
 Who purchased her simply to palm on him, 
 Flatter his dotage and defraud the heirs. 
 Wait awhile ! Also to this very step 
 Did this Violante, twelve years afterward, 
 Bring, the mock-mother, that child-cheat full-grown, 
 Pompilia, in pursuance of her plot, 
 And there brave God and man a second time 
 By linking a new victim to the lie. 
 There, having made a match unknown to him, 
 She, still unknown to Pietro, tied the knot 
 Which nothing cuts except this kind of knife ; 
 Yes, made her daughter, as the girl was held, 
 Marry a man, and honest man beside, 
 . And man of birth to boot, — clandestinely 
 Because of this, because of that, because 
 O' the devil's will to work his worst for once, — 
 Confident she could top her part at need 
 And, when her husband must be told in turn, 
 Ply the wife's trade, play off the sex's trick 
 And, alternating worry with quiet qualms. 
 Bravado with submissiveness, prettily fool 
 Her Pietro into patience : so it proved. 
 Ay, 't is four years since man and wife they grew, 
 This Guido Franceschini and this same 
 Pompilia, foolishly thought, falsely declared 
 A Comparini and the couple's child : 
 
HALF-ROME 35 
 
 Just at this altar where, beneath the piece 
 Of Master Guido Reiii, Christ on cross, 
 Second to nought observable in Rome, 
 That couple lie now, murdered yestereve. 
 Even the blind can see a providence here. 
 
 From dawn till now that it is growing dusk, 
 
 A multitude has flocked and filled the church, 
 
 Coming and going, coming back again. 
 
 Till to count crazed one. Rome was at the show. 
 
 People climbed up the columns, fought for spikes 
 
 O' the chapel-rail to perch themselves upon. 
 
 Jumped over and so broke the wooden work 
 
 Painted like porphyry to deceive the eye ; 
 
 Serve the priests right ! The organ-loft was crammed, 
 
 Women were fainting, no few fights ensued, 
 
 In short, it was a show repaid your pains : 
 
 For, though their room was scant undoubtedly, 
 
 Yet they did manage matters, to be just, 
 
 A little at this Lorenzo. Body o' me ! 
 
 I saw a body exposed once . . . never mind ! 
 
 Enough that here the bodies had their due. 
 
 No stinginess in wax, a row all round. 
 
 And one big ta2:»er at each head and foot. 
 
 So, people pushed their way, and took their turn, 
 
 Saw, thi'ew their eyes up, crossed themselves, gave place 
 
 To pressure from behind, since all the world 
 
 Knew the old pair, could talk the tragedy 
 
 Over from first to last : Pompilia too, 
 
 Those who had known her — what 't was worth to them ! 
 
 Guido's acquaintance was in less request ; 
 
 The Count had lounged somewhat too long in Rome, 
 
 Made himself cheap ; with him were hand and glove 
 
 Barbers and blear-eyed, as the ancient sings. 
 
 Also he is alive and like to be : 
 
 Had he considerately died, — aha I 
 
 I jostled Luca Cini on his staff. 
 
 Mute in the midst, the whole man one amaze, 
 
 Staring amain and crossing brow and breast. 
 " How now ? " asked I. " "T is seventy years," quoth he, 
 *' Since I first saw, holding my father's hand. 
 
 Bodies set forth : a many have I seen, 
 
 Yet all was poor to this I live and see. 
 
 Here the world's wickedness seals up the sum : 
 
 What with Molinos' doctrine and this deed, 
 
36 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Antichrist surely comes and doomsday *s near. 
 May I depart in peace, I have seen my see.'* 
 
 *' Depart then," I advised, " nor block the road 
 For youngsters still behindhand with such sights ! " 
 
 " Why no," rejoins the venerable sire, 
 
 " I know it 's horrid, hideous past belief, 
 Burdensome far beyond what eye can bear ; 
 But they do promise, when Pompilia dies 
 I' the course o' the day, — and she can't outlive night, 
 They '11 bring her body also to expose 
 Beside the parents, one, two, three abreast ; 
 That were indeed a sight which, might I S€e, 
 I trust I should not last to see the like ! " 
 Whereat I bade the senior spare his shanks, 
 Since doctors give her till to-night to live, 
 And tell us how the butchery happened. " Ah, 
 But you can't know ! " sighs he, " I '11 not despair : 
 Beside I 'm useful at explaining things — 
 As, how the dagger laid there at the feet, 
 Caused the pecuhar cuts ; I mind its make, 
 Triangular i' the blade, a Genoese, 
 Armed with those little hook-teeth on the edge 
 To open in the flesh nor shut again : 
 I like to teach a novice : I shall stay ! " 
 And stay he did, and stay be sure he will. 
 
 A personage came by the private door 
 
 At noon to have his look : I name no names : 
 
 Well then. His Eminence the Cardinal, 
 
 Whose servitor in honorable sort 
 
 Guido was once, the same who made the match, 
 
 (Will you have the truth?) whereof we see effect. 
 
 No sooner whisper ran he was arrived 
 
 Than up pops Curate Carlo, a brisk lad, 
 
 Who never lets a good occasion slip, 
 
 And volunteers improving the event. 
 
 We looked he 'd give the history's self some help, 
 
 Treat us to how the wife's confession went 
 
 (This morning she confessed her crime, we know) 
 
 And, maybe, throw in something of the Priest — 
 
 If he 's not ordered back, punished anew, 
 
 The gallant, Caponsacchi, Lucifer 
 
 I' the garden where Pompilia, Eve-like, lured 
 
 Her Adam Guido to his fault and fall. 
 
 Think you we got a sprig of speech akin 
 
 To this from Carlo, with the Cardinal there ? 
 
HALF- ROME 37 
 
 Too wary he was, too widely awake, I trow. 
 
 He did the murder in a dozen words ; 
 
 Then said that all such outrages crop forth 
 
 I' the course of nature, when Molinos' tares 
 
 Are sown for wheat, flourish and choke the Church : 
 
 So sHd on to the abominable sect 
 
 And the philosophic sin — we 've heard all that. 
 
 And the Cardinal too, (who book-made on the same) 
 
 But, for the murder, left it where he found. 
 
 Oh but he 's quick, the Curate, minds his game ! 
 
 And, after all, we have the main o' the fact : 
 
 Case could not well be simpler, — mapped, as it were, 
 
 We follow the murder's maze from source to sea. 
 
 By the red line, past mistake : one sees indeed 
 
 Not only how all was and must have been. 
 
 But cannot other than be to the end of time. 
 
 Turn out here by the Ruspoli ! Do you hold 
 
 Guido was so prodigiously to blame ? 
 
 A certain cousin of yours has told you so ? 
 
 Exactly ! Here 's a friend shall set you right, 
 
 Let him but have the handsel of your ear. 
 
 These wretched Comparini were once gay 
 
 And galliard, of the modest middle class : 
 
 Born in this quarter seventy years ago, 
 
 And married young, they lived the accustomed life, 
 
 Citizens as they were of good repute : 
 
 And, childless, naturally took their ease 
 
 With only their two selves to care about 
 
 And use the wealth for : wealthy is the word. 
 
 Since Pietro was possessed of house and land — 
 
 And specially one house, when good days smiled, 
 
 In Via Vittoria, the aspectable street 
 
 Where he lived mainly ; but another house 
 
 Of less pretension did he buy betimes. 
 
 The villa, meant for jaunts and jollity, 
 
 I' the Pauline district, to be private there — 
 
 Just what puts murder in an enemy's head. 
 
 Moreover, — here 's the worm i' the core, the germ 
 
 O' the rottenness and ruin which arrived, — 
 
 He owned some usufruct, had moneys' use 
 
 Lifelong, but to determine with bis life 
 
 In heirs' default : so, Pietro craved an heir, 
 
 (The story always old and always new) 
 
 Shut his foors-e3^es fast on the visible good 
 
 And wealth for certain, opened them owl-wide 
 
38 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 On fortune's sole piece of forgetfulness, 
 
 The child that should have been and would not be. 
 
 Hence, seventeen years ago, conceive his glee 
 When first Yiolante, 'twixt a smile and blush, 
 With touch of agitation proper too, 
 Announced that, spite of her unpromising age, 
 The miracle would in time be manifest. 
 An heir's birth was to happen : and it did. 
 Somehow or other, — how, all in good time ! 
 By a trick, a sleight of hand you are to hear, — 
 A child was born, Pompilia, for his joy. 
 Plaything at once and prop, a fairy-gift, 
 A saints' grace or, say, grant of the good God, — 
 A fiddle-pin's end ! What imbeciles are we ! 
 Look now : if some one could have prophesied, 
 
 " For love of you, for liking to your wife, 
 I undertake to crush a snake I spy 
 Settling itself i' the soft of both your breasts. 
 Give me yon babe to strangle painlessly ! 
 She '11 soar to the safe : you '11 have your crying out, 
 Then sleep, then wake, then sleep, then end your days 
 In peace and plenty, mixed with mild regret, 
 Thirty years hence when Christmas takes old folk '" — 
 How had old Pietro sprung up, crossed himself, 
 And kicked the conjuror ! Whereas you and I, 
 Being wise with after-wit, had clapped our hands ; 
 Nay, added, in the old fool's interest, 
 
 " Strangle the black-eyed babe, so far so good. 
 But on condition you relieve the man 
 0' the wife and throttle him Violante too — 
 She is the mischief ! " 
 
 We had hit the mark. 
 She, whose trick brought the babe into the world. 
 She it was, when the babe was grown a girl. 
 Judged a new trick should reinforce the old. 
 Send vigor to the lie now somewhat spent 
 By twelve years' service ; lest Eve's rule decline 
 Over this Adam of hers, whose cabbage-j^lot 
 Throve dubiously since turned fools'-paradise, 
 Spite of a nightingale on every stump. 
 Pietro's estate was dwindling day by day. 
 While he, rapt far above such mundane care, 
 Crawled all-fours with his baby pick-a-back. 
 Sat at serene cats'-cradle with his child, 
 
HALF-ROME 39 
 
 Or took the measured tallness, top to toe, 
 
 Of what was grown a great girl twelve years old : 
 
 Till sudden at the door a tap discreet, 
 
 A visitor's premonitory cough, 
 
 And poverty had reached him in her rounds. 
 
 This came when he was past the working-time, 
 
 Had learned to dandle and forgot to dig, 
 
 And who must but Violante cast about. 
 
 Contrive and task that head of hers again ? 
 
 She who had caught one fish, could make that catch 
 
 A bigger still, in angler's policy : 
 
 So, with an angler's mercy for the bait. 
 
 Her minnow was set wriggling on its barb 
 
 And tossed to mid-stream ; which means, this grown girl 
 
 'V^ith the great eyes and bounty of black hair 
 
 And first crisp youth that tempts a jaded taste. 
 
 Was whisked i' the way of a certain man, who snapped. 
 
 Count Guido Franceschini the Aretine 
 
 Was head of an old noble house enough. 
 
 Not over-rich, you can't have everything. 
 
 But such a man as riches rub against. 
 
 Readily stick to, — one with a right to them 
 
 Born in the blood : 'twas in his very brow 
 
 Always to knit itself against the world. 
 
 Beforehand so, when that world stinted due 
 
 Service and suit : the world ducks and defers. 
 
 As such folks do, he had come up to Rome 
 
 To better his fortune, and, since many years. 
 
 Was friend and follower of a cardinal ; 
 
 Waiting the rather thus on providence, 
 
 That a shrewd younger poorer brother yet. 
 
 The Abate Paolo, a regular priest. 
 
 Had long since tried his powers and found he swam 
 
 With the deftest on the Galilean pool : 
 
 But then he was a web-foot, free o' the wave, 
 
 And no ambiguous dab-chick hatched to strut. 
 
 Humbled by any fond attempt to swim 
 
 When fiercer fowl usurped his dunghill-top — 
 
 A whole priest, Paolo, no mere piece of one. 
 
 Like Guido tacked thus to the Church's tail ! 
 
 Guido moreover, as the head o' the house, 
 
 Claiming the main prize, not the lesser luck, 
 
 The centre lily, no mere chickweed fringe. 
 
40 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 He waited and learned waiting, thirty years ; 
 
 Got promise, missed performance — what would you have? 
 
 No petty post rewards a nobleman 
 
 For spending youth in splendid lackey-work, 
 
 And there 's concurrence for each rarer prize ; 
 
 When that falls, rougher hand and readier foot 
 
 Push aside Guido spite of his black looks. 
 
 The end was, Guido, when the warning showed 
 
 The first white hair i' the glass, gave up the game^ 
 
 Determined on returning to his town, 
 
 Making the best of bad incurable. 
 
 Patching the old palace up and lingering there 
 
 The customary life out with his kin, 
 
 Where honor helps to spice the scanty bread. 
 
 Just as he trimmed his lamp and girt his loins 
 
 To go his journey and be wise at home, 
 
 In the right mood of disappointed worth. 
 
 Who but Violante sudden spied her prey 
 
 (Where was I with that angler-simile ?) 
 
 And threw her bait, Pompilia, where he sulked — 
 
 A gleam i' the gloom ! 
 
 What if he gained thus much, 
 Wrung out this sweet drop from the bitter Past, 
 Bore off this rose-bud from the prickly brake 
 To justify such torn clothes and scratched hands, 
 And, after all, brought something back from Rome ? 
 Would not a wife serve at Arezzo well 
 To light the dark house, lend a look of youth 
 To the mother's face grown meagre, left alone 
 And famished with the emptiness of hope, 
 Old Donna Beatrice ? Wife you want 
 Would you play family-representative, 
 Carry you elder-brotherly, high and right 
 Oer what may prove the natural petulance 
 Of the third brother, younger, greedier still, 
 Girolamo, also a fledgeling priest. 
 Beginning life in turn with callow beak 
 Agape for luck, no luck had stopped and stilled. 
 Such were the pinks and grays about the bait 
 Persuaded Guido gulp down hook and all. 
 
 What constituted him so choice a catch. 
 
 You question ? Past his prime and poor beside ! 
 
 Ask that of any she who knows the trade. 
 
HALF-ROME 41 
 
 "Why first, liere was a nobleman with friends, 
 
 A palace one might run to and be safe 
 
 When presently the threatened fate should fall, 
 
 A big-browed master to block doorway up, 
 
 Parley with people bent on pushing by, 
 
 And praying the mild Pietro quick clear scores : 
 
 Is birth a privilege and power or no ? 
 
 Also, — but judge of the result desired, 
 
 By the price paid and manner of the sale. 
 
 The Count was made woo, win and wed at once : 
 
 Asked, and was haled for answer, lest the heat , 
 
 Should cool, to San Lorenzo, one blind eve, 
 
 And had Pompilia put into his arms 
 
 O' the sly there, by a hasty candle-blink, 
 
 With sanction of some priest-confederate 
 
 Properly paid to make short work and sure. 
 
 So did old Pietro's daughter change her style 
 
 For Guido Franceschini's lady-wife 
 
 Ere Guido knew it well ; and why this haste 
 
 And scramble and indecent secrecy ? 
 
 Lest Pietro, all the while in ignorance, 
 
 Should get to learn, gainsay and break the match : 
 
 His peevishness had promptly put aside 
 
 Such honor and refused the proffered boon, 
 
 Pleased to become authoritative once. 
 
 She remedied the wilful man's mistake — " 
 
 Did our discreet Violante. Rather say. 
 
 Thus did she, lest the object of her game, 
 
 Guido the gulled one, give him but a chance, 
 
 A moment's respite, time for thinking twice, 
 
 Might count the cost before he sold himself. 
 
 And try the clink of coin they paid him with. 
 
 .But coin paid, bargain struck and business done, 
 
 Once the clandestine marriage over thus, 
 
 All parties made perforce the best o' the fact ; 
 
 Pietro could play vast indignation off. 
 
 Be ignorant and astounded, dupe, poor soul, 
 
 Please you, of daughter, wife and son-in-law, 
 
 While Guido found himself in flagrant fault, 
 
 Must e'en do suit and service, soothe, subdue 
 
 A father not unreasonably chafed, 
 
 Bring him to terms by paying son's devoir. 
 
 Pleasant initiation ! 
 
42 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 The end, this : 
 Guido's broad back was saddled to bear all — 
 Pietro, Violante, and Pompilia too, — 
 Three lots cast confidently m one lap. 
 Three dead-weights with one arm to lift the three 
 Out of their limbo up to life again. 
 The Roman household was to strike fresh root 
 In a new soil, graced with a novel name. 
 Gilt with an alien glory, Aretine 
 Henceforth and never Roman any more. 
 By treaty and engagement ; thus it ran : 
 Pompilia's dowry for Pompilia's self 
 As a thing of course, — she paid her own expense; 
 No loss nor gain there : but the couple, you see, 
 They, for their part, turned over first of all 
 Their fortune in its rags and rottenness 
 To Guido, fusion and confusion, he 
 And his with them and theirs, — whatever rag 
 With coin residuary fell on floor 
 When Brother Paolo's energetic shake 
 Should do the relics justice : since 't was thought, 
 Once vulnerable Pietro out of reach, 
 That, left at Rome as representative. 
 The Abate, backed by a potent patron here, 
 And otherwise with purple flushing him. 
 Might play a good game with the creditor. 
 Make up a moiety which, great or small, 
 Should go to the common stock — if anything, 
 Guido's, so far repayment of the cost 
 About to be, — and if, as looked more like, 
 Nothing, — why, all the nobler cost were his 
 Who guaranteed, for better or for worse. 
 To Pietro and Violante, house and home, 
 Kith and kin, with the pick of company 
 And life o' the fat o' the land while life should last. 
 How say you to the bargain at first blush ? 
 Why did a middle-aged not-silly man 
 Show himself thus besotted all at once ? 
 Quoth Solomon, one black eye does it all. 
 
 They went to Arezzo, — Pietro and his spouse, 
 With just the dusk o' the day of life to spend, 
 Eager to use the twilight, taste a treat, 
 Enjoy for once with neither stay nor stint 
 The luxury of lord-and-lady-ship. 
 And realize the stuff and nonsense long 
 
HALF-ROME 43 
 
 A-simmer in their noddles ; vent the fume 
 
 Born there and bred, the citizen's conceit 
 
 How fares nobility while crossing earth, 
 
 Wliat rampart or invisible body-guard 
 
 Keeps off the taint of common life from such. 
 
 They had not fed for nothing on the tales 
 
 Of grandees who give banquets worthy Jove, 
 
 Spending gold as if Plutus paid a whim, 
 
 Served with obeisances as when . . . what God ? 
 
 I 'ni at the end of my tether ; 't is enough 
 
 You understand what they came primed to see : 
 
 AVhile Guido who should minister the sight. 
 
 Stay all this qualmish greediness of soul 
 
 With apples and with flagons — for his part, 
 
 Was set on life diverse as pole from pole : 
 
 Lust of the flesh, lust of the eye, — what else 
 
 Was he just now awake from, sick and sage. 
 
 After the very debauch they would begin ? — 
 
 Suppose such stuff and nonsense really were. 
 
 That bubble, they were bent on blowing big, 
 
 He had blown already till he burst his cheeks, 
 
 And hence found soapsuds bitter to the tongue. 
 
 He hoped now to walk softly all his days 
 
 In soberness of spirit, if haply so. 
 
 Pinching and paring he might furnish forth 
 
 A frugal board, bare sustenance, no more, 
 
 Till times, that could not well grow worse, should mend. 
 
 Thus minded then, two parties mean to meet 
 And make each other happy. The first week. 
 And fancy strikes fact and explodes in full. 
 " This," shrieked the Comparini, " this the Count, 
 The palace, the signorial privilege, 
 The pomp and pageantry were promised us ? 
 For this have we exchanged our liberty, 
 Our competence, our darling of a child ? 
 To house as spectres in a sepulchre 
 Under this black stone heap, the street's disgrace, 
 Grimmest as that is of the gruesome town, 
 And here pick garbage on a pewter plate, 
 Or cough at verjuice dripped from earthenware ? 
 Oh Via Vittoria, oh the other place 
 I' the Pauline, did we give you up for this ? 
 Where 's the foregone housekeeping good and gay, 
 The neighborliness, the companionship, 
 The treat and feast when holidays came round, 
 
44 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 The daily feast that seemed no treat at all, 
 
 Called common by the uncommon fools we were I 
 
 Even the smi that used to shine at Rome, 
 
 Where is it ? Robbed and starved and frozen too, 
 
 We will have justice, justice if there be ! " 
 
 Did not they shout, did not the town resound ! 
 
 Guido's old lady-mother Beatrice, 
 
 Who since her husband. Count Tommaso's death, 
 
 Had held sole sway i' the house, — the doited crone 
 
 Slow to acknowledge, curtsey and abdicate, — 
 
 Was recognized of true novercal type. 
 
 Dragon and devil. His brother Girolamo 
 
 Came next in order : priest was he ? The worse ! 
 
 No way of winning him to leave his mumps 
 
 And help the laugh against old ancestry 
 
 And formal habits long since out of date. 
 
 Letting his youth be patterned on the mode 
 
 Approved of where Violante laid down law. 
 
 Or did he brighten \\]) by way of change, 
 
 Dispose himself for affability ? 
 
 The malapert, too complaisant by half 
 
 To the alarmed young novice of a bride ! 
 
 Let him go buzz, betake himself elsewhere. 
 
 Nor singe his fly-wings in the candle-flame ! 
 
 Four months' probation of this purgatory. 
 
 Dog-snap and cat-claw, curse and counterblast, 
 
 The devil's self were sick of his own din ; 
 
 And Pietro, after trumpeting huge wrongs 
 
 At church and market-place, pillar and post, 
 
 Square's corner, street's end, now the palace-step 
 
 And now the wine-house bench — while, on her side, 
 
 Violante up and down was voluble 
 
 In whatsoever pair of ears would perk 
 
 From goody, gossip, cater-cousin and sib. 
 
 Curious to peep at the inside of things 
 
 And catch in the act pretentious poverty 
 
 At its wits' end to keep appearance up, 
 
 Make both ends meet, — nothing the vulgar loves 
 
 Like what this couple pitched them right and left. 
 
 Then, their worst done that way, both struck tent, marched 
 
 — Renounced their share o' the bargain, flung what dues 
 
 Guido was bound to pay, in Guido's face. 
 
 Left their hearts'-darling, treasure of the twain 
 
 And so forth, the poor inexperienced bride, 
 
 To her own devices, bade Arezzo rot. 
 
 Cursed life signorial. and sought Rome once more. 
 
HALF-ROME 45 
 
 I see the comment ready on your lip, 
 " The better fortune, Guido's — free at least 
 By this defection of the foolish pair, 
 He could begin make profit in some sort 
 Of the young bride and the new quietness, 
 Lead his own life now, henceforth breatlie unplagued.'* 
 Could he ? You know the sex like Guido's self. 
 Learn the Violante-nature ! 
 
 Once in Rome, 
 By way of helping Guido lead such life, 
 Her first act to inaugurate return 
 Was, she got pricked in conscience : Jubilee 
 Gave her the hint. Our Pope, as kind as just, 
 Attained his eighty years, ajinounced a boon 
 Should make us bless the fact, held Jubilee — 
 Short shrift, prompt pardon for the light offence, 
 And no rough dealing with the regular crime 
 So this occasion were not suffered slip — 
 Otherwise, sins commuted as before, 
 Without the least abatement in the price. 
 Now, who had thought it ? All this while, it seems. 
 Our sage Violante had a sin of a sort 
 She must compound for now or not at all. 
 Now be the ready riddance ! She confessed 
 Pompilia was a fable not a fact : 
 She never bore a child in her whole life. 
 Had this child been a changeling, that were grace 
 In some degree, exchange is hardly theft. 
 You take your stand on truth ere leap your lie : 
 Here was all lie, no touch of truth at all, 
 All the lie hers — not even Pietro guessed 
 He was as childless still as twelve years since. 
 The babe had been a find i' the filth-heap. Sir, 
 Catch from the kennel ! There was found at RomCp 
 Down in the deepest of our social dregs, 
 A woman who professed the wanton's trade 
 Under the requisite thin coverture, 
 Co77imunis meretrix and washer-wife : 
 The creature thus conditioned found by chance 
 Motherhood like a jewel in the muck, 
 And straightway either trafficked with her prize 
 Or listened to the tempter and let be, — 
 Made pact abolishing her place and part 
 In womankind, beast-fellowship indeed. 
 She sold this babe eight months before its birth 
 
46 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 To our Violante, Pietro's honest spouse, 
 Well-famed and widely-instanced as that crown 
 To the husband, virtue in a woman's shape. 
 She it was, bought, paid for, passed off the thing 
 As very flesh and blood and child of her 
 Despite the flagrant fifty years, — and why ? 
 Partly to please old Pietro, fill his cup 
 With wine at the late hour when lees are left, 
 And send him from life's feast rejoicingly, — 
 Partly to cheat the rightful heirs, agape. 
 Each uncle's cousin's brother's son of him, 
 For that same principal of the usufruct 
 It vext him he must die and leave behind. 
 
 Such was the sin had come to be confessed. 
 
 Which of the tales, the first or last, was true ? 
 
 Did she so sin once, or, confessing now. 
 
 Sin for the first time ? Either way you will. 
 
 One sees a reason for the cheat : one sees 
 
 A reason for a cheat in owning cheat 
 
 Where no cheat had been. What of the revenge ? 
 
 What prompted the contrition all at once. 
 
 Made the avowal easy, the shame slight? 
 
 Why, prove they but Pompilia not their child. 
 
 No child, no dowry ! this, supposed their child. 
 
 Had claimed what this, shown alien to their blood. 
 
 Claimed nowise : Guido's claim was through his wife, 
 
 Null then and void with hers. The biter bit. 
 
 Do you see ! For such repayment of the past, 
 
 One might conceive the penitential pair 
 
 Ready to bring their case before the courts. 
 
 Publish their infamy to all the world 
 
 And, arm in arm, go chuckling thence content. 
 
 Is this your view ? 'T was Guido's anyhow 
 And colorable : he came forward then. 
 Protested in his very bride's behalf 
 Against this lie and all it led to, least 
 Of all the loss o' the dowry ; no ! From her • 
 And him alike he would expunge the blot. 
 Erase the brand of such a bestial birth. 
 Participate in no hideous heritage 
 Gathered from the gutter to be garnered up 
 And glorified in a palace. Peter and Paul I 
 But that who likes may look upon the pair 
 Exposed in yonder church, and show his skill 
 
HALF-ROME 47 
 
 By saying- which is eye and whicli is mouth 
 
 Throuuh those stabs thick and threefold, — but for that — 
 
 A stron<r word on the Hars and their lie 
 
 Might crave expression and obtain it, Sir ! 
 
 — Though prematurely, since there 's more to come, 
 More that will shake your confidence in things 
 Your cousin tells you, — n^ay I be so bold ? 
 
 This makes the first act of the farce, — anon 
 
 The sombre element comes stealing in 
 
 Till all is black or blood-red in the piece. 
 
 Guido, thus made a laughing-stock abroad, 
 
 A proverb for the market-place at home. 
 
 Left alone with Pompilia now, this graft 
 
 So reputable on his ancient stock. 
 
 This plague-seed set to fester his sound flesh. 
 
 What does the Count ? Revenge him on his wife ? 
 
 Unfasten at all risks to rid himself 
 
 The noisome lazar-badge, fall foul of fate. 
 
 And, careless whether the poor rag was ware 
 
 O' the part it played, or helped unwittingly, 
 
 Bid it go burn and leave his frayed flesh free ? 
 
 Plainly, did Guido open both doors wide. 
 
 Spurn thence the cur-cast creature and clear scores 
 
 As man might, tempted in extreme like this ? 
 
 No, birth and breeding, and compassion too 
 
 Saved her such scandal. She was young, he thought, 
 
 Not privy to the treason, punished most 
 
 I' the proclamation of it ; why make her 
 
 A party to the crime she suffered by ? 
 
 Then the black eyes were now her very own, 
 
 Not any more Violante's : let her live, 
 
 Lose in a new air, under a new sun. 
 
 The taint of the imputed parentage 
 
 Truly or falsely, take no more the touch 
 
 Of Pietro and his partner anyhow ! 
 
 All might go well yet. 
 
 So she thought, herself. 
 It seems, since what was her first act and deed 
 When news came how these kindly ones at Rome 
 Had stripped her naked to amuse the world 
 With spots here, spots there and spots everywhere ? 
 
 — For I should tell you that they noised abroad 
 Not merely the main scandal of her birth. 
 
 But slanders written, printed, published wide, 
 
48 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Pamphlets which set forth all the pleasantry 
 
 Of how the promised glory was a dream, 
 
 The power a bubble, and the wealth — why, dust. 
 
 There was a picture, painted to the life. 
 
 Of those rare doings, that superlative 
 
 Initiation in magnificence 
 
 Conferred on a poor Roman family 
 
 By favor of Arezzo and her first 
 
 And famousest, the Franceschini there. 
 
 You had the Countship holding head aloft 
 
 Bravely although bespattered, shifts and straits 
 
 In keeping out o' the way o' the wheels o' the world, 
 
 The comic of those home-contrivances 
 
 When the old lady-motlier's wit was taxed 
 
 To find six clamorous mouths in food more real 
 
 Than fruit plucked off the cobwebbed family-tree, 
 
 Or acorns shed from its gilt mouldered frame — 
 
 Cold glories served up with stale fame for sauce. 
 
 What, I ask, — when the drunkenness of hate 
 
 Hiccuped return for hospitality, 
 
 Befouled the table they had feasted on, 
 
 Or say, — God knows I '11 not prejudge the case, — 
 
 Grievances thus distorted, magnified. 
 
 Colored by quarrel into calumny, — 
 
 What side did our Pompilia first espouse ? 
 
 Her first deliberate measure was, she wrote. 
 
 Pricked by some loyal impulse, straight to Rome 
 
 And her husband's brother the Abate there, 
 
 Who, having managed to effect the match. 
 
 Might take men's censure for its ill success. 
 
 She made a clean breast also in her turn, 
 
 And qualified the couple properly, 
 
 Since whose departure, hell, she said, was heaven, 
 
 And the house, late distracted by their peals. 
 
 Quiet as Carmel where the lilies live. 
 
 Herself had oftentimes complained : but why ? 
 
 All her complaints had been their prompting, tales 
 
 Trumped up, devices to this very end. 
 
 Their game had been to thwart her husband's love 
 
 And cross his will, malign his words and ways. 
 
 To reach this issue, furnish this pretence 
 
 For impudent withdrawal from their bond, — 
 
 Theft, indeed murder, since they meant no less 
 
 Whose last injunction to her simple self 
 
 Had been — what parents'-precept do you think ? 
 
 That she should follow after with all speed, 
 
HALF-ROME 49 
 
 Fly from her husband's house clandestinely, 
 Join them at Rome again, but first of all 
 Pick up a fresh companion in her flight, 
 So putting youth and beauty to fit use, — 
 Some gay dare-devil cloak-and-rapier spark 
 Capable of adventure, — helped by whom 
 She, some fine eve when lutes were in the air, 
 Having put poison in the posset-cup, 
 Laid hands on money, jewels and the like, 
 And, to conceal the tiling with more effect. 
 By way of parting benediction too. 
 Fired tlie house, — one would finish famously 
 I' the tunmlt, slip out, scurry ofE and away 
 And turn up merrily at home once more. 
 Fact this, and not a dream o' the devil, Sir ! 
 And more tlian this, a fact none dare dis})ute, 
 Word for word, such a letter did she write. 
 And such the Abate read, nor simply read 
 But gave all Rome to ruminate upon, 
 In answer to such charges as, I say. 
 The couple sought to be beforehand with. 
 
 The cause thus carried to the courts at Rome, 
 
 Guido away, the Abate had no choice 
 
 But stand forth, take his absent brother's part. 
 
 Defend the honor of himself beside. 
 
 He made what head he might against the pair. 
 
 Maintained Pompilia's birth legitimate 
 
 And all her rights intact — hers, Guido's now : 
 
 And so far by his policy turned their flank, 
 
 (The enemy being beforehand in the place) 
 
 That, — though the courts allowed the cheat for fact, 
 
 Suffered Violante to parade her shame. 
 
 Publish her infamy to heart's content, 
 
 And let the tale o' the feigned birth ])ass for proved, — 
 
 Yet they stopped there, refused to intervene 
 
 And dispossess the innocents, befooled 
 
 By gifts o' the guilty, at guilt's new caprice. 
 
 Tliey would not take away the dowry now 
 
 Wrongfully given at first, nor bar at all 
 
 Succession to the p.foresaid usufruct. 
 
 Established on a fraud, nor play the game 
 
 Of Pietro's child and now not Pietro's child 
 
 As it might suit the gamester's purpose. Thus 
 
 Was justice ever ridiculed in Rome : 
 
 Such be the double verdicts favored here 
 
60 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Which send away both parties to a suit 
 
 Nor puffed up nor cast down, — for each a crumb 
 
 Of right, for neither of them the whole loaf. 
 
 Whence, on the Comparini's part, appeal — 
 
 Counter-appeal on Guido's, — that 's the game : 
 
 And so the matter stands, even to this hour, 
 
 Bandied as balls are in a tennis-court, 
 
 And so might stand, unless some heart broke first, 
 
 Till doomsday. 
 
 Leave it thus, and now revert 
 To the old Arezzo whence we moved to Rome. 
 We 've had enough o' the parents, false or true, 
 Now for a touch o' the daughter's quality. 
 The start 's fair henceforth, every obstacle 
 Out of the young wife's footpath, she 's alone, 
 Left to walk warily now : how does she walk ? 
 Why, once a dwelling's threshold marked and crossed 
 In rubric by the enemy on his rounds 
 As eligible, as fit place of prey. 
 Baffle him henceforth, keep him out who can ! 
 Stop up the door at the first hint of hoof. 
 Presently at the window taps a horn. 
 And Satan 's by your fireside, never fear ! 
 Pompilia, left alone now, found herself ; 
 Found herself young too, sprightly, fair enough. 
 Matched with a husband old beyond his age 
 (Though that was something like four times her own) 
 Because of cares past, present and to come : 
 Found too the house dull and its inmates dead, 
 So, looked outside for light and life. 
 
 And love 
 Did in a trice turn up with life and light, — 
 The man with the aureole, sympathy made flesh, 
 The all-consoling Caponsacchi, Sir ! 
 A priest — what else should the consoler be ? 
 With goodly should erblade and proper leg, 
 A portly make and a symmetric shape, 
 And curls that clustered to the tonsure quite. 
 This was a bishop in the bud, and now 
 A canon full-blown so far : priest, and priest 
 Nowise exorbitantly overworked, 
 The courtly Christian, not so much Saint Paul 
 As a saint of Caesar's household : there posed he 
 Sending his god-glande after his shot shaft, 
 ApoUos turned Apollo, while the snake 
 
HALF-ROME 51 
 
 Pompilia writhed transfixed through all her spires. 
 
 He, not a visitor at Guido's house, 
 
 Scarce an acquaintance, but in prime request 
 
 With the niai^nates of Arezzo, was seen here. 
 
 Heard there, felt everywhere in Guido's path 
 
 If Guido's wife's path be her husband's too. 
 
 Now he threw comfits at the theatre 
 
 Into her lap, — what harm in Carnival ? 
 
 Now he pressed close till his foot touched her gown, 
 
 His hand brushed hers, — how help on promenade ? 
 
 And, ever on weighty business, found his steps 
 
 Incline to a certain haunt of doubtful fame 
 
 Which fronted Guido's palace by mere chance ; 
 
 While — how do accidents sometimes combine I — 
 
 Pompilia chose to cloister up her charms 
 
 Just in a chamber that o'erlooked the street, 
 
 Sat there to pray, or peep thence at mankind. 
 
 This passage of arms and wits amused the town. 
 
 At last the husband lifted eyebrow, — bent 
 
 On day-book and the study how to wring 
 
 Half the due vintage from the worn-out vines 
 
 At the villa, tease a quarter the old rent 
 
 From the farmstead, tenants swore would tumble soon, — 
 
 Pricked up his ear a-singing day and night 
 
 With "ruin, ruin ;" — and so surprised at last — 
 
 Why, what else but a titter ? Up he jumps. 
 
 Back to mind come those scratchings at the grange, 
 
 Prints of the paw about the outhouse ; rife 
 
 In his head at once again are word and wink. 
 
 Mum here and budget there, the smell o' the fox, 
 
 The musk o' the gallant. " Friends, there 's falseness here I '' 
 
 The proper help of friends in such a strait 
 Is waggery, the world over. Laugh him free 
 O' the regular jealous-fit that 's incident 
 To all old husbands that wed brisk young wives, 
 And he '11 go duly docile all his days. 
 " Somebody courts your wife. Count r Where and when ? 
 How and why ? Mere horn-madness : have a care ! 
 Your lady loves her own room, sticks to it. 
 Locks herself in for hours, you say yourself. 
 And — what, it 's Caponsacchi means yo!i harm ? 
 The Canon ? We caress him, he 's the world's, 
 A man of such acceptance, — never dream. 
 Though he were fifty times the fox you fear, 
 
52 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 He 'd risk his brush for your particular chick, 
 
 When the wide town 's his hen-roost I Fie o' the fool ! " 
 
 So they disjDensed their comfort of a kind. 
 
 Guido at last cried, " Something is in the air, 
 
 Under the earth, some plot against my peace. 
 
 The trouble of eclipse hangs overliead ; 
 
 How it should come of that officious orb 
 
 Your Canon in my system, you must say : 
 
 I say — that from the pressure of this spring 
 
 Began the chime and interchange of bells, 
 
 Ever one whisper, and one whisper more. 
 
 And just one whisper for the silvery last. 
 
 Till all at once a-row the bronze-throats burst 
 
 Into a larum both significant 
 
 And sinister : stop it I must and will. 
 
 Let Caponsacchi take his hand away 
 
 From the wire ! — disport himself in other patl^ 
 
 Than lead precisely to my palace-gate, — 
 
 Look where he likes except one window's way 
 
 Where, cheek on hand, and elbow set on sill, 
 
 Happens to lean and say her litanies 
 
 Every day and all day long, just my wife — 
 
 Or wife and Caponsacchi may fare the worse ! " 
 
 Admire the man's simplicity. " I '11 do this, 
 
 I '11 not have that, I '11 punish and prevent ! " — 
 
 'T is easy saying. But to a fray, you see, 
 
 Two parties go. The badger shows his teeth : 
 
 The fox nor lies down sheep-like nor dares fight. 
 
 Oh, the wife knew the appropriate w^arfare well, 
 
 The way to put suspicion to the blush ! 
 
 At first hint of remonstrance, up and out 
 
 I' the face of the world, you found her : she could speak. 
 
 State her case, — Franceschini was a name, 
 
 Guido had his full share of foes and friends — 
 
 Why should not she call these to arbitrate ? 
 
 She bade the Governor do governance. 
 
 Cried out on the Archbishop, — why, there now, 
 
 Take him for sample ! Three successive times 
 
 Had he to reconduct her by main force 
 
 From where she took her station opposite 
 
 His shut door, — on the public steps thereto. 
 
 Wringing her hands, when he came out to see, 
 
 And shrieking all her wrongs forth at his foot, — 
 
 Back to the husband and the house slie fled : 
 
 Judge if that husband warmed him in the face 
 
HALF-ROME 63 
 
 Of friends or frowned on foes as heretofore ! 
 Judt^e if he missed the natural grin of folk, 
 Or lacked the customary compliment 
 Of cap and bells, the luckless husband's fit ! 
 
 So it went on and on till — who was right ? 
 
 One merry April morning, Guido woke 
 
 After the cuckoo, so late, near noonday, 
 
 With an inordinate yawning of the jaws, 
 
 Ears plugged, eyes gummed together, palate, tongue 
 
 And teeth one mud-paste made of pop})y-milk ; 
 
 And found his wife flown, his scritoire the worse 
 
 For a rummage, — jewelry that was, was not. 
 
 Some money there had made itself wings too, — 
 
 The door lay wide and yet the servants slept 
 
 Sound as the dead, or dozed which does as well. 
 
 In short, Pompilia, she who, candid soul, 
 
 Had not so much as spoken all her life 
 
 To the Canon, nay, so much as peeped at him 
 
 Between her fingers while she prayed in church, — 
 
 This lamb-like innocent of fifteen years 
 
 (Such she was grown to by this time of day) 
 
 Had simply put an opiate in the drink 
 
 Of the whole household overnight, and then 
 
 Got up and gone about her work secure. 
 
 Laid hand on this waif and the other stray, 
 
 Spoiled the Philistine and marched out of doors 
 
 In company of the Canon who. Lords love. 
 
 What with his daily duty at the church. 
 
 Nightly devoir where ladies congregate. 
 
 Had something else to mind, assure yourself, 
 
 Beside Pompilia, paragon though she be, 
 
 Or notice if her nose^vere sharp or blunt ! 
 
 Well, anyhow, albeit impossible. 
 
 Both of them were together jollily 
 
 Jaunting it Rome-ward, half-way there by this, 
 
 While Guido was left go and get undrugged. 
 
 Gather his wits up, groaningly give thanks 
 
 When neighbors crowded round him to condole. 
 
 Ah," quoth a gossip, " well I mind me now. 
 
 The Count did always say he thought he felt 
 
 He feared as if this very chance might fall ! 
 
 And when a man of fifty finds his corns 
 
 Ache and his joints throb, and foresees a storm. 
 
 Though neiglibors lauqh and say the sky is clear, 
 
 Let us henceforth believe him weather wise I " 
 
54 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Then was the story told, I '11 cut you short : 
 All neighbors knew : no mystery in the world. 
 The lovers left at nightfall — overnight 
 Had Caponsaechi come to carry oif 
 Pompilia, — not alone, a friend of his, 
 One Giiillichini, the more conversant 
 With Guide's housekeeping that he was just 
 A cousin of Guide's and might play a prank — 
 (Have not you too a cousin that 's a wag ?) 
 — Lord and a Canon also, — what would you have F 
 Such are the red-clothed milk-swollen poppy-heads 
 That stand and stiffen 'mid the wheat o' the Church ! 
 This worthy came to aid, abet his best. 
 And so the house was ransacked, booty bagged, 
 The lady led downstairs and out of doors 
 Guided and guarded till, the city passed, 
 A carriage lay convenient at the gate. 
 Good-bye to the friendly Canon ; the loving one 
 Could peradventure do the rest himself. 
 In jumps Pompilia, after her the priest, 
 " Whip, driver ! Money makes the mare to go, 
 And we 've a bagful. Take the Roman road ! " 
 So said the neighbors. This was eight hours since. 
 
 Guide heard all, swore the befitting oaths, 
 
 Shook off the relics of his poison-drench. 
 
 Got horse, was fairly started in pursuit 
 
 With never a friend to follow, found the track 
 
 Fast enough, 't was the straight Perugia way, 
 
 Trod soon u23on their very heels, too late 
 
 By a minute only at Camoscia, reached 
 
 Chiusi, Foligno, ever the fugitives 
 
 Just ahead, just out as he galloped in, 
 
 Getting the good news ever fresh and fresh, 
 
 Till, lo, at the last stage of all, last post 
 
 Before Rome, — as we say, in sight of Rome 
 
 And safety (there 's impunity at Rome 
 
 For priests, you know) at — what 's the little place ? - 
 
 What some call Castelnuovo, some just call 
 
 The Osteria, because o' the post-house inn, — 
 
 There, at the journey's all but end, it seems. 
 
 Triumph deceived them and undid them both. 
 
 Secure they might foretaste felicity 
 
 Nor fear surprisal : so, they were surprised. 
 
 There did they halt at early evening, there 
 
 Did Guide overtake them : 't was daybreak ; 
 
HALF-ROME 55 
 
 He came in time enough, not time too much, 
 Since in the courtyard stood the Canon's self 
 Urging the drowsy stable-grooms to haste 
 Harness the horses, have the journey end, 
 The trifling four-hours' running, so reach Rome. 
 And the other runaway, the wife ? Upstairs, 
 Still on the couch where she had spent the night, 
 One couch in one room, and one room for both. 
 So gained they six hours, so were lost thereby. 
 
 Sir, what 's the sequel ? Lover and beloved 
 Fall on their knees ? No impudence serves here ? 
 They beat their breasts and beg for easy death, 
 Confess this, that and the other ? — anyhow 
 Confess there wanted not some likelihood 
 To the supposition so preposterous. 
 That, O Pompilia, thy sequestered eyes 
 Had noticed, straying o'er the prayer-book's edge, 
 More of the Canon than that black his coat, 
 Buckled his shoes were, broad his hat of brim : 
 And that, O Canon, thy religious care 
 Had breathed too soft a benedicite 
 To banish trouble from a lady's breast 
 So lonely and so lovely, nor so lean ! 
 This you expect ? Indeed, then, much you err. 
 Not to such ordinary end as this 
 Had Caponsacchi flung the cassock far. 
 Doffed the priest, doimed the perfect cavalier. 
 The die was cast : over shoes over boots : 
 And just as she, I presently shall show, 
 Pompilia, soon looked Helen to the life, 
 Recumbent upstairs in her pink and white, 
 So, in the inn-yard, bold as 't were Troy-town, 
 There strutted Paris in correct costume, 
 Cloak, cap and feather, no appointment missed. 
 Even to a wicked-looking sword at side. 
 He seemed to find and feel familiar at. 
 Nor wanted words as ready and as big 
 As the part he played, the bold abashless one. 
 " I interposed to save your wife from death, 
 Yourself from shame, the true and only shame : 
 Ask your own conscience else ! — or, failing that, 
 What I have done I answer, anywhere. 
 Here, if you will ; you see I have a sword : 
 Or, since I have a tonsure as you taunt. 
 At Rome, by all means, — priests to try a priest. 
 
56 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Only, speak where your wife's voice can reply ! " 
 
 And then he fingered at the sword again. 
 
 So, Guido called, in aid and witness both, 
 
 The Public Force. The Commissary came, 
 
 Officers also ; they secured the priest ; 
 
 Then, for his more confusion, mounted up 
 
 With him, a guard on either side, the stair 
 
 To the bedroom where still slept or feigned a sleep 
 
 His paramour and Guide's wife : in burst 
 
 The company and bade her wake and rise. 
 
 Her defence ? This. She woke, saw, sprang upright 
 
 I' the midst and stood as terrible as truth, 
 
 Sprang to her husband's side, caught at the sword 
 
 That hung there useless, — since they held each hand 
 
 O' the lover, had disarmed him properly, — - 
 
 And in a moment out flew the bright thing 
 
 Full in the face of Guido : but for help 
 
 O' the guards, who held her back and pinioned her 
 
 With pains enough, slie had finished you my tale 
 
 With a flourish of red all round it, pinked her man 
 
 Prettily ; but she fought them one to six. 
 
 They stopped that, — but her tongue continued free : 
 
 She spat forth such invective at her spouse, 
 
 O'erfrothed him with such foam of murderer. 
 
 Thief, pandar — that the popular tide soon turned, 
 
 The favor of the very sblrri, straight 
 
 Ebbed from the husband, set toward his wife ; 
 
 People cried " Hands off, pay a priest respect ! " 
 
 And " persecuting fiend" and " martyred saint" 
 
 Began to lead a measure from lip to lip. 
 
 But facts are facts and flinch not ; stubborn things, 
 And the question " Prithee, friend, how comes my purse 
 r the poke of you ? " — admits of no reply. 
 Here was a priest found out in masquerade, 
 A v/ife caught playing truant if no more ; 
 While the Count, mortified in mien enough, 
 And, nose to face, an added palm in length, 
 Was plain writ "husband" every piece of him: 
 Capture once made, release could hardly be. 
 Beside, the prisoners both made appeal, 
 " Take us to Rome I " 
 
 Taken to Rome they were ; 
 The husband trooping after, piteously. 
 Tail between legs, no talk of triumph now — 
 
HALF-ROME 67 
 
 No honor set firm on its feet once more 
 
 On two dead bodies of the guilty, — nay, 
 
 No dubious salve to honor's broken pate 
 
 From chance that, after all, the hurt might seem 
 
 A skin-deep matter, scratch that leaves no scar : 
 
 For Guido's first search, — ferreting, poor soul, 
 
 Here, there and everywhere in the vile place 
 
 Abandoned to him when their backs were turned, 
 
 Found — furnishing a last and best regale — 
 
 All the love-letters bandied 'twixt the pair 
 
 Since the first tiniid trembling into life 
 
 0' the love-star till its stand at fiery full. 
 
 Mad prose, mad verse, fears, hopes, triumph, despair^ 
 
 Avowal, disclaimer, plans, dates, names, — was nought 
 
 Wanting to prove, if proof consoles at all, 
 
 That this had been but the fifth act o' the piece 
 
 Whereof the due proemium, months ago, 
 
 These playwrights had put forth, and ever since 
 
 Matured the middle, added 'neath his nose. 
 
 He might go cross himself : the case was clear. 
 
 Therefore to Rome with the clear case ; there })lead 
 
 Each party its best, and leave law do each r;ght, 
 
 Let law shine forth and show, as God in heaven. 
 
 Vice prostrate, virtue pedestalled at last. 
 
 The triumph of truth ! What else shall glad our gaze 
 
 When once authority has knit the brow 
 
 And set the brain behind it to decide 
 
 Between the wolf and sheep turned litigants ? 
 " This is indeed a business," law shook head : 
 " A husband charges hard things on a wife. 
 
 The wife as hard o' the husband : whose fault here ? 
 
 A wife that flies her husband's house, does wrong: 
 
 The male friend's interference looks amiss, 
 
 Lends a suspicion : but suppose the wife. 
 
 On the other hand, be jeopardized at home — 
 
 Nay, that she simply hold, ill-ground edly, 
 
 An apprehension she is jeopardized, — 
 
 And further, if the friend partake the fear, 
 
 And, in a commendable charity 
 
 Which trusteth all, trust her that she mistrusts, — 
 
 AVhat do they but obey law — natural law ? 
 
 Pretence may this be and a cloak for sin, 
 
 And circumstances that concur i' the close 
 
 Hint as much, loudly — yet scarce loud enough 
 
 To drown the answer ' strange may yet be true ' : 
 
58 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Innocence often looks like guiltiness. 
 The accused declare that in thought, word and deed, 
 Innocent were they both from first to last 
 As male-babe haply laid by female-babe 
 At church on edge of the baptismal font 
 Together for a minute, perfect-pure. 
 Difficult to believe, yet possible, 
 As witness Joseph, the friend's patron-saint. 
 The night at the inn — there charity nigh chokes 
 Ere swallow what they both asseverate ; 
 Though down the gullet faith may feel it go, 
 When mindful of what tiiglit fatigued the flesh 
 Out of its faculty and fleshliness, 
 Subdued it to the soul, as saints assure : 
 So long a flight necessitates a fall 
 On the first bed, though in a lion's den, 
 And the first pillow, though the lion's back : 
 Difficult to believe, yet possible. 
 Last come the letters' bundled beastliness — 
 Authority repugns give glance to — nay, 
 Turns head, and almost lets her whip-lash fall ; 
 Yet here a voice cries ' Respite ! ' from the clouds — 
 The accused, both in a tale, protest, disclaim, 
 Abominate the horror : ' Not my hand ' 
 Asserts the friend — ' Nor mine ' chimes in the wife, 
 ' Seeing I have no hand, nor write at all.' 
 Illiterate — for she goes on to ask. 
 What if the friend did pen now verse now prose. 
 Commend it to her notice now and then ? 
 'T was pearls to swine : she read no more than wrote, 
 And kept no more than read, for as they fell 
 She ever brushed the burr-like things away, 
 Or, better, burned them, quenched the fire in smoke. 
 As for this fardel, filth and foolishness, 
 She sees it now the first time : burn it too ! 
 While for his part the friend vows ignorance 
 Alike of what bears his name and bears hers : 
 'T is forgery, a felon's masterpiece. 
 And, as 't is said the fox still finds the stench, 
 Home-manufacture and the husband's work. 
 Though he confesses, the ingenuous friend, 
 That certain missives, letters of a sort, 
 Flighty and feeble, which assigned themselves 
 To the wife, no less have fallen, far too oft, 
 In his path : wheref rom he understood just this ^ 
 That were they verily the lady's own. 
 
HALF-ROME . 59 
 
 Why, she who penned them, since he never saw 
 
 Save for one minute the mere face of her. 
 
 Since never had there been the interchange 
 
 Of word with word between them all their life, 
 
 Why, she must be the fondest of the frail, 
 
 And fit, she for the ' apage ' he flung, 
 
 Her letters for the flame they went to feed ! 
 
 But, now he sees her face and hears her speech, 
 
 Much he repents him if, in fancy-freak 
 
 For a moment the minutest measurable. 
 
 He couj^led her with the first flimsy word 
 
 O' the self-spun fabric some mean spider-soul 
 
 Furnished forth : stop his films and stamp on him ! 
 
 Never was such a tangled knottiness, 
 
 But thus authority cuts the Gordian through, 
 
 And mark how her decision suits the need ! 
 
 Here 's troublesomeness, scandal on both sides, 
 
 Plenty of fault to find, no absolute crime : 
 
 Let each side own its fault and make amends ! 
 
 What does a priest in cavalier's attire 
 
 Consorting publicly with vagrant wives 
 
 In quarters close as the confessional, 
 
 Though innocent of harm ? 'T is harm enough : 
 
 Let him pay it, — say, be relegate a good 
 
 Three years, to spend in some place not too far 
 
 Nor yet too near, midway 'twixt near and far, 
 
 Rome and Arezzo, — Civita we choose. 
 
 Where he may lounge away time, live at large, 
 
 Find out the proper function of a priest. 
 
 Nowise an exile, — that were punishment, — 
 
 But one our love thus keeps out of harm's way 
 
 Not more from the husband's anger than, mayhap. 
 
 His own . . . say, indiscretion, waywardness. 
 
 And wanderings when Easter eves grow warm. 
 
 For the wife, — well, our best step to take with her, 
 
 On her own showing, were to shift her root 
 
 From the old cold shade and unhappy soil 
 
 Into a generous ground that fronts the south : 
 
 Where, since her callow soul, a-shiver late. 
 
 Craved simply warmth and called mere passers-by 
 
 To the rescue, she should have her fill of shine. 
 
 Do house and husband hinder and not help ? 
 
 Why then, forget both and stay here at peace, 
 
 Come into our community, enroll 
 
 Herself along with those good Convertites, 
 
 Those sinners saved, those Magdalens re-made. 
 
60 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Accept their ministration, well bestow 
 Her body and patiently possess her soul, 
 Until we see what better can be done. 
 Last for the husband : if his tale prove true, 
 Well is he rid of two domestic plagues — 
 Both wife that ailed, do whatsoever he would. 
 And friend of hers that undertook the cure. 
 See, what a double load we lift from breast ! 
 Off he may go, return, resume old life, 
 Laugh at the priest here and Pompilia there 
 In limbo each and jjunished for their pains. 
 And grateful tell the inquiring neighborhood — 
 In Rome, no wrong but has its remedy." 
 The case was closed. Now, am I fair or no 
 In what I utter ? Do I state the facts. 
 Having forechosen a side ? I promised you ! 
 
 The Canon Caponsacchi, then, was sent 
 To change his garb, re-trim his tonsure, tie 
 The clerkly silk round, every plait correct, 
 Make the impressive entry on his place 
 Of relegation, thrill his Civita, 
 As Ovid, a like sufferer in the cause, 
 Planted a primrose-patch by Pontus : where, — 
 What with much culture of the sonnet-stave 
 And converse with the aborioines, 
 Soft savagery of eyes unused to roll, 
 And hearts that all awry went pit-a-pat 
 And wanted setting right in charity, — 
 "V\^hat were a couple of years to while away ? 
 Pompilia, as enjoined, betook herself 
 To the aforesaid Convertites, soft sisterhood 
 In Via Lungara, where the light ones live. 
 Spin, pray, then sing like linnets o'er the flax. 
 " Anywhere, anyhow, out of my husband's house 
 Is heaven," cried she, — was therefore suited so. 
 But for Count Guido Franceschini, he — 
 The injured man thus righted — found no heaven 
 I' the house when he returned there, I engage, 
 Was welcomed by the city turned upside down 
 In a chorus of inquiry. " What, back — you? 
 And no wife ? Left her with the Penitents ? 
 Ah, being young and pretty, 't were a shame 
 To have her whipped in public : leave the job 
 To the priests who understand ! Such priests as yours 
 (Pontifex Maximus whipped Vestals once) 
 
HALF-ROME 61 
 
 Our madcap Caponsacchi : think of him ! 
 
 So, he fired up, showed fight and skill of fence ? 
 
 Ay, you drew also, but you did not fight I 
 
 The wiser, 't is a word and a blow with him, 
 
 True Caponsacchi, of old Head-i'-the-Sack 
 
 That fought at Fiesole ere Florence was : 
 
 He had done enough, to firk you were too much. 
 
 And did the little lady menace you, 
 
 Make at your breast with your own harmless sword ? 
 
 The spitfire ! Well, thank God you 're safe and sound. 
 
 Have kept the sixth commandment whether or no 
 
 The lady broke the seventh : I only wish 
 
 I were as saint-like, could contain me so. 
 
 I, the poor sinner, fear I should have left 
 
 Sir Priest no nose-tip to turn up at me ! " 
 
 You, Sir, who listen but interpose no word, 
 
 Ask yourself, had you borne a baiting thus ? 
 
 Was it enough to make a wise man mad ? 
 
 Oh, but I '11 have your verdict at the end ! 
 
 Well, not enough, it seems : such mere hurt falls. 
 
 Frets awhile, aches long, then grows less and less. 
 
 And so gets done with. Such was not the scheme 
 
 O' the pleasant Comparini : on Guido's wound 
 
 Ever in due succession, drop by drop. 
 
 Came slow distilment from the alembic here 
 
 Set on to simmer by Canidian hate, 
 
 Corrosives keeping the man's misery raw. 
 
 First fire-drop, — when he thought to make the best 
 
 O' the bad, to wring from out the sentence passed, 
 
 Poor, pitiful, absurd although it were, 
 
 Yet what might eke him out result enough 
 
 And make it worth while to have had the right 
 
 And not the wrong i' the matter judged at Rome. 
 
 Inadequate her punishment, no less 
 
 Punished in some slight sort his v/ife had been ; 
 
 Then, punished for adultery, what else ? 
 
 On such admitted crime he thought to seize, 
 
 And institute 23rocedure in the courts 
 
 Which cut corruption of tliis kind from man, 
 
 Cast loose a wife proved loose and castaway : 
 
 He claimed in due form a divorce at least. 
 
 This claim was met now by a counterclaim : 
 Pompilia sought divorce from bed and board 
 Of Guide, whose outrageous cruelty. 
 
62 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 ♦ 
 
 Whose mother's malice and whose brother's hate 
 
 Were just the white o' the charge, such dreadful depths 
 
 Blackened its centre, — hints of worse than hate, 
 
 Love from that brother, by that Guide's guile, 
 
 That mother's prompting. Such reply was made, 
 
 So was the engine loaded, wound up, sprung 
 
 On Guide, who received bolt full in breast ; 
 
 But no less bore up, giddily perhaps. 
 
 He had the Abate Paolo still in Rome, 
 
 Brother and friend and fighter on his side : 
 
 They rallied in a measure, met the foe 
 
 Manlike, joined battle in the public courts, 
 
 As if to shame supine law from her sloth : 
 
 And waiting her award, let beat the while 
 
 Arezzo's banter, Rome's buffoonery, 
 
 On this ear and on that ear, deaf alike, 
 
 Safe from worse outrage. Let a scor2)ion nip, 
 
 And never mind till he contorts his tail ! 
 
 But there was sting i' the creature ; thus it struck. 
 
 Guide had thought in his simplicity — 
 
 That lying declaration of remorse, 
 
 That story of the child which was no child 
 
 And motherhood no motherhood at all, 
 
 — That even this sin might have its sort of good 
 
 Inasmuch as no question more could be, — 
 
 Call it false, call the story true, — no claim 
 
 Of further parentage pretended now : 
 
 The parents had abjured all right, at least, 
 
 I' the woman owned his wife : to plead right still 
 
 Were to declare the abjuration false : 
 
 He was relieved from any fear henceforth 
 
 Their hands might touch, their breath defile again 
 
 Pompilia with his name upon her yet. 
 
 Well, no : the next news was, Pompilia's health 
 
 Demanded change after full three long weeks 
 
 Spent in devotion with the Sisterhood, — 
 
 Which rendered sojourn — so the court opined — 
 
 Too irksome, since the convent's walls were high 
 
 And windows narrow, nor was air enough 
 
 Nor light enough, but all looked prison-like. 
 
 The last thing which had come in the court's head. 
 
 Propose a new expedient therefore, — this ! 
 
 She had demanded — had obtained indeed, 
 
 By intervention of her pitying friends 
 
 Or perhaps lovers — (beauty in distress, 
 
 Beauty whose tale is the town-talk beside. 
 
HALF-ROME 63 
 
 Never lacks friendship's arm about her neck) — 
 
 Obtained remission of the penalty, 
 
 Permitted transfer to some private place 
 
 Where better air, more light, new food might soothe — 
 
 Incarcerated (call it, all the same) 
 
 At some sure friend's house she nmst keep inside, 
 
 Be found in at requirement fast enough, — 
 
 DoTTius 'pro carcere, in Roman style. 
 
 You keep the house i' the main, as most men do 
 
 And all good women : but free otherwise, 
 
 Should friends arrive, to lodge them and what not ? 
 
 And such a domum, such a dwelling-place, 
 
 Having all Rome to choose from, where chose she ? 
 
 What house obtained Pompilia's preference ? 
 
 Why, just the Comparini's — just, do you mark, 
 
 Theirs who renounced all part and lot in her 
 
 So long as Guido could be robbed thereby, 
 
 And only fell back on relationship 
 
 And found their daughter safe and sound again 
 
 When that might surelier stab him : yes, the pair 
 
 Who, as I told you, first had baited hook 
 
 With, this poor gilded fly Pompilia-thing, 
 
 Then caught the fish, pulled Guido to the shore 
 
 And gutted him, — now found a further use 
 
 For the bait, would trail the gauze wings yet again 
 
 I' the way of what new swimmer passed their stand. 
 
 They took Pompilia to their hiding-place — 
 
 Not in the heart of Rome as formerly. 
 
 Under observance, subject to control — 
 
 But out o' the way, — or in the way, who knows ? 
 
 That blind mute villa lurking by the gate 
 
 At Via Paulina, not so hard to miss 
 
 By the honest eye, easy enough to find 
 
 In twilight by marauders : where perchance 
 
 Some muffled Caponsacchi might repair, 
 
 Employ odd moments when he too tried change, 
 
 Found that a friend's abode was pleasanter 
 
 Than relegation, penance and the rest. 
 
 Come, here 's the last drop does its worst to wound. 
 Here 's Guido poisoned to the bone, you say, 
 Your boasted still's full strain and strength : not so ! 
 One master-squeeze from screw shall bring to birth 
 The hoard i' the heart o' the toad, hell's quintessence. 
 He learned the true convenience of the change. 
 And whv a convent lacks the cheerful hearts 
 
64 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 And helpful hands which female straits require, 
 
 When, in the blind mute villa by the gate, 
 
 Pompilia — what ? sang, danced, saw company ? 
 
 — Gave birth, Sir, to a child, his son and heir, 
 
 Or Guido's heir and Caponsacchi's son. 
 
 I want your word now : what do you say to this ? 
 
 What would say little Arezzo and great Rome, 
 
 And what did God say and the devil say 
 
 One at each ear o' the man, the husband, now 
 
 The father ? Why, the overburdened mind 
 
 Broke down, what was a brain became a blaze. 
 
 In fury of the moment — (that first news 
 
 Fell on the Count among his vines, it seems, 
 
 Doing his farm-work,) — why, he summoned steward, 
 
 Called in the first four hard hands and stout hearts 
 
 From field and furrow, poured forth his appeal, 
 
 Not to Rome's law and gospel any more. 
 
 But this clown with a mother or a wife. 
 
 That clodpole with a sister or a son : 
 
 And, whereas law and gospel held their peace. 
 
 What wonder if the sticks and stones cried out ? 
 
 All five soon somehow found themselves at Rome, 
 At the villa door : there was the warmth and light — 
 The sense of life so just an inch inside — 
 Some angel must have whispered " One more chance ! " 
 
 He gave it : bade the others stand aside : 
 
 Knocked at the door, — " Who is it knocks ? " cried one. 
 
 " I will make," surely Guido's angel urged, 
 
 " One final essay, last experiment, 
 Speak the word, name the name from out all names, 
 Which, if, — as doubtless strong illusions are. 
 And strange disguisings whereby truth seems false, 
 And, since I am but man, I dare not do 
 God's work until assured I see with God, — 
 If I should bring my lips to breathe that name 
 And they be innocent, — nay, by one mere touch 
 Of innocence redeemed from utter guilt, — 
 That name will bar the door and bid fate pass. 
 I will not say ' It is a messenger, 
 A neighbor, even a belated man, 
 
 Much less your husband's friend, your husband's self : ' 
 At such appeal the door is bound to ope. 
 But I will say " — here 's rhetoric and to spare ! 
 Why, Sir, the stumbling-block is cursed and kicked. 
 
HALF-ROME ^^ 
 
 Block though it he ; the name that hrought offence 
 Will bring offence : tlie burnt child dreads the lire 
 Although that fire feed on some taper-wick 
 Which never left the altar nor singed a fly : 
 And had a harmless man tripped you by chance, 
 How would you wait him, stand or step aside, 
 When next you heard he rolled your way ? Enough. 
 
 " Giuseppe Caponsacchi I " Guido cried ; 
 And open flew the door : enough again. 
 Vengeance, you know, burst, like a mountain-wave 
 That holds a monster in it, over the house, 
 And wiped its filthy four walls free at last 
 With a wash of hell-fire, — father, mother, wife. 
 Killed them all, bathed his name clean in their blood, 
 And, reeking so, was caught, his friends and he, 
 Haled hither and imj)risoned yesternight 
 O' the day all this was. 
 
 Now, Sir, the tale is told, 
 Of how the old couple come to lie in state 
 Though hacked to pieces, — never, the expert say, 
 So thorough a study of stabbing — while the wife 
 (Viper-like, very difficult to slay) 
 Writhes still through every ring of her, poor wretch, 
 At the Hospital hard by — survives, we '11 hojie, 
 To somewhat purify her putrid soul 
 By full confession, make so much amends 
 While time lasts ; since at day's end die she must. 
 
 For Caponsacchi, — why, they '11 have him here, 
 As hero of the adventure, who so fit 
 To figure in the coming Carnival ? 
 'T will make the fortune of whate'er saloon 
 Hears him recount, with helpful cheek, and eye 
 Hotly indignant now, now dewy-dimmed. 
 The incidents of flight, pursuit, surprise, 
 Capture, with hints of kisses all between — 
 While Guido, wholly unromantic spouse. 
 No longer fit to laugh at since the blood 
 Gave the broad farce an all too brutal air, 
 Why, he and those four luckless friends of his 
 May tumble in the straw this bitter day — 
 Laid by the heels i' the New Prison, I hear. 
 To bide their trial, since trial, and for the life. 
 Follows if but for form's sake : yes, indeed ! 
 
66 THE JUNG AND THE BOOK 
 
 But with a certain issue : no dispute, 
 " Try him," bids law : formalities oblige : 
 But as to the issue, — look me in the face ! — 
 If the law thinks to find them guilty. Sir, 
 Master or men — touch one hair of the five, 
 Then I say in the name of all that 's left 
 Of honor in Rome, civility i' the world 
 Whereof Rome boasts herself the central source, — 
 There 's an end to all hope of justice more. 
 Astraea 's gone indeed, let hope go too ! 
 Who is it dares impugn the natural law, 
 Deny God's word "• the faithless wife shall die " ? 
 What, are we blind ? How can we fail to learn 
 This crowd of miseries make the man a mark, 
 Accumulate on one devoted head 
 For our example ? — yours and mine who read 
 Its lesson thus — " Henceforward let none dare 
 Stand, like a natural in the public way, 
 Letting the very urchins twitch his beard 
 And tweak his nose, to earn a nickname so, 
 Be styled male-Grissel or else modern Job ! " 
 Had Guido, in the twinkling of an eye. 
 Summed up the reckoning, promptly paid himself, 
 That morning when he came up with the pair 
 At the wayside inn, — exacted his just debt 
 By aid of what first mattock, pitchfork, axe 
 Came to hand in the helpful stable-yard, 
 And with that axe, if providence so pleased, 
 Cloven each head, by some Rolando-stroke, 
 In one clean cut from crown to clavicle, 
 — Slain the priest-gallant, the wife-paramour, 
 Sticking, for all defence, in each skull's cleft 
 The rhyme and reason of the stroke thus dealt, 
 To wit, those letters and last evidence 
 Of shame, each package in its proper place, — 
 Bidding, wlio pitied, undistend the skulls, — 
 I say, the world had praised the man. But no ! 
 That were too plain, too straight, too simply just ! 
 He hesitates, calls law forsooth to helj). 
 And law, distasteful to who calls in law 
 When honor is beforehand and would serve, 
 What wonder if law hesitate in turn. 
 Plead her disuse to calls o' the kind, reply 
 (Smiling a little). "• 'T is yourself assess 
 The worth of what 's lost, sum of damage done. 
 What you touched with so light a finger-tip. 
 
HALF-ROME 67 
 
 You whose concern it was to grasp the thing, 
 
 Wliy must law gird herself and grapple with ? 
 
 Law, alien to the actor whose warm blood 
 
 Asks heat from law whose veins run lukewarm milk, — 
 
 What you dealt lightly with, shall law make out 
 
 Heinous forsooth ? '' 
 
 Sir, what 's the good of law 
 In a case o' the kind ? None, as she all but says. 
 Call in law when a neighbor breaks your fence, 
 Cribs from your field, tampers with rent or lease, 
 Touches the purse or pocket, — but wooes your wife ? 
 No : take the old way trod when men were men I 
 Guido preferred the new path, — for his jjains. 
 Stuck in a quagmire, floundered worse and worse 
 Until he managed somehow scramble back 
 Into the safe sure rutted road once more. 
 Revenged his own wrong like a gentleman. 
 Once back 'mid the familiar prints, no doubt 
 He made too rash amends for his first fault, 
 Vaulted too loftily over what barred him late, 
 And lit i' the mire again, — the common chance, 
 The natural over-energy : the deed 
 Maladroit yields three deaths instead of one, 
 And one life left : for where 's the Canon's corpse ? 
 All which is the worse for Guido, but, be frank — 
 The better for you and me and all the world. 
 Husbands of wives, especially in Rome. 
 The thing is put right, in the old place, — ay, 
 The rod hangs on its nail behind the door. 
 Fresh from the brine : a matter I commend 
 To the notice, during Carnival that 's near, 
 Of a certain what's-his-name and jackanapes 
 Somewhat too civil of eves with lute and song 
 About a house here, where I keep a wife. 
 (You, being his cousin, may go tell him so.) 
 
III. 
 
 THE OTHER HALF-ROME. 
 
 Another day that finds her living yet, 
 
 Little Pompilia, with the patient brow 
 
 And lamentable smile on those poor lips, 
 
 And, under the white hospital-array, 
 
 A flower-like body, to frighten at a bruise 
 
 You 'd think, yet now, stabbed through and through again, 
 
 Alive i' the ruins. 'T is a miracle. 
 
 It seems that, when her husband struck her first, 
 
 She pra;y ed Madonna just that she might live 
 
 So long as to confess and be absolved ; 
 
 And whether it was that, all her sad.life long 
 
 Never before successful in a prayer. 
 
 This prayer rose with authority too dread, — 
 
 Or whether, because earth was hell to her, 
 
 By compensation, when the blackness broke 
 
 She got one glimpse of quiet and the cool blue, 
 
 To show her for a moment such things were, — 
 
 Or else, — as the Augustinian Brother thinks. 
 
 The friar who took confession from her lip, — 
 
 AVhen a probationary soul that moved 
 
 From nobleness to nobleness, as she, 
 
 Over the rough way of the world, succumbs, 
 
 Bloodies its last thorn with unflinching foot. 
 
 The angels love to do their work betimes, 
 
 Stanch some wounds here nor leave so much for God. 
 
 Who knows ? However it be, confessed, absolved, 
 
 She lies, with overplus of life beside 
 
 To speak and right herself from first to last, 
 
 Right the friend also, lamb-pure, lion-brave. 
 
 Care for the boy's concerns, to save the son 
 
 From the sire, her two-weeks' infant orphaned thus, 
 
 And — with best smile of all reserved for him — 
 
 Pardon that sire and husband from the heart. 
 
 A miracle, so tell your Molinists ! 
 
 There she lies in the long white lazar-house. 
 Rome has besieged, these two days, never doubt, 
 
THE OTHER HALF-ROME 69 
 
 Saint Anna's where she waits her death, to hear 
 Though but the chink o' the bell, turn o' the hinge 
 When the reluctant wicket opes at last, 
 Lets in, on now this and now that pretence. 
 Too many by half, — complain the men of art, — 
 For a patient in such plight. The lawyers first 
 Paid the due visit — justice must be done ; 
 They took her witness, why the murder was. 
 Then the priests followed properly, — a soul 
 To shrive ; 't was Brother Celestine's own right, 
 The same who noises thus her gifts abroad. 
 But many more, who found they were old friends, 
 Pushed in to have tlijeir stare and take their talk 
 And go forth boasting of it and to boast. 
 Old Monna Baldi chatters like a jay, 
 Swears — but that, prematurely trundled out 
 Just as she felt the benefit begin, 
 The miracle was snapped up by somebody, — 
 Her palsied limb 'gan prick and promise life 
 At touch o' the bedclothes merely, — how much more 
 Had she but brushed the body as she tried I 
 Cavalier Carlo — well, there 's some excuse 
 For him — Maratta who paints Virgins so — 
 He too must fee the porter and slip by 
 With pencil cut and paper squared, and straight 
 There was he figuring away at face : 
 " A lovelier face is not in Rome," cried he, 
 " Shaped like a peacock's e^g^ the pure as pearl, 
 That hatches you anon a snow-white chick." 
 Then, oh that pair of eyes, that pendent hair, 
 Black this and black the other ! Mighty fine — 
 But nobody cared ask to paint the same. 
 Nor grew a poet over h.iir and eyes 
 Four little years ago, when, ask and have. 
 The woman who wakes all this rapture leaned 
 Flower-like from out her window long enough. 
 As much uncomplimented as uncropped 
 By comers and goers in Via Vittoria : eh ? 
 'Tis just a flower's fate : past parterre we trip, 
 Till peradventure some one plucks our sleeve — 
 " Yon blossom at the brier's end, that 's the rose 
 Two jealous people fought for yesterday 
 And killed each otlier : see, there 's undisturbed 
 A pretty pool at the root, of rival red ! " 
 Then cry we, '' Ah, the perfect paragon ! " 
 Then crave we '' Just one keepsake-leaf for us I " 
 
70 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Truth lies between : there 's anyhow a child 
 Of seventeen years, whether a flower or weed, 
 Ruined : who did it shall account to Christ — 
 Having no pity on the harmless life 
 And gentle face and girlish form he found, 
 And thus flings back. Go practise if you please 
 With men and women: leave a child alone 
 For Christ's particular love's sake ! — so I say. 
 
 Somebody, at the bedside, said much more, 
 Took on him to explain the secret cause 
 O' the crime : quoth he, " Such crimes are very rife, 
 Explode nor make us wonder nowadays, 
 Seeing that Antichrist, disseminates 
 That doctrine of the Philosophic Sin : 
 Molinos' sect will soon make earth too hot ! " 
 " Nay," groaned the Augustinian, " what 's there new? 
 Crime will not fail to flare up from men's hearts 
 While hearts are men's and so born criminal ; 
 Which one fact, always old yet ever new, 
 Accounts for so nuich crime that, for my part, 
 Molinos may go whistle to the wind 
 That waits outside a certain church, you know ! " 
 
 Though really it does seem as if she here, 
 
 Pompilia, living so and dying thus. 
 
 Has had undue experience how much crime 
 
 A heart can hatch. Why was she made to learn 
 
 — Not you, not I, not even Molinos' self — 
 
 What Guido Franceschini's heart could hold ? 
 
 Thus saintship is effected probably ; 
 
 No sparing saints the process ! — which the more 
 
 Tends to the reconciling us, no saints, 
 
 To sinnership, immunity and all. 
 
 For see now : Pietro and Violante's life 
 Till seventeen years ago, all Rome might note 
 And quote for happy — see the signs distinct 
 Of happiness as we yon Triton's trump. 
 What could they be but happy ? — balanced so, 
 Nor low i' the social scale nor yet too high, 
 Nor poor nor richer than comports with ease. 
 Nor bright and envied, nor obscure and scorned, 
 Nor so young that their pleasures fell too thick. 
 Nor old past catching pleasure when it fell. 
 Nothing above, below the just degree, 
 
THE OTHER HALF-ROME 71 
 
 All at the mean where joy's components mix. 
 So again, in the couple's very souls 
 You saw the adequate half with half to match, 
 Each having and each lacking somewhat, both 
 Making a whole that had all and lacked nought. 
 The round and sound, in whose composure just 
 The acquiescent and recipient side 
 Was Pietro's, and the stirring striving one 
 Violante's : both in union gave the due 
 Quietude, enterprise, craving and content. 
 Which go to bodily health and peace of mind. 
 But, as 'tis said a body, rightly mixed. 
 Each element in equipoise, would last 
 Too long and live forever, — accordingly 
 Holds a germ — sand-grain weight too much i' the scde — 
 Ordained to get predominance one day 
 And so bring all to ruin and release, — 
 Not otherwise a fatal germ lurked here : 
 ' With mortals much must go, but something stays ; 
 Nothing will stay of our so happy selves." 
 Out of the very ripeness of life's core 
 A worm was bred — " Our life shall leave no fruit." 
 Enough of bliss, they thought, could bliss bear seed, 
 Yield its like, propagate a bliss in turn 
 And keep the kind up ; not supplant themselves 
 But put in evidence, record they were, 
 Show them, when done with, i' the shape of a child. 
 ' 'T is in a child, man and wife grow complete, 
 One flesh : God says so : let him do his work ! " 
 
 Now, one reminder of this gnawing want, 
 One special prick o' the maggot at the core, 
 Always befell when, as the day came round, 
 A certain yearly sum, — our Pietro being. 
 As the long name runs, an usufructuary, — 
 Dropped in the common bag as interest 
 Of money, his till death, not afterward, 
 Failing an heir : an heir would take and take, 
 A child of theirs be wealthy in their place 
 To nobody's hurt — the stranger else seized all. 
 Prosperity rolled river-like and stopped. 
 Making their mill go ; but when wheel wore out, 
 The wave would find a space and sweep on free 
 And, half-a-mile off, grind some neighbor's corn. 
 
 Adam-like, Pietro sighed and said no more : 
 Eve saw the apple was fair and g/)od to taste, 
 
72 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 So, plucked it, having asked the snake advice. 
 
 She told her husband God was merciful, 
 
 And his and her prayer granted at the last : 
 
 Let the old mill-stone moulder, — wheel unworn, 
 
 Quartz from the quarry, shot into the stream 
 
 Adroitly, as before should go bring grist — 
 
 Their house continued to them by an heir, 
 
 Their vacant heart replenished with a child. 
 
 We have her own confession at full length 
 
 Made in the first remorse : 't was Jubilee 
 
 Pealed in the ear o' the conscience and it woke. 
 
 She found she had offended God no doubt. 
 
 So much was plain from what had happened since, 
 
 Misfortune on misfortune ; but she harmed 
 
 No one i' the world, so far as she could see. 
 
 The act had gladdened Pietro to the height, 
 
 Her spouse whom God himself must gladden so 
 
 Or not at all : thus much seems probable 
 
 From the implicit faith, or rather say 
 
 Stupid credulity of the foolish man 
 
 Who swallowed such a tale nor strained a whit 
 
 Even at his wife's far-over-fifty years 
 
 Matching his sixty-and-under. Him she blessed ; 
 
 And as for doing any detriment 
 
 To the veritable heir, — why, tell her first 
 
 Who was he ? Which of all the hands held up 
 
 I' the crowd, one day would gather round their gate, 
 
 Did she so wrong by intercepting thus 
 
 The ducat, spendthrift fortune thought to fling 
 
 For a scramble just to make the mob break shins? 
 
 She kept it, saved them kicks and cuffs thereby. 
 
 While at the least one good work had she wrought. 
 
 Good, clearly and incontestably ! Her cheat — 
 
 What was it to its subject, the child's self. 
 
 But charity and religion ? See the girl 1 
 
 A body most like — a soul too probably — 
 
 Doomed to death, such a double death as waits 
 
 The illicit offspring of a common trull. 
 
 Sure to resent and forthwith rid herself 
 
 Of a mere interruption to sin's trade, 
 
 In the efficacious way old Tiber knows. 
 
 Was not so much proved by the ready sale 
 
 O' the child, glad transfer of this irksome chance ? 
 
 Well then, she had caught up this castaway : 
 
 This fragile egg, some careless wild bird (]ro])ped, 
 
 She had picked from where it waited the footfall, 
 
THE OTHER HALF-ROME 73 
 
 And put in her own breast till forth broke finch 
 Able to sing God praise on mornings now. 
 What so excessive harm was done ? — she asked. 
 
 To which demand the dreadful answer comes — 
 For that same deed, now at Lorenzo's church, 
 Both agents, conscious and inconscious, lie ; 
 While she, the deed was done to benefit, 
 Lies also, the most lamentable of things, 
 Yonder where curious people count her breaths, 
 Calculate how long yet the little life 
 Unspilt may serve their turn nor spoil the show, 
 Give them their story, then the church its group. 
 
 Well, having gained Pompilia, the girl grew 
 
 I' the midst of Pietro here, Violante there. 
 
 Each, like a semicircle with stretched arms, 
 
 Joining the other round her preciousness — 
 
 Two walls that go about a garden-plot 
 
 Where a chance sliver, branchlet slipt from bole 
 
 Of some tongue-leaved eye-figured Eden tree, 
 
 Filched by two exiles and borne far away, 
 
 Patiently glorifies their solitude, — 
 
 Year by year mounting, grade by grade surmount 
 
 The builded brick-work, yet is compassed still. 
 
 Still hidden happily and shielded safe, — 
 
 Else why should miracle have graced the ground ? 
 
 But on the twelfth sun that brought April there 
 
 What meant that laugh ? The coping-stone was reached ; 
 
 Nay, above towered a light tuft of bloom 
 
 To be toyed with by butterfly or bee. 
 
 Done good to or else harm to from outside : 
 
 Pompilia's root, stalk and a branch or two 
 
 Home enclosed still, the rest would be the world's. 
 
 All which was taught our couple though obtuse, 
 
 Since walls have ears, when one day brought a ])riest. 
 
 Smooth-mannered soft-speeched sleek-cheeked visitor, 
 
 The notable Abate Paolo — known 
 
 As younger brother of a Tuscan house 
 
 Whereof the actual representative. 
 
 Count Guido, had employed his youth and age 
 
 In culture of Rome's most productive plant — 
 
 A cardinal : but years pass and change conies, 
 
 In token of which, here was our Paolo brought 
 
 To broach a weighty business. Might he speak ? 
 
 Yes — to Violante somehow caught alone 
 
74 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 While Pietro took his after-dinner doze, 
 And the young maiden, busily as befits, 
 Minded her broider-frame three chambers off. 
 
 So — giving now his great flap-hat a gloss 
 
 With flat o' the hand between-whiles, soothing now 
 
 The silk from out its creases o'er the calf, 
 
 Setting the stocking clerical again, 
 
 But never disengaging, once engaged, 
 
 The thin clear gray hold of his eyes on her — 
 
 He dissertated on that Tuscan house, 
 
 Those Franceschini, — very old they were — 
 
 Not rich however — oh, not rich, at least. 
 
 As people look to be who, low i' the scale 
 
 One way, have reason, rising all they can 
 
 By favor of the money-bag ! 't is fair — 
 
 Do all gifts go together ? But don't suppose 
 
 That being not so rich means all so poor ! 
 
 Say rather, well enough — i' the way, indeed, 
 
 Ha, ha, to fortune better than the best : 
 
 Since if his brother's patron-friend kept faith. 
 
 Put into promised play the Cardinalate, 
 
 Their house might wear the red cloth that keeps warm, 
 
 Would but the Count have patience — there 's the point 
 
 For he was slipping into years apace. 
 
 And years make men restless — they needs must spy 
 
 Some certainty, some sort of end assured. 
 
 Some sparkle, though from topmost beacon-tip, 
 
 That warrants life a harbor through the haze. 
 
 In short, call him fantastic as you choose, 
 
 Guido was home-sick, yearned for the old sights 
 
 And usual faces, — fain would settle himself 
 
 And have the patron's bounty when it fell 
 
 Irrigate far rather than deluge near. 
 
 Go fertilize Arezzo, not flood Rome. 
 
 Sooth to say, 't was the wiser wish : the Count 
 
 Proved wanting in ambition, — let us avouch, 
 
 Since truth is best, — in callousness of heart. 
 
 And winced at pin-pricks whereby honors hang 
 
 A ribbon o'er each puncture : his — no soul 
 
 Ecclesiastic (here the hat was brushed), 
 
 Humble but self-sustaining, calm and cold, 
 
 Having, as one who puts his hand to the plough. 
 
 Renounced the over-vivid family-feel — 
 
 Poor brother Guido ! All too plain, he pined 
 
 Amid Rome's pomp and glare for dinginess 
 
THE OTHER HALF-ROME 75 
 
 And that dilapidated palace-shell 
 
 Vast as a quarry and, very like, as bare — 
 
 Since to this comes old grandeur nowadays — 
 
 Or that absurd wild villa in the waste 
 
 O' the hillside, breezy though, for who likes air, 
 
 Vittiano, nor unpleasant with its vines, 
 
 Outside the city and the summer heats. 
 
 And now his harping on this one tense chord 
 
 The villa and the palace, palace this 
 
 And villa the other, all day and all night 
 
 Creaked like the implacable cicala's cry 
 
 And made one's ear-drum ache : nought else would serve 
 
 But that, to light his mother's visage up 
 
 With second youth, hope, gayety again. 
 
 He must find straightway, woo and haply win 
 
 And bear away triumphant back, some wife. 
 
 Well now, the man was rational in his way : 
 
 He, the Abate, — ought he to interpose ? 
 
 Unless by straining still his tutelage 
 
 (Priesthood leaps over elder-brothership) 
 
 Across this difficulty : then let go. 
 
 Leave the poor fellow in peace I Would that be wrong ? 
 
 There was no making Guido great, it seems, 
 
 Spite of himself : then happy be his dole ! 
 
 Indeed, the Abate's little interest 
 
 Was somewhat nearly touched i' the case, they saw : 
 
 Since if his simple kinsman so were bent, 
 
 Began his rounds in Rome to catch a wife. 
 
 Full soon would such unworldliness surprise 
 
 The rare bird, sprinkle salt on phoenix' tail. 
 
 And so secure the nest a sparrow-hawk. 
 
 No lack of mothers here in Rome, — no dread 
 
 Of daughters lured as larks by looking-glass ! 
 
 The first name-pecking credit-scratching fowl 
 
 Would drop her unfledged cuckoo in our nest 
 
 To gather grayness there, give voice at length 
 
 And shame the brood . . . but it was long ago 
 
 When crusades were, and we sent eagles forth ! 
 
 No, that at least the Abate could forestall. 
 
 He read the thought within his brother's word, 
 
 Knew what he purposed better than himself. 
 
 We want no name and fame — having our own : 
 
 No worldly aggrandizement — such we fly : 
 
 But if some wonder of a woman's-heart 
 
 Were yet untainted on this grimy earth. 
 
 Tender and true — tradition tells of such — 
 
76 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Prepared to pant in time and tune with ours — 
 
 If some good girl (a girl, since she must take 
 
 The new bent, live new life, adopt new modes) 
 
 Not wealthy (Guido for his rank was poor) 
 
 But with whatever dowry came to hand, — 
 
 There were the lady-love predestinate ! 
 
 And somehow the Abate's guardian eye — 
 
 Scintillant, rutilant, fraternal fire, — 
 
 Roving round every way had seized the prize 
 
 — The instinct of us, we, the sj^iritualty ! 
 
 Come, cards on table ; was it true or false 
 
 That here — here in this very tenement — 
 
 Yea, Via Vittoria did a marvel hide, 
 
 Lily of a maiden, white with intact leaf 
 
 Guessed through the sheath that saved it from the sun ? 
 
 A daughter with the mother's hands still clasped 
 
 Over her head for fillet virginal, 
 
 A wife worth Guido's house and hand and heart ? 
 
 He came to see ; had spoken, he could no less — 
 
 (A final cherish of the stockinged calf) 
 
 If harm were, — well, the matter was off his mind. 
 
 Then with the great air did he kiss, devout, 
 
 Violante's hand, and rise up his whole height 
 
 (A certain purple gleam about the black) 
 
 And go forth gi-andly, — as if the Pope came next. 
 
 And so Violante rubbed her eyes awhile, 
 
 Got up too, walked to wake her Pietro soon 
 
 And pour into his ear the mighty news 
 
 How somebody had somehow somewhere seen 
 
 Their tree-top-tuft of bloom above the wall, 
 
 And came now to apprise them the tree's self 
 
 Was no such crab-sort as should go feed swine, 
 
 But veritable gold, the Hesperian ball 
 
 Ordained for Hercules to haste and pluck, 
 
 And bear and give the Gods to banquet with — 
 
 Hercules standing ready at the door. 
 
 Whereon did Pietro rub his eyes in turn, 
 
 Look very wase, a little woful too. 
 
 Then, periwig on head, and cane in hand, 
 
 Sally forth dignifiedly into the Square 
 
 Of Spain across Babbuino the six steps. 
 
 Toward the Boat-fountain where our idlers lounge, — 
 
 Ask, for form's sake, who Hercules might be. 
 
 And have congratulation from the world. 
 
THE OTHER HALF-ROME 77 
 
 Heartily laughed the world in his fool's-face 
 And told him Hercules was just the heir 
 To the stubble once a cornfield, and brick-heap 
 Where used to be a dwelling-place now burned. 
 Guido and Franceschini ; a Count, — ay : 
 But a cross i* the poke to bless the Countship ? No ! 
 All gone except sloth, pride, rapacity, 
 Humors of the imposthume incident 
 To rich blood that runs thin, — nursed to a head 
 By the rankly-salted soil — a cardinal's court 
 Where, parasite and picker-up of crumbs, 
 He had hung on long, and now, let go, said some, 
 Shaken off, said others, — but in any case 
 Tired of the trade and something worse for wear, 
 Was wanting to change town for country quick, 
 Go home again : let Pietro help him home ! 
 The brother, Abate Paolo, shrewder mouse. 
 Had pricked for comfortable quarters, inched 
 Into the core of Rome, and fattened so ; 
 But Guido, over-burly for rat's hole 
 Suited to clerical slimness, starved outside. 
 Must shift for himself : and so the shift was this ! 
 What, was the snug retreat of Pietro tracked, 
 The little provision for his old age snuffed ? 
 " Oh, make your girl a lady, an you list. 
 But have more mercy on our wit tlian vaunt 
 Your bargain as we burgesses who brag ! 
 Why, Goodman Dullard, if a friend must speak. 
 Would the Count, think you, stoop to you and yours 
 Were there the value of one penny-piece 
 To rattle 'twixt his palms — or likelier laugh. 
 Bid your Pompilia help you black his shoe ? " 
 
 Home again, shaking oft the puzzled pate. 
 Went Pietro to announce a change indeed. 
 Yet point Violante where some solace lay 
 Of a rueful sort, — the taper, quenched so soon, 
 Had ended merely in a snuff, not stink — 
 Congratulate there was one hope the less 
 Not misery the more : and so an end. 
 
 The marriage thus impossible, the rest 
 Followed : our spokesman, Paolo, heard his fate, 
 Resignedly Count Guido bore the blow : 
 Violante wiped away the transient tear. 
 Renounced the playing Danae to gold dreams, 
 
Y8 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Praised much her Pietro's prompt sagaciousness, 
 
 Found neighbors' envy natural, lightly laughed 
 
 At gossips' malice, fairly wrapped herself 
 
 In her integrity three folds about. 
 
 And, letting pass a little day or two, 
 
 Threw, even over that integrity, 
 
 Another wrappage, namely one thick veil 
 
 That hid her, matron-wise, from head to foot. 
 
 And, by the hand holding a girl veiled too. 
 
 Stood, one dim end of a December day. 
 
 In Saint Lorenzo on the altar-step — 
 
 Just where she lies now and that girl will lie — 
 
 Only with fifty candles' company 
 
 Now, in the place of the poor winking one 
 
 Which saw — doors shut and sacristan made sure — 
 
 A priest — perhaps Abate Paolo — wed 
 
 Guido clandestinely, irrevocably 
 
 To his Pompilia aged thirteen years 
 
 And five months, — witness the church register, — 
 
 Pompilia, (thus become Count Guido's wife 
 
 Clandestinely, irrevocably his,) 
 
 Who all the while had borne, from first to last. 
 
 As brisk a part i' the bargain, as yon lamb, 
 
 Brought forth from basket and set out for sale. 
 
 Bears while they chaffer, wary market-man 
 
 And voluble housewife, o'er it, — each in turn 
 
 Patting the curly calm inconscious head, 
 
 With the shambles ready round the corner there. 
 
 When the talk 's talked out and a bargain struck. 
 
 Transfer complete, why, Pietro was apprised. 
 
 Violante sobbed the sobs and prayed the prayers, 
 
 And said the serpent tempted so she fell, 
 
 Till Pietro had to clear his brow apace 
 
 And make the best of matters : wrath at first, — 
 
 How else ? pacification presently. 
 
 Why not? — could flesh withstand the impurpled one, 
 
 The very Cardinal, Paolo's patron-friend ? 
 
 Who, justifiably surnamed " a hinge," 
 
 Knew where the mollifying oil should drop 
 
 To cure the creak o' the valve, — considerate 
 
 For frailty, patient in a naughty world. 
 
 He even volunteered to supervise 
 
 The rough draught of those marriage-articles 
 
 Signed in a hurry by Pietro, since revoked : 
 
 Trust 's politic, suspicion does the harm. 
 
THE OTHER HALF-ROME 79 
 
 There is but one way to browbeat this world, 
 Dumb-founder doubt, and re})ay scorn in kind, — 
 To go on trusting, namely, till faith move 
 Mountains. 
 
 And faith here made the mountains move. 
 Why, friends whose zeal cried " Caution ere too late ! " — 
 Bade " Pause ere jump, with both feet joined, on slough ! " — 
 Counselled '' If rashness then, now temperance ! " — 
 Heard for their pains that Pietro had closed eyes, 
 Jumped and was in the middle of the mire, 
 IVIoney and all, just what should sink a man. 
 By the mere marriage, Guido gained forthwith 
 Dowry, his wife's right ; no rescinding there : 
 But Pietro, why must he needs ratify 
 One gift Violante gave, pay down one doit 
 Promised in first fooFs-flurry ? Grasp the bag 
 Lest the son's service flag, — is reason and rhyme, 
 Above all when the son 's a son-in-law. 
 Words to the wind ! The parents cast their lot 
 Into tlie lap o' the daughter : and the son 
 Now with a right to lie there, took what fell, 
 Pietro's whole having and holding, house and field, 
 Goods, chattels and effects, his worldly worth 
 Present and in perspective, all renounced 
 In favor of Guido. As for the usufruct — 
 The interest now, the principal anon, 
 Would Guido please to wait, at Pietro's death : 
 Till when, he m.ust support the couple's charge, 
 Bear with them, housemates, pensionaries, pawned 
 To a^n alien for fulfilment of their pact. 
 Guido should at discretion deal them orts, 
 Bread-bounty in Arezzo the strange place, — 
 They who had lived deliciously and rolled 
 Rome's choicest comfif'neath the tongue before. 
 Into this quag, " jump " bade the Cardinal ! 
 And neck-deep in a minute there flounced they. 
 
 But they touched bottom at Arezzo : there — 
 
 Four months' experience of how craft and greed. 
 
 Quickened by penury and pretentious hate 
 
 Of plain truth, brutify and besfialize, — 
 
 Four months' taste of apportioned insolence, 
 
 Cruelty graduated, dose by dose 
 
 Of ruffianism dealt out at bed and board. 
 
 And lo, the work was done, success clapped hands. 
 
80 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 The starved, stripped, beaten brace of stupid dupes 
 
 Broke at last in their desperation loose. 
 
 Fled away for their lives, and lucky so ; 
 
 Found their account in casting coat afar 
 
 And bearing off a shred of skin at least : 
 
 Left Guido lord o' the prey, as the lion is, 
 
 And, careless what came after, carried their wrongs 
 
 To Rome, — I nothing doubt, with such remorse 
 
 As folly feels, since pain can make it wise. 
 
 But crime, past wisdom, which is innocence, 
 
 Needs not be plagued with till a later day. 
 
 Pietro went back to beg from door to door, 
 
 In hope that memory not quite extinct 
 
 Of cheery days and festive nights would move 
 
 Friends and acquaintance — after the natural laugh. 
 
 And tributary " Just as we foretold — " 
 
 To show some bowels, give the dregs o' the cup, 
 
 Scraps of the trencher, to their host that was, 
 
 Or let him share the mat with the mastiff, he 
 
 Who lived large and kept open house so long. 
 
 Not so Violante : ever ahead i' the march, 
 
 Quick at the by-road and the cut-across. 
 
 She went first to the best adviser, God — 
 
 Whose finger unmistakably was felt 
 
 In all this retribution of the past. 
 
 Here was the prize of sin, luck of a lie ! 
 
 But here too was the Holy Year would help. 
 
 Bound to rid sinners of sin vulgar, sin 
 
 Abnormal, sin prodigious, up to sin 
 
 Impossible and supposed for Jubilee' sake : 
 
 To lift the leadenest of lies, let soar 
 
 The soul unhampered by a feather-weight. 
 
 I will " said she " go burn out this bad hole 
 
 That breeds the scorpion, balk the plague at least 
 
 Of hope to further plague by progeny : 
 
 I will confess my fault, be punished, yes, 
 
 But pardoned too : Saint Peter pays for all." 
 
 So, with the crowd she mixed, made for the dome, 
 
 Through the great door new-broken for the nonce 
 
 Marched, muffled more than ever matron-wise. 
 
 Up the left nave to the formidable throne. 
 
 Fell into file with tliis the poisoner 
 
 And that the parricide, and reached in turn 
 
 The poor repugnant Penitentiary 
 
 u 
 
THE OTHER HALF-ROME 81 
 
 Set at this gully-hole o' the world's discharge 
 
 To help the frightfiillest of filth have vent, 
 
 And then knelt down and whispered in his ear 
 
 How she had bought Pompilia, palmed the babe 
 
 On Pietro, passed the girl off as their child 
 
 To Guido, and defrauded of his due 
 
 This one and that one, — more than she could name, 
 
 Until her solid piece of wickedness 
 
 Happened to split and spread woe far and wide : 
 
 Contritely now she brought the case for cure. 
 
 Replied the throne — " Ere God forgive the guilt, 
 
 Make man some restitution ! Do your part ! 
 
 The owners of your husband's heritage, 
 
 Barred thence by this pretended birth and heir, — 
 
 Tell them, the bar came so, is broken so. 
 
 Theirs be the due reversion as before ! 
 
 Your husband who, no partner in the guilt. 
 
 Suffers the penalty, led blindfold thus 
 
 By love of what he thought his flesh and blood 
 
 To alienate his all in her behalf, — 
 
 Tell him too such contract is null and void ! 
 
 Last, he who personates your son-in-law, 
 
 Who with sealed eyes and stopped ears, tame and mute, 
 
 Took at your hand that bastard of a whore 
 
 You called your daughter and he calls his wife, — 
 
 Tell liim, and bear the anger which is just ! 
 
 Then, penance so performed, may pardon be ! " 
 
 Who could gainsay this just and right award ? 
 Nobody in the world : but, out o' the world. 
 Who knows ? — might timid intervention be 
 From any makeshift of an angel-guide. 
 Substitute for celestial guardianship, 
 Pretending to take care of the girl's self : 
 Woman, confessing crime is healthy work, 
 And telling truth relieves a liar like you. 
 But how of my quite unconsidered charge ? 
 No thought if, while this good befalls yourself. 
 Aught in the way of harm may find out her ? " 
 No least thought, I assure you : truth being truth, 
 Tell it and shame the devil ! 
 
 Said and done : 
 Home went Violante, disbosomed all : 
 And Pietro who, six months before, had borne 
 
82 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Word after word of such a piece of news 
 Like so much cold steel inched through his breast-blade, 
 Now at its entry gave a leap for joy, 
 As who — what did I say of one in a quag ? — 
 Should catch a hand from heaven and spring thereby 
 Out of the mud, on ten toes stand once more. 
 " What ? All that used to be, may be again ? 
 My money mine again, my house, my land, 
 My chairs and tables, all mine evermore ? 
 What, the girl's dowry never was the girl's, 
 And, unpaid yet, is never now to pay ? 
 Then the girl's self, my pale Pompilia child 
 That used to be my own with her great eyes — 
 He who drove us forth, why should he keep her 
 When proved as very a pauper as himself ? 
 Will she come back, with nothing changed at all. 
 And laugh, ' But how you dreamed uneasily I 
 I saw the great drops stand here on your brow — 
 Did I do wrong to wake you with a kiss ? ' 
 No, indeed, darling ! No, for wide awake 
 I see another outburst of surprise : 
 The lout-lord, bully-beggar, braggart-sneak. 
 Who, not content with cutting purse, crops ear — 
 Assuredly it shall be salve to mine 
 When this great news red-letters him, the rogue ! 
 Ay, let him taste the teeth o' the trap, this fox, 
 Give us our lamb back, golden fleece and all, 
 Let her creep in and warm our breasts again ! 
 Why care for the past ? — we three are our old selves, 
 And know now what the outside world is worth." 
 And so, he carried case before the courts ; 
 And there Violante, blushing to the bone. 
 Made public declaration of her fault. 
 Renounced her motherhood, and prayed the law 
 To interpose, frustrate of its effect 
 Her folly, and redress the injury done. 
 
 Whereof was the disastrous consequence, 
 
 That though indisputably clear the case 
 
 (For thirteen years are not so large a lapse, 
 
 And still six witnesses survived in Rome 
 
 To prove the truth o' the tale) — yet, patent wrong 
 
 Seemed Guido's ; the first cheat had chanced on him r 
 
 Here was the pity that, deciding right. 
 
 Those who began the wrong would gain the prize. 
 
 Giiido pronounced the story one long lie 
 
THE OTHER HALF-ROME 83 
 
 Lied to do robbery and take revenge : 
 
 Or say it were no lie at all but truth, 
 
 Then, it both robbed the right heirs and shamed him 
 
 Without revengfe to humanize the deed : 
 
 What had he done when first they shamed him thus ? 
 
 But that were too fantastic : losels they, 
 
 And leasing this world 's-wonder of a lie, 
 
 They lied to blot him though it brand themselves. 
 
 So answered Guido through the Abate's mouth. 
 Wherefore the court, its customary way. 
 Inclined to the middle course the sage affect. 
 They held the child to be a changeling, — good : 
 But, lest the husband got no good thereby. 
 They willed the dowry, though not hers at all. 
 Should yet be his, if no^ by right then grace — 
 Part-payment for the ])lain injustice done. 
 As for that other contract, Pietro's work. 
 Renunciation of his own estate, 
 That must be cancelled — give him back his gifts, 
 He was no party to the cheat at least ! 
 So ran the judgment : — whence a prompt appeal 
 On both sides, seeing right is absolute. 
 Cried Pietro, " Is the child no child of mine ? 
 • Why give her a child's dowry ? " — " Have I right 
 To the dowry, why not to the rest as well ? " 
 Cried Guido, or cried Paolo in his name : 
 Till law said, " Reinvestigate the case I " 
 And so the matter pends, to this same day. 
 
 Hence new disaster — here no outlet seemed : 
 Whatever the fortune of the battlefield. 
 No path whereby the fatal man might march 
 Victorious, wreath on head and spoils in hand, 
 And back turned full upon the baffled foe, — 
 Nor cranny whence, desperate and disgraced. 
 Stripped to the skin, he might be fain to crawl 
 Worm-like, and so away with his defeat 
 To other fortune and a novel prey. 
 No, he was pinned to the place there, left alone 
 With his immense hate and, the solitary 
 Subject to satisfy that hate, his wife. 
 " Cast her off ? Turn her naked out of doors ? 
 Easily said ! But still the action pends, 
 Still dowry, principal and interest, 
 Pietro's possessions, all I bargained for, — 
 
84 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Any good day, be but my friends alert, 
 
 May give them me if she continue mine. 
 
 Yet, keep her ? Keep the puppet of my foes — 
 
 Her voice that lisps me back their curse — her eye 
 
 They lend their leer of triumph to — her lip 
 
 I touch and taste their very hlth upon ? " 
 
 In short, he also took the middle course 
 
 Rome taught him — did at last excogitate 
 
 How he might keep the good and leave the bad 
 
 Twined in revenge, yet extricable, — nay 
 
 Make the very hate's eruption, very rush 
 
 Of the unpent sluice of cruelty relieve 
 
 His heart fii'st, then go fertilize his field. 
 
 What if the girl-wife, tortured with due care, 
 
 Should take, as though spontaneously, the road 
 
 It were impolitic to thrust her on ? 
 
 If, goaded, she broke out in full revolt, 
 
 Followed her parents i' the face o' the world, 
 
 Branded as runaway not castaway, 
 
 Self-sentenced and self-punished in the act ? 
 
 So should the loathed form and detested face 
 
 Launch themselves into hell and there be lost 
 
 While he looked o'er the brink with folded arras ; 
 
 So should the heaped-up shames go shuddering back 
 
 O' the head o' the heapers, Pietro and his wife, 
 
 And bury in the breakage three at once : 
 
 While Guido, left free, no one right renounced, 
 
 Gain present, gain prospective, all the gain, 
 
 None of the wife except her rights absorbed. 
 
 Should ask law what it was law paused about — 
 
 If law were dubious still whose word to take, 
 
 The husband's — dignified and derelict. 
 
 Or the. wife's — the . . . what I tell you. It should be. 
 
 Guido's first step was to take pen, indite 
 
 A letter to the Abate, — not his own, 
 
 His wife's, — she should re-write, sign, seal and send. 
 
 She liberally told the household-news, 
 
 Rejoiced her vile progenitors were gone, 
 
 Revealed their malice — how they even laid 
 
 A last injunction on her, when they fled, 
 
 That she should forthwith find a paramour, 
 
 Complot with him to gather spoil enough. 
 
 Then burn the house down, — taking previous care 
 
 To poison all its inmates overnight, — 
 
THE OTHER HALF-ROME 85 
 
 And so companioned, so provisioned too, 
 Follow to Rome and there join fortunes gay. 
 This letter, traced in pencil-characters, 
 Guido as easily got retraced in ink 
 By his wife's pen, guided from end to end, 
 As if it had been just so much Chinese. 
 For why ? That wife could broider, sing perhaps, 
 Pray certainly, but no more read than write 
 This letter, '"■ which yet write she must," he said, 
 " Being half courtesy and compliment. 
 Half sisterliness : take the thing on trust! " 
 She had as readily retraced the words 
 Of her own death-warrant, — in some sort 't was so. 
 This letter the Abate in due course 
 Communicated to such curious souls 
 In Rome as needs must pry into the cause 
 Of quarrel, why the Comparini fled 
 The Franceschini, whence the grievance grew, 
 What the hubbub meant : " Nay, — see the wife's own word, 
 Authentic answer ! Tell detractors too 
 There 's a plan formed, a programme figured here 
 — Pray God no after-practice put to proof, 
 This letter cast no light upon, one day ! " 
 
 So much for what should work in Rome : back now 
 
 To Arezzo, follow up the project there. 
 
 Forward the next step with as bold a foot, 
 
 And plague Pompilia to the height, you see ! 
 
 Accordingly did Guido set himself 
 
 To worry up and down, across, around. 
 
 The woman, hemmed in by her household-bars, — 
 
 Chase her about the coop of daily life. 
 
 Having first stopped each outlet thence save one. 
 
 Which, like bird with a ferret in her haunt. 
 
 She needs must seize as sole way of escape 
 
 Though there was tied and twittering a decoy 
 
 To seem as if it tempted, — just the plume 
 
 O' the popinjay, not a real respite there 
 
 From tooth and claw of something in the dark, — 
 
 Giuseppe Caponsacchi. 
 
 Now begins 
 The tenebrific passage of the tale : 
 How hold a li^ht, display the cavern's gorge ? 
 How, in this phase of the affair, show truth ? 
 Here is the dying wife who smiles and says 
 
86 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 " So it was, — so it was not, — how it was, 
 I never knew nor ever care to know — " 
 Till they all weej), physician, man of law, 
 Even that poor old bit of battered brass 
 Beaten out of all shape by the world's sins, 
 Common utensil of the lazar-house — 
 Confessor Celestino groans " 'T is truth. 
 All truth and only truth : there 's something here, 
 Some presence in the room beside us all, 
 Something that every lie expires before : 
 No question she was pure from first to last." 
 So far is well and helps us to believe : 
 But beyond, she the helpless, simple-sweet 
 Or silly-sooth, unskilled to break one blow 
 At her good fame by putting finger forth, — 
 How can she render service to the truth ? 
 The bird says " So I fluttered where a springe 
 Caught me : the springe did not contrive itself. 
 That I know : who contrived it, God forgive ! " 
 But we, who hear no voice and have dry eyes. 
 Must ask, — we cannot else, absolving her, — 
 How of the part played by that same decoy 
 I' the catching, caging ? Was himself caught first ? 
 We deal here with no innocent at least. 
 No witless victim, — he 's a man of the age 
 And priest beside, — persuade the mocking world 
 Mere charity boiled over in this sort ! 
 He whose own safety too, — (the Pope 's apprised — 
 Good-natured with the secular offence. 
 The Pope looks grave on j)riesthood in a scrape) — 
 Our. priest's own safety therefore, maybe life, 
 Hangs on the issue ! You will find it hard. 
 Guido is here to meet you with fixed foot, 
 Stiff like a statue — " Leave what went before ! 
 My wife fled i' the company of a priest. 
 Spent two days and two nights alone with him : 
 Leave what came after ! " He stands hard to throw. 
 Moreover priests are merely flesh and blood ; 
 When we get weakness, and no guilt beside, 
 'T is no such great ill-fortune : finding gray, 
 We gladly call that white which might be black, 
 Too used to the double-dye. So, if the priest, 
 Moved by Pompilia's youth and beauty, gave 
 Way to the natural weakness . . . Anyhow, 
 Here be facts, charactery ; what they spell 
 Determine, and thence pick what sense you may ! 
 
THE OTHEB. HALF-ROME 87 
 
 There was a certain young bold handsome priest 
 
 Popular in the city, far and wide 
 
 Famed, since Arezzo 's but a little place, 
 
 As the best of good companions, gay and grave 
 
 At the decent minute ; settled in his stall, 
 
 Or sidling, lute on lap, by lady's couch, 
 
 Ever the courtly Canon : see in him 
 
 A proper star to climb and culminate, 
 
 Have its due handbreadth of the heaven at Rome, 
 
 Though meanwhile pausing on Arezzo's edge, 
 
 As modest candle does 'mid mountain fog, 
 
 To rub off redness and rusticity 
 
 Ere it sweep chastened, gain the silver-sphere ! 
 
 Whether through Guido's absence or what else, 
 
 This Caponsacchi, favorite of the town, 
 
 Was yet no friend of his nor free o' the house, 
 
 Thouo'h both moved in the re^rular majjnates' march : 
 
 Each must observe the other's tread and halt 
 
 At church, saloon, theatre, house of play. 
 
 Who could help noticing the husband's slouch. 
 
 The black of his brow — or miss the news that buzzed 
 
 Of how the little solitary wife 
 
 Wept and looked out of window all day long ? 
 
 What need of minute search into such springs 
 
 As start men, set o' the move ? — machinery 
 
 Old as earth, obvious as the noonday sun. 
 
 Why, take men as they come, — an instance now, — 
 
 Of all those who have simply gone to see 
 
 Pompilia on her deathbed since four days. 
 
 Half at the least are, call it how you please. 
 
 In love with her — I don't except the priests 
 
 Nor even the old confessor whose eyes run 
 
 Over at what he styles his sister's voice 
 
 Who died so early and weaned him from the world. 
 
 Well, had they viewed her ere the paleness pushed 
 
 The last o' the red o' the rose away, while yet 
 
 Some hand, adventurous 'twixt the wind and her. 
 
 Might let shy life run back and raise the flower 
 
 Rich with reward up to the guardian's face, — 
 
 Would they have kept that hand emj^loyed all day 
 
 At fumbling on with prayer-book pages ? No ! 
 
 Men are men : why then need I say one word 
 
 More than that our mere man the Canon here 
 
 Saw, pitied, loved Pompilia? 
 
 This is why ; 
 This startling why : that Caponsacchi's self — 
 
88 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Whom foes and friends alike avouch, for good 
 
 Or ill, a man of truth whate'er betide, 
 
 Intrepid altogether, reckless too 
 
 How his own fame and fortune, tossed to the winds, 
 
 Suffer by any turn the adventure take, 
 
 Nay, more — not thrusting, like a badge to hide, 
 
 'Twixt shirt and skin a joy which shown is shame — 
 
 But flirting flag-like i' the face o' the world 
 
 This tell-tale kerchief, this consjDicuous love 
 
 For the lady, — oh, called innocent love, I know ! 
 
 Only, such scarlet fiery innocence 
 
 As most folk would try muffle up in shade, — 
 
 — 'Tis strangle then that this else abashless mouth 
 
 Should yet maintain, for truth's sake which is God's, 
 
 That it was not he made the first advance. 
 
 That, even ere word had passed between the two, 
 
 Pompilia penned him letters, passionate prayers, 
 
 If not love, then so simulating love 
 
 That he, no novice to the taste of thyme, 
 
 Turned from such over-luscious honey-clot 
 
 At end o' the flower, and would not lend his lip 
 
 Till . . . but the tale here frankly outsoars faith : 
 
 There must be falsehood somewhere. For her part, 
 
 Pompilia quietly constantly avers 
 
 She never penned a letter in her life 
 
 Nor to the Canon nor any other man, 
 
 Being incompetent to write and read : 
 
 Nor had she ever uttered word to him, nor he 
 
 To her till that same evening when they met, 
 
 She on her window-terrace, he beneath 
 
 I' the public street, as was their fateful chance, 
 
 And she adjured him in the name of God 
 
 To find out, bring to pass where, when and how 
 
 Escape with him to Rome might be contrived. 
 
 Means were found, plan laid, time fixed, she avers, 
 
 And heart assured to heart in loyalty. 
 
 All at an impulse ! All extemporized 
 
 As in romance-books I Is that credible ? 
 
 Well, yes : as she avers this with calm mouth 
 
 Dying, I do think " Credible ! " you 'd cry — 
 
 Did not the priest's voice come to break the spell. 
 
 They questioned him apart, as the custom is. 
 
 When first the matter made a noise at Rome, 
 
 And he, calm, constant then as she is now. 
 
 For truth's sake did assert and reassert 
 
 Those letters called him to her and he came, 
 
THE OTHER HALF-ROME 
 
 89 
 
 Which damns the story credible otherwise. 
 
 Why should this man, — mad to devote himself, 
 Careless what comes of his own fame, the first, — 
 Be studious thus to publish and declare 
 Just what the lightest nature loves to hide, 
 So screening lady from the byword's laugh 
 ' First spoke the lady, last the cavalier ! " 
 
 I say, — why should the man tell truth just now 
 
 When gracefullying meets such ready shrift? 
 
 Or is there a first moment for a priest 
 
 As for a woman, when invaded shame 
 
 Must have its first and last excuse to show ? 
 
 Do both contrive love's entry in the mind 
 
 Shall look, i' the manner of it, a surprise. 
 
 That after, once the flag o' the fort hauled down, 
 
 Effrontery may sink drawbridge, open gate. 
 
 Welcome and entertain the conqueror ? 
 
 Or what do you say to a touch of the devil's worst ? 
 
 Can it be that the husband, he who wrote 
 
 The letter to his brother I told you of, 
 
 I' the name of her it meant to eliminate, — 
 
 What if he wrote those letters to the priest ? 
 
 Further the priest says, when it first befell, 
 
 This folly o" the letters, that he checked the flow. 
 
 Put them back lightly each with its reply. 
 
 Here again vexes new discrepancy : 
 
 There never reached her eye a word from hini ; 
 
 He did write but she could not read — could just 
 
 Burn the offence to wifehood, womanhood, 
 
 So did burn : never bade him come to her, 
 
 Yet when it proved he must come, let him come, 
 
 And when he did come though uncalled, — why, spoke 
 
 Prompt by an inspiration : thus it chanced. 
 
 Will you go somewhat back to understand ? 
 
 When first, pursuant to his plan, there sprang. 
 
 Like an uncaged beast, Guido's cruelty 
 
 On soul and body of his wife, she ciied 
 
 To those whom law appoints resource for such, 
 
 The secular guardian, — that 's the Governor, 
 
 And the Archbishop, — that 's the spiritual guide, 
 
 And prayed them take the claws from out her flesh. 
 
 Now, this is ever the ill consequence 
 
 Of being noble, poor and difficult. 
 
 Ungainly, yet too great to disregard, — 
 
 This — that born peers and friends hereditary, — 
 
90 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Though disinclined to help from their own store 
 
 The opprobrious wight, put penny in his poke 
 
 From private purse or leave the door ajar 
 
 When he goes wistful by at dinner-time, — 
 
 Yet, if his needs conduct him. where they sit 
 
 Smugly in office, judge this, bishop that, 
 
 Dispensers of the shine and shade o' the place — 
 
 And if, friend's door shut and friend's purse undrawn, 
 
 Still potentates may find the office-seat 
 
 Do as good service at no cost — give help 
 
 By-the-bye, pay up traditional dues at once 
 
 Just through a feather-weight too much i' the scale, 
 
 Or finger-tip forgot at the balance-tongue. 
 
 Why, only churls refuse, or Molinists. 
 
 Thus when, in the first roughness of surprise 
 
 At Guido's wolf-face whence the sheepskin fell. 
 
 The frightened couple, all bewilderment, 
 
 Rushed to the Governor, — who else rights wrong ? 
 
 Told him their tale of wrong and craved redress — 
 
 Why, then the Governor woke up to the fact 
 
 That Guido was a friend of old, poor Count ! — 
 
 So, promptly paid his tribute, promised the pair. 
 
 Wholesome chastisement should soon cure their qualms 
 
 Next time they came, wept, prated and told lies : 
 
 So stopped all prating, sent them dumb to Rome. 
 
 Well, now it was Pompilia's turn to try : 
 The troubles pressing on her, as I said. 
 Three times she rushes!, maddened by misery, 
 To the other mighty man, sobbed out her prayer 
 At footstool of the Archbishop — fast the friend 
 Of her husband also ! Oh, good friends of yore I 
 So, the Archbishop, not to be outdone 
 By the Governor, break custom more than he. 
 Thrice bade the foolish woman stop her tongue. 
 Unloosed her hands from harassing his gout. 
 Coached her and carried her to the Count again, 
 — His old friend should be master in his house. 
 Rule his wife and correct her faults at need I 
 Well, driven from post to pillar in this wise, 
 She, as a last resource, betook herself 
 To one, should be no family-friend at least, 
 A simple friar o' the city ; confessed to him, 
 * Then told how fierce temptation of release 
 By self-dealt death was busy with her soul. 
 And urged that he put this in words, write plain 
 For one who could not write, set down her prayer 
 
THE OTHER HALF-ROME 91 
 
 That Pietro and Violante, parent-like 
 
 If somehow not her parents, should for love 
 
 Come save her, pluck from out the flame the brand 
 
 Themselves had thoughtlessly thrust in so deep 
 
 To send gay-colored sparkles up and cheer 
 
 Their seat at the chimney-corner. The good friar 
 
 Promised as much at the moment ; but, alack, 
 
 Night brings discretion : he was no one's friend, 
 
 Yet presently found he could not turn about 
 
 Nor take a step i' the case and fail to tread 
 
 On some one's toe who either was a friend, 
 
 Or a friend's friend, or friend's friend thrice-removed. 
 
 And woe to friar by whom offences come ! 
 
 So, the course being plain, — with a general sigh 
 
 At matrimony the profound mistake, — 
 
 He threw reluctantly the business up, 
 
 Having his other penitents to mind. 
 
 If then, all outlets thus secured save one, 
 At last she took to the open, stood and stared 
 With her wan face to see where God might wait — 
 And there found Caponsacchi wait as well 
 For the precious something at perdition's edge, 
 He only was predestinate to save, — 
 And if they recognized in a critical flash 
 From the zenith, each the other, her need of him, 
 His need of . . . say, a woman to perish for, 
 The regular way o' the world, yet break no vow. 
 Do no harm save to himself, — if this were thus ? 
 How do you say ? It were improbable ; 
 So is the legend of my patron-saint. 
 
 Anyhow, whether, as Guido states the case, 
 Pompilia, — like a starving wretch i' the street 
 Who stops and rifles the first passenger 
 In the great right of an excessive wrong, — 
 Did somehow call this stranger and he came, — 
 Or whether the strange sudden interview 
 Blazed as when star and star must needs go close 
 Till each hurts each and there is loss in heaven — 
 Whatever way in this strange world it was, — 
 Pompilia and Caponsacchi met, in fine. 
 She at her window, he i' the street beneath, 
 And understood each other at first look. 
 
 All was determined and performed at once. 
 And on a certain April evening, late 
 
92 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 I' the month, this girl of sixteen, bride and wife 
 
 Three years and over, — she who hitherto 
 
 Had never taken twenty steps in Rome 
 
 Beyond the church, pinned to her mother's gown, 
 
 Nor, in Arezzo, knew her way through street 
 
 Except what led to the Archbishop's door, — 
 
 Such an one rose up in the dark, laid hand 
 
 On what came first, clothes and a trinket or two, 
 
 Belongings of her own in the old day, — 
 
 Stole from the side o' the sleeping spouse — who knows ? 
 
 Sleeping perhaps, silent for certain, — slid 
 
 Ghost-like from great dark room to great dark room, 
 
 In through the tapestries and out again 
 
 And onward, unembarrassed as a fate, 
 
 Descended staircase, gained last door of all, 
 
 Sent it wide open at first push of palm. 
 
 And there stood, first time, last and only time, 
 
 At liberty, alone in the open street, — 
 
 Unquestioned, unmolested found herself 
 
 At the city gate, by Caponsacchi's side, 
 
 Hope there, joy there, life and all good again, 
 
 The carriage there, the convoy there, light there 
 
 Broadening ever into blaze at Rome 
 
 And breaking small what long miles lay between ; 
 
 Up she sprang, in he followed, they were safe. 
 
 The husband quotes this for incredible, 
 All of the story from first word to last : 
 Sees the priest's hand throughout upholding hers, 
 Traces his foot to the alcove, that night, 
 Whither and whence blindfold he knew the way. 
 Proficient in all craft and stealthiness ; 
 And cites for proof a servant, eye that watched 
 And ear that opened to purse secrets up, 
 A woman-spy, — suborned to give and take 
 Letters and tokens, do the work of shame 
 Tlie more adroitly that herself, who helped 
 Communion thus between a tainted pair, 
 Had long since been a leper thick in spot, 
 A common trull o' the town : she witnessed all. 
 Helped many meetings, partings, took her wage 
 And then told Guido the whole matter. Lies ! 
 The woman's life confutes her word, — her word 
 Confutes itself : " Thus, thus and thus I lied." 
 *' And thus, no question, still you lie," we say. 
 
THE OTHER HALF-ROME 93 
 
 " Ay, but at last, e'en have it how you will, 
 
 Whatever the means, whatever the way, explodes 
 
 The consummation " — the accusers shriek : 
 " Here is the wife avowedly found in flight, 
 
 And the companion of her flight, a priest ; 
 
 She flies her husband, he the church his spouse : 
 
 What is this ? " 
 
 Wife and priest alike reply, 
 " This is the simple thing it claims to be, 
 A course we took for life and honor's sake, 
 Very strange, very justifiable." 
 She says, " God put it in my head to fly, 
 As when the martin migrates : autumn claps 
 Her hands, cries ' Winter 's coming, will be here, 
 Off with you ere the white teeth overtake ! 
 Flee I ' So I fled : this friend was the warm day, 
 The south wind and whatever favors flight ; 
 I took the favor, had the help, how else ? 
 And so we did fly rapidly all night, 
 All day, all night — a longer night — again. 
 And then another day, longest of days. 
 And all the wliile, whether we fled or stopped, 
 I scarce know how or why, one thought filled both, 
 
 * Fly and arrive ! ' So long as I found strength 
 I talked with my companion, told him much, 
 Knowing that he knew more, knew me, knew God 
 And God's disposal of me, — but the sense 
 O' the blessed flight absorbed me in the main. 
 And speech became mere talking through a sleep, 
 Till at the end of that last longest night 
 In a red daybreak, when we reached an inn 
 And my companion whispered ' Next stage — Rome ! ' 
 Sudden the weak flesh fell like piled-up cards. 
 All the frail fabric at a finger's touch, 
 And prostrate the poor soul too, and I said, 
 
 ' But though Count Guido were a furlong off. 
 Just on me, I must stop and rest awhile I ' 
 Then something like a huge white wave o' the sea 
 Broke o'er my brain and buried ma in sleef) 
 Blessedly, till it ebbed and left me loose, 
 And where was I found but on a strange bed 
 In a strange room like hell, roaring with noise, 
 Ruddy with flame, and filled with men, in front 
 Who but the man you call my husband ? ay — 
 Count Guido once more between heaven and me, 
 
94 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 For there my heaven stood, my salvation, yes — 
 
 That Caponsacchi all my heaven of help. 
 
 Helpless himself, held prisoner in the hands 
 
 Of men who looked up in my husband's face 
 
 To take the fate thence he should signify, 
 
 Just as the way was at Arezzo. Then, 
 
 Not for my sake but his who had helped me — 
 
 1 sprang up, reached him with one bound, and seized 
 
 The sword o' the felon, trembling at his side, 
 
 Fit creature of a coward, unsheathed the thing 
 
 And would have pinned him through the poison-bag 
 
 To the wall and left him there to palpitate, 
 
 As you serve scorpions, but men interposed — 
 
 Disarmed me, gave his life to him again 
 
 That he might take mine and the other lives ; 
 
 And he has done so. I submit myself ! " 
 
 The priest says — oh, and in the main result 
 
 The facts asseverate, he truly says, 
 
 As to the very act and deed of him, 
 
 However you mistrust the mind o' the man — 
 
 The flight was just for flight's sake, no pretext 
 
 For aught except to set Pompilia free. 
 
 He says, " I cite the husband's self's worst charge 
 
 In proof of my best word for both of us. 
 
 Be it conceded that so many times 
 
 We took our pleasure in his palace : then. 
 
 What need to fly at all ? — or flying no less, 
 
 What need to outrage the lips sick and white 
 
 Of a woman, and bring ruin down beside. 
 
 By halting when Rome lay one stage beyond ? " 
 
 So does he vindicate Pompilia's fame. 
 
 Confirm her story in all points but one — 
 
 This ; that, so fleeing and so breathing forth 
 
 Her last strength in the prayer to halt awhile. 
 
 She makes confusion of the reddening white 
 
 Which was the sunset when her strength gave way, 
 
 And the next sunrise and its whitening red 
 
 Which she revived in when her husband came : 
 
 She mixes both times, morn and eve, in one. 
 
 Having lived through a blank of night 'twixt each 
 
 Though dead-asleep, unaware as a corpse. 
 
 She on the bed above ; her friend below 
 
 Watched in the doorway of the inn the while, 
 
 Stood i' the red o' the morn, that she mistakes, 
 
 In act to rouse and quicken the tardy crew 
 
 And hurry out the horses, have the stage 
 
THE OTHER HALF-ROME 95. 
 
 Over, the last league, reach Rome and be safe : 
 When up came Guido. 
 
 Guide's tale begins — 
 How he and his whole household, drunk to death 
 By some enchanted potion, popi)ied drugs 
 Plied by the wife, lay powerless in gross sleep 
 And left the spoilers unimpeded way, 
 Could not shake off their poison and pursue, 
 Till noontide, then made shift to get on horse 
 And did pursue : which means he took his time, 
 Pressed on no more than lingered after, step 
 By step, just making sure o' the fugitives, 
 Till at the nick of time, he saw his chance. 
 Seized it, came up with and surprised the pair. 
 How he must needs have gnawn lip and gnashed teeth. 
 Taking successively at tower and town, 
 Village and roadside, still the same report, 
 " Yes, such a pair arrived an hour ago. 
 Sat in the carriage just where now you stand. 
 While we got horses ready, — turned deaf ear 
 To all entreaty they would even alight ; 
 Counted the minutes and resumed their course." 
 Would they indeed escape, arrive at Rome, 
 Leave no least loop-hole to let murder through, 
 But foil him of his captured infamy. 
 Prize of guilt proved and perfect ? So it seemed : 
 Till, oh the happy chance, at last stage, Rome 
 But two short hours off, Castelnuovo reached, 
 The guardian angel gave reluctant place, 
 Satan stepped forward with alacrity, 
 Pompilia's flesh and blood succumbed, perforce 
 A halt was, and her husband had his will. 
 Perdue he couched, counted out hour by hour 
 Till he should spy in the east a signal-streak — 
 Night had been, morrow was, triumph would be. 
 Do ycu see the plan deliciously complete ? 
 The rush upon the unsuspecting sleep. 
 The easy execution, the outcry 
 Over the deed, '' Take notice all the world ! 
 These two dead bodies, locked still in embrace, — 
 The man is Caponsacchi and a priest, 
 The woman is my wife : they fled me late. 
 Thus have I found and you behold them thus. 
 And may judge me : do you approve or no ? " 
 
 Success did seem not so improbable, 
 
 But that already Satan's laugh was heard, 
 
96 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 His black back turned on Giiido — left i' the lurch, 
 
 Or rather, balked of suit and service now, 
 
 Left to improve on both by one deed more, 
 
 Burn up the better at no distant day, 
 
 Body and soul one holocaust to hell. 
 
 Anyhow, of this natural consequence 
 
 Did just the last link of the long chain snap : 
 
 For an eruption was o' the priest, alive 
 
 And' alert, calm, resolute and formidable. 
 
 Not the least look of fear in that broad brow — 
 
 One not to be disposed of by surprise. 
 
 And armed moreover — who had guessed as much ? 
 
 Yes, there stood he in secular costume 
 
 Comj)lete from head to heel, with sword at side, 
 
 He seemed to know the trick of perfectly. 
 
 There was no prompt suppression of the man 
 
 As he said calmly, " I have saved your wife 
 
 From death ; there was no other way but this ; 
 
 Of what do I defraud you except death ? 
 
 Charge any wrong beyond, I answer it." 
 
 Guido, the valorous, had met his match, 
 
 "Was forced to demand help instead of fight. 
 
 Bid the authorities o' the place lend aid 
 
 And make the best of a broken matter so. 
 
 They soon obeyed the summons — I suppose, 
 
 Apprised and ready, or not far to seek — 
 
 Laid hands on Caponsacchi, found in fault, 
 
 A priest yet flagrantly accoutred thus, — 
 
 Then, to make good Count Guido's further charge, 
 
 Proceeded, prisoner made lead the way, 
 
 In a crowd, upstairs to the chamber-door. 
 
 Where wax-white, dead asleep, deep beyond dream, 
 
 As the priest laid her, lay Pompilia yet. 
 
 And as he mounted step and step with the crowd 
 How I see Guido takinjr heart aerain ! 
 He knew his wife so well and the way of her — 
 How at the outbreak she would shroud her shame 
 In hell's heart, would it mercifully yawn — 
 How, failing that, her forehead to his foot. 
 She would crouch silent till the great doom fell. 
 Leave him triumphant with the crowd to see 
 Guilt motionless or writhinof like a worm ! 
 No ! Second misadventure, this worm turned, 
 I told you : would have slain him on the spot 
 With his own weapon, but they seized her hands : 
 
THE OTHER HALF-ROME 97 
 
 Leaving her tongue free, as it tolled the knell 
 
 Of Guido's hope so lively late. The past 
 
 Took quite another shape now. She who shrieked 
 
 " At least and forever I am mine and God's, 
 Thanks to his liberating angel Death — 
 Never again degraded to be yours 
 The ignoble noble, the unmanly man, 
 The beast below the beast in brutishness ! " — 
 This was the froward child, " the restif lamb 
 Used to be cherished in his breast," he groaned — 
 
 " Eat from his hand and drink from out his cup, 
 The while his fingers pushed their loving way 
 Through curl on curl of that soft coat — alas, 
 And she all silverly baaed gratitude 
 While meditating mischief ! " — and so forth. 
 He must invent another story now ! 
 The ins and outs o' the rooms were searched : he found 
 Or showed for found the abominable prize — 
 Love-letters from his wife who cannot write, 
 Love-letters in reply o' the priest — thank God ! — 
 Who can write and confront his character 
 With this, and prove the false thing forged throughout : 
 Spitting whereat, he needs must spatter whom 
 But Guido's self ? — that forged and falsified 
 One letter called Pomj^ilia's, past dispute : 
 Then why not these to make sure still more sure ? 
 
 So was the case concluded then and there : 
 
 Guido preferred his charges in due form. 
 
 Called on the law to adjudicate, consigned 
 
 The accused ones to the Prefect of the place. 
 
 (Oh mouse-birth of that mountain-like revenge !) 
 
 And so to his own place betook himself 
 
 After the spring that failed, — the wildcat's way. 
 
 The captured parties were conveyed to Rome ; 
 
 Investigation followed here i' the court — 
 
 Soon to review the fruit of its own work, 
 
 From then to now being eight months and no more. 
 
 Guido kept out of sight and safe at home : 
 
 The Abate, brother Paolo, helped most 
 
 At words when deeds were out of question, pushed 
 
 Nearest the purple, best played deputy, 
 
 So, pleaded, Guido's representative 
 
 At the court shall soon try Guido's self, — what 's more, 
 
 The court that also took — I told you, Sir — 
 
 That statement of the couple, how a cheat 
 
98 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Had been i' the birth of the babe, no child of theirs. 
 That was the 2)relude ; this, the play's first act : 
 Whereof we wait what comes, crown, close of all. 
 
 Well, the result was something of a shade 
 
 On the parties thus accused, — how otherwise ? 
 
 Shade, but with shine as unmistakable. 
 
 Each had a prompt defence : Pompilia first — 
 
 " Earth was made hell to me who did no harm : 
 I only could emerge one way from hell 
 By catching at the one hand held me, so 
 I caught at it and thereby stepped to heaven : 
 If that be wrong, do with me what you will ! " 
 Then Caponsacchi with a grave grand sweep 
 O' the arm as though his soul warned baseness off — 
 
 "If as a man, then much more as a priest 
 I hold me bound to help weak innocence : 
 If so my worldly reputation burst. 
 Being the bubble it is, why, burst it may : 
 Blame I can bear though not blameworthiness. 
 But use your sense first, see if the miscreant proved, 
 The man who tortured thus the woman, thus 
 Have not both laid the trap and fixed the lure 
 Over the pit should bury body and soul ! 
 His facts are lies : his letters are the fact — 
 An infiltration flavored with himself ! 
 As for the fancies — whether . . . what is it you say ? 
 The lady loves me, whether I love her 
 In the forbidden sense of your surmise, — 
 If, with the mid-day blaze of truth above. 
 The unlidded eye of God awake, aware. 
 You needs must pry about and trace the birth 
 Of each stray beam of light may traverse night, 
 To the night's sun that 's Lucifer himself. 
 Do so, at other time, in other place. 
 Not now nor here ! Enough that first to last 
 I never touched her lip nor she my hand, 
 Nor either of us thought a thought, much less 
 Spoke a word which the Virgin might not hear. 
 Be such your question, thus I answer it." 
 
 Then the court had to make its mind up, spoke. 
 " It is a thorny question, yea, a tale 
 Hard to believe, but not impossible : 
 Who can be absolute for either side ? 
 A middle course is happily open yet. 
 
THE OTHER HALF-ROME 99 
 
 Here has a blot surprised the social blank, — 
 
 Whether through favor, feebleness or fault, 
 
 No matter, leprosy has touched our robe 
 
 And we unclean must needs be purified. 
 
 Here is a wife makes holiday from home, 
 
 A priest caught playing truant to his church, 
 
 In masquerade moreov er : both allege 
 
 Enough excuse to stop our lifted scourge 
 
 Which else would heavily fall. On the other hand, 
 
 Here is a husband, ay and man of mark, 
 
 Who comes complaining here, demands redress 
 
 As if he were tiie pattern of desert — 
 
 The while those plaguy allegations frown. 
 
 Forbid we grant him the redress he seeks. 
 
 To all men be our moderation known ! 
 
 Rewarding none while compensating each. 
 
 Hurting all round though harming nobody, 
 
 Husband, wife, priest, scot-free not one shall 'scape. 
 
 Yet priest, wife, husband, boast the unbroken head 
 
 From application of our excellent oil : 
 
 So that, whatever be the fact, in fine, 
 
 We make no miss of justice in a sort. 
 
 First, let the husband stomach as he may, 
 
 His wife shall neither be returned him, no — 
 
 Nor branded, whipped and caged, but just consigned 
 
 To a convent and the quietude she craves ; 
 
 So is he rid of his domestic plague : 
 
 What better thing can happen to a man ? 
 
 Next, let the priest retire — unshent, unshamed, 
 
 Unpunished as for perpetrating crime, 
 
 But relegated (not imprisoned. Sirs !) 
 
 Sent for three years to clarify his youth 
 
 At Civita, a rest by tlie way to Rome : 
 
 There let his life skim off its last of lees 
 
 Nor keep tliis dubious color. Judged the cause : 
 
 All parties may retire, content, we ho]]e." 
 
 That 's Rome's way, the traditional road of law ; 
 
 Wliither it leads is what remains to tell. 
 
 The priest went to his relegation-place, 
 
 The wife to her convent, brother Paolo 
 
 To the arms of brother Guide with the news 
 
 And this beside — his charge was countercharged ; 
 
 The Comparini, his old brace of hates, 
 
 Were breathed and vigilant and venomous now — 
 
 Had shot a second bolt where the first stuck, 
 
100 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 And followed up the pending dowry-suit 
 
 By a procedure should release the wife 
 
 From so much of the marriage-bond as barred 
 
 Escape when Guido turned the screw too much 
 
 On his wife's flesh and blood, as husband may. 
 
 No more defence, she turned and made attack, 
 
 Claimed now divorce from bed and board, in short : 
 
 Pleaded such subtle strokes of cruelty, 
 
 Such slow sure siege laid to her body and soul, 
 
 As, proved, — and proofs seemed coming thick and fast, -^ 
 
 Would gain both freedom and the dowry back 
 
 Even should the first suit leave them in his grasp : 
 
 So urged the Comjiarini for the wife. 
 
 Guido had gained not one of the good things 
 
 He grasped at by his creditable plan 
 
 O' the flight and following and the rest : the suit 
 
 That smouldered late was fanned to fury new. 
 
 This adjunct came to help with fiercer fire, 
 
 While he had got himself a quite new plague — 
 
 Found the world's face an universal grin 
 
 At this last best of the Hundred Merry Tales 
 
 Of how a young and spritely clerk devised 
 
 To carry off a spouse that moped too much, 
 
 And cured her of the vapors in a trice : 
 
 And how the husband, playing Vulcan's part, 
 
 Told by the Sun, started in hot pursuit 
 
 To catch the lovers, and came halting up, 
 
 Cast his net, and then called the Gods to see 
 
 The convicts in their rosy impudence — 
 
 Whereat said Mercury " Would that I were Mars ! " 
 
 Oh it was rare, and naughty all the same ! 
 
 Brief, the wife's courage and cunning, — the priest's show 
 
 Of chivalry and adroitness, — last not least. 
 
 The husband — how he ne'er showed teeth at all. 
 
 Whose bark had promised biting ; but just sneaked 
 
 Back to his kennel, tail 'twixt legs, as 't were, — 
 
 All this was hard to gulp down and digest. 
 
 So pays the devil his liegeman, brass for gold. 
 
 But this was at Arezzo : here in Rome 
 
 Brave Paolo bore up against it all — 
 
 Battled it out, nor wanting to himself 
 
 Nor Guido nor the House whose weight he bore 
 
 Pillar-like, by no force of arm but brain. 
 
 He knew his Rome, what wheels to set to work ; 
 
 Plied influential folk, pressed to the ear 
 
 Of the efficacious purple, pushed his way 
 
THE OTHER HALF-ROME 101 
 
 To the old Pope's self, — past decency indeed, — 
 
 Prr.ying him take the matter in his hands 
 
 Out of the regular court's incompetence. 
 
 But times are changed and nephews out of date 
 
 And favoritism unfashionable : the Poi)e 
 
 Said " Render Caesar what is Caesar's due ! " 
 
 As for the Comparini's counter-j)lea, 
 
 He met that by a counter-plea again, 
 
 Made Guido claim divorce — with hel]) so far 
 
 By the trial's issue : for, why punishment 
 
 However slight unless for guiltiness 
 
 However slender ? — and a molehill serves 
 
 Much as a mountain of offence this way. 
 
 So was he gathering strength on every side 
 
 And growing more and more to menace — when 
 
 All of a terrible moment came the blow 
 
 That beat down Paolo's fence, ended the play 
 
 O' the foil and brought Mannaia on the stage. 
 
 Five months had passed now since Pompilia's flight, 
 
 Months spent in i)eace among the Convert nuns : 
 
 This, — being, as it seemed, for Guido's sake 
 
 Solely, what pride might call imprisonment 
 
 And quote as something gained, to friends at home, — 
 
 This naturally was at Guido's charge : 
 
 Grudge it he might, but penitential fare. 
 
 Prayers, preachings, who but he defrayed the cost ? 
 
 So, Paolo dropped, as proxy, doit by doit 
 
 Like heart's blood, till — what 's here ? What notice comes ? 
 
 The Convent's self makes application bland 
 
 That, since Pompilia's health is fast o' the wane, 
 
 She may have leave to go combine her cure 
 
 Of soul with cure of body, mend her mind 
 
 Together with her thin arms and sunk eyes 
 
 That want fresh air outside the con vent- wall, 
 
 Say in a friendly house, — and which so fit 
 
 As a certain villa in the Pauline way, 
 
 That happens to hold Pietro and his wife. 
 
 The natural guardians ? " Oh, and shift the care 
 
 You shift the cost, too ; Pietro l^ays in turn, 
 
 And lightens Guido of a load ! And then, 
 
 Villa or convent, two names for one thing. 
 
 Always the sojourn means imprisonment, 
 
 Doiiius pro carcere — nowise we relax, 
 
 Nothing abate : how answers Paolo ? " 
 
102 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 You, 
 What would you answer ? All so smooth and fair, 
 Even Paul's astuteness sniffed no harm i' the world. 
 He authorized the transfer, saw it made 
 And, two months after, reaped the fruit of the same, 
 Having to sit down, rack his brain and find 
 What phrase should serve him best to notify 
 Our Guido that by happy providence 
 A son and heir, a babe was born to him 
 I' the villa, — go tell sympathizing friends ! 
 Yes, such had been Pompilia's privilege : 
 She, when she fled, was one month gone with child, 
 Known to herself or unknown, either way 
 Availing to explain (say men of art) 
 The strange and passionate precipitance 
 Of maiden startled into motherhood 
 Which changes body and soul by nature's law. 
 So when the she-dove breeds, strange yearnings come 
 For the unknown shelter by undreamed-of shores. 
 And there is born a blood-pulse in her heart 
 To fight if needs be, though with flap of wing, 
 For the wool-flock or the fur-tuft, though a hawk 
 Contest the prize, — wherefore, she knows not yet. 
 Anyhow, thus to Guido came the news. 
 I shall have quitted Rome ere you arrive 
 To take the one step left," — wrote Paolo. 
 Then did the winch o' the winepress of all hate, 
 Vanity, disappointment, grudge and greed, 
 Take the last turn that screws out pure revenge 
 With a bright bubble at the brim beside — 
 By an heir's birth he was assured at once 
 O' the main prize, all the money in dispute : 
 Pompilia's dowry might revert to her 
 Or stay with him as law's caprice should point, — 
 But now — now — what was Pietro's shall be hers, 
 What was hers shall remain her own, — if hers, 
 AVhy then, — oh, not her husband's but — her heir's ! 
 That heir being his too, all grew his at last 
 By this road or by that road, since they join. 
 Before, why, push he Pietro out o' the world, — 
 The current of the money stopped, you see, 
 Pompilia being proved no Pietro's child : 
 Or let it be Pompilia's life he quenched. 
 Again the current of the money stopped, — 
 Guido debarred his rights as husband soon, 
 So the new process threatened ; — now, the chance, 
 
 <( 
 
THE OTHER HALF-ROME 103 
 
 Now, the resplendent minute I Clear the earth, 
 Cleanse the house, let the three but disappear, 
 A child remains, depositary of all, 
 That Guido may enjoy his own again, 
 Kepair all losses by a master-stroke. 
 Wipe out the past, all done all left undone, 
 Swell the good present to best evermore. 
 Die into new life, which let blood baptize ! 
 
 So, i' the blue of a sudden sulphur-blaze. 
 Both why there was one step to take at Rome, 
 And why he should not meet with Paolo there, 
 He saw — the ins and outs to the heart of hell — 
 And took the straight line thither swift and sure. 
 He rushed to Vittiano, found four sons o' the soil. 
 Brutes of his breeding, with one spark i' the clod 
 That served for a soul, the looking up to him 
 Or aught called Franceschini as life, death, 
 Heaven, hell, — lord paramount, assembled these. 
 Harangued, equipjied, instructed, pressed each clod 
 With his will's imprint ; then took horse, plied spur, 
 And so arrived, all five of them, at Rome 
 On Christmas-Eve, and forthwith found themselves 
 Installed i' the vacancy and solitude 
 Left them by Paolo, the considerate man 
 Who, good as his word, had disappeared at once 
 As if to leave the stage free. A whole week 
 Did Guido spend in study of his part, 
 Then played it fearless of a failure. One, 
 Struck the year's clock whereof the hours are days. 
 And of¥ was rung o' the little wheels the chime 
 
 " Good will on earth and peace to man : " but, two. 
 Proceeded the same bell, and. evening come. 
 The dreadful five felt finger-wise their way 
 Across the town by blind cuts and black turns 
 To the little lone suburban villa ; knocked — 
 
 " Who may be outside ? " called a well-known voice. 
 
 " A friend of Caponsacchi's bringing friends 
 A letter." 
 
 That 's a test, the excusers say : 
 Av, and a test conclusive, I return. 
 What ? Had that name brought touch of guilt or taste 
 Of fear with it, aught to dash the present joy 
 With memory of the sorrow just at end, — 
 She, happy in her parents' arms at length. 
 With the new blessing of the two-weeks' babe, — 
 
t04 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 How had that name's announcement moved the wife ? 
 
 Or, as the other slanders ch'cnlate, 
 
 Were Caponsacchi no rare visitant 
 
 On nights and days whither safe harbor hired, 
 
 What bait had been i' the name to ope the door ? 
 
 The promise of a letter ? Stealthy guests 
 
 Have secret watchwords, private entrances : 
 
 The man's own self might have been found inside 
 
 And all the scheme made frustrate by a word. 
 
 No : but since Guido knew, none knew so well, 
 
 The man had never since returned to Rome 
 
 Nor seen the wife's face more than villa's front, 
 
 So, could not be at hand to warn or save, — 
 
 For that, he took this sure way to the end. 
 
 " Come in," bade poor Violante cheerfully, 
 Drawing the door-bolt : that death was the first, 
 Stabbed through and through. Pietro, close on her heels, 
 Set up a cry — " Let me confess myself ! 
 Grant but confession I " Cold steel was the grant. 
 Then came Pompiha's turn. 
 
 Then they escaped. 
 The noise o' the slaughter roused the neighborhood. 
 They had forgotten just the one thing more 
 Which saves i' the circumstance, the ticket, to wit, 
 Which puts post-horses at a traveller's use : 
 So, all on foot, desperate through the dark 
 Reeled they like drunkards along open road, 
 Accomplished a prodigious twenty miles 
 Homeward, and gained Baccano very near, 
 Stumbled at last, deaf, dumb, blind through the feat, 
 Into a grange and, one dead heap, slept there 
 Till the pursuers hard upon their trace 
 Reached them and took them, red from head to heel. 
 And brought them to the prison where they lie. 
 The couple were laid i' the church two days ago, 
 And the wife lives yet by miracle. 
 
 All is told. 
 You hardly need ask what Count Guido says. 
 Since something he must say. " I own the deed — '* 
 (He cannot choose, — but — ) "I declare the same 
 Just and inevitable, — since no way else 
 Was left me, but by this of taking life, 
 To save my honor which is more than life. 
 I exercised a husband's rights." To which 
 
THE OTHER HALF-ROME 105 
 
 The answer is as prompt — " There was no fault 
 
 In any one o' the three to punish thus : 
 
 Neither i' the wife, who kept all faith to you, 
 
 Nor in the parents, whom yourself first duped, 
 
 Robbed and maltreated, then turned out of doors. 
 
 You wronged and they endured wrong ; yours the fault. 
 
 Next, had endurance overpassed the mark 
 
 And turned resentment needing remedy, — 
 
 Nay, put the absurd impossible case, for once — 
 
 You were all blameless of the blame alleged 
 
 And they blameworthy where you fix all blame, 
 
 Still, why this violation of the law ? 
 
 Yourself elected law should take its course. 
 
 Avenge wrong, or show vengeance not your right ; 
 
 Why, only when the balance in law's hand 
 
 Trembles against you and inclines the way 
 
 0' the other party, do you make protest. 
 
 Renounce arbitrament, flying out of court. 
 
 And crying ' Honor's hurt the sword must cure ' ? 
 
 Aha, and so i' the middle of each suit 
 
 Trying i' the courts, — and you had three in play 
 
 With an appeal to the Pope's self beside, — ' 
 
 What, you may chop and change and right your wrongs, 
 
 Leaving the law to lag as she thinks fit ? " 
 
 That were too temptingly commodious. Count ! 
 
 One would have still a remedy in reserve 
 
 Should reach the safest oldest sinner, you see ! 
 
 One's honor forsooth ? Does that take hurt alone 
 
 From the extreme outrage ? I who have no wife, 
 
 Being yet sensitive in my degree 
 
 As Guido, — must discover hurt elsewhere 
 
 Which, half compounded for in days gone by, 
 
 May profitably break out now afresh, 
 
 Need cure from my own expeditious hands. 
 
 The lie that was, as it were, imputed me 
 
 When you objected to my contract's clause, — 
 
 The theft as good as, one may say, alleged, 
 
 AVhen you, co-heir in a will, excepted, Sir, 
 
 To my administration of effects, 
 
 — Aha, do you think law disposed of these ? 
 
 My honor 's touched and shall deal death around ! 
 
 Count, that were too commodious, I repeat ! 
 
 If any law be imperative on us all. 
 
 Of all are you the enemy : out with you 
 
 From the common light and air and life of man I 
 
IV. 
 
 TERTIUM QUID. 
 
 True, Excellency -^ as his Highness says, 
 
 Though she 's not dead yet, she 's as good as stretched 
 
 Symmetrical beside the other two ; 
 
 Though he 's not judged yet, he 's the same as judged, 
 
 So do the facts abound and superabound : 
 
 And nothing hinders that we lift the case 
 
 Out of the shade into the shine, allow 
 
 Qualified persons to pronounce at last, 
 
 Nay, edge in an authoritative word 
 
 Between this rabble 's-brabble of dolts and fools 
 
 Who make up reasonless unreasoning Rome. 
 
 ''^ Now for the Trial ! " they roar : " the Trial to test 
 The truth, weigh husband and weigh wife alike 
 I' the scales of law, make one scale kick the beam ! " 
 Law 's a machine from which, to please the mob, 
 Truth the divinity nmst needs descend 
 And clear things at the play's fifth act — aha I 
 Hammer into their noddles who was who 
 And what was what. I tell the simpletons, 
 
 '-^ Could law be competent to such a feat 
 'T were done ah'eady : what begins next week 
 Is end o' the Trial, last link of a chain 
 Whereof the first was forged three years ago 
 When law addressed herself to set wrong right, 
 And proved so slow in taking the first step 
 That ever some new grievance, — tort, retort. 
 On one or the other side, — o'ertook i' the game. 
 Retarded sentence, till this deed of death 
 Is thrown in, as it were, last bale to boat 
 Crammed to the edge with cargo — or passengers ? 
 ' Trecentos inserts : olie^ jam satis est f 
 Hue appelle ! ' — passengers, the word must be." 
 Long since, the boat was loaded to my eyes. 
 To hear the rabble and brabble, you 'd call the case 
 Fused and confused past human finding out. 
 One calls the square round, t' other the round square — 
 
TERTIUM QUID 107 
 
 And pardonably in that first surprise 
 
 O' the blood that fell and splashed the diagram : 
 
 But now we 've used our eyes to the violent hue 
 
 Can't we look through the crimson and trace lines ? 
 
 It makes a man despair of history, 
 
 Eusebius and the established fact — fig's end ! 
 
 Oh, give the fools their Trial, rattle away 
 
 With the leash of lawyers, two on either side — 
 
 One barks, one bites, — Masters Arcangeli 
 
 And Spreti, — that 's the husband's ultimate hope 
 
 Against the Fisc and the other kind of Fisc, 
 
 Bound to do barking for the wife : bow — wow ! 
 
 Why, Excellency, we and his Highness here 
 
 Would settle the matter as sufficiently 
 
 As ever will Advocate Tliis and Fiscal That 
 
 And Judge the Other, with even — a word and a wink — 
 
 We well know who for ultimate arbiter. 
 
 Let us beware o' the basset-table — lest 
 
 We jog the elbow of Her Eminence, 
 
 Jostle his cards, — he '11 rap you out a . . . st ! 
 
 By the window-seat ! And here 's the Marquis too ! 
 
 Induloe me but a moment : if I fail 
 
 — Favored with such an audience, understand I — 
 
 To set things right, why, class me with the mob 
 
 As understander of the mind of man ! 
 
 The mob, — now, that 's just how the error comes ! 
 
 Bethink you that you have to deal with jjlehs, 
 
 The commonalty ; this is an episode 
 
 In burgess-life, — why seek to aggrandize, 
 
 Idealize, denaturalize the class ? 
 
 People talk just as if they had to do 
 
 With a noble pair that . . . Excellency, your ear ! 
 
 Stoop to me. Highness, — listen and look yourselves ! 
 
 This Pietro, this Violante, live their life 
 At Rome in the easy way that 's far from worst 
 Even for their betters, — themselves love themselves, 
 Spend their own oil in feeding their own lamp 
 That their own faces may grow bright thereby. 
 They get to fifty and over : how 's the lamp ? 
 Full to the depth o' the w^ick, — moneys so much ; 
 ' And also with a remnant, — so much more 
 Of moneys, — which there 's no consuming now, 
 But, when the wick shall moulder out some day, 
 Failing fresh twist of tow to use up dregs, 
 
108 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Will lie a prize for the passer-by, — to wit, 
 
 Any one that can 23rove himself the heir, 
 
 Seeing, the couple are wanting in a child : 
 
 Meantime their wick swims in the safe broad bowl 
 
 O' the middle rank, — not raised a beacon's height 
 
 For wind to ravage, nor dropped till lamp graze ground 
 
 Like cresset, mudlarks poke now here now there. 
 
 Going their rounds to probe the ruts i' the road 
 
 Or fish the luck o' the puddle. Pietro's soul 
 
 Was satisfied when crony smirked, '• No wine 
 
 Like Pietro's, and he drinks it every day ! " 
 
 His wife's heart swelled her bodice, joyed its fill 
 
 When neighbors turned heads wistfully at church, 
 
 Sighed at the load of lace that came to pray. 
 
 Well, having got through fifty years of flare, 
 
 They burn out so, indulge so their dear selves, 
 
 That Pietro finds himself in debt at last. 
 
 As he were any lordling of us all : 
 
 And, now that dark begins to creep on day, 
 
 Creditors grow uneasy, talk aside. 
 
 Take counsel, then importune all at once. 
 
 For if the good fat rosy careless man, 
 
 Who has not laid a ducat by, decease — 
 
 Let the lamp fall, no heir at hand to catch — 
 
 Why, being childless, there 's a spilth i' the street 
 
 O' the remnant, there 's a scramble for the dregs 
 
 By the stranger : so, they grant him no long day 
 
 But come in a body, clamor to be paid. 
 
 What 's his resource ? He asks and straight obtains 
 
 The customary largess, dole dealt out 
 
 To, what we call our " poor dear shamefaced ones," 
 
 In secret once a month to spare the shame 
 
 O' the slothful and the spendthrift, — pauper-saints 
 
 The Pope puts meat i' the mouth of, ravens they, 
 
 And providence he — just what the mob admires ! 
 
 That is, instead of putting a prompt foot 
 
 On selfish worthless human slugs whose slime 
 
 Has failed to lubricate their path in life, 
 
 Why, the Pope picks the first ripe fruit that falls 
 
 And gracious puts it in the vermin's way. 
 
 Pietro could never save a dollar ? Straight 
 
 He must be subsidized at our expense : 
 
 And for his wife — the harmless household sheep 
 
 One ought not to see harassed in her age — 
 
 Judge, by the way she bore adversity, 
 
TERTIUM QUID 109 
 
 O' tlie patient nature you ask pity for ! 
 
 How long-, now, would the roughest marketman, 
 
 Handling the creatures huddled to the knife, 
 
 Harass a mutton ere she made a mouth 
 
 Or menaced biting ? Yet the poor sheep here, 
 
 Violante, the old innocent burgess-wife. 
 
 In her first difficulty showed great teeth 
 
 Fit to crunch up and swallow a good round crime. 
 
 She meditates the tenure of the Trust, 
 
 Fidei co7nmisswm is the lawyer-phrase. 
 
 These funds that only want an heir to take — 
 
 Goes o'er the gamut o' the creditor's cry 
 
 By semitones from whine to snarl high up 
 
 And growl down low, one scale in sundry keys, — . 
 
 Pauses with a little compunction for the face 
 
 Of Pietro frustrate of its ancient cheer, — 
 
 Never a bottle now for friend at need, — 
 
 Comes to a stop on her own frittered lace 
 
 And neighborly condolences thereat, 
 
 Then makes her mind up, sees the thing to do : 
 
 And so, deliberate, snaps house-book clasp, 
 
 Posts off to vespers, missal beneath arm, 
 
 Passes the proper San Lorenzo by, 
 
 Dives down a little lane to the left, is lost 
 
 In a labyrinth of dwellings best unnamed, 
 
 Selects a certain blind one, black at base, 
 
 Blinking at top, — the sign of we know what, ^ 
 
 One candle in a casement set to wink 
 
 Streetward, do service to no shrine inside, — 
 
 Mounts thither by the filthy flight of stairs, 
 
 Holding the cord by the wall, to the tip-top, 
 
 Gropes for the door i' the dark, ajar of course, 
 
 Raps, opens, enters in : up starts a thing 
 
 Naked as needs be — " What, you rogue, 't is you ? 
 
 Back, — how can I have taken a farthing yet ? 
 
 Mercy on me, poor sinner that I am ! 
 
 Here 's . . . why, I took you for Madonna's self 
 
 With all that sudden swirl of silk i' the place ! 
 
 What may your pleasure be, my bonny dame ? '* 
 
 Your Excellency supplies aught left obscure ? 
 
 One of those women that abound in Rome, 
 
 Whose needs oblige them eke out one poor trade 
 
 By another vile one : her ostensible work 
 
 Was washing clothes, out in the open air 
 
 At the cistern by Citorio ; her true trade — 
 
 Whispering to idlers, when they stopped and praised 
 
110 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 The ankles she let liberally shine 
 In kneeling at the slab by the fountain-side, 
 That there was plenty more to criticise 
 At home, that eve, i' the house where candle blinked 
 Decorously above, and all was done 
 I' the holy fear of God and cheap beside. 
 Violante, now, had seen this woman wash, 
 Noticed and envied her propitious shape, 
 Tracked her home to her house-top, noted too, 
 And now was come to tempt her and propose 
 A bargain far more shameful than the first 
 AVhich trafficked her virginity away 
 For a melon and three pauls at twelve years old. 
 Five minutes' talk with this poor child of Eve, 
 Struck was the bargain, business at an end — 
 ** Then, six months hence, that person whom you trust, 
 Comes, fetches whatsoever babe it be ; 
 I keep the price and secret, you the babe, 
 Paying beside for mass to make all straight : 
 Meantime, I pouch the earnest-money-piece." 
 
 Down-stairs again goes fumbling by the rope 
 Violante, triumphing in a flourish of fire 
 From her own brain, self-lit by such success, — 
 Gains church in time for the Magnificat, 
 And gives forth " My reproof is taken away, 
 And blessed shall mankind proclaim me now," 
 So that the officiating priest turns round 
 To see who proffers the obstreperous praise : 
 Then home to Pietro, the enraptured-much 
 But puzzled-more when told the wondrous news — 
 How orisons and works of charity, 
 (Beside that pair of pinners and a coif. 
 Birthday surprise last Wednesday was five weeks) 
 Had borne fruit in the autumn of his life, — 
 They, or the Orvieto in a double dose. 
 Anyhow, she must keep house next six months. 
 Lie on the settle, avoid the three-legged stool. 
 And, chiefly, not be crossed in wish or whim, 
 And the result was like to be an heir. 
 
 Accordingly, when time was come about. 
 
 He found himself the sire indeed of this 
 
 Francesca Vittoria Pompilia and the rest 
 
 O' the names whereby he sealed her his, next day. 
 
 A crime complete in its way is here, I hope ? 
 
TERTIUM QUID 111 
 
 Lies to God, lies to man, every way lies 
 
 To nature and civility and the mode : 
 
 Flat robbery of the proj^er heirs thus foiled 
 
 O' the due succession, — and, what followed thence, 
 
 Robbery of God, through the confessor's ear 
 
 Debarred the most noteworthy incident 
 
 When all else done and undone twelvemonth through 
 
 Was put in evidence at Easter-time. 
 
 All other peccadillos ! — but this one 
 
 To the i)riest who comes next day to dine with us ? 
 
 'T were inexpedient ; decency forbade. 
 
 Is so far clear ? You know Violante now, 
 Compute her capability of crime 
 By this authentic instance ? Black hard cold 
 Crime like a stone you kick up with your foot 
 I' the middle of a field ? 
 
 I thought as much. 
 But now, a question, — how long does it lie, 
 The bad and barren bit of stuff you kick, 
 Before encroached on and encompassed round 
 With minute moss, weed, wild-flower — made alive 
 By worm, and fly, and foot of the free bird ? 
 Your Highness, — healthy minds let bygones be. 
 Leave old crimes to grow young and virtuous-like 
 I' the sun and air ; so time treats ugly deeds : 
 They take the natural blessing of all change. 
 There was the joy o' the husband silly-sooth. 
 The softening of the wife's old wicked heart. 
 Virtues to right and left, profusely paid 
 If so they might compensate the saved sin. 
 And then the sudden existence, dewy-dear, 
 O' the rose above the dungheap, the pure child 
 As good as new created, since withdrawn 
 From the horror of the pre-appointed lot 
 With the unknown father and the mother known 
 Too well, — some fourteen years of squalid youth, 
 And tlien libertinage, disease, the grave — 
 Hell in life here, hereafter life in hell : 
 Look at that horror and this soft repose ! 
 Why, moralist, the sin has saved a soul ! 
 Then, even the palpable grievance to the heirs — 
 'Faith, this was no frank setting hand to throat 
 And robbing a man, but . . . Excellency, by your leave, 
 How did you get that marvel of a gem, 
 
112 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 The sapphire with the Graces grand and Greek ? 
 The story is, stooping to pick a stone 
 
 From the pathway through a vineyard — no-man's-land — 
 To pelt a sj^arrow with, you chanced on this : 
 Why now, do those five clowns o' the family 
 O' the vinedresser digest their porridge worse 
 That not one keeps it in his goatskin pouch 
 To do flint's-service with the tinder-box ? 
 Don't cheat me, don't cheat you, don't cheat a friend ! 
 But are you so hard on who jostles just 
 A stranger with no natural sort of claim 
 To the havings and the holdings (here 's the point) 
 Unless by misadventure, and defect 
 Of that which ought to be — nay, which there 's none 
 Would dare so much as wish to profit by — 
 Since who dares put in just so many words 
 " May Pietro fail to have a child, please God ! 
 So shall his house and goods belong to me, 
 The sooner that his heart will pine betimes " ? 
 Well then, God does n't please, nor heart shall pine ! 
 Because he has a child at last, you see. 
 Or selfsame thing as though a child it were, 
 He thinks, whose sole concern it is to think : 
 If he accepts it why should you demur ? 
 
 Moreover, say that certain sin there seem, 
 The proper process of unsinning sin 
 Is to begin well-doing somehow else. 
 Pietro, — remember, with no sin at all 
 I' the substitution, — why, this gift of God 
 Flung in his lap from over Paradise 
 Steadied him in a moment, set him straight 
 On the good path he had been straying from. 
 Henceforward no more wilfulness and waste. 
 Cuppings, carousings, — these a sponge wiped out. 
 All sort of self-denial was easy now 
 For the child's sake, the chatelaine to be. 
 Who must want much and might want who knows what ? 
 And so, the debts were paid, habits reformed, 
 Expense curtailed, the dowry set to grow. 
 As for the wife, — I said, hers the whole sin : 
 So, hers the exemplary penance. 'T was a text 
 Whereon folk preached and praised, the district through ; 
 '■'' Oh, make us happy and you make us good ! 
 It all comes of God giving her a child : 
 Such graces follow God's best earthly gift ! " 
 
TERTIUM QUID 113 
 
 Here you put by my guard, pass to my heart 
 
 By the home-thrust — " There *s a lie at base of all." 
 
 Why, thou exact Prince, is it a pearl or no, 
 
 Yon globe upon the Principessa's neck ? 
 
 That great round glory of pellucid stuff, 
 
 A fish secreted round a grain of grit ! 
 
 Do you call it worthless for the worthless core ? 
 
 (She does n't, who well knows what she changed for it.) 
 
 So, to our brace of burgesses again ! 
 
 You see so far i' the story, who was right, 
 
 Who wrong, who neither, don't you ? What, you don't ? 
 
 Eh ? Well, admit there 's somewhat dark i' the case, 
 
 Let 's on — the rest shall clear, I promise you. 
 
 Leap over a dozen years : you find, these passed, 
 
 An old good easy creditable sire, 
 
 A careful housewife's beaming bustling face. 
 
 Both wrapped up in the love of their one child, 
 
 The strange tall pale beautiful creature grown 
 
 Lily-like out o' the cleft i' the sun-smit rock 
 
 To bow its white miraculous birth of buds 
 
 I' the way of wandering Joseph and his spouse, — 
 
 So painters fancy : here it was a fact. 
 
 And this their lily, — could they but transplant 
 
 And set in vase to stand by Solomon's porch 
 
 'Twixt lion and lion ! — this Pompilia of theirs, 
 
 Could they see worthily married, well bestowed, 
 
 In house and home ! And why despair of this 
 
 With Rome to choose from, save the topmost rank ? 
 
 Themselves would help the choice with heart and soul, 
 
 Throw their late savings in a common heap 
 
 To go with the dowry, and be followed in time 
 
 By the heritage legitimately hers : 
 
 And when such paragon was found and fixed, 
 
 Why, they might chant their " Nunc dimlttis " straight. 
 
 Lideed the prize was simply full to a fault. 
 Exorbitant for the suitor they should seek. 
 And social class should choose among, these cits. 
 Yet there 's a latitude : exceptional white 
 Amid the general brown o' the species, lurks 
 A burgess nearly an aristocrat, 
 Legitimately in reach : look out for him ! 
 What banker, merchant, has seen better days, 
 What second-rate painter a-pushing up. 
 Poet a-slipping down, shall bid the best 
 For this young beauty with the thumping purse ? 
 
114 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Alack, were it but one of such as these 
 So like the real thing that they pass for it, 
 All had gone well ! Unluckily, poor souls, 
 It proved to be the impossible thing itself ; 
 Truth and not sham : hence ruin to them all. 
 
 For, Guido Franceschini was the head 
 Of an old family in Arezzo, old 
 To that degree they could afford be poor 
 Better than most : the case is common too. 
 Out of the vast door 'scutcheoned overhead, 
 Creeps out a serving-man on Saturdays 
 To cater for the week, — turns up anon 
 1' the market, chaffering for the lamb's least leg, 
 Or the quarter-fowl, less entrails, claws and comb ; 
 Then back again with prize, — a liver begged 
 Into the bargain, gizzard overlooked. 
 He 's mincing these to give the beans a taste. 
 When, at your knock, he leaves the simmering soup, 
 Waits on the curious stranger-visitant. 
 Napkin in half-wiped hand, to show the rooms, 
 Point pictures out have hung there hundred years, 
 *' Priceless," he tells you, — puts in his place at once 
 The man of money : yes, you 're banker-king 
 Or merchant-kaiser, wallow in your wealth 
 While patron, the house-master, can't afford 
 To stop our ceiling-hole that rain so rots : 
 But he 's the man of mark, and there 's his shield. 
 And yonder 's the famed Rafael, first in kind, 
 The painter painted for his grandfather. 
 And you have paid to see : "' Good morning, Sir I " 
 Such is the law of compensation. Still 
 The poverty was getting nigh acute ; 
 There gaped so many noble mouths to feed, 
 Beans must suffice unflavored of the fowl. 
 The mother, — hers would be a spun-out life 
 I' the nature of things ; the sisters had done well 
 And married men of reasonable rank : 
 But that sort of illumination stops. 
 Throws back no heat upon the parent-hearth. 
 The family instinct felt out for its fire 
 To the Church, — the Church traditionally helps 
 A second son : and such M'as Paolo, 
 Established here at Rome these thirty years. 
 Who played the regular game, — priest and Abate, 
 Made friends, owned house and land, became of use 
 
TERTIUM QUID 115 
 
 To a personage : his course lay clear enough. 
 
 The youngest caught tlie synij^athetic flame, 
 
 And, though unfletlged wings kept him still i' the cage, 
 
 Yet he shot up to be a Canon, so 
 
 Clung to the higher perch and crowed in hope. 
 
 Even our Guido, eldest brother, went 
 
 As far i' the way o' the Church as safety seemed. 
 
 He being Head o' the House, ordained to wive, — 
 
 So, could but dally with an Order or two 
 
 And testify good-will i' the cause : he dipt 
 
 His top-hair and thus far affected Christ. 
 
 But main promotion must fall otherwise, 
 
 Thouofh still from the side o' the Church : and here was he 
 
 At Rome, since first youth, worn threadbare of soul 
 
 By forty-six years' rubbing on hard life, 
 
 Getting fast tired o' the game whose word is — '' Wait I " 
 
 When one day, — he too having his Cardinal 
 
 To serve in some ambiguous sort, as serve 
 
 To draw the coach the plumes o' the horses' heads, — 
 
 The Cardinal saw fit to dispense with him. 
 
 Ride with one plume the less ; and off it dropped. 
 
 Guido thus left, — with a youth spent in vain 
 And not a penny in purse to show for it, — 
 Advised with Paolo, bent no doubt in chafe 
 The black brows somewhat formidably, growled 
 " Where is the good I came to get at Rome ? 
 Where the repayment of the servitude 
 To a purple popinjay, whose feet I kiss. 
 Knowing his father wiped the shoes of mine ? *' 
 
 " Patience," pats Paolo the recalcitrant — 
 '' You have not had, so far, the proper luck. 
 
 Nor do my gains suffice to keej) us both : 
 
 A modest competency is mine, not more. 
 
 You are the Count however, yours the style. 
 
 Heirdom and state, — you can't expect all good. 
 
 Had I, now, held your hand of cards . . . well, well — 
 
 What 's yet unplayed, I "11 look at, by your leave. 
 
 Over your shoulder, — I who made my game, 
 
 Let 's see, if I can't help to handle yours. 
 
 Fie on you, all the Honors in your fist, 
 
 Countship, Househeadship, — how have you misdealt ! 
 
 Why, in the first place, these will marry a man ! 
 
 Notum fonsoribus ! To the Tonsor then ! 
 
 Come, clear your looks, and choose your freshest suit, 
 
116 THE KING AND THE BOOK 
 
 And, after function 's done with, down we go 
 To the woman-dealer in perukes, a wench 
 I and some others settled in the shop 
 At Place Colonna : she 's an oracle. Hmm ! 
 
 ' Dear, 't is my brother : brother, 't is my dear. 
 Dear, give us counsel ! Whom do you suggest 
 As properest party in the quarter round 
 For the Count here ? — he is minded to take wife, 
 And further tells me he intends to slip 
 Twenty zecchines under the bottom-scalp 
 Of his old wig when he sends it to revive 
 For the wedding : and I add a trifle too. 
 You know what personage I 'm potent with.' " 
 And so plumped out Pompilia's name the first. 
 She told them of the household and its ways, 
 The easy husband and the shrewder wife 
 In Via Vittoria, — how the tall young girl, 
 With hair black as yon patch and eyes as big 
 As yon pomander to make freckles fly, 
 Would have so much for certain, and so much more 
 In likelihood, — why, it suited, slipt as smooth 
 As the Pope's pantoufle does on the Pope's foot. 
 
 " I '11 to the husband ! " Guido ups and cries. 
 
 " Ay, so you 'd play your last court-card, no doubt ! '* 
 Puts Paolo in with a groan — " Only, you see, 
 'T is I, this time, that supervise your lead. 
 Priests play with women, maids, wives, mothers — why? 
 These play with men and take them off our hands. 
 Did I come, counsel with some cut-beard gruff 
 Or rather this sleek young-old barberess ? 
 Go, brother, stand you rapt in the ante-room 
 Of Her Efficacity my Cardinal 
 
 For an hour, — he likes to have lord-suitors lounge, — 
 While I betake myself to the gray mare. 
 The better horse, — how wise the people's word ! — 
 And wait on Madam Violante." 
 
 Said and done. 
 He was at Via Vittoria in three skips : 
 Proposed at once to fill up the one want 
 O' the burgess-family which, wealthy enough. 
 And comfortable to heart's desire, yet crouched 
 Outside a gate to heaven, — locked, bolted, barred, 
 Whereof Count Guido had a key he kept 
 Under his pillow, but Pompilia's hand 
 Might slide behind his neck and pilfer thence. 
 The ke}^ was fairy ; its mere mention made 
 
TERTIUM QUID 117 
 
 Violante feel the thing shoot one sharp ray 
 
 That reached the womanly heart : so — "I assent ! 
 
 Yours be Pompilia, hers and ours that key 
 
 To all the glories of the greater life ! 
 
 There 's Pietro to convince : leave that to me ! " 
 
 Then was the matter broached to Pietro ; then 
 
 Did Pieti-o make demand and get response 
 
 That in the Countship was a truth, but in 
 
 The counting up of the Count's cash, a lie. 
 
 He thereupon stroked grave his chin, looked great, 
 
 Declined the honor. Then the wife wiped tear, 
 
 Winked with the other eye turned Paolo-ward, 
 
 Whispered Pompilia, stole to church at eve, 
 
 Found Guido there and got the marriage done. 
 
 And finally begged pardon at the feet 
 
 Of her dear lord and master. Whereupon 
 
 Quoth Pietro — " Let us make the best of things ! " 
 
 I knew your love would license us," quoth she : 
 
 Quoth Paolo once more, " Mothers, wives and maids. 
 
 These be the tools wherewith priests manage men." 
 
 Now, here take breath and ask, — wliich bird o' the brace 
 
 Decoyed the other into clapnet ? Who 
 
 Was fool, who knave ? Neither and both, perchance. 
 
 There was a bargain mentally proposed 
 
 On each side, straight and plain and fair enough ; 
 
 Mind knew its own mind : but when mind must speak. 
 
 The bargain have expression in plain terms. 
 
 There came the blunder incident to words, 
 
 And in the clumsy process, fair turned foul. 
 
 The straight backbone-thought of the crooked speech 
 
 Were just — " I Guido truck my name and rank 
 
 For so much money and youth and female charms. — 
 
 We Pietro and Violante give our child 
 
 And wealth to you for a rise i' the world thereby." 
 
 Such naked truth while chambered in the brain 
 
 Shocks nowise : walk it forth by way of tongue, — 
 
 Out on the cynical unseemliness ! 
 
 Hence was the need, on either side, of a lie 
 
 To serve as decent wrappage : so, Guido gives 
 
 Money for money, — and they, bride for groom, 
 
 Having, he, not a doit, they, not a child 
 
 Honestly theirs, but this poor waif and stray. 
 
 According to the words, each cheated each ; 
 
 But in the inexpressive barter of thoughts, 
 
118 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Each did give and did take the thing designed, 
 The rank on this side and the cash on tha't — 
 Attained the object of the traffic, so. 
 The way of the world, the daily bargain struck 
 In the first market ! Why sells Jack his ware ? 
 
 *' For the sake of serving an old customer." 
 Why does Jill buy it ? " Simply not to break 
 A custom, pass the old stall the first time." 
 Why, you know where the gist is of the exchange : 
 Each sees a profit, throws the fine words in. 
 Don't be too hard o' the pair ! Had each pretence 
 Been simultaneously discovered, stript 
 From off the body o' the transaction, just 
 As when a cook (will Excellency forgive ?) 
 Strips away those long rough superfluous legs 
 From either side the crayfish, leaving folk 
 A meal all meat henceforth, no garnishry, 
 (With your respect, Prince !) — balance had been kept. 
 No party blamed the other, — so, starting fair. 
 All subsequent fence of wrong returned by wrong 
 I' the matrimonial thrust and parry, at least 
 Had followed on equal terms. But, as it chanced, 
 One party had the advantage, saw the cheat 
 Of the other first and kept its own concealed : 
 And the luck o' the first discovery fell, beside, 
 To the least adroit and self-possessed o' the pair. 
 'T was foolish Pietro and his wife saw first 
 The nobleman was penniless, and screamed 
 
 " W^e are cheated I " 
 
 Such unprofitable noise 
 Angers at all times : but when those who plague, 
 Do it from inside your own house and home, 
 Gnats which yourself have closed the curtain round, 
 Noise goes too nea^r the brain and makes you mad. 
 The gnats say, Guido used the candle-flame 
 Unfairly, — worsened that first bad of his. 
 By practising all kinds of cruelty 
 To oust them and suppress the wail and whine, — 
 That speedily he so scared and bullied them. 
 Fain were they, long before five months had passed, 
 To beg him grant, from what was once their wealth. 
 Just so much as •would help them back to Rome, 
 Where, when they finished paying the last doit 
 O' the dowry, they might beg from door to door. 
 So say the Comparini -'— as if it came 
 
TERTIUM QUID 119 
 
 Of pure resentment for this worse than bad, 
 
 That then Violante, feeling- conscience prick, 
 
 Confessed her substitution of the chikl 
 
 Whence all the harm came, — and that Pietro first 
 
 Bethouoht him of advanta<j:e to himself 
 
 r the deed, as })art revenr^e, part remedy 
 
 For all miscalculation in the pact. 
 
 On the other hand, " Not so ! " Guido retorts — 
 ' I am the wronged, solely, from first to last, 
 Who gave the dignity I engaged to give, 
 Which was, is, cannot but continue gain. 
 My being poor was a by-circumstance. 
 Miscalculated piece of untowardness, 
 Might end to-morrow did heaven's windows ope, 
 Or uncle die and leave me his estate. 
 You should have put up with the minor flaw. 
 Getting the main prize of the jewel. If wealth. 
 Not rank, had been prime object in your thoughts, 
 Why not have taken the butcher's son, the boy 
 O' the baker or candlestick-maker ? In all the rest, 
 It was yourselves broke compact and played false, 
 And made a life in common impossible. 
 Show me the stipulation of our bond 
 That you should make your proht of being inside 
 My house, to hustle and edge me out o' the same. 
 First make a laughing-stock of mine and me. 
 Then round us in the ears from morn to night 
 (Because we show wry faces at your mirth) 
 That you are robbed, starved, beaten and what not ! 
 You fled a hell of your own lighting-up, 
 Pay for your own miscalculation too : 
 You thought nobility, gained at any price. 
 Would suit and satisfy, — find the mistake, 
 And now retaliate, not on yourselves, but me. 
 And how ? By telling me, i' the face of the world, 
 I it is have been cheated all this while. 
 Abominably and irreparably, — my name 
 Given to a cur-cast mongrel, a drab's brat, 
 A beggar's by-blow, — thus depriving me 
 Of what yourselves allege the whole and sole 
 Aim on my part i' the marriage, — money, to wit. 
 This thrust I have to parry by a guard 
 Which leaves me open to a counter-thrust 
 On the other side, — no Avay but there 's a pass 
 Clean through me. If J prove, as I hope to do, 
 
120 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 There 's not one truth in this your odious tale 
 
 O' the buying, selling, substituting — prove 
 
 Your daughter was and is your daughter, — well, 
 
 And her dowry hers and therefore mine, — what then ? 
 
 Why, where 's the appropriate punishment for this 
 
 Enormous lie hatched for mere malice' sake 
 
 To ruin me ? Is that a wrong or no ? 
 
 And if I try revenge for remedy, 
 
 Can I well make it strong and bitter enough ? " 
 
 I anticipate however — only ask, 
 Which of the two here sinned most ? A nice point ! 
 Which brownness is least black, — decide who can, 
 Wager-by-battle-of-cheating ! What do you say. 
 Highness ? Suppose, your Excellency, we leave 
 The question at this stage, proceed to the next, 
 Both parties step out, fight their prize upon. 
 In the eye o' the world ? 
 
 They brandish law 'gainst law ; 
 The grinding of such blades, each parry of each, 
 Throws terrible sparks off, over and above the thrusts, 
 And makes more sinister the fight, to the eye. 
 Than the very wounds that follow. Beside the tale 
 Which the Comparini have to re-assert, 
 They needs must write, print, publish all abroad 
 The straitnesses of Guido's household life — 
 The petty nothings we bear privately 
 But break down under when fools flock to jeer. 
 What is it all to the facts o' the couple's case. 
 How helps it prove Pompilia not their child, 
 If Guido's mother, brother, kith and kin 
 Fare ill, lie hard, lack clothes, lack fire, lack food ? 
 That 's one more wrong than needs. 
 
 On the other hand, 
 Guido, — whose cue is to dispute the truth 
 O' the tale, reject the shame it throws on him, — 
 He may retaliate, fight his foe in turn 
 And welcome, we allow. Ay, but he can't ! 
 He 's at home, only acts by proxy here ; 
 Law may meet law, — but all the gibes and jeers, 
 The superfluity of naughtiness. 
 Those libels on his House, — how reach at them ? 
 Two hateful faces, grinning all aglow. 
 Not only make parade of spoil they filched, 
 
TERTIUM QUID 121 
 
 But foul him from the height of a tower, you see. 
 
 Unluckily temptation is at hand — 
 
 To take revenge on a trifle overlooked, 
 
 A pet lamb they have left in reach outside. 
 
 Whose first bleat, when he plucks the wool away, 
 
 Will strike the grinners grave : his wife remains, 
 
 Who, four months earlier, some thirteen years old, 
 
 Never a mile away from mother's house 
 
 And petted to the height of her desire. 
 
 Was told one morning that her fate had come. 
 
 She must be married — just as, a month before. 
 
 Her mother told her she must comb lier hair 
 
 And twist her curls into one knot behind. 
 
 These fools forgot their pet lamb, fed with flowers, 
 
 Then 'ticed as usual by the bit of cake. 
 
 Out of the bower into the butchery. 
 
 Plague her, he plagues them threefold : but how plague ? 
 
 The world may have its word to say to that : 
 
 You can't do some things with impunity. 
 
 What remains . . . well, it is an ugly thought . . . 
 
 But that he drive herself to plague herself — 
 
 Herself disgrace herself and so disgrace 
 
 Who seek to disgrace Guido ? 
 
 There 's the clue 
 To what else seems gratuitously vile. 
 If, as is said, from this time forth the rack 
 Was tried upon Pompilia : 't was to wrench 
 Her limbs into exposure that brings shame. 
 The aim o' the cruelty being so crueller still. 
 That cruelty almost grows compassion's self 
 Could one attribute it to mere return 
 O' the parents' outrage, wrong avenging wrong. 
 They see in this a deeper deadlier aim, 
 Not to vex just a body they held dear, 
 But blacken too a soul they boasted white. 
 And show the world their saint in a lover's arms, 
 No matter how driven thither, — so they say. 
 
 On the other hand, so much is easily said. 
 
 And Guido lacks not an apologist. 
 
 The pair had nobody but themselves to blame. 
 
 Being selfish beasts throughout, no less, no more : 
 
 — Cared for themselves, their supposed good, nought else, 
 
 And brought about the marriage ; good proved bad, 
 
 As little they cared for her its victim — nay. 
 
122 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Meant she should stay behind and take the chance, 
 
 If haply they might wriggle themselves free. 
 
 They baited their own hook to catch a fish 
 
 With this poor worm, failed o' the prize, and then 
 
 Sought how to unbait tackle, let worm float 
 
 Or sink, amuse the monster while they 'scaped. 
 
 Under the best stars Hymen brings above, 
 
 Had all been honesty on either side, 
 
 A common sincere effort to good end, 
 
 Still, this would prove a difficult problem, Prince ! 
 
 — Given, a fair wife, aged thirteen years, 
 
 A husband poor, care-bitten, sorrow-sunk, 
 
 Little, long-nosed, bush-bearded, lantern-jawed. 
 
 Forty-six years old, — place the two grown one, 
 
 She, cut off sheer from every natural aid, 
 
 In a strange town with no familiar face — 
 
 He, in his own parade-ground or retreat 
 
 If need were, free from challenge, much less check 
 
 To an irritated, disappointed will — 
 
 How evolve happiness from such a match? 
 
 'T were hard to serve up a congenial dish 
 
 Out of these ill-agreeing morsels, Duke, 
 
 By the best exercise of the cook's craft, 
 
 Best interspersion of spice, salt and sweet ! 
 
 But let two ghastly scullions concoct mess 
 
 With brimstone, pitch, vitriol and devil's-dung — 
 
 Throw in abuse o' the man, his body and soul, 
 
 Kith, kin and generation, shake all slab 
 
 At Rome, Arezzo, for the world to nose, 
 
 Then end by publishing, for fiend's arch-prank, 
 
 That, over and above sauce to the meat's self, 
 
 Why, even the meat, bedevilled thus in dish, 
 
 Was never a pheasant but a carrion-crow — 
 
 Prince, what will then the natural loathing be ? 
 
 What wonder if this ? — the compound plague o' the pair 
 
 Pricked Guido, — not to take the course they hoped, 
 
 That is, submit him to their statement's truth. 
 
 Accept its obvious promise of relief, 
 
 And thrust them out of doors the girl again 
 
 Since the girl's dowry would not enter there, 
 
 — Quit of the one if balked of the other : no ! 
 
 Rather did rage and hate so work in him. 
 
 Their product proved the horrible conceit 
 
 That he should plot and plan and bring to pass 
 
 His wife might, of her own free will and deed, 
 
 Relieve him of her presence, get her gone, 
 
TERTIUM QUID 123 
 
 And yet leave all the dowry safe behind, 
 Confirmed his own henceforward past dispute, 
 While blotting out, as by a belch of hell. 
 Their triumph in her misery and death. 
 
 You see, the man was Aretine, had touch 
 O' the subtle air that breeds the subtle wit ; 
 Was noble too, of old blood thrice-refined 
 That shrinks from clownish coarseness in disgust : 
 Allow that such an one niay take revenge. 
 You don't expect he '11 catch up stone and fling. 
 Or try cross-buttock, or whirl quarter-staff ? 
 Instead of the honest drubbing clowns bestow. 
 When out of temper at the dinner spoilt, 
 On meddling mother-in-law and tiresome v/ife, — — 
 Substitute for the clown a nobleman, 
 And you have Guido, practising, 't is said, 
 Immitigably from the very first. 
 The finer vengeance : this, they say, the fact 
 O' the famous letter shows — the writing traced 
 At Guido's instance by the timid wife 
 Over the pencilled words himself writ first — 
 Wherein she, who could neither write nor read, 
 Was made unblushingly declare a tale 
 To the brother, the Abate then in Rome, 
 How her putative parents had impressed, 
 On their departure, their enjoinment ; bade 
 '' We being safely arrived here, follow, you ! 
 Poison your husband, rob, set fire to all, 
 And then by means o' the gallant you procure 
 With ease, by helpful eye and ready tongue, 
 Some brave youth ready to dare, do and die. 
 You shall run off and merrily reach Rome 
 Where we may live like flies in honey-pot : " — 
 Such being exact the programme of the course 
 Imputed her as carried to effect. 
 
 They also say, — to keep her straight therein. 
 All sort of torture was piled, pain on pain, 
 On either side Pompilia's path of life. 
 Built round about and over against by fear, 
 Circumvallated month by month, and week 
 By week, and day by day, and hour by hour. 
 Close, closer and yet closer still with pain, 
 No outlet from the encroaching pain save just 
 Where stood one savior like a piece of heaven, 
 
124 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Hell's arms would strain round but for this blue gap. 
 She, they say further, first tried every chink. 
 Every imaginable break i' the fire. 
 As way of escape : ran to the Commissary, 
 Who bade her not malign his friend her spouse ; 
 Flung herself thrice at the Archbishop's feet, 
 Where three times the Archbishop let her lie. 
 Spend her whole sorrow and sob full heart forth, 
 And then took up the slight load from the ground 
 And bore it back for husband to chastise, — 
 Mildly of course, — but natural right is right. 
 So went she slipping ever yet catching at help, 
 Missing the high till come to lowest and last. 
 To wit, a certain friar of mean degree, 
 Who heard her story in confession, wept, 
 Crossed himself, showed the man within the monk. 
 
 " Then, will you save me, you the one i' the world ? 
 I cannot even write my woes, nor put 
 My prayer for help in words a friend may read, — 
 I no more own a coin than have an hour 
 Free of observance, — I was watched to church. 
 Am watched now, shall be watched back presently, — 
 How buy the skill of scribe i' the market-place ? 
 Pray you, write down and send whatever I say 
 O' the need I have my parents take me hence ! " 
 The good man rubbed his eyes and could not choose — 
 Let her dictate her letter in such a sense 
 That parents, to save breaking down a wall. 
 Might lift her over : she went back, heaven in heart. 
 Then the good man took counsel of his couch. 
 Woke and thought twice, the second thought the best : 
 
 " Here am I, foolish body that I be. 
 Caught all but pushing, teaching, who but I, 
 My betters their plain duty, — what, I dare 
 Help a case the Archbishop would not help. 
 Mend matters, peradventure, God loves mar ? 
 What hath the married life but strifes and plagues 
 For proper dispensation ? So a fool 
 Once touched the ark, — poor Uzzah that I am ! 
 Oh married ones, much rather should I bid. 
 In patience all of ye possess your souls 1 
 This life is brief and troubles die with it : 
 Where were the prick to soar up homeward else ? " 
 So sayiiig, he burnt the letter he had writ, 
 Said Ave for her intention, in its place, 
 Took snuff and comfort, and had done with all. 
 
TEliriUM QUID 125 
 
 Then the grim arms stretched yet a little more 
 
 And each touched each, all but one streak i' the midst, 
 
 Whereat stood Caponsacchi, who cried, '" This way, 
 
 Out by me ! Hesitate one moment more 
 
 And the fire shuts out me and shuts in you ! 
 
 Here my hand holds you life out ! " Whereupon 
 
 She clasped the hand, which closed on hers and drew 
 
 Pompilia out o' the circle now complete. 
 
 Whose fault or shame but Guido's ? — ask her friends. 
 
 But then this is the wife's — Pompilia's tale — 
 
 Eve's . . . no, not Eve's, since Eve, to speak the truth, 
 
 Was hardly fallen (our candor might pronounce) 
 
 When simply saying in her own defence 
 " The serpent tempted me and I did eat." 
 
 So much of paradisal nature. Eve's I 
 
 Her daughters ever since prefer to urge 
 " Adam so starved me I was fain accept 
 
 The apple any serpent jmshed my way." 
 
 What an elaborate theory have we here, 
 
 Ingeniously nursed up, pretentiously 
 
 Brought forth, pushed forward amid trumpet-blast, 
 
 To account for the thawing of an icicle. 
 
 Show us there needed ^tna vomit flame 
 
 Ere run the crystal into dewdrops ! Else, 
 
 How, unless hell broke loose to cause the step, 
 
 How could a married lady go astray ? 
 
 Bless the fools I And 't is just this way they are blessed, 
 
 And the world wags still, — because fools are sure 
 
 — Oh, not of my wife nor your daughter ! No .' 
 
 But of their own : the case is altered quite. 
 
 Look now, — last week, the lady we all love, — 
 
 Daughter o' the couple we all venerate, 
 
 Wife of the husband we all cap before, 
 
 Mother o' the babes we all breathe blessings on, — 
 
 Was caught in converse with a negro page. 
 
 Hell thawed that icicle, else " Why was it — 
 
 Why ? " asked and echoed the fools. " Because, you fools, — • " 
 
 So did the dame's self answer, she who could. 
 
 With that fine candor only forthcoming 
 
 When 't is no odds whether withheld or no — 
 " Because my husband was the saint you say. 
 
 And, — with that childish goodness, absurd faith, 
 
 Stupid self-satisfaction, you so praise, — 
 
 Saint to you, insupportable to me. 
 
 Had he, — instead of calling me fine names, 
 
126 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Lucretia and Susanna and so forth, 
 
 And curtaining Correggio carefully 
 
 Lest I be taught that Leda had two legs, — • 
 
 — But once never so little tweaked my nose 
 
 For peeping through my fan at Carnival, 
 
 Confessing thereby ' I have no easy task — 
 
 I need use all my powers to hold you mine. 
 
 And then, — why 't is so doubtful if they serve, 
 
 That — take this, as an earnest of despair! ' 
 
 Why, we were quits : I had wiped the harm away. 
 
 Thought ' The man fears me ! ' and foregone revenge." 
 
 We must not want all this elaborate work 
 
 To solve the problem why young Fancy-and-flesh 
 
 Slips from the dull side of a spouse in years. 
 
 Betakes it to the breast of Brisk-and-bold 
 
 Whose love-scraj)es furnish talk for all the town ! 
 
 Accordingly, one word on the other side 
 
 Tips over the piled-up fabric of a tale. 
 
 Guido says — that is, always, his friends say — 
 
 It is unlikely from the wickedness, 
 
 That any man treat any woman so. 
 
 The letter in question was her very own, 
 
 Unprompted and unaided : she could write — 
 
 As able to write as ready to sin, or free, 
 
 When there was danger, to deny both facts. 
 
 He bids you mark, herself from first to last 
 
 Attributes all the so-styled torture just 
 
 To jealousy, — jealousy of whom but just 
 
 This very Caponsacchi ! How suits here 
 
 This with the other alleged motive. Prince ? 
 
 Would Guido make a terror of the man 
 
 He meant should tempt the woman, as they charge ? 
 
 Do you fright your hare that you may catch your hare ? 
 
 Consider too, the charge w^as made and met 
 
 At the proper time and place where proofs were plain — • 
 
 Heard patiently and disposed of thoroughly 
 
 By the highest powers, possessors of most light, 
 
 The Governor for the law, and the Archbishop 
 
 For the gospel : which acknowledged primacies, 
 
 'T is impudently pleaded, he could warp 
 
 Into a tacit partnership with crime — 
 
 He being the while, believe their own account. 
 
 Impotent, penniless and miserable ! 
 
 He further asks — Duke, note the knotty point ! — 
 
 How he — concede him skill to play such part 
 
TERTIUM QUID 127 
 
 And drive his wife into a gallant's arms — 
 
 Could bring the gallant to play his part too 
 
 And stand with arms so opportunely wide ? 
 
 How bring this Caponsacclii, — with Avhom, friends 
 
 And foes alike agree, throughout his life 
 
 He never interchanged a civil word 
 
 Nor lifted courteous cap to — him, how bend 
 
 To such observancy of beck and call, 
 
 — To undertake this strange and perilous feat 
 
 For the good of Guido, using, as the lure, 
 
 Pompilia whom, himsfif and she avouch. 
 
 He had nor spoken with nor seen, indeed, 
 
 Beyond sight in a public theatre, 
 
 When she wrote letters (she that could not write !) 
 
 The importunate shamelessly-protested love 
 
 Which brought him, though reluctant, to her feet, 
 
 And forced on him the plunge which, howsoe'er 
 
 She might swim up i' the whirl, must bury him 
 
 Under abysmal black : a priest contrive 
 
 No better, no amour to be hushed up. 
 
 But open flight and noon-day infamy ? 
 
 Try and concoct defence for such revolt I 
 
 Take the wife's tale as true, say she was wronged, — 
 
 Pray, in what rubric of the breviary 
 
 Do you find it registered — the part of a priest 
 
 Is — that to right wrongs from the church he skip, 
 
 Go journeying with a woman that 's a wife, 
 
 And be pursued, o'ertaken and captured . . . how ? 
 
 In a lay-dress, playing the kind sentinel 
 
 Where the wife sleeps (says he who best should know) 
 
 And sleeping, sleepless, both have spent the night ! 
 
 Could no one else be found to serve at need — 
 
 No woman — or if man, no safer sort 
 
 Than this not well-reputed turbulence ? 
 
 Then, look into his own account o' the case ! 
 He, being the stranger and astonished one, 
 Yet received protestations of her love 
 From lady neither known nor cared about : 
 Love, so protested, bred in him disgust 
 After the wonder, — or incredulity. 
 Such impudence seeming impossible. 
 But, soon assured such impudence might be, 
 When he had seen with his own eyes at last 
 Letters thrown down to him i' the very street 
 From behind lattice where the lady lurked, 
 
128 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 And read their passionate summons to her side — 
 Why then, a thousand thoughts swarmed up and in,' 
 How he had seen her once, a moment's space, 
 Observed she was both young and beautiful, 
 Heard everywhere report she suffered much 
 From a jealous husband thrice her age, — in short, 
 There flashed the propriety, expediency 
 Of treating, trying might they come to terms, 
 
 — At all events, granting the interview 
 Prayed for, one so adapted to assist 
 Decision as to whether he advaiice, 
 Stand or retire, in his benevolent mood ! 
 Therefore the interview befell at length ; 
 And at this one and only interview, 
 
 He saw the sole and single course to take — • 
 
 Bade her dispose of him, head, heart and hand, 
 
 Did her behest and braved the consequence, 
 
 Not for the natural end, the love of man 
 
 For woman whether love be virtue or vice, 
 
 But, please you, altogether for pity's sake — 
 
 Pity of innocence and helplessness ! 
 
 And how did he assure himself of both ? 
 
 Had he been the house-inmate, visitor, 
 
 Eye-witness of the described martyrdom, 
 
 So, competent to pronounce its remedy 
 
 Ere rush on such extreme and desj^erate course ■— 
 
 Involving such enormity of harm. 
 
 Moreover, to the husband judged thus, doomed 
 
 And damned without a word in his defence ? 
 
 Not he ! the truth was felt by instinct here, 
 
 — Process which saves a world of trouble and time« 
 There 's the priest's story : what do you say to it, 
 Trying its truth by your own instinct too, 
 
 Since that 's to be the expeditious mode ? 
 
 " And now, do hear my version," Guido cries : 
 
 " I accept argument and inference both. 
 It would indeed have been miraculous 
 Had such a confidency sprung to birth 
 With no more fanning from acquaintanceship 
 Than here avowed by my wife and this priest. 
 Only, it did not : you must substitute 
 The old stale unromantic way of fault. 
 The commonplace adventure, mere intrigue 
 In prose form with the unpoetic tricks, 
 Cheatings and lies : they used the hackney chair 
 Satan jaunts forth with, shabby and serviceable, 
 
TERTIUM QUID 129 
 
 No gilded jimcrack-novelty from below, 
 
 To bowl you along thither, swift and sure. 
 
 That same officious go-between, the wench 
 
 Who gave and took the letters of the two, 
 
 Now offers self and service back to me : 
 
 Bears testimony to visits night by night 
 
 AVhen all was safe, the husband far and away, — 
 
 To many a timely slipping out at large 
 
 By light o' the morning-star, ere he should wake. 
 
 And when the fugitives were found at last, 
 
 "Why, with them were found also, to belie 
 
 What protest they might make of innocence, 
 
 All documents yet wanting, if need were. 
 
 To establish guilt in them, disgrace in me — 
 
 The chronicle o' the converse from its rise 
 
 To culmination in this outrage : read ! 
 
 Letters from wife to priest, from priest to wife, — • 
 
 Here they are, read and say where they chime in 
 
 With the other tale, superlative purity 
 
 O' the pair of saints ! I stand or fall by these." 
 
 But then on the other side again, — how say 
 The pair of saints ? That not one word is theirs — 
 No syllable o' the batch or writ or sent 
 Or yet received by either of the two. 
 
 " Found," says the priest, " because he needed them, 
 Failing all other proofs, to prove our fault : 
 So, here they are, just as is natural. 
 Oh yes — we had our missives, each of us ! 
 Not these, but to the full as vile, no doubt : 
 Hers as from me, — she could not read, so burnt, — «= 
 Mine as from her, — I burnt because I read. 
 Who forged and found them ? Cui profuerint ! " 
 (I take the phrase out of your Highness' mouth) 
 
 " He who would gain by her fault and my fall, 
 The trickster, schemer and pretender — he 
 Whose whole career was lie entailing lie 
 Sought to be sealed truth by the worst lie last ! " 
 
 Guido rejoins — " Did the other end o' the tale 
 Match this beginning ! 'T is alleged I prove 
 A murderer at the end, a man of force 
 Prompt, indiscriminate, effectual : good I 
 Then what need all this trifling woman's-work, 
 Letters and embassies and weak intrigue. 
 When will and power were mine to end at once 
 
130 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Safely and surely ? Murder had come first 
 
 Not last with such a man, assure yourselves ! 
 
 The silent acqueMa, stilling at command — 
 
 A drop a day i' the wine or soup, the dose, — 
 
 The shattering beam that breaks above the bed 
 
 And beats out brains, with nobody to blame 
 
 Except the wormy age which eats even oak, — 
 
 Nay, the stanch steel or trusty cord, — who cares 
 
 I' the blind old palace, a pitfall at each step, 
 
 With none to see, much more to interpose 
 
 O' the two, three, creeping house-dog-servant-things 
 
 Born mine and bred mine ? Had I willed gross death, 
 
 I had found nearer paths to thrust him prey 
 
 Than this that goes meandering here and there 
 
 Throuofh half the world and calls down in its course 
 
 Notice and noise, — hate, vengeance, should it fail. 
 
 Derision and contempt though it succeed ! 
 
 Moreover, what o' the future son and heir ? 
 
 The unborn babe about to be called mine, — 
 
 What end in heaping all this shame on him, 
 
 Were I indifferent to my own black share ? 
 
 Would I have tried these crookednesses, say. 
 
 Willing and able to effect the straight ? " 
 
 " Ay, would you I " — one may hear the priest retort, 
 " Being as you are, i' the stock, a man of guile, 
 And ruffianism but an added graft. 
 You, a born coward, try a coward's arms. 
 Trick and chicane, — and only when these fail 
 Does violence follow, and like fox you bite 
 Caught out in stealing. Also, the disgrace 
 You hardly shrunk at, wholly shrivelled her : 
 You plunged her thin white delicate hand i' the flame 
 Along with your coarse horny brutish fist, 
 Held them a second there, then drew out both 
 — Yours roughed a little, hers ruined through and through 
 Your hurt would heal forthwith at ointments touch — 
 Namely, succession to the inheritance 
 Which bolder crime had lost you : let things change, 
 The birth o' the boy warrant the bolder crime. 
 Why, murder was determined, dared and done. 
 For me," the priest proceeds with his reply, 
 ^' The look o' the thing, the chances of mistake. 
 All were against me, — that, I knew the first : 
 But, knowing also what my duty was, 
 I did it : I must look to men more skilled 
 In reading hearts than ever was the world." 
 
TERTIUM QUID 131 
 
 Highness, decide I Pronounce, Her Excellency ! 
 Or . . . even leave this argument in doubt, 
 Account it a fit matter, taken up 
 With all its faces, manifold enough, 
 To ponder on — what fronts us, the next stage. 
 Next legal process ? Guido, in pursuit, 
 Coming up with the fugitives at the inn, 
 Caused both to be arrested then and there 
 And sent to Rome for judgment on the case — 
 Thither, with all his armory of proofs, 
 Betook himself : 't is there we '11 meet him now. 
 Waiting the further issue. 
 
 Here you smile : 
 " And never let him henceforth dare to plead — 
 Of all pleas and excuses in the world 
 For any deed hereafter to be done — 
 His irrepressible wrath at honor's wound I 
 Passion and madness irrepressible ? 
 Why, Count and cavalier, the husband comes 
 And catches foe i' the very act of shame ! 
 There 's man to man, — nature must have her way, — ■ 
 We look he should have cleared things on the spot. 
 Yes, then, indeed — even though it prove he erred — 
 Though the ambiguous first appearance, mount 
 Of solid injury, melt soon to mist, 
 Still, — had he slain the lover and the wife — 
 Or, since she was a woman and his wife, 
 Slain him. but stript her naked to the skin, 
 Or at best left no more of an attire 
 Than patch suflieient to pin paper to. 
 Some one love-letter, infamy and all, 
 As passport to the Paphos fit for such, 
 Safe-conduct to her natural home the stews, — 
 Good ! One had recognized the power o' the pulse. 
 But when he stands, the stock-fish, — sticks to law — 
 Offers the hole in his heart, all fresh and warm, 
 For scrivener's pen to poke and play about — 
 Can stand, can stare, can tell his beads perhaps, 
 Oh, let us hear no syllable o' the rage ! 
 Such rage were a convenient afterthought 
 For one who would have shown his teeth belike, 
 Exhibited unbridled rage enough, 
 Had but the priest been found, as was to hope, 
 In serge, not silk, with crucifix, not sword : 
 Whereas the gray innocuous grub, of yore, 
 Had hatched a hornet, tickle to the touch. 
 
132 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 The priest was metamorphosed into knight. 
 
 And even the timid wife, whose cue was — shriek, 
 
 Bury her brow beneath his trampling foot, — 
 
 She too sprang at him like a pythoness : 
 
 So, gulp down rage, passion must be postponed, 
 
 Calm be the word ! Well, our word is — we brand 
 
 This part o' the business, howsoever the rest 
 
 Befall." 
 
 " Nay," interpose as prompt his friends — 
 " This is the world's way ! So you adjudge reward 
 To the forbearance and legality 
 Yourselves begin by inculcating — ay, 
 Exacting from us all with knife at throat ! 
 This one wrong more you add to wrong's amount, — 
 You publish all, with the kind comment here, 
 * Its victim was too cowardly for revenge.' " 
 Make it your own case, — you who stand apart ! 
 The husband wakes one morn from heavy sleep. 
 With a taste of poppy in his mouth, — rubs eyes, 
 Finds his wife flown, his strong-box ransacked too. 
 Follows as he best can, overtakes i' the end. 
 You bid him use his privilege : well, it seems 
 He 's scarce cool-blooded enough for the right move — 
 Does not shoot when the game were sure, but stands 
 Bewildered at the critical minute, — since 
 He has the first flash of the fact alone 
 To judge from, act with, not the steady lights 
 Of after-knowledge, — yours who stand at ease 
 To try conclusions : he 's in smother and smoke, 
 You outside, with explosion at an end : 
 The sulphur may be lightning or a squib — 
 He '11 know in a minute, but till then, he doubts. 
 Back from what you know to what he knew not ! 
 Hear the priest's lofty " I am innocent," 
 The wife's as resolute " You are guilty ! " Come I 
 Are you not staggered ? — pause, and you lose the move ! 
 Nought left you but a low appeal to law, 
 " Coward " tied to your tail for compliment ! 
 Another consideration : have it your way I 
 Admit the worst : his courage failed the Count, 
 He 's cowardly like the best o' the burgesses 
 He 's grown incorporate with, — a very cur. 
 Kick him from out your circle by all means ! 
 Why, trundled down this reputable stair. 
 Still, the church-door lies wide to take him in. 
 And the court-porch also : in he sneaks to each, — 
 
TERTIUM QUID 133 
 
 " Yes, I have lost my honor and my wife, 
 
 And, being moreover an ignoble hound, 
 
 I dare not jeopardize my life for them ! " 
 
 Religion and Law lean forward from their chairs, 
 " Well done, thou good and faithful servant ! " Ay, 
 
 Not only applaud him that he scorned the world. 
 
 But punish should he dare do otherwise. 
 
 If the case be clear or turbid, — you must say I 
 
 Thus, anyhow, it mounted to the stage 
 In the law-courts, — let 's see clearly from this point I — 
 Where the priest tells his story true or false. 
 And the wife her story, and the husband his, 
 All with result as happy as before. 
 The courts would nor condemn nor yet acquit 
 Tliis, that or the other, in so distinct a sense 
 As end the strife to cither's absolute loss : 
 Pronounced, in place of something definite, 
 " Each of the parties, whether goat or sheep 
 I' the main, has wool to show and hair to hide. 
 Each has brought somehow trouble, is somehow cause 
 Of pains enough, — even though no worse were proved. 
 Here is a husband, cannot rule his wife 
 Without provoking her to scream and scratch 
 And scour the fields, — causelessly, it may be : 
 Here is that wife, — who makes her sex our plague. 
 Wedlock, our bugbear, — perhaps with cause enough : 
 And here is the truant priest o' the trio, worst 
 Or best — each quality being conceivable. 
 Let us impose a little mulct on each. 
 We punish youth in state of pupilage 
 Who talk at hours when youth is bound to sleep, 
 Whether the prattle turn upon Saint Rose 
 Or Donna Olimpia of the Vatican : 
 'Tis talk, talked wisely or unwisely talked, 
 I' the dormitory where to talk at all, 
 Transgresses, and is mulct : as here we mean. 
 For the wife, — let Iier betake herself, for rest, 
 After her run, to a House of Convertites — 
 Keep there, as good as real imprisonment : 
 Being sick and tired, she will recover so. 
 For the priest, spritely strayer out of bounds, 
 Who made Arezzo hot to hold him, — Rome 
 Profits by his withdrawal from the scene. 
 Let him be relegate to Civita, 
 Circumscribed by its bounds till matters mend : 
 
134 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 There he at least lies out o' the way of harm 
 
 From foes — perhaps from the too friendly fair. 
 
 And finally for the husband, whose rash rule 
 
 Has but itself to blame for this ado, — 
 
 If he be vexed that, in our judgments dealt. 
 
 He fails obtain what he accounts his right, 
 
 Let him go comforted with the thought, no less, 
 
 That, turn each sentence howsoever he may, 
 
 There 's satisfaction to extract therefrom. 
 
 For, does he wish his wife proved innocent ? 
 
 Well, she 's not guilty, he may safely urge, 
 
 Has missed the stripes dishonest wives endure — 
 
 This being a fatherly pat o' the cheek, no more. 
 
 Does he wish her guilty ? Were she otherwise 
 
 Would she be locked up, set to say her prayers, 
 
 Prevented intercourse with the outside world, 
 
 And that suspected priest in banishment, 
 
 Whose portion is a further help i' the case ? 
 
 Oh, ay, you all of you want the other thing. 
 
 The extreme of law, some verdict neat, complete, — 
 
 Either, the whole o' the dowry in your poke 
 
 With full release from the false wife, to boot, 
 
 And heading, hanging for the priest, beside — 
 
 Or, contrary, claim freedom for the wife, 
 
 Repayment of each penny paid her spouse, 
 
 Amends for the past, release for the future ! Such 
 
 Is wisdom to the children of this world ; 
 
 But we 've no mind, we children of the light. 
 
 To miss the advantage of the golden mean. 
 
 And push things to the steel point." Thus the courts. 
 
 Is it settled so far ? Settled or disturbed. 
 
 Console yourselves : 't is like ... an instance, now ! 
 
 You 've seen the puppets, of Place Navona, play, — 
 
 Punch and his mate, — how threats pass, blows are dealt, 
 
 And a crisis comes : the crowd Oi' clap or hiss 
 
 Accordingly as disposed for man or wife — 
 
 When down the actors duck awhile perdue. 
 
 Donning what novel rag-and-feather trim 
 
 Best suits the next adventure, new effect : 
 
 And, — by the time the mob is on the move. 
 
 With something like a judgment pro and con, — 
 
 There 's a whistle, up again the actors pop 
 
 In t' other tatter with fresh-tinselled staves, 
 
 To re-engage in one last worst fight more 
 
 Shall show, what you thought tragedy was farce. 
 
TERTIUM QUID 135 
 
 Note, that the climax and the crown of things 
 Invariably is, the devil appears himself, 
 Armed and accoutred, horns and hoofs and tail ! 
 Just so, nor otherwise it proved — you '11 see : 
 Move to the murder, never mind the rest ! 
 
 Guido, at such a general duck-down, 
 
 I' the breathing-space, — of wife to convent here, 
 
 Priest to his relegation, and himself 
 
 To Arezzo, — had resigned his part perforce 
 
 To brother Abate, who bustled, did his best, 
 
 Retrieved things somewhat, managed the three suits — 
 
 Since, it should seem, there were three suits-at-law 
 
 Behoved him look to, still, lest bad grow worse : 
 
 First civil suit, — the one the parents brought, 
 
 Impugning the legitimacy of his wife. 
 
 Affirming thence the nullity of her rights : 
 
 This was before the Rota, — Molines, 
 
 That 's judge there, made that notable decree 
 
 Which partly leaned to Guido, as I said, — 
 
 But Pietro had appealed against the same 
 
 To the very court will judge what we judge now — 
 
 Tommati and his fellows, — Suit the first. 
 
 Next civil suit, — demand on the wife's part 
 
 Of separation from the husband's bed 
 
 On plea of cruelty and risk to life — 
 
 Claims restitution of the dowry paid. 
 
 Immunity from paying any more : 
 
 This second, the Vicegerent has to judge. 
 
 Third and last suit, — this time, a criminal one, — 
 
 Answer to, and protection from, both these, — 
 
 Guido's complaint of guilt against his wife 
 
 In the Tribunal of the Governor, 
 
 Venturini, also judge of the present cause. 
 
 Three suits of all importance plaguing him. 
 
 Beside a little private enterprise 
 
 Of Guido's, — essay at a shorter cut. 
 
 For Paolo, knowing the right way at Rome, 
 
 Had, even while superintending these three suits 
 
 I' the regular way, each at its proper court, 
 
 Ingeniously made interest with the Pojdc 
 
 To set such tedious regular forms aside. 
 
 And, acting the supreme and ultimate judge, 
 
 Declare for the husband and against the wife. 
 
 Well, at such crisis and extreme of straits, — 
 
 The man at bay, buffeted in this wise, — 
 
136 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Happened the strangest accident of all. 
 
 " Then," sigh friends, "the last feather broke his back, 
 Made him forget all possible remedies 
 Save one — he rushed to, as the sole relief 
 From horror and the abominable thing." 
 
 *' Or rather," laugh foes, " then did there befaD. 
 The luckiest of conceivable events, 
 Most pregnant with impunity for him, 
 Which henceforth turned the flank of all attack, 
 And bade him do his wickedest and worst." 
 
 — The wife's withdrawal from the Convertites, 
 Visit to the villa where her jDarents lived. 
 
 And birth there of his babe. Divergence here ! 
 I simply take the facts, ask what they show. 
 
 First comes this thunderclap of a surprise : 
 Then follow all the signs and silences 
 Premonitory of earthquake. Paolo first 
 Vanished, was swept off somewhere, lost to Rome : 
 (Wells dry up, while the sky is sunny and blue.) 
 Then Guido girds himself for enterprise, 
 Hies to Vittiano, counsels with his steward. 
 Comes to terms with four peasants young and bold, 
 And starts for Rome the Holy, reaches her 
 At very holiest, for 't is Christmas Eve, 
 And makes straight for the Abate's dried-up font. 
 The lodge where Paolo ceased to work the pipes. 
 And then, rest taken, observation made 
 And plan completed, all in a grim week. 
 The five proceed in a body, reach the place, 
 
 — Pietro's, at the Paolina, silent, lone, 
 And stupefied by the propitious snow. 
 
 'T is one i' the evening : knock : a voice " Who 's there ? " 
 " Friends with a letter from the priest your friend." 
 At the door, straight smiles old Violante's self. 
 She falls, — her son-in-law stabs through and through. 
 Reaches through her at Pietro — " With your son 
 This is the way to settle suits, good sire ! " 
 He bellows " Mercy for heaven, not for earth I 
 Leave to confess and save my sinful soul. 
 Then do your pleasure on the body of me ! " 
 — " Nay, father, soul with body must take its chance ! " 
 He presently got his portion and lay still. 
 And last, Pompilia rushes here and there 
 Like a dove among the lightnings in her brake. 
 Falls also : Guido's. this last husband's-act. 
 
TERTIUM QUID 137 
 
 He lifts her by the long dishevelled hair, 
 Holds her away at arm's length with one hand, 
 While the other tries if life come from the mouth — 
 Looks out his whole heart's hate on the shut eyes, 
 Draws a deep satisfied breath, " So — dead at last i " 
 Throws down the burden on dead Pietro's knees, 
 And ends all with " Let us away, my boys ! " 
 
 And, as they left by one door, in at the other 
 
 Tumbled the neighbors — for the shrieks had pierced 
 
 To the mill and the grange, this cottage and that shed. 
 
 Soon followed the Public Force ; pursuit began 
 
 Though Guido had the start and chose the road : 
 
 So, that same night was he, with the other four, 
 
 Overtaken near Baccano, — where they sank 
 
 By the wayside, in some shelter meant for beasts. 
 
 And now lay heaped together, nuzzling swine, 
 
 Each wrapped in bloody cloak, each grasping still 
 
 His unwiped weapon, sleeping all the same 
 
 The sleep o' the just, — a journey of twenty miles 
 
 Brought just and unjust to a level, you see. 
 
 The only one i' the world that suffered aught 
 
 By the whole night's toil and trouble, flight and chase, 
 
 Was just the officer who took them, Head 
 
 O' the Public Force, — Patrizj, zealous soul, 
 
 Who, having but duty to sustain weak flesh, 
 
 Got heated, caught a fever and so died : 
 
 A warning to the over-vigilant, 
 
 — Virtue in a chafe should change her linen quick, 
 
 Lest pleurisy get start of providence. 
 
 (That 's for the Cardinal, and told, I think !) 
 
 Well, they bring back the company to Rome. 
 Says Guido, " By your leave, I fain would ask 
 How you found out 't was I who did the deed ? 
 What put you on my trace, a foreigner. 
 Supposed in Arezzo, — and assuredly safe 
 Except for an oversight : who told you, pray ? " 
 ■ Why, naturally your wife ! " Down Guido drops 
 O' the horse he rode, — they have to steady and stay. 
 At either side the brute that bore him, bound. 
 So strange it seemed his wife should live and speak ! 
 She had prayed — at least so people tell you now — 
 For but one thing to the Virgin for herself, 
 Not simply, as did Pietro 'mid the stabs, — 
 Time to confess and get her own soul saved — 
 
138 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 But time to make the truth apparent, truth 
 
 For God's sake, lest men should believe a lie : 
 
 Which seems to have been about the single prayer 
 
 She ever put up, that was granted her. 
 
 With this hope in her head, of telling truth, — 
 
 Being familiarized with pain, beside, — 
 
 She bore the stabbing to a certain pitch 
 
 Without a useless cry, was flung for dead 
 
 On Pietro's lap, and so attained her point. 
 
 Her friends subjoin this — have I done with them ? — 
 
 And cite the miracle of continued life 
 
 (She was not dead when I arrived just now) 
 
 As attestation to her probity. 
 
 Does it strike your Excellency ? Why, your Highness, 
 
 The self-command and even the final prayer. 
 
 Our candor must acknowledge explicable 
 
 As easily by the consciousness of guilt. 
 
 So, when they add that her confession runs 
 
 She was of wifehood one white innocence 
 
 In thought, word, act, from first of her short life 
 
 To last of it ; praying, i' the face of death. 
 
 That God forgive her other sins — not this. 
 
 She is charged with and must die for, that she failed 
 
 Anyway to her husband : while thereon 
 
 Comments the old Religious — "So much good. 
 
 Patience beneath enormity of ill, 
 
 I hear to my confusion, woe is me. 
 
 Sinner that I stand, shamed in the walk and gait 
 
 I have practised and grown old in, by a child I " — 
 
 Guido's friends shrug the shoulder, '• Just this same 
 
 Prodigious absolute calm in the last hour 
 
 Confirms us. — being the natural result 
 
 Of a life which proves consistent to the close. 
 
 Having braved heaven and deceived earth throughout, 
 
 She braves stUl and deceives still, gains thereby 
 
 Two ends, she prizes beyond earth or heaven : 
 
 First sets her lover free, imperilled sore 
 
 By the new turn things take : he answers yet 
 
 For the part he played : they have summoned him indeed 
 
 The past ripped uj), he may be punished still : 
 
 What better way of saving him than this ? 
 
 Then, — thus she dies reveng-ed to the uttermost 
 
 On Guido, drags him with her in the dark, 
 
 The lower still the better, do you doubt ? 
 
 Thus, two ways, does she love her love to the end. 
 
TERTIUM QUID 139 
 
 And hate her hate, — death, hell is no such price 
 To pay for these. — lovers and haters hold."' 
 
 But there s another parry for the thrust. 
 " Confession," cry folks — "a confession, think ! 
 Confession of the moribund is true I " 
 Which of them, my wise friends ? This pubhc one, 
 Or the private other we shall never know ? 
 The private may contain — your casuists teach — 
 The acknowledgment of, and the penitence for, 
 That other public one, so people say. 
 However it be. — we trench on delicate ground. 
 Her Eminence is peeping o'er the cards, — 
 Can one find nothing in behalf of this 
 Catastrophe ? Deaf folks accuse the dumb ! 
 You criticise the drunken reel, fool's-speech, 
 Maniacal gesture of the man, — we grant ! 
 But who poured poison in his cup. we ask ? 
 Recall the list of his excessive wrongs, 
 P^irst cheated in his wife, robbed by her kin. 
 Rendered anon the laughing-stock o' the world 
 By the story, true or false, of his wife's birth, — 
 The last seal publicly apposed to shame 
 By the open flight of wife and priest, — why. Sirs, 
 Step out of Rome a furlong, would you know 
 What anotherofuess tribunal than ours here. 
 Mere worldly Court without the help of grace. 
 Thinks of just that one incident o' the flight ? 
 Guido preferred the same complaint before 
 The court at Arezzo. bar of the Granduke. — 
 In virtue of it being Tuscany 
 Where the offence had rise and flight began. — 
 Selfsame complaint he made in the sequel here 
 Where the offence grew to the full, the flig'ht 
 Ended : offence and flight, one fact judged twice 
 By two distinct tribunals, — what result ? 
 Tliere was a sentence passed at the same time 
 By Arezzo and confirmed by the Granduke, 
 Which nothing balks of swift and sure effect 
 But absence of the guilty, (flight to Rome 
 Frees them from Tuscan jurisdiction now) 
 — Condemns the wife to the opprobrious doom 
 Of all whom law just lets escape from death. 
 The Stinche, House of Punishment, for life, — 
 That 's what the wife deserves in Tuscany : 
 Here, she deserves — remitting with a smile 
 
140 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 To her father's house, main object of the flight I 
 The thief presented with the thing he steals ! 
 
 At this discrepancy of judgments — mad, 
 
 The man took on himself the office, judged ; 
 
 And the only argument against the use 
 
 O' the law he thus took into his own hands 
 
 Is . . . what, I ask you ? — that, revenging wrong, 
 
 He did not revenge sooner, kill at first 
 
 Whom he killed last ! That is the final charge. 
 
 Sooner ? What 's soon or late i' the case ? — ask we. 
 
 A wound i' the flesh no doubt wants prompt redress ; 
 
 It smarts a little to-day, well in a week, 
 
 Forgotten in a month ; or never, or now, revenge ! 
 
 But a wound to the soul ? That rankles worse and worse. 
 
 Shall I comfort you, explaining — " Not this once 
 
 But now it may be some five hundred times 
 
 I called you ruffian, pandar, liar and rogue : 
 
 The injury must be less by lapse of time ? " 
 
 The wrong is a wrong, one and immortal too, 
 
 And that you bore it those five hundred times. 
 
 Let it rankle unrevenged five hundred years. 
 
 Is just five hundred wrongs the more and worse ! 
 
 Men, plagued this fashion, get to explode this way, 
 
 If left no other. 
 
 " But we left this man 
 Many another way, and there 's his fault," 
 'T is answered — " He himself preferred our arm 
 O' the law to fight his battle with. No doubt 
 We did not open him an armory 
 To pick and choose from, use, and then reject. 
 He tries one weapon and fails, — he tries the next 
 And next : he flourishes wit and common sense, 
 They fail him, — he plies logic doughtily, 
 It fails him too, — thereon, discovers last 
 He has been blind to the combustibles — 
 That all the while he is aglow with ire, 
 Boiling with irrepressible rage, and so 
 May try explosives and discard cold steel, — 
 So hires assassins, plots, plans, executes 1 
 Is this the honest self-forgetting rage 
 We are called to pardon ? Does the furious bull 
 Pick out four help-mates from the grazing herd 
 And journey with them over hill, and dale 
 Till he find his enemy ? " 
 
TERTIUM QUID 141 
 
 What rejoinder ? save 
 That friends accept our bull-similitude. 
 Bull-like, — the indiscriminate slaughter, rude 
 And reckless aggravation of revenge, 
 Were all i' the way o' the brute who never once 
 Ceases, amid all provocation more, 
 To bear in mind the first tormentor, first 
 Giver o' the wound that goaded him to fight : 
 And, though a dozen follow and reinforce 
 The asfirressor, wound in front and wound in flank, 
 Continues undisturbedly pursuit. 
 And only after prostrating his prize 
 Turns on the pettier, makes a general prey. 
 So Guido rushed against Violante, first 
 Author of all his wrongs, fons et origo 
 Maloruin — drops first, delage since, — which done, 
 He finished with the rest. Do you blame a bull ? 
 
 In truth you look as puzzled as ere I preached ! 
 
 How is that ? There are difficulties perhaps 
 
 On any supposition, and either side. 
 
 Each party wants too much, claims sympathy 
 
 For its object of compassion, more than just. 
 
 Cry the wife's friends, " O the enormous crime 
 
 Caused by no provocation in the world ! " 
 " Was not the wife a little weak ? " — inquire — 
 " Punished extravagantly, if you please. 
 
 But meriting a little punishment ? 
 
 One treated inconsiderately, say. 
 
 Rather than one deserving not at all 
 
 Treatment and discipline o' the harsher sort ? " 
 
 No, they must have her purity itself. 
 
 Quite angel, — and her parents angels too 
 
 Of an aged sort, immaculate, word and deed : 
 
 At all events, so seeming, till the fiend. 
 
 Even Guido, by his folly, forced from them 
 
 The untoward avowal of the trick o' the birth, 
 
 Which otherwise were safe and secret now. 
 
 Why, here you have the awfullest of crimes 
 
 For nothing ! Hell broke loose on a butterfly ! 
 
 A dragon born of rose-dew and the moon ! 
 
 Yet here is the monster ! Why he 's a mere man — 
 
 Born, bred and brought up in the usual way. 
 
 His mother loves him, still his brothers stick 
 
 To the good fellow of the boyish games ; 
 
 The Governor of his town knows and approves, 
 
142 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 The Archbishop of the place knows and assists : 
 
 Here he has Cardinal This to vouch for the past, 
 
 Cardinal That to trust for the future, — match 
 
 And marriage were a Cardinal's making, — in short, 
 
 What if a tragedy be acted here 
 
 Impossible for malice to improve, 
 
 And innocent Guido with his innocent four 
 
 Be added, all five, to the guilty three, 
 
 That we of these last days be edified 
 
 With one full taste o' the justice of the world ? 
 
 The long and the short is, truth seems what I show : 
 
 Undoubtedly no pains ought to be spared 
 
 To give the mob an inkling of our lights. 
 
 It seems unduly harsh to put the man . 
 
 To the torture, as I hear the court intends, 
 
 Though readiest way of twisting out the truth ; 
 
 He is noble, and he may be innocent. 
 
 On the other hand, if they exempt the man 
 
 (As it is also said they hesitate 
 
 On the fair ground, presumptive guilt is weak 
 
 I' the case of nobility and privilege), — 
 
 What crime that ever was, ever will be, 
 
 Deserves the torture ? Then abolish it ! 
 
 You see the reduction ad absurdum, Sirs ? 
 
 Her Excellency must pronounce, in fine ! 
 What, she prefers going and joining play ? 
 Her Highness finds it late, intends retire ? 
 I am of their mind : only, all this talk talked, 
 'T was not for nothing that we talked, I hope ? 
 Both know as much about it, now, at least. 
 As all Rome : no particular thanks, I beg ! 
 (You '11 see, I have not so advanced myself, 
 After my teaching the two idiots here !) 
 
V. 
 
 COUNT GUIDO FRANCESCHINI. 
 
 Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court, 
 
 I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down 
 
 Without help, make shift to even speak, you see, 
 
 Fortified by the sip of . . . why, 'tis wine, 
 
 Velletri, — and not vinegar and gall, 
 
 So changed and good the times grow ! Thanks, kind Sir ! 
 
 Oh, but one sip 's enough ! I want my head 
 
 To save my neck, there 's work awaits me still. 
 
 How cautious and considerate . . . aie, aie, aie, 
 
 Nor your fault, sweet Sir ! Come, you take to heart 
 
 An ordinary matter. Law is law. 
 
 Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought. 
 
 From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise, 
 
 I have been put to the rack : all 's over now, 
 
 And neither wrist — what men style, out of joint : 
 
 If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade, 
 
 The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket, — Sirs, 
 
 Much could not happen, I was quick to faint, 
 
 Being past my prime of life, and out of health. 
 
 In short I thank you, — yes, and mean the word. 
 
 Needs must the Court be slow to understand 
 
 How this quite novel form of taking pain. 
 
 This getting tortured merely in the flesh, 
 
 Amounts to almost an agreeable change 
 
 In my case, me fastidious, plied too much 
 
 With opposite treatment, used (forgive the joke) 
 
 To the rasp-tooth toying with this brain of mine, 
 
 And, in and out my heart, the play o' the probe. 
 
 Four years have I been operated on 
 
 I' the soul, do you see — its tense or tremulous part — 
 
 IVIy self-respect, my care for a good name. 
 
 Pride in an old one, love of kindred — just 
 
 A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like, 
 
 That looked up to my face when days were dim, 
 
 And fancied they found light there — no one spot, 
 
 Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang. 
 
144 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 That, and not this you now oblige me with, 
 
 That was the Vigil-torment, if you please ! 
 
 The poor old noble House that drew the rags 
 
 O' the Franceschini's once superb array 
 
 Close round her, hoped to slink unchallenged by, — 
 
 Pluck off these ! Turn the drapery inside out 
 
 And teach the tittering town how scarlet wears ! 
 
 Show men the lucklessness, the improvidence 
 
 Of the easy-natured Count before this Count, 
 
 The father I have some slight feeling for. 
 
 Who let the world slide, nor foresaw that friends 
 
 Then proud to cap and kiss their patron's shoe. 
 
 Would, when the purse he left held spider-webs, 
 
 Properly push his child to wall one day ! 
 
 Mimic the tetchy humor, furtive glance. 
 
 And brow where half was furious, half fatigued, 
 
 O' the same son got to be of middle age, 
 
 Sour, saturnine, — your humble servant here, — 
 
 When things go cross and the young wife, he finds 
 
 Take to the window at a whistle's bid, 
 
 And yet demurs thereon, preposterous fool I — 
 
 Whereat the worthies judge he wants advice 
 
 And beg to civilly ask what 's evil here. 
 
 Perhaps remonstrate on the habit they deem 
 
 He 's given unduly to, of beating her : 
 
 . . . Oh, sure he beats her — why says John so else, 
 
 Who is cousin to George who is sib to Tecla's self 
 
 Who cooks the meal and combs the lady's hair ? 
 
 What ! 'T is my wrist you merely dislocate 
 
 For the future when you mean me martyrdom ? 
 
 — Let the old mother's economy alone, 
 
 How the brocade-strips saved o' the seamy side 
 O' the wedding-gown buy raiment for a year ? 
 
 — How she can dress and dish up — lordly dish 
 Fit for a duke, lamb's head and purtenance — 
 With her proud hands, feast household so a week ? 
 No word o' the wine rejoicing God and man. 
 
 The less when three-parts water ? Then, I say, 
 A trifle of torture to the flesh, like yours, 
 While soul is spared such foretaste of hell-fire, 
 Is nauoht. But I curtail the catalosfue 
 Through policy, — a rhetorician's trick, — 
 Because I would reserve some choicer points 
 O' the practice, more exactly parallel 
 (Having an eye to climax) with what gift, 
 Eventual grace the Court may have in store 
 
COUNT GUIDO FRANCESCHINl 145 
 
 I' the way of plague — what crown of punishments. 
 
 When I am hanged or headed, time enough 
 
 To prove the tenderness of only that, 
 
 Mere heading, hanging, — not their counterpart, 
 
 Not demonstration public and precise 
 
 That I, having married the mongrel of a drab. 
 
 Am bound to grant that mongrel-brat, my wife, 
 
 Her mother's birthright-license as is just, — 
 
 Let her sleep undisturbed, i' the family style, 
 
 Her sleej) out in the embraces of a priest. 
 
 Nor disallow their bastard as my heir ! 
 
 Your sole mistake, — dare I submit so much 
 
 To the reverend Court ? — has been in all this pains 
 
 To make a stone roll down hill, — rack and wrench 
 
 And rend a man to pieces, all for what ? 
 
 Why — make him ope mouth in his own defence. 
 
 Show cause for what he has done, the irregular deed, 
 
 (Since that he did it, scarce dispute can be) 
 
 And clear his fame a little, beside the luck 
 
 Of stopping even yet, if possible, 
 
 Discomfort to his flesh from noose or axe — 
 
 For that, out come the implements of law ! 
 
 May it content my lords the gracious Court 
 
 To listen only half so patient-long 
 
 As I will in that sense profusely speak, 
 
 And — fie, they shall not call in screws to help ! 
 
 I killed Pompilia Franceschini, Sirs ; 
 
 Killed too the Comparini, husband, wife. 
 
 Who called themselves, by a notorious lie, 
 
 Her father and her mother to ruin me. 
 
 There 's the irregular deed : you want no more 
 
 Than right interpretation of the same. 
 
 And truth so far - — am I to understand ? 
 
 To that then, with convenient speed, — because 
 
 Now I consider, — yes, despite my boast. 
 
 There is an ailing in this omoplat 
 
 May clip my speech all too abruptly short. 
 
 Whatever the good-will in me. Now for truth ! 
 
 I' the name of the indivisible Trinity ! 
 Will my lords, in the plenitude of their light, 
 Weigh well that all this trouble has come on me 
 Through my persistent treading in the paths 
 Where I was trained to go, — wearing that yoke 
 My shoulder was predestined to receive, 
 Born to the hereditary stoop and crease ? 
 
146 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Noble, I recognized my nobler still, 
 The Church, my suzerain ; no mock-mistress, she ; 
 The secular owned the spiritual : mates of mine 
 Have thrown their careless hoofs up at her call 
 " Forsake the clover and come drag my wain ! " 
 There they go cropping : I protruded nose 
 To halter, bent my back of docile beast, 
 And now am whealed, one wide wound all of me, 
 For being found at the eleventh hour o' the day 
 Padding the mill-track, not neck-deep in grass : 
 
 — My one fault, I am stiffened by my work, 
 
 — My one reward, I help the Court to smile ! 
 
 I am representative of a great line, 
 One of the first of the old families 
 In Arezzo, ancientest of Tuscan towns. 
 When my worst foe is fain to challenge this, 
 His worst exception runs — not first in rank 
 But second, noble in the n€xt degree 
 Only ; not malice' self maligns me more. 
 So, my lord opposite has composed, we know, 
 A marvel of a book, sustains the point 
 That Francis boasts the primacy 'mid saints ; 
 Yet not inaptly hath his argument 
 Obtained response from yon my other lord 
 In thesis published with the world's applause 
 
 — Rather 't is Dominic such post befits : 
 Why, at the worst, Francis stays Francis still, 
 Second in rank to Dominic it may be. 
 
 Still, very saintly, very like our Lord ; 
 
 And I at least descend from Guido once 
 
 Homager to the Empire, nought below — 
 
 Of which account as proof that, none o' the line 
 
 Having a single gift beyond brave blood, 
 
 Or able to do aught but give, give, give 
 
 In blood and brain, in house and land and cash, 
 
 Not get and garner as the vulgar may. 
 
 We became poor as Francis or our Lord. 
 
 Be that as it likes you. Sirs, — whenever it chanced 
 
 Myself grew capable anyway of remark, 
 
 (Which was soon — penury makes wit premature) 
 
 This struck me, I was poor who should be rich 
 
 Or pay that fault to the world which trifles not 
 
 When lineage lacks the flag yet lifts the pole : 
 
 On, therefore, I must move forthwith, transfer 
 
 My stranded self, born fish with gill and fin 
 
COUNT GUIDO FRANCESCHINI 147 
 
 Fit for the deep sea, now left flap bare-backed 
 
 In slush and sand, a show to crawlers vile 
 
 Reared of the low-tide and aright therein. 
 
 The enviable youth with the old name, 
 
 Wide chest, stout arms, sound brow and pricking veins, 
 
 A heartful of desire, man's natural load, 
 
 A brainful of belief, the noble's lot, — 
 
 All this life, cramped and gasping, high and dry 
 
 I' the wave's retreat, — the misery, good my lords. 
 
 Which made you merriment at Rome of late, — 
 
 It made me reason, rather — muse, demand 
 
 — Why our bare dropping palace, in the street 
 
 Where such-an-one whose grandfather sold tripe 
 
 Was adding to his purchased pile a fourth 
 
 Tall tower, could hardly show a turret sound ? 
 
 Why Countess Beatrice, whose son I am. 
 
 Cowered in the winter-time as she spun flax. 
 
 Blew on the earthen basket of live ash, 
 
 Instead of jaunting forth in coach and six 
 
 Like such-another widow who ne'er was wed ? 
 
 I asked my fellows, how came this about ? 
 
 *' Why, Jack, the sutler's child, perhaps the camp's, 
 Went to the wars, fought sturdily, took a town 
 And got rewarded as was natural. 
 She of the coach and six — excuse me there ! 
 Why, don't you know the story of her friend ? 
 A clown dressed vines on somebody's estate. 
 His boy recoiled from muck, liked Latin more. 
 Stuck to his pen and got to be a priest. 
 Till one day . . . don't you mind that telling tract 
 Against Molinos, the old Cardinal wrote ? 
 He penned and dropped it in the patron's desk, 
 Who, deep in thought and absent much of mind, 
 Licensed the thing, allowed it for his own ; 
 Quick came promotion, — situm cinque. Count ! 
 Oh, he can pay for coach and six, be sure I " 
 
 " — Well, let me go, do likewise : war 's the word — 
 That way the Franceschini worked at first, 
 I '11 take my turn, try soldiershij^." — " What, you ? 
 The eldest son and heir and prop o' the house, 
 So do you see your duty ? Here 's your post, 
 Hard by the hearth and altar. (Roam from roof, 
 This youngster, play the gypsy out of doors. 
 And who keeps kith and kin that fall on us ?) 
 Stand fast, stick tight, conserve your gods at home ! " 
 
 " — AVell then, the quiet course, the contrary trade I 
 
148 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 We had a cousin amongst us once was Pope, 
 And minor glories manifold. Try the Church, 
 The tonsure, and, — since heresy 's but half-slain 
 Even by the Cardinal's tract he thought he wrote, — 
 Have at Molinos ! " — " Have at a fool's head ! 
 You a priest ? How were marriage possible ? 
 There must be Franceschini till time ends — 
 That 's your vocation. INIake your brothers priests, 
 Paul shall be porporate, and Girolamo step 
 Red-stockinged in the presence when you choose. 
 But save one Franceschini for the age ! 
 Be not the vine but dig and dung its root, 
 Be not a priest but gird up priesthood's loins, 
 With one foot in Arezzo stride to Rome, 
 Spend yourself there and bring the purchase back 
 Go hence to Rome, be guided ! " 
 
 } 
 
 So I was. 
 I turned alike from the hillside zigzag thread 
 Of way to the table-land a soldier takes. 
 Alike from the low-lying pasture-place 
 Where churchmen graze, recline and ruminate, 
 
 — Ventured to mount no platform like my lords 
 Who judge the world, bear brain I dare not brag — 
 But stationed me, might thus the expression serve. 
 As who should fetch and carry, come and go, 
 Meddle and make i' the cause my lords love most — 
 The public weal, which hangs to the law, which holds 
 
 By the Church, which happens to be through God himsel£ 
 
 Humbly I helped the Church till here I stand, — 
 
 Or would stand but for the omoplat, you see ! 
 
 Bidden qualify for Rome, I, having a field. 
 
 Went, sold it, laid the sum at Peter's foot : 
 
 Which means — I settled home-accounts with speed, 
 
 Set apart just a modicum should suffice 
 
 To hold the villa's head above the waves 
 
 Of weed inundating its oil and wine, 
 
 And prop roof, stanchion wall o' the palace so 
 
 As to keep breath i' the body, out of heart 
 
 Amid the advance of neighboring loftiness — 
 
 (People like building where they used to beg) — 
 
 Till succored one day, — shared the residue 
 
 Between my mother and broth(?rs and sisters there, 
 
 Black-eyed babe Donna This and Donna That, 
 
 As near to starving as might decently be, 
 
 — Left myself journey-charges, change of suit. 
 
COUNT GUIDO FRANCESCHhM 149 
 
 A purse to put i* the pocket of the Groom 
 O' the Cliamber of the patron, and a glove 
 With a ring to it for the digits of the niece 
 Sure to be helpful in his household, — then 
 Started for Rome, and led the life prescribed. 
 Close to the Church, though clean of it, I assumed 
 Three or four orders of no consequence, 
 
 — They cast out evil spirits and exorcise, 
 For example ; bind a man to nothing more, 
 Give clerical savor to his layman's-salt, 
 Facilitate his claim to loaf and fish 
 
 Should miracle leave, beyond what feeds the flock. 
 
 Fragments to brim the basket of a friend — 
 
 While, for the world's sake, I rode, danced and gamed, 
 
 Quitted me like a courtier, measured mine 
 
 AVith whatsoever blade had fame in fence, 
 
 — Ready to let the basket go its round 
 
 Even though my turn was come to help myself, 
 
 Should Dives count on me at dinner-time 
 
 As just the understander of a joke 
 
 And not immoderate in repartee. 
 
 Utrique sic paratus, Sirs, I said, 
 " Here," (in the fortitude of years fifteen, 
 
 So good a pedagogue is penury) 
 " Here wait, do service, — serving and to serve ! 
 
 And, in due time, I nowise doubt at all, 
 
 The recognition of my service comes. 
 
 Next year I 'm only sixteen. I can wait." 
 
 I waited thirty years, may it please the Court : 
 Saw meanwhile many a denizen o' the dung 
 Hop, skip, jump o'er my shoulder, make him wings 
 And fly aloft, — succeed, in the usual phrase. 
 Every one soon or late comes round by Rome : 
 Stand still here, you '11 see all in turn succeed. 
 Why, look you, so and so, the physician here, 
 My father's lacquey's son we sent to school. 
 Doctored and dosed this Eminence and that. 
 Salved the last Pope his certain obstinate sore. 
 Soon bought land as became him, names it now : 
 I grasp bell at his griffin-guaided gate, 
 Traverse the half-mile avenue, — a term, 
 A cypress, and a statue, three and three, — 
 Deliver message from my Monsignor, 
 With varletry at lounge i' the vestibule 
 I 'm barred from, who bear mud upon my shoe. 
 
1-SU THE RING AXD THE BOOK 
 
 My father's clmplain's nephew, Chamberlain, — 
 
 Nothing less, please you ! — courteous all the same, 
 
 — He does not see me thouoh I wait an hour 
 
 At his staircase-landing 'twixt the brace of busts, 
 
 A noseless Sylla, Marius maimed to match. 
 
 My father jjave him for a hexastich 
 
 Made on my birthday, — but he sends me down, 
 
 To make amends, that relic I prize most — 
 
 The unburnt end o' the very candle, Sirs, 
 
 Purfled with paint so prettily round and round. 
 
 He carried in such state last Peter"s-day, — 
 
 In token I, his gentleman and squire, 
 
 Had held the bridle, walked his managed mule 
 
 Without a tittup the procession through. 
 
 Nay, the official, — one you know, sweet lords I — 
 
 Who drew the warrant for my transfer late 
 
 To the New Prisons from Tordinona, — he 
 
 Graciously had remembrance — '• Francesc ... ha? 
 
 His sire, now — how a thing shall come about I — 
 
 Paid me a dozen florins above the fee. 
 
 For drawing deftly up a deed of sale 
 
 When troubles fell so thick on him. good heart, 
 
 And I was prompt and pushing I By all means I 
 
 At the New Prisons be it his son shall lie, — 
 
 Anything for an old friend I " and thereat 
 
 Signed name with triple flourish underneath. 
 
 These were my fellows, such their fortunes now, 
 
 While I — kept fasts and feasts innumerable, 
 
 Matins and vespers, functions to no end 
 
 I' the train of Monsignor and Eminence, 
 
 As gentleman-squire, and for my zeal's reward 
 
 Have rarely missed a place at the table-foot 
 
 Except when some Ambassador, or such like, 
 
 Brought his own people. Brief, one day I felt 
 
 The tick of time inside me, turning-point 
 
 And slight sense there was now enough of this : 
 
 That I was near my seventh climacteric, 
 
 Hard upon, if not over, the middle life, 
 
 And, although fed by the east-wind, fulsome-fine 
 
 With foretaste of the Land of Promise, still 
 
 My gorge gave symptom it might play me false ; 
 
 Better not press it further, — be content 
 
 With living and dying only a nobleman. 
 
 Who merely had a father great and rich. 
 
 Who simply had one greater and richer yet, 
 
 And so on back and back till first and best 
 
COUNT GUIDO FRANCESCHINl 161 
 
 Began i' the night ; I finish in the day. 
 
 " The mother must be getting old," I said ; 
 
 *' The sisters are well wedded away, our name 
 Can manage to pass a sister off, at need, 
 And do for dowry : both my brothers thrive — 
 Regular priests they are, nor, bat-like, 'bide 
 'Twixt flesh and fowl with neither privilege. 
 My spare revenue must keep me and mine. 
 I am tired : Arezzo's air is good to breathe ; 
 Vittiano, — one limes flocks of thrushes there ; 
 A leathern coat costs little and lasts long : 
 Let me bid hope good-bye, content at home ! " 
 Thus, one day, I disbosomed me and bowed. 
 Whereat began the little buzz and thrill 
 O' the gazers round me ; each face brightened up : 
 As when at your Casino, deep in dawn, 
 A gamester says at last, '" I play no more, 
 Forego gain, acquiesce in loss, withdraw 
 Anyhow : " and the watchers of his ways, 
 A trifle struck compunctious at the word, 
 Yet sensible of relief, breathe free once more, 
 Break up the ring, venture polite advice 
 
 " How, Sir ? So scant of heart and hope indeed ? 
 Retire with neither cross nor pile from play ? — 
 So incurious, so short-casting ? — give your chance 
 To a younger, stronger, bolder spirit belike. 
 Just when luck turns and the fine tlirow sweeps all ? " 
 Such was the chorus : and its goodwill meant — 
 
 " See that the loser leave door handsomely I 
 There 's an ill look, — it 's sinister, spoils sport. 
 When an old bruised and battered year-by-year 
 Fighter with fortune, not a penny in poke, 
 Reels down the stej)S of our establishment 
 And staggers on broad daylight and the world, 
 In shagrag beard and doleful doublet, drops 
 And breaks his heart on the outside : people prate 
 ' Such is the profit of a trip upstairs ! ' 
 Contrive he sidle forth, balked of the blow 
 Best dealt by way of moral, bidding down 
 No curse but blessings rather on our heads 
 For some poor prize he bears at tattered breast, 
 Some palpable sort of kind of good to set 
 Over and against the grievance : give him quick ! " 
 Whereon protested Paul, " Go hang yourselves ! 
 Leave him to me. Count Guido and brother of mine, 
 A word in your ear ! Take courage, since faint heart 
 
152 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Ne'er won . . . aha, fair lady, don't men say ? 
 
 There 's a sors^ there 's a right Virgilian dip ! 
 
 Do you see the happiness o' the hint ? At worst, 
 
 If the Church want no more of you, the Court 
 
 No more, and the Camp as little, the ingrates, — come, 
 
 Count you are counted : still you 've coat to back, 
 
 Not cloth of gold and tissue, as we hoped, 
 
 But cloth with sparks and spangles on its frieze 
 
 From Camp, Court, Church, enough to make a shine, 
 
 Entitle you to carry home a wife 
 
 With the proper dowry, let the worst betide I 
 
 Why, it was just a wife you meant to take 1 " 
 
 Now, Paul's advice was weighty : priests should know ; 
 
 And Paul apprised me, ere the week was out, 
 
 That Pietro and Violante, the easy pair. 
 
 The cits enough, with stomach to be more. 
 
 Had just the daughter and exact the sum 
 
 To truck for the quality of myself : " She 's young, 
 
 Pretty and rich : you 're noble, classic, choice. 
 
 Is it to be a match ? " — "A match," said I. 
 
 Done ! He proposed all, I accepted all. 
 
 And we performed all. So I said and did 
 
 Simply. As simply followed, not at first, 
 
 But with the outbreak of misfortune, still 
 
 One comment on the saying and doing — '' What ? 
 
 No blush at the avowal you dared buy 
 
 A girl of age beseems your granddaughter, 
 
 Like ox or ass ? Are flesh and blood a ware ? 
 
 Are heart and soul a chattel ? " 
 
 Softly, Sirs ! 
 Will the Court of its charity teach poor me 
 Anxious to learn, of any way i' the world. 
 Allowed by custom and convenience, save 
 This same which, taught from my youth up, I trod ? 
 Take me along with you ; where was the wrong step ? 
 If what I gave in barter, style and state 
 And all that hangs to Franceschinihood, 
 Were worthless, — why, society goes to ground, 
 Its rules are idiot's-rambling. Honor of birth, — 
 If that thing has no value, cannot buy 
 Something with value of another sort. 
 You 've no reward nor punishment to give 
 I' the giving or the taking honor ; straight 
 Your social fabric, pinnacle to base. 
 Comes down a-clatter like a house of cards. 
 
COUNT GUIDO FRANCESCHINl 153 
 
 Get honor, and keep honor free from flaw, 
 
 Aim at still higher honor, — gabble o' the goose ! 
 
 Go bid a second blockliead like myself 
 
 Spend fifty years in guarding bubbles of breath, 
 
 Soapsuds with air i' the belly, gilded brave, 
 
 Guarded and guided, all to break at touch 
 
 0' the first young girl's hand and first old fool's purse ! 
 
 All my privation and endurance, all 
 
 Love, loyalty and labor dared and did. 
 
 Fiddle-de-dee I — why, doer and darer both, — 
 
 Count Guido Franceschini had hit the mark 
 
 Far better, spent his life with more effect, 
 
 As a dancer or a prizer, trades that pay ! 
 
 On the other hand, bid this buffoonery cease. 
 
 Admit that honor is a privilege. 
 
 The question follows, privilege worth what ? 
 
 Why, worth the market-price, — now up, now down, 
 
 Just so with this as with all other ware : 
 
 Therefore essay the market, sell your name, 
 
 Style and condition to who buys them best ! 
 " Does my name purchase," had I dared inquire, 
 " Your niece, my lord ? " there would have been rebuff 
 
 Though courtesy, your Lordship cannot else — 
 " Not altogether ! Rank for rank may stand : 
 
 But I have wealth beside, you — poverty ; 
 
 Your scale flies up there : bid a second bid. 
 
 Rank too and wealth too ! " Reasoned like yourself! 
 
 But was it to you I went with goods to sell ? 
 
 This time 't was my scale quietly kissed the ground, 
 
 Mere rank against mere wealth — some youth beside, 
 
 Some beauty too, thrown into the bargain, just 
 
 As the buyer likes or lets alone. I thought 
 
 To deal o' the square : others find fault, it seems : 
 
 The thing is, those my offer most concerned, 
 
 Pietro, Violante, cried they fair or foul ? 
 
 What did they make o' the terms ? Preposterous terms ? 
 
 Why then accede so promptly, close with such 
 
 Nor take a minute to chaffer ? Bargain struck. 
 
 They straight grew bilious, wished their money back, 
 
 Repented them, no doubt : why, so did I, 
 
 So did your Lordship, if town-talk be true. 
 
 Of paying a full farm's vrorth for that piece 
 
 By Pietro of Cortona — probably 
 
 His scholar Giro Ferri may have retouched — 
 
 You caring more for color than design^ — 
 
 Getting a little tired of cupids too. 
 
154 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 That 's incident to all the folk who buy I 
 I am charged, I know, with gilding fact by fraud; 
 I falsified and fabricated, wrote 
 Myself down roughly richer than I prove, 
 Rendered a wrong revenue, — grant it all ! 
 Mere grace, mere coquetry such fraud, I say : 
 A flourish round the figures of a sum 
 For fashion's sake, that deceives nobody. 
 The A^eritable back-bone, understood 
 Essence of this same bargain, blank and bare, 
 Being the exchange of quality for wealth, — 
 What may such fancy-flights be ? Flecks of oil 
 Flirted by chapmen where plain dealing grates. 
 I may have dripped a drop — '* My name I sell ; 
 Not but that I too boast my wealth " — as they, 
 " — We bring you riches ; still our ancestor 
 Was hardly the rapscallion, folk saw flogged. 
 But heir to we know who, were rights of force I " 
 They knew and I knew where the back-bone lurked 
 I' the writhings of the bargain, lords, believe ! 
 I paid down all engaged for, to a doit, 
 Delivered them just that which, their life long, 
 They hungered in the hearts of them to gain — 
 Incorporation with nobility thus 
 In word and deed : for that they gave me wealth. 
 But when they came to try their gain, my gift. 
 Quit Rome and qualify for Arezzo, take 
 The tone o' the new sphere that absorbed the old, 
 Put away gossip Jack and goody Joan 
 And go become familiar with the Great, 
 Greatness to touch and taste and handle now. — • 
 Why, then, — they found that all was vanity. 
 Vexation, and what Solomon describes ! 
 The old abundant city-fare was best. 
 The kindly warmth o' the commons, the glad clap 
 Of the equal on the shoulder, the frank grin 
 Of the underling at all so many spoons 
 Fire-new at neighborly treat, — best, best and best 
 Beyond compare I — down to the loll itself 
 O' the pot-house settle, — better such a bench 
 Than the stiff crucifixion by my dais 
 Under the piecemeal damask canopy 
 With the coroneted coat-of-arms a-top ! 
 Poverty and privation for pride's sake, 
 All they engaged to easily brave and bear, — 
 With the fit upon them and their brains a-workj — 
 
COUNT GUIDO FRANCESCHINI 155 
 
 Proved unendurable to the sobered sots. 
 
 A banished prince, now, will exude a juice 
 
 And salamander-like support the flame : 
 
 He dines on chestnuts, chucks the husks to help 
 
 The broil o' the brazier, pays the due baioc, 
 
 Goes off light-hearted : his grimace begins 
 
 At the funny humors of the christening-feast 
 
 Of friend the money-lender, — then he 's touched 
 
 By the flame and frizzles at the babe to kiss ! 
 
 Here was the converse trial, opposite mind : 
 
 Here did a petty nature split on rock 
 
 Of vulgar wants predestinate for such — 
 
 One dish at supper and weak wine to boot ! 
 
 The prince had grinned and borne : the citizen shrieked, 
 
 Summoned the neighborhood to attest the wrong, 
 
 Made noisy protest he was murdered, — stoned 
 
 And burned and drowned and hanged, — then broke away, 
 
 He and his wife, to tell their Rome the rest. 
 
 And this you admire, you men o' the world, my lords ? 
 
 This moves compassion, makes you doubt my faith ? 
 
 Why, I appeal to . . . sun and moon ? Not I ! 
 
 Rather to Plautus, Terence, Boccaccio's Book, 
 
 My townsman, frank Ser F'ranco's merry Tales, — 
 
 To all who strip a vizard from a face, 
 
 A body from its padding, and a soul 
 
 From froth and ignorance it styles itself, — 
 
 If this be other than the daily hap 
 
 Of purblind greed that dog-like still drops bone, 
 
 Grasps shadow, and then howls the case is hard ! 
 
 So much for them so far : now for myself, 
 My profit or loss i' the matter : married am I : 
 Text whereon friendly censors burst to f)reach. 
 Ay, at Rome even, long ere I was left 
 To regulate her life for my young bride 
 Alone at Arezzo, friendliness outbroke 
 (Sifting my future to predict its fault) 
 '" Purchase and sale being thus so plain a point. 
 How of a certain soul bound up, maybe, 
 I' the barter with the body and money-bags ? 
 From the bride's soul what is it you expect ? " 
 Why, loyalty and obedience, — wish and will 
 To settle and suit her fresh and plastic mind 
 To the novel, not disadvantageous mould! 
 Father and mother shall the woman leave, 
 Cleave to the husband, be it for weal or woe : 
 
156 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 There is the law : what sets this law aside 
 In my particular case ? My friends submit 
 *' Guide, guardian, benefactor, — fee, favv, fum, 
 The fact is you are forty-five years old, 
 Nor very comely even for that age : 
 Girls must have boys." Why, let girls say so then, 
 Nor call the boys and men, who say the same, 
 Brute this and beast the other as they do ! 
 Come, cards on table ! When you chant us next 
 Epithalamium full to overflow 
 With praise and glory of white womanhood. 
 The chaste and pure — troll no such lies o'er lip ! 
 Put in their stead a crudity or two, 
 Such short and simple statement of the case 
 As youth chalks on our walls at spring of year ! 
 No ! I shall still think nobler of the sex. 
 Believe a woman still may take a man 
 For the short period that his soul wears flesh, 
 And, for the soul's sake, understand the fault 
 Of armor frayed by fighting. Tush, it tempts 
 One's tongue too much ! I '11 say — the law 's the law 
 With a wife I look to find all wifeliness. 
 As when I buy, timber and twig, a tree — 
 I buy the song o' the nightingale inside. 
 
 Such was the pact : Pompilia from the first 
 
 Broke it, refused from the beginning day 
 
 Either in body or soul to cleave to mine. 
 
 And published it forthwith to all the world. 
 
 No rupture, — you must join ere you can break, — 
 
 Before we had cohabited a month 
 
 She found I was a devil and no man, — 
 
 Made common cause with those who found as much. 
 
 Her parents, Pietro and Violante, — moved 
 
 Heaven and earth to the rescue of all three. 
 
 In four months' time, the time o' the parents' stay, 
 
 Arezzo was a-ringing, bells in a blaze, 
 
 With the unimaginable story rife 
 
 I' the mouth of man, woman and child — to wit 
 
 My misdemeanor. First the lighter side, 
 
 Ludicrous face of things, — how very poor 
 
 The Franceschini had become at last, 
 
 The meanness and the misery of each shift 
 
 To save a soldo, stretch and make ends meet. 
 
 Next, the more hateful aspect, — how myself 
 
 With cruelty beyond Caligula's 
 
COUNT GUIDO FRANCESCHINI 157 
 
 Had stripped and beaten, robbed and murdered them, 
 The good old couple, I decoyed, abused, 
 Plundered and then cast out, and ha})pily so, 
 Since, — in due course the abominable conies, — 
 Woe worth the poor young wife left lonely here ! 
 Repugnant in my person as my mind, 
 I sought, — was ever heard of such revenge ? 
 — To lure and bind her to so cursed a couch, 
 Such co-embrace with sulphur, snake and toad, 
 That she was fain to rush forth, call the stones 
 O' the common street to save her, not from hate 
 Of mine meiely, but . . . must I burn my lips 
 With the blister of the lie ? . . . the satyr-love 
 Of who but my own brother, the young priest. 
 Too long enforced to lenten fare belike. 
 Now tempted by the morsel tossed him full 
 I' the trencher where lay bread and herbs at best. 
 Mark, this yourselves say ! — this, none disallows, 
 Was charged to me by the universal voice 
 At the instigation of my four-months' wife ! — 
 And then you ask, " Such charges so preferred, 
 (Truly or falsely, here concerns us not) 
 Pricked you to punish now if not before ? — 
 Did not the harshness double itself, the hate 
 Harden ? " I answer, " Have it your way and will ! " 
 Say my resentment grew apace : what then ? 
 Do you cry out on the marvel ? When I find 
 That pure smooth Q^g which, laid within my nest. 
 Could not but hatch a comfort to us all, 
 Issues a cockatrice for me and mine. 
 Do you stare to see me stamp on it ? Swans are soft : 
 Is it not clear that she you call my wife. 
 That any wife of any husband, caught 
 Whetting a sting like this a^^ainst his breast, — 
 Speckled with fragments of the fresh-broke shell, 
 Married a month and making outcry thus, — 
 Proves a plague-prodigy to God and man ? 
 She married : w^hat was it she married for. 
 Counted upon and meant to meet thereby ? 
 '•■ Love," suggests some one, " love, a little word 
 Whereof we have not heard one syllable." 
 So, the Pompilia, child, girl, wife, in one. 
 Wanted the beating pulse, the rolling eye. 
 The frantic gesture, the devotion due 
 From Thyrsis to Nesera ! Guido's love — 
 Why not Provencal roses in his shoe, 
 
158 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Plume to his cap, and trio of guitars 
 
 At casement, with a bravo close beside ? 
 
 Good things all these are, clearly claimable 
 
 When the tit price is paid the proper way. 
 
 Had it been some friend's wife, now, threw her fan 
 
 At my foot, with just this pretty scrap attached, 
 
 *' Shame, death, damnation — fall these as they may, 
 So I find you, for a minute I Come this eve ! " 
 — Why, at such sweet self-sacrifice, — who knows ? 
 I might have fired up, found me at my post, 
 Ardent from head to heel, nor feared catcli cough. 
 Nay, had some other friend's . . . say, daughter, tripped 
 Upstairs and tumbled flat and franlc on me, 
 Bareheaded and barefooted, with loose hair 
 And garments all at large, — cried " Take me thus ! 
 Duke So-and-So, the greatest man in Rome — 
 To escape his hand and heart have I broke bounds, 
 Traversed the town and reached you ! " — Then, mi. d, 
 The lady had not reached a man of ice ! 
 I would have rummaged, ransacked at the word 
 Those old odd corners of an empty heart 
 For remnants of dim love the long disused. 
 And dusty crumbKngs of romance ! But here, 
 We talk of just a marriage, if you please — 
 The every-day conditions and no more ; 
 Where do these bind me to bestow one drop 
 Of blood shall dye my wife's true-love-knot pink ? 
 Pompilia was no pigeon, Venus' pet, 
 That shuffled from between her pressing paps 
 To sit on my rough shoulder, — but a hawk, 
 I bought at a hawk's price and carried home 
 To do hawk's service — at the Rotunda, say. 
 Where, six o' the callow nestlings in a row, 
 You pick and choose and pay the price for such. 
 1 have paid my pound, aAvait my penny's worth. 
 So, hoodwink, starve and properly train my bird, 
 And, should she prove a haggard, — twist her nee'.. ! 
 Did I not pay my name and style, my hope 
 And trust, my all ? Through spending these amiss 
 I am here ! 'T is scarce the gravity of the Court 
 Will blame me that I never piped a tune, 
 Treated my falcon-gentle like my finch. 
 The obligation I incurred was just 
 To practise mastery, prove my mastership : — 
 Pompilia's duty was — submit herself. 
 
 Afford me pleasure, perhaps cure my bile. 
 
COUNT aUlDO FRANCESCHINI 159 
 
 Am I to teach my lords what marriage means, 
 
 What God ordams thereby and man fulfils 
 
 Who, docile to the dictate, treads the house ? 
 
 My lords have chosen the happier part with Paul 
 
 And neither marry nor burn, — yet priestliness 
 
 Can find a parallel to the marriage-bond 
 
 In its own blessed special ordinance 
 
 Whereof indeed was marriage made the type : 
 
 The Church may show her insubordinate, 
 
 As marriage her refractory. How of the Monk 
 
 Who finds the claustral regimen too sharp 
 
 After the first month's essay ? What 's the mode 
 
 With the Deacon who supports indifferently 
 
 The rod o' the Bishop when he tastes its smart 
 
 Full four weeks ? Do you straightway slacken hold 
 
 Of the innocents, the all-unwary ones 
 
 Who, eager to profess, mistook their mind ? — 
 
 Remit a fast-day's rigor to the Monk 
 
 Who fancied Francis' manna meant roast quails, — 
 
 Concede the Deacon sweet society. 
 
 He never thought the Levite-rule renounced, — 
 
 Or rather prescribe short chain and sharp scourge 
 
 Corrective of such peccant humors ? This — 
 
 I take to be the Church's mode, and mine. 
 
 If I was over-harsh, — the worse i' the wife 
 
 Who did not win from harshness as she ought, 
 
 Wanted the patience and persuasion, lore 
 
 Of love, should cure me and console herself. 
 
 Put case that 1 mishandle, flurrv and frifrht 
 
 My hawk through clumsiness in sportsmanship, 
 
 Twitch out five pens where plucking one would serve — 
 
 What, shall she bite and claw to mend the case ? 
 
 And, if you find I pluck five more for that, 
 
 Shall you weep " How he roughs the turtle there " ? 
 
 Such was the starting ; now of the further step. 
 
 In lieu of taking penance in good part. 
 
 The Monk, with hue and cry, summons a mob 
 
 To make a bonfire of the convent, say, — 
 
 And the Deacon's pretty piece of virtue (save 
 
 The ears o' the Court ! I try to save my head) 
 
 Instructed by the ingenuous postulant. 
 
 Taxes the Bishop with adultery, (mud 
 
 Needs must pair off with mud, and filth with filth) — 
 
 Such being my next experience. Who knows not — 
 
 The couple, father and mother of my wife, 
 
160 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Returned to Rome, published before my lords, 
 Put into print, made circulate far and wide 
 That they had cheated me who clieated them ? 
 Pompilia, I supposed their daughter, drew 
 Breath first 'mid Rome's worst rankness, through the deed 
 Of a drab and a rogue, was by-blow bastard-babe 
 Of a nameless strumpet, passed off, palmed on me 
 As the daughter with the dowry. Daughter ? Dirt 
 O' the kennel ! Dowry ? Dust o' the street ! Nought more 
 Nought less, nought else but — oh — ah — assuredly 
 A Franceschini and my very wife ! 
 Now take this charge as you will, for false or true, — 
 This charge, preferred before your very selves 
 Who judge me now, — I pray you, adjudge again, 
 Classing it with the cheats or with the lies. 
 By which category I suffer most I 
 But of their reckoning, theirs who dealt with me 
 In either fashion, — I reserve my word, 
 Justify that in its place ; I am now to say, 
 Whichever point o' the charge might poison most, 
 Pompilia's duty was no doubtful one. 
 You put the protestation in her mouth, 
 *' Henceforward and forevermore, avaunt 
 Ye fiends, who drop disguise and glare revealed 
 In your own shape, no longer father mine 
 Nor mother mine ! Too nakedly you hate 
 Me whom you looked as if you loved once, — me 
 Whom, whether true or false, your tale now damns, 
 Divulged thus to my public infamy, 
 Private perdition, absolute overthrow. 
 For, hate my husband to your hearts' content, 
 I, spoil and prey of you from first to last, 
 I who have done you the blind service, lured 
 The lion to your pitfall, — I, thus left 
 To answer for my ignorant bleating there, 
 I should have been remembered and withdrawn 
 From the first o' the natural fury, not flung loose 
 A proverb and a byword men will mouth 
 At the cross-way, in the corner, up and down 
 Rome and Arezzo, — there, full in my face, 
 If my lord, missing them and finding me. 
 Content himself with casting his reproach 
 To drop i' the street where such impostors die. 
 Ah, but — that husband, what the wonder were ! — 
 If, far from casting thus away the rag 
 Smeared with the plague, his hand had chanced upon, 
 
COUNT GUI DO FRANCESCHINI lt)l 
 
 Sewn to his pillow by Locusta's wile, — 
 
 Far from abolishing, root, stem and branch, 
 
 The misgrowth of infectious mistletoe 
 
 Foisted into his stock for honest graft, — 
 
 If he repudiate not, renounce nowise, 
 
 But, guarding, guiding me, maintain my cause 
 
 By making it his own, (what other way ?) 
 
 — To keep my name for me, he call it his, 
 
 Claim it of who would take it by their lie, — 
 
 To save my wealth for me — or babe of mine 
 
 Their lie was framed to beggar at the birth — 
 
 He bid them loose grasp, give our gold again : 
 
 If he become no partner with the pair 
 
 Even in a game which, played adroitly, gives 
 
 Its winner life's great wonderful new chance, — 
 
 Of marrying, to wit, a second time, — 
 
 Ah, if he did thus, what a friend were he ! 
 
 Anger he might show, — who can stamp out flame 
 
 Yet spread no black o' the brand ? — yet, rough albeit 
 
 In the act, as whose bare feet feel embers scorch, 
 
 What grace were his, what gratitude were mine I " 
 
 Such protestation should have been my wife's. 
 
 Looking for this, do I exact too much ? 
 
 Why, here 's the — word for word so much, no more — 
 
 Avowal she made, her pure spontaneous speech 
 
 To my brother the Abate at first blush, 
 
 Ere the good impulse had begun to fade : 
 
 So did she make confession for the pair. 
 
 So pour forth praises in her own behalf. 
 
 *' Ay, the false letter," interpose my lords — 
 
 " The simulated writing, — 't was a trick : 
 You traced the signs, she merely marked the same, 
 The product was not hers but yours." Alack, 
 I want no more impulsion to tell truth 
 From the other trick, the torture inside there ! 
 I confess all — let it be understood — 
 And deny nothing ! If I baffle you so, 
 Can so fence, in the plenitude of right. 
 That my poor lathen dagger puts aside 
 Each pass o' the Bilboa, beats you all the same, — 
 What matters inefficiency of blade ? 
 Mine and not hers the letter, — -conceded, lords ! 
 Impute to me that practice ! — take as proved 
 I taught my wife her duty, made her see 
 What it behoved her see and say and do. 
 Feel in her heart and with her tonjxue declare, 
 
162 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 And, whether shiggish or recalcitrantj 
 
 Forced her to take the right step, I myself 
 
 Was marching in marital rectitude ! 
 
 Why, who finds fault here, say the tale be true ? 
 
 Would not my lords commend the priest whose zeal 
 
 Seized on the sick, morose or moribund, 
 
 By the palsy-smitten finger, made it cross 
 
 His brow correctly at the critical time ? 
 
 — Or answered for the inarticulate babe 
 
 At baptism, in its stead declared the faith. 
 
 And saved what else would perish unprofessed ? 
 
 True, the incapable hand may rally yet, 
 
 Renounce the sign with renovated strength, — 
 
 The babe may grow up man and Molinist, — 
 
 And so Pompilia, set in the good path 
 
 And left to go alone there, soon might see 
 
 That too frank-forward, all too simple-strait 
 
 Her step was, and decline to tread the rough, 
 
 When here lay, tempting foot, the meadow-side, 
 
 And there the coppice rang with singing-birds ! 
 
 Soon she discovered she was young and fair, 
 
 That many in Arezzo knew as much, — 
 
 Yes, this next cup of bitterness, my lords. 
 
 Had to begin go filling, drop by drop. 
 
 Its measure up of full disgust for me, 
 
 Filtered into by every noisome drain — 
 
 Society's sink toward which all moisture runs. 
 
 Would not you jirophesy — " She on whose brow is stamped 
 
 The note of the imputation that we know, — 
 
 Rightly or wrongly mothered with a whore, — 
 
 Such an one, to disprove the frightful charge, 
 
 What will she but exaggerate chastity. 
 
 Err in excess of wifehood, as it were, 
 
 Renounce even levities permitted youth, 
 
 Though not youth struck to age by a thunderbolt ? 
 
 Cry ' wolf ' i' the sheepfold, where 's the sheep dares bleat, 
 
 Knowing the shepherd listens for a growl ? " 
 
 So you expect. How did the devil decree ? 
 
 Why, my lords, just the contrary of course ! 
 
 It was in the house from the window, at the church 
 
 From the hassock, — where the theatre lent its lodge, 
 
 Or staging for the public show left space, — 
 
 That still Pompilia needs must find herself 
 
 Launching her looks forth, letting looks reply 
 
 As arrows to a challenge ; on all sides 
 
 Ever new contribution to her lap, 
 
COUNT GUIDO FRANCESCHINI 168 
 
 Till one day, what is it knocks at my clenched teeth 
 
 But the cu}) f idl, curse-collected all lor me ? 
 
 And I must needs drink, drink this gallant's praise. 
 
 That minion's prayer, the other fop's reproach. 
 
 And come at the dregs to — Caponsacchi ! Sirs, 
 
 I, — chin deep in a marsh of misery. 
 
 Struggling to extricate my name and fame 
 
 And fortune from the marsh would drown them all, 
 
 My face the sole unstrangled part of me, — 
 
 I must have this new gad-fly in that face, 
 
 Must free me from the attacking lover too ! 
 
 Men say I battled ungracefully enough — 
 
 Was harsh, uncouth and ludicrous beyond 
 
 The proper part o' the husband : have it so ! 
 
 Your lordships are considerate at least — 
 
 You order me to speak in my defence 
 
 Plainly, exjDCct no quavering tuneful trills 
 
 As when you bid a singer solace you, — 
 
 Nor look that I shall give it, for a grace. 
 
 Stalls ijede in uno : — you remember well 
 
 In the one case, 't is a plainsong too severe, 
 
 This story of my wrongs, — and that I ache 
 
 And need a chair, in the other. Ask you me 
 
 Why, w^hen I felt this trouble flap my face. 
 
 Already pricked with every shame could perch, — 
 
 When, with her parents, my v/ife plagued me too, — 
 
 Why I enforced not exhortation mild 
 
 To leave whore's-tricks and let my brows alone, 
 
 With mulct of comfits, promise of perfume ? 
 
 *' Far from that ! No, you took the opposite course. 
 Breathed threatenings, rage and slaughter I " What you will! 
 And the end has come, the doom is verily here. 
 Unhindered by the threatening. See fate's flare 
 Full on each face of the dead guilty three I 
 Look at them well, and now, lords, look at this ! 
 Tell me : if on that day when I found first 
 That Caponsacchi thought the nearest way 
 To his church was some half-mile round by my door. 
 And that he so admired, shall I suppose. 
 The manner of the swallows' come-and-go 
 Between the props o' the window overhead, — 
 That window happening to be my wife's, — 
 As to stand gazing by the hour on high. 
 Of May-eves, while she sat and let him smile, — 
 If I, — instead of threatening, talking big, 
 
164 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Showing hair-powder, a prodigious pinch, 
 
 For jDoison in a bottle, — making believe 
 
 At desperate doings wdth a bauble-sword, 
 
 And other bugaboo-and-baby-work, — 
 
 Had, with the vulgarest household implement, 
 
 Calmly and quietly cut off, clean through bone, 
 
 But one joint of one linger of my wife, 
 
 Saying, '^ For listening to the serenade, 
 
 Here 's your ring-finger shorter a full third : 
 
 Be certain I will slice away next joint. 
 
 Next time that anybody underneath 
 
 Seems somehow to be sauntering as he hoped 
 
 A flower w^ould eddy out of your hand to his, 
 
 While you please fidget with the branch above 
 
 0' the rose-tree in the terrace ! " — had I done so, 
 
 Why, there had followed a quick sharp scream, some pain, 
 
 Much calling for plaister, damage to the dress, 
 
 A somewhat sulky countenance next day. 
 
 Perhaps reproaches, — but reflections too I 
 
 I don't hear much of harm that Malchus did 
 
 After the incident of the ear, my lords I 
 
 Saint Peter took the efficacious way ; 
 
 Malchus was sore but silenced for his life : 
 
 He did not hang himself i' the Potter's Field 
 
 Like Judas, who was trusted with the bag 
 
 And treated to sops after he proved a thief. 
 
 So, by this time, my true and obedient wife 
 
 Might have been telling beads with a gloved hand ; 
 
 Awkward a little at pricking hearts and darts 
 
 On sampler possibly, but well otherwise : 
 
 Not where Rome shudders now to see her lie. 
 
 I give that for the course a wise man takes ; 
 
 I took the other however, tried the fool's, 
 
 The lighter remedy, brandished rapier dread 
 
 With cork-ball at the tip, boxed Malchus' ear 
 
 Instead of severing the cartilage. 
 
 Called her a terrible nickname, and the like. 
 
 And there an end : and what was the end of that ? 
 
 What was the good effect o' the gentle course ? 
 
 Why, one night I went drowsily to bed, 
 
 Dropped asleep suddenly, not suddenly woke. 
 
 But did wake with rough rousing and loud cry, 
 
 To find noon in my face, a crowd in my room, 
 
 Fumes in my brain, fire in my throat, my wife 
 
 Gone God knows whither, — rifled vesture-chest, 
 
 And ransacked money-coffer. " What does it mean ? " 
 
COUNT GUIDO FRANCESCHINI 165 
 
 The servants had been drugged too, stared and yawned 
 " It must be that our lady has eloped I " 
 
 — •' Whither and with whom ? " — " With whom but the 
 
 Canon's self ? 
 One recognizes Caponsacchi there ! " — 
 (By this time the admiring neighborhood 
 Joined chorus round me while I rubbed my eyes) 
 " 'T is months since their intelligence began, — 
 A comedy the town was privy to, — 
 He wrote and she wrote, she spoke, he replied, 
 And going in and out your house last night 
 Was easy work for one ... to be plain with you . . . 
 Accustomed to do both, at dusk and dawn 
 When you were absent, — at the villa, you know, 
 Where husbandry required the master-mind. 
 Did not you know ? Why, we all knew, you see ! " 
 And presently, bit by bit, the full and true 
 Particulars of the tale were volunteered 
 With all the breathless zeal of friendship — '• Thus 
 Matters were managed : at the seventh hour of night ' ' . . . 
 — '' Later, at daybreak " . . . " Caponsacchi came " . . . 
 
 — " While you and all your household slept like death. 
 Drugged as your supper was with drowsy stuff "... 
 
 — " And your own cousin Guillichini too — 
 Either or both entered your dwelling-place. 
 Plundered it at their pleasure, made prize of all, 
 Including your wife " . . . — " Oh, your wife led the way, 
 Out of doors, on to the gate "... — " But gates are shut, 
 In a decent town, to darkness and such deeds : 
 
 They climbed the wall — your lady must be lithe — 
 
 At the gap, the broken bit " . . . — " Torrione, true ! 
 
 To escape the questioning guard at the proper gate, 
 
 Clemente, where at the inn, hard by, ' the Horse,' 
 
 Just outside, a calash in readiness 
 
 Took the two principals, all alone at last, 
 
 To gate San Spirito, wdiich o'erlooks the road, 
 
 Leads to Perugia, Rome and liberty." 
 
 Bit by bit thus made-uj) mosaic-wise. 
 
 Flat lay my fortune, — tessellated floor, 
 
 Im])erishable tracery devils should foot 
 
 And frolic it on, around my broken gods, 
 
 Over my desecrated hearth. 
 
 So much 
 For the terrible effect of threatening, Sirs ! 
 
 Well, this way I was shaken wide awake, 
 Doctored and drenched, somewhat unpoisoned so. 
 
166 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Then, set on horseback and bid seek the lost, 
 
 I started alone, head of me, heart of me 
 
 Fire, and each limb as languid . . . ah, sweet lords, 
 
 Bethink you ! — poison-torture, try persuade 
 
 The next refractory Molinist with that ! . . . 
 
 Floundered through day and night, another day 
 
 And yet another night, and so at last, 
 
 As Lucifer kept falling to find hell. 
 
 Tumbled into the court-yard of an inn 
 
 At the end, and fell on whom I thought to find, 
 
 Even Caponsacchi, — what part once was priest, 
 
 Cast to the winds now with the cassock-rao:s : 
 
 In cape and sword a cavalier confessed. 
 
 There stood he chiding dilatory grooms. 
 
 Chafing that only horseflesh and no team 
 
 Of eagles would supply the last relay. 
 
 Whirl him along the league, the one post more 
 
 Between the coujile and Rome and liberty. 
 
 'T was dawn, the couple were rested in a sort, 
 
 And though the lady, tired, — the tenderer sex, — 
 
 Still lingered in her chamber, -— to adjust 
 
 The limp hair, look for any blush astray, — 
 
 She would descend in a twinkling, — " Have you out 
 
 The horses therefore ! " 
 
 So did I find my wife. 
 Is the case complete ? Do your eyes here see with mine ? 
 Even the parties dared deny no one 
 Point out of all these points. 
 
 What follows next ? 
 
 " Why, that then was the time," you interpose, 
 
 " Or then or never, while the fact was fresh. 
 To take the natural vengeance : there and thus 
 They and you, — somebody had stuck a sword 
 Beside you while he pushed you on your horse, — 
 'T was requisite to slay the couple, Count! " 
 Just so my friends say — " Kill ! " they cry in a breath, 
 Who presently, when matters grow to a head 
 And I do kill the offending ones indeed, — 
 When crime of theirs, only surmised before, 
 Is patent, proved indisputably now, — 
 When remedy for wrong, untried at the time, 
 Which law professes shall not fail a friend, 
 Is thrice tried now, found threefold worse than null, — 
 When what might turn to transient shade, who knows ? 
 Solidifies into a blot which breaks 
 Hell's black off in pale flakes for fear of mine, — 
 
COUNT GUIDO FRANCESCHINI lt)T 
 
 Then, when I claim and take revenj^e - — " So rash ? " 
 They cry — " so little reverence for the law ? " 
 
 Listen, my masters, and distinguish here ! 
 At first, I called in law to act and help : 
 Seeing I did so, '' Why, 't is clear," they cry, 
 " You shrank from gallant readiness and risk, 
 Were coward : the thing's inexplicable else." 
 Sweet my lords, let the thing be ! I fall flat, 
 Play the reed, not the oak, to breath of man. 
 Only, inform my ignorance ! Say I stand 
 Convicted of the having been afraid. 
 Proved a poltroon, no lion but a lamb, — 
 Does that deprive me of my right of lamb 
 And give my fleece and flesh to the first wolf ? 
 Are eunuchs, women, children, shieldless quite 
 Against attack their own timidity tempts ? 
 Cowardice were misfortune and no crime ! 
 
 — Take it that way, since I am fallen so low 
 
 I scarce dare brush the fly that blows my face. 
 And thank the man who simply spits not there, — 
 Unless the Court be generous, comprehend 
 How one brought up at the very feet of law 
 As I, awaits the grave GamalieFs nod 
 Ere he clench fist at outrage, — much less, stab ! 
 
 — How, ready enough to rise at the right time, 
 I still could recognize no time mature 
 Unsanctioned by a move o' the judgment-seat, 
 So, mute in misery, eyed my masters here 
 Motionless till the authoritative word 
 Pronounced amercement. There 's the riddle solved : 
 This is just why I slew^ nor her nor him, 
 
 But called in law, law's delegate in the place, 
 
 And bade arrest the guilty couple, Sirs ! 
 
 We had some trouble to do so — you have heard 
 
 They braved me, — he with arrogance and scorn, 
 
 She, with a volubility of curse, 
 
 A conversancy in the skill of tooth 
 
 And claw to make suspicion seem absurd, 
 
 Nay, an alacrity to put to proof 
 
 At my own throat my ow^n sword, teach me so 
 
 To try conclusions better the next time, — 
 
 Which did the proper service with the mob. 
 
 They never tried to put on mask at all : 
 
 Two avowed lovers forcibly torn apart, 
 
 Upbraid the tyrant as in a playhouse scene. 
 
168 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Ay, and with proper clapping and applause 
 
 From the audience that enjoys the bold and free. 
 
 I kept still, said to myself, " There 's law ! '' Anon 
 
 We searched the chamber where they passed the night, 
 
 Found what confirmed the worst was feared before, 
 
 However needless confirmation now — 
 
 The witches' circle intact, charms undisturbed 
 
 That raised the spirit and succubus, — letters, to wit, 
 
 Love-laden, each the bag o' the bee that bore 
 
 Honey from lily and rose to Cupid's hive, — 
 
 Now, poetry in some rank blossom-burst. 
 
 Now, prose, — " Come here, go there, wait such a while, 
 
 He 's at the villa, now he 's back again : 
 
 We are saved, we are lost, we are lovers all the same 1 " 
 
 All in order, all complete, — even to a clue 
 
 To the drowsiness that happed so opportune — 
 
 No mystery, when I read, " Of all things, find 
 
 What wine Sir Jealousy decides to drink — 
 
 Red wine ? Because a sleeping-potion, dust 
 
 Dropped into white, discolors wine and shows.'* 
 
 — " Oh, but we did not write a single word ! 
 Somebody forged the letters in our name ! — " 
 Both in a breath protested presently. 
 Aha, Sacchetti again ! — '' Dame," — quoth the Duke, 
 
 " What meaneth this epistle, counsel me, 
 I pick from out thy placket and peruse. 
 Wherein my page averreth thou art white 
 And warm and wonderful 'twixt pap and pap ? " 
 
 " Sir," laughed the Lady, " 't is a counterfeit ! 
 Thy page did never stroke but Dian's breast. 
 The pretty hound I nurture for thy sake : 
 To lie were losel, — by my fay, no more ! " 
 And no more say I too, and spare the Court. 
 
 Ah, the Court ! yes, I come to the Court's self ; 
 
 Such the case, so complete in fact and proof, 
 
 I laid at the feet of law, — there sat my lords. 
 
 Here sit they now, so may they ever sit 
 
 In easier attitude than suits my haunch ! 
 
 In this same chamber did I bare my sores 
 
 O' the soul and not the body, — shun no shame. 
 
 Shrink from no probing of the ulcerous part. 
 
 Since confident in Nature, — wdiich is God, — 
 
 That she w^ho, for wise ends, concocts a plague. 
 
 Curbs, at the right time, the plague's virulence too : 
 
COUNT GUIDO FRANCESCHINl 169 
 
 Law renovates even Lazarus, — cures nie I 
 Caesar thou seekest ? To Caesar thou shalt go ! 
 Caesar 's at Rome : to Rome accordingly ! 
 
 The case was soon decided : both weights, cast 
 
 I' the balance, vibrate, neither kicks the beam, 
 
 Here away, there away, this now and now that. 
 
 To every one o' my grievances law gave 
 
 Redress, could purblind eye but see the point. 
 
 The wife stood a convicted runagate 
 
 From house and husband, — driven to such a course 
 
 By what she somehow took for cruelty, 
 
 Oppression and imperilment of life — • 
 
 Not that such things were, but that so they seemed : 
 
 Therefore, the end conceded lawful, (since 
 
 To save life there 's no risk should stay our leap) 
 
 It follows that all means to the lawful end 
 
 Are lawful likewise, — poison, theft and flight. 
 
 As for the priest's part, did he meddle or make. 
 
 Enough that he too thought life jeopardized ; 
 
 Concede him then the color charity 
 
 Casts on a doubtful course, — if blackish white 
 
 Or whitish black, will charity hesitate ? 
 
 What did he else but act the precept out, 
 
 Leave, like a provident shepherd, his safe flock 
 
 To follow the single lamb and strayaway ? 
 
 Best hope so and think so, — that the ticklish time 
 
 I' the carriage, the tempting privacy, the last 
 
 Somewhat ambiguous accident at the inn, 
 
 — All may bear explanation : may? then, must ! 
 The letters, — do they so incriminate ? 
 
 But what if the whole prove a prank o' the pen, 
 Flight of the fancy, none of theirs at all, 
 Bred of the vapors of my brain belike. 
 Or at worst mere exercise of scholar's-wit 
 In the courtly Caponsacchi : verse, convict ? 
 Did not Catullus write less seemly once ? 
 Yet doctus and unblemished he abides. 
 Wherefore so ready to infer the worst ? 
 Still, I did righteously in bringing doubts 
 For the law to solve, — take the solution now ! 
 Seeing that the said associates, wife and priest. 
 Bear themselves not without some touch of blame 
 
 — Else why the pother, scandal and outcry 
 Which trouble our peace and require chastisement ? 
 We, for complicity in Pompilia's flight 
 
170 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 And deviation, and carnal intercourse 
 With the same, do set aside and relegate 
 The Canon Caponsacchi for three years 
 At Civita in the neighborhood of Rome : 
 And we consign Pompilia to the care 
 Of a certain Sisterhood of penitents 
 I' the city's self, ex23ert to deal with such." 
 Word for word, there 's your judgment ! Read it, lords. 
 Re-utter your deliberate penalty 
 For the crime yourselves establish I Your award — 
 Who chop a man's right-hand off at the wrist 
 For tracing with forefinger words in wine 
 O' the table of a drinking-booth that bear 
 Interpretation as they mocked the Church ! 
 — Who brand a woman black between the breasts 
 For sinning by connection with a Jew : 
 While for the Jew's self — pudency be dumb ! — 
 You mete out punishment such and such, yet so 
 Punish the adultery of wife and priest ! 
 Take note of that, before the Molinists do, 
 And read me right the riddle, since right must be ! 
 While I stood rapt away with wonderment, 
 Voices broke in upon my mood and muse. 
 " Do you sleep ? " began the friends at either ear, 
 " The case is settled, — you willed it should be so — 
 None of our counsel, always recollect ! 
 With law's award, budge ! Back into your place ! 
 Your betters shall arrange the rest for you. 
 We '11 enter a new action, claim divorce : 
 Your marriage was a cheat themselves allow : 
 You erred i' the person, — might have married thus 
 Your sister or your daughter unaware. 
 We '11 gain you, that way, liberty at least, 
 Sure of so much by law's own showing. Up 
 And off with you and your unluckiness — 
 Leave us to bury the blunder, sweep things smooth I " 
 I was in humble frame of mind, be sure ! 
 I bowed, betook me to my place again. 
 Station by station I retraced the road, 
 Touched at this hostel, passed this post-house by, 
 Where, fresh-remembered yet, the fugitives 
 Had risen to the heroic stature : still — 
 *'That was the bench they sat on, — there 's the board 
 They took the meal at, — yonder garden-ground 
 They leaned across the gate of," — ever a word 
 O' the Helen and the Paris, with " Ha ! you 're he, 
 
COUNT GUI DO FRANCESCHINI 171 
 
 The . . . much-commiserated husband ? " Step 
 By step, across the pelting, did I reach 
 Arezzo, underwent the archway's grin, 
 Traversed the length of sarcasm in the street, 
 Found myself in my horrible house once more, 
 And after a colloquy ... no word assists ! 
 With the mother and the brothers, stiffened me 
 Straight out from head to foot as dead man does. 
 And, thus prepared for life as he for hell. 
 Marched to the public Square and met the world. 
 Apologize for the pincers, palliate screws ? 
 Ply me with such toy-trifles, I entreat ! 
 Trust who has tried both sulphur and sops-in-wine ! 
 
 I played the man as I best might, bade friends 
 
 Put non-essentials by and face the fact. 
 " What need to hang myself as you advise ? 
 
 The paramour is banished, — the ocean's width, 
 
 Or the suburb's length, — to Ultima Tliule, say. 
 
 Or Proxima Civitas, what 's the odds of name 
 
 And place ? He 's banished, and the fact 's the thing. 
 
 Why should law banish innocence an inch ? 
 
 Here 's guilt then, what else do I care to know ? 
 
 The adulteress lies imprisoned, — whether in a well 
 
 With bricks above and a snake for company, 
 
 Or tied by a garter to a bedpost, — much 
 
 I mind what 's little, — least 's enough and to spare ! 
 
 The little fillip on the coward's cheek 
 
 Serves as though crab-tree cudgel broke his pate. 
 
 Law has pronounced there 's punishment, less or more : 
 
 And I take note o' the fact and use it thus — 
 
 For the first flaw in the orig^inal bond, 
 
 I claim release. My contract was to wed 
 
 The daughter of Pietro and Violante. Both 
 
 Protest they never had a child at all. 
 
 Then I have never made a contract : good ! 
 
 Cancel me quick the thing pretended one. 
 
 I shall be free. What matter if hurried over 
 
 The harbor-boom by a great favoring tide. 
 
 Or the last of a spent ripple that lifts and leaves ? 
 
 The Abate is about it. Laugh who wins ! 
 
 You shall not laugh me out of faith in law ! 
 
 I listen, through all your noise, to Rome ! " 
 
 Rome spoke. 
 
 In three months letters thence admonished me, 
 " Your plan for the divorce is all mistake. 
 
172 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 It would hold, now, had you, taking thought to wed 
 Rachel of the blue eye and golden hair, 
 Found swarth-skinned Leah cumber couch next day : 
 But Rachel, blue-eyed golden-haired aright. 
 Proving to be only Laban's child, not Lot's, 
 Remains yours all the same forevermore. 
 No whit to the purpose is your plea : you err 
 I' the person and the quality — nowise 
 In the individual, — that 's the case in point ! 
 You go to the ground, — are met by a cross-suit 
 For separation, of the Rachel here, 
 From bed and board, — she is the injured one, 
 You did the wrong and have to answer it. 
 As for the circumstance of imprisonment 
 And color it lends to this your new attack, 
 Never fear, that point is considered too ! 
 The durance is already at an end ; 
 The convent-quiet preyed upon her health, 
 She is transferred now to her parents' house 
 — No-parents, when that cheats and plunders you, 
 But parentage again confessed in full. 
 When such confession pricks and plagues you more — 
 As now — for, this their house is not the house 
 In Via Vittoria wherein neighbors' watch 
 Might incommode the freedom of your wife, 
 But a certain villa smothered up in vines 
 At the town's edge by the gate i' the Pauline way, 
 Out of eye-reach, out of ear-shot, little and lone. 
 Whither a friend, — at Civita, we hope, 
 A good half-dozen-hours' ride off, — might, some eve, 
 Betake himself, and whence ride back, some morn, 
 Nobody the wiser : but be that as it may, 
 Do not afflict your brains with trifles now. 
 You have still three suits to manage, all and each 
 Ruinous truly should the event play false. 
 It is indeed the likelier so to do. 
 That brother Paul, your single prop and stay. 
 After a vain attempt to bring the Pope 
 To set aside procedures, sit himself 
 And summarily use prerogative, 
 Afford us the infallible finger's tact 
 To disentwine your tangle of affairs, 
 Paul, — finding it moreover past his strength 
 To stem the irruption, bear Rome's ridicule 
 Of . . . since friends must speak ... to be round with 
 you . . . 
 
COUNT GUIDO FRANCESCHINl 173 
 
 Of the old outwitted husband, wronged and wroth, 
 
 Pitted against a brace of juveniles — 
 
 A brisk priest who is versed in Ovid's art 
 
 More than his "" Summa," and a gamesome wife 
 
 Able to act Corinna without book, 
 
 Beside the waggish parents who played dupes 
 
 To dupe the daper — (and truly divers scenes 
 
 Of the Arezzo palace, tickle rib 
 
 And tease eye till the tears come, so we laugh ; 
 
 Nor wants the shock at the inn its comic force, 
 
 And then the letters and poetry — merum sal /) 
 
 — Paul, finally, in such a state of things, 
 
 After a brief temptation to go jump 
 
 And join the fishes in the Tiber, drowns 
 
 Sorrow another and a wiser way : 
 
 House and goods, he has sold all off, is gone, 
 
 Leaves Rome, — whether for France or Spain, who knows ? 
 
 Or Britain almost divided from our orb. 
 
 You have lost him anyhow." 
 
 Now, — I see my lords 
 Shift in their seat, — would I could do the same ! 
 They jDrobably please expect my bile was moved 
 To purpose, nor much blame me : now, they judge, 
 The fiery titillation urged my flesh 
 
 Break through the bonds. By your pardon, no, sweet Sirs ! 
 I got such missives in the public place ; 
 When I sought home, — with such news, mounted stair 
 And sat at last in the sombre gallery, 
 ('T was Autumn, the old mother in bed betimes, 
 Having to bear that cold, the finer frame 
 Of her daughter-in-law had found intolerable — 
 The brother, walking misery away 
 O' the mountain-side with dog and gun belike,) 
 As I supped, ate the coarse bread, drank the wine 
 Weak once, now acrid with the toads-head-squeeze, 
 My wife's bestowment, — I broke silence thus : 
 '' Let me, a man, manfully meet the fact. 
 Confront the worst o' the truth, end, and have peace ! 
 I am irremediably beaten here, — 
 The gross illiterate vulgar couple, — bah ! 
 Why, they have measured forces, mastered mine. 
 Made me their spoil and prey from first to last. 
 They have got my name, — 't is riailed now fast to theirs, 
 The child or changeling is anyway my wife ; 
 Point by point as they plan they execute, 
 They gain all, and I lose all — even to the lure 
 
174 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 That led to loss, — they have the wealth again 
 They hazarded awhile to hook me with, 
 Have caught the fish and find the bait entire : 
 They even have their child or changeling back 
 To trade with, turn to account a second time. 
 The brother, presumably might tell a tale 
 Or give a warning, — he, too, flies the field, 
 And with him vanish hel]) and hope of help. 
 They have caught me in the cavern where I fell, 
 Covered my loudest cry for human aid 
 With tliis enormous paving-stone of shame. 
 Well, are we demigods or merely clay ? 
 Is success still attendant on desert ? 
 Is this, we live on, heaven and the final state, 
 Or earth which means probation to the end ? 
 Why claim escape from man's predestined lot 
 Of being beaten and baffled ? — God's decree. 
 In which I, bowing bruised head, acquiesce. 
 One of us Franceschini fell long since 
 I' the Holy Land, betrayed, tradition runs, 
 To Paynims by the feigning of a girl 
 He rushed to free from ravisher, and found 
 Lay safe enough with friends in ambuscade 
 Who flayed him while she clapped her hands and laughed ; 
 Let me end, falling by a like device. 
 It will not be so hard. I am the last 
 O' my line which will not suffer any more. 
 I have attained to my full fifty years, 
 (About the average of us all, 't is said, 
 Though it seems longer to the unlucky man) 
 — Lived through my share of life ; let all end here, 
 Me and the house and grief and shame at once. 
 Friends my informants, — I can bear your blow ! ' 
 And I believe 't was in no unmeet match 
 For the stoic's mood, with something like a smile. 
 That, when morose December roused me next, 
 I took into my hand, broke seal to read 
 The new epistle from Rome. " All to no use I 
 Whate'er the turn next injury take," smiled I, 
 " Here 's one has chosen his part and knows his cue. 
 I am done with, dead now ; strike away, good friends ! 
 Are the three suits decided in a trice ? 
 Against me, — there '^ no question ! How does it go ? 
 Is the parentage of my wife demonstrated 
 Infamous to her wish ? Parades she now 
 Loosed of the cincture that so irked the loin ? 
 
COUNT GUIDO FRANCESCHINI 175 
 
 Is the last penny extracted from my purse 
 
 To mulct me for demanding the first pound 
 
 Was promised in return for value paid ? 
 
 Has the priest, with nobody to court beside, 
 
 Courted the Muse in exile, hitched my hap 
 
 Into a rattling ballad-rhyme which, bawled 
 
 At tavern-doors, wakes rapture everywhere. 
 
 And helps cheap wine down throat this Christmas time, 
 
 Beating the bagpipes ? Any or all of these I 
 
 As well, good friends, you cursed my palace here 
 
 To its old cold stone face, — stuck your cap for crest 
 
 Over the shield that 's extant in the Square, — 
 
 Or spat on the statue's cheek, the impatient world 
 
 Sees cumber tomb-top in our family church : 
 
 Let him creep under covert as I shall do, 
 
 Half below-ground already indeed. Good-bye I 
 
 My brothers are priests, and childless so ; that 's well — 
 
 And, thank God most for this, no child leave I — 
 
 None after me to bear till his heart break 
 
 The being a Franceschini and my son ! " 
 
 "Nay," said the letter, "but you have just that ! 
 A babe, your veritable son and heir — 
 Lawful, — 't is only eight months since your wife 
 Left you, -•- so, son and heir, your babe was born 
 Last Wednesday in the villa, — you see the cause 
 For quitting Convent without beat of drum, 
 Stealing a hurried march to this retreat 
 That 's not so savage as the Sisterhood 
 To slips and stumbles : Pietro's heart Is soft, 
 Violante leans to pity's side, — the pair 
 Ushered you into life a bouncing boy : 
 And he 's already hidden away and safe 
 From any claim on him you mean to make — 
 They need him for themselves, — don't fear, they know 
 The use o' the bantling, — the nerve thus laid bare 
 To nip at, new and nice, with finger-nail I " 
 
 Then I rose up like fire, and fire-like roared. 
 
 What, all is only beginning not ending now ? 
 
 The worm which wormed its way from skin through flesh 
 
 To the bone and there lay biting, did its best, — 
 
 What, it goes on to scrape at the bone's self. 
 
 Will wind to inmost marrow and madden me ? 
 
 There 's to be yet my representative, 
 
 Another of the name shall keep displayed 
 
176 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 The flag with the ordure on it, brandish still 
 
 The broken sword has served to stir a jakes ? 
 
 Who will he be, how will you call the man ? 
 
 A Franeesehini, — when who cut my purse, 
 
 Filched my name, hemmed me round, hustled me hard 
 
 As rogues at a fair some fool they strip i' the midst, 
 
 "When these count gains, vaunt pillage presently : — 
 
 But a Caponsacchi, oh, be very sure ! 
 
 When what demands its tribute of applause 
 
 Is the cunning and impudence o' the pair of cheats, 
 
 The lies and lust o' the mother, and the brave 
 
 Bold carriage of the priest, worthily crowned 
 
 By a witness to his feat i' the following age, — 
 
 And how this threefold cord could hook and fetch 
 
 And land leviathan that king of pride ! 
 
 Or say, by some mad miracle of chance. 
 
 Is he indeed my flesh and blood, this babe ? 
 
 Was it because fate forged a link at last 
 
 Betwixt my wife and me, and both alike 
 
 Found we had henceforth some one thing to love, 
 
 Was it when she could damn my soul indeed 
 
 She unlatched door, let all the devils o' the dark 
 
 Dance in on me to cover her escape ? 
 
 Why then, the surplusage of disgrace, the spilth 
 
 Over and above the measure of infamy, • 
 
 Failing to take effect on my coarse flesh 
 
 Seasoned with scorn now, saturate with shame, — 
 
 Is saved to instil on and corrode the brow, 
 
 The baby-softness of my first-born child — 
 
 The child I had died to see though in a dream, 
 
 The child I was bid strike out for, beat the wave 
 
 And baffle the tide of troubles where I swam. 
 
 So I might touch shore, lay down life at last 
 
 At the feet so dim and distant and divine 
 
 Of the apparition, as 't were Mary's babe 
 
 Had held, through night and storm, the torch aloft, — 
 
 Born now in very deed to bear this brand 
 
 On forehead and curse me who could not save ! 
 
 Rather be the town-talk true, Square's jest, street's jeer 
 
 True, my own inmost heart's confession true. 
 
 And he the priest's bastard and none of mine ! 
 
 Ay, there was cause for flight, swift flight and sure ! 
 
 The husband gets unruly, breaks all bounds 
 
 When he encounters some familiar face, 
 
 Fashion of feature, brow and eyes and lips 
 
 Where he least looked to find them, — time to fly ! 
 
COUNT GUIDO FRANCESCHINI 177 
 
 This bastard then, a nest for him is made, 
 
 As the manner is of vermin, in my flesh — 
 
 Shall I let the filthy pest buzz, flap and sting, 
 
 Busy at my vitals and, nor hand nor foot 
 
 Lift, but let be, lie still and rot resigned ? 
 
 No, I appeal to God, — what says Himself, 
 
 How lessons Nature when I look to learn ? 
 
 AVhy, that I am alive, am still a man 
 
 With brain and heart and tongue and right-hand too — 
 
 Nay, even with friends, in such a cause as this, 
 
 To right me if I fail to take my right. 
 
 No more of law ; a voice beyond the law 
 
 Enters my heart, Quis est pro Domino? 
 
 Myself, in my own Vittiano, told the tale 
 
 To my own serving-people summoned there : 
 
 Told the first half of it, scarce heard to end 
 
 By judges who got done with judgment quick 
 
 And clamored to go execute her 'hest — 
 
 Who cried, " Not one of us that dig your soil 
 
 And dress your vineyard, prune your olive-trees. 
 
 But would have brained the man debauched our wife, 
 
 And staked the wife whose lust allured the man. 
 
 And paunched the Duke, had it been possible. 
 
 Who ruled the land, yet barred us such revenge ! " 
 
 I fixed on the first whose eyes caught mine, some four 
 
 Resolute youngsters with the heart still fresh, 
 
 Filled my purse with the residue o' the coin 
 
 Uncaught-up by my wife whom haste made blind. 
 
 Donned the first rough and rural garb I found, 
 
 Took whatsoever weapon came to hand, 
 
 And out we flung and on we ran or reeled 
 
 Romeward. I have no memory of our way, 
 
 Only that, when at intervals the cloud 
 
 Of horror about me opened to let in life, 
 
 I listened to some song in the ear, some snatch 
 
 Of a legend, relic of religion, stray 
 
 Fragment of record very .strong and old 
 
 Of the first conscience, the anterior right, 
 
 The God's-gift to mankind, impulse to quench 
 
 The antagonistic spark of hell and tread 
 
 Satan and all his malice into dust. 
 
 Declare to the world the one law, right is right. 
 
 Then the cloud re-encompassed me, and so 
 
 I found myself, as on the wings of winds. 
 
 Arrived : I was at Rome on Christmas Eve. 
 
178 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Festive bells — everywhere the Feast o' the Babe, 
 
 Joy upon earth, peace and good will to man ! 
 
 1 am bajDtized. I started and let drop 
 
 The dagger. " Where is it, His promised peace ? " 
 
 Nine days o' the Birth-Feast did I pause and pray 
 
 To enter into no temptation more. 
 
 I bore the hateful house, my brother's once, 
 
 Deserted, — let the ghost of social joy 
 
 Mock and make mouths at me from empty room 
 
 And idle door that missed the master's step, — 
 
 Bore the frank wonder of incredulous eyes. 
 
 As my own people watched without a word. 
 
 Waited, from where they huddled round the hearth 
 
 Black like all else, that nod so slow to come. 
 
 I stopped my ears even to the inner call 
 
 Of the dread duty, only heard the song 
 
 "Peace upon earth," saw nothing but the face 
 O' the Holy Infant and the halo there 
 Able to cover yet another face 
 Behind it, Satan's, which I else should see. 
 But, day by day, joy waned and withered off : 
 The Babe's face, premature with peak and pine, 
 Sank into wrinkled ruinous old age. 
 Suffering and death, then mist-like disappeared, 
 And showed only the Cross at end of all. 
 Left nothing more to interpose 'twixt me 
 And the dread duty, — for the angels' song, 
 
 " Peace upon earth," louder and louder pealed, 
 
 " Lord, how long, how long be unavenged ? " 
 On the ninth day, this grew too much for man. 
 I started up — " Some end must be ! " At once. 
 Silence : then, scratching like a death-watch-tick, 
 Slowly within my brain was syllabled, 
 
 " One more concession, one decisive way 
 And but one, to determine thee the truth, — 
 This way, in fine, I whisper in thy ear : 
 Now doubt, anon decide, thereupon act ! *' 
 
 ^^ That is a way, thou whisperest in my ear ! 
 I doubt, I will decide, then act," said I — 
 Then beckoned my companions : " Time is come ! " 
 
 And so, all yet uncertain save the will 
 
 To do right, and the daring aught save leave 
 
 Right undone, I did find myself at last 
 
 I' the dark before the villa with my friends, 
 
COUNT GUIDO FRANCESCHINI 179 
 
 And made the experiment, the final test, 
 Ultimate chance that ever was to be 
 For the wretchedness inside. I knocked — pronounced 
 The name, the predetermined touch for truth, 
 ' What welcome for the wanderer? Open straight — " 
 To the friend, physician, friar upon his rounds, 
 Traveller belated, beggar lame and blind ? 
 No, but — "to Caponsacchi ! " And the door 
 Opened. 
 
 And then, — why, even then, I think, 
 I' the minute that confirmed my worst of fears, 
 Surely, — I pray God that I think aright ! — 
 Had but Pompilia's self, the tender thing 
 Who once was good and pure, was once my lamb 
 And lay in my bosom, had the well-known shape 
 Fronted me in the doorway, — stood there faint 
 With the recent pang, perhaps, of giving birth 
 To what might, though by miracle, seem my child, — 
 Nay more, I will say, liad even the aged fool 
 Pietro, the dotard, in whom folly and age 
 Wrought, more than enmity or malevolence, 
 To practise and conspire against my peace, — 
 Had either of these but opened, I had paused. 
 But it was she the hag, she that brought hell 
 For a dowTy with her to her husband's house, 
 She the mock-mother, she that made the match 
 And married me to perdition, spring and source 
 O' the fire inside me that boiled up from heart 
 To brain and hailed the Fury gave it birth, — 
 Violante Comparini, she it was, 
 With the old grin amid the wrinkles yet, 
 Opened : as if in turning from the Cross, 
 With trust to keep the sight and save my soul, 
 I had stumbled, first thing, on the serpent's head 
 Coiled with a leer at foot of it. 
 
 There was the end ! 
 Then was I rapt away by the impulse, one 
 Immeasurable everlasting wave of a need 
 To abolish that detested life. 'T was done : 
 You know the rest and how the folds o' the thing, 
 Twisting for help, involved the other two 
 More or less serpent-like : how I was mad, 
 Blind, stamped on all, the earth-worms with the asp, 
 And ended so. 
 
 You came on me that night. 
 Your officers of justice, — caught the crime 
 
180 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 In the first natural frenzy of remorse ? 
 
 Twenty miles off, sound sleeping as a child 
 
 On a cloak i' the straw which promised shelter first, 
 
 With the bloody arms beside me, — was it not so ? 
 
 Wherefore not ? Why, how else should I be found ? 
 
 I was my own self, had my sense again. 
 
 My soul safe from the serpents. I could sleep : 
 
 Indeed and, dear my lords, I shall sleep now. 
 
 Spite of my shoulder, in five minutes' space. 
 
 When you dismiss me, having truth enough ! 
 
 It is but a few days are passed, I find. 
 
 Since this adventure. Do you tell me, four ? 
 
 Then the dead are scarce quiet where they lie, 
 
 Old Pietro, old Violante, side by side 
 
 At the church Lorenzo, — oh, they know it weU ! 
 
 So do I. But my wife is still alive, 
 
 Has breath enough to tell her story yet, 
 
 Her way, which is not mine, no doubt, at all. 
 
 And Caponsacchi, you have summoned him, — 
 
 Was he so far to send for ? Not at hand ? 
 
 I thought some few o' the stabs were in his heart, 
 
 Or had not been so lavish : less had served. 
 
 Well, he too tells his story, — florid prose 
 
 As smooth as mine is rough. You see, my lords, 
 
 There will be a lying intoxicating smoke 
 
 Born of the blood, — confusion probably, — 
 
 For lies breed lies — but all that rests with you ! 
 
 The trial is no concern of mine ; with me 
 
 The main of the care is over : I at least 
 
 Recognize who took that huge burden off, 
 
 Let me begin to live again. I did 
 
 God's bidding and man's duty, so, breathe free ; 
 
 Look you to the rest I I heard Himself prescribe, 
 
 That great Physician, and dared lance the core 
 
 Of the bad ulcer ; and the rage abates, 
 
 I am myself and whole now : I prove cured 
 
 By the eyes that see, the ears that hear again. 
 
 The limbs that have relearned their youthful play, 
 
 The healthy taste of food and feel of clothes 
 
 And taking to our common life once more. 
 
 All that now urges my defence from death. 
 
 The willingness to live, what means it else ? 
 
 Before, — but let the very action speak ! 
 
 Judge for yourselves, what life seemed worth to me 
 
 Who, not by proxy but in person, pitched 
 
 Head-foremost into danger as a foo) 
 
COUNT GUIDO FRANCESCHIM 181 
 
 That never cares if he can swim or no — 
 So he but find the bottom, braves the brook. 
 No man omits precaution, quite neglects 
 Secrecy, safety, schemes not how retreat. 
 Having schemed he might advance. Did I so scheme ? 
 Why, with a warrant which 't is ask and have, 
 Witli horse thereby made mine without a word, 
 I had gained the frontier and slept safe that night- 
 Then, my companions, — call them what ycu please. 
 Slave or stipendiary, — what need of one 
 To me whose right-hand did its owner's work ? 
 Hire an assassin yet expose yourself ? 
 As well buy glove and then thrust naked hand 
 I' the thorn-bush. No, the wise man stays at home, 
 Sends only agents out, with pay to earn : 
 At home, when they come back, — he straight discards 
 Or else disowns. Why use such tools at all 
 When a man's foes are of his house, like mine, 
 Sit at his board, sleep in his bed ? Why noise. 
 When there 's the acquetta and the silent way ? 
 Clearly my life was valueless. 
 
 But now 
 Health is returned, and sanity of soul 
 Nowise indifferent to the body's harm. 
 I find the instinct bids me save my life ; 
 My wits, too, rally round me ; I pick up 
 And use the arms that strewed the ground before, 
 Unnoticed or spurned aside : 1 take my stand. 
 Make my defence. God shall not lose a life 
 May do Him further service, while I speak 
 And you hear, you my judges and last hope ! 
 You are the law : 't is to the law I look. 
 I began life by hanging to the law, 
 To the law it is I hang till life shall end. 
 My brother made appeal to the Pope, 't is true, 
 To stay proceedings, judge my cause himself 
 Nor trouble law, — some fondness of conceit 
 That rectitude, sagacity sufficed 
 The investigator in a case like mine. 
 Dispensed with the machine of law. The Pope 
 Knew better, set aside my brother's plea 
 And put me back to law, — referred tlie cause 
 Ad judices meos, — doubtlessly did well. 
 Here, then, I clutch my judges, — I claim law — 
 Cry, by the higher law whereof your law 
 
182 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 O' the land is humbly representative, — 
 
 Cry, on wliat point is it, where either accuse, 
 
 I fail to furnish you defence ? I stand 
 
 Acquitted, actually or virtually, 
 
 By every intermediate kind of court 
 
 That takes account of right or wrong in man, 
 
 Each unit in the series that begins 
 
 With God's throne, ends with the tribunal here. 
 
 God breathes, not speaks, his verdicts, felt not heard, 
 
 Passed on successively to each court I call 
 
 Man's conscience, custom, manners, all that make 
 
 More and more effort to promulgate, mark 
 
 God's verdict in determinable words. 
 
 Till last come human jurists — solidify 
 
 Fluid result, — what 's fixable lies forged, 
 
 Statute, — the residue escapes in fume, 
 
 Yet hangs aloft, a cloud, as palpable 
 
 To the finer sense as word the legist welds. 
 
 Justinian's Pandects only make precise 
 
 What simply sparkled in men's eyes before. 
 
 Twitched in their brow or quivered on their lip. 
 
 Waited the speech they called but would not come. 
 
 These courts then, whose decree your own confirms, - 
 
 Take my whole life, not this last act alone. 
 
 Look on it by the light reflected thence ! 
 
 What has Society to charge me with ? 
 
 Come, unreservedly, — favor none nor fear, — 
 
 I am Guido Franceschini, am I not ? 
 
 You know the courses I was free to take ? 
 
 I took just that which let me serve the Church, 
 
 I gave it all my labor in body and soul 
 
 Till these broke down i' the service. " Specify ? " 
 
 Well, my last patron was a Cardinal. 
 
 I left him unconvicted of a fault — 
 
 Was even helped, by way of gratitude. 
 
 Into the new life that I left him for. 
 
 This very misery of the marriage, — he 
 
 Made it, kind soul, so far as in him lay — 
 
 Signed the deed where you yet may see his name. 
 
 He is gone to his reward, — dead, being my friend 
 
 Who could have helped here also, — that, of course! 
 
 So far, there 's my acquittal, I suppose. 
 
 Then comes the marriage itself — no question, lords. 
 
 Of the entire validity of that ! 
 
 In the extremity of distress, 't is true, 
 
 For after-reasons, furnished abundantly. 
 
COUNT GUI DO FRANCESCHINI 183 
 
 I wished the thing invalid, went to you 
 Only some months since, set you duly forth 
 My wrong and ])rayed your remedy, that a cheat 
 Should not have force to cheat my whole life long. 
 
 " Annul a marriage ? 'T is impossible ! 
 Though ring about your neck be brass not gold. 
 Needs must it clasp, gangrene you all the same ! " 
 Well, let me have the benefit, just so far, 
 O' the fact announced, — my wife then is my wife, 
 I have allowance for a husband's right. 
 I am charged with passing right's due bound, — such acts 
 As I thought just, my wife called cruelty. 
 Complained of in due form, — convoked no court 
 Of common gossipry, but took her wrongs — 
 And not once, but so long as patience served — 
 To the town's top, jurisdiction's pride of place, 
 To the Archbishop and tlie Governor. 
 These heard her charge with my reply, and found 
 That futile, this sufficient : they dismissed 
 The hysteric querulous rebel, and confirmed 
 Authority in its wholesome exercise. 
 They, with directest access to the facts. 
 
 " — Ay, for it was their friendship favored you, 
 Hereditary alliance against a breach 
 I' the social order : prejudice for the name 
 Of Franceschini ! " — So I hear it said : 
 But not here. You, lords, never will you say 
 
 " Such is the nullity of grace and truth, 
 Such the corruption of the faith, such lapse 
 Of law, such warrant have the IMolinists 
 For daring reprehend us as they do, — 
 That we pronounce it just a common case. 
 Two dionitaries, each in his deoree 
 First, foremost, this the spiritual head, and that 
 The secular arm o' the body politic. 
 Should, for mere wrongs' love and injustice' sake. 
 Side with, aid and abet in cruelty 
 This broken beggarly noble, — bribed perhaps 
 By his watered wine and mouldy crust of bread — 
 Rather than that sweet tremulous flower-like wife 
 Who kissed their hands and curled about their feet 
 Looking the irresistible loveliness 
 
 In tears that takes man captive, turns "... enough ! 
 Do you blast your predecessors ? What forbids 
 Posterity to trebly blast yourselves 
 Who set the example and instruct their tongue ? 
 
181 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 You dreaded the crowd, succumbed to the popular cry, 
 
 Or else, would nowise seem defer thereto 
 
 And yield to public clamor though i' the right I 
 
 You ridded your eye of my unseemliness, 
 
 The noble whose misfortune M^earied you, — 
 
 Or, what 's more probable, made common cause 
 
 With the cleric section, punished in myself 
 
 Maladroit uncomplaisant laity, 
 
 Defective in behavior to a priest 
 
 Who claimed the customary partnership 
 
 I' the house and the wife. Lords, any lie will serve ! 
 
 Look to it, — or allow me freed so far ! 
 
 Then I proceed a step, come with clean hands 
 Thus far, re-tell the tale told eight months since. 
 The wife, you allow so far, I have not wronged, 
 Has fled my roof, plundered me and decamped 
 In company with the priest her paramour : 
 And I gave chase, came up with, caught the two 
 At the wayside inn where both had spent the night, 
 Found them in flagrant fault, and found as well. 
 By documents with name and plan and date. 
 The fault was furtive then that 's flagrant now, 
 Their intercourse a lono- established crime. 
 I did not take the license law's self gives 
 To slay both criminals o' the spot at the time, 
 But held my hand, — preferred play prodigy 
 Of patience which the world calls cowardice. 
 Rather than seem anticipate the law 
 And cast discredit on its organs, — you. 
 So, to your bar I brought both criminals, 
 And made my statement : heard their counter-charge, 
 Nay, — their corroboration of my tale, 
 Nowise disputing its allegements, not 
 I' the main, not more than nature's decency 
 Compels men to keep silence in this kind, — 
 Only contending that the deeds avowed 
 Would take another color and bear excuse. 
 You were to judge between us ; so you did. 
 You disregard the excuse, you breathe away 
 The color of innocence and leave guilt black ; 
 " Guilty " is the decision of the court, 
 And that I stand in consequence untouched, 
 One white integrity from head to heel. 
 Not guilty ? Why then did you punish them ? 
 True, punishment has been inadequate — 
 
COUNT GUIDO FRANCESCHINI 185 
 
 'T is not I only, not my friends that joke, 
 
 My foes that jeer, who echo " inadequate " — 
 
 For, by a chance that comes to hel}3 for once, 
 
 The same case simultaneously was judged 
 
 At Arezzo, in the province of the Court 
 
 Where the crime had its beginning but not end 
 
 They then, deciding on but half o' the crime, 
 
 The effraction, robbery, — features of the fault 
 
 I never cared to dwell upon at Rome, — 
 
 What was it they adjudged as penalty 
 
 To Pompilia, — the one criminal o' the pair 
 
 Amenable to their judgment, not the priest 
 
 Who is Rome's ? Why, just imprisonment for life 
 
 I' the Stinche. There was Tuscany's award 
 
 To a wife that robs her husband : you at Rome — 
 
 Having to deal with adultery in a wife 
 
 And, in a priest, breach of the priestly vow — 
 
 Give gentle sequestration for a month 
 
 In a manageable Convent, then release. 
 
 You call imprisonment, in the very house 
 
 O' the very couple, which the aim and end 
 
 Of the culprits' crime was — just to reach and rest 
 
 And there take solace and defy me : well, — 
 
 This difference 'twixt their penalty and yours 
 
 Is immaterial : make your penalty less — 
 
 Merely that she should henceforth wear black gloves 
 
 And white fan, she who wore the opposite — 
 
 Why, all the same the fact o' the thing subsists. 
 
 Reconcile to your conscience as you may, 
 
 Be it on your own heads, you pronounced but half 
 
 O' the penalty for heinousness like hers 
 
 And his, that pays a fault at Carnival 
 
 Of comfit-pelting past discretion's law. 
 
 Or accident to handkerchief in Lent 
 
 W^hich falls perversely as a lady kneels 
 
 Abruptly, and but half conceals her neck ! 
 
 I acquiesce for my part : punished, though 
 
 By a pin-point scratch, means guilty : guilty means 
 
 — What have I been but innocent hitherto ? 
 
 Anyhow, here the offence, being punished, ends. 
 
 Ends ? — for you deemed so, did you not, sweet lords ? 
 That was throughout the veritable aim 
 O' the sentence lifrht or heavy, — to redress 
 Recognized wrong? You righted me, I think? 
 Well then, — what if L at this last of all, 
 
186 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Demonstrate you, as my whole pleading proves, 
 No particle of wrong received thereby 
 One atom of right ? — that cure grew worse disease ? 
 That in the process you call " justice done " 
 All along you have nipped away just inch 
 By inch the creeping climbing length of plague 
 Breaking my tree of life from root to branch, 
 And left me, after all and every act 
 Of your interference, — lightened of what load ? 
 At liberty wherein ? Mere words and wind I 
 " Now I was saved, now I should feel no more 
 The hot breath, find a respite from fixed eye 
 And vibrant tongue ! " Why, scarce your back was turned, 
 There was the reptile, that feigned death at first. 
 Renewing its detested spire and spire 
 Around me, rising to such heights of hate 
 That, so far from mere purpose now to crush 
 And coil itself on the remains of me, 
 Body and mind, and there flesh fang content, 
 Its aim is now to evoke life from death. 
 Make me anew, satisfy in my son 
 The hunger I may feed but never sate, 
 Tormented on to perpetuity, — 
 My son, whom, dead, I shall know, understand, 
 Feel, hear, see, never more escape the sight 
 In heaven that 's turned to hell, or hell returned 
 (So, rather, say) to this same earth again, — 
 Moulded into the image and made one, 
 Fashioned of soul as featured like in face. 
 First taught to laugh and lisp and stand and go 
 By that thief, poisoner and adulteress 
 I call Pompilia, he calls . . . sacred name, 
 Be unpronounced, be unpolluted here ! 
 And last led up to the glory and prize of hate 
 By his . . . foster-father, Caponsacchi's self, 
 The perjured priest, pink of conspirators. 
 Tricksters and knaves, yet polished, superfine. 
 Manhood to model adolescence by ! 
 Lords, look on me, declare, — when, what I show, 
 Is nothing more nor less than what you deemed 
 And doled me out for justice, — what did you say ? 
 For reparation, restitution and more, — 
 Will you not thank, praise, bid me to your breasts 
 For having done the thing you thought to do, 
 And thoroughly trampled out sin's life at last ? 
 I have heightened phrase to make your soft speech serve, 
 
COUNT GUI DO FRANCESCHINI 187 
 
 Doubled the blow you but essayed to strike, 
 
 Carried into effect your mandate here 
 
 That else had fallen to ground : mere duty done, 
 
 Oversight of the master just supplied 
 
 By zeal i' the servant. I, being used to serve. 
 
 Have simply . . . what is it they charge me with ? 
 
 Blackened again, made legible once more 
 
 Your own decree, not permanently writ. 
 
 Rightly conceived but all too faintly traced. 
 
 It reads efficient, now, comminatory, 
 
 A terror to the wicked, answers so 
 
 The mood o' the magistrate, the mind of law. 
 
 Absolve, then, me, law's mere executant ! 
 
 Protect your own defender, — save me, Sirs ! 
 
 Give me my life, give me my liberty. 
 
 My good name and my civic rights again ! 
 
 It would be too fond, too complacent play 
 
 Into the hands o' the devil, should we lose 
 
 The game here, I for God : a soldier-bee 
 
 That yields his life, exenterate with the stroke 
 
 O' the sting that saves the hive. I need that life. 
 
 Oh, never fear ! I '11 find life plenty use 
 
 Though it should last five years more, aches and all ! 
 
 For, first thing, there 's the mother's age to help — 
 
 Let her come break her heart uj^on my breast, 
 
 Not on the blank stone of my nameless tomb ! 
 
 The fugitive brother has to be bidden back 
 
 To the old routine, repugnant to the tread, 
 
 Of daily suit and service to the Church, — 
 
 Through gibe and jest, those stones that Shimei flung ! 
 
 Ay, and the spirit-broken youth at home. 
 
 The awe-struck altar-ministrant, shall make 
 
 Amends for faith now palsied at the source. 
 
 Shall see truth yet triumphant, justice yet 
 
 A victor in the battle of this world ! 
 
 Give me — for last, best gift — my son again. 
 
 Whom law makes mine, — I take him at your word. 
 
 Mine be he, by miraculous mercy, lords ! 
 
 Let me lift up his youth and innocence 
 
 To purify my palace, room by room 
 
 Purged of the memories, lend from his bright brow 
 
 Light to the old proud paladin my sire 
 
 Shrunk now for shame into the darkest shade 
 
 O' the tapestry, showed him once and shrouds him now ! 
 
 Then may we, — strong from that rekindled smile, — 
 
 Go forward, face new times, the better day. 
 
188 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 And when, in times made better through your brave 
 
 Decision now, — might but Utopia be ! — 
 
 Rome rife with honest women and strong men, 
 
 Manners reformed, old habits back once more. 
 
 Customs that recognize the standard worth, — 
 
 The wholesome household rule in force again, 
 
 Husbands once more God's representative. 
 
 Wives like the typical Spouse once more, and Priests 
 
 No longer men of Belial, with no aim 
 
 At leading silly women captive, but 
 
 Of rising to such duties as yours now, — 
 
 Then will I set my son at my right-hand 
 
 And tell his father's story to this point, 
 
 Adding, " The task seemed superhuman, still 
 
 I dared and did it, trusting God and law : 
 
 And they approved of me : give praise to both ! " 
 
 And if, for answer, he shall stoojD to kiss 
 
 My hand, and peradventure start thereat, — 
 
 I engage to smile, " That was an accident 
 
 I' the necessary process, — just a trip 
 
 O' the torture-irons in their search for truth, — 
 
 Hardly misfortune, and no fault at all." 
 
VI. 
 
 GIUSEPPE CAPONSACCHI. 
 
 Answer you, Sirs ? Do I understand aright ? 
 
 Have patience ! In this sudden smoke from hell, — 
 
 So things disguise themselves, — I cannot see 
 
 My own hand held thus broad before my face 
 
 And know it again. Answer you ? Then that means 
 
 Tell over twice what I, the first time, told 
 
 Six months ago : 't was here, I do believe, 
 
 Fronting you same three in this very room, 
 
 I stood and told you : yet now no one laughs, 
 
 Who then . . . nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did, 
 
 As good as laugh, what in a judge we style 
 
 Laughter — no levity, nothing indecorous, lords ! 
 
 Only, — I think I apprehend the mood : 
 
 There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk, 
 
 The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth, 
 
 The titter stifled in the hollow palm 
 
 Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose. 
 
 When I first told my tale : they meant, you know, 
 
 " The sly one, all this we are bound believe ! 
 Well, he can say no other than what he says. 
 We have been young, too, — come, there 's greater guilt I 
 Let him but decently disembroil himself, 
 Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud, — 
 We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch ! " 
 And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast 
 As if I were a phantom : now 't is — '' Friend, 
 Collect yourself ! " — no laughing matter more — 
 
 " Counsel the Court in this extremity. 
 Tell us again ! " — tell that, for telling which, 
 I got the jocular piece of punishment. 
 Was sent to lounge a little in the place 
 Whence now of a sudden here you summon me 
 To take the intelligence from just — your lips ! 
 You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most, — 
 That she I helped eight months since to escape 
 Her husband, was retaken by the same, 
 
190 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Three days ago, if I have seized your sense, — 
 
 (I being disallowed to interfere, 
 
 Meddle or make in a matter none of mine, 
 
 For you and law were guardians quite enough 
 
 O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help) — 
 
 And that he has butchered her accordingly, 
 
 As she foretold and as myself believed, — 
 
 And, so foretelling and bielieving so. 
 
 We were punished, both of us, the merry way : 
 
 Therefore, tell once again the tale ! For what ? 
 
 Pompilia is only dying while I speak ! 
 
 Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile ? 
 
 My masters, there 's an old book, you should con 
 
 For strange adventures, applicable yet, 
 
 'T is stuffed with. Do you know that there was once 
 
 This thing : a multitude of worthy folk 
 
 Took recreation, watched a certain group 
 
 Of soldiery intent upon a game, — 
 
 How first they wrangled, but soon fell to play, 
 
 Threw dice, — the best diversion in the world. 
 
 A word in your ear, — they are now casting lots, 
 
 Ay, with that gesture quaint and cry uncouth, 
 
 For the coat of One murdered an hour ago ! 
 
 I am a priest, — talk of what I have learned. 
 
 Pompilia is bleeding out her life belike. 
 
 Gasping away the latest breath of all, 
 
 This minute, while I talk — not while you laugh. 
 
 Yet, being sobered now, what is it you ask 
 
 By way of explanation ? There 's the fact I 
 
 It seems to fill the universe with sight 
 
 And sound, — from the four corners of this earth 
 
 Tells itself over, to my sense at least. 
 
 But you may want it lower set i' the scale, — 
 
 Too vast, too close it clangs in the ear, perhaps ; 
 
 You 'd stand back just to comprehend it more. 
 
 Well then, let me, the hollow rock, condense 
 
 The voice o' the sea and wind, interpret you 
 
 The mystery of this murder. God above I 
 
 It is too paltry, such a transference 
 
 O' the storm's roar to the cranny of the stone ! 
 
 This deed, you saw begin — why does its end 
 
 Surprise you? Why should the event enforce 
 
 The lesson, we ourselves learned, she and I, 
 
 From the first o' the fact, and taught you, all in vain ? 
 
GIUSEPPE CAPONSACCHI 191 
 
 This Guido from whose throat you took my grasp, 
 
 Was tliis man to be favored, now, or feared, 
 
 Let do his will, or have his will restrained, 
 
 In the relation with Pomj)ilia ? — say ! 
 
 Did any other man need interpose 
 
 — Oh, though first comer, though as strange at the work 
 
 As fribble must be, coxcomb, fool that 's near 
 
 To knave as, say, a priest who fears the world — 
 
 Was he bound brave the peril, save the doomed. 
 
 Or go on, sing his snatch and pluck his flower. 
 
 Keep the straight path and let the victim die ? 
 
 I held so ; you decided otherwise. 
 
 Saw no such peril, therefore no such need 
 
 To stop song, loosen flower, and leave path. Law, 
 
 Law was aware and watching, would suffice, 
 
 Wanted no priest's intrusion, palpably 
 
 Pretence, too manifest a subterfuge ! 
 
 Whereupon I, priest, coxcomb, fribble and fool, 
 
 Ensconced me in my corner, thus rebuked, 
 
 A kind of culprit, over-zealous hound 
 
 Kicked for his pains to kennel ; I gave place 
 
 To you, and let the law reign paramount : 
 
 I left Pompilia to your watch and ward. 
 
 And now you point me — there and thus she lies ! 
 
 Men, for the last time, what do you want with me ? 
 
 Is it, — you acknowledge, as it were, a use, 
 
 A profit in employing me ? — at length 
 
 I may conceivably help the august law ? 
 
 I am free to break the blow, next hawk that swoops 
 
 On next dove, nor miss much of good repute ? 
 
 Or what if this your summons, after all. 
 
 Be but the form of mere release, no more, 
 
 Which turns the key and lets the captive go ? 
 
 I have paid enough in person at Civita, 
 
 Am free, — what more need I concern me with ? 
 
 Thank you ! I am rehabilitated then, 
 
 A very reputable priest. But she — 
 
 The glory of life, the beauty of the world, 
 
 The splendor of heaven, . . . well. Sirs, does no one move? 
 
 Do I speak ambiguously ? The glory, I say. 
 
 And the beauty, I say, and splendor, still say I, 
 
 Who, priest and trained to live my whole life long 
 
 On beauty and splendor, solely at their source, 
 
 God, — have thus recognized my food in her, 
 
 You tell me, that 's fast dying while we talk, 
 
192 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Pompilia ! How does lenity to me 
 
 Remit one death-bed pang to her ? Come, smile ! 
 
 The proper wink at the hot-headed youth 
 
 Who lets his soul show, through transparent words, 
 
 The mundane love that 's sin and scandal too ! 
 
 You are all struck acquiescent now, it seems : 
 
 It seems the oldest, gravest signor here, 
 
 Even the redoubtable Tommati, sits 
 
 Chopf alien, — understands how law might take 
 
 Service like mine, of brain and heart and hand. 
 
 In good part. Better late than never, law ! 
 
 You understand of a sudden, gospel too 
 
 Has a claim here, may possibly pronounce 
 
 Consistent with my priesthood, worthy Christ, 
 
 That I endeavored to save Pompilia ? 
 
 Then, 
 You were wrong, you see : that 's well to see, though late: 
 That 's all we may expect of man, this side 
 The grave : his good is — knowing he is bad : 
 Thus will it be with us when the books ope 
 And we stand at the bar on judgment-day. 
 Well then, I have a mind to speak, see cause 
 To relume the quenched flax by this dreadful light, 
 Burn my soul out in showing you the truth. 
 I heard, last time I stood here to be judged. 
 What is priest's-duty, — labor to pluck tares 
 And weed the corn of Molinism ; let me 
 Make you hear, this time, how, in such a case, 
 Man, be he in the priesthood or at plough. 
 Mindful of Christ or marching step by step 
 With . . . what 's his style, the other potentate 
 Who bids have courage and keep honor safe. 
 Nor let minuter admonition tease ? — 
 How he is bound, better or worse, to act. 
 Earth will not end through this misjudgment, no ! 
 For you and the others like you sure to come. 
 Fresh work is sure to follow, — wickedness 
 That wants withstanding. Many a man of blood. 
 Many a man of guile will clamor yet. 
 Bid you redress his grievance, — as he clutched 
 The prey, forsooth a stranger stepped between, 
 And there 's the good gripe in pure waste ! My part 
 Is done ; i' the doino- it, I pass away 
 Out of the world. I want no more with earth. 
 Let me, in heaven's name, use the very snuff 
 
GIUSEPPE CAPONSACCHI 193 
 
 O' the taper in one last spark shall show truth 
 For a moment, show Pompilia who was true ! 
 Not for her sake, but yours : if she is dead. 
 Oh, Sirs, she can be loved by none of you 
 Most or least priestly ! Saints, to do us good, 
 Must be in heaven, I seem to understand : 
 We never find them saints before, at least. 
 Be her first prayer then presently for you — 
 She has done the good to me . . . 
 
 What is all this ? 
 There, I was born, have lived, shall die, a fool ! 
 This is a foolish outset : — might with cause 
 Give color to the very lie o' the man, 
 The murderer, — make as if I loved his wife 
 In the way he called love. He is the fool there ! 
 Why, had there been in me the touch of taint, 
 I had picked up so much of knaves '-policy 
 As hide it, keep one hand pressed on the place 
 Suspected of a sjjot would damn us both. 
 Or no, not her ! — not even if any of you 
 Dares think that I, i' the face of death, her death 
 That 's in my eyes and ears and brain and heart, 
 Lie, — if he does, let him ! I mean to say, 
 So he stop there, stay thought from smirching her 
 The snow-white soul that angels fear to take 
 Untenderly. But, all the same, I know 
 I too am taintless, and I bare my breast. 
 You can't think, men as you are, all of you, 
 But that, to hear thus suddenly such an end 
 Of such a wonderful white soul, that comes 
 Of a man and murderer calling the white black. 
 Must shake me, trouble and disadvantage. Sirs, 
 Only seventeen ! 
 
 Why, good and wise you are ! 
 You might at the beginning stop my mouth : 
 So, none would be to speak for her, that knew. 
 I talk impertinently, and you bear, 
 All the same. This it is to have to do 
 With honest hearts : they easily may err, 
 But in the main they wish well to the truth. 
 You are Christians ; somehow, no one ever plucked 
 A rag, even, from the body of the Lord, 
 To wear and mock with, but, despite himself. 
 He looked the greater and was the better. Yes, 
 I shall go on now. Does she need or not 
 
194 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 I keep calm ? Calm I '11 keep as monk that croons 
 Transcribing battle, earthquake, famine, plague, 
 From parchment to his cloister's chronicle. 
 Not one word more from the point now ! 
 
 I begin. 
 Yes, I am one of your body and a priest. 
 Also I am a younger son o' the House 
 Oldest now, greatest once, in my birth-town 
 Arezzo, I recognize no equal there — 
 (I want all arguments, all sorts of arms 
 That seem to serve, — use this for a reason, wait!) 
 Not therefore thrust into the Church, because 
 O' the piece of bread one gets there. We were first 
 Of Fiesole, that rings still with the fame 
 Of Capo-in-Sacco our progenitor : 
 When Florence ruined Fiesole, our folk 
 Migrated to the victor-city, and there 
 Flourished, — our palace and our tower attest, 
 In the Old Mercato, — this was years ago. 
 Four hundred, full, — no, it wants fourteen just. 
 Our arms are those of Fiesole itself, 
 The shield quartered with white and red : a branch 
 Are the Salviati of us, nothing more. 
 That were good help to the Church ? But better still 
 Not simply for the advantage of my birth 
 I' the way of the world, was I proposed for priest ; 
 But because there 's an illustration, late 
 I' the day, that 's loved and looked to as a saint 
 Still in Arezzo, he was bishop of, 
 Sixty years since : he spent to the last doit 
 His bishop's-revenue among the poor, 
 And used to tend the needy and the sick, 
 Barefoot, because of his humility. 
 He it was, — when the Granduke Ferdinand 
 Swore he would raze our city, plough the place 
 And sow it with salt, because we Aretines 
 Had tied a rope about the neck, to hale 
 The statue of his father from its base 
 For hate's sake, — he availed by prayers and tears 
 To pacify the Duke and save the town. 
 This was my father's father's brother. You see, 
 For his sake, how it was I had a right 
 To the selfsame office, bishop in the egg, 
 So, grew i' the garb and prattled in the school, 
 Was made expect, from infancy almost, 
 
GIUSEPPE CAPONSACCHI 195 
 
 The proper mood o' the priest ; till time ran by 
 And brought the day when I must read the vows, 
 Declare the world renounced, and undertake 
 To become priest and leave probation, — leap 
 Over the ledge into the other life, 
 Having gone trippingly hitherto up to the height 
 O'er the wan water. Just a vow to read ! 
 
 I stopped short awe-struck. " How shall holiest flesh 
 
 Engage to keep such vow inviolate, 
 
 How much less mine ? I know myself too weak, 
 
 Unworthy ! Choose a worthier stronger man ! " 
 
 And the very Bishop smiled and stopped my mouth 
 
 In its mid-protestation. '' Incapable ? 
 
 Qualmish of conscience ? Thou ingenuous boy ! 
 
 Clear up the clouds and cast thy scruples far ! 
 
 I satisfy thee there 's an easier sense 
 
 Wherein to take such vow than suits the first 
 
 Rough rigid reading. Mark what makes all smooth, 
 
 Nay, has been even a solace to myself ! 
 
 The Jews who needs must, in their synagogue. 
 
 Utter sometimes the holy name of God, 
 
 A thing their superstition boggles at, 
 
 Pronounce aloud the ineffable sacrosanct, — 
 
 How does their shrewdness help them ? In this wise ; 
 
 Another set of sounds they substitute, 
 
 Jumble so consonants and vowels — how 
 
 Should I know ? — that there grows from out the old 
 
 Quite a new word that means the very same — 
 
 And o'er the hard place slide they with a smile. 
 
 Giuseppe Alaria Caponsacchi mine, 
 
 Nobody wants you in these latter days 
 
 To prop the Church by breaking your backbone, — 
 
 As the necessary way was once, we know. 
 
 When Diocletian flourished and his like. 
 
 That building of the buttress-work was done 
 
 By martyrs and confessors : let it bide, 
 
 Add not a brick, but, where you see a chink. 
 
 Stick in a sprig of ivy or root a rose 
 
 Shall make amends and beautify the pile ! 
 
 We profit as you were the painfullest 
 
 O' the martyrs, and you prove yourself a match 
 
 For the cruellest confessor ever was. 
 
 If you march boldly up and take your stand 
 
 Where their blood soaks, their bones yet strew the soil, 
 
 And cry ' Take notice, I the young and free 
 
196 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 And well-to-do i' the world, thus leave the world, 
 
 Cast in my lot thus with no gay young world 
 
 But the grand old Church : she tempts me of the two ! ' 
 
 Renounce the world ? Nay, keep and give it us ! 
 
 Let us have you, and boast of what you bring. 
 
 We want the pick o' the earth to practise with, 
 
 Not its offscouring, halt and deaf and blind 
 
 In soul and body. There 's a rubble-stone 
 
 Unfit for the front o' the building, stuff to stow 
 
 In a gap behind and keep us weather-tight ; 
 
 There 's porphyry for the prominent place. Good lack ! 
 
 Saint Paul has had enough and to spare, I trow, 
 
 Of ragged run-away Onesimus : 
 
 He wants the right-hand with the signet-ring 
 
 Of King Agrippa, now, to shake and use. 
 
 I have a heavy scholar cloistered up. 
 
 Close under lock and key, kept at his task 
 
 Of letting Felielon know the fool he is. 
 
 In a book I promise Christendom next Spring. 
 
 "Why, if he covets so much meat, the clown. 
 
 As a lark's wing next Friday, or, any day, 
 
 Diversion beyond catching his own fleas, 
 
 He shall be properly swinged, I promise him. 
 
 But you, who are so quite another paste 
 
 Of a man, — do you obey me ? Cultivate 
 
 Assiduous, that superior gift you have 
 
 Of making madrigals — (who told me ? Ah !) 
 
 Get done a Marinesque Adoniad straight 
 
 With a pulse o' the blood a-pricking, here and there, 
 
 That I may tell the lady, ' And he 's ours ! ' " 
 
 So I became a priest : those terms changed all, 
 I was good enough for that, nor cheated so ; 
 I could live thus and still hold head erect. 
 Now you see why I may have been before 
 A fribble and coxcomb, yet, as priest, break word 
 Nowise, to make you disbelieve me now. 
 I need that you should know my truth. Well, then. 
 According to prescription did I live, 
 — Conformed myself, both read the breviary 
 And wrote the rhymes, was punctual to my place 
 I' the Pieve, and as diligent at my post 
 Where beauty and fashion rule. I throve apace, 
 Sub-deacon, Canon, the authority 
 For delicate play at tarocs, and arbiter 
 0' the magnitude of fan-mounts : all the while 
 
GIUSEPPE CAPONSACCHI 197 
 
 Wanting no whit the advantage of a hint 
 Benignant to the promising pupil, — thus : 
 " Enough attention to the Countess now, 
 The young one ; 't is her mother rules the roast, 
 We know where, and puts in a word : go pay 
 Devoir to-morrow morning after mass ! 
 Break that rash jjromise to preach, Passion-week ! 
 Has it escaped you the Archbishop grunts 
 And snuffles when one grieves to tell his Grace 
 No soul dares treat the subject of the day 
 Since his own masterly handling it (ha, ha I) 
 Five years ago, — when somebody could help 
 And touch up an odd phrase in time of need, 
 (He, he !) — and somebody helps you, my son! 
 Therefore, don't prove so indispensable 
 At the Pieve, sit more loose i' the seat, nor grow 
 A fixture by attendance morn and eve I 
 Arezzo 's just a haven midway Rome — 
 Rome 's the eventual harbor, — make for port, 
 Crowd sail, crack cordage ! And your cargo be 
 A polished presence, a genteel manner, wit 
 At will, and tact at every pore of you ! 
 I sent our lump of learning, Brother Clout, 
 And Father Slouch, our piece of piety. 
 To see Rome and try suit the Cardinal. 
 Thither they clump-clumped, beads and book in hand, 
 And ever since 't is meat for man and maid 
 How both flopped down, prayed blessing on bent pate 
 Bald many an inch beyond the tonsure's need. 
 Never once dreaming, the two moony dolts, 
 There 's nothing moves his Eminence so much 
 As — far from all this awe at sanctitude — 
 Heads that wag, eyes that twinkle, modified mirth 
 At the closet-lectures on the Latin tongue 
 A lady learns so much by, we know w^here. 
 Why, body o' Bacchus, you should crave his rule 
 For pauses in the elegiac couplet, chasms 
 Permissible only to Catullus ! There ! 
 Now go to duty : brisk, break Priscian's head 
 By reading the day's office — there 's no help. 
 You 've Ovid in your poke to plaster that ; 
 Amen 's at the end of all : then sup with me ! '* 
 
 Well, after three or four years of this life, 
 In prosecution of my calling, I 
 Found myself at the theatre one night 
 
198 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 With a brother Canon, in a mood and mind 
 Proper enough for the place, amused or no : 
 When I saw enter, stand, and seat herself 
 A lady, young, tall, beautiful, strange and sad. 
 It was as when, in our cathedral once, 
 As I got yawningly through matin-song, 
 I ssiw facchini bear a burden up. 
 Base it on the high-altar, break away 
 A board or two, and leave the thing inside 
 Lofty and lone : and lo, when next I looked. 
 There was the Rafael ! I was still one stare, 
 When — " Nay, I '11 make her give you back your gaze " 
 Said Canon Conti ; and at the word he tossed 
 A paper-twist of comfits to her lap, 
 And dodged and in a trice was at my back 
 Nodding from over my shoulder. Then she turned, 
 Looked our way, smiled the beautiful sad strange smilco 
 " Is not she fair ? 'Tis my new cousin," said he : 
 " The fellow lurking there i' the black o' the box 
 Is Guido, the old scapegrace : she 's his wife. 
 Married three years since : how his Countship sulks ! 
 He has brought little back from Rome beside. 
 After the bragging, bullying. A fair face. 
 And — they do say — a pocket-full of gold 
 When he can worry both her parents dead. 
 I don't go much there, for the chamber 's cold 
 And the coffee pale. I got a turn at first 
 Paying my duty : I observed they crouched 
 — The two old frightened family spectres — close 
 In a corner, each on each like mouse on mouse 
 I' the cat's cage : ever since, I stay at home. 
 Hallo, there 's Guido, the black, mean and small, 
 Bends his brows on us — please to bend your own 
 On the shapely nether limbs of Light-skirts there 
 By way of a diversion ! I was a fool 
 To fling the sweetmeats. Prudence, for God's love ! 
 To-morrow I '11 make my peace, e'en tell some fib, 
 Try if I can't find means to take you there." 
 
 That night and next day did the gaze endure. 
 
 Burnt to my brain, as sunbeam througli shut eyes, 
 
 And not once changed the beautiful sad strange smile. 
 
 At vespers Conti leaned beside my seat 
 
 I' the choir, — part said, part sung — '' In ex-cel-sis — 
 
 All 's to no purj^ose : I have louted low, 
 
 But he saw you staring — quia sub — don't incline 
 
 To know you nearer : him we would not hold 
 
GIUSEPPE CAPONSACCHI 199 
 
 For Hercules, — the man would lick your shoe 
 
 If you and certain efficacious friends 
 
 Managed him warily, — but there 's the wife : 
 
 Spare her, because he beats her, as it is, 
 
 Slie 's breaking her heart quite fast enough — ja7n tu — 
 
 So, be you rational and make amends 
 
 With little Light-skirts yonder — ifi secula 
 
 Secu-lo-o-o-o-runi. Ah, you rogue ! Every one knows 
 
 What great dame she makes jealous : one against one, 
 
 Play, and win both ! " 
 
 Sirs, ere the week was out, 
 I saw and said to myself, "■ Light-skirts hides teeth 
 Would make a dog sick, — the great dame shows spite 
 Should drive a cat mad : 't is but poor work this — 
 Counting one's fingers till the sonnet 's crowned. 
 1 doubt much if Marino really be 
 A better bard than Dante after all. 
 'T is more amusing to go pace at eve 
 I' the Duomo, — watch the day's last gleam outside 
 Turn, as into a skirt of God's own robe. 
 Those lancet-windows' jewelled miracle, — 
 Than go eat the Archbishop's ortolans. 
 Digest his jokes. Luckily Lent is near : 
 Who cares to look will find me in my stall 
 At the Pieve, constant to this faith at least — 
 Never to write a canzonet any more." 
 
 So, next week, 't was my patron spoke abrupt. 
 In altered guise, " Young man, can it be true 
 That after all your promise of sound fruit. 
 You have kept away from Countess young or old 
 And gone play truant in church all day' long ? 
 Are you turning Molinist ? " I answered quick : 
 " Sir, what if I turned Christian ? It might be. 
 TJie fact is, I am troubled in my mind, 
 Beset and pressed hard by some novel thoughts. 
 This your Arezzo is a limited world ; 
 There 's a strange Pope, — 't is said, a priest who thinks. 
 Rome is the port, you say : to Rome I go. 
 I will live alone, one does so in a crowd. 
 And look into my heart a little." " Lent 
 Ended," — I told friends, — "I shall go to Rome." 
 
 One evening I was sitting In a muse 
 Over the opened " Summa," darkened round 
 By the mid-lNIarcli twilight, thinking how my life 
 
200 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Had shaken under me, — broke short indeed 
 
 And showed the gaj) 'twixt what is, what should be, — 
 
 And into what abysm the soul may slip. 
 
 Leave aspiration here, achievement there, 
 
 Lacking omnipotence to connect extremes — 
 
 Thinking moreover . . . oh, thinking, if you like, 
 
 How utterly dissociated was I 
 
 A priest and celibate, from the sad strange wife 
 
 Of Guido, ■ — just as an instance to the point. 
 
 Nought more, — how I had a whole store of strengths 
 
 Eating into my heart, which craved employ. 
 
 And she, perhaps, need of a finger's help, — 
 
 And yet there was no way in the wide world 
 
 To stretch out mine and so relieve myself, — 
 
 How when the page o' the " Summa " preached its best, 
 
 Her smile kept glowing out of it, as to mock 
 
 The silence we could break by no one word, — 
 
 There came a tap without the chamber-door, 
 
 And a whisper, when I bade who tapped speak out. 
 
 And, in obedience to my summons, last 
 
 In glided a masked muffled mystery, 
 
 Laid lightly a letter on the opened book. 
 
 Then stood with folded arms and foot demure, 
 
 Pointing as if to mark the minutes' flight. 
 
 I took the letter, read to the effect 
 That she, I lately flung the comfits to. 
 Had a warm heart to give me in exchange, 
 And gave it, — loved me and confessed it thus, 
 And bade me render thanks by word of mouth, 
 Going that night to such a side o' the house 
 Where the small terrace overhangs a street 
 Blind and deserted, not the street in front : 
 Her husband being away, the surly patch, 
 At his villa of Vittiano. 
 
 " And you ? " — I asked : 
 u 'VVhat may you be ? " " Count Guido's kind of maid- 
 Most of us have two functions in his house. 
 We all hate him, the lady suffers much, 
 'T is just we show compassion, furnish help, 
 Specially since her choice is fixed so well. 
 What answer may I bring to cheer the sweet 
 Pompilia ? " 
 
 Then I took a pen and wrote. 
 " No more of this ! That you are fair. I know : 
 
GIUSEPPE CAPONSACCHI 201 
 
 But other thoughts now occupy my mind. 
 
 I should not thus have played the insensible 
 
 Once on a time. What made you, — may one ask, — 
 
 Marry your hideous husband ? 'T was a fault. 
 
 And now you taste the fruit of it. Farewell." 
 
 " There ! " smiled I as she snatched it and was gone — 
 " There, let the jealous miscreant, — Guido's self, 
 
 Whose mean soul grins through this transparent trick, — 
 
 Be balked so far, defrauded of his aim ! 
 
 What fund of satisfaction to the knave, 
 
 Had I kicked this his messenger down stairs. 
 
 Trussed to the middle of her impudence, 
 
 And set his heart at ease so ! No, indeed ! 
 
 There 's the reply which he shall turn and twist 
 
 At i^leasure, snuff at till his brain grow drunk. 
 
 As the bear does when he finds a scented glove 
 
 That puzzles him, — a hand and yet no hand, 
 
 Of other perfume than his own foul paw ! 
 
 Last month, I had doubtless chosen to play the dupe, 
 
 Accepted the mock-invitation, kept 
 
 The sham appointment, cudgel beneath cloak, 
 
 Prepared myself to pull the appointer's self 
 
 Out of the window from his hiding-place 
 
 Behind the gown of this i)art-messenger 
 
 Part-mistress who would personate the wife. 
 
 Such had seemed once a jest permissible : . 
 
 Now, I am not i' the mood." 
 
 Back next morn brought 
 
 The messenger, a second letter in hand. 
 " You are cruel, Thyrsis, and Myrtilla moans 
 
 Neglected but adores you, makes request 
 
 For mercy : why is it you dare not come ? 
 
 Such virtue is scarce natural to your age : 
 
 You must love some one else ; I hear you do, 
 
 The Baron's daughter or the Advocate's wife. 
 
 Or both, — all 's one, would you make me the third — 
 
 I take the crumbs from table gratefully 
 
 Nor grudge who feasts there. 'Faith, I blush and blaze ! 
 
 Yet if I break all bounds, there 's reason sure. 
 
 Are you determinedly bent on Rome ? 
 
 I am wretched here, a monster tortures me : 
 
 Carry me with you ! Come and say you will ! 
 
 Concert this very evening ! Do not write ! 
 
 I am ever at the window of my room 
 
 Over the terrace, at the Ave. Come ! " 
 
202 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 I questioned — lifting half the woman's mask 
 
 To let her smile loose. " So, you gave my Hue 
 
 To the merry lady ? " " She kissed olf the wax, 
 
 And put what paper was not kissed away. 
 
 In her bosom to go burn : but merry, no ! 
 
 She wept all night when evening brought no friend, 
 
 Alone, the unkind missive at her breast ; 
 
 Thus Philomel, the thorn at her breast too, 
 
 Sings " . . . " Writes this second letter ? " " Even so ! 
 
 Then she may peep at vespers forth ? " • — ■'-'■ What risk 
 
 Do we run o' the husband ? " — " Ah, — no risk at all I 
 
 He is more stupid even than jealous. Ah — 
 
 That was the reason ? Why, the man 's away I 
 
 Beside, his bugbear is that friend of yours. 
 
 Fat little Canon Conti. He fears him — 
 
 How should he dream of you ? I told you truth : 
 
 He goes to the villa at Vittiano — 't is 
 
 The time when Spring-sap rises in the vine — 
 
 Spends the night there. And then his wife 's a child : 
 
 Does he think a child outwits him ? A mere child : 
 
 Yet so full-grown, a dish for any duke. 
 
 Don't quarrel longer with such cates, but come ! " 
 
 I wrote, " In vain do you solicit me. 
 
 I am a priest : and you are wedded wife. 
 
 Whatever kind of brute your husband prove. 
 
 I have scruples, in short. Yet should you really show 
 
 Sign at the window . . . but aay, best be good I 
 
 My thoughts are elsewhere." — '' Take her that 1 " 
 
 — '' Again 
 Let the incarnate meanness, cheat and spy, 
 Mean to the marrow of him, make his heart 
 His food, anticipate hell's worm once more ! 
 Let him watch shivering at the window — ay. 
 And let this hybrid, this his light-of-love 
 And lackey-of-lies, — a sage economy, — 
 Paid with embracings for the rank brass coin, — 
 Let her report and make him chuckle o'er 
 The breakdown of my resolution now, 
 And lour at disappointment in good time ! 
 — So tantalize and so enrage by turns, 
 Until the two fall each on the other like 
 Two famished spiders, as the coveted fly 
 That toys long, leaves their net and them at last ! '* 
 
 And so the missives followed thick and fast 
 For a month, sav, — I still came at every turn 
 
GIUSEPPE CAPONSACCHl 203 
 
 On the soft sly adder, endlong 'neatli my tread. 
 I was met i' the street, made sign to in the church, 
 A shp was found i' the door-sill, scribbled word 
 'Twixt page and page o' the prayer-book in my place. 
 A crumpled thing dropped even before my feet, 
 Pushed through the blind, above the terrace-rail, 
 As I passed, by day, the very window once. 
 And ever from corners would be peering up 
 The messenger, with the selfsame demand, 
 
 " Obdurate still, no flesh but adamant ? 
 Nothing to cure the wound, assuage the throe 
 O' the sweetest lamb that ever loved a bear ? " 
 And ever my one answer in one tone — 
 
 " Go your ways, temptress ! Let a priest read, pray, 
 Unplagued of vain talk, visions not for him ! 
 In the end, you 11 have your will and ruin me ! " 
 
 One day, a variation : thus I read : 
 *' You have gained little by timidity. 
 My husband has found out my love at length. 
 Sees cousin Conti was the stalking-horse, 
 And you the game he covered, poor fat soul ! 
 My husband is a formidable foe, 
 Will stick at nothing to destroy you. Stand 
 Prej^ared, or better, run till you reach Rome ! 
 I bade you visit me, when the last place 
 My tyrant would have turned suspicious at, 
 Or cared to seek you in, was . . . why say, where ? 
 But now all 's changed : beside, the season 's past 
 At the villa, — wants the master's eye no more. 
 Anyhow, I beseech you, stay away 
 From the window ! He might well be i:>osted there." 
 
 I wrote — " You raise my courage, or call up 
 My curiosity, who am but man. 
 Tell him he owns the palace, not the street 
 Under — that 's his and yours and mine alike. 
 If it should please me pad the path this eve, 
 Guido will have two troubles, first to get 
 Into a rage and then get out again. 
 Be cautious, though : at the Ave ! " 
 
 You of the court ! 
 When I stood question here and reached this point 
 O' the narrative, — search notes and see and say 
 If some one did not interpose with smile 
 And sneer, " And prithee why so confident 
 
204 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 That the husband must, of all needs, not the wife, 
 Fabricate thus, — what if the lady loved ? 
 What if she wrote the letters ? " 
 
 Learned Sir, 
 I told you there 's a picture in our church. 
 Well, if a low-browed verger sidled up 
 Bringing me, like a blotch, on his prod's point, 
 A transfixed scorpion, let the reptile writhe. 
 And then said, " See a thing that Rafael made — 
 This venom issued from Madonna's mouth ! '* 
 I should reply, " Rather, the soul of you 
 Has issued from your body, like from like, 
 By way of the ordure-corner ! " 
 
 But no less, 
 I tired of the same long black teasing lie 
 Obtruded thus at every turn ; the pest 
 Was far too near the picture, anyhow : 
 One does Madonna service, making clowns 
 Remove their dung-heap from the sacristy. 
 " I will to the window, as he tempts," said I : 
 " Yes, whom the easy love has failed allure, 
 This new bait of adventure tempts, — thinks he. 
 Though the imprisoned lady keeps afar. 
 There will they lie in ambush, heads alert, 
 Kith, kin, and Count mustered to bite my heel. 
 No mother nor brother viper of the brood 
 Shall scuttle off without the instructive bruise ! " 
 
 So, I went : crossed street and street : " The next street's turn, 
 
 I stand beneath the terrace, see, above. 
 
 The black of the ambush- window. Then, in place 
 
 Of hand's throw of soft prelude over lute. 
 
 And cough that clears way for the ditty last," — 
 
 I began to laugh already — "he will have 
 
 ' Out of the hole you hide in, on to the front. 
 
 Count Guido Franceschini, show yourself ! 
 
 Hear what a man thinks of a thing like you. 
 
 And after, take this foulness in your face ! ' " 
 
 The words lay living on my lip, I made 
 
 The one turn more — and there at the window stood, 
 
 Framed in its black square length, with lamp in hand, 
 
 Pompilia ; the same great, grave, griefful air 
 
 As stands i' the dusk, on altar that I know. 
 
 Left alone with one moonbeam in her cell. 
 
 Our Lady of all the Sorrows. Ere I knelt — 
 
GIUSEPPE CAPONSACCHI 205 
 
 Assured myself that she was flesh and blood — 
 She had looked one look and vanished. 
 
 I thought — " Just so : 
 It was herself, they have set her there to watch — 
 Stationed to see some wedding-band gt) by, 
 On fair pretence that she must bless the bride. 
 Or wait some funeral with friends wind past, 
 And crave peace for the corpse that claims its due. 
 She never dreams they used her for a snare. 
 And now withdraw the bait has served its turn. 
 Well done, the husband, who shall fare the worse ! " 
 And on my lip again was — " Out with thee, 
 Guido !" When all at once she reappeared; 
 But, this time, on the terrace overhead, 
 So close above me, she could almost touch 
 My head if she bent down ; and she did bend, 
 While I stood still as stone, all eye, all ear. 
 
 She began — '* You have sent me letters. Sir : 
 
 I have read none, I can neither read nor write ; 
 
 But she you gave them to, a woman here, 
 
 One of the people in whose power I am. 
 
 Partly explained their sense, I think, to me 
 
 Obliged to listen while she inculcates 
 
 That you, a priest, can dare love me, a wife, 
 
 Desire to live or die as I shall bid, 
 
 (She makes me listen if I will or no) 
 
 Because you saw my face a single time. 
 
 It cannot be she says the thing you mean ; 
 
 Such wickedness were deadly to us both : 
 
 But good true love would help me now so much — 
 
 I tell myself, you may mean good and true. 
 
 You offer me, I seem to understand, 
 
 Because I am in poverty and starve. 
 
 Much money, where one piece would save my life. 
 
 The silver cup upon the altar-cloth 
 
 Is neither yours to give nor mine to take ; 
 
 But I might take one bit of bread therefrom, 
 
 Since I am starving, and return the rest, 
 
 Yet do no harm : this is my very case. 
 
 I am in that strait, I may not dare abstain 
 
 From so much of assistance as would bring 
 
 The guilt of theft on neither you nor me ; 
 
 But no superfluous particle of aid. 
 
 I think, if you will let me state my case. 
 
 Even had you been so fancy-fevered here, 
 
206 THE RIXG AND THE BOOK 
 
 Not your sound self, you must grow healthy now — 
 
 Care only to bestow what I can take. 
 
 That it is only you in the wide world, 
 
 Knowing me nor in thought nor word nor deed, 
 
 Who, all unprompted save by your own heart, 
 
 Come proffering assistance now, — were strange 
 
 But that my whole life is so strange : as strange 
 
 It is, my husband whom I have not wronged 
 
 Should hate and harm me. For his own soul's sake, 
 
 Hinder the harm ! But there is something more, 
 
 And that the strangest : it has got to be 
 
 Somehow for my sake too, and yet not mine, 
 
 — This is a riddle — for some kind of sake 
 
 Not any clearer to myself than you. 
 
 And yet as certain as that I draw breath, — 
 
 I would fain live, not die — oh no, not die ! 
 
 My case is, I was dwelling happily 
 
 At Rome with those dear Comparini, called 
 
 Father and mother to me ; when at once 
 
 I found I had become Count Guido's wife : 
 
 Who then, not waiting for a moment, changed 
 
 Into a fury of fire, if once he was 
 
 Merely a man : his face threw fire at mine, 
 
 He laid a hand on me that burned all peace, 
 
 All joy, all hope, and last all fear away. 
 
 Dipping the bough of life, so pleasant once, 
 
 In fire which shrivelled leaf and bud alike. 
 
 Burning not only present life but past. 
 
 Which you might think was safe beyond his reach. 
 
 He reached it, though, since that beloved pair. 
 
 My father once, my mother all those years. 
 
 That loved me so, now say I dreamed a dream 
 
 And bid me wake, henceforth no child of theirs, 
 
 Never in all the time their child at all. 
 
 Do you understand ? I cannot : yet so it is. 
 
 Just so I say of you that proffer help : 
 
 I cannot understand what prompts your soul, 
 
 I simply needs must see that it is so. 
 
 Only one strange and wonderful thing more. 
 
 They came here with me, those two dear ones, kept 
 
 All the old love up, till my husband, till 
 
 His people here so tortured them, they fled. 
 
 And now, is it because I grow in flesh 
 
 And spirit one with him their torturer. 
 
 That they, renouncing him, must cast off me ? 
 
 If I were graced by God to have a child, 
 
GIUSEPPE CAPONSACCHI 207 
 
 Could I one day deny God graced me so ? 
 
 Then, since my husband hates me, I shall break 
 
 No law that reij^ns in this fell house of hate, 
 
 By using — letting have effect so much. 
 
 Of hate as hides me from that whole of hate 
 
 Would take my life which I want and must have —' 
 
 Just as I take from your excess of love 
 
 Enough to save my life with, all I need. 
 
 The Archbishop said to murder me were sin : 
 
 My leaving Guido were a kind of death 
 
 With no sin, — more death, he must answer for. 
 
 Hear now what death to him and life to you 
 
 I wish to pay and owe. Take me to Rome ! 
 
 You go to Rome, the servant makes me hear. 
 
 Take me as you would take a dog, 1 think, 
 
 Masterless left for strangers to maltreat : 
 
 Take me home like that — leave me in the house 
 
 Where the father and the mother are ; and soon 
 
 They 11 come to know and call me by my name, 
 
 Their child once more, since child I am, for all 
 
 They now forget me, which is the worst o' the dream — 
 
 And the way to end dreams is to break them, stand, 
 
 Walk, go : then help me to stand, walk and go ! 
 
 The Governor said the strong should help the weak : 
 
 You know how weak the strongest women are. 
 
 How could I find my way there by myself ? 
 
 I cannot even call out, make them hear — 
 
 Just as in dreams : I have tried and proved the fact. 
 
 I have told this story and more to good great men. 
 
 The Archbishop and the Governor : they smiled. 
 
 * Stop your mouth, fair one ! ' — presently they frowned, 
 
 ' Get you gone, disengage you from our feet ! ' 
 I went in my despair to an old priest. 
 Only a friar, no great man like these two, 
 But good, the Augustinian, people name 
 Romano, — he confessed me two months since : 
 He fears God, why then needs he fear the world ? 
 And when he questioned how it came about 
 That I was found in danger of a sin — 
 Despair of any help from providence, — 
 
 ' Since, though your husband outrage you,' said he, 
 
 ' That is a case too common, the wives die 
 Or live, but do not sin so deep as this ' — 
 Then I told — what I never will tell you — 
 How, worse tlian husband's hate, I had to bear 
 The love, — soliciting to shame called love, — 
 
208 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Of his brother, — the young idle priest i' the house 
 With only the devil to meet there. ' This is grave — 
 Yes, we must interfere : I counsel, — write 
 To those who used to be your parents once, 
 Of dangers here, bid them convey you hence ! ' 
 
 * But,' said I, ' when I neither read nor write ? ' 
 Then he took pity and promised ' I will write.' 
 If he did so, — why, they are dumb or dead : 
 Either they give no credit to the tale. 
 Or else, wrapped wholly up in their own joy 
 Of such escape, they care not who cries, still 
 I' the clutches. Anyhow, no word arrives. 
 All such extravagance and dreadfulness 
 Seems incident to dreaming, cured one way, — 
 Wake me ! The letter I received this morn. 
 Said — if the woman spoke your very sense — 
 
 ' You would die for me : ' I can believe it now : 
 For now the dream gets to involve yourself. 
 First of all, you seemed wicked and not good, 
 In writing me those letters : you came in 
 Like a thief upon me. I this morning said 
 In my extremity, entreat the thief ! 
 Try if he have in him no honest touch ! 
 A thief miofht save me from a murderer. 
 'T was a thief said the last kind word to Christ : 
 Christ took the kindness and forgave the theft : 
 And so did I prepare what I now say. 
 But now, that you stand and I see your face. 
 Though you have never uttered word yet, — well, I know, 
 Here too has been dream-work, delusion too. 
 And that at no time, you with the eyes here. 
 Ever intended to do wrong by me, 
 Nor wrote such letters therefore. It is false. 
 And you are true, have been true, will be true. 
 To Rome then, — when is it you take me there ? 
 Each minute lost is mortal. When ? — I ask." 
 
 I answered, " It shall be when it can be. 
 I will go hence and do your pleasure, find 
 The sure and speedy means of travel, then 
 Come back and take you to your friends in Rome. 
 There wants a carriage, money and the rest, — 
 A day's work by to-morrow at this time. 
 How shall I see you and assure escape ? " 
 
 She replied, " Pass, to-morrow at this hour. 
 If I am at the open window, well : 
 
GIUSEPPE CAPONSACCHI 209 
 
 If I am absent, drop a handkerchief 
 
 And walk by ! I shall see from where I watch, 
 
 And know that all is done. Return next eve. 
 
 And next, and so till we can meet and speak ! " 
 " To-morrow at this hour I pass," said I. 
 
 She was withdrawn. 
 
 Here is another point 
 
 I bid you pause at. When I told thus far. 
 
 Some one said, subtly, " Here at least was found 
 
 Your confidence in error, — you perceived 
 
 The spirit of the letters, in a sort. 
 
 Had been the lady's, if the body should be 
 
 Supplied by Guido : say, he forged them all ! 
 
 Here was the unforged fact — she sent for you, 
 
 Spontaneously elected you to help, 
 
 — What men call, loved you : Guido read her mind, 
 
 Gave it expression to assure the world 
 
 The case was just as he foresaw : he wrote. 
 
 She spoke." 
 
 Sirs, that first simile serves still, — 
 
 That falsehood of a scorpion hatched, I say. 
 
 Nowhere i' the world but in Madonna's mouth. 
 
 Go on I Suppose, that falsehood foiled, next eve 
 
 Pictured Madonna raised her painted hand. 
 
 Fixed the face Rafael bent above the Babe, 
 
 On my face as I flung me at her feet : 
 
 Such miracle vouchsafed and manifest. 
 
 Would that prove the first lying tale was true ? 
 
 Pompilia spoke, and I at once received. 
 
 Accepted my own fact, my miracle 
 
 Self-authorized and self-explained, — she chose 
 
 To summon me and signify her choice. 
 
 Afterward, — oh ! I gave a passing glance 
 
 To a certain ugly cloud-shape, goblin-shred 
 
 Of hell-smoke hurrying past the splendid moon 
 
 Out now to tolerate no darkness more. 
 
 And saw right through the thing that tried to pass 
 
 For truth and solid, not an empty lie : 
 " So, he not only forged the words for her 
 
 But words for me, made letters he called mine : 
 
 What I sent, he retained, gave these in place, 
 
 All by the mistress-messenger ! As I 
 
 Recognized her, at potency of truth. 
 
 So she, by the crystalline soul, knew me, 
 
 Never mistook the signs. Enough of this — 
 
 Let the wraith go to nothingness again, 
 
 Here is the orb, have only thought for her ! " 
 
210 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 '* Thought ? " nay, Sirs, what shall follow was not thought : 
 I have thought sometimes, and thought long and hard. 
 I have stood before, gone round a serious thing. 
 Tasked my whole mind to touch and clasp it close, 
 As I stretch forth my arm to touch this bar. 
 God and man, and what duty I owe both, — 
 I dare to say I have confronted these 
 In thought : but no such faculty helped here. 
 I put forth no thought, — powerless, all that night 
 I paced the city : it was the first Spring. 
 By the invasion I lay passive to. 
 In rushed new things, the old were rapt away ; 
 Alike abolished — the imprisonment 
 Of the outside air, the inside weight o' the world 
 That pulled me down. Death meant, to spurn the ground, 
 Soar to the sky, — die well and you do that. 
 The very immolation made the bliss ; 
 Death was the heart of life, and all the harm 
 My folly had crouched to avoid, now proved a veil 
 Hiding all gain my wisdom strove to grasp : 
 As if the intense centre of the flame 
 Should turn a heaven to that devoted fly 
 Whicli hitherto, sophist alike and sage, 
 Saint Thomas with his sober gray goose-quill, 
 And sinner Plato by Cejjhisian reed. 
 Would fain, pretending just the insect's good, 
 Whisk off, drive back, consign to shade again. 
 Into another state, under new rule 
 I knew myself was passing swift and sure ; 
 Whereof the initiatory pang approached, 
 Felicitous annoy, as bitter-sweet 
 As when the virgin-band, the victors chaste, 
 Feel at the end the earthly garments drop, 
 And rise with something of a rosy shame 
 Into immortal nakedness : so I 
 Lay, and let come the proper throe would thrill 
 Into the ecstasy and outthrob pain. 
 
 I' the gray of dawn it was I found myself 
 Facing the pillared front o' the Pieve — mine, 
 My church : it seemed to say for the first time, 
 " But am not I the Bride, the mystic love 
 O' the Lamb, who took thy plighted troth, my priest. 
 To fold thy warm heart on my heart of stone 
 And freeze thee nor unfasten any more ? 
 This is a fleshly woman, — let the free 
 
GIUSEPPE CAPONSACCIIl 211 
 
 Bestow their life-blood, thou art pulseless now I " 
 See ! Day by day I had risen and left this church 
 At the signal waved me by some foolish fan. 
 With half a curse and half a pitying smile 
 For the monk I stumbled over in my haste, 
 Prostrate and corpse-like at the altar-foot 
 Intent on his corona : then the church 
 Was ready with her quip, if word conduced, 
 To quicken my pace nor stop for prating — '' There ! 
 Be thankful you are no such ninny, go 
 Rather to teach a black-eyed novice cards 
 Than gabble Latin and protrude that nose 
 Smoothed to a sheep's through no brains and much faith ! " 
 That sort of incentive ! Now the church changed tone -^ 
 Now, when I found out first that life and death 
 Are means to an end, that passion uses both, 
 Indisputably mistress of the man 
 Whose form of worship is self-sacrifice : 
 Now, from the stone lungs sighed the scrannel voice, 
 *' Leave that live passion, come be dead with me I " 
 As if, i' the fabled garden, I had gone 
 On great adventure, plucked in ignorance 
 Hedge-fruit, and feasted to satiety, 
 Laughing at such high fame for hips and haws, 
 And scorned the achievement : then come all at once 
 O' the prize o' the place, the thing of perfect gold, 
 The apple's self : and, scarce my eye on that, 
 Was 'ware as well o' the seven-fold dragon's watch. 
 
 Sirs, I obeyed. Obedience was too strange, — 
 This new thing that had been struck into me 
 By the look o' the lady, — to dare disobey 
 The first authoritative word. 'Twas God's. 
 I had been lifted to the level of her. 
 Could take such sounds into my sense. I said, 
 " We two are cognizant o' the Master now ; 
 She it is bids me bow the head : how true, 
 I am a priest I I see the function here ; 
 I thought the other way self-sacrifice : 
 This is the true, seals up the perfect sum. 
 I pay it, sit down, silently obey." 
 
 So, I went home. Dawn broke, noon broadened, I — 
 
 I sat stone-still, let time run over me. 
 
 The sun slanted into my room, had reached 
 
 The west. I opened book, — Aquinas blazed 
 
212 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 With one black name only on the white page. 
 I looked up, saw the sunset : vespers rang : 
 " She counts the minutes till I keep my word 
 And come say all is ready. I am a priest. 
 Duty to God is duty to her : I think 
 God, who created her, will save her too 
 Some new way, by one miracle the more, 
 Without me. Then, prayer may avail perhaps." 
 I went to my own place i' the Pieve, read 
 The office : I was back at home again 
 Sitting i' the dark. " Could she but know — but know 
 That, were there good in this distinct from God's, 
 Really good as it reached her, though procured 
 By a sin of mine, — I should sin : God forgives. 
 She knows it is no fear withholds me : fear ? 
 Of what ? Suspense here is the terrible thing. 
 If she should, as she counts the minutes, come 
 On the fantastic notion that I fear 
 The world now, fear the Archbishop, fear perhaps 
 Count Guido, he who, having forged the lies, 
 May wait the work, attend the effect, — I fear 
 The sword of Guido ! Let God see to that — 
 Hating lies, let not her believe a lie ! " 
 
 Again the morning found me. " I will work, 
 
 Tie down my foolish thoughts. Thank God so far ! 
 
 I have saved her from a scandal, stopped the tongues 
 
 Had broken else into a cackle and hiss 
 
 Around the noble name. Duty is still 
 
 Wisdom : I have been wise." So the day wore. 
 
 At evening — " But, achieving victory, 
 
 I must not blink the priest's peculiar part. 
 
 Nor shrink to counsel, comfort : priest and friend — 
 
 How do we discontinue to be friends ? 
 
 I will go minister, advise her seek 
 
 Help at the source, — above all, not despair : 
 
 There may be other happier help at hand. 
 
 I hope it, — wherefore then neglect to say ? " 
 
 There she stood — leaned there, for the second time, 
 Over the terrace, looked at me, then spoke : 
 " Why is it you have suffered me to stay 
 Breaking my heart two days more than was need ? 
 Why delay help, your own heart yearns to give ? 
 You are again here, in the selfsame mind, 
 
GIUSEPPE CAPONSACCHI 213 
 
 I see here, steadfast in the face of you, — 
 
 You grudge to do no one thing that I ask. 
 
 Why then is nothing done ? You know my need. 
 
 Still, through God's jiity on me, there is time 
 
 And one day more : shall I be saved or no ? " 
 
 I answered — " Lady, waste no thought, no word 
 
 Even to forgive me ! Care for what I care — 
 
 Only ! Now follow me as I were fate ! 
 
 Leave this house in the dark to-morrow night. 
 
 Just before daybreak : — there 's new moon this eve — 
 
 It sets, and then begins the solid black. 
 
 Descend, proceed to the Torrione, step 
 
 Over the low dilapidated wall. 
 
 Take San Clemente, there 's no other gate 
 
 Unguarded at the hour : some paces thence 
 
 An inn stands ; cross to it ; I shall be there." 
 
 She answered, " If I can but find the way. 
 But I shall find it. Go now ! " 
 
 I did go, 
 Took rapidly the route myself prescribed, 
 Stopped at Torrione, climbed the ruined place, 
 Proved that the gate was practicable, reached 
 The inn, no eye, despite the dark, could miss, 
 Knocked there and entered, made the host secure : 
 " With Caponsacchi it is ask and have ; 
 I know my betters. Are you bound for Rome ? 
 I get swift horse and trusty man," said he. 
 
 Then I retraced my steps, was found once more 
 
 In my own house for the last time : there lay 
 
 The broad pale opened '' Summa." " Shut his book, 
 
 There 's other showing ! 'T was a Thomas too 
 
 Obtained, — more favored than his namesake here, — 
 
 A gift, tied faith fast, foiled the tug of doubt, — 
 
 Our Lady's girdle ; down he saw it drop 
 
 As she ascended into heaven, tliey say : 
 
 He kept that safe and bade all doubt adieu. 
 
 I too have seen a lady and hold a grace." 
 
 I know not how the night passed : morning broke, 
 Presently came my servant. " Sir, this eve — 
 Do you forget ? " I started. " How forget ? 
 What is it you know ? " " With due submission, Sir, 
 This being last Monday in the month but one, 
 
True I 
 
 214 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 And a vigil, since to-morrow is Saint George, 
 And feast-day, and moreover day for copes, 
 And Canon Conti now^ away a month, 
 And Canon Crispi sour because, forsooth, 
 You let him sulk in stall and bear the brunt 
 Of the octave. . . . Well, Sir, 't is important ! 
 
 Hearken, I have to start for Rome this night. 
 No word, lest Crispi overboil and burst ! 
 Provide me with a laic dress ! Throw dust 
 I' the Canon's eye, stop his tongue's scandal so ! 
 See there 's a sword in case of accident." 
 I knew the knave, the knave knew me. 
 
 And thus 
 Through each familiar hindrance of the day 
 Did 1 make steadily for its hour and end, — 
 Felt time's old barrier-growth of right and fit 
 Give way through all its twines, and let me go. 
 Use and wont recognized the excepted man, 
 Let speed the special service, — and I sped 
 Till, at the dead between midnight and morn, 
 There was I at the goal, before the gate, 
 With a tune in the ears, low leading up to loud, 
 A light in the eyes, faint that would soon be flare. 
 Ever some spiritual witness new and new 
 In faster frequence, crowding solitude 
 To watch the way o' the warfare, — till, at last, 
 When the ecstatic minute must bring birth. 
 Began a whiteness in the distance, waxed 
 Whiter and whiter, near grew and more near, 
 Till it was she : there did Pompilia come : 
 The white I saw shine through her was her soul's. 
 Certainly, for the body was one black, 
 Black from head down to foot. She did not speak, 
 Glided into the carriage, — so a cloud 
 Gathers the moon up. " By San Spirito, 
 To Rome, as if the road burned underneath ! 
 Reach Rome, then hold my head in pledge, I pay 
 The run and the risk to heart's content ! " Just that, 
 I said, — then, in another tick of time. 
 Sprang, was beside her, she and I alone. 
 
 So it began, our flight through dusk to clear. 
 Through day and night and day again to night 
 Once more, and to last dreadful dawn of all. 
 
GIUSEPPE CAPON SACCHI 215 
 
 Sirs, how should I lie quiet in my grave 
 
 Unless you suffer me wring, drop by drop, 
 
 My brain dry, make a riddance of the drench 
 
 Of minutes with a memory in each, 
 
 Recorded motion, breath or look of hers. 
 
 Which poured forth would present you one pure glass, 
 
 Mirror you plain, — as God's sea, glassed in gold, 
 
 His saints, — the perfect soul Pompilia ? Men, 
 
 You must know that a man gets drunk with truth 
 
 Stagnant inside him ! Oh, they 've killed her, Sirs ! 
 
 Can I be calm ? 
 
 Calmly ! Each incident 
 Proves, I maintain, that action of the flight 
 For the true thing it was. The first faint scratch 
 O' the stone will test its nature, teach its worth 
 To idiots who name Parian — coprolite. 
 After all, I shall give no glare — at best 
 Only display you certain scattered lights 
 Lamping the rush and roll of the abyss : 
 Nothing but here and there a fire-point pricks 
 Wavelet from wavelet : well I 
 
 For the first hour 
 We both were silent in the night, I know : 
 Sometimes I did not see nor understand. 
 Blackness engulfed me, — partial stupor, say — 
 Then I would break way, breathe through the surprise. 
 And be aware again, and see who sat 
 In the dark vest with the white face and hands. 
 I said to myself — " I have caught it, I conceive 
 The mind o' the mystery : 't is the way they wake 
 And wait, two martyrs somewhere in a tomb 
 Each by each as their blessing was to die ; 
 Some signal they are promised and expect, — 
 When to arise before the trumpet scares : 
 So, through the whole course of the world they wait 
 The last day, but so fearless and so safe ! 
 No otherwise, in safety and not fear, 
 I lie, because she lies too by my side." 
 You know this is not love, Sirs, — it is faith. 
 The feeling that there 's God, he reigns and rules 
 Out of this low world : that is all ; no harm ! 
 At times she drew a soft sigh — music seemed 
 Always to hover just above her lips, 
 Not settle, — break a silence music too. 
 
 In the determined m3rning, I first found 
 Her head erect, her face turned full to me, 
 
216 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Her soul intent on mine through two wide eyes. 
 
 I answered them. "• You are saved hitherto. 
 
 We have passed Perugia, — gone round by the wood, 
 
 Not through, I seem to think, — and opposite 
 
 I know Assisi ; this is holy ground." 
 
 Then she resumed. " How long since we both left 
 
 Arezzo ? " — " Years — and certain hours beside." 
 
 It was at . . . ah, but I forget the names ! 
 'T is a mere post-house and a hovel or two ; 
 I left the carriage and got bread and wine 
 And brouo-ht it her. — " Does it detain to eat ? " 
 " — They stay perforce, change horses, — therefore eat ! 
 We lose no minute : we arrive, be sure ! " 
 This was - — I know not where — there 's a great hill 
 Close over, and the stream has lost its bridge, 
 One fords it. She began — "I have heard say 
 Of some sick body that my mother knew, 
 'T was no good sign when in a limb diseased 
 All the pain suddenly departs, — as if 
 The guardian angel discontinued pain 
 Because the hope of cure was gone at last : 
 The limb will not again exert itself, 
 It needs be pained no longer : so with me, 
 — My soul whence all the pain is past at once : 
 All pain must be to work some good in the end. 
 True, this I feel now, this may be that good, 
 Pain was because of, — otherwise, I fear ! " 
 
 She said, — a long while later in the day. 
 When I had let the silence be, — abrupt — 
 " Have you a mother ? " " She died, I was born." 
 " A sister then ? " " No sister." " Who was it — 
 What woman were you used to serve this way, 
 Be kind to, till I called you and you came ? " 
 I did not like that word. Soon afterward — 
 " Tell me, are men unhappy, in some kind 
 Of mere unhappiness at being men. 
 As women suffer, being womanish ? 
 Have you, now, some unhappiness, I mean, 
 Born of what may be man's strength overmuch, 
 To match the undue susceptibility. 
 The sense at every pore when hate is close ? 
 It hurts us if a baby hides its face 
 Or child strikes at us punily, calls names 
 Or makes a mouth, — much more if stranger men 
 
GIUSEPPE CAPONSACCHI 217 
 
 Laugh or frown, — just as that were much to bear ! 
 Yet rocks split, — and the blow-ball does no more, 
 Quivers to feathery nothing at a touch ; 
 And strength may have its drawback, weakness 'scapes." 
 
 Once she asked, " What is it that made you smile. 
 At the great gate with the eagles and the snakes, 
 Where the company entered, 't is a long time since ? " 
 " — Forgive — I think you would not understand : 
 Ah, but you ask me, — therefore, it was this. 
 That was a certain bishop's villa-gate, 
 I knew it by the eagles, — and at once 
 Remembered this same bishop was just he 
 People of old were wont to bid me please 
 If I would catch preferment : so, I smiled 
 Because an impulse came to me, a whim — 
 What if I prayed the prelate leave to speak, 
 Began upon him in his presence-hall 
 — ' What, still at work so gray and obsolete ? 
 Still rocheted and mitred more or less ? 
 Don't you feel all that out of fashion now ? 
 I find out when the day of things is done I ' " 
 
 At eve we heard the angelus : she turned — 
 " I told you I can neither read nor write. 
 My life stopped with the play-time ; I will learn, 
 If I begin to live again : but you — 
 Who are a priest — wherefore do you not read 
 The service at this hour ? Read Gabriel's song, 
 The lesson, and then read the little prayer 
 To Raphael, proper for us travellers ! " 
 I did not like that, neither, but I read. 
 
 When we stopped at Foligno it was dark. 
 
 The people of the post came out with lights : 
 
 The driver said, " This time to-morrow, may 
 
 Saints only help, relays continue good. 
 
 Nor robbers hinder, we arrive at Rome." 
 
 I urged, — " Why tax your strength a second night ? 
 
 Trust me, alight here and take brief repose ! 
 
 W^e are out of harm's reach, past pursuit : go sleep 
 
 If but an hour ! I keep watch, guard the while 
 
 Here in the doorway." But her whole face changed, 
 
 The misery grew again about her mouth. 
 
 The eyes burned up from faintness, like the fawn's 
 
 Tired to death in the thicket, when she feels 
 
218 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 The probing spear o' the huntsman. '' Oh, no stay ! " 
 She cried, in the fawn's cry, " On to Rome, on, on — 
 Unless 't is you who fear, — which cannot be ! " 
 
 We did ^o on all night ; but at its close 
 She was troubled, restless, moaned low, talked at whiles 
 To herself, her brow on quiv^er with the dream : 
 Once, wide awake, she menaced, at arms' length 
 Waved away something — " Never again with you ! 
 My soul is mine, my body is my soul's : 
 You and I are divided ever more 
 In soul and body : get you gone ! " Then I — 
 - Why, in my whole life I have never prayed ! 
 Oh, if the God, that only can, would help ! 
 Am I his priest with power to cast out fiends ? 
 Let God arise and all his enemies 
 Be scattered ! " By morn, there was peace, no sigh 
 Out of the deep sleep. 
 
 When she woke at last, 
 I answered the first look — " Scarce twelve hours more, 
 Then, Rome ! There probably was no pursuit. 
 There cannot now be jDeril : bear up brave ! 
 Just some twelve hours to press through to the prize : 
 Then, no more of the terrible journey ! " '• Then, 
 No more o' the journey : if it might but last! 
 Always, my life-long, thus to journey still ! 
 It is the interruption that I dread, — 
 With no dread, ever to be here and thus ! 
 Never to see a face nor hear a voice ! 
 Yours is no voice ; you speak when you are dumb ; 
 Nor face, I see it in the dark. I want 
 No face nor voice that change and grow unkind." 
 That I liked, that was the best thing she said. 
 
 In the broad day, I dared entreat, " Descend ! " 
 I told a woman, at the garden-gate 
 By the post-house, white and pleasant in the sun, 
 "It is my sister, — talk with her apart ! 
 She is married and unhappy, you perceive ; 
 I take her home because her head is hurt ; 
 Comfort her as you women understand ! " 
 So, there I left them by the garden-wall. 
 Paced the road, then bade put the horses to, 
 Came back, and there she sat : close to her knee, 
 A black-eyed child still held the bowl of milk, 
 
GIUSEPPE CAPONSACCHI 219 
 
 Wondered to see how little she could drink, 
 And in her arms the woman's infant lay. 
 She smiled at me, '' How much good this has done ! 
 This is a whole night's rest and how much more ! 
 I can proceed now, though I wish to stay. 
 How do you call that tree with the thick top 
 Tliat holds in all its leafy green and gold 
 The sun now like an immense egg of fire ? " 
 (It was a million-leaved mimosa.) "Take 
 The babe awa}-- from me and let me go ! " 
 And in the carriage, " Still a day, my friend ! 
 And perhaps half a night, the woman fears. 
 I pray it finish since it cannot last. 
 There may be more misfortune at the close, 
 And where will you be ? God suffice me then ! " 
 And presently — for there was a roadside-shrine — ■- 
 " When I was taken first to my own church 
 Lorenzo in Lucina, being a girl. 
 And bid confess my faults, I interposed 
 ' But teach me what fault to confess and know I ' 
 So, the priest said — ' You should bethink yourself i 
 Each human being needs must have done wrong ! ' 
 Now, be you candid and no priest but friend — 
 Were I surprised and killed here on the spot, 
 A runaway from husband and his home, 
 Do you account it were in sin I died ? 
 My husband used to seem to harm me, not . . . 
 Not on pretence he punished sin of mine. 
 Nor for sin's sake and lust of cruelty. 
 But as I heard him bid a farming-man 
 At the villa take a lamb once to the wood 
 And there ill-treat it, meaninof that the wolf 
 Should hear its cries, and so come, quick be caught, 
 P^nticed to the trap : he practised thus with me 
 That so, whatever were his gain thereby, 
 Others than I might become prey and spoil. 
 Had it been only between our two selves, — 
 His pleasure and my pain, — why, pleasure him 
 By dying, nor such need to make a coil I 
 But this was worth an effort, that my pain 
 Should not become a snare, prove pain threefold 
 To other people — strangers — or unborn — 
 How should I know ? I souoht release from that — 
 I think, or else from, — dare I say, some cause 
 Such as is put into a tree, which turns 
 Away from the north wind with what nest it holds, — 
 
220 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 The woman said that trees so turn : now, friend, 
 
 Tell me, because I cannot trust myself ! 
 
 You are a man : what have I done amiss ? " 
 
 You must conceive my answer, — I forget — 
 
 Taken up wholly with the thought, perhaps. 
 
 This time she might have said, — might, did not say — 
 *' You are a priest." She said, " my friend." 
 
 Day wore, 
 
 We passed the places, somehow the calm went, 
 
 Again the restless eyes began to rove 
 
 In new fear of the foe mine could not see. 
 
 She wandered in her mind, — addressed me once 
 " Gaetano ! " — that is not my name : whose name ? 
 
 I grew alarmed, my head seemed turning too. 
 
 I quickened pace with promise now, now threat : 
 
 Bade drive and drive, nor any stopping more. 
 " Too deep i' the thick of the struggle, struggle through ! 
 
 Then drench her in repose though death's self pour 
 
 The plenitude of quiet, — help us, God, 
 
 Whom the winds carry ! " 
 
 Suddenly 1 saw 
 The old tower, and the little white-walled clump 
 Of buildings and the cypress-tree or two, — 
 " Already Castelnuovo — Rome ! " I cried, 
 " As good as Rome, — Rome is the next stage, think I 
 This is where travellers' hearts are wont to beat. 
 Say you are saved, sweet lady ! " Up she woke. 
 The sky was fierce with color from the sun 
 Setting. She screamed out, " No, I must not die ! 
 Take me no farther, I should die : stay here ! 
 I have more life to save than mine I " 
 
 She swooned. 
 We seemed safe : what was it foreboded so ? 
 Out of the coach into the inn I bore 
 The motionless and breathless pure and pale 
 Pompilia, — bore her through a pitying group 
 And laid her on a couch, still calm and cured 
 By deep sleep of all woes at once. The host 
 Was urgent, " Let her stay an hour or two ! 
 Leave her to us, all will be right by morn ! " 
 Oh, my foreboding ! But I could not choose. 
 
 I paced the passage, kept watch all night long. 
 I listened, — not one movement, not one sigh. 
 "Fear not : she sleeps so sound ! " they said : but I 
 
GIUSEPPE CAPONSACCHI 221 
 
 Feared, all the same, Jiept fearing more and more, 
 
 Found myself throb with fear from head to foot, 
 
 Filled with a sense of such impending woe, 
 
 That, at first pause of night, pretence of gray, 
 
 I made my mind up it was morn. — " Reach Rome, 
 
 Lest hell reach her ! A dozen miles to make. 
 
 Another long breath, and we emerge ! " I stood 
 
 I' the courtyard, roused the sleepy grooms. " Have out 
 
 Carriage and horse, give haste, take gold ! " said I. 
 
 While they made ready in the doubtful morn, — 
 
 'T was the last minute, — needs must I ascend 
 
 And break her sleep ; I turned to go. 
 
 And there 
 Faced me Count Guido, there posed the mean man 
 As master, — took the field, encamped his rights, 
 Challenged the world : there leered new triumph, there 
 Scowled the old malice in the visage bad 
 And black o' the scamp. Soon triumph suppled the tongue 
 A little, malice glued to his dry throat, 
 And he part howled, part hissed . . . oh, how he kept 
 Well out o' the way, at arm's length and to spare ! — 
 " My salutation to your priestship I What ? 
 Matutinal, busy with book so soon 
 Of an April day that 's damp as tears that now 
 Deluge Arezzo at its darling's flight ? — 
 'T is unfair, wrongs feminity at large, 
 To let a single dame monopolize 
 A heart the whole sex claims, should share alike : 
 Therefore I overtake you. Canon ! Come ! 
 The lady, — could you leave her side so soon ? 
 You have not yet experienced at her hands 
 My treatment, you lay down undrugged, I see ! 
 Hence this alertness — hence no death-in-life 
 Like what held arms fast when she stole from mine. 
 To be sure, you took the solace and repose 
 That first night at Foligno I — news abound 
 O' the road by this time, — men regaled me much. 
 As past them I came halting after you, 
 Vulcan pursuing Mars, as poets sing, — 
 Still at the last here pant I, but arrive, 
 Vulcan — and not without my Cyclops too. 
 The Commissary and the unpoisoned arm 
 O' the Civil Force, should Mars turn mutineer. 
 Enough of fooling : capture the culprits, friend ! 
 Here is the lover in the smart disguise 
 With the sword, — he is a priest, so mine lies still. 
 
222 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 There upstairs hides my wife the runaway, 
 His leman : the two plotted, poisoned first, 
 Plundered me after, and eloped thus far 
 Where now you find them. Do your duty quick ! 
 Arrest and hold him I That's done : now catch her ! " 
 Daring this speech of that man, — well, I stood 
 Away, as he managed, — still, I stood as near 
 The throat of him, — with these two hands, my own, — 
 As now I stand near yours, Sir, — one quick spring. 
 One gi'eat good satisfying gripe, and lo I 
 There had he lain abolished with his lie, 
 Creation purged o' the miscreate, man redeemed, 
 A spittle wiped off from the face of God I 
 I, in some measure, seek a poor excuse 
 For what I left undone, in just this fact 
 That my first feeling at the speech I quote 
 Was — not of what a blasphemy was dared. 
 Not what a bag of venomed purulence 
 Was split and noisome, — but how splendidly 
 Mirthful, how ludicrous a lie was launched ! 
 Would Moliere's self wish more than hear such maii 
 Call, claim such woman for his own, his wife, 
 Even though, in due amazement at the boast. 
 He had stammered, she mareover was divine ? 
 She to be his, — were hardly less absurd 
 Than that he took her name into his mouth, 
 Licked, and then let it go again, the beast, 
 Signed with his slaver. Oh, she poisoned him, 
 Plundered him, and the rest ! Well, what I wished 
 Was, that he would but go on, say once more 
 So to the world, and get his meed of men. 
 The fist's reply to the filth. And while I mused, 
 The minute, oh the misery, was gone I 
 On either idle hand of me there stood 
 Really an officer, nor laughed i' the least : 
 They rendered justice to his reason, laid 
 Logic to heart, as 'twere submitted them 
 ^* Twice two makes four." 
 
 '• And now, catch her ! " — he cried. 
 That sobered me. " Let myself lead the way — 
 Ere you arrest me, who am somebody, 
 Being, as you hear, a priest and privileged, — 
 To the lady's chamber I I presume you — men 
 Expert, instructed how to find out truth. 
 Familiar with the guise of guilt. Detect 
 Guilt on her face when it meets mine, then judge 
 
GIUSEPPE CAPONSACCHI 223 
 
 » 
 
 Between us and the mad dog howling there ! " 
 Up we all went together, in they broke 
 O' the chamber late my chapel. Tiiere she lay, 
 Composed as when I laid her, that last ev^e, 
 O' the couch, still breathless, motionless, sleep's self, 
 Wax-white, seraphic, saturate with the sun 
 O' the morning that now flooded from the front 
 And filled the window with a light like blood. 
 " Behold the poisoner, the adulteress, 
 — And feigning sleep too ! Seize, bind ! " Guido hissed. 
 
 She started up, stood erect, face to face 
 
 With the husband : back he fell, was buttressed there 
 
 By the window all aflame with morning-red. 
 
 He the black figure, the opprobrious blur 
 
 Against all peace and joy and light and life. 
 
 '* Away from between me and hell ! " she cried : 
 
 " Hell for me, no embracing any more ! 
 I am God's, I love God, God — whose knees I clasp, 
 Whose utterly most just award I take. 
 But bear no more love-making devils : hence ! " 
 I may have made an effort to reach her side 
 From where I stood i' the doorway, — anyhow 
 I found the arms, I wanted, pinioned fast, 
 Was powerless in the clutch to left and right 
 O' the rabble pouring in, rascality 
 Enlisted, rampant on the side of hearth, 
 Home and the husband, — pay in prospect too ! 
 They heaped themselves upon me. " Ha ! — and him 
 Also you outrage ? Him, too, my sole friend. 
 Guardian and savior ? That I balk you of. 
 Since — see how God can help at last and worst ! " 
 She sprang at the sword that hung beside him, seized. 
 Drew, brandished it, the sunrise burned for joy 
 O' the blade, " Die," cried she, "devil, in God's name ! " 
 Ah, but they all closed round her, twelve to one 
 ' — The unmanly men, no woman-mother made. 
 Spawned somehow ! Dead-white and disarmed she lay. 
 No matter for the sword, her word sufficed 
 To spike the coward through and through : he shook. 
 Could only spit between the teeth — " You see ? 
 You hear ? Bear witness, then ! Write down . . . but no - 
 Carry these criminals to the prison-house. 
 For first thing ! I begin my search meanwhile 
 After the stolen effects, gold, jewels, plate. 
 Money and clothes, they robbed me of and fled. 
 
224 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 « 
 
 With no few amorous pieces, verse and prose, 
 I have much reason to expect to find." 
 
 "When I saw that — no more than the first mad speech, 
 
 Made out the speaker mad and a laughing-stock. 
 
 So neither did this next device explode 
 
 One listener's indignation, — that a scribe 
 
 Did sit down ; set himself to write indeed. 
 
 While sundry knaves began to peer and pry 
 
 In corner and hole, — that Guide, ^viping brow 
 
 And getting him a countenance, was fast 
 
 Losing his fear, beginning to strut free 
 
 O' the stage of his exploit, snuff here, sniff there, — 
 
 Then I took truth in, guessed sufficiently 
 
 The service for the moment. " What I say, 
 
 Slight at your peril ! We are aliens here, 
 
 My adversary and I, called noble both ; 
 
 I am the nobler, and a name men know. 
 
 I could refer our cause to our own court 
 
 In our own country, but prefer appeal 
 
 To the nearer jurisdiction. Being a priest. 
 
 Though in a secular garb, — for reasons good 
 
 I shall adduce in due time to my peers, — 
 
 I demand that the Church I serve, decide 
 
 Between us, right the slandered lady there. 
 
 A Tuscan noble, I might claim the Duke : 
 
 A priest, I rather choose the Church, — bid Rome 
 
 Cover the wronged with her inviolate shield." 
 
 There was no refusing this : they bore me off. 
 
 They bore her off, to separate cells o' the same 
 
 Ignoble prison, and, separate, thence to Rome. 
 
 Pompilia's face, then and thus, looked on me 
 
 The last time in this life : not one sight since, 
 
 Never another sight to be ! And yet 
 
 I thought I had saved her. I appealed to Rome : 
 
 It seems I simply sent her to her death. 
 
 You tell me she is dying now, or dead ; 
 
 I cannot bring myself to quite believe 
 
 This is a place you torture people in : 
 
 What if this your intelligence were just 
 
 A subtlety, an honest wile to work 
 
 On a man at unawares ? 'T were worthy you. 
 
 No, Sirs, I cannot have the lady dead ! 
 
 That erect form, flashing brow, fulgurant eye. 
 
 That voice immortal (oh, that voice of hers !) 
 
GIUSEPPE CAPONSACCHI 225 
 
 That vision in the blood-red daybreak — that 
 
 Leap to life of the pale electric sword 
 
 Angels go armed with, — that was not the last 
 
 O' the lady ! Come, I see through it, you find — 
 
 Know the manoeuvre ! Also herself said 
 
 I had saved her : do you dare say she spoke false ? 
 
 Let me see for myself if it be so ! 
 
 Though she were dying, a Priest might be of use, 
 
 The more when he 's a friend too, — she called me 
 
 Far beyond " friend." Come, let me see her — indeed 
 
 It is my duty, being a priest : I hope 
 
 I stand confessed, established, proved a priest ? 
 
 My punishment had motive that, a priest 
 
 I, in a laic garb, a mundane mode, 
 
 Did what were harmlessly done otherwise. 
 
 I never touched her with my finger-tip 
 
 Except to carry her to the couch, that eve, 
 
 Against my heart, beneath my head, bowed low, 
 
 As we priests carry the paten : that is why 
 
 — To get leave and go see her of your grace — 
 
 I have told you this whole story over again. 
 
 Do I deserve grace ? For I might lock lips, 
 
 Laugh at your jurisdiction : what have you 
 
 To do with me in the matter ? I supjDose 
 
 You hardly think I donned a bravo's dress 
 
 To have a hand in the new crime ; on the old, 
 
 Judgment 's delivered, penalty imposed, 
 
 I was chained fast at Civita hand and foot — 
 
 She had only you to trust to, you and Rome, 
 
 Rome and the Church, and no pert meddling priest 
 
 Two days ago, when Guido, with the right. 
 
 Hacked her to pieces. One might well be wroth ; 
 
 I have been patient, done my best to help : 
 
 I come from Civita and punishment 
 
 As friend of the court — and for pure friendship's sake 
 
 Have told my tale to the end, — nay, not the end — 
 
 For, wait — I '11 end — not leave you that excuse ! 
 
 When we were parted, — shall I go on there ? 
 
 I was presently brought to Rome — yes, here I stood 
 
 Oj^posite yonder very crucifix — 
 
 And there sat you and you, Sirs, quite the same. 
 
 I heard charge, and bore question, and told tale 
 
 Noted down in the book there, — turn and see 
 
 If, by one jot or tittle, I vary now I 
 
 I' the color the tale takes," there 's change perhaps ; 
 
226 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 'T is natural, since the sky is different, 
 
 Eclipse in the air now ; still, the outline stays. 
 
 I showed you how it came to be my part 
 
 To save the lady. Then your clerk produced 
 
 Papers, a pack of stupid and impure 
 
 Banalities called letters about love — 
 
 Love, indeed, — I could teach who styled them so, 
 
 Better, I think, though priest and loveless both I 
 " — How was it that a wife, young, innocent. 
 
 And stranger to your person, wrote this page ? " — 
 " — She wrote it when the Holy Father wrote 
 
 The bestiality that posts through Rome, 
 
 Put in his mouth by Pasquin." '' Nor perhaps 
 
 Did you return these answers, verse and prose, 
 
 Signed, sealed and sent the lady ? There 's your hand ! ' 
 " — This precious piece of verse, I really judge, 
 
 Is meant to copy my own character, 
 
 A clumsy mimic ; and this other prose, 
 
 Not so much even ; both rank forgery : 
 
 Verse, quotha ? Bembo's verse ! When Saint John wrote 
 
 The tract ' De Trlbus,' I wrote this to match." 
 *' — How came it, then, the documents were found 
 
 At the inn on your departure ? " — "I opine, 
 
 Because there were no documents to find 
 
 In my presence, — you must hide before you find. 
 
 Who forged them hardly practised in my view ; 
 
 Who found them waited till I turned my back." 
 " — And what of the clandestine visits paid. 
 
 Nocturnal passage in and out the house 
 
 With its lord absent ? 'T is alleged you climbed " . . o 
 " — Flew on a broomstick to the man i' the moon ! 
 
 Who witnessed or will testify this trash? " 
 " — The trusty servant, Margherita's self. 
 
 Even she who brought you letters, you confess. 
 
 And, you confess, took letters in reply : 
 
 Forget not we have knowledge of the facts I " 
 " — Sirs, who have knowledge of the facts, defray 
 
 The expenditure of wit I waste in vain. 
 
 Trying to find out just one fact of all ! 
 
 She who brought letters from who could not write, 
 
 And took back letters to who could not read, — 
 
 Who was that messenger, of your charity ? " 
 " — Well, so far favors you the circumstance 
 
 That this same messenger . . . how shall we say ? . . . 
 
 Sub imjnitatione meretricis 
 
 Lahorat, — which makes accusation null : 
 
GIUSEPPE CAPONSACCHl 227 
 
 We waive this woman's : — nought makes void the next. 
 
 Borsi, called Venerino, he who drove, 
 
 O' the first night when you fled away, at length 
 
 Deposes to your kissings in the coacli, 
 
 — Frequent, frenetic " . . . " When deposed he so 'i! " 
 " After some weeks of sharp imprisonment " . . . 
 " — Granted by friend the Governor, I engage " — 
 " — For his participation in your flight ! 
 
 At length his obduracy melting made 
 
 The avowal mentioned " . . . " Was dismissed forthwith 
 
 To liberty, poor knave, for recomi^ense. 
 
 Sirs, give what credit to the lie you can ! 
 
 For me, no word in my defence I speak. 
 
 And God shall argue for the lady ! " 
 
 So 
 Did I stand question, and make answer, still 
 With the same result of smiling disbelief. 
 Polite impossibility of faith 
 In such affected virtue in a priest ; 
 But a showing fair play, an indulgence, even, 
 To one no worse than others after all — 
 Who had not brought disgrace to the order, played 
 Discreetly, ruflled gown nor ripped the cloth 
 In a bungling game at romps : I have told you, Sirs — ■ 
 If I pretended simply to be pure 
 Honest and Christian in the case, — absurd ! 
 As well go boast myself above the needs 
 O' the human nature, careless how meat smells, 
 Wine tastes, — a saint above the smack ! But once 
 Abate my crest, own flaws i' the flesh, agree 
 To go with the herd, be hog no more nor less, 
 Why, hogs in common herd have common rights : 
 I must not be unduly borne upon, 
 Who just romanced a little, sowed wild oats. 
 But 'scaped without a scandal, flagrant fault. 
 My name helped to a mirthful circumstance : 
 "Joseph" would do well to amend his plea : 
 Undoubtedly — some toying with the wife. 
 But as for ruffian violence and rape, 
 Potiphar pressed too much on the other side ! 
 The intrigue, the elopement, the disguise, — well charged ! 
 The letters and verse looked hardly like the truth. 
 Your apprehension was — of guilt enough 
 To be compatible with innocence, 
 So, punished best a Uttle and not too much. 
 
228 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Had I struck Guido Franceschini's face, 
 
 You had counselled me withdraw for my own sake, 
 
 Balk him of bravo-hiring. Friends came round, 
 
 Congratulated, " Nobody mistakes I 
 
 The jDettiness o' the forfeiture defines 
 
 The peccadillo : Guido gets his share : 
 
 His wife is free of husband and hook-nose, 
 
 The mouldy viands and the mother-in-law. 
 
 To Civita with you and amuse the time. 
 
 Travesty us ' De Raptu TIelence ! ' 
 
 A funny figure must the husband cut 
 
 When the wife makes him skip, — too ticklish, eh ? 
 
 Do it in Latin, not the Vulgar, then ! 
 
 Scazons — we '11 copy and send his Eminence. 
 
 Mind — one iambus in the final foot ! 
 
 He '11 rectify it, be your friend for life ! " 
 
 Oh, Sirs, depend on me for much new light 
 
 Thrown on the justice and religion here 
 
 By this proceeding, much fresh food for thought ! 
 
 And I was just set down to study these 
 
 In relegation, two short days ago. 
 
 Admiring how you read the rules, when, clap, 
 
 A thunder comes into my solitude — 
 
 I am caught up in a whirlwind and cast here. 
 
 Told of a sudden, in this room where so late 
 
 You dealt out law adroitly, that those scales, 
 
 I meekly bowed to, took my allotment from, 
 
 Guido has snatched at, broken in your hands, 
 
 Metes to himself the murder of his wife. 
 
 Full measure, pressed down, running over now ! 
 
 Can I assist to an explanation ? — Yes, 
 
 I rise in your esteem, sagacious Sirs, 
 
 Stand up a renderer of reasons, not 
 
 The officious priest would personate Saint George 
 
 For a mock Princess in undragoned days. 
 
 What, the blood startles you ? What, after all 
 
 The priest who needs must carry sword on thigh 
 
 May find imperative use for it ? Then, there was 
 
 A Princess, was a dragon belching flame, 
 
 And should have been a Saint George also? Then, 
 
 There might be worse schemes than to break the bonds 
 
 At Arezzo, lead her by the little hand, 
 
 Till she reached Rome, and let her try to live ? 
 
 But you were law and gospel, — would one please 
 
 Stand back, allow your faculty elbow-room ? 
 
GIUSEPPE CAPONSACCHI 229 
 
 You blind guides who must needs lead eyes that see ! 
 
 Fools, alike ignorant of man and God ! 
 
 "What was there here should have perplexed your wit 
 
 For a wink of the owl-eyes of you ? How miss, then, 
 
 What 's now forced on you by this flare of fact — 
 
 As if Saint Peter failed to recognize 
 
 Nero as no apostle, John or James, 
 
 Till some one burned a martyr, made a torch 
 
 O' the blood and fat to show his features by ! 
 
 Could you fail read this cartulary aright 
 
 On head and front of Franceschini there. 
 
 Large-lettered like hell's masterpiece of print, — 
 
 That he, from the beginning pricked at heart 
 
 By some lust, letch of hate against his wife. 
 
 Plotted to plague her into overt sin 
 
 And shame, would slay Pompilia body and soul. 
 
 And save his mean self — miserably caught 
 
 I' the quagmire of his own tricks, cheats and lies ? 
 
 — That himself wrote those papers, — from himself 
 To himself, — which, i' the name of me and her, 
 His mistress-messenger gave her and me, 
 Touching us with such pustules of the soul 
 
 That she and I might take the taint, be shown 
 To the world and shuddered over, speckled so ? 
 
 — That the agent put her sense into my words, 
 Made substitution of the thing she hoped. 
 
 For the thing she had and held, its opposite, 
 While the husband^in the background bit his lips 
 At each fresh failure of his precious plot ? 
 
 — That when at the last we did rush each on each, 
 By no chance but because God willed it so — 
 
 The spark of truth was struck from out our souls — 
 
 Made all of me, descried in the first glance. 
 
 Seem fair and honest and permissible love 
 
 O' the good and true — as the first glance told me 
 
 There was no duty patent in the world 
 
 Like daring try be good and true myself. 
 
 Leaving the shows of things to the Lord of Show 
 
 And Prince o' the Power of the Air. Our very flight. 
 
 Even to its most ambiguous circumstance, 
 
 Irrefragably proved how futile, false . . . 
 
 Why, men — men and not boys — boys and not babes — 
 
 Babes and not beasts — beasts and not stocks and stones ! — 
 
 Had the liar's lie been true one pin-point speck. 
 
 Were I the accepted suitor, free o' the place, 
 
 Disposer of the time, to come at a call 
 
230 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 And go at a wink as who should say me nay, — 
 What need of flight, what were the gain thereirom 
 But just damnation, failure or success ? 
 Damnation pure and simple to her the wife 
 And me the priest — who bartered private bliss 
 For public reprobation, the safe shade 
 For the sunshine which men see to pelt me by : 
 What other advantage — we who led the dajs 
 And nights alone i' the house — was flight to find ? 
 In our whole journey did we stop an hour, 
 Diverge a foot from strait road till we reached 
 Or would have reached — but for that fate of ours — 
 The father and mother, in the eye of Rome, 
 The eye of yourselves we made aware of us 
 At the first fall of misfortune ? And indeed 
 You did so far give sanction to our flight. 
 Confirm its purpose, as lend helping hand. 
 Deliver up Pompilia not to him 
 She fled, but those the flight was ventured for. 
 Why then could you, who stopped short, not go on 
 One poor step more, and justify the means, 
 Having allowed the end ? — not see and say 
 " Here 's the exceptional conduct that should claim 
 To be exceptionally judged on rules 
 Which, understood, make no exception here " — 
 Why play instead into the devil's hands 
 By dealing so ambiguously as gave 
 Guido the power to intervene like me. 
 Prove one exce})tion more ? I saved his wife 
 Against law : against law he slays her now : 
 Deal with him ! 
 
 I have done with being judged. 
 I stand here guiltless in thought, word and deed, 
 To the point that I apprise you, — in contempt 
 For all misapprehending ignorance 
 O' the human heart, much more the mind of Christ, 
 That I assuredly did bow, was blessed 
 By the revelation of Pompilia. There ! 
 Such is the final fact I fling you. Sirs, 
 To mouth and mumble and misinterpret : there ! 
 " The priest 's in love," have it the vulgar way I 
 Unpriest me, rend the rags o' the vestment, do — 
 Degrade deep, disenfranchise all you dare — 
 Remove me from the midst, no longer priest 
 And fit companion for the like of you — 
 
GIUSEPPE CAPONSACCHl 231 
 
 Your gay Abati with the well-turned leg 
 
 And rose i' the hat-rim, Canons, cross at neck 
 
 And silk mask in the pocket of the gown, 
 
 Brisk bishops with the world's musk still unbrushed 
 
 From the rochet ; 1 11 no more of these good things : 
 
 There 's a crack somewhere, something that 's unsound 
 
 I' the rattle ! 
 
 For Pompilia — be advised, 
 Build churches, go pray ! You will find me there, 
 I know, if you come, — and you will come, 1 know. 
 Why, there 's a Judge weeping ! Did not I say 
 You were good and true at bottom ? You see the truth — 
 I am glad I helped you : she helped me just so. 
 
 But for Count Guido, — you must counsel there ! 
 
 I bow my head, bend to the very dust. 
 
 Break myself up in shame of faultiness. 
 
 I had him one whole moment, as I said — 
 
 As I remember, as will never out 
 
 O' the thoughts of me, — I had him in arm's reach 
 
 There, — as you standi Sir, now you cease to sit, — 
 
 I could have killed him ere he killed his wife, 
 
 And did not : he went off alive and well 
 
 And then effected this last feat — through me ! 
 
 Me — not through you — dismiss that fear ! 'T was you 
 
 Hindered me staying here to save her, — not 
 
 From leaving you and going back to him 
 
 And doing service in Arezzo. Come, 
 
 Instruct me in procedure I I conceive — 
 
 In all due self-abasement might I speak — 
 
 J low you will deal with Guido : oh, not death I 
 
 Death, if it let her life be : otherwise 
 
 Not death, — your lights will teach you clearer I I 
 
 Certainly have an instinct of my own 
 
 I' the matter : bear with me and weigh its worth ! 
 
 Let us go away — leave Guido all alone 
 
 Back on the world again that knows him now ! 
 
 I think he will be found (indulge so far !) 
 
 Not to die so much as slide out of life, 
 
 Pushed by the general horror and common hate 
 
 Low, lower, — left o' the very ledge of things, 
 
 I seem to see him catch convulsively 
 
 One by one at all honest forms of life, 
 
 At reason, order, decency and use — 
 
 To cramp him and get foothold by at least ; 
 
232 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 And still they disengage them from his clutch. 
 *' What, you are he, then, had Pompilia once 
 And so forewent her ? Take not up with us ! " 
 And thus I see him slowly and surely edged 
 Off all the table-land whence life upsprings 
 Aspiring to be immortality, 
 As the snake, hatched on hill-top by mischance, 
 Despite his wriggling, slips, slides, slidders down 
 Hillside, lies low and prostrate on the smooth 
 Level of the outer place, lapsed in the vale : 
 So I lose Guido in the loneliness, 
 Silence and dusk, till at the doleful end, 
 At the horizontal line, creation's verge. 
 From what just is to absolute nothingness — 
 Whom is it, straining onward still, he meets ? 
 What other man deep further in the fate. 
 Who, turning at the prize of a footfall 
 To flatter him and promise fellowship, 
 Discovers in the act a frightful face — 
 Judas, made monstrous by much solitude ! 
 The two are at one now ! Let them love their love 
 That bites and claws like hate, or hate their hate 
 That mops and mows and makes as it were love ! 
 There, let them each tear each in devil's-fun, 
 Or fondle this the other while malice aches — 
 Both teach, both learn detestability ! 
 Kiss him the kiss, Iscariot ! Pay that back, 
 That smatch o' the slaver blistering on your lip. 
 By the better trick, the insult he spared Christ — 
 Lure him the lure o' the letters, Aretine ! 
 Lick him o'er slimy-smooth with jelly-filth 
 O' the verse-and-prose pollution in love's guise ! 
 The cockatrice is with the basilisk ! 
 There let them grapple, denizens o' the dark, 
 Foes or friends, but indissolubly bound. 
 In their one spot out of the ken of God 
 Or care of man, forever and evermore ! • 
 
 Why, Sirs, what 's this ? Why, this is sorry and strange ! 
 
 Futility, divagation : this from me 
 
 Bound to be rational, justify an act 
 
 Of sober man ! — whereas, being moved so much, 
 
 I give you cause to doubt the lady's mind : 
 
 A pretty sarcasm for the world I I fear 
 
 You do her wit injustice, — all through me ! 
 
 Like my fate all through, — ineffective help ! 
 
GIUSEPPE CAPONSACCHT 233 
 
 A poor rash advocate I prove myself. 
 
 You might be angry with good cause : but sure 
 
 At the advocate, — only at the undue zeal 
 
 That spoils the force of his own plea, I think ? 
 
 My part was just to tell you how things stand, 
 
 State facts and not be flustered at their fume. 
 
 But then 't is a priest speaks : as for love, — no ! 
 
 If you let buzz a vulgar fly like that 
 
 About your brains, as if I loved, forsooth, 
 
 Indeed, Sirs, you do wrong ! We had no thought 
 
 Of such infatuation, she and I : 
 
 There are many points that prove it : do be just ! 
 
 I told you, — at one little roadside-place 
 
 I spent a good half-hour, paced to and fro 
 
 The garden ; just to leave her free awhile, 
 
 I plucked a handful of Spring herb and bloom : 
 
 I might have sat beside her on the bench 
 
 Where the children were : I wish the thing had been, 
 
 Indeed : the event could not be worse, you know : 
 
 One more half-hour of her saved ! She 's dead now, Sirs ! 
 
 While I was running on at such a rate. 
 
 Friends should have plucked me by the sleeve : I went 
 
 Too much o' the trivial outside of her face 
 
 And the purity that shone there — plain to me, 
 
 Not to you, what more natural ? Nor am I 
 
 Infatuated, — oh, I saw, be sure ! 
 
 Her brow had not the right line, leaned too much. 
 
 Painters would say ; they like the straight-up Greek : 
 
 This seemed bent somewhat with an invisible crown 
 
 Of martyr and saint, not such as art approves. 
 
 And how the dark orbs dwelt deep underneath, 
 
 Looked out of such a sad sweet heaven on me ! 
 
 The lips, compressed a little, came forward too, 
 
 Careful for a whole world of sin and pain. 
 
 That was the face, her husband makes his plea, 
 
 He sought just to disfigure, — no offence 
 
 Beyond that ! Sirs, let us be rational ! 
 
 He needs must vindicate his honor, — ay, 
 
 Yet shirks, the coward, in a clown's disguise, 
 
 Away from the scene, endeavors to escape. 
 
 Now, had he done so, slain and left no trace 
 
 O' the slayer, — what were vindicated, pray ? 
 
 You had found his wife disfigured or a cor23se, 
 
 For what and by whom ? It is too palpable ! 
 
 Then, here 's another point involving law : 
 
 I use this argument to show you meant 
 
234 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 No calumny against us by that title 
 O' the sentence, — liars try to twist it so : 
 What penalty it bore, I had to pay 
 Till further proof should follow of innocence — 
 Prohationis oh defectum, — proof ? 
 How could you get proof without trying us ? 
 You went through the preliminary form. 
 Stopped there, contrived this sentence to amuse 
 The adversary. If the title ran 
 For more than fault imputed and not proved, 
 That was a simple penman's error, else 
 A slip i' the phrase, — as when we say of you 
 " Charged with injustice " — which may either be 
 Or not be, — 't is a name that sticks meanwhile. 
 Another relevant matter : fool that I am ! 
 Not what I wish true, yet a point friends urge : 
 It is not true, — yet, since friends think it helps, — 
 She only tried me when some others failed — 
 Began with Conti, whom I told you of, 
 And Guillichini, Guido's kinsfolk both. 
 And when abandoned by them, not before, 
 Turned to me. That 's conclusive why she turned. 
 Much good they got by the happy cowardice ! 
 Conti is dead, poisoned a month ago : 
 Does that much strike you as a sin ? Not much, 
 After the present murder, — one mark more 
 On the Moor's skin, — what is black by blacker still ? 
 Conti had come here and told truth. And so 
 With Guillichini ; he 's condemned of course 
 To the galleys, as a friend in this affair. 
 Tried and condemned for no one thing i' the world, 
 A fortnight since by who but the Governor ? — 
 The just judge, who refused Pompilia help 
 At first blush, being her husband's friend, you know. 
 There are two tales to suit the separate courts, 
 Arezzo and Rome : he tells you here, we fled 
 Alone, unhelped, — lays stress on the main fault, 
 The spiritual sin, Rome looks to : but elsewhere 
 He likes best we should break in, steal, bear off. 
 Be fit to brand and pillory and flog — 
 That 's the charge goes to the heart of the Governor : 
 If these unpriest me, you and I may yet 
 Converse, Vincenzo Marzi-INIedici ! 
 Oh, Sirs, there are worse men than you, I say ! 
 More easily duped, I mean ; this stupid lie, 
 Its liar never dared propound in Rome, 
 
GIUSEPPE CAPONSACCHI 235 
 
 He gets Arezzo to receive, — nay more, 
 
 Gets Florence and the Duke to authorize ! 
 
 This is their Rota's sentence, their Granduke 
 
 Signs and seals ! Rome for me henceforward — Rome, 
 
 Where better men are, — most of all, that man 
 
 The Augustinian of the Hospital, 
 
 Who writes the letter, — he confessed, he says, 
 
 Many a dying person, never one 
 
 So sweet and true and pure and beautiful. 
 
 A good man ! Will you make him Pope one day F 
 
 Not that he is not good too, this we have — 
 
 But old, — else he would have his word to speak. 
 
 His truth to teach the world : I thirst for truth, 
 
 But shall not drink it till I reach the source. 
 
 Sirs, I am quiet again. You see, we are 
 
 So very pitiable, she and I, 
 
 Who had conceivably been otherwise. 
 
 Forget distemperature and idle heat ! 
 
 Apart from truth's sake, what 's to move so much ? 
 
 Pompilia will be presently with God ; 
 
 I am, on earth, as good as out of it, 
 
 A relegated priest ; when exile ends, 
 
 I mean to do my duty and live long. 
 
 She and I are mere strangers now : but priests 
 
 Should study passion ; how else cure mankind. 
 
 Who come for help in passionate extremes ? 
 
 I do but play with an imagined life 
 
 Of who, unfettered by a vow, unblessed 
 
 By the higher call, — since you will have it so, — 
 
 Leads it companioned by the woman there. 
 
 To live, and see her learn, and learn by her. 
 
 Out of the low obscure and petty world — 
 
 Or only see one purpose and one will 
 
 Evolve themselves i' the world, change wrong to right : 
 
 To have to do with nothing but the true, 
 
 The good, the eternal — and these, not alone 
 
 In the main current of the general life, 
 
 But small experiences of every day, 
 
 Concerns of the particular hearth and home : 
 
 To learn not only by a comet's rush 
 
 But a rose's birth, — not by the grandeur, God — 
 
 But the comfort, Christ. All this, how far away ! 
 
 Mere delectation, meet for a minute's dream ! — 
 
 Just as a drudging student trims his lamp, 
 
 Opens his Plutarch, puts him in the place 
 
236 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Of Roman, Grecian ; draws the patched gown close, 
 
 Dreams, " Thus should I fight, save or rule the world ! " 
 
 Then smilingly, contentedly, awakes 
 
 To the old solitary nothingness. 
 
 So I, from such communion, pass content . . • 
 
 O great, just, good God ! Miserable me I 
 
VII. 
 
 POMPILIA. 
 
 I AM just seventeen years and five months old, 
 And, if I lived one day more, three full weeks ; 
 *T is writ so in the church's register, 
 Lorenzo in Lucina, all my names 
 At length, so many names for one poor child, 
 — Francesca Camilla Vittoria Angela 
 Pompilia Comparini, — laughable ! 
 Also 't is writ that I was married there 
 Four years ago : and they will add, I hope. 
 When they insert my death, a word or two, — 
 Omitting all about the mode of death, — 
 This, in its place, this which one cares to know, 
 That I had been a mother of a son 
 Exactly two weeks. It will be through grace 
 * O' the Curate, not through any claim I have ; 
 Because the boy was born at, so baptized 
 Close to, the Villa, in the proper church : 
 A pretty church, I say no word against, 
 Yet stranger-like, — while this Lorenzo seems 
 My owrt particular place. I always say. 
 I used to wonder, when I stood scarce high 
 As the bed here, what the marble lion meant, 
 With half his body rushing from the wall. 
 Eating the figure of a prostrate man — 
 (To the right, it is, of entry by the door) — 
 An ominous sign to one baptized like me, 
 Married, and to be buried there, I hope. 
 And they should add, to have my fife complete, 
 He is a boy and Gaetan by name — 
 Gaetano, for a reason, — if the friar 
 Don Celestine will ask this grace for me 
 Of Curate Ottoboni : he it was 
 Baptized me : he remembers my whole life 
 As I do his gray hair. 
 
 All these few things 
 I know are true, — will you remember them ? 
 
238 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Because time flies. The surgeon cared for me, 
 To count my wounds, — twenty-two dagger-wounds, 
 Five deadly, but I do not suffer much — 
 Or too much pain, — and am to die to-night. 
 
 Oh how good God is that my babe was born, 
 
 — Better than born, baptized and hid away 
 
 Before this happened, safe from being hurt ! 
 
 That had been sin God could not well forgive : 
 
 He was too young to smile and save himself. 
 
 When they took, two days after he was born. 
 
 My babe away from me to be baptized 
 
 And hidden awhile, for fear his foe should find, — 
 
 The country-woman, used to nursing babes. 
 
 Said, " Why take on so ? where is the great loss ? 
 
 These next three weeks he will but sleep and feed, 
 
 Only begin to smile at the month's end ; 
 
 He would not know you, if you kept him here. 
 
 Sooner than that ; so, spend three merry weeks 
 
 Snug in the Villa, getting strong and stout, 
 
 And then I bring him back to be your own, 
 
 And both of you may steal to — we know where ! " 
 
 The month — there wants of it two weeks this day ! 
 
 Still, I half fancied when I heard the knock • 
 
 At the Villa in the dusk, it might prove she — 
 
 Come to say, " Since he smiles before the time, 
 
 Why should I cheat you out of one good hour ? 
 
 Back I have brought him ; speak to him and judge ! " 
 
 Now I shall never see him ; what is worse, • 
 
 When he grows up and gets to be my age, 
 
 He will seem hardly more than a great boy ; 
 
 And if he asks, " What was my mother like ? " 
 
 People may answer, " Like girls of seventeen " — 
 
 And how can he but think of this and that, 
 
 Lucias, Marias, Sofias, who titter or blush 
 
 When he regards them as such boys may do ? 
 
 Therefore I wish some one will please to say 
 
 I looked already old though I was young ; 
 
 Do I not . . . say, if you are by to speak . . . 
 
 Look nearer twenty ? No more like, at least. 
 
 Girls who look arch or redden when boys laugh, 
 
 Than the poor Virgin that I used to know 
 
 At our street-corner in a lonely niche, — 
 
 The babe, that sat upon her knees, broke off, — 
 
 Thin white glazed clay, you pitied her the more : 
 
 She, not the gay ones, always got my rose. 
 
POMPIUA 239 
 
 How happy those are who know how to write I 
 Such could write what their son should read in time, 
 Had they a whole day to live out like me. 
 Also my name is not a common name, 
 " Pompilia," and may help to keep apart 
 A little the thing I am from what girls are. 
 But then how far away, how hard to find 
 Will anything about me have become, 
 Even if the boy bethink himself and ask ! 
 No father that he ever knew at all, 
 Nor ever had — no, never had, I say ! 
 That is the truth, — nor any mother left, 
 Out of the little two weeks that she lived, 
 Fit for such memory as might assist : 
 As good too as no family, no name. 
 Not even poor old Pietro's name, nor hers, 
 Poor kind unwise Violante, since it seems 
 They must not be my parents any more. 
 That is why something put it in my head 
 To call the boy " Gaetano " — no old name 
 For sorrow's sake ; I looked up to the sky 
 And took a new saint to begin anew. 
 One who has only been made saint — how long ? 
 Twenty-five years : so, carefuUer, perhaps, 
 To guard a namesake than those old saints grow, 
 Tired out by this time, — see my own five saints I 
 
 On second thoughts, I hope he will regard 
 The history of me as what some one dreamed, 
 And get to disbelieve it at the last : 
 Since to myself it dwindles fast to that. 
 Sheer dreaming and impossibility, — 
 Just in four days too ! All the seventeen years. 
 Not once did a suspicion visit me 
 How very different a lot is mine 
 From any other woman's in the world. 
 The reason must be, 't was by step and step 
 It got to grow so terrible and strange. 
 These strange woes stole on tiptoe, as it were. 
 Into my neighborhood and privacy, 
 Sat down where I sat, laid them where I lay ; 
 And I was found familiarized with fear, 
 When friends broke in, held up a torch and cried, 
 " Why, you Pompilia in the cavern thus. 
 How comes that arm of yours about a wolf ? 
 And the soft length, — lies in and out your feet 
 
240 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 And laps you round the knee, — a snake it is ! " 
 And so on. 
 
 Well, and they are right enough, 
 By the torch they hold up now : for first, observe, 
 I never had a father, — no, nor yet 
 A mother : my own boy can say at least, 
 " I had a mother whom I kept two weeks ! " 
 Not I, who little used to doubt . . . I doubt 
 Good Pietro, kind Violante, gave me birth ? 
 They loved me always as I love my babe 
 ( — Nearly so, that is — quite so could not be — ) 
 Did for me all I meant to do for him, 
 Till one surprising day, three years ago. 
 They both declared, at Rome, before some judge 
 In some court where the people flocked to hear, 
 That really I had never been their child. 
 Was a mere castaway, the careless crime 
 Of an unknown man, the crime and care too much 
 Of a woman known too well, — little to these, 
 Therefore, of whom I was the flesh and blood : 
 What then to Pietro and Violante, both 
 No more my relatives than you or you ? 
 Nothing to them ! You know what they declared. 
 
 So with my husband, — just such a surprise, 
 Such a mistake, in that relationship I 
 Every one says that husbands love their wives. 
 Guard them and guide them, give them happiness ; 
 'T is duty, law, pleasure, religion : well, 
 You see how much of this comes true in mine ! 
 People indeed would fain have somehow j^roved 
 He was no husband : but he did not hear, 
 Or would not wait, and so has killed us all. 
 Then there is . . . only let me name one more ! 
 There is the friend, — men will not ask about, 
 But tell untruths of, and give nicknames to, 
 And think my lover, most surprise of all ! 
 Do only hear, it is the priest they mean, 
 Giuseppe Caponsacchi : a priest — love. 
 And love me ! Well, yet people think he did. 
 I am married, he has taken priestly vows, 
 Tliey know that, and yet go on, say. the same, 
 " Yes, how he loves you I " "' That was love " — they say, 
 When anything is answered that they ask : 
 Or else '' No wonder you love him " — they say. 
 
POMPILIA 241 
 
 Then they shake heads, pity much, scarcely blame — 
 As if we neither of us lacked excuse, 
 And anyhow are punished to the full, 
 And downright love atones for everything ! 
 Nay, I heard read out in the public court 
 Before the judge, in presence of my friends, 
 Letters 't was said the priest had sent to me, 
 And other letters sent him by myself, 
 We being lovers ! 
 
 Listen what this is like ! 
 When I was a mere child, my mother . . . that 's 
 Violante, you must let me call her so. 
 Nor waste time, trying to unlearn the word, . . . 
 She brought a neighbor's child of my own age 
 To play with me of rainy afternoons ; 
 And, since there hung a tapestry on the wall. 
 We two agreed to find each other out 
 Among the figures. " Tisbe, that is you, 
 With half-moon on your hair-knot, spear in hand, 
 Flying, but no wings, only the great scarf 
 Blown to a bluish rainbow at your back : 
 Call off your hound and leave the stag alone ! " 
 " — And there are you, Pompilia, such green leaves 
 Flourishing out of your five finger-ends, 
 And all the rest of you so brown and rouj:^h : 
 Why is it you are turned a sort of tre€ ? " 
 You know the figures never were ourselves 
 Though we nicknamed them so. Thus, all my life, — 
 As well what was, as what, like this, was not. — 
 Looks old, fantastic and impossible : 
 I touch a fairy thing that fades and fades. 
 — Even to my babe ! I thought, when he was born. 
 Something began for once that would not end. 
 Nor change into a laugh at me, but stay 
 Forevermore, eternally quite mine. 
 Well, so he is, — but yet they bore him off. 
 The third day, lest my husband should lay traps 
 And catch him, and by means of him catch me. 
 Since they have saved him so, it was well done : 
 Yet thence comes such confusion of what was 
 With what will be, — that late seems long ago. 
 And, what years should bring round, already come. 
 Till even he withdraws into a dream 
 As the rest do : I fancy him grown great. 
 Strong, stern, a tall young man who tutors me, 
 Frowns with the others, " Poor imprudent child I 
 
242 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Why did you venture out of the safe street ? 
 Why go so far from help to that lone house ? 
 Why open at the whisper and the knock ? " 
 
 Six days ago when it was New Year's day, 
 We bent above the tire and talked of him, 
 What he should do when he was grown and great. 
 Violante, Pietro, each had given the arm 
 I leant on, to walk by, from couch to chair 
 And fireside, — laughed, as I lay safe at last, 
 " Pompilia's march from bed to board is made, 
 Pompilia back again and with a babe, 
 Shall one day lend his arm and help her walk ! " 
 Then we all wished each other more New Years. 
 Pietro began to scheme — "• Oar cause is gained ; 
 The law is stronger than a wicked man : 
 Let him henceforth go his way, leave us ours ! 
 We will avoid the city, tempt no more 
 The greedy ones by feasting and parade, — 
 Live at the other villa, we know Mdiere, 
 Still farther off, and we can watch the babe 
 Grow fast in the good air ; and wood is cheap 
 And wine sincere outside the city gate. 
 I still have two or three old friends will grope 
 Their way along the mere half-mile of road, 
 With staff and lantern on a moonless night 
 When one needs talk : they 11 find me, never fear, 
 And I '11 find them a flask of the old sort yet ! " 
 Violante said, " You chatter like a crow : 
 Pompilia tires o' the tattle, and shall to bed : 
 Do not too much the first day, — somewhat more 
 To-morrow, and, the next, begin the cape 
 And hood and coat ! I have spun wool enough." 
 Oh what a happy friendly eve was that ! 
 
 And, next day, about noon, out Pietro went — 
 He was so happy and would talk so much, 
 Until Violante pushed and laughed him forth 
 Sight-seeing in the cold, — " So much to see 
 I' the churches ! Swathe your throat three times ! " she 
 cried, 
 " And, above all, beware the slippery ways, 
 And bring us all the news by supper-time ! " 
 He came back late, laid by cloak, staff and hat, 
 Powdered so thick with snow it made us laugh, 
 Rolled a great log upon the ash o' the hearth, 
 
POMPILIA 243 
 
 And bade Violante treat us to a flask, 
 
 Because he had obeyed her faithfully, 
 
 Gone sight-see through the seven, and found no church 
 
 To his mind like San Giovanni — " There 's the fold, 
 
 And all the sheep together, big as cats ! 
 
 And such a shepherd, half the size of life, 
 
 Starts up and hears the angel " — when, at the door, 
 
 A tap : we started up : you know the rest. 
 
 Pietro at least had done no harm, I know ; 
 
 Nor even Violante, so much harm as makes 
 
 Such revenge lawful. Certainly she erred — 
 
 Did wrong, how shall I dare say otherwise ? — 
 
 In telling that first falsehood, buying me 
 
 From my poor faulty mother at a price, 
 
 To pass off upon Pietro as his child. 
 
 If one should take my babe, give him a name, 
 
 Say he was not Gaetano and my own, 
 
 But that some other woman made his mouth 
 
 And hands and feet, — how very false were that ! 
 
 No good could come of that ; and all harm did. 
 
 Yet if a stranger were to represent 
 
 Needs must you either give your babe to me 
 
 And let me call him mine* forevermore. 
 
 Or let your husband get him " — ah, my God, 
 
 That were a trial I refuse to face ! 
 
 Well, just so here : it proved wrong but seemed right 
 
 To poor Violante — for there lay, she said. 
 
 My poor real dying mother in her rags. 
 
 Who put me from her with the life and all. 
 
 Poverty, pain, shame and disease at once. 
 
 To die the easier by what price I fetched — 
 
 Also (I hope) because I should be spared 
 
 Sorrow and sin, — why may not that have helped ? 
 
 My father, — he was no one, any one, — 
 
 The worse, the likelier, — call him, — he who came. 
 
 Was wicked for his pleasure, went his way, 
 
 And left no trace to track by ; there remained 
 
 Nothing but me, the unnecessary life, 
 
 To catch up or let fall, — and yet a thing 
 
 She could make happy, be made happy with. 
 
 This poor Violante, — who would frown thereat ? 
 
 Well, God, you see ! God plants us where we grow. 
 
 It is not that, because a bud is born 
 
 At a wild brier's end, full i' the wild beast's way, 
 
244 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 We ought to pluck and put it out of reach 
 
 On the oak-tree top, — say, " There the bud belongs ! '' 
 
 She thought, moreover, real lies were lies told 
 
 For harm's sake ; whereas this had good at heart, 
 
 Good for my mother, good for me, and good 
 
 For Pietro who was meant to love a babe, 
 
 And needed one to make his life of use. 
 
 Receive his house and land when he should die. 
 
 Wrong, wrong, and always wrong ! how plainly wrong ! 
 
 For see, this fault kept pricking, as faults do. 
 
 All the same at her heart : this falsehood hatched, 
 
 She could not let it go nor keep it fast. 
 
 She told me so, — the first time I was found 
 
 Locked in her arms once more after the pain. 
 
 When the nuns let me leave them and go home, 
 
 And both of us cried all the cares away, — 
 
 This it was set her on to make amends, 
 
 This brought about the marriage — simply this ! 
 
 Do let me speak for her you blame so much ! 
 
 When Paul, my husband's brother, found me out. 
 
 Heard there was wealth for who should marry me, 
 
 So, came and made a speech to ask my hand 
 
 For Guido, — she, instead of piercing straight 
 
 Through the pretence to the- ignoble truth. 
 
 Fancied she saw God's very finger point, 
 
 Designate just the time for planting me 
 
 (The wild-brier slip she plucked to love and wear) 
 
 In soil where I could strike real root, and grow, 
 
 And get to be the thing I called myself : 
 
 For, wife and husband are one flesh, God says, 
 
 And I, whose parents seemed such and were none, 
 
 Should in a husband have a husband now. 
 
 Find nothing, this time, but was what it seemed, 
 
 — All truth and no confusion any more. 
 
 I know she meant all good to me, all pain 
 
 To herself, — since how could it be aught but pain, 
 
 To give me up, so, from her very breast, 
 
 The wilding flower-tree-branch that, aU those years. 
 
 She had got used to feel for and find fixed ? 
 
 She meant well : has it been so ill i' the main ? 
 
 That is but fair to ask : one cannot judge 
 
 Of what has been the ill or well of life, 
 
 The day that one is dying, — sorrows change 
 
 Into not altogether sorrow-like ; 
 
 I do see strangeness but scarce misery. 
 
 Now it is over, and no danger more. 
 
POMPILIA 245 
 
 My child is safe ; there seems not so much pain. 
 It comes, most like, that I am just absolved. 
 Purged of the past, the foul in me, washed fair, — 
 One cannot both have and not have, you know, — 
 Being right now, I am happy and color things. 
 Yes, everybody that leaves life sees all 
 Softened and bettered : so with other sights : 
 To me at least was never evening yet 
 But seemed far beautifuUer than its day, 
 For past is past. 
 
 There was a fancy came. 
 When somewhere, in the journey with my friend, 
 We stepped into a hovel to get food ; 
 And there began a yelp here, a bark there, — 
 Misunderstanding creatures that were wroth 
 And vexed themselves and us till we retired. 
 The hovel is life : no matter what dogs bit 
 Or cats scratched in the hovel I break from. 
 All outside is lone field, moon and such peace — 
 Flowing in, filling up as with a sea 
 Whereon comes Someone, walks fast on the white, 
 Jesus Christ's self, Don Celestine declares. 
 To meet me and calm all things back again. 
 
 Beside, up to my marriage, thirteen years 
 
 Were, each day, happy as the day was long : 
 
 This may have made the change too terrible. 
 
 I know that when Violante told me first 
 
 The cavalier — she meant to bring next morn, 
 
 Whom I must also let take, kiss my hand — 
 
 Would be at San Lorenzo the same eve 
 
 And marry me, — which over, we should go 
 
 Home both of us without him as before. 
 
 And, till she bade speak, I must hold my tongue, 
 
 Such being the correct way with girl-brides. 
 
 From whom one word would make a father blush, — 
 
 I know, I say, that when she told me this, 
 
 — Well, I no more saw sense in what she said 
 
 Than a lamb does in people clipping wool ; 
 
 Only lay down and let myself be clipped. 
 
 And when next day the cavalier who came 
 
 (Tisbe had told me that the slim young man 
 
 With wings at head, and wings at feet, and sword 
 
 Threatening a monster, in our tapestry. 
 
 Would eat a girl else, — was a cavalier) — 
 
246 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 When he proved Guido Franceschini, — old 
 
 And nothing like so tall as I myself, 
 
 Hook-nosed and yellow in a bush of beard, 
 
 Much like a thing I saw on a boy's wrist, 
 
 He called an owl and used for catching birds, — 
 
 And when he took my hand and made a smile — 
 
 Why, the uncomfortableness of it all 
 
 Seemed hardly more important in the case 
 
 Than — when one gives you, say, a coin to spend — 
 
 Its newness or its oldness ; if the piece 
 
 Weigh properly and buy you what you wish, 
 
 No matter whether you get grime or glare ! 
 
 Men take the coin, return you grapes and figs. 
 
 Here, marriage was the coin, a dirty piece 
 
 Would purchase me the praise of those I loved : 
 
 About what else should I concern myself ? 
 
 So, hardly knowing what a husband meant, 
 I supposed this or any man would serve, 
 No whit the worse for being so uncouth : 
 For I was ill once and a doctor came 
 AVith a great ugly hat, no plume thereto, 
 Black jerkin and black buckles and black sword, 
 And white sharp beard over the ruff in front, 
 And oh so lean, so sour-faced and austere ! — 
 Who felt my pulse, made me put out my tongue, 
 Then oped a phial, dripped a drop or two 
 Of a black bitter something, — I was cured ! 
 What mattered the fierce beard or the grim face ? 
 It was the physic beautified the man, 
 Master Malpichi, — never met his match 
 In Rome, they said, — so ugly all the same ! 
 
 However, I was hurried through a storm. 
 
 Next dark eve of December's deadest day — 
 
 How it rained ! — through our street and the Lion's-mouth 
 
 And the bit of Corso, — cloaked round, covered close, 
 
 I was like something strange or contraband, — 
 
 Into blank San Lorenzo, up the aisle, 
 
 My mother keeping hold of me so tight, 
 
 I fancied we were come to see a corpse 
 
 Before the altar which she pulled me toward. 
 
 There we found waiting an unpleasant priest 
 
 Who proved the brother, not our parish friend. 
 
 But one with mischief-making mouth and eye, 
 
 Paul, whom I know since to my cost. And then 
 
POMPILIA 247 
 
 I heard the heavy church-door lock out help 
 Behind us : for tlie customary warmth, 
 Two tapers shivered on the altar. " Quick — 
 Lose no time I " cried the priest. And straightway down 
 From . . . what 's behind the altar where he hid — 
 Hawk-nose and yellowness and bush and all, 
 Stepped Guido, caught my hand, and there was I 
 O' the chancel, and the priest had opened book, 
 Read here and there, made me say that aftd this. 
 And after, told me I was now a wife. 
 Honored indeed, since Christ thus weds the Church, 
 And therefore turned he water into wine, 
 To show I should obey my spouse like Christ. 
 Then the two slipped aside and talked apart. 
 And I, silent and scared, got down again 
 And joined my mother, who was weeping now. 
 Nobody seemed to mind us any more, 
 And both of us on tiptoe found our way 
 To the door which was unlocked by this, and wide. 
 When we were in the street, the rain had stopped, 
 All things looked better. At our own house-door, 
 Violante whispered, " No one syllable 
 To Pietro ! Girl-brides never breathe a word ! " 
 " — Well treated to a wetting, draggle-tails ! " 
 Laughed Pietro as he opened — " Very near 
 You made me brave the gutters roaring sea 
 To carry off from roost old dove and young. 
 Trussed up in church, the cote, by me, the kite ! 
 What do these priests mean, praying folk to death 
 On stormy afternoons, with Christmas close 
 To wash our sins off nor require the rain ? " 
 Violante gave my hand a timely squeeze. 
 Madonna saved me from immodest speech, 
 I kissed him and was quiet, being a bride. 
 
 When T saw nothing more, the next three weeks. 
 Of Guido — " Nor the Church sees Christ " thought I : 
 " Nothing is changed however, wine is wine 
 And water only water in our house. 
 Nor did I see that ugly doctor since 
 That cure of t^e illness : just as I was cured, 
 I am married, — neither scarecrow will return." 
 
 Three weeks, I chuckled — " How would Giulia stare, 
 And Tecla smile and Tisbe laugh outright, 
 Were it not impudent for brides to talk I " — - 
 
248 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Until one morning, as I sat and sang 
 At the broidery-frame alone i' the chamber, — loud 
 Voices, two, three together, sobbings too. 
 And my name, " Guido," " Paolo," flung like stones 
 From each to the other ! In I ran to see. 
 There stood the very Guido and the priest 
 With sly face, — formal but nowise afraid, — 
 While Pietro seemed all red and angry, scarce 
 Able to stutter out his wrath in words ; 
 And this it was that made my mother sob, 
 As he reproached her — " You have murdered us, 
 Me and yourself and this our child beside ! " 
 Then Guido interposed, " Murdered or not, 
 Be it enough your child is now my wife ! 
 I claim and come to take her." Paul put in, 
 " Consider — kinsman, dare I term you so ? — 
 What is the good of your sagacity 
 Except to counsel in a strait like this ? 
 I guarantee the parties man and wife 
 Whether you like or loathe it, bless or ban. 
 May spilt milk be put back within the bowl — 
 The done thing, undone ? You, it is, we look 
 For counsel to, you fitliest will advise ! 
 Since milk, though spilt and spoilt, does marble good, 
 Better we down on knees and scrub the floor. 
 Than sigh, ' the waste would make a syllabub ! ' 
 Help us so turn disaster to account. 
 So predispose the groom, he needs shall grace 
 The bride with favor from the very first, 
 Not begin marriage an embittered man ! " 
 He smiled, — the game so wholly in his hands ! 
 While fast and faster sobbed Violante — " Ay, 
 All of us murdered, past averting now ! 
 
 my sin, O my secret ! " and such like. 
 
 Then I began to half surmise the truth ; 
 Something had happened, low, mean, underhand, 
 False, and my mother was to blame, and I 
 To pity, whom all spoke of, none addressed : 
 
 1 was the chattel that had caused a crime. 
 
 I stood mute, — those who tangled must untie 
 
 The embroilment. Pietro cried, " Withdraw, my cliild ! 
 
 She is not helpful to the sacrifice 
 
 At this stage, — do you want the victim by 
 
 While you discuss the value of her blood ? 
 
 For her sake, I consent to hear you talk : 
 
 Go, child, and pray God help the innocent ! " 
 
POMPILIA 249 
 
 I did go and was praying God, when came 
 
 Violante, with eyes swollen and red enough, 
 
 But movement on her mouth for make-believe 
 
 Matters were somehow getting right again. 
 
 She bade me sit down by her side and hear. 
 
 You are too young and cannot understand, 
 
 Nor did your father understand at first. 
 
 I wished to benefit all three of us, 
 
 And when he failed to take my meaning, — why, 
 
 I tried to have my way at unaware — 
 
 Obtained him the advantage he refused. 
 
 As if I put before him wholesome food 
 
 Instead of broken victual, — he finds change 
 
 I' the viands, never cares to reason why. 
 
 But falls to blaming me, would fling the plate 
 
 From window, scandalize the neighborhood, 
 
 Even while he smacks his lips, — men's way, my child! 
 
 But either you have prayed him unperverse 
 
 Or I have talked him back into his wits : 
 
 And Paolo was a help in time of need, — 
 
 Guido, not much — my child, the way of men ! 
 
 A priest is more a woman than a man, 
 
 And Paul did wonders to persuade. In short, 
 
 Yes, he was wrong, your father sees and says ; 
 
 My scheme was worth attempting : and bears fruit, 
 
 Gives you a husband and a noble name, 
 
 A palace and no end of pleasant things. 
 
 What do you care about a handsome youth ? 
 
 They are so volatile, and tease their wives ! 
 
 This is the kind of man to keep the house. 
 
 We lose no daughter, — gain a son, that 's all : 
 
 For 't is arranged we never separate. 
 
 Nor miss, in our gray time of life, the tints 
 
 Of you that color eve to match with morn. 
 
 In good or ill, we share and share alike. 
 
 And cast our lots into a common lap, 
 
 And all three die together as we lived ! 
 
 Only, at Arezzo, — that 's a Tuscan town, 
 
 Not so large as this noisy Rome, no doubt, 
 
 But older far and finer much, say folk, — 
 
 In a great palace where you will be queen, 
 
 Know the Archbishop and the Governor, 
 
 And we see homage done you ere we die. 
 
 Therefore, be good and pardon ! " — " Pardon what ? 
 
 You know things, I am very ignorant : 
 
 All is right if you only will not cry ! " 
 
250 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 And so an end ! Because a blank begins 
 
 From when, at the word, she kissed me hard and hot, 
 
 And took me back to where my father leaned 
 
 Opposite Guido — who stood eying him. 
 
 As eyes the butcher the cast panting ox 
 
 That feels his fate is come, nor struggles more, — 
 
 While Paul looked archly on, pricked brow at whiles 
 
 With the pen-point as to punish triumph there, — 
 
 And said, " Count Guido, take your lawful wife 
 
 Until death part you ! " 
 
 All since is one blank, 
 Over and ended ; a terrific dream. 
 It is the good of dreams — so soon they go ! 
 Wake in a horror of heart-beats, you may — 
 Cry, " The dread thing will never from my thoughts ! " 
 Still, a few daylight doses of j^lain life. 
 Cock-crow and sparrow-chirp, or bleat and bell 
 Of goats that trot by, tinkling, to be milked ; 
 And when you rub your eyes awake and wide, 
 Where is the harm o' the horror ? Gone ! So here. 
 I know I wake, — but from what ? Blank, I say I 
 This is the note of evil : for good lasts. 
 Even when Don Celestine bade " Search and find ! 
 For your soul's sake, remember what is past. 
 The better to forgive it," — all in vain ! 
 What was fast getting indistinct before, 
 Vanished outright. By special grace perhaps. 
 Between that first calm and this last, four years 
 Vanish, — one quarter of my life, you know. 
 I am held up, amid the nothingness, 
 By one or two truths only — thence I hang, 
 And there I live, — the rest is death or dream, 
 All but those points of my support. I think 
 Of what I saw at Rome once in the Square 
 O' the Spaniards, opposite the Spanish House : 
 There was a foreigner had trained a goat, 
 A shuddering white woman of a beast, 
 To climb up, stand straight on a pile of sticks 
 Put close, which gave the creature room enough : 
 When she was settled there, he, one by one. 
 Took away all the sticks, left just the four 
 Whereon the little hoofs did really rest. 
 There she kept firm, all underneath was air. 
 So, what I hold by, are my prayer to God, 
 My hope, that came in answer to the prayer. 
 
POMPILIA ' 251 
 
 Some hand would interpose and save me — hand 
 
 Which proved to be my friend's hand : and, — blest bliss, — 
 
 That fancy which began so faint at first, 
 
 That thrill of dawn's suffusion through my dark, 
 
 Which I jjerceive was promise of my child. 
 
 The light his unborn face sent long before, — 
 
 God's way of breaking the good news to flesh. 
 
 That is all left now of those four bad years. 
 
 Don Celestine urged, " But remember more I 
 
 Other men's faults may help me find your own. 
 
 I need the cruelty exposed, explained. 
 
 Or how can I advise you to forgive ?" 
 
 He thought I could not properly forgive 
 
 Unless I ceased forgetting, — which is true : 
 
 For, bringing back reluctantly to mind 
 
 My husband's treatment of me, — by a light 
 
 That 's later than my lifetime, I review 
 
 And comprehend much and imagine more, 
 
 And have but little to forgive at last. 
 
 For now, — be fair and say, — is it not true 
 
 He was ill-used and cheated of his hope 
 
 To get enriched by marriage ? Marriage gave 
 
 Me and no money, broke the compact so : 
 
 He had a right to ask me on those terms, 
 
 As Pietro and Violante to declare 
 
 They would not give me : so the bargain stood : 
 
 They broke it, and he felt himself aggrieved. 
 
 Became unkind with me to punish them. 
 
 They said "t was he began deception first. 
 
 Nor, in one point whereto he pledged himself, 
 
 Kept promise : what of that, suppose it were ? 
 
 Echoes die off, scarcely reverberate 
 
 Forever, — why should ill keep echoing ill, 
 
 And never let our ears have done with noise ? 
 
 Then my poor parents took the violent way 
 
 To thwart him, — he must needs retaliate, — wrong, 
 
 Wrong, and all wrong, — better say, all blind I 
 
 As I myself was, that is sure, who else 
 
 Had understood the mystery : for his wife 
 
 Was bound in some sort to help someliow there. 
 
 It seems as if I might have interposed, 
 
 Blunted the edge of their resentment so, 
 
 Since he vexed me because they first vexed him ; 
 
 I will entreat them to desist, submit. 
 
 Give him the money and be poor in peace, — 
 
 Certainly not go tell the world : perhaps 
 
 He will grow quiet with his gains." 
 
252 . THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Yes, say- 
 Something to this effect and you do well ! 
 But then you have to see first : I was blind. 
 That is the fruit of all such wormy ways, 
 The indirect, the unapproved of God : 
 You cannot find their author's end and aim, 
 Not even to substitute your good for bad, 
 Your straight for the irregular ; you stand 
 Stupefied, profitless, as cow or sheep 
 That miss a man's mind ; anger him just twice 
 By trial at repairing the first fault. 
 Thus, when he blamed me, " You are a coquette, 
 A lure-owl posturing to attract birds. 
 You look love-lures at theatre and church, 
 In walk, at window ! " — that, I knew, was false : 
 But why he charged me falsely, whither sought 
 To drive me by such charge, — how could I know ? 
 So, unaware, I only made things worse. 
 I tried to soothe him by abjuring walk, 
 Window, church, theatre, for good and all. 
 As if he had been in earnest : that, you know, 
 Was nothing like the object of his charge. 
 Yes, when I got my maid to supplicate 
 The priest, whose name she read when she would read 
 Those feigned false letters I was forced to hear 
 Though I could read no word of, — he should cease 
 Writing, — nay, if he minded prayer of mine. 
 Cease from so much as even pass the street 
 Whereon our house looked, — in my ignorance 
 I was just thwarting Guido's true intent ; 
 Which was, to bring about a wicked change 
 Of sport to earnest, tempt a thoughtless man 
 To write indeed, and pass the house, and more. 
 Till both of us were taken in a crime. 
 He ought not to have wished me thus act lies, 
 Simulate folly : but — wrong or right, the wish — 
 I failed to apprehend its drift. How plain 
 It follows, — if I fell into such fault, 
 He also may have overreached the mark. 
 Made mistake, by perversity of brain, 
 I' the whole sad strange plot, the grotesque intrigue 
 To make me and my friend unself ourselves, 
 Be other man and woman than we were ! 
 Think it out, you who have the time ! for me, — 
 I cannot say less ; more I will not say. 
 Leave it to God to cover and undo ! 
 
POMPILIA 253 
 
 Only, my dulness should not prove too much ! 
 
 — Not prove that in a certain other point 
 Wherein my husband blamed me, — and you blame, 
 If I interpret smiles and sliakes of head, — 
 
 I was dull too. Oh, if I dared but sj^eak ! 
 Must I speak ? I am blamed that I forewent 
 A way to make my husband's favor come. 
 That is true : I was firm, withstood, refused . . . 
 
 — Women as you are, how can I find the words ? 
 
 I felt there was just one thing Guido claimed 
 I had no right to give nor he to take ; 
 We being in estrangement, soul from soul : 
 Till, when I sought help, the Archbishop smiled, 
 Inquiring into privacies of life, 
 
 — Said I was blamable — (he stands for God) 
 Nowise entitled to exemption there. 
 
 Then I obeyed, — as surely had obeyed 
 
 Were the injunction " Since your husband bids, 
 
 Swallow the burning coal he proffers you ! " 
 
 But I did wrong, and he gave wrong advice 
 
 Though he were thrice Archbishop, — that, I know ! — 
 
 Now I have got to die and see things clear. 
 
 Remember I was barely twelve years old — 
 
 A child at marriage : I was let alone 
 
 For weeks, I told you, lived my child-life still 
 
 Even at Arezzo, when I woke and found 
 
 First . . . but I need not think of that again — 
 
 Over and ended ! Try and take the sense 
 
 Of what I signify, if it must be so. 
 
 After the first, my husband, for hate's sake, 
 
 Said one eve, when the simpler cruelty 
 
 Seemed somewhat dull at edge and fit to bear, 
 
 " We have been man and wife six months almost : 
 How long is this your comedy to last ? 
 Go this night to my chamber, not your own ! " 
 At which word. I did rush — most true the charge — 
 And gain the Archbishop's house — he stands for God — 
 And fall upon ray knees and clasp his feet, 
 Praying him hinder what my estranged soul 
 Refused to bear, though patient of the rest ; 
 
 '.' Place me within a convent," I implored — 
 
 " Let me henceforward lead the virgin life 
 You praise in Her you bid me imitate ! " 
 What did he answer ? "■ Folly of ignorance ! 
 Know, daughter, circumstances make or mar 
 
254 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Virginity, — 't is virtue or 't is vice. 
 
 That which was glory in the Mother of God 
 
 Had been, for instance, damnable in Eve 
 
 Created to be mother of mankind. 
 
 Had Eve, in answer to her Maker's speech 
 
 * Be fruitful, multiply, rej^lenish earth ' — 
 
 Pouted ' But I choose rather to remain 
 
 Single ' — why, she had spared herself forthwith 
 
 Further probation by the apple and snake, 
 
 Been pushed straight out of Paradise ! For see — 
 
 If motherhood be qualified impure, 
 
 I catch you making God command Eve sin ! 
 
 — A blasphemy so like these Molinists', 
 I must suspect you dip into their books." 
 Then he pursued " 'T was in your covenant I " 
 
 No ! There my husband never used deceit. 
 He never did by speech nor act imply 
 " Because of our souls' yearning that we meet 
 And mix in soul through flesh, which yours and mine 
 Wear and impress, and make their visible selves, 
 
 — All which means, for the love of you and me, 
 Let us become one flesh, being one soul ! " 
 
 He only stipulated for the wealth ; 
 
 Honest so far. But when he spoke as plain — 
 
 Dreadfully honest also — ' Since our souls 
 
 Stand each from each, a whole world's width between, 
 
 Give me the fleshly vesture I can reach 
 
 And rend and leave just fit for hell to burn I " — 
 
 Why, in God's name, for Guido's soul's own sake 
 
 Imperilled by polluting mine, — I say, 
 
 I did resist ; would I had overcome ! 
 
 My heart died out at the Archbishop's smile ; 
 
 — It seemed so stale and worn a way o' the world, 
 
 As though 't were nature frowning — " Here is Spring, 
 The sun shines as he shone at Adam's fall. 
 The earth requires that warmth reach everywhere : 
 What, must your patch of snow be saved forsooth 
 Because you rather fancy snow than flowers ? " 
 Something in this style he began with me. 
 Last he said, savagely for a good man, 
 *' This explains why you call your husband harsh, 
 Harsh to you, harsh to whom you love. God's Bread ! 
 The poor Count has to manage a mere child 
 Whose parents leave untaught the simplest things 
 Their duty was and privilege to teach, — 
 
POMPILIA '2.t>b 
 
 Goodwives' instruction, gossips' lore : they laugh 
 
 And leave the Count the task, — or leave it me ! " 
 
 Then I resolved to tell a frightful thing. 
 *' I am not ignorant, — know what I say. 
 
 Declaring this is sought for hate, not love. 
 
 Sir, you may hear things Uke almighty God. 
 
 I tell you that my housemate, yes — the priest 
 
 My husband's brother, Canon Girolamo — 
 
 Has taught me what depraved and misnamed love 
 
 Means, and what outward signs denote the sin, 
 
 For he solicits me and says he loves, 
 
 The idle young priest with nought else to do. 
 
 My husband sees this, knows this, and lets be. 
 
 Is it your counsel I bear this beside ? " 
 " — More scandal, and against a priest this time ! 
 
 What, 't is the Canon now ? " — less snappishly — 
 " Rise up, my child, for such a child you are, 
 
 The rod were too advanced a punishment ! 
 
 Let 's try the honeyed cake. A parable ! 
 * Without a parable spake He not to them.' 
 
 There was a ripe round long black toothsome fruit, 
 
 P>en a flower-fig, the prime boast of May : 
 
 And, to the tree, said . . . either the spirit o' the fig, 
 
 Or, if we bring in men, the gardener, 
 
 Archbishop of the orchard — had I time 
 
 To try o' the two which fits in best : indeed 
 
 It might be the Creator's self, but then 
 
 Tlie tree should bear an apple, I suppose, — 
 
 Well, anyhow, one with authority said, 
 ' Ripe fig, burst skin, regale the fig-pecker — 
 
 The bird whereof thou art a perquisite ! ' 
 ' Nay,' with a flounce, replied the restif fig, 
 ' I much prefer to keep my pulp myself : 
 
 He may go breakfastless and dinnerless, 
 
 Supperless of one crimson seed, for me ! ' 
 
 So, back she flopped into her bunch of leaves. 
 
 He flew off, left her, — did the natural lord, — 
 
 And lo, three hundred thousand bees and wasps 
 
 Found her out, feasted on her to the shuck : 
 
 Such gain the fig's that gave its bird no bite ! 
 
 The moral, — fools elude their proper lot, 
 
 Tempt other fools, get ruined all alike. 
 
 Therefore go home, embrace your husband quick ! 
 
 Which if his Canon brother chance to see. 
 
 He will the sooner back to book asfain." 
 
256 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 So, home I did go ; so, the worst befell : 
 
 So, I had proof the Archbishop was just man, 
 
 And hardly that, and certainly no more. 
 
 For, miserable consequence to me, 
 
 My husband's hatred waxed nor waned at all, 
 
 His brother's boldness grew effrontery soon, 
 
 And my last stay and comfort in myself 
 
 Was forced from me : henceforth I looked to God 
 
 Only, nor cared my desecrated soul 
 
 Should have fair walls, gay windows for the world. 
 
 God's glimmer, that came through the ruin-top, 
 
 Was witness why all lights were quenched inside : 
 
 Henceforth I asked God counsel, not mankind. 
 
 So, when I made the effort, freed myself. 
 
 They said — " No care to save appearance here ! 
 
 How cynic, — when, how wanton, were enough ! " 
 
 — Adding, it all came of my motlier's life — 
 
 My own real mother, whom I never knew. 
 
 Who did wrong (if she needs must have done wrong) 
 
 Through being all her life, not my four years, 
 
 At mercy of the hateful : every beast 
 
 O' the field was wont to break that fountain-fence, 
 
 Trample the silver into mud so murk 
 
 Heaven could not find itself reflected there. 
 
 Now they cry, " Out on her, who, plashy pool, 
 
 Bequeathed turbidity and bitterness 
 
 To the daughter-stream where Guido dipt and drank ! " 
 
 Well, since she had to bear this brand — let me ! 
 
 The rather do I understand her now, — 
 
 From my experience of what hate calls love, — 
 
 Much love might be in what their love called hate. 
 
 If she sold . . . what they call, sold . . . me her child 
 
 I shall believe she hoped in her poor heart 
 
 That I at least might try be good and pure. 
 
 Begin to live untempted, not go doomed 
 
 And done with ere once found in fault, as she. 
 
 Oh and, my mother, it all came to this ? 
 
 Why should I trust those that speak ill of you. 
 
 When I mistrust who speaks even well of them ? 
 
 Why, since all bound to do me good, did harm, 
 
 May not you, seeming as you harmed me most, 
 
 Have meant to do most good — and feed your child 
 
 From bramble-bush, whom not one orchard-tree 
 
 But drew bough back from, nor let one fruit fall ? 
 
POMPILIA 257 
 
 This it was for you sacrificed your babe ? 
 Gained just this, giving your heart's hope away 
 As I miglit give mine, loving it as you, 
 If . . . but that never could be asked of me ! 
 
 TherG, enough ! I have my support again, 
 
 Again the knowledge that my babe was, is, 
 
 Will be mine only. Him, by death, I give 
 
 Outright to God, without a further care, — 
 
 But not to any parent in the world, — 
 
 So to be safe : why is it we repine ? 
 
 What guardianship were safer could we choose ? 
 
 All human plans and projects come to nought : 
 
 My life, and what I know of other lives. 
 
 Prove that : no f)lan nor project ! God shall care ! 
 
 And now you are not tired ? How patient then 
 
 All of you, — Oh yes, patient this long while 
 
 Listening, and understanding, I am sure ! 
 
 Four days ago, when I was sound and well 
 
 And like to live, no one would understand. 
 
 People were kind, but smiled, " And what of him, 
 
 Your friend, whose tonsure, the rich dark-brown hides? 
 
 There, there ! — your lover, do we dream he was ? 
 
 A priest too — never were such naughtiness ! 
 
 Still, he thinks many a long think, never fear, 
 
 After the shy pale lady, — lay so light 
 
 For a moment in his arms, the lucky one ! " 
 
 And so on : wherefore should I blame you much ? 
 
 So we are made, such difference in minds. 
 
 Such difference too in eyes that see the minds ! 
 
 That man, you misinterpret and misprise — 
 
 The glory of his nature, I had thought. 
 
 Shot itself out in white light, blazed the truth 
 
 Through every atom of his act with me : 
 
 Yet where I point you, through the crystal shrine, 
 
 Purity in quintessence, one dew-drop. 
 
 You all descry a spider in the midst. 
 
 One says, " The head of it is plain to see," 
 
 And one, " They are the feet by which I judge," 
 
 All say, " Those films were spun by nothing else." 
 
 Then, I must lay my babe away with God, 
 Nor think of him again for gratitude. 
 Yes, my last breath shall wholly spend itself 
 In one attempt more to disperse the stain. 
 
258 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 The mist from other breath fond mouths have made, 
 
 About a lustrous and peUucid soul : 
 
 So that, when I am gone but sorrow stays, 
 
 And people need assurance in their doubt 
 
 If God yet have a servant, man a friend. 
 
 The weak a savior, and the vile a foe, — 
 
 Let him be present, by the name invoked, 
 
 Giuseppe-Maria Caponsacchi ! 
 
 There, 
 Strength comes already with the utterance ! 
 I will remember once more for his sake 
 The sorrow : for he lives and is belied. 
 Could he be here, how he would speak for me ! 
 
 I had been miserable three drear years 
 In that dread palace and lay passive now. 
 When I first learned there could be such a man. 
 Thus it fell : I was at a public play, 
 In the last days of Carnival last March, 
 Brought there I knew not why, but now know well. 
 My husband put me where I sat, in front ; 
 Then crouched down, breathed cold through me from be- 
 hind. 
 Stationed i' the shadow, — none in front could see, — 
 I, it was, faced the stranger-throng beneath, 
 The crowd with upturned faces, eyes one stare. 
 Voices one buzz. I looked but to the stage, 
 Whereon two lovers sang and interchanged 
 " True life is only love, love only bliss : 
 I love thee — thee I love ! " then they embraced. 
 I looked thence to the ceiling and the walls, — 
 Over the crowd, those voices and those eyes, — 
 My thoughts went through the roof and out, to Rome 
 On wings of music, waft of measured words, — 
 Set me down there, a happy child again, 
 Sure that to-morrow would be festa-day. 
 Hearing my parents praise past festas more, 
 And seeing they were old if I was young, 
 Yet wondering why they still would end discourse 
 With " We must soon go, you abide your time. 
 And, — might we haply see the proper friend 
 Throw his arm over you and make you safe ! " 
 
 Sudden I saw him ; into my lap there fell 
 A foolish twist of comfits, broke my dream 
 
POMPILIA *2o9 
 
 And brought me from the air and laid me low, 
 As ruined as the soaring bee that 's reached 
 (So Pietro told me at the Villa once) 
 By the dust-handful. There the comfits lay : 
 I looked to see who flung them, and I faced 
 This Caponsacchi, looking up in turn. 
 Ere I could reason out why, I felt sure, 
 Whoever flung them, his was not the hand, — 
 Up rose the round face and good-natured grin 
 Of one who, in effect, had played the prank, 
 From covert close beside the earnest face, — 
 Fat waggish Conti, friend of all the world. 
 He was my husband's cousin, privileged 
 To throw the thing : the other, silent, grave, 
 Solemn almost, saw me, as I saw him. 
 
 There is a psalm Don Celestine recites, 
 " Had I a dove's wings, how I fain would flee I " 
 The psalm runs not •' I hope, I pray for wings," — 
 Not " If wings fall from heaven, I fix them fast," — 
 Simply " How good it were to fly and rest, 
 Have hope now, and one day expect content I 
 How well to do what I shall never do ! " 
 So I said, " Had there been a man like that. 
 To lift me with his strength out of all strife 
 Into the calm, how I could fly and rest ! 
 I have a keeper in the garden here 
 Whose sole employment is to strike me low 
 If ever I, for solace, seek the sun. 
 Life means with me successful feigning death. 
 Lying stone-like, eluding notice so, 
 Foregoing here the turf and there the sky. 
 Suppose that man had been instead of this I " 
 
 Presently Conti laughed into ray ear, 
 — Had tripped up to the raised place where I sat — 
 '' Cousin, I flung them brutishly and hard ! 
 Because you must be hurt, to look austere 
 As Caponsacchi yonder, my tall friend 
 A-gazing now. Ah, Guide, you so close ? 
 Keep on your knees, do ! Beg her to forgive ! 
 My cornet battered like a cannon-ball. 
 Good-bye, I 'm gone ! " — nor waited the reply. 
 
 That night at supper, out my husband broke, 
 " Why was that throwing, that buffoonery ? 
 
260 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Do you think I am your dupe ? What man would dare 
 
 Throw comfits in a stranger lady's lap ? 
 
 'T was knowledge of you bred such insolence 
 
 In Caponsacchi ; he dared shoot the bolt, 
 
 Using that Conti for his stalking-horse. 
 
 How could you see him this once and no more, 
 
 When he is always haunting hereabout 
 
 At the street-corner or the palace-side, 
 
 Publishing my shame and your impudence ? 
 
 You are a wanton, — la dupe, you tliink ? 
 
 Christ, what hinders that I kill her quick ? " 
 Whereat he drew his sword and feigned a thrust. 
 
 All this, now, — being not so strange to me, 
 Used to such misconception day by day 
 And broken-in to bear, — I bore, this time, 
 More quietly than woman should perhaps ; 
 Repeated the mere truth and held my tongue. 
 
 Then he said, " Since you play the ignorant, 
 
 1 shall instruct you. This amour, — commenced 
 Or finished or midway in act, all 's one, — 
 
 'T is the town-talk ; so my revenge shall be. 
 Does he presume because he is a priest ? 
 I warn him that the sword I wear shall pink 
 His lily-scented cassock through and through, 
 Next time I catch him underneath your eaves ! " 
 But he had threatened with the sword so oft 
 And, after all, not kept his promise. All 
 I said was, " Let God save the innocent ! 
 Moreover, death is far from a bad fate. 
 I shall go pray for you and me, not him ; 
 And then I look to sleep, come death or, worse, 
 Life." So, I slept. 
 
 There may have elapsed a week, 
 When Margherita, — called my waiting-maid, 
 Whom it is said my husband found too fair — 
 Who stood and heard the charge and the reply, 
 Who never once would let the matter rest 
 From that night forward, but rang changes still 
 On this the thrust and that the shame, and how 
 Good cause for jealousy cures jealous fools, 
 And what a paragon was this same priest 
 She talked about until I stopped my ears, — 
 She said, " A week is gone ; you comb your hair, 
 
POMPILIA 261 
 
 Then go mope in a corner, cheek on palm, 
 
 Till night comes round again, — so, waste a week 
 
 As if your husband menaced you in sport. 
 
 Have not I some acquaintance with his tricks ? 
 
 Oh no, he did not stab the serving-man 
 
 Who made and sang the rhymes about me once ! 
 
 For why ? Tliey sent him to the wars next day. 
 
 Nor poisoned he the foreigner, my friend. 
 
 Who wagered on the whiteness of my breast, — 
 
 The svvarth skins of our city in dispute : 
 
 For, though he paid me proper compliment, 
 
 The Count well knew he was besotted with 
 
 Somebody else, a skin as black as ink, 
 
 (As all the town knew save my foreigner) — 
 
 He fomid and wedded presently, — ' Why need 
 
 Better revenge ? ' — the Count asked. But what 's here ? 
 
 A priest that does not fight, and cannot wed, 
 
 Yet must be dealt with ! If the Count took lire 
 
 For the poor pastime of a minute, — me — 
 
 What were the conflagration for yourself, 
 
 Countess and lady-wife and all the rest ? 
 
 The priest will perish ; you will grieve too late : 
 
 So shall the city-ladies' handsomest 
 
 Frankest and liberalest gentleman 
 
 Die for you, to appease a scurvy dog 
 
 Hanging 's too good for. Is there no escape ? 
 
 Were it not simple Christian charity 
 
 To warn the priest be on his guard, — save him 
 
 Assured death, save yourself from causing it ? 
 
 I meet him in the street. Give me a glove, 
 
 A ring to show for token ! Mum 's the word ! " 
 
 I answered, "If you were, as styled, my maid, 
 I would command you : as you are, you say, 
 My husband's intimate, — assist his wife 
 Who can do nothing but entreat ' Be still ! ' 
 Even if you speak truth and a crime is planned. 
 Leave help to God as I am forced to do ! 
 There is no other help or we should craze. 
 Seeing such evil with no human cure. 
 Reflect that God, who makes the storm desist, 
 Can make an angry violent heart subside. 
 Why should we venture teach Him governance ? 
 Never address me on this subject more I " 
 
 Next night she said, " But I went, all the same, 
 — Ay, saw your Caponsacchi in his house, 
 
262 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 And come back stuffed with news I must outpour. 
 I told him, ' Sir, my mistress is a stcme : 
 Why should you harm her for no good you get ? 
 For you do harm her — prowl about our place 
 "With the Count never distant half the street, 
 Lurking at every corner, would you look I 
 'T is certain she has witched you with a spell. 
 Are there not other beauties at your beck ? 
 We all know, Donna This and Monna That 
 Die for a glance of yours, yet here you gaze ! 
 Go make them grateful, leave the stone its cold I ' 
 And he — oh, he turned first white and then red, 
 And then — ' To her behest I bow myself. 
 Whom I love with my body and my soul : 
 Only a word i' the bowing ! See, I write 
 One little word, no harm to see or hear I 
 Then, fear no further ! ' This is what he wrote. 
 I know you cannot read, — therefore, let me I 
 ' My idol /'"... 
 
 But I took it from her hand 
 And tore it into shreds. " Why, join the rest 
 Who harm me? Have I ever done you wrong? 
 People have told me 't is you wrong myself : 
 Let it suffice I either feel no wrong 
 Or else forgive it, — yet you turn my foe ! 
 The others hunt me and you throw a noose I '* 
 
 She muttered, " Have your wilful way ! " I slept. 
 
 Whereupon . . . no, I leave my husband out ! 
 It is not to do him more hurt, I speak. 
 Let it suffice, when misery was most, 
 One day, I swooned and got a respite so. 
 She stooped as I was slowly coming to. 
 This Margherita, ever on my trace. 
 And whispered — " Caponsacchi ! " 
 
 If I drowned, 
 But woke afloat i' the wave with upturned eyes, 
 And found their first sight was a star ! I turned — 
 For the first time, I let her have her will. 
 Heard passively, — " The imposthume at such head, 
 One touch, one lancet-puncture would relieve, — 
 And still no glance the good physician's way 
 Who rids you of the torment in a trice ! 
 
POMPILIA 263 
 
 Still he writes letters you refuse to hear. 
 He may prevent your husband, kill himself, 
 So desperate and all fordone is he ! 
 Just hear the pretty verse he made to-day ! 
 A sonnet from Mirtillo. ' Peerless fair, . . .' 
 All poetry is difficult to read, 
 
 — The sense of it is, anyhow, he seeks 
 Leave to contrive you an escape from hell, 
 And for that purpose asks an interview. 
 
 I can write, I can grant it in your name, 
 Or, what is better, lead you to his house. 
 Your husband dashes you against the stones ; 
 This man would place each fragment in a shrine : 
 You hate him, love your husband ! " 
 
 I returned, 
 It is not true I love my husband, — no. 
 Nor hate this man. I listen while you speak, 
 
 — Assured that what you say is false, the same : 
 Much as when once, to me a little child, 
 
 A rough gaunt man in rags, with eyes on fire, 
 
 A crowd of boys and idlers at his heels, 
 
 Rushed as I crossed the Square, and held my head 
 
 In his two hands, ' Here 's she will let me speak ! 
 
 You little girl, whose eyes do good to mine, 
 
 I am the Pope, am Sextus, now the Sixth ; 
 
 And that Twelfth Innocent, proclaimed to-day. 
 
 Is Lucifer disguised in human flesh ! 
 
 The angels, met in conclave, crowned me I ' — thus 
 
 He gibbered and I listened ; but I knew 
 
 All was delusion, ere folk interposed. 
 
 Unfasten him, the maniac ! ' Thus I know 
 
 All your report of Caponsacchi false. 
 
 Folly or dreaming ; I have seen so much 
 
 By that adventure at the spectacle. 
 
 The face I fronted that one first, last time : 
 
 He would belie it by such words and thoughts. 
 
 Therefore while you profess to show him me, 
 
 I ever see his own face. Get you gone ! " 
 
 — That will I, nor once open mouth again, — 
 No, by Saint Joseph and the Holy Ghost ! 
 
 On your head be the damage, so adieu ! " 
 
 And so more days, more deeds I must forget, 
 Till . . . what a strange thing now is to declare ! 
 Since I say anything, say all if true ! 
 
264 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 And how my life seems lengthened as to serve ! 
 It may be idle or inopportune, 
 But, true ? — why, what was all I said but truth, 
 Even when I found that such as are untrue 
 Could only take the truth in through a lie ? 
 Now — I am speaking truth to the Truth's self : 
 God will lend credit to my words this time. 
 
 It had got half through April. I arose 
 One vivid daybreak, — who had gone to bed 
 In the old way my wont those last three years, 
 Careless until, the cup drained, I should die. 
 The last sound in my ear, the over-night, 
 Had been a something let drop on the sly 
 In prattle by Margherita, " Soon enough 
 Gayeties end, now Easter 's past : a week. 
 And the Archbishop gets him back to Rome, — 
 Every one leaves the town for Rome, this Spring, — 
 Even Caponsacchi, out of heart and hope, 
 Resigns himself and follows with the flock." 
 I heard this drop and drop like rain outside 
 Fast-falling through the darkness while she spoke : 
 So had I heard with like indifference, 
 " And Michael's pair of wings will arrive first 
 At Rome, to introduce the company. 
 And bear him from our picture where he fights 
 Satan, — expect to have that dragon loose 
 And never a defender I " — my sole thought 
 Being still, as night came, " Done, another day ! 
 How good to sleep and so get nearer death ! " — 
 When, what, first thing at daybreak, pierced the sleep 
 With a summons to me ? Up I sprang alive, 
 Light in me, light without me, everywhere 
 Change ! A broad yellow sunbeam was let fall 
 From heaven to earth, — a sudden drawbridge lay, 
 Along which marched a myriad merry motes, 
 Mocking the flies that crossed them and recrossed 
 In rival dance, companions new-born too. 
 On the house-eaves, a dripping shag of weed 
 Shook diamonds on each dull gray lattice-square, 
 As first one, then another bird leapt by. 
 And light was off, and lo was back again, 
 Always with one voice, — where are two such joys ? — 
 The blessed building-sparrow ! I stepped forth. 
 Stood on the terrace, — o'er the roofs, such sky ! 
 My heart sang, " I too am to go away. 
 
POMPILIA 265 
 
 I too have something I must care about, 
 
 
 Cany away with me to Rome, to Rome 
 
 The bird brings hither sticks and hairs and wool, 
 
 And nowhere else i' the world ; what fly breaks rank, 
 
 Falls out of the procession that befits. 
 
 From window here to window there, with all 
 
 The world to choose, — so well he knows his course ? 
 
 I have my purpose and my motive too. 
 
 My march to Rome, like any bird or fly ! 
 
 Had I been dead ! How right to be alive I 
 
 Last night I almost prayed for leave to die, 
 
 Wished Guido all his pleasure with the sword 
 
 Or the poison, — poison, sword, was but a trick, 
 
 Harmless, may God forgive him the poor jest I 
 
 My life is charmed, will last till I reach Rome ! 
 
 Yesterday, but for the sin, — ah, nameless be 
 
 The deed I could have dared against myself ! 
 
 Now — see if I will touch an unripe fruit. 
 
 And risk the health I want to have and use ! 
 
 Not to live, now, would be the wickedness, — 
 
 For life means to make haste and go to Rome 
 
 And leave Arezzo, leave all woes at once 1 " 
 
 Now, understand here, by no means mistake ! 
 Lono^ agro had I tried to leave that house 
 When it seemed such procedure would stop sin ; 
 And still failed more the more I tried — at first 
 The Archbishop, as I told you, — next, our lord 
 The Governor, — indeed I found my way, 
 I went to the great palace where he rules, 
 Though I knew well 't was he who, — when I gave 
 A jewel or two, themselves had given me, 
 Back to my parents, — since they wanted bread, 
 They who had never let me want a nosegay, — he 
 Spoke of the jail for felons, if they kept 
 What was first theirs, then mine, so doubly theirs. 
 Though all the while my husband's most of all ! 
 ^ I knew well who had spoke the word wrought this : 
 Yet, being in extremity, I fled 
 To the Governor, as I say, — scarce opened lip 
 When — the cold cruel snicker close behind — 
 Guido was on my trace, already there, 
 Exchanging nod and wink for shrug and smile. 
 And I — pushed back to him and, for my pains, 
 Paid with . . . but why remember what is past ? 
 I sought out a poor friar the people call 
 
266 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 The Roman, and confessed my sin which came 
 Of their sin, — that fact could not be repressed, — 
 The frightfulness of my despair in God : 
 And feeling, through the grate, his horror shake, 
 Implored him, " Write for me who cannot write, 
 Apprise my parents, make them rescue me ! 
 You bid me be courageous and trust God : 
 Do you in turn dare somewhat, trust and write, 
 * Dear friends, who used to be my parents once, 
 And now declare you have no part in me, 
 This is some riddle I want wit to solve, 
 Since you must love me with no difference. 
 Even suppose you altered, — there 's your hate, 
 To ask for : hate of you two dearest ones 
 I shall find liker love than love found here. 
 If husbands love their wives. Take me away 
 And hate me as you do the gnats and fleas. 
 Even the scorpions ! How I shall rejoice ! ' 
 Write that and save me ! " And he promised — wrote 
 Or did not write ; things never changed at all : 
 He was not like the Augustinian here ! 
 Last, in a desperation I appealed 
 To friends, whoever wished me better days. 
 To Guillichini, that 's of kin, — " What, I — 
 Travel to Rome with you ? A flying gout 
 Bids me deny my heart and mind my leg ! " 
 Then I tried Conti, used to brave — laugh back 
 The louring thunder when his cousin scowled 
 At me protected by his presence : " You — 
 Who well know what you cannot save me from, — 
 Carry me off ! What frightens you, a priest ? " 
 He shook his head, looked grave — " Above my strength I 
 Guido has claws that scratch, shows feline teeth ; 
 A formidabler foe than I dare fret : 
 Give me a doof to deal with, twice the size I 
 Of course I am a priest and Canon too. 
 But ... by the bye . . . though both, not quite so bold 
 As he, my fellow-Canon, brother-priest, ^ 
 
 The personage in such ill odor here 
 Because of the reports — pure biith o' the brain I 
 Our Caponsacchi, he 's your true Saint George 
 To slay the monster, set the Princess free. 
 And have the whole High-Altar to himself : 
 I always think so when I see that piece 
 I' the Pieve, that 's his church and mine, you know : 
 Though you drop eyes at mention of his name ! " 
 
POMPILIA 26" 
 
 That name had got to take a half-grotesque 
 Half-ominous, wholly enigmatic sense, 
 •Like any by-word, broken bit of song 
 Born with a meaning, changed by mouth and mouth 
 That mix it in a sneer or smile, as chance 
 Bids, till it now means nought but ugliness 
 And perhaps shame. 
 
 — All this intends to say, 
 That, over-night, the notion of escape 
 Had seemed distemper, dreaming ; and the name, — 
 Not the man, but the name of him, thus made 
 Into a mockery and disgrace, — why, she 
 Who uttered it persistently, had laughed. 
 " I name his name, and there you start and wince 
 As criminal from the red tongs' touch ! " — yet now, 
 Now, as 1 stood letting morn bathe me bright. 
 Choosing which butterfly should bear my news, — 
 The white, the brown one, or that tinier blue, — 
 The Margherita, I detested so. 
 
 In she came — " The fine day, the good Spring time ! 
 What, up and out at window ? That is best. 
 No thought of Caponsacchi ? — who stood there 
 All night on one leg, like the sentry crane. 
 Under the pelting of your water-spout — 
 Looked last look at your lattice ere he leave 
 Our city, bury his dead hope at Rome. 
 Ay, go to looking-glass and make you fine, 
 While he may die ere touch one least loose hair 
 You drag at with the comb in such a rage 
 
 r " 
 
 I turned — " Tell Caponsacchi he may come ! " 
 
 *' Tell him to come ? Ah, but, for charity, 
 A truce to fooling I Come ? What, — come this eve 
 Peter and Paul ! But I see through the trick I 
 Yes, come, and take a flower-pot on his head, 
 Flung from your terrace ! No joke, sincere truth ? " 
 
 How plainly I perceived hell flash and fade 
 
 O' the face of her, — the doubt that first paled joy, 
 
 Then, final reassurance I indeed 
 
 Was caught now, never to be free again ! 
 
 What did I care ? — who felt myself of force 
 
 To play with silk, and spurn the horsehair-springje. 
 
268 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 *' But — do you know that I have bade him come. 
 And in your own name ? I presumed so much, 
 Knowing the thing you needed in your heart. 
 But somehow — what had I to show in proof ? 
 He would not come : half-promised, that was all, 
 And wrote the letters you refused to read. 
 What is the message that shall move him now? " 
 
 " After the Ave IMaria, at first dark, 
 
 I will be standing on the terrace, say ! " 
 " I would I had a good long lock of hair 
 
 Should prove I was not lying ! Never mind I " 
 
 Off she went — " May he not refuse, that 's all — 
 Fearing a trick ! " 
 
 I answered, " He will come." 
 And, all day, I sent prayer like incense up 
 To God the strong, God the beneficent, 
 God ever mindful in all strife and strait, 
 Who, for our own good, makes the need extreme, 
 Till at the last He puts forth might and saves. 
 An old rhyme came into my head and rang 
 Of how a virgin, for the faith of God, 
 Hid herself, from the Paynims that pursued, 
 In a cave's heart ; until a thunderstone. 
 Wrapped in a flame, revealed the couch and prey : 
 And they laughed — " Thanks to lightning, ours at last ! * 
 And she cried, " Wrath of God, assert His love ! 
 Servant of God, thou fire, befriend His child ! " 
 And lo, the fire she grasped at, fixed its flash, 
 Lay in her hand a calm cold dreadful sword 
 vShe brandished till pursuers strewed the ground. 
 So did the souls within them die away. 
 As o'er the prostrate bodies, sworded, safe. 
 She walked forth to the solitudes and Christ : 
 So should I grasp the lightning and be saved ! 
 
 And still, as the day wore, the trouble grew 
 Whereby I guessed there would be born a star, 
 Until at an intense throe of the dusk, 
 I started up, was pushed, I dare to say, 
 Out on the terrace, leaned and looked at last 
 Where the deliverer waited me : the same 
 Silent and solemn face, I first descried 
 At the spectacle, confronted mine once more. 
 
POMPILIA 269 
 
 So was that minute twice vouchsafed me, so 
 
 The manhood, wasted then, was still at watch 
 
 To save me yet a second time : no change 
 
 Here, though all else changed in the changing world ! 
 
 I spoke on the instant, as my duty hade, 
 In some such sense as this, whatever the phrase. 
 " Friend, foolish words were borne from you to me ; 
 Your soul behind them is the pure strong wind, 
 Not dust and feathers which its breath may bear: 
 These to the witless seem the wind itself, 
 Since proving thus the first of it they feel. 
 If by mischance you blew offence my way. 
 The straws are dropt, the wind desists no whit, 
 And how such strays were caught up in the street 
 And took a motion from you, why inquire ? 
 I speak to the strong soul, no weak disguise. 
 If it be truth, — why should I doubt it truth ? — 
 You serve God specially, as priests are bound, 
 And care about me, stranger as I am. 
 So far as wish my good, — that miracle 
 I take to intimate He wills you serve 
 By saving me, — what else can He direct ? 
 Here is the service. Since a long while now, 
 I am in course of being put to death : 
 While death concerned nothing but me, I bowed 
 The head and bade, in heart, my husband strike. 
 Now I imperil something more, it seems. 
 Something that 's trulier me than this myself, 
 Something I trust in God and you to save. 
 You go to Rome, they tell me : take me there, 
 Put me back with my people ! " 
 
 He replied — 
 The first word I heard ever from his lips, 
 All himself in it, — an eternity 
 Of speech, to match the hnmeasurable depth 
 O' the soul that then broke silence — "I am yours." 
 
 So did the star rise, soon to lead my step, 
 Lead on, nor pause before it should stand still 
 Above the House o' the Babe, — my babe to be, 
 That knew me first and thus made me know him, 
 That had his right of life and claim on mine. 
 And would not let me die till he was born, 
 But pricked me at the heart to save us both, 
 
270 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Saying, " Have you the will ? Leave God the way ! ** 
 And the way was Caponsacchi — ■ " mine," thank God ! 
 He was mine, he is mine, he will be mine. 
 
 No pause i' the leading and the light ! I know. 
 Next night there was a cloud came, and not he : 
 But I prayed through the darkness till it broke 
 And let him shine. The second night, he came. 
 
 *' The plan is rash ; the project desperate : 
 In such a flight needs must I risk your life, 
 Give food for falsehood, folly or mistake, 
 Ground for your husband's rancor and revenge " — 
 So he began again, with the same face. 
 I felt that, the same loyalty — one star 
 Turning now red that was so white before — 
 One service apprehended newly : just 
 A word of mine and there the white was back ! 
 
 " No, friend, for you will take ma ! 'T is yourself 
 Risk all, not I, — who let you, for I trust 
 In the compensating great God : enough ! 
 I know you : when is it that you will come ? " 
 
 " To-morrow at the day's dawn." Then I heard 
 What I should do : how to prepare for flight 
 And where to fly. 
 
 That night my husband bade, 
 " — You, whom I loathe, beware you break my sleep 
 This whole night ! Couch beside me like the corpse 
 I would you were ! " The rest you know, I think — ■ 
 How I found Caponsacchi and escaped. 
 
 And this man, men call sinner ? Jesus Christ I 
 Of whom men said, with mouths Thyself mad'st once, 
 " He hath a devil " — say he was Thy saint, 
 My Caponsacchi ! Shield and show — unshroud 
 In Thine own time the glory of the soul 
 If aught obscure, — if ink-spot, from vile pens 
 Scribbling a charge against him — (I was glad 
 Then, for the first time, that I could not write) — 
 Flirted his way, have flecked the blaze ! 
 
 For me, 
 'T is otherwise : let men take, sift my thoughts 
 — Thoughts I throw like the flax for sun to bleach I 
 
POMPILIA 271 
 
 I did pray, do pray, in the prayer shall die, 
 " Oh, to have Caponsacchi for my guide ! " 
 Ever the face upturned to mine, the hand 
 Holding my hand across the world, — a sense 
 That reads, as only such can read, the mark 
 God sets on woman, signifying so 
 She should — shall peradventure — be divine ; 
 Yet 'ware, the while, how weakness mars the print 
 And makes confusion, leaves the thing men see, 
 — Not this man sees, — who from his soul, re-writes 
 The obliterated charter, — love and strength 
 Mendinof what 's marred. " So kneels a votarist. 
 Weeds some poor waste traditionary plot 
 Where shrine once was, where temple yet may be, 
 Purging the place but worshipping the while, 
 By faith and not by sight, sight clearest so, — 
 Such way the saints work," — says Don Celestine. 
 But I, not privileged to see a saint 
 Of old when such walked earth with crown and palm, 
 If I call " saint " what saints call something else — 
 The saints must bear with me, impute the fault 
 To a soul i' the bud, so starved by ignorance, 
 Stinted of warmth, it will not blow this year 
 Nor recognize the orb which Spring-flowers know. 
 But if meanwhile some insect with a heart 
 Worth floods of lazy music, spendthrift joy — 
 Some fire-fly renounced Spring for my dwarfed cup, 
 Crept close to me, brought lustre for the dark, 
 Comfort against the cold, — what though excess 
 Of comfort should miscall the creature — sun ? 
 What did the sun to hinder while harsh hands 
 Petal by petal, crude and colorless, 
 Tore me ? This one heart gave me all the Spring ! 
 
 Is all told ? There 's the journey : and where 's time 
 
 To tell you how that heart burst out in shine ? 
 
 Yet certain points do press on me too hard. 
 
 Each place must have a name, though I forget : 
 
 How strange it was — there where the plain begins 
 
 And the small river mitigates its flow — 
 
 When eve was fading fast, and my soul sank. 
 
 And he divined what surge of bitterness, 
 
 In overtaking me, would float me back 
 
 Whence I was carried by the striding day — 
 
 So, — "This gray place was famous once," said he — 
 
 And he began that legend of the place 
 
272 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 As if in answer to the unspoken fear, 
 
 And told ine all about a brave man dead, 
 
 Which lifted me and let my soul go on ! 
 
 How did he know too — at that town's approach 
 
 By the rock-side — that in coming near the signs 
 
 Of life, the house-roofs and the church and tower, 
 
 I saw the old boundary and wall o' the world 
 
 Rise plain as ever round me, hard and cold, 
 
 As if the broken circlet joined again, 
 
 Tightened itself about me with no break, — 
 
 As if the town would turn Arezzo's self, — 
 
 The husband there, — the friends my enemies, 
 
 All ranged against me, not an avenue 
 
 To try, but would be blocked and drive me back 
 
 On him, — this other, ... oh the heart in that ! 
 
 Did not he find, bring, put into my arms 
 
 A new-born babe ? — and I saw faces beam 
 
 Of the young mother proud to teach me joy, 
 
 And gossips round expecting my surprise 
 
 At the sudden hole through earth that lets in heaven. 
 
 I could believe himself by his strong wdll 
 
 Had woven around me what I thought the world 
 
 We went along in, every circumstance, 
 
 Towns, flowers and faces, all things helped so well ! 
 
 For, through the journey, was it natural 
 
 Such comfort should arise from first to last ? 
 
 As I look back, all is one milky way ; 
 
 Still bettered more, the more remembered, so 
 
 Do new stars bud while I but search for old. 
 
 And fill all gaps i' the glory, and grow him — 
 
 Him I now see make the shine everywhere. 
 
 Even at the last when the bewildered flesh. 
 
 The cloud of weariness about my soul 
 
 Clogging too heavily, sucked down all sense, — 
 
 Still its last voice was, " He will watch and care ; 
 
 Let the strength go, 1 am content : he stays ! " 
 
 I doubt not he did stay and care for all — 
 
 From that sick minute when the head swam round, 
 
 And the eyes looked their last and died on him. 
 
 As in his arms he caught me, and, you say. 
 
 Carried me in, that tragical red eve. 
 
 And laid me where I next returned to life 
 
 In the other red of morning, two red plates 
 
 That crushed together, crushed the time between, 
 
 And are since then a solid fire to me, — 
 
 When in, my dreadful husband and the world 
 
POMPILIA 273 
 
 Broke, — and I saw him, master, by hell's right, 
 
 And saw my angel helplessly held back 
 
 By guards that helped the malice — the lamb prone, 
 
 The serpent towering and triumphant — then 
 
 Came all tlie strength back in a sudden swell, 
 
 I did for once see right, do right, give tongue 
 
 The adequate protest : for a worm nmst turn 
 
 If it would have its wrong observed by God. 
 
 I did spring up, attempt to thrust aside 
 
 That ice-block 'twixt the sun and me, lay low 
 
 The neutralizer of all good and truth. 
 
 If I sinned so, — never obey voice more 
 
 O' the Just and Terrible, who bids us — " Bear ! " 
 
 Not — " Stand by, bear to see my angels bear ! " 
 
 I am clear it was on impulse to serve God 
 
 Not save myself, — no — nor my child unborn ! 
 
 Had I else waited patiently till now ? — 
 
 Who saw my old kind parents, silly-sooth 
 
 And too much trustful, for their worst of faults, 
 
 Cheated, browbeaten, stripped and starved, cast out 
 
 Into the kennel : I remonstrated, 
 
 Then sank to silence, for, — their woes at end. 
 
 Themselves gone, — only I was left to plague. 
 
 If only I was threatened and belied. 
 
 What matter ? I could bear it and did bear ; 
 
 It was a comfort, still one lot for all : 
 
 They were not persecuted for my sake 
 
 And I, estranged, the single happy one. 
 
 But when at last, all by myself I stood 
 
 Obeying the clear voice which bade me rise, 
 
 Not for my own sake but my babe unborn. 
 
 And take the angel's hand was sent to help — 
 
 And found the old adversary athwart the path — 
 
 Not my hand simply struck from the angel's, but 
 
 The very angel's self made foul i' the face 
 
 By the fiend who struck there, — that I would not bear. 
 
 That only I resisted ! So, my first 
 
 And last resistance was invincible. 
 
 Prayers move God ; threats, and nothing else, move men I 
 
 I must have prayed a man as he were God 
 
 When I implored the Governor to right 
 
 My parents' wrongs : the answer was a smile. 
 
 The Archbishop, — did I clasp his feet enough, 
 
 Hide my face hotly on them, while I told 
 
 More than I dared make my own mother know ? 
 
 The profit was — compassion and a jest. 
 
27-1 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 This time, the foolish prayers were done with, right 
 
 Used might, and solemnized the sport at once. 
 
 All was against the combat : vantage, mine ? 
 
 The runaway avowed, the accomplice-wife. 
 
 In company with the plan-contriving priest ? 
 
 Yet, shame thus rank and patent, I struck, bare, 
 
 At foe from head to foot in magic mail, 
 
 And off it withered, cobweb-armory 
 
 Against the lightning ! 'T was truth singed the lies 
 
 And saved me, not the vain sword nor weak speech I 
 
 You see, I will not have the service fail ! 
 
 I say, the angel saved me : I am safe ! 
 
 Others may want and wish, I wish nor want 
 
 One point o' the circle plainer, where I stand 
 
 Traced round about with white to front the world. 
 
 What of the calumny I came across, 
 
 What o' the way to the end ? — the end crowns all. 
 
 The judges judged aright i' the main, gave me 
 
 The uttermost of my heart's desire, a truce 
 
 From torture and Arezzo, balm for hurt. 
 
 With the quiet nuns, — God recompense the good ! 
 
 Who said and sang away the ugly past. 
 
 And, when my final fortune was revealed, 
 
 What safety, while, amid my parents' arms. 
 
 My babe was given me ! Yes, he saved my babe : 
 
 It would not have peeped forth, the bird-like thing, 
 
 Through that Arezzo noise and trouble : back 
 
 Had it returned nor ever let me see ! 
 
 But the sweet peace cured all, and let me live 
 
 And give my bird the life among the leaves 
 
 God meant him ! Weeks and months of quietude, 
 
 I could lie in such peace and learn so much — 
 
 Begin the task, I see how needful now. 
 
 Of understanding somewhat of my past, — 
 
 Know life a little, I should leave so soon. 
 
 Therefore, because this man restored my soul. 
 
 All has been right ; I have gained my gain, enjoyed 
 
 As well as suffered, — nay, got foretaste too 
 
 Of better life beginning where this ends — 
 
 All through the breathing-while allowed me thus, 
 
 Which let good premonitions reach my soul 
 
 Unthwarted, and benignant influence flow 
 
 And interpenetrate and change my heart, 
 
 Uncrossed by what was wicked, — nay, unkind. 
 
 For, as the weakness of my time drew nigh. 
 
POMPILIA 275 
 
 Nobody did me one disservice more, 
 
 Spoke coldly or looked strangely, broke the love 
 
 I lay in tlie arms of, till my boy was born. 
 
 Born all in love, with nought to spoil the bliss 
 
 A whole lonor fortnioht : in a Hfe like mine 
 
 A fortnight filled with bhss is long and much. 
 
 All women are not mothers of a boy. 
 
 Though they live twice the length of my whole life, 
 
 And, as they fancy, happily all the same. 
 
 There I lay, then, all njy great fortnight long. 
 
 As if it vrould continue, broaden out 
 
 Happily more and more, and lead to heaven : 
 
 Christmas before me, — was not that a chance ? 
 
 I never realized God's birth before — 
 
 I low He grew likest God in being born. 
 
 This time I felt like Mary, had my babe 
 
 Lying a little on my breast like hers. 
 
 So all went on till, just four days ago — 
 
 The night and the tap. 
 
 O it shall be success 
 To the whole of our poor family ! My friends 
 . . . Nay, father and mother, — give me back my word ! 
 They have been rudely stripped of life, disgraced 
 Like children who must needs go clothed too fine, 
 Carry the garb of Carnival in Lent. 
 If they too much affected frippery, 
 They have been punished and submit themselves, 
 Say no word : all is over, they see God 
 Who will not be extreme to mark their fault 
 Or lie had granted respite : they are safe. 
 
 For that most woful man my husband once, 
 Who, needing respite, still draws vital breath, 
 I — pardon him ? So far as lies in me, 
 I give him for his good the life he takes, 
 Praying the world will therefore acquiesce. 
 Let him make God amends, — none, none to me 
 Who thank him rather that, whereas strange fate 
 Mockingly styled him husband and me M^ife, 
 Himself this way at least pronounced divorce. 
 Blotted the marriage-bond : this blood of mine 
 Flies forth exultingly at any door, 
 Washes the parchment white, and thanks the blow. 
 We shall not meet in this world nor the next, 
 But where will God be absent ? In His face 
 
276 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Is li^ht, but in His shadow healing too : 
 
 Let Guido touch the shadow and be healed ! 
 
 And as my presence was importunate, — 
 
 My earthly good, temptation and a snare, — 
 
 Nothino- about me but drew somehow down 
 
 His hate upon me, — somewhat so excused 
 
 Therefore, since hate was thus the truth of him, - 
 
 May my e vanishment forevermore 
 
 Help further to relieve the heart that cast 
 
 Such object of its natural loathing forth ! 
 
 So he was made ; he nowise made himself : 
 
 I could not love him, but his mother did. 
 
 His soul has never lain beside my soul ; 
 
 But for the unresisting body, — thanks ! 
 
 He burned that garment spotted by the flesh. 
 
 Whatever he touched is rightly ruined : plague 
 
 It caught, and disinfection it had craved 
 
 Still but for Guido ; I am saved through him 
 
 So as by fire ; to him — thanks and farewell ! 
 
 Even for my babe, my boy, there 's safety thence 
 From the sudden death of me, I mean : we poor 
 Weak souls, how we endeavor to be strong ! 
 I was already using up my life, — 
 This portion, now, should do him such a good, 
 This other go to keep off such an ill ! 
 The great life ; see, a breath and it is gone ! 
 So is detached, so left all by itself 
 The little life, the fact which means so much. 
 Shall not God stoop the kindlier to His work, 
 His marvel of creation, foot would crush, 
 Now that the hand He trusted to receive 
 And hold it, lets the treasure fall perforce ? 
 The better ; He shall have in orphanage 
 His own way all the clearlier : if my babe 
 Outlived the hour — and he has lived two weeks - 
 It is through God who knows I am not by. 
 Who is it makes the soft gold hair turn black, 
 And sets the tongue, might lie so long at rest, 
 Trying to talk ? Let us leave God alone ! 
 Why should I doubt He will explain in time 
 What I feel now, but fail to find the words ? 
 My babe nor was, nor is, nor yet shall be 
 Count Guido Franceschini's child at all — 
 Only his mother's, born of love not hate ! 
 So shall I have my rights in after-time. 
 
POMPILIA 211 
 
 It seems absurd, impossible to-day ; 
 
 So seems so much else, not explained but known ! 
 
 Ah ! Friends, I thank and bless you every one ! 
 No more now : I withdraw from earth and man 
 To my own soul, compose myself for God. 
 
 Well, and there is more ! Yes, my end of breath 
 
 Shall bear away my soul in being true I 
 
 He is still here, not outside with the world, 
 
 Here, here, I have him in his rightful place ! 
 
 'T is now, when I am most upon the move, 
 
 I feel for what I verily find — again 
 
 The face, again the eyes, again, through all, 
 
 The heart and its immeasurable love 
 
 Of my one friend, my only, all my own. 
 
 Who put his breast between the spears and me. 
 
 Ever with Caponsacchi ! Otherwise 
 
 Here alone would be failure, loss to me — 
 
 How much more loss to him, with life debarred 
 
 From giving life, love locked from love's display, 
 
 The day-star stopped its task that makes night morn ! 
 
 lover of my life, O soldier-saint. 
 
 No work begun shall ever pause for death ! 
 
 Love will be helpful to me more and more 
 
 I' the coming course, the new path I must tread — 
 
 My weak hand in thy strong hand, strong for that ! 
 
 Tell him that if I seem without him now, 
 
 That 's the world's insight ! Oh, he understands ! 
 
 He is at Civita — do I once doubt 
 
 The world again is holding us apart ? 
 
 He had been here, displayed in my behalf 
 
 The broad brow that reverberates the truth, 
 
 And flashed the word God gave him, back to man ! 
 
 1 know where the free soul is flown ! My fate 
 Will have been hard for even him to bear : 
 Let it confirm him in the trust of God, 
 Showing how holily he dared the deed ! 
 
 And, for the rest, — say, from the deed, no touch 
 Of harm came, but all good, all happiness, 
 Not one faint fleck of failure ! Why explain ? 
 What I see, oh, he sees and how much more ! 
 Tell him, — I know not wherefore the true word 
 Should fade and fall unuttered at the last — 
 It was the name of him I sprang to meet 
 When came the knock, the summons and the end. 
 
278 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 " My great heart, my strong hand are back again ! " 
 I would have sprung to these, beckoning across 
 Murder and hell gigantic and distinct 
 O' the threshold, posted to exclude me heaven : 
 He is ordained to call and I to come ! 
 Do not the dead wear flowers when dressed for God ? 
 Say, — I am all in flowers from head to foot ! 
 Say, — not one flower of all he said and did. 
 Might seem to flit unnoticed, fade unknown, 
 But dropped a seed, has grown a balsam-tree 
 Whereof the blossoming jDcrfumes the place 
 At this supreme of moments ! He is a priest ; 
 He cannot marry therefore, which is right : 
 I think he would not marry if he could. 
 Marriage on earth seems such a counterfeit, 
 Mere imitation of the inimitable : 
 In heaven we have the real and true and sure. 
 'T is there they neither marry nor are given 
 In marriage but are as the angels : right. 
 Oh how right that is, how like Jesus Christ 
 To say that ! Marriage-making for the earth, 
 With gold so much, — birth, power, repute so much, 
 Or beauty, youth so much, in lack of these ! 
 Be as the angels rather, who, apart. 
 Know themselves into one, are found at length 
 Married, but marry never, no, nor give . 
 In marriage ; they are man and wife at once 
 When the true time is : here we have to wait 
 Not so long neither I Could we by a wish 
 Have what we will and get the future now, 
 Would we wish aught done undone in the past ? 
 So, let him wait God's instant men call years ; 
 Meantime hold hard by truth and his great soul, 
 Do out the duty ! Through such souls alone 
 God stooping shows sufficient of His light 
 For us i' the dark to rise by. And I rise. 
 
VIII. 
 
 DOMINUS HYACINTHUS DE ARCHANGELIS, 
 
 PAUPERUM PROCURATOR. 
 
 Ah, my Giacinto, he 's no ruddy rogue, 
 
 Is not Cinone ? What, to-day we 're eight ? 
 
 Seven and one 's eight, I hope, old curly-pate ! 
 
 — Branches me out his verb-tree on the slate, 
 Amo -as -avl -aturn -are -ans, 
 
 Up to -aturus, person, tense, and mood, 
 
 Quies me cum suhjunctivo (I could cry) 
 
 And chews Corderius with his morning crust ! 
 
 Look eight years onward, and he 's perched, he 's perched 
 
 Dapper and deft on stool beside this chair, 
 
 Cinozzo, Cinoncello, who but he ? 
 
 — Trying his milk-teeth on some crusty case 
 Like this, papa shall triturate full soon 
 
 To smooth Papinianian pulp ! 
 
 It trots 
 Already through my head, though noon be now. 
 Does supper-time and what belongs to eve." 
 Dispose, O Don, o' the day, first work then play ! 
 
 — The proverb bids. And " then " means, won't we hold 
 Our little yearly lovesome frolic feast, 
 
 CInuolo's birth-night, Cinicello's own, 
 
 That makes grutt' January grin perforce ! 
 
 For too contagious grows the mirth, the warmth 
 
 Escaping from so many hearts at once — 
 
 When the good wife, buxom and bonny yet. 
 
 Jokes the hale grandsire, — such are just the sort 
 
 To go off suddenly, — he who hides the key 
 
 O' the box benaath his pillow every night, — 
 
 Which box may hold a parchment (some one thinks) 
 
 Will show a scribbled something like a name 
 
 " Cinino, Ciniccino," near the end, 
 
 " To whom I give and I bequeath my lands. 
 Estates, tenements, hereditaments, 
 When I decease as honest grandsire ought." 
 
280 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Wherefore — yet this one time again perhaps — 
 
 Sha'n't my Orvieto fuddle his old nose ! 
 
 Then, uncles, one or the other, well i' the world. 
 
 May — drop in, merely ? — trudge through rain and wind, 
 
 Rather ! The smell-feasts rouse them at the hint 
 
 There 's cookery in a certain dwelling-place ! 
 
 Gossips, too, each with keepsake in his poke, 
 
 Will pick the way, thrid lane by lantern-light, 
 
 And so find door, put galligaskin off 
 
 At entry of a decent domicile 
 
 Cornered in snug Condotti, — all for love, 
 
 All to crush cup with Cinucciatolo ! 
 
 Well, 
 Let others climb the heights o' the court, the camp ! 
 How vain are chambering and wantonness, 
 Revel and rout and pleasures that make mad ! 
 Commend me to home-joy, the family board, 
 Altar and hearth ! These, with a brisk career, 
 A source of honest profit and good fame. 
 Just so much work as keeps the brain from rust, 
 Just so much play as lets the heart expand. 
 Honoring God and serving man, — I say. 
 These are reality, and all else, — fluff, 
 Nutshell and nought, — thank Flaccus for the phrase ! 
 Suppose I had been Fisc, yet bachelor I 
 
 Why, work with a will, then ! Wherefore lazy now ? 
 
 Turn up the hour-glass, whence no sand-grain slips 
 
 But should have done its duty to the saint 
 
 O' the day, the son and heir that 's eight years old ! 
 
 Let law come dimple Cinoncino's cheek. 
 
 And Latin dumple Cinarello's chin. 
 
 The while we spread him fine and toss him flat 
 
 This pulp that makes the pancake, trim our mass 
 
 Of matter into Argument the First, 
 
 Prime Pleading in defence of our accused. 
 
 Which, once a-waft on paper wing, shall soar. 
 
 Shall signalize before applausive Rome 
 
 What study, and mayhap some mother-wit, 
 
 Can do toward making Master fop and Fisc 
 
 Old bachelor Bottinius bite his thumb. 
 
 Now, how good God is ! How falls plumb to point 
 
 This murder, gives me Guido to defend 
 
 Now, of all days i' the year, just when the boy 
 
 Verges on Virgil, reaches the right age 
 
 For some such illustration from his sire. 
 
DOMINUS HYACINTHUS DE ARCHANGELIS 281 
 
 Stimulus to himself ! One might wait years 
 And never find the chance which now finds me ! 
 The fact is, there 's a blessing on the hearth, 
 A special providence for fatherhood ! 
 Here 's a man, and what 's more, a noble, kills 
 
 — Not sneakingly but almost with parade — 
 Wife's father and wife's mother and wife's self 
 That 's mother's self of son and heir (like mine !) 
 
 — And here stand I, the favored advocate, 
 Who pluck this flower o' the field, no Solomon 
 Was ever clothed in glorious gold to match, 
 And set the same in Cinoncino's cap ! 
 
 I defend Guido and his comrades — I ! 
 Pray God, I keep me humble : not to me — 
 Non nobis, Doviine, sed tibi laus ! 
 How the fop chuckled when they made him Fisc ! 
 We '11 beat you, my Bottinius, all for love, 
 All for our tribute to Cinotto's day ! 
 Why, 'sbuddikins, old Innocent himself 
 May rub his eyes at the bustle, — ask '• What 's this 
 Rolling from out the rostrum, as a gust 
 O' the Fro Milone had been j^risoned there, 
 And rattled Rome awake ? " Awaken Rome, 
 How can the Pope doze on in decency? 
 He needs must wake up also, speak his word, 
 Have his opinion like the rest of Rome, 
 About this huge, this hurly-burly case : 
 He wants who can excogitate the truth, 
 ' Give the result in speech, plain black and white, 
 To mumble in the mouth and make his own 
 
 — A little changed, good man, a little changed ! 
 No matter, so his gratitude be moved, 
 
 By when my Giacintino gets of age. 
 Mindful of who thus helped him at a pinch, 
 Archangelus Procurator Pauperum — 
 And proved Hortensius Redivivus ! 
 
 Whew ! 
 To earn the Est-est, merit the minced herb 
 That mollifies the liver's leathery slice, 
 With here a goose-foot, there a cock's-comb stuck. 
 Cemented in an element of cheese ! 
 I doubt if dainties do the grandsire good : 
 Last June he had a sort of strangling . . . bah ! 
 He 's his own master, and his will is made. 
 So, liver fizz, law flit and Latin fly 
 As we rub hands o'er dish by way of grace I 
 
282 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 May I lose cause if I vent one word more 
 Except — with fresh-cut quill we ink the white 
 P-r-o-pro Guidone et Soclis. There ! 
 
 Count Guido married — or, in Latin due, 
 
 What ? Ditxit in uxorem ? — commonplace ! 
 
 Toedas jugales inilf, siibiit, — ha ! 
 
 He underwent the matrimonial torch ? 
 
 Connahio stablll sibi junxit, — hum ! 
 
 In stable bond of marriage bound his own ? 
 
 That 's clear of any modern taint : and yet . . 
 
 Virgil is little help to who writes prose. 
 
 He shall attack me Terence with the dawn, 
 
 Shall Cinuccino ! Mum, mind business, Sir ! 
 
 Thus circumstantially evolve we facts, 
 
 Ita se habet ideo series facti : 
 
 He wedded, — ah, with owls for augury ! 
 
 Nupserat, heu sinistris avibus, 
 
 One of the blood Arezzo boasts her best, 
 
 Domimis Guido, nobili genere ortus^ 
 
 Pomp il ice . . . 
 
 But the version afterward : 
 Curb we this ardor ! Notes alone, to-day, 
 The speech to-morrow, and the Latin last : 
 Such was the rule in Farinacci's time. 
 Indeed I hitched it into verse and good. 
 Unluckily, law quite absorbs a man, 
 Or else I think I too had poetized. 
 
 " Law is the pork substratum of the fry, 
 Goose-foot and cock's-comb are Latinity," — 
 And in this case, if circumstance assist. 
 We '11 garnish law with idiom, never fear ! 
 Out-of-the-way events extend our scope : 
 For instance, when Bottini brings his charge, 
 
 " That letter which you say Pompilia wrote, 
 To criminate her parents and herself 
 And disengage her husband from the coil, — 
 That, Guido Franceschini wrote, say we : 
 Because Pompilia could nor read nor write. 
 Therefore he pencilled her such letter first, 
 Then made her trace in ink the same again." 
 — Ha, my Bottini, have I thee on hip? 
 How will he turn this and break TuUy's pate ? 
 
 " Existimandum " (don't I hear the doj? ! ) 
 
DOMINUS HYACINTHUS DE ARCHANGELIS 283 
 
 " Quod Guido deslgnaverit elementa 
 
 Dictce eplstolce, quoifuerint 
 
 (Super hidiccto ab ea calamo) 
 
 Notata atraviento " — there 's a style ! — 
 " Quia ipsa scrihere nesciebat.'' Boh ! 
 
 Now, my turn ! Either, Insidse ! (I outburst) 
 
 Stupidly put ! Inane is the response, 
 
 Inanis est responsio, or the like — 
 
 To wit, that each of all those characters, 
 
 Quod singula elementa epistolce, 
 
 Had first of all been traced for her by him, 
 
 Fuerant per eum prius designata^ 
 
 And then, the ink applied a-top of that, 
 
 Et deinde, superinducto calavio, 
 
 The piece, she says, became her handiwork, 
 
 Per earn, efformata, ut ipsa asserit. 
 
 Inane were such response ! (a second time :) 
 
 Her husband outlined her the whole, forsooth ? 
 
 Vir ejus lineabat epistolam ? 
 
 What, she confesses that she wrote the thing, 
 
 Fatetur earn scripsisse, (scorn that scathes !) 
 
 That she might pay obedience to her lord ? 
 
 Ut viro obteviperaret, apices 
 
 (Here repeat charge with proper varied phrase) 
 
 Eg designante, ipsaque calavium 
 
 Super inducente ? By such argument, 
 
 Ita pariter, she seeks to show the same, 
 
 (Ay, by Saint Joseph and what saints you please) 
 
 Epistolam ostendit, viedius fidius, 
 
 No voluntary deed but fruit of force ! 
 
 Non voluntarie sed coacte scriptayn ! 
 
 That 's the way to write Latin, friend my Fisc ! 
 
 Bottini is a beast, one barbarous : 
 
 Look out for him when he attempts to say 
 ^' Armed with a pistol, Guido followed her ! " 
 
 Will not I be beforehand with my Fisc, 
 
 Cut away phrase by phrase from underfoot ! 
 
 Guido Pompiliam — Guido thus his wife 
 
 Following with igneous engine, shall I have ? 
 
 Armis munitus igneis persequens — 
 
 Arma sxdphurea gestajis, sulphury arms, 
 
 Or, might one style a pistol — popping-piece ? 
 
 Armatus breviori sclopido ? 
 
 We '11 let him have been armed so, though it make 
 
 Somewhat against us : I had thought to own — 
 
 Provided with a simple travelling-sword, 
 
284 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Ense solummodo viatorio 
 
 Instructus : but we 11 grant the pistol here : 
 
 Better we lost the cause than lacked the gird 
 
 At the Fisc's Latin, lost the Judge's laugh ! 
 
 It 's Venturini that decides for style. 
 
 Tommati rather goes upon the law. 
 
 So, as to law, — 
 
 Ah, but with law ne'er hope 
 To level the fellow, — don't I know his trick ! 
 How he draws up, ducks under, twists aside ! 
 He 's a lean-gutted hectic rascal, fine 
 As pale-haired red-eyed ferret which pretends 
 'T is ermine, pure soft snow from tail to snout. 
 He eludes law by piteous looks aloft. 
 Lets Latin glance off as he makes appeal 
 To saint that 's somewhere in the ceiling-top : 
 Do you suppose I don't conceive the beast ? 
 Plague of the ermine-vermin ! For it takes. 
 It takes, and here 's the fellow Fisc, you see, 
 And Judge, you '11 not be long in seeing next ! 
 Confound the fop — he 's now at work like me : 
 Enter his study, as I seem to do. 
 Hear him read out his writing to himself ! 
 I know he writes as if he spoke : I hear 
 The hoarse shrill throat, see shut eyes, neck shot-forth, 
 — I see him strain on tiptoe, soar and pour 
 Eloquence out, nor stay nor stint at all — 
 Perorate in the air, then quick to press 
 With the product ! What abuse of type and sheet ! 
 He '11 keep clear of my cast, my logic-throw. 
 Let argument slide, and then deliver swift 
 Some bowl from quite an unguessed point of stand — 
 Having the luck o' the last word, the reply ! 
 A plaguy cast, a mortifying stroke : 
 You face a fellow — cries, " So, there you stand? 
 But I discourteous jump clean o'er your head ! 
 You take ship-carpentry for pilotage. 
 Stop rat-holes, while a sea sweeps through the breach, - 
 Hammer and fortify at puny points ? 
 Do, clamp and tenon, make all tight and safe ! 
 'T is here and here and here you ship a sea. 
 No good of your stopped leaks and littleness ! " 
 
 Yet what do I name " little and a leak " ? 
 
 The main defence o' the murder 's used to death. 
 
DOMINUS HYACINTHUS DE ARCHANGELIS 285 
 
 By this time, dry bare bones, no scrap we pick : 
 Safer I worked the new, the unforeseen, 
 The nice by-stroke, the fine and improvised 
 Point that can titillate the brain o' the Bench 
 Torpid with over-teaching, long ago ! 
 As if Tommati (that has heard, reheard 
 And heard again, first this side and then that — 
 Guido and Pietro, Pietro and Guido, din 
 And deafen, full three years, at each long ear) 
 Don't want amusement for instruction now, 
 Won't rather feel a flea run o'er his ribs, 
 Than a daw settle heavily on his head ! 
 Oh, I was young and had the trick of fence. 
 Knew subtle pass and push with careless right — 
 My left arm ever quiet behind back, 
 With dagger ready : not both hands to blade ! 
 Puff and blow, put the strength out, Blunderbore ! 
 There 's my subordinate, young Spreti, now. 
 Pedant and prig, — he 11 pant away at proof, 
 That 's his way ! 
 
 Now for mine — to rub some life 
 Into one's choppy fingers this cold day ! 
 I trust Cinuzzo ties on tippet, guards 
 The precious throat on which so much depends ! 
 Guido must be all goose-flesh in his hole, 
 Despite the prison-straw : bad Carnival 
 For captives ! no sUced fry for him, poor Count ! 
 
 Carnival-time, — another providence ! 
 The town a-swarm with strangers to amuse. 
 To edify, to give one's name and fame 
 In charge of, till they find, some future day, 
 Cintino come and claim it, his name too. 
 Pledge of the f)leasantness they owe papa — 
 Who else was it cured Rome of her great qualms. 
 When she must needs have her own judgment? — ay, 
 When all her top])ing wits had set to work. 
 Pronounced already on the case : mere boys, 
 Twice Cineruggiolo's age with half his sense, 
 As good as tell me, when I cross the court, 
 " Master Arcangeli I " (plucking at my gown) 
 " We can predict, we comprehend your play. 
 We '11 help you save your client/' Tra-la-la ! 
 I Ve travelled ground, from childhood to this hour, 
 To have the town anticipate my track ? 
 
286 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 The old fox takes the plain and velvet path, 
 
 The young hound's predilection, — prints the dew, 
 
 Don't he, to suit their pulpy pads of paw ? 
 
 No ! Burying nose deep down i' the briery bush, 
 
 Thus I defend Count Guido. 
 
 Where are we weak ? 
 First, which is foremost in advantage too, 
 Our murder, — we call, killing, — is a fact 
 Confessed, defended, made a boast of : good ! 
 To think the Fisc claimed use of torture here. 
 And got thereby avowal plump and plain 
 That gives me just the chance I wanted, — scope 
 Not for brute-force but ingenuity, 
 Explaining matters, not denying them ! 
 One may dispute, — as I am bound to do, 
 And shall, — validity of process here : 
 Inasmuch as a noble is exempt 
 From torture which plebeians undergo 
 In such a case : for law is lenient, lax, 
 Remits the torture to a nobleman 
 Unless suspicion be of twice the strength 
 Attaches to a man born vulgarly : 
 We don't card silk with comb that dresses wool. 
 Moreover, 't was severity undue 
 In this case, even had the lord been lout. 
 What utters, on this head, our oracle. 
 Our Farinacci, my Gamaliel erst, 
 In those immortal " Questions " ? This I quote : 
 " Of all the tools at Law's disposal, sure 
 That named Vigiliarum is the best — 
 That is, the worst — to whoso needs must bear : 
 Lasting, as it may do, from some seven hours 
 To ten ; (beyond ten, we 've no precedent ; 
 Certain have touched their ten but, bah, they died !) 
 It does so efficaciously convince. 
 That — speaking by much observation here — 
 Out of each hundred cases, by my count, 
 Never I knew of patients beyond four 
 Withstand its taste, or less than ninety-six 
 End by succumbing : only martyrs four, 
 Of obstinate silence, guilty or no, — against 
 Ninety-six full confessors, innocent 
 Or otherwise, — so shrewd a tool have we ! " 
 No marvel either : in unwary hands. 
 Death on the spot is no rare consequence : 
 As indeed all but happened in this case 
 
DOMINUS IIYACINTHUS DE ARCHANGELIS 287 
 
 To one of ourselves, our young tough peasant-friend 
 
 The accomjjlice called Baldeschi : they were rough, 
 
 Dosed him with torture as you drench a horse, 
 
 Not modify your treatment to a man : 
 
 So, two successive days he fainted dead, 
 
 And only on the third essay, gave up, 
 
 Confessed like flesh and blood. We could reclaim, — 
 
 Blockhead Bottini giving cause enough ! 
 
 But no, — we '11 take it as spontaneously 
 
 Confessed : we '11 have the murder beyond doubt. 
 
 Ah, fortunate (the poet's word reversed) 
 
 Inasmuch as we know our happiness ! 
 
 Had the antagonist left dubiety. 
 
 Here were we proving murder a mere myth, 
 
 And Guido innocent, ignorant, absent, — ay. 
 
 Absent ! He was — why, where should Christian be ? — 
 
 Engaged in visiting his proper church. 
 
 The duty of us all at Christmas-time, 
 
 When Caponsacchi, the seducer, stung 
 
 To madness by his relegation, cast 
 
 About him and contrived a remedy 
 
 In murder : since opprobrium broke afresh, 
 
 By birth o' the babe, on him the imputed sire, 
 
 He it was quietly sought to smother up 
 
 His shame and theirs together, — killed the three, 
 
 And fled — (go seek him where you please to search) — 
 
 Just at the time when Guido, touched by grace, 
 
 Devotions ended, hastened to the spot. 
 
 Meaning to pardon his convicted wife, 
 
 " Neither do I condemn thee, go in peace ! " — 
 And thus arrived i' the nick of time to catch 
 The charge o' the killing, though great-heartedly 
 He came but to forgive and bring to life. 
 Doubt ye the force of Christmas on the soul ? 
 
 " Is thine eye evil because mine is good ? " 
 
 So, doubtless, had I needed argue here 
 But for the full confession round and sound ! 
 Thus might you wrong some kingly alchemist, — 
 Whose concern should not be with showing brass 
 Transmuted into gold, but triumphing, 
 Rather, about his gold changed out of brass. 
 Not vulgarly to the mere sight and touch. 
 But in the idea, the spiritual display. 
 The apparition buoyed by winged words 
 Hovering above its birthplace in the brain, — 
 
288 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Thus would you wrong this excellent personage 
 Forced, by the gross need, to gird apron round, 
 Plant forge, light fire, ply bellows, — in a word, 
 Demonstrate ; when a faulty pipkin's crack 
 May disconcert you his presumptive truth ! 
 Here were I hanging to the testimony 
 Of one of these poor rustics — four, ye gods ! 
 Whom the first taste of friend the Fiscal's cord 
 May drive into undoing my whole speech, 
 Undoing, on his birthday, — what is worse, — 
 My son and heir ! 
 
 I wonder, all the same, 
 Not so much at those peasants' lack of heart ; 
 But — Guido Franceschini, nobleman, 
 Bear pain no better ! Everybody knows 
 It used once, when my father was a boy, 
 To form a proper, nay, important point 
 I' the education of our well-born youth. 
 That they took torture handsomely at need, 
 Without confessing in this clownish guise. 
 Each noble had his rack for private use. 
 And would, for the diversion of a guest, 
 Bid it be set up in the yard of arms, 
 And take thereon his hour of exercise, — 
 Command the varletry stretch, strain their best, 
 While friends looked on, admired my lord could smile 
 'Mid tugging which had caused an ox to roar. 
 Men are no longer men ! 
 
 — And advocates 
 No longer Farinacci, let us add, 
 If I one more time fly from point proposed ! 
 So, Vindicatio, — here begins the speech ! — 
 Honoris causa ; thus we make our stand : 
 Honor in us had injury, we prove. 
 Or if we fail to prove such injury 
 More than misprision of the fact, — what then ? 
 It is enough, authorities declare, 
 If the result, the deed in question now, 
 Be caused by confidence that injury 
 Is veritable and no figment : since. 
 What, though proved fancy afterward, seemed fact 
 At the time, they argue shall excuse result. 
 That which we do, persuaded of good cause 
 For what we do, hold justifiable ! — 
 So casuists bid : man, bound to do his best, 
 
DOMINUS HYACINTHUS DE ARCHANGELIS 289 
 
 They would not have him leave that best undone 
 And mean to do his worst, — though fuller light 
 Show best was worst and worst would have been best. 
 Act by the present light ! — they ask of man. 
 Ultra quod hie non agitur, besides 
 It is not anyway our business here, 
 De probatlone adulteril, 
 
 To prove what we thought crime was crime indeed, 
 Ad irrogandam poenam, and require 
 Its punishment : such nowise do we seek : 
 Sed ad effectum, but 't is our concern, 
 Excusandi, here to simply find excuse, 
 Occisorem, for who did the killing-work, 
 Et ad illius defensionevi, (mark 
 The difference) and defend the man, just that ! 
 Quo casu levior prohatlo 
 Exuheraret, to which end far lighter proof 
 Suffices than the prior case would claim : 
 It should be always harder to convict, 
 In short, than to establish innocence. 
 Therefore we shall demonstrate first of all 
 That Honor is a gift of God to man 
 Precious beyond compare : which natural sense 
 Of human rectitude and purity, — 
 
 Which white, man's soul is born with, — brooks no touch : 
 Therefore, the sensitivest spot of all, 
 Wounded by any wafture breathed from black, 
 Is — honor within honor, like the eye 
 Centred i' the ball — the honor of our wife. 
 Touch us o' the pupil of our honor, then, 
 Not actually, — since so you slay outright, — 
 But by a gesture simulating touch, 
 Presumable mere menace of such taint, — 
 This were our warrant for eruptive ire 
 " To whose dominion I impose no end." 
 
 (Virgil, now, should not be too difficult 
 
 To Cinoncino, — say, the early books. 
 
 Pen, truce to further gambols ! Posciviur /) 
 
 Nor can revenge of injury done here 
 
 To the honor proved the life and soul of us. 
 
 Be too excessive, too extravagant : 
 
 Such wrong sefeks and must have complete revenge. 
 
 Show we this, first, on the mere natural ground : 
 
 Begin at the beginning, and proceed 
 
290 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Iiicontrovertibly. Theodoric, 
 In an apt sentence Cassiodorus cites, 
 Propounds for basis of all household law — 
 I hardly recollect it, but it ends, 
 
 " Bird mates with bird, beast genders with his like, 
 And brooks no interference." Bird and beast ? 
 The very insects ... if they wive or no, 
 How dare I say when Aristotle doubts ? 
 But the presumption is they likewise wive. 
 At least the nobler sorts ; for take the bee 
 As instance, — copying King Solomon, — 
 Why that displeasure of the bee to aught 
 Which savors of incontinency, makes 
 The unchaste a very horror to the hive ? 
 Whence comes it bees obtain their epithet 
 Of castce apes, notably " the chaste " ? 
 Because, ingeniously saith Scaliger, 
 (The young sage, — see his book of Table-talk) 
 
 " Such is their hatred of immodest act, 
 They fall upon the offender, sting to death." 
 I mind a passage much confirmative 
 I' the Idyllist (though I read him Latinized) — 
 
 " Why," asks a shepherd, " is this bank unfit 
 For celebration of our vernal loves ? " 
 
 " Oh swain," returns the instructed shepherdess, 
 
 " Bees swarm here, and would quick resent our warmth ! 
 Only cold-blooded fish lack instinct here. 
 Nor gain nor guard connubiality : 
 But beasts, quadrupedal, mammiferous, 
 Do credit to their beasthood : witness him 
 That ^lian cites, the noble elephant, 
 (Or if not ^lian, somebody as sage) 
 Who seeing, much offence beneath his nose, 
 His master's friend exceed in courtesy 
 The due allowance to his master's wife, 
 Taught them good manners and killed both at once. 
 Making his master and the world admire. 
 Indubitably, then, that master's self. 
 Favored by circumstance, had done the same 
 Or else stood clear rebuked by his own beast. 
 Adeo, ut qui honorem spernit, thus. 
 Who values his own honor not a straw, — 
 Et non recuperare curat ^ nor 
 Labors by might and main to salve Its wound, 
 iS'e ulciscendo, by revenging him. 
 Nil differat a belluis, is a brute, 
 
DOMINUS HYACINTHUS DE ARCHANGELIS 291 
 
 Quinimo irrationahilior 
 
 Ipsismet belhiis, nay, contrariwise, 
 
 Much more irrational than brutes themselves, 
 
 Should be considered, rejnitetur ! How ? 
 
 If a poor animal feel honor smart, 
 
 Taught by blind instinct nature plants in him. 
 
 Shall man, — confessed creation's master-stroke, 
 
 Nay, intellectual glory, nay, a god. 
 
 Nay, of the nature of my Judges here, — 
 
 Shall man prove the insensible, the block. 
 
 The blot o' the earth he crawls on to disgrace ? 
 
 (Come, that 's both solid and poetic !) Man 
 
 Derogate, live for the low tastes alone. 
 
 Mean creeping cares about the animal life ? j 
 
 Absit such homage to vile flesh and blood! 
 
 (May Gigia have remembered, nothing stings 
 Fried liver out of its monotony 
 Of richness, like a root of fennel, chopped 
 Fine with the parsley : parsley-sprigs, I said — 
 Was there need I should say " and fennel too " ? 
 But no, she cannot have been so obtuse ! 
 To our argument ! The fennel will be chopped ) 
 
 From beast to man next mount we — ay, but, mind. 
 Still mere man, not yet Christian, — that, in time ! 
 Not too fast, mark you ! 'Tis on Heathen grounds 
 We next defend our act : then, fairly urge — 
 If this were done of old, in a green tree. 
 Allowed in the Spring rawness of our kind, 
 What may be licensed in the Autumn dry 
 And ripe, the latter harvest-tide of man ? 
 If, with his poor and primitive half-lights. 
 The Pagan, whom our devils served for gods. 
 Could stigmatize the breach of marriage-vow 
 As that which blood, blood only might efface, — 
 Absolve the husband, outraged, whose revenge 
 Anticipated law, plied sword himself, — 
 How with the Christian in full blaze of noon ? 
 Shall not he rather double penalty, 
 Multiply vengeance, than, degenerate, 
 Let privilege be minished, droop, decay ? 
 Therefore set forth at large the ancient law ! 
 Superabundant the examples be 
 To pick and choose from. The Athenian Code, 
 Solon's, the name is serviceable, — then. 
 
292 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 The Laws of the Twelve Tables, that fifteenth, — 
 " Romulus " likewise rolls out round and large. 
 The Julian ; the Cornelian ; Gracchus' Law : 
 So old a chime, the bells ring of themselves I 
 Spreti can set that going if he please, 
 I point you, for my part, the belfry plain, 
 Intent to rise from dusk, diluculuvi, 
 Into the Christian day shall broaden next. 
 
 First, the fit compliment to His Holiness 
 
 Happily reigning : then sustain the point — 
 
 All that w^as long ago declared as law 
 
 By the natural revelation, stands confirmed 
 
 By Apostle and Evangelist and Saint, — 
 
 To wit — that Honor is man's supreme good. 
 
 Why should I balk Saint Jerome of his phrase ? 
 
 Uhi honor non est, where no honor is, 
 
 Ibi contemptus est ; and where contempt, ^ 
 
 Ihi injuria frequens ; and where that, 
 
 The frequent injury, ihi et indignatio ; 
 
 And vvhere the indignation, ihi quies 
 
 Nulla : and where there is no quietude, 
 
 Why, ihi, there, the mind is often cast 
 
 Down from the heights where it proposed to dweU, 
 
 Mens a proposito sa'j^e dejicitur. 
 
 And naturally the mind is so cast down, 
 
 Since harder 't is, qunm difficilius sit, 
 
 Irani cohihere, to coerce one's wrath, 
 
 Quani Tuiracula facere, than work miracles, — 
 
 So Gregory smiles in his First Dialogue. 
 
 Whence we infer, the ingenuous soul, the man 
 
 Who makes esteem of honor and repute. 
 
 Whenever honor and repute are touched, 
 
 Arrives at term of fury and despair. 
 
 Loses all guidance from the reason-check : 
 
 As in delirium or a frenzy-fit. 
 
 Nor fury nor despair he satiates, — no, 
 
 Not even if he attain the impossible, 
 
 O'erturn the hinges of the universe 
 
 To annihilate — not whoso caused the smart 
 
 Solely, the author simply of his pain, 
 
 But the place, the memory, vituperii, 
 
 O' the shame and scorn : quia, — says Solomon, 
 
 (The Holy Spirit speaking by his mouth 
 
 In Proverbs, the sixth chapter near the end) 
 
 — Because, the zeal and fury of a man, 
 
DOM FN us HYACINTHUS DE ARCHANGELIS 293 
 
 Zelus et furor viri, will not spare, 
 
 Non parcet, in the clay of his revenge, 
 
 In die vindict(B, nor will acquiesce, 
 
 JVec acquiescet, through a person's prayers, 
 
 Cujusdayn precibus, — nee snscijnety 
 
 Nor yet take, pro redemptione^ for 
 
 Redemption, dona plariuni, gifts of friends, 
 
 Mere money-payment to compound for ache. 
 
 Who recognizes not my client's case ? 
 
 "Whereto, as strangely consentaneous here. 
 
 Adduce Saint Bernard in the Epistle writ 
 
 To Robertulus, his nephew : " Too much grief. 
 
 Dolor quippe nimius non deliberate 
 
 Does not excogitate propriety, 
 
 Non verecundatur^ nor knows shame at all, 
 
 Non considit ratio7iem, nor consults 
 
 Reason, non dignitatis nietuit 
 
 DamnuTn^ nor dreads the loss of dignity ; 
 
 Modum et ordinem, order and the mode, 
 
 Ignorat^ it ignores : " why, trait for trait. 
 
 Was ever portrait limned so like the life ? 
 
 (By Cavalier Maratta, shall I say ? 
 
 I hear he 's first in reputation now.) 
 
 Yes, that of Samson in the Sacred Text : 
 
 That 's not so much the portrait as the man ! 
 
 Samson in Gaza was the antetype 
 
 Of Guido at Rome : observe the Nazarite ! 
 
 Blinded he was, — an easy thing to bear : 
 
 Intrepidly he took imprisonment. 
 
 Gyves, stripes, and daily labor at the mill : 
 
 But when he found himself, i' the public place, 
 
 Destined to make the common people sport, 
 
 Disdain burned up with such an impetus 
 
 I' the breast of him, that, all the man one fire, 
 
 Moriatur, roared he, let my soul's self die, 
 
 Anima mea, with the Philistines ! 
 
 So, pulled down pillar, roof, and death and all, 
 
 Midtosque plnres interfecit, ay. 
 
 And many more he killed thus, w.oriens^ 
 
 Dying, quani vivns, than in his whole life, 
 
 Occiderat, he ever killed before. 
 
 Are these things writ for no example, Sirs ? 
 
 One instance more, and let me see who doubts ! 
 
 Our Lord Himself, made all of mansuetude. 
 
 Sealing the sum of sufferance up, received 
 
 Opprobrium, contumely and buffeting 
 
294 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Without complaint : but when He found Himself 
 
 Touched in His honor never so little for once, 
 
 Then out broke indignation pent before — 
 " Honorem vieum nemitii dabo ! " " No, 
 
 My honor I to nobody will give ! " 
 
 And certainly the example so hath wrought. 
 
 That whosoever, at the proper worth. 
 
 Apprises worldly honor and repute, 
 
 Esteems it nobler to die honored man 
 
 Beneath Mannaia, than live centuries 
 
 Disgraced in the eye o' the world. We find Saint Paul 
 
 No recreant to this faith delivered once : 
 " Far worthier were it that I died," cries he, 
 
 Expedit mi/ii viagis mori, " than 
 
 That any one should make my glory void," 
 
 Quam lit gloriam meam quis evacuet ! 
 
 See, ad Corinthienses : whereupon 
 
 Saint Ambrose makes a comment with much fruit. 
 
 Doubtless my Judges long since laid to heart. 
 
 So I desist from bringing forward here. 
 
 (I can't quite recollect it.) 
 
 Have I proved 
 Satis superque, both enough and to spare, 
 That Revelation old and new admits 
 The natural man may effervesce in ire, 
 O'erflood earth, o'erfroth heaven with foamy rage, 
 At the first puncture to his self-respect ? 
 Then, Sirs, this Christian dogma, this law-bud 
 Full-blown now, soon to bask the absolute flower 
 Of Papal doctrine in our blaze of day, — 
 Bethink you, shall we mins one promise-streak. 
 One doubtful birth of dawn crepuscular. 
 One dew-drop comfort to humanity. 
 Now that the chalice teems with noonday wine ? 
 Yea, argue Molinists who bar revenge — 
 Referring just to what makes out our case ! 
 Under old dispensation, argue they. 
 The doom of the adulterous wife was death. 
 Stoning by Moses' law. " Nay, stone her not. 
 Put her away ! " next legislates our Lord ; 
 And last of all, " Nor yet divorce a wife ! " 
 Ordains the Church, " she typifies ourself, 
 The Bride no fault shall cause to fall from Christ." 
 Then, as no jot nor tittle of the Law 
 Has passed away — which who presumes to doubt ? 
 
DOMINUS HYACINTHUS DE ARCHANGELIS 295 
 
 As not one word of Christ is rendered vain — 
 Which, could it be though heaven and earth should pass ? 
 — AVhere do 1 find my proper punishment 
 For my adulterous wife, I humbly ask 
 Of my infallible Pope, — who now remits 
 Even the divorce allowed by Christ in lieu 
 Of lapidation Moses licensed me ? 
 The Gospel checks the Law which throws the stone, 
 The Church tears the divorce-bill Gospel grants : 
 Shall wives sin and enjoy impunity ? 
 What profits me the fulness of the days, 
 The final dispensation, I demand, 
 Unless Law, Gospel, and the Church subjoin, 
 " But who hath barred thee primitive revenge, 
 Which, like fire damped and dammed up, burns more fierce ? 
 Use thou thy natural privilege of man. 
 Else wert thou found like those old ingrate Jews, 
 Despite the manna-banquet on the board, 
 A-longing after melons, cucumbers. 
 And such like trash of Egypt left behind ! " 
 
 (There was one melon had improved our soup : 
 
 But did not Cinoncino need the rind 
 
 To make a boat with ? So I seem to think.) 
 
 Law, Gospel, and the Church — from these we leap 
 To the very last revealment, easy rule 
 Befittinor the well-born and thorousfh-bred 
 O' the happy day we live in, not the dark 
 O' the early rude and acorn-eating race. 
 " Behold," quoth James, " we bridle in a horse 
 And turn his body as we would thereby ! " 
 Yea, but we change the bit to suit the growth, 
 And rasp our colt's jaw with a rugged spike, 
 We hasten to remit our managed steed 
 AVho wheels round at persuasion of a touch. 
 Civilization bows to decency. 
 
 The acknowledged use and wont : 't is manners — mild 
 But yet imperative law — which make the man. 
 Thus do we ])ay the proper compliment 
 To rank, and that society of Rome 
 Hath so obliged us by its interest, 
 Taken our client's part instinctively, 
 As unaware defending its own cause. 
 What dictum doth Society lay down 
 I' the case of one who hath a faithless wife ? 
 
296 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Wherewithal should the husband cleanse his way ? 
 
 Be patient and forgive ? Oh, language fails, — 
 
 Shrinks from depicturing his turpitude ! 
 
 For if wronged husband raise not hue and cry, 
 
 Quod si maritus de adulter io non 
 
 Conquereretur, he 's presumed a — f oh ! 
 
 Presumitur leno : so, complain he must. 
 
 But how complain ? At your tribunal, lords ? 
 
 Far weightier challenge suits your sense, I wot ! 
 
 You sit not to have gentlemen propose 
 
 Questions gentility can itself discuss. 
 
 Did not you prove that to our brother Paul ? 
 
 The Abate, quum judicialiter 
 
 Prosequeretu7', when he tried the law, 
 
 Guidonis causani, in Count Guide's case, 
 
 Accidit ipsi, this befell himself, 
 
 Quod risu7n moverit et cachinnos, that 
 
 He moved to mirth and cachinnation, all 
 
 Or nearly all, fere in omnibus 
 
 Etiam sensatis et cordatis, men 
 
 Strong-sensed, sound-hearted, nay, the very Court, 
 
 Ipsismet in judicibits, I might add, 
 
 N'on ta7nen dicam. In a cause like this, 
 
 So multiplied were reasons pro and con, 
 
 Delicate, intertwisted and obscure. 
 
 That Law refused loan of a finger-tip 
 
 To unravel, readjust the hopeless twine, 
 
 Since, half-a-dozen steps outside Law's seat. 
 
 There stood a foolish trifler with a tool 
 
 A-dangle to no purpose by his side, 
 
 Had clearly cut the embroilment in a trice. 
 
 Asserunt enlm unariimiter 
 
 Doctores, for the Doctors all assert, 
 
 That husbands, quod inariti, must be held 
 
 Viles, coniutl reputantur, vile. 
 
 Fronts branching forth a florid infamy, 
 
 Si propriis ma?iibi(s, if with their own hands, 
 
 Non sumunt, they fail straightway take revenge, 
 
 Vindictam, but expect the deed be done 
 
 By the Court — expectant illam fieri 
 
 Per judices, qui sunimopere rident, which 
 
 Gives an enormous guffaw for reply, 
 
 £Jt cachinnajitur. For he ran away, 
 
 Deliquit eniTn, just that he might 'scape 
 
 The censure of both counsellors and crowd, 
 
 Ut vulgi et Doctoriim evitaret 
 
DOMINUS HYACINTHUS DE ARCHANGELIS 29T 
 
 Censuravi, and lest so he superadd 
 
 To loss of honor ignominy too, 
 
 Et sic ne istam quoque iynominiam 
 
 Amisso honori superadderet. 
 
 My lords, my lords, the inconsiderate step 
 
 Was — we referred ourselves to law at all ! 
 
 Twit me not with, '" Law else had punished you ! " 
 
 Each punishment of the extra-legal step, 
 
 To which the high-born preferably revert, 
 
 Is ever for some oversight, some slip 
 
 I' the taking vengeance, not for vengeance' self. 
 
 A good thing, done unhandsomely, turns ill ; 
 
 And never yet lacked ill the law's rebuke. 
 
 For pregnant instance, let us contemplate 
 
 The luck of Leonardus, — see at large 
 
 Of Sicily's Decisions sixty-first. 
 
 This Leonard finds his wife is false : what then ? 
 
 He makes her own son snare her, and entice 
 
 Out of the town walls to a jjrivate walk, 
 
 Wherein he slays her with commodity. 
 
 They find her body half-devoured by dogs : 
 
 Leonard is tried, convicted, punished, sent 
 
 To labor in the galleys seven years long : 
 
 Why ? For the murder ? Nay, but for the mode ! 
 
 Mollis modus occidendi^ ruled the Court, 
 
 An ugly mode of killing, nothing more ! 
 
 Another fructuous sample, — see " De Re 
 
 Criminali,''^ in Matthaeus' divine piece. 
 
 Another husband, in no better plight, 
 
 Simulates absence, thereby tempts his wife ; 
 
 On whom he falls, out of sly ambuscade. 
 
 Backed by a brother of his, and both of them 
 
 Armed to the teeth with arms that law had blamed. 
 
 Nimis dolose^ overwilily, 
 
 Fuisse operatum, did they work. 
 
 Pronounced the law : had all been fairly done 
 
 Law had not found him worthy, as she did. 
 
 Of four years' exile. Why cite more ? Enough 
 
 Is good as a feast — (unless a birthday-feast 
 
 For one's Cinuccio) so, we finish here. 
 
 My lords, we rather need defend ourselves 
 
 Inasmuch as, for a twinkling of an eye. 
 
 We hesitatingly appealed to law, — 
 
 Than need deny that, on mature advice. 
 
 We blushingly bethought us, bade revenge 
 
 Back to its simple proper private way 
 
298 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Of decent self-dealt gentlemanly death. 
 Judges, here is the law, and here beside, 
 The testimony ! Look to it ! 
 
 Pause and breathe ! 
 So far is only too plain ; we must watch : 
 Bottini will scarce hazard an attack 
 Here : let 's anticipate the fellow's play, 
 And guard the weaker places — warily ask, 
 What if considerations of a sort, 
 Reasons of a kind, arise from out the stranofe 
 Peculiar unforeseen new circumstance 
 Of this our (candor owns) abnormal act. 
 To bar the right of us revenging so ? 
 
 ^^ Impunity Avere otherwise your meed : 
 Go slay your wife and welcome," — may be urged, 
 
 " But why the innocent old couple slay, 
 Pietro, Violante ? You may do enough, 
 Not too much, not exceed the golden mean : 
 Neither brute-beast nor Pagan, Gentile, Jew, 
 Nor Christian, no nor votarist of the mode. 
 Is justified to push revenge so far ! " 
 
 No, indeed ? Why, thou very sciolist I 
 
 The actual wrong, Pompilia seemed to do, 
 
 Was virtual wrong done by the parents liere — 
 
 Imposing her upon us as their child — 
 
 Themselves allow : then, her fault was their fault, 
 
 Her punishment be theirs accordingly ! 
 
 But wait a little, sneak not oft' so soon ! 
 
 Was this cheat solely harm to Guido, pray ? 
 
 The precious couple you call innocent, — 
 
 Why, they were felons that Law failed to clutch, 
 
 Qui ut fraudarent^ who that they might rob. 
 
 Legitime vocatos, folk law called. 
 
 Ad fidei com7nissu7)i, true heirs to the Trust, 
 
 Partum supposuenint, feigned this birth, 
 
 Immemores reos factos esse, blind 
 
 To the fact that, guilty, they incurred thereby, 
 
 Ulti'nii supplicii, hanging or what 's worse. 
 
 Do you blame us that we turn Law's instruments, 
 
 Not mere self-seekers, — mind the public weal, 
 
 Nor make the private good our sole concern ? 
 
 That having — shall I say — secured a thief. 
 
 Not simply we recover from his pouch 
 
 The stolen article our property, 
 
 But also pounce upon our neighbor's purse 
 
DOMINUS HYACINTHUS DE ARCHANGELIS 299 
 
 We opportunely find reposing there, 
 
 And do him justice while we right ourselves ? 
 
 He owes us, for our part, a drubbing say. 
 
 But owes our neighbor just a dance i' the air 
 
 Under the gallows : so, we throttle him. 
 
 That neighbor 's Law, that couple are the Thief, 
 
 We are the over-ready to help Law — 
 
 Zeal of her house hath eaten us up : for which, 
 
 Can it be, Law intends to eat up us, 
 
 Crudu7ti Pria7nu7n, devour poor Priam raw, 
 
 ('T was Jupiter's own joke,) with babes to boot, 
 
 Priamique pislnnos, in Homeric phrase ? 
 
 Shame ! and so ends my period prettily. 
 
 But even, — prove the pair not culpable. 
 Free as unborn babe from connivance at, 
 Participation in, their daughter's fault : 
 Ours the mistake. Is that a rare event? 
 Non seinel, it is anything but rare, 
 In contingentia facti, that by chance, 
 Ivipunes evaserunt, go scot-free. 
 Qui, such well-meaning people as ourselves, 
 Justo dolore moti, who aggrieved 
 With cause, apposueriint mantis, lay 
 Rough hands, in innocentes, on wrong heads. 
 Cite we an illustrative case in point : 
 Mulier Smiimea quoedmn, good my lords, 
 A gentlewoman lived in Smyrna once, 
 Virum etfilium ex eo conceptum, who 
 Both husband and her son begot by him, 
 Killed, interfecerat, ex quo, because, 
 Vir filiiim suurn perdiderat, her spouse 
 Had been beforehand with her, killed her son, 
 Matrimonii primi, of a previous bed. 
 Deinde accusata, then accused, 
 Apud Dolabellam, before him that sat 
 Proconsul, nee duahus cmdibus 
 Contaminatam lihevare, nor 
 To liberate a woman doubly-dyed 
 With murder, voliiit, made he up his mind, 
 Nee condemnare, nor to doom to death, 
 Justo dolore hnpndsam, one impelled 
 By just grief ; sed remisit, but sent her up 
 Ad Areopagum, to the Hill of Mars, 
 Sapientissimorum judicum 
 Coetum, to that assembly of the sage 
 
300 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Paralleled only by my judges here ; 
 
 Uhi, cognito de causa, where, the cause 
 
 Well weighed, responsum est, they gave reply, 
 
 Ut ipsa et accifsato?', that both sides 
 
 O' the suit, redirent, should come back again, 
 
 Post centum aniios, after a hundred years, 
 
 For judgment ; et sic, by which sage decree, 
 
 Duplici parricidio rea, one 
 
 Convicted of a double parricide, 
 
 Quamvis etiam innocentem, though in truth 
 
 Out of the pair, one innocent at least 
 
 She, occidtsset, plainly had put to death, 
 
 Undequaque, yet she altogether 'scaped, 
 
 Evasit ivipunis. See the case at length 
 
 In Valerius, fittingly styled Maximus, 
 
 That eighth book of his Memorable Facts. 
 
 Nor Cyriacus cites beside the mark : 
 
 Similiter uxor qua} mandaverat, 
 
 Just so, a lady who had taken care, 
 
 Hoviicldium viri, that her lord be killed, 
 
 Ex de7iegatw7ie debiti. 
 
 For denegation of a certain debt, 
 
 Matrimonialis, he was loth to pay, 
 
 Fuit pecuniar ia mulcta, was 
 
 Amerced in a pecuniary mulct, 
 
 Eunita, et ad pcenam, and to pains, 
 
 Temporalem, for a certain space of time, 
 
 lu monasterio, in a convent. 
 
 (Ay, 
 In monasterio! He mismanages 
 In with the ablative, the accusative ! 
 I had hoped to have hitched the villain into verse 
 For a gift, this very day, a complete list 
 O' the prepositions each with proper case. 
 Telling a story, long was in my head. 
 What prepositions take the accusative ? 
 -4c? to or at — who saw the cat ? — down to 
 Ob, for, because of, keep her claws off! Tush! 
 Law in a man takes the whole liberty : 
 The muse is fettered : just as Ovid found !^ 
 
 And now, sea widens and the coast is clear. 
 What of the dubious act you bade excuse ? 
 Surely things broaden, brighten, till at length 
 Remains — so far from act that needs defence — 
 
DOM IN us HYACINTHUS DE ARCHANGELIS 301 
 
 Apology to make for act delayed 
 One minute, let alone eight mortal months 
 Of hesitation ! " Why procrastinate ? " 
 (Out witli it my Bottinius, ease thyself!) 
 " Right, promptly done, is twice right : right delayed 
 Turns wrong. We grant you should have killed your wife, 
 But killed o' the moment, at the meeting her 
 In company with the priest : then did the tongue 
 O' the Brazen Head give license, ' Time is now ! ' 
 Wait to make mind up ? ' Time is past ' it peals. 
 Friend, you are competent to mastery 
 O' the passions that confessedly explain 
 An outbreak : you allow an interval, 
 And then break out as if time's clock still clanged. 
 You have forfeited your chance, and flat you fall 
 Into the commonplace category 
 Of men bound to go softly all their days, 
 Obeying law." 
 
 Now, which way make response ? 
 What was the answer Guido gave, himself ? 
 — That so to argue came of ignorance 
 How honor bears a wound : " For, wound," said he, 
 " My body, and the smart soon mends and ends : 
 While, wound my soul where honor sits and rules, 
 Longer the sufferance, stronger grows the pain, 
 Being ex incontinentia fresh as first." 
 But try another tack, urge common sense 
 By way of contrast : say — Too true, my lords ! 
 We did demur, awhile did hesitate : 
 Since husband sure should let a scruple speak 
 Ere he slay wife, — for his own safety, lords ! 
 Carpers abound in this misjudging world : 
 Moreover, there 's a nicety in law 
 That seems to justify them should they carp. 
 Suppose the source of injury a son, — 
 Father may slay such son yet run no risk : 
 Why graced with such a privilege ? Because 
 A father so incensed with his own child, 
 Or nmst have reason, or believe he has : 
 Quia semper, seeing that in such event, 
 Presumitiir, the law is bound suppose. 
 Quod capiat pater, that the sire must take, 
 Bonum consiliwn pro filio, 
 The best course as to what befits his boy, 
 Through instinct, ex instincts, of mere love, 
 Amoris, 2ir\A, p)aterni^ fatherhood; 
 
302 THE RING AND THE BOOK. 
 
 Quam confidentiarriy which confidence, 
 Non hahet, law declines to entertain, 
 De viro, of the husband : where finds he 
 An instinct that compels him love his wife ? 
 Rather is he presumably her foe. 
 So, let him ponder long in this bad world 
 Ere do the simplest act of justice. 
 f 
 
 But 
 Again — and here we brush Bottini's breast — 
 Object you, " See the danger of delay ! 
 Suppose a man murdered my friend last month : 
 Had I come up and killed him for his pains 
 In rage, I had done right, allows the law : 
 I meet him now and kill him in cold blood, 
 I do wrong, equally allows the law : 
 Wherein do actions differ, yours and mine ? '* 
 J71 j)lenitudine intellecUis es ? 
 Hast thy wits, Fisc ? To take such slayer's life. 
 Returns it life to thy slain friend at all ? 
 Had he stolen ring instead of stabbing friend, — 
 To-day, to-morrow, or next century. 
 Meeting the thief, thy ring upon his thumb. 
 Thou justifiably hadst wrung it thence : 
 So, couldst thou wrench thy friend's life back again. 
 Though prisoned in the bosom of his foe. 
 Why, law would look complacent on thy wrath. 
 Our case is, that the thing we lost, we found : 
 The honor, we were robbed of eight months since. 
 Being recoverable at any day 
 By death of the delinquent. Go thy ways ! 
 Ere thou hast learned law, will be much to do. 
 As said the gaby while he shod the goose. 
 
 Nay, if you urge me, interval was none ! 
 
 From the inn to the Villa — blank or else a bar 
 
 Of adverse and contrarious incident 
 
 Solid between us and our just revenge ! 
 
 What with the priest who flourishes his blade. 
 
 The wife who like a fury flings at us, 
 
 The crowd — and then the capture, the appeal 
 
 To Rome, the journey there, the jaunting thence, 
 
 To shelter at the House of Convertites, 
 
 The visits to the Villa, and so forth. 
 
 Where was one minute left us all this while 
 
 To put in execution that revenge 
 
DOMINUS HYACINTHUS DE ARCHANGELIS 303 
 
 We planned o' the instant ? — as it were, plumped down 
 O' the spot, some eight months since, which round sound 
 
 egg, 
 
 Rome, more propitious than our nest, should hatch ! 
 
 Object not, '' You reached Rome on Christmas-eve, 
 
 And, despite liberty to act at once, 
 
 Waited a whole and indecorous week ! " 
 
 Hath so the Molinism, the canker, lords, 
 
 Eaten to our bone ? Is no religion left ? 
 
 No care for aught held holy by the Church ? 
 
 What, would you have us skip and miss those Feasts 
 
 O' the Natal Time, must we go prosecute 
 
 Secular business on a sacred day ? 
 
 Should not the merest charity expect. 
 
 Setting our poor concerns aside for once, 
 
 We harried to the song matutinal 
 
 I' the Sistine, and pressed forward for the Mass 
 
 The Cardinal that 's Camerlengo chants. 
 
 Then rushed on to the blessing: of the Hat 
 
 And Rapier, which the Pope sends to what prince 
 
 Has done most detriment to the Infidel — 
 
 And thereby whetted courage if 't were blunt ? 
 
 Meantime, allow we kept the house a week, 
 
 Suppose not we were idle in our mew ! 
 
 Picture us raging here and raving there — 
 ' * Money? ' I need none. ' Friends ? ' The word is null. 
 
 Restore the white was on that shield of mine 
 
 Borne at " . . . wherever might be shield to bear. 
 *' I see my grandsire, he who fought so well 
 
 At " . . . here find out and put in time and place, 
 
 Or else invent the fight his grandsire fought : 
 '' I see this ! I see that ! " 
 
 (See nothing else, 
 Or I shall scarce see lamb's fry in an hour ! 
 What to the uncle, as I bid advance 
 The smoking dish ? " Fry suits a tender tooth ! 
 Behoves we care a little for our kin — 
 You, Sir, — who care so much for cousinship 
 As come to your poor loving nephew's feast ! " 
 He has the reversion of a long lease yet — 
 Land to bequeath ! He loves lamb's fry, I know !) 
 
 Here fall to be considered those same six 
 Qualities ; what Bottini needs must call 
 So many aggravations of our crime, 
 
304 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Parasite-growtli upon mere murder's back. 
 
 We summarily might dispose of such 
 
 By some off-hand and jaunty fling, some skit —^ 
 
 " So, since there 's proved no crime to aggravate, 
 A fico for your aggravations, Fisc ! " 
 No, — handle mischief rather, — play with spells 
 Were meant to raise a spirit, and laugh the while 
 We show that did he rise we stand his match ! 
 Therefore, first aggravation : we made up — 
 Over and above our simple murderous selves — 
 A regular assemblage of armed men, 
 Coadunatio armatorum^ — ay, 
 Unluckily it was the very judge 
 That sits in judgment on our cause to-day 
 Who passed the law as Governor of Rome : 
 
 "Four men armed," — though for lawful purpose, mark! 
 Much more for an acknowledged crime, — " shall die." 
 We five were armed to the teeth, meant murder too ? 
 Why, that 's the very point that saves us, Fisc ! 
 Let me instruct you. Crime nor done nor meant, — 
 You punish still who arm and congregate : 
 For wherefore use bad means to a good end ? 
 Crime being meant not done, — you punish still 
 The means to crime, whereon you haply pounce, 
 Though accident have balked them of effect. 
 But crime not only compassed but complete. 
 Meant and done too ? Why, since you have the end, 
 Be that your sole concern, nor mind those means 
 No longer to the purpose ! Murdered we ? 
 ( — Which, that our luck was in the present case, 
 Quod contigisse in prcesenti casu, 
 Is palpable, vianibus palpatum est — ) 
 Make murder out against us, nothing else ! 
 Of many crimes committed with a view 
 To one main crime. Law overlooks the less, 
 Intent upon the large. Suppose a man 
 Having in view commission of a theft. 
 Climbs the town-wall : 't is for the theft he hangs, 
 In case he stands convicted of such theft : 
 Law remits whipping, due to who clomb waU 
 Through bravery or wantonness alone. 
 Just to dislodge a daw's nest, plant a flag. 
 So I interpret you the manly mind 
 Of him about to judge both you and me, — 
 Our Governor, who, being no Fisc, my Fisc, 
 Cannot have blundered on ineptitude ! 
 
DOMINUS HYACINTHUS DE ARCIIANGELIS 305 
 
 Next aggravation, — that the arms themselves 
 
 Were specially of such forbidden sort 
 
 Through shape or length or breadth, as, prompt. Law 
 
 plucks 
 From single hand of solitary man, 
 Making him pay the carriage with his life : 
 Delatio armorum, arms against the rule, 
 Contra formain co?istitutionis, of 
 Pope Alexander's blessed memory. 
 Such are the poniards with the double prong, 
 Horn-like, when tines make bold the an tiered buck, 
 Each prong of brittle glass — wherewith to stab 
 And break off short and so let fragment stick 
 Fast in the flesh to baffle surgery : 
 Such being the Genoese blade with hooked edge 
 That did us service at the villa here. 
 Sed par cat mihi tarn eximius vir, 
 But, — let so rare a personage forgive, — 
 Fisc, thy objection is a foppery ! 
 Thy charge runs that we killed three innocents : 
 Killed, dost see ? Then, if killed, what matter how ? — 
 By stick or stone, by sword or dagger, tool 
 Long or tool short, round or triangular — 
 Poor slain folk find small comfort in the choice ! 
 Means to an end, means to an end, my Fisc ! 
 Nature cries out," Take the first arms you find ! '* 
 Furor ministrat arma : where 's a stone ? 
 Uiide 7711 lapidem, where darts for me ? 
 Unde sagittas ? But subdue the bard 
 And rationalize a little. Eight months since. 
 Had we, or had we not. incurred your blame 
 For letting 'scape unpunished this bad pair ? 
 I think I proved that in last paragraph ! 
 Why did we so ? Because our courage failed. 
 Wherefore ? Through lack of arms to fight the foe : 
 We had no arms or merely lawful ones. 
 An unimportant sword and blunderbuss. 
 Against a foe, i:)ollent in potency. 
 The amasius, and our vixen of a wife. 
 Well then, how culpably do we gird loin 
 And once more undertake the high emprise, 
 Unless we load ourselves this second time 
 With handsome superfluity of arms. 
 Since better is " too much " than " not enough," 
 And ^^ plus no7i vitiat," too much does no harm, 
 Except in mathematics, sages say. 
 
oOQ THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Gather instruction from the parable ! 
 
 At" jfirst we are advised — "A lad hath here 
 
 Seven barley loaves and two small fishes : what 
 
 Is that among so many ? " Aptly asked : 
 
 But put that question twice and, quite as apt, 
 
 The answer is, " Fragments, twelve baskets full ! '' 
 
 And, while we speak of superabundance, fling 
 
 We word by the way to fools who cast their flout 
 
 On Guido — " Punishment were pardoned him, 
 
 But here the punishment exceeds offence : 
 
 He might be just, but he was cruel too ! " 
 
 Why, grant there seems a kind of cruelty 
 
 In downright stabbing people he could maim, 
 
 (If so you stigmatize the stern and strict) 
 
 Still, Guido meant no cruelty — may plead 
 
 Transgression of his mandate, over-zeal 
 
 O' the part of his companions : all he craved 
 
 W^as, they should fray the faces of the folk, 
 
 Merely disfigure, nowise make them die. 
 
 Solummodo fassus est, he owns no more, 
 
 Dedisse mandatum, than that he desired. 
 
 Ad sfrisiandum, dicam, that they hack 
 
 And hew, i' the customary phrase, his wife, 
 
 Uxorem tantum^ and no harm beside. 
 
 If his instructions then be misconceived, 
 
 Nay, disobeyed, impute you blame to him ? 
 
 Cite me no Panicollus to the point. 
 
 As adverse ! Oh, I quite expect his case — 
 
 How certain noble youths of Sicily 
 
 Having good reason to mistrust their wives. 
 
 Killed them and were absolved in consequence : 
 
 While others who had gone beyond the need 
 
 By mutilation of each paramour — 
 
 As Galba in the Horatian satire grieved 
 
 — These were condemned to the galleys, cast for guilt 
 
 Exceeding simple murder of a wife. 
 
 But why ? Because of ugliness, and not 
 
 Cruelty, in the said revenge, I trow ! 
 
 Mx causa abscissionis partium ; 
 
 Qui nempe id fa/iientes reputantur 
 
 Naturce inimici, man revolts 
 
 Against them as the natural enemy. 
 
 Pray, grant to one who meant to slit the nose 
 
 And slash the cheek and slur the mouth, at most, 
 
 A somewhat more humane award than these 
 
DOMINUS HYACiyTHUS DE ARCHANGELIS 307 
 
 Obtained, these natural enemies of man ! 
 Objectuvi fundltits corruit, flat you fall, 
 My Fisc ! I waste no kick on you, but pass. 
 
 Third aggravation : that our act was done — 
 
 Not in the public street, where safety lies, 
 
 Not in the by-place, caution may avoid. 
 
 Wood, cavern, desert, spots contrived for crime, — 
 
 But in the very house, home, nook and nest, 
 
 O' the victims, murdered in their dwelling-place, 
 
 l7i domo ac hah itatione propria, 
 
 Where all presumably is peace and joy. 
 
 The spider, crime, pronounce we twice a pest 
 
 When, creeping from congenial cottage, she 
 
 Taketh hold with her hands, to horrify 
 
 His household more, i' the palace of the king. 
 
 All three were housed and safe and confident. 
 
 Moreover, the permission that our wife 
 
 Should have at^length domum pro carcere, 
 
 Her own abode in place of prison — why, 
 
 We ourselves granted, by our other self 
 
 And proxy Paolo : did we make such grant, 
 
 Meaning a lure ? — elude the vigilance 
 
 O' the jailer, lead her to commodious death, 
 
 While we ostensibly relented ? 
 
 Ay, ^ 
 Just so did we, nor otherwise, my Fisc ! 
 Is vengeance lawful ? We demand our right, 
 But find it will be questioned or refused 
 By jailer, turnkey, hangdog, — what know we ? 
 Pray, how is it we should conduct ourselves ? 
 To gain our private right — break public peace. 
 Do you bid us ? — trouble order with our broils ? 
 Endanger . . . shall I shrink to own . . . ourselves ? — 
 Who want no broken head nor bloody nose 
 (While busied slitting noses, breaking heads) 
 From the first tipstaif that may interfere ! 
 Nam quicquid sit, for howsoever it be, 
 An de consensu nosfro, if with leave 
 Or not, a monasterio, from the nuns, 
 Educta esset, she had been led forth, 
 Potuimus id dissimulare, we 
 May well have granted leave in pure pretence, 
 Ut aditum habere, that thereby 
 An entry we might compass, a free move 
 Potuissemus, to her easy death, 
 
308 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Ad earn occidendam. Privacy 
 
 O' the hearth, and sanctitude of home, say you ? 
 
 Shall we give man's abode more privilege 
 
 Than God's ? — for in the churches where He dwells, 
 
 In quibus assist it Reguin Rex, by means 
 
 Of His essence, |:>er essentiaiti, all the same, 
 
 Ut nihilominics, therein, in eis, 
 
 Ex justa via delinquens, whoso dares 
 
 To take a liberty on ground enough, 
 
 Is pardoned, excusatur : that 's our case — 
 
 Delinquent through befitting cause. You hold, 
 
 To punish a false wife in her own house 
 
 Is graver than, what happens every day, 
 
 To hale a debtor from his hiding-place 
 
 In church protected by the Sacrament ? 
 
 To this conclusion have I brought my Fisc ? 
 
 Foxes have holes, and fowls o' the air their nests ; 
 
 Praise you the impiety that follows, Fisc ? 
 
 Shall false wife yet have where to lay her head ? 
 
 " Contra Fiscum definitum est ! " He 's done ! 
 
 " Surge et scribe,'' make a note of it ! 
 
 — If I may dally with Aquinas' word. 
 
 Or in the death-throe does he mutter still, 
 
 Fourth aggravation, that we changed our garb, 
 
 And rusticized ourselves with uncouth hat. 
 
 Rough vest and goatskin wrappage ; murdered thus 
 
 Mutatione vestium, in disguise. 
 
 Whereby mere murder got complexed with wile, 
 
 Turned hom.icidium ex insidiis ? Fisc, 
 
 How often must I round thee in the ears — 
 
 All means are lawful to a lawful end ? 
 
 Concede he had the right to kill his wife : 
 
 The Count indulged in a travesty ; why ? 
 
 De ilia ut vindictarn sumeret. 
 
 That on her he might lawful vengeance take, 
 
 Commodius, with more ease, et tutiits, 
 And saf elier : wants he warrant for the step ? 
 Read to thy profit how the Apostle once 
 For ease and safety, when Damascus raged, 
 Was let down in a basket by the wall. 
 To 'scape the malice of the governor 
 
 (Another sort of Governor boasts Rome !) 
 
 — Many are of opinion, — covered close. 
 Concealed with — what except that very cloak 
 He left behind at Troas afterward ? 
 
 I shall not add a syllable : Molinists may ! 
 
DOMINUS IIYACINTHUS DE ARCIIANGELIS 309 
 
 Well, have we more to manage ? Ay, indeed I 
 Fifth aggravation, that our wife reposed 
 Sub potestate Jiidicis, beneath 
 Protection of the judge^ — her house was styled 
 A prison, and his power became its guard 
 In lieu of wall and gate and bolt and bar. 
 This is a tough point, shrewd, redoubtable : 
 Because we have to supplicate that judge 
 Shall overlook wrong done the judgment-seat. 
 Now, I might suffer my own nose be pulled, 
 As man : but then as father ... if the Fisc 
 Touched one hair of my boy who held my hand 
 In confidence he could not come to harm 
 Crossing the Corso, at my own desire, 
 Goino' to see those bodies in the church — 
 What would you say to that, Don Hyacinth? 
 This is the sole and single knotty point : 
 For, bid Tonnnati blink his interest. 
 You laud his magnanimity the while : 
 But balk Tommati's office, — he talks big ! 
 " My predecessors in the place, — those sons 
 O' the prophets that may hope succeed me here, — 
 Shall I diminish their prerogative ? 
 Count Guido Franceschini's honor ! — well, 
 Has the Governor of Rome none ? " 
 
 You perceive, 
 The cards are all against us. Make a push, 
 Kick over table, as shrewd gamesters do ! 
 We, do you say, encroach upon the rights. 
 Deny the omnipotence o' the Judge forsooth ? 
 We, who have only been from first to last 
 Intending that his purpose should prevail, 
 Nay, more, at times, anticipating it 
 At risk of his rebuke ? 
 
 But wait awhile ! 
 Cannot we lump this with the sixth and last 
 Of the aggravations — that the Majesty 
 O' the Sovereign here received a wound ? to wit, 
 Lcesa Majestas, since our violence 
 Was out of envy to the course of law, 
 In odium litis ? We cut short thereby 
 Three pending suits, promoted by ourselves 
 I' the main, — which worsens crime, accedit ad 
 ExasperationeTn crivii7iis ! 
 
310 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Yes, here the eruptive wrath with full effect ! 
 
 How, did not indignation chain my tongue, 
 
 Could I repel this last, worst charge of all ! 
 
 (There is a porcupine to barbecue ; 
 
 Gigia can jug a rabbit well enough, 
 
 With sour-sweet sauce and pine-pips ; but, good Lord, 
 
 Suppose the devil instigate the wench 
 
 To stew, not roast him ? Stew my porcupine ? 
 
 If she does, I know where his quills shall stick ! 
 
 Come, I must go myself and see to things : 
 
 J cannot stay much longer stewing here.) 
 
 Our stomach ... I mean, our soul is stirred within, 
 
 And we want words. We wounded Majesty ? 
 
 Fall under such a censure, we ? — who yearned 
 
 So much that Majesty dispel the cloud 
 
 And shine on us with healing on her wings, 
 
 That we prayed Pope Majestas' very self 
 
 To anticipate a little the tardy pack, 
 
 Bell us forth deep the authoritative bay 
 
 Should start the beagles into sudden yelp 
 
 Unisonous, — and. Gospel leading Law, 
 
 Grant there assemble in our own behoof 
 
 A Congregation, a particular Court, 
 
 A few picked friends of quality and place, 
 
 To hear the several matters in dispute, 
 
 Causes big, little, and indifferent, 
 
 Bred of our marriage like a mushroom-growth. 
 
 All at once (can one brush off such too soon ?) 
 
 And so with laudable dispatch decide 
 
 AVhether we, in the main (to sink detail) 
 
 Were one the Pope should hold fast or let go. 
 
 " What, take the credit from the Law ? " you ask ? 
 Indeed, we did ! Law ducks to Gospel here : 
 Why should Law gain the glory and pronounce 
 A judgment shall immortalize the Pope ? 
 Yes : our self-abnegating policy 
 Was Joab's — we would rouse our David's sloth, 
 Bid him encamp against a city, sack 
 A place whereto ourselves had long laid siege, 
 Lest, taking it at last, it take our name 
 Nor be styled Innocentinopolis. 
 But no ! The modesty was in alarm, 
 The temperance refused to interfere. 
 Returned us our petition with the word 
 
 " Ad judices suos," " Leave him to his Judge ! " 
 As who should say, " Why trouble my repose? 
 
DOMINUS HYACINTHUS DE ARCHANGELIS 311 
 
 Why consult Peter in a simple case, 
 
 Peter's wife's sister in her fever-fit 
 
 Might solve as readily as the Apostle's self ? 
 
 Are my Tribunals posed by aught so plain ? 
 
 Hath not my Court a conscience ? It is of age, 
 
 Ask it ! " 
 
 We do ask, — but, inspire reply 
 To the Court thou bidst me ask, as I have asked — 
 Oh thou, vrho vigilantly dost attend 
 To even the fevr, the ineffectual words 
 Which rise from this our low and mundane sphere 
 Up to thy region out of smoke and noise, 
 Seeking corroboration from thy nod 
 Who art all justice — which means mercy too, 
 In a low noisy smoky world like ours 
 Where Adam's sin made peccable his seed ! 
 We venerate the father of the flock, 
 Whose last faint sands of life, the frittered gold, 
 Fall noiselessly, yet all too fast, o' the cone 
 And tapering heap of those collected years : 
 Never have these been hurried in their flow, 
 Though justice fain would jog reluctant arm. 
 In eagerness to take the forfeiture 
 Of guilty life : much less shall mercy sue 
 In vain that thou let innocence survive, 
 Precipitate no minim of the mass 
 O' the all-so precious moments of thy life. 
 By pushing Guido into death and doom ! 
 
 (Our Cardinal engages to go read 
 
 The Pope my speech, and point its beauties out. 
 
 They say, the Pope has one half-hour, in twelve. 
 
 Of somethinof like a moderate return 
 
 Of the intellectuals, — never much to lose ! — 
 
 If I adroitly plant this passage there. 
 
 The Fisc will find himself forestalled, I think, 
 
 Though he stand, beat till the old ear-drum break I 
 
 — Ah, boy of my own bowels. Hyacinth, 
 
 Wilt ever catch the knack, requite the pains 
 
 Of poor papa, become proficient too 
 
 I' the how and why and when, the time to laugh. 
 
 The time to weep, the time, again, to pray, 
 
 And all the times prescribed b}'" Holy Writ ? 
 
 "NV^ell, well, we fathers can but care, but cast 
 
 Our bread upon the waters I ) 
 
312 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 In a word, 
 These secondary charges go to ground, 
 Since secondary, and superfluous, — motes 
 Quite from the main point : we did all and some, 
 Little and much, adjunct and principal. 
 Causa honoris. Is there such a cause 
 As the sake of honor ? By that sole test try 
 Our action, nor demand if more or less. 
 Because of the action's mode, we merit blame 
 Or maybe deserve praise ! The Court decides. 
 Is the end lawful ? It allows the means : 
 What we may do, we may with safety do, 
 And what means " safety " we ourselves must judge. 
 Put case a person wrongs me past dispute : 
 If my legitimate vengeance be a blow. 
 Mistrusting my bare arm can deal that blow, 
 I claim co-operation of a stick ; 
 Doubtful if stick be tough, I crave a sword ; 
 Diffident of ability in fence, 
 I fee a friend, a swordsman to assist : 
 Take one — he may be coward, fool or knave : 
 Why not take fifty ? — and if these exceed 
 I' the due degree of drubbing, whom accuse 
 But the first author of the aforesaid wrong 
 Who put poor me to such a world of pains ? 
 Surgery would have just excised a wart ; 
 The patient made such pother, struggled so 
 That the sharp instrument sliced nose and all. 
 Taunt us not that our friends performed for pay ! 
 Ourselves had toiled for simple honor's sake : 
 But country clowns want dirt they comprehend, 
 The piece of gold ! Our reasons, which suffice 
 Ourselves, be ours alone ; our piece of gold 
 Be, to the rustic, reason he approves I 
 We must translate our motives like our speech, 
 Into the lower phrase that suits the sense 
 O' the limitedly apprehensive. Ijet 
 Each level have its language ! Heaven speaks first 
 To the angel, then the angel tames the word 
 Down to the ear of Tobit : he, in turn, 
 Diminishes the message to his dog, 
 And finally that dog finds how the flea 
 (Which else, importunate, might check his speed) 
 Shall learn its hunger must have holiday, 
 By application of his tongue or paw : 
 So many varied sorts of language here, 
 
DOMINUS HYACINTHUS DE ARCHANGELIS 313 
 
 Each following each with pace to match the step, 
 Hand passihus ceguis ! 
 
 Talking of which flea, 
 Reminds me I must put in special word 
 For the poor humble following, — the four friends, 
 Sicarii, our assassins caught and caged. 
 Ourselves are safe in your approval now : 
 Yet must we care for our companions, plead 
 The cause o' the poor, the friends (of old-world faith) 
 Who lie in tribulation for our sake. 
 Pauperum Procurator is my style : 
 I stand forth as the poor man's advocate : 
 And when we treat of what concerns the poor, 
 Et cum agatur de pauper ibus, 
 In bondage, carceratis, for their sake, 
 In ejriim causis, natural piety, 
 Pietas, ever ought to win the day, 
 Triuvipjhare debet, quia ipsi sunt, 
 Because those very paupers constitute, 
 Thesatirus Christi, all the wealth of Christ. 
 Nevertheless I shall not hold you long 
 With multiplicity of proofs, nor burn 
 Candle at noontide, clarify the clear. 
 There beams a case refulgent from our books — 
 Castrensis, Butringarius, everywhere 
 I find it burn to dissipate the dark. 
 'T is this : a husband had a friend, which friend 
 Seemed to him over-friendly with his wife 
 In thought and purpose, — I pretend no more. 
 To justify suspicion or dispel, 
 He bids his wife make show of giving heed. 
 Semblance of sympathy — propose, in fine, 
 A secret meeting in a private place. 
 The friend, enticed thus, finds an ambuscade, 
 To wit, the husband posted with a pack 
 Of other friends, who fall upon the first 
 And beat his love and life out both at once. 
 These friends were brought to question for their help ; 
 Law ruled, " The husband being in the right, 
 Who helped him in the right can scarce be wrong " — 
 Opinio, an opinion every way, 
 Midtum tenenda cordi, heart should hold ! 
 When the inferiors follow as befits 
 The lead o' the principal, they change their name, 
 And, non dicuntur, are no longer called 
 
314 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 His mandatories, mandatorii, 
 
 But helpmates, sed auxiliatores ; since 
 
 To that degree does honor's sake lend aid, 
 
 Adeo honoris causa est efficax, 
 
 That not alone, non solum, does it pour 
 
 Itself out, se dljfundat^ on mere friends 
 
 We bring to do our bidding of this sort, 
 
 In mandatorios siin2dlces, but sucks 
 
 Along with it in wide and generous whirl, 
 
 Sed etiavi assassinii qualitate 
 
 Qualificatos^ people qualified 
 
 By the quality of assassination's self, 
 
 Dare I make use of such neologism, 
 
 Ut utar verbo. 
 
 Haste we to conclude : 
 Of the other points that favor, leave some few 
 For Spreti ; such as the delinquents' youth. 
 One of them falls short, by some months, of age 
 Fit to be managed by the gallows ; two 
 May plead exemption from our law's award, 
 Being foreigners, subjects of the Granduke — 
 I spare that bone to Spreti, and reserve 
 Myself the juicier breast of argument — 
 Flinging the breast-blade i' the face o' the Fisc, 
 Who furnished me the tidbit : he must needs 
 Play off his privilege and rack the clowns, — 
 And they, at instance of the rack, confess 
 All four unanimously made resolve, — 
 The night o' the murder, in brief minute snatched 
 Behind the back of Guido as he fled, — 
 That, since he had not kept his promise, paid 
 The money for the murder on the spot. 
 So, reaching home again, might please ignore 
 The pact or pay them in improper coin, — 
 They one and all resolved, these hopeful friends, 
 'T were best inaugurate the morrow's light. 
 Nature recruited with her due repose. 
 By killing Guido as he lay asleep 
 Pillowed on wallet which contained their fee. 
 
 I thank the Fisc for knowledge of this fact : 
 What fact could hope to make more manifest 
 Their rectitude, Guido's integrity ? 
 For who fails recognize the touching truth 
 That these poor rustics bore no envy, hate. 
 
DOMINUS HYACINTHUS DE ARCHANGELIS 315 
 
 Malice nor yet uricharitableness 
 
 Against the peoi)le they had put to death ? 
 
 In them, did such an act reward itself ? 
 
 All done was to deserve the stmf)le pay, 
 
 Obtain the bread clowns earn by sweat of brow, 
 
 And missing which, they missed of everything — 
 
 Hence claimed pay, even at expense of life 
 
 To their own lord, so little warped (admire !) 
 
 By prepossession, such the absolute 
 
 Instinct of equity in rustic souls ! 
 
 Whereas our Count, the cultivated mind, 
 
 He, wholly rapt in his serene regard 
 
 Of honor, he contemplating the sun. 
 
 Who hardly marks if taper blink below, 
 
 He, dreaming of no argument for death 
 
 Except a vengeance worthy noble hearts, — 
 
 Dared not so desecrate the deed, forsooth. 
 
 Vulgarize vengeance, as defray its cost 
 
 By money dug from out the dirty earth. 
 
 Irritant mere, in Ovid's phrase, to ill. 
 
 What though he lured base hinds by lucre's hope, — 
 
 The only motive they could masticate, 
 
 Milk for babes, not strong meat which men require ? 
 
 The deed done, those coarse hands were soiled enough. 
 
 He spared them the pollution of the pay. 
 
 So much for the allegement, thine, my Fisc, 
 
 Quo 7iil absiirdiiis, than which nought more mad, 
 
 ExGogitari potest, may be squeezed 
 
 From out the cogitative brain of thee I 
 
 And now, thou excellent the Governor ! 
 
 (Push to the peroration) cmterum 
 
 Enixe suppUco, I strive in prayer, 
 
 Ut dominis meis, that unto the Court, 
 
 Benigna fro7ite, with a gracious brow, 
 
 JEt oculis serenis, and mild eyes, 
 
 Perpendere placeat, it may please them weigh, 
 
 Quod dominus Guido, that our noble County 
 
 Occidit, did the killing in dispute, 
 
 Ut ejus honor tumvlatus, that 
 
 The honor of him buried fathom-deep 
 
 In infamy, in infamiay might arise, 
 
 Resurqeret, as ghost breaks sepulchre ! 
 
 Occtdit, for he killed, uxorevu wife. 
 
 Quia illi fuit, since she was to him, 
 
 Opprobrio, a disgrace and nothing more ! 
 
316 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Et genitores, killed her parents too, 
 Qui, who, postposlta verecundia, 
 Having thrown off all sort of decency, 
 FlllaTU repudiarunt, had renounced 
 Their daughter, atque declarare non 
 Eruhiierunt, nor felt blush tinge cheek, 
 Declaring, meretricis genitam, 
 Esse, she was the offspring of a drab, 
 Ut ipse dehonestaretur, just 
 That so himself might lose his social rank ! 
 Ciijus inentem, and which daughter's heart and soul, 
 They, perverterunt, turned from the right course, 
 Et ad illicitos amoves non 
 Dumtaxat pellexerunt, and to love 
 Not simply did alluringly incite, 
 Sed vi obedientioe, but by force 
 O' the d.\xty y jilialis, daughters owe, 
 Coegerunt, forced and drove her to the deed : 
 Occidit, I repeat he killed the clan, 
 Ne scilicet amplius in dedecore, 
 Lest peradventure longer life might trail, 
 Viveret, link by link his turpitude, 
 Invisus consanguine is, hateful so 
 To kith and kindred, a nobilibiis 
 Notatus, shunned by men of quality, 
 delictus ah amicis, left i' the lurch 
 By friends, ah omnibus derisus, turned 
 A common hack-block to try edge of jokes. 
 Occidit, and he killed them here in Rome, 
 In Urbe, the Eternal City, Sirs, 
 Nempe quce alias spectata est, 
 The appropriate theatre which witnessed once, 
 Matronam nobilein, Lucretia's self, 
 Abluere pudicitice maculas. 
 Wash off the spots of her pudicity, 
 Sanguine proprio, with her own pure blood ; 
 Qum vidit, and which city also saw, 
 Patrem, Virginius, undequaque, quite, 
 Impunem^ with no sort of punishment. 
 Nor, et non illaudatum, lacking praise, 
 Sed polluentem pa7'ricidio, 
 Imbrue his hands with hutchery, filice, 
 Of chaste Virginia, to avoid a rape, 
 Ne raperetur ad stupra ; so to heart, 
 ToMti illi cordifuit, did he take, 
 Sifspicio, the mere fancy men might have. 
 
DOMINUS HYACINTHUS DE ARCHANGELIS 317 
 
 Honoris amittendi, of fame's loss, 
 
 Ut potius voluerit filia 
 
 Orbari, he preferred to lose his child, 
 
 Quam ilia incederet, rather than she walk 
 
 The ways an, inhonesta, child disgraced. 
 
 Licet non sponte, though against her will. 
 
 Occidit — killed them, I reiterate — 
 
 In propria domo, in their own abode, 
 
 Ut adidtera et parentes, that each wretch, 
 
 Conscii agnoscerent, might both see and say. 
 
 Nullum locum, there 's no place, mdlumque esse 
 
 AsyUmu nor yet refuge of escape, 
 
 Infipenetrabilem, shall serve as bar, 
 
 Honori Iceso, to the wounded one 
 
 In honor ; neve ibi ojjprobria 
 
 Continuarentur, killed them on the spot 
 
 Moreover, dreading lest within those walls 
 
 The opprobrium peradventure be prolonged, 
 
 £t domiis quce testis fuit turpium, 
 
 And that the domicile which witnessed crime, 
 
 Esset et poRnoe, might watch punishment : 
 
 Occidit, killed, I round you in the ears, 
 
 Quia alio modo, since by other mode, 
 
 Non poterat ejus existimatio, 
 
 There was no possibility his fame, 
 
 Lcesa, gashed griesly, ta77i enormiter, 
 
 Ducere cicatrices, might be healed : 
 
 Occidit ut exempluni prceberet 
 
 Uxoribus, killed her, so to lesson wives 
 
 Jura conjugii, that the marriage-oath. 
 
 Esse servanda, must be kept henceforth : 
 
 Occidit denique, killed her, in a word, 
 
 Ut pro posse ho7iestus viveret, 
 
 That he, please God, might creditably live, 
 
 Sin minus, but if fate willed otherwise, 
 
 Proprii honoris, of his outraged fame, 
 
 Offensi, by Mannaia, if you please, 
 
 Commiseranda victima caderet. 
 
 The pitiable victim he should fall ! 
 
 Done ! I' the rough, i' the rough ! But done ! And, lo. 
 
 Landed and stranded lies my very speech. 
 
 My miracle, my monster of defence — 
 
 Leviathan into the nose whereof 
 
 I have put fish-hook, pierced his jaw with thorn. 
 
 And given him to my maidens for a play ! 
 
318 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 V the rough : to-morrow I review my piece, 
 Tame here and there undue floridity. 
 It 's hard : you have to plead before these priests 
 And poke at them with Scripture, or you pass 
 For heathen and, what 's worse, for ignorant 
 O' the quality o' the Court and what it likes 
 By way of illustration of the law. 
 To-morrow stick in this, and throw out that, 
 And, having first ecclesiasticized, 
 Regularize the whole, next emphasize. 
 Then latinize, and lastly Cicero-ize, 
 Giving my Fisc his finish. There 's my speech ! 
 And where 's my fry, and family and friends ? 
 Where 's that huge Hyacinth I mean to hug 
 Till he cries out, " Jam satis f Let me breathe ! " 
 Now, what an evening have I earned to-day ! 
 Hail, ye true pleasures, all the rest are false ! 
 Oh, the old mother, oh, the fattish wife ! 
 Rogue Hyacinth shall put on paper toque. 
 And wrap himself around with mamma's veil 
 Done up to imitate papa's black robe, 
 (I 'm in the secret of the comedy, — 
 Part of the program leaked out long ago !) 
 And call himself the Advocate o' the Poor, 
 Mimic Don father that defends the Count : 
 And for reward shall have a small full glass 
 Of manly red rosolio to himself, 
 — Always provided that he conjugate 
 Bibo, I drink, correctly — nor be found 
 Make the perfectum, bipsi, as last year ! 
 How the ambitious do so harden heart 
 As lightly hold by these home-sanctitudes, 
 To me is matter of bewilderment — 
 Bewilderment ! Because ambition's range 
 Is nowise tethered by domestic tie : 
 Am I refused an outlet from my home 
 To the world's stage ? — whereon a man should play 
 The man in public, vigilant for law. 
 Zealous for truth, a credit to his kind, 
 Nay, — since, employing talent so, I yield 
 The Lord His own again with usury, — 
 A satisfaction, yea, to God Himself ! 
 Well, I have modelled me by Agur's wish, 
 " Remove far from me vanity and lies, 
 Feed me with food convenient for me ! " What 
 1' the world should a wise man require beyond ? 
 
DOMINUS IIYACINTHUS DE ARCHANGELIS 819 
 
 Can I but coax the good fat little wife 
 To tell her fool of a father the mad prank 
 His scapegrace nephew played this time last year 
 At Carnival ! He could not choose, I think, 
 But modify that inconsiderate gift 
 O' the cup and cover (somewhere in the will 
 Under the pillow, some one seems to guess) 
 — Correct that clause in favor of a boy 
 The trifle ought to grace, with name engraved, 
 • Would look so well, produced in future years 
 To pledge a memory, when poor papa 
 Latin and law are long since laid at rest — 
 Hyacintho dono dedit avus ! Why, 
 The wife should get a necklace for her pains. 
 The very pearls that made Violante proud, 
 And Pietro pawned for half their value once, — 
 Redeemable by somebody, ne sit 
 Marita quce rotundioribus 
 Onusta mammis . . . baccis ambulet : 
 Her bosom shall display the big round balls, 
 No braver proudly borne by wedded wife ! 
 With which Horatian promise I conclude. 
 
 Into the pigeon-hole with thee, my speech ! 
 Off and away, first work, then play, play, play ! 
 Bottini, burn thy books, thou blazing ass ! 
 Sing " Tra-la-la, for, lambkins, we must live ! " 
 
IX. 
 
 JURIS DOCTOR JOHANNES-BAPTISTA BOTTINIUS, 
 
 FISCI ET REV. CAM. APOSTOL. ADVOCATUS. 
 
 Had I God's leave, how I would alter things ! 
 
 If I might read instead of print my speech, — 
 
 Ay, and enliven speech with many a flower 
 
 Refuses obstinate to blow in print. 
 
 As wildings planted in a prim parterre, — 
 
 This scurvy room were turned an immense hall ; 
 
 Opposite, fifty judges in a row ; 
 
 This side and that of me, for audience — Rome : 
 
 And, where yon window is, the Pope should hide — 
 
 Watch, curtained, but peep visibly enough. 
 
 A buzz of expectation ! Through the crowd. 
 
 Jingling his chain and stumping with his staff, 
 
 Up comes an usher, louts him low, " The Court 
 
 Requires the allocution of the Fisc ! " 
 
 I rise, I bend, I look about me, pause 
 
 O'er the hushed multitude : I count — One, two — 
 
 Have ye seen, Judges, have ye, lights of law, — 
 
 When it may hap some painter, much in vogue 
 
 Throughout our city nutritive of arts. 
 
 Ye summon to a task shall test his worth, 
 
 And manufacture, as he knows and can, 
 
 A work may decorate a palace-wall, 
 
 Afford my lords their Holy Family, — 
 
 Hath it escaped the acumen of the Court 
 
 How such a painter sets himself to paint ? 
 
 Suppose that Joseph, Mary and her Babe 
 
 A-journeying to Egypt, prove the piece : 
 
 Why, first he sedulously practiseth, 
 
 This painter, — girding loin and lighting lamp, — 
 
 On what may nourish eye, make facile hand ; 
 
 Getteth him studies (styled by draughtsmen so) 
 
 From some assistant corpse of Jew or Turk 
 
JOHANNES-BAPTISTA BOTTINIUS 321 
 
 Or, haply, Molinist, he cuts and carves, — 
 This Luca or this Carlo or the like. 
 To him the bones their inmost secret yield, 
 Each notch and nodule signify their use : 
 On him the muscles turn, in triple tier, 
 And ])leasantly entreat the entrusted man 
 " Familiarize thee with our play that lifts 
 Thus, and thus lowers again, leg, arm and foot ! " 
 — Ensuring due correctness in the nude. 
 Which done, is all done ? Not a whit, ye know ! 
 He, — to art's surface rising from her depth, — 
 If some flax-polled soft-bearded sire be found, 
 May simulate a Joseph, (happy chance !) — 
 Limneth exact each wrinkle of the brow, 
 Loseth no involution, cheek or chap, 
 Till lo, in black and white, the senior lives ! 
 Is it a young and comely peasant-nurse 
 That posetli ? (be the phrase accorded me !) 
 Each feminine delight of florid lip. 
 Eyes brimming o'er and brow bowed down with love, 
 Marmoreal neck and bosom uberous, — 
 Glad on the paper in a trice they go 
 To help his notion of the Mother-maid : 
 Methinks I see it, chalk a little stumped ! 
 Yea and her babe — that flexure of soft limbs, 
 That budding face imbued with dewy sleep. 
 Contribute each an excellence to Christ. 
 Nay, since he humbly lent companionship, 
 Even the poor ass, unpanniered and elate 
 Stands, perks an ear up, he a model too ; 
 While clouted shoon, staff, scrip and water-gourd, — 
 Aught may betoken travel, heat and haste, — 
 No jot nor tittle of these but in its turn 
 Ministers to perfection of the piece : 
 Till now, such piece before him, part by part, — 
 Such prelude ended, — pause our painter may. 
 Submit his fifty studies one by one. 
 And in some sort boast " I have served my lords." 
 
 But what ? And hath he painted once this while ? 
 Or when ye cry, " Produce the thing required. 
 Show us our picture shall rejoice its niche, 
 Thy Journey through the Desert done in oils ! " — 
 What, doth he fall to shuffling 'mid his sheets, 
 Fumbling for first this, then the other fact 
 Consigned to paper, — " studies," bear the term ! — 
 
B22 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 And stretch a canvas, mix a pot of paste, 
 
 And fasten here a head arid there a tail, 
 
 (The ass hath one, my Judges ! ) so dove-tail 
 
 Or, rather, ass-tail in, piece sorrily out — 
 
 By bits of reproduction of the life — 
 
 The picture, the expected Family ? 
 
 I trow not ! do I miss with my conceit 
 
 The mark, my lords ? — not so my lords were served ! 
 
 Rather your artist turns abrupt from these, 
 
 And preferably buries him and broods 
 
 (Quite away from aught vulgar and extern) 
 
 On the inner spectrum, filtered through the eye, 
 
 His brain-deposit, bred of many a drop, 
 
 E pluribus imum : and the wiser he I 
 
 For in that brain, — their fancy sees at work. 
 
 Could my lords peep indulged, — results alone, 
 
 Not processes which nourish such results, 
 
 Would they discover and appreciate, — life 
 
 Fed by digestion, not raw food itself, 
 
 No gobbets but smooth comfortable chyme 
 
 Secreted from each snapped-up crudity, — 
 
 Less distinct, part by part, but in the whole 
 
 Truer to the subject, — the main central truth 
 
 And soul o' the picture, would my Judges spy, — 
 
 Not those mere fragmentary studied facts 
 
 Which answer to the outward frame and flesh — 
 
 Not this nose, not that eyebrow, the other fact 
 
 Of man's staff, woman's stole or infant's clout. 
 
 But lo, a spirit-birth conceived of flesh. 
 
 Truth rare and real, not transcripts, fact and false. 
 
 The studies — for his pupils and himself I 
 
 The picture be for our eximious Rome 
 
 And — who knows ? — satisfy its Governor, 
 
 Whose new wing to the villa he hath bought 
 
 (God give him joy of it) by Capena, soon 
 
 ('T is bruited) shall be glowing with the brush 
 
 Of who hath long surpassed the Florentine, 
 
 The Urbinate and . . . what if I dared add, 
 
 Even his ma«<ter, yea the Gorton ese, — 
 
 I mean the accomplished Giro Ferri, Sirs ! 
 
 ( — Did not he die ? I '11 see before I print.) 
 
 End we exordium, Phoebus plucks my ear ! 
 Thus then, just so and no whit otherwise. 
 Have I, — engaged as I were Giro's self. 
 To paint a parallel, a Family, 
 
JOHANNES-BAPTISTA BOTTINIUS 323 
 
 The patriarch Pietro with his wise old wife 
 
 To boot (as if one introduced Saint Anne 
 
 By bold conjecture to com})lete the group) 
 
 And juvenile Pompilia with her babe, 
 
 Who, seeking safety in the wilderness. 
 
 Were all surprised by Herod, while outstretched 
 
 In sleep beneath a palm-tree by a spring. 
 
 And killed — the very circumstance I paint, 
 
 Moving the pity and terror of my lords — 
 
 Exactly so have I, a month at least, 
 
 Your Fiscal, made me cognizant of facts, 
 
 Searched out, pried into, pressed the meaning forth 
 
 Of every piece of evidence in point. 
 
 How bloody Herod slew these innocents, — 
 
 Until the glad result is gained, the group 
 
 Demonstrably presented in detail, 
 
 Their slumber and his onslaught, — like as life. 
 
 Yea, and, availing me of help allowed 
 
 By law, discreet provision lest my lords 
 
 Be too much troubled by effrontery, — 
 
 The rack, law plies suspected crime withal — 
 
 (Law that hath listened while the lyrist sang 
 
 " Lene tormentuyn ingenio adinoves^''' 
 Gently thou joggest by a twinge the wit, 
 
 " Pleriimque duro,^'' else were slow to blab !) 
 Through this concession my full cup runs o'er : 
 The guilty owns his guilt witliout reserve. 
 Therefore by part and part I clutch my case 
 Which, in entirety now, — momentous taslc, — 
 My lords demand, so render them I must. 
 Since, one poor pleading more and I have done. 
 But shall I ply my ])apers, play my proofs, 
 Parade my studies, fifty in a row, 
 As though the Court were yet in pupilage. 
 Claimed not the artist's ultimate appeal ? 
 Much rather let me soar the height ])rescribed 
 And, bowing low, proffer my picture's self! 
 No more of proof, disproof, — such virtue was, 
 Such vice was never in Pompilia, now ! 
 Far better say " Beliold Pompilia I " — (for 
 I leave the family as unmanageable. 
 And stick to just one ]>ortrait, but life-size.) 
 Hath calumny imputed to the fair 
 A blemish, mole on cheek or wart on chin. 
 Much more, blind hidden horrors best unnamed ? 
 Shall I descend to prove you, point by point, 
 
B24 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Never was knock-knee known nor splay-foot found 
 In Phryne ? (I must let the portrait go, 
 Content me with the model, I believe) — • 
 
 — I prove this ? An indignant sweep of hand, 
 Dash at and doing away with drapery. 
 
 And, — use your eyes, Athenians, smooth she smiles ! 
 Or, — since my client can no longer smile, 
 And more appropriate instances abound, — 
 What is this Tale of Tarquin, how the slave 
 Was caught by him, preferred to Collatine ? 
 Thou, even from thy corpse-clothes virginal, 
 Look'st the lie dead, Lucretia I 
 
 Thus at least 
 I, by the guidance of antiquity, 
 (Our one infallible guide,) now operate, 
 Sure that the innocence thus shown is safe ; 
 Sure, too, that, while I plead, the echoes cry 
 (Lend my weak voice thy trump, sonorous Fame !) 
 " Monstrosity the Phrynean shape shall mar, 
 Lucretia's soul comport with Tarquin's lie, 
 When thistles grow on vines or thorns yield figs, 
 Or oblique sentence leave this judgment-seat ! " 
 
 A great theme : may my strength be adequate ! 
 For — paint Pompilia, dares my feebleness ? 
 How did I unaware engage so much 
 
 — Find myself undertaking to produce 
 A faultless nature in a flawless form ? 
 
 What 's here ? Oh, turn aside nor dare the blaze 
 
 Of such a crown, such constellation, say. 
 
 As jewels here thy front. Humanity ! 
 
 First, infancy, pellucid as a pearl ; 
 
 Then, childhood — stone which, dewdrop at the first, 
 
 (An old conjecture) sucks, by dint of gaze. 
 
 Blue from the sky and turns to sapphire so : 
 
 Yet both these gems eclipsed by, last and best, 
 
 Womanliness and wifehood opaline. 
 
 Its milk-white pallor, — chastity, — suffused 
 
 With here and there a tint and hint of flame, — • 
 
 Desire, — the lapidary loves to find. 
 
 Such jewels bind conspicuously thy brow, 
 
 Pompilia, infant, child, maid, woman, wife — 
 
 Crown the ideal in our earth at last ! 
 
 What should a faculty like mine do here ? 
 
 Close eyes, or else, the rashlier hurry hand ! 
 
JOHANNES-BAPTISTA BOTTINIUS 325 
 
 Which is to say, — lose no time but begin ! 
 Sermoclnando ne declamem, Sirs, 
 Ultra clepsydram, as our preachers smile, 
 Lest I exceed my hour-glass. Whereupon, 
 As Flaccus prompts, I dare the epic plunge — • 
 Begin at once with marriage, up till when 
 Little or nothing would arrest your love. 
 In the easeful life o' the lady ; lamb and lamb, 
 How do they differ ? Know one, you know all 
 Manners of maidenhood : mere maiden she. 
 And since all lambs are like in more than fleece, 
 Prepare to find that, lamb-like, she too frisks — 
 O' the weaker sex, my lords, the weaker sex ! 
 To whom, the Teian teaches us, for gift, 
 Not strength, — man's dower, — but beauty, nature gave, 
 *' Beauty in lieu of spears, in lieu of shields ! " 
 And what is beauty's sure concomitant, 
 Nay, intimate essential character. 
 But melting wiles, deliciousest deceits. 
 The whole redoubted armory of love ? 
 Therefore of vernal pranks, dishevellings 
 O' the hair of youth that dances April in, 
 And easily-imagined Hebe-slips 
 
 O'er sward which May makes over-smooth for foot — 
 These shall we pry into ? — or wiselier wink. 
 Though numerous and dear they may have been ? 
 
 For lo, advancing Hymen and his pomp ! 
 
 Discedunt nunc aviores, loves, farewell ! 
 
 Maneat amor, let love, the sole, remain ! 
 
 Farewell to dewiness and prime of life ! 
 
 Remains the rough determined day : dance done. 
 
 To work, with plough and harrow ! What comes next ? 
 
 'T is Guido henceforth guides Pompilia's step. 
 
 Cries " No more friskings o'er the foodful glebe. 
 
 Else, 'ware the whip ! " Accordingly, — first crack 
 
 O' the thong, — we hear that his young wife was barred, 
 
 Cohibita fuit, from the old free life, 
 
 Vitam Uberiorem ducere. 
 
 Demur we ? Nowise : heifer brave the hind ? 
 
 We seek not there should lapse the natural law, 
 
 The proper piety to lord and king 
 
 And husband : let the heifer bear the yoke ! 
 
 Only, I crave he cast not patience off. 
 
 This hind ; for deem you she endures the whip, 
 
 Nor winces at the goad, nay, restive, kicks ? 
 
B26 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 What if the adv^ersary's charge be just, 
 
 And all untowardly she pursue her way 
 
 AVith groan and grunt, though hind strike ne'er so hard ? 
 
 If jjetulant remonstrance made appeal. 
 
 Unseasonable, o'erprotracted, — if 
 
 Importunate challenge taxed the public ear 
 
 When silence more decorously had served 
 
 For protestation, — if Pompilian plaint 
 
 Wrought but to aggravate Guidonian ire, — 
 
 Why, such mishaps, ungainly though they be, 
 
 Ever companion change, are incident 
 
 To altered modes and novelty of life : 
 
 The philosophic mind expects no less. 
 
 Smilingly knows and names the crisis, sits 
 
 Waiting till old things go and new arrive. 
 
 Therefore, I hold a husband but inept 
 
 Who turns impatient at such transit-time, 
 
 As if this running from the rod would last ! 
 
 Since, even while I speak, the end is reached : 
 
 Success awaits the soon-disheartened man. 
 
 The parents turn their backs and leave the house, 
 
 The wife may wail but none shall intervene : 
 
 He hath attained his object, groom and bride 
 
 Partake the nuptial bower no soul can see. 
 
 Old things are passed and all again is new, 
 
 Over and gone the obstacles to peace, 
 
 Novorimi — tenderly the Mantuan turns 
 
 The expression, some such purjDose in his eye — 
 
 Nascitur ordo ! Every storm is laid. 
 
 And forth from plain each pleasant herb may peep, 
 
 Each bloom of wifehood in abeyance late : 
 
 (Confer a passage in the Canticles.) 
 
 But what if, as 't is wont with plant and wife, 
 
 Flowers — after a suppression to good end. 
 
 Still, when they do spring forth — sprout here, spread there, 
 
 Anywhere likelier than beneath the foot 
 
 O' the lawful good-man gardener of the gTound ? 
 
 He dug and dibbled, sowed and watered, — still 
 
 'T is a chance wayfarer shall pluck the increase. 
 
 Just so, respecting persons not too much. 
 
 The lady, foes allege, put forth each charm 
 
 And proper floweret of feminity 
 
 To whosoever had a nose to smell 
 
 Or breast to deck : what if the charge be true ? 
 
JOHANNES-BAPTISTA BOTTINIUS 327 
 
 The fault were graver had she looked with choice, 
 Fastidiously appointed who should grasp, 
 Who, in the whole town, go without the prize ! 
 To nobody she destined donative, 
 But, first come was fii'st served, the accuser saith. 
 Put case her sort of . . . in this kind . . . escapes 
 Were many and oft and indiscriminate — 
 Impute ye as the action were prepense, 
 The gift particular, arguing malice so ? 
 Which butterfly of the wide air shall brag 
 " I was preferred to Guido " — when 't is clear 
 The cup, he quaffs at, lay with olent breast 
 Open to gnat, midge, bee and moth as well ? 
 One chalice entertained the company ; 
 And if its peevish lord object the more. 
 Mistake, misname such bounty in a wife, 
 Haste we to advertise him — charm of cheek, 
 Lustre of eye, allowance of the lip, 
 All womanly components in a spouse, 
 These are no household-bread each stranger's bite 
 Leaves by so much diminished for the mouth 
 O' the master of the house at supper-time : 
 But rather like a lump of spice they lie. 
 Morsel of myrrh, which scents the neighborhood 
 Yet greets its lord no lighter by a grain. 
 
 Nay, even so, he shall be satisfied ! 
 
 Concede we there was reason in his wrong. 
 
 Grant we his grievance and content the man ! 
 
 For lo, Pompilia, she submits herself ; 
 
 Ere three revolving years have crowned their course, 
 
 Off and away she puts this same reproach 
 , Of lavish bounty, inconsiderate gift 
 
 O' the sweets of wifehood stored to other ends : 
 
 No longer shall he blame '' She none excludes," 
 
 But substitute " She laudably sees all. 
 
 Searches the best out and selects the same." 
 
 For who is here, long sought and latest found, 
 
 Waiting his turn unmoved amid the whirl, 
 " Constans in levitate^'' — Ha, my lords? 
 
 Calm in his levity, — indulge the quip ! — 
 
 Since 't is a levite bears the bell away. 
 
 Parades him henceforth as Pompilia's choice. 
 
 'T is no ignoble object, husband ! Doubt'st ? 
 
 When here comes tripping Flaccus with his phrase, 
 " Trust me, no miscreant singled from the mob, 
 
328 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Crede non ilium tibi de scelesta 
 Flebe delectum,^^ but a man of mark, 
 A priest, dost hear ? Why then, submit thyself ! 
 Priest, ay, and very phoenix of such foAvl, 
 Well-born, of culture, young and vigorous, 
 Comely too, since precise the precept points — 
 On the selected levite be there found 
 Nor mole nor scar nor blemish, lest the mind 
 Come all uncandid through the thwarting flesh ! 
 Was not the son of Jesse ruddy, sleek. 
 Pleasant to look on, pleasant every way ? 
 Since well he smote the harp and sweetly sang, 
 And danced till Abigail came out to see. 
 And seeing smiled and smiling ministered 
 The raisin-cluster and the cake of figs. 
 With ready meal refreshed the gifted youth, 
 Till Nabal, who was absent shearing sheep, 
 Felt heart sink, took to bed (discreetly done — 
 They might have been beforehand with him else) 
 And died — would Guido have behaved as well ? 
 But ah, the faith of early days is gone, 
 Heu prisca fides ! Nothing died in him 
 Save courtesy, good sense and proper trust. 
 Which, when they ebb from souls they should o'erflow, 
 Discover stub, weed, sludge and ugliness. 
 (The Pope, you know, is Neapolitan 
 And relishes a sea-side simile.) 
 Deserted by each charitable wave, 
 Guido, left high and dry, shows jealous now ! 
 Jealous avouched, paraded : tax the fool 
 With any peccadillo, he responds, 
 '' Truly I beat my wife through jealousy, 
 Imprisoned her and punished otherwise, 
 Being jealous : now would threaten, sword in hand, 
 Now manage to mix poison in her sight. 
 And so forth : jealously I dealt, in fine." 
 Concede thus much, and what remains to prove ? 
 Have I to teach my masters what effect 
 Hath jealousy, and how, befooling men. 
 It makes false true, abuses eye and ear. 
 Turns mere mist adamantine, loads with sound 
 Silence, and into void and vacancy 
 Crowds a whole phalanx of conspiring foes ? 
 Therefore who owns " I watched with jealousy 
 My wife," adds "for no reason in the world ! " 
 What need that, thus proved madman, should he ren: 
 
JOIIANNES-BAPTISTA BOTTINIUS 329 
 
 " The thing I thought a serpent proved an eel " ? — 
 Perchance the right Comacchian, six foot length, 
 And not an inch too long for that rare pie 
 (Master Arcangeli has heard of such) 
 Whose succulence makes fasting bearable ; 
 Meant to regale some moody splenetic 
 Who, pleasing to mistake the donor's gift, 
 Spying I know not what Lerngean snake 
 I' the luscious Lenten creature, stamps forsooth 
 The dainty in the dust. 
 
 Enough ! Prepare, 
 Such lunes announced, for downright lunacy ! 
 Insanit homo^ threat succeeds to threat, 
 And blow redoubles blow, — his wife, the block. 
 But, if a block, shall not she jar the hand 
 That buffets her ? The injurious idle stone 
 Rebounds and hits the head of him who flung. 
 Causeless rage breeds, i' the wife now, rageful cause. 
 Tyranny wakes rebellion from its sleep. 
 Rebellion, say I ? — rather, self-defence, 
 Laudable wish to live and see good days, 
 Pricks our Pompilia now to fly the fool 
 By any means, at any price, — nay, more, 
 Nay, most of all, i' the very interest 
 O' the fool that, baffled of his blind desire 
 At any price, were truliest victor so. 
 Shall he effect his crime and lose his soul ? 
 No, dictates duty to a loving wife ! 
 Far better that the unconsummate blow. 
 Adroitly balked by her, should back again, 
 Correctively admonish his own pate ! 
 
 Crime then, — the Court is with me ? — she must crush ; 
 
 How crush it ? By all efficacious means ; 
 
 And tliese, — ^^hy, what in woman should they be ? 
 '• With horns the l)ull, with teeth the lion fights ; 
 
 To woman," quoth the lyrist quoted late, 
 " Nor teeth, nor horns, but beauty. Nature gave ! " 
 
 Pretty i' the Pagan ! Who dares blame the use 
 
 Of armory thus allowed for natural, — 
 
 Exclaim against a seeming-dubious play 
 
 O' the sole permitted weapon, spear and shield 
 
 Alike, resorted to i' the circumstance 
 
 By poor Pompilia ? Grant she somewhat plied 
 
 Arts that allure, the magic nod and wink, 
 
330 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 The witchery of gesture, spell of word, 
 
 Whereby the likelier to enlist this friend. 
 
 Yea stranger, as a champion on her side ? 
 
 Such man, being but mere man, ('t was all she knew,) 
 
 Must be made sure by beauty's silken bond, 
 
 The weakness that subdues the strong, and bows 
 
 Wisdom alike and folly. Grant the tale 
 
 O' the husband, which is false, were proved and true 
 
 To the letter — or the letters, I should say. 
 
 Abominations he professed to find 
 
 And fix upon Pompilia and the priest, — 
 
 Allow them hers — for though she could not write. 
 
 In early days of Eve-like innocence 
 
 That plucked no apple from the knowledge-tree. 
 
 Yet, at the Serpent's word. Eve plucks and eats 
 
 And knows — especially how to read and write : 
 
 And so Pompilia, — as the move o' the maw. 
 
 Quoth Persius, makes a parrot bid " Good day ! " 
 
 A crow salute the concave, and a pie 
 
 Endeavor at proficiency in speech, — 
 
 So she, through hunger after fellowship, 
 
 May well have learned, though late, to play the scribe 
 
 As indeed, there 's one letter on the list 
 
 Explicitly declares did happen here. 
 
 *' You thought my letters could be none of mine," 
 She tells her parents — " mine, who wanted skill ; 
 But now I have the skill, and write, you see ! " 
 She needed write love-letters, so she learned, 
 
 " Negatas artifex sequi voces " — though 
 This letter nowise 'scapes the common lot, 
 But lies i' the condemnation of the rest. 
 Found by the husband's self who forged them all. 
 Yet, for the sacredness of argument. 
 For this once an exemption shall it plead — 
 Anything, anything to let the wheels 
 Of argument run glibly to their goal ! 
 Concede she wrote (which were preposterous) 
 This and the other epistle, — what of it ? 
 Where does the figment touch her candid fame ? 
 Being in peril of her life — " my life. 
 Not an hour's purchase," as the letter runs, — 
 And having but one stay in this extreme. 
 Out of the wide world but a single friend — 
 What could she other than resort to him. 
 And how with any hope resort but thus ? 
 Shall modesty dare bid a stranger brave 
 
JOHANXES-BAPTISTA BOTTINIUS 331 
 
 Danger, disgrace, nay death in her behalf — 
 Think to entice the sternness of the steel 
 Yet spare love's loadstone moving manly mind ? 
 — Most of ail, when such mind is hampered so 
 By growth of circumstance athwart the life 
 O' the natural man, that decency forbids 
 He stoop and take the common privilege, 
 Say frank " I love," as all the vulgar do. 
 A man is wedded to philosophy, 
 Married to statesmanship ; a man is old ; 
 A man is fettered by the foolishness 
 He took for wisdom and talked ten years since ; 
 A man is, like our friend the Canon here, 
 A priest, and wicked if he break his vow : 
 Shall he dare love, who may be Pope one day ? 
 Despite the coil of such encumbrance here. 
 Suppose this man could love, unhappily. 
 And would love, dared he only let love show ! 
 In case the woman of his love, speaks first, 
 From what embarrassment she sets him free ! 
 " 'T is I who break reserve, begin appeal. 
 Confess that, whether you love me or no, 
 I love you I " What an ease to dignity, 
 What help of pride from the hard high-backed chair 
 Down to the carpet where the kittens bask, 
 All under the pretence of gratitude ! 
 
 From all which, I deduce — the lady here 
 
 Was bound to proffer nothing short of love 
 
 To the priest whose service was to save her. What ? 
 
 Shall she propose him lucre, dust o' the mine. 
 
 Rubbish o' the rock, some diamond, muckworms prize, 
 
 Some pearl secreted by a sickly fish ? 
 
 Scarcely ! She caters for a generous taste. 
 
 'T is love shall beckon, beauty bid to breast. 
 
 Till all the Samson sink into the snare ! 
 
 Because, permit the end — permit therewith 
 
 Means to the end ! 
 
 How say you, good my lords ? 
 I hope you heard my adversary ring 
 The changes on this precept : now, let me 
 Keverse the peal ! Quia dato licito fine, 
 Ad ilium assequendiwi ordinata 
 Non sunt damnanda media, — licit end 
 Enough was found in mere escape from death. 
 To legalize our means illicit else 
 
332 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Of feigned love, false allurement, fancied fact. 
 
 Thus Venus losing Cupid on a day, 
 
 (See that Idyllium Mosch'i) seeking help. 
 
 In the anxiety of motherhood, 
 
 Allowably promised, " Who shall bring report 
 
 Where he is wandered to, my winged babe, 
 
 I give him for reward a nectared kiss ; 
 
 But who brings safely back the truant's self, 
 
 His be a super-sweet makes kiss seem cold ! " 
 
 Are not these things writ for example-sake ? 
 
 To such permitted motive, then, refer 
 All those professions, else were hard explain, 
 Of hope, fear, jealousy, and the rest of love ! 
 He is Myrtillus, Amaryllis she. 
 She burns, he freezes, — all a mere device 
 To catch and keep the man, may save her life, 
 Whom otherwise nor catches she nor keeps ! 
 Worst, once, turns best now : in all faith, she feigns ; 
 Feigning, — the liker innocence to guilt, 
 The truer to the life in what she feigns ! 
 * How if Ulysses, — when, for public good 
 He sunk particular qualms and played the spy, 
 Entered Troy's hostile gate in beggar's garb — 
 How if he first had boggled at this clout. 
 Grown dainty o'er that clack-dish ? Grime is grace 
 To whoso gropes amid the dung for gold. 
 
 Hence, beyond promises, we praise each proof 
 That promise was not simply made to break. 
 Mere moonshine-structure meant to fade at dawn : 
 We praise, as consequent and requisite, 
 What, enemies allege, were more than words, 
 Deeds — meetings at the window, twilight-trysts. 
 Nocturnal entertainments in the dim 
 Old labyrinthine palace ; lies, we know — 
 Inventions we, long since, turned inside out. 
 Must such external semblance of intrigue 
 Demonstrate that intrigue there lurks perdue ? 
 Does every hazel-sheath disclose a nut ? 
 He were a JMolinist who dared maintain 
 That midnioht meetino;s in a screened alcove 
 Must argue folly in a matron — since 
 So would he bring a slur on Judith's self, 
 Commended beyond women, that she lured 
 The lustful to destruction through his lust. 
 
JOHANNES-BAPTISTA BOTTINIUS 383 
 
 Pompilia took not Judith's liberty, 
 
 No falchion find you in her hand to smite, 
 
 No damsel to convey in dish the head 
 
 Of Holofernes, — style the Canon so — 
 
 Or is it the Count ? If I entangle me 
 
 With my similitudes, — if wax wings melt, 
 
 And earthward down I drop, not mine the fault : 
 
 Blame your beneficence, O Court, O sun, 
 
 Whereof the beamy smile affects my flight ! 
 
 What matter, so Pompilia's fame revive 
 
 I' the warmth that proves the bane of Icarus ? 
 
 Yea, we have shown it lawful, necessary 
 Pompilia leave her husband, seek the house 
 O' the parents : and because 'twixt home and home 
 Lies a long road with many a danger rife, 
 Lions by the way and ser])ents in the path. 
 To rob and ravish, — much behoves she keep 
 Each shadow of suspicion from fair fame, 
 For her own sake much, but for his sake more, 
 The ingrate husband's. Evidence shall be. 
 Plain witness to the world how white she walks 
 I' the mire she wanders through ere Rome she reach. 
 And who so proper witness as a priest ? 
 Gainsay ye ? Let me hear who dares gainsay I 
 I hope we still can punish heretics ! 
 " Give me the man," I say with him of Gath, 
 " That we may fight together ! " None, I think : 
 The priest is granted me. 
 
 Then, if a priest. 
 One juvenile and potent : else, mayhap, 
 That dragon, our Saint George would slay, slays him. 
 And should fair face accompany strong hand. 
 The more complete equipment : nothing mars 
 Work, else praiseworthy, like a bodily flaw 
 I' the worker : as 't is said Saint Paul himself 
 Deplored the check o' the puny presence, still 
 Cheating his fulmination of its flash. 
 Albeit the bolt therein went true to oak. 
 Therefore the agent, as prescribed, she takes, — 
 Both juvenile and potent, handsome too, — 
 In all obedience : "' good," you grant again. 
 Do you ? I would you were the husband, lords ! 
 How prompt and facile might departure be ! 
 How boldly would Pompilia and the priest 
 March out of door, spread flag at beat of drum, 
 
334 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 But that inapprehensive Guido grants 
 Neither premiss nor yet conclusion here, 
 And, jDurblind, dreads a bear in every bush ] 
 For his own quietude and comfort, then. 
 Means must be found for flight in masquerade 
 At hour when all things sleep — " Save jealousy ! 
 Eight, Judges ! Therefore shall the lady's wit 
 Supply the boon thwart nature balks him of, 
 And do him service with the potent drug 
 (Helen's nepenthe, as my lords opine) 
 Which respites blessedly each fretted nerve 
 O' the much-enduring man : accordingly. 
 There lies he, duly dosed and sound asleep, 
 Relieved of woes or real or raved about. 
 While soft she leaves his side, he shall not wake ; 
 Nor stop who steals away to join her friend, 
 Nor do him mischief should he catch that friend 
 Intent on more than friendly office, — nay. 
 Nor get himself raw head and bones laid bare 
 In payment of his apparition ! 
 
 Thus 
 Would I defend the step, — were the thing true 
 Which is a fable, — see my former speech, — 
 That Guido slept (who never slept a wink) 
 Through treachery, an opiate from his wife, 
 Who not so much as knew what opiates mean. 
 
 Now she may start : or hist, — a stoppage still I 
 
 A journey is an enterprise of cost ! 
 
 As in campaigns, we tight but others pay, 
 
 Suis expensis, nemo militat. 
 
 'T is Guido's self we guard from accident. 
 
 Ensuring safety to Pompilia, versed 
 
 Nowise in misadventures by the way, 
 
 Hard riding and rough quarters, the rude fare, 
 
 The unready host. What magic mitigates 
 
 Each plague of travel to the unpractised wife ? 
 
 Money, sweet Sirs ! And were the fiction fact, 
 
 She helped herself thereto with liberal hand 
 
 From out her husband's store, — what fitter use 
 
 Was ever husband's money destined to ? 
 
 With bag and baggage thus did Dido once 
 
 Decamp, — for more authority, a queen ! 
 
 So is she fairly on her route at last. 
 Prepared for either fortune : nay and if 
 
JOHANNES-BAPTISTA BOTTINIUS 335 
 
 The priest, now all aglow with enterprise, 
 Cool somewhat presently when fades the flush 
 O' the first adventure, clouded o'er belike 
 By doubts, misgivings how the day may die, ^ 
 Though born with such auroral brilliance, — if 
 The brow seem over-pensive and the lip 
 'Gin lag and lose the prattle Hghtsome late, — 
 Vanquished by tedium of a prolonged jaunt 
 In a close carriage o'er a jolting road, 
 With only one young female substitute 
 For seventeen other Canons of ripe age 
 Were wont to keep him company in church, — 
 Shall not Pompilia haste to dissipate 
 The silent cloud that, gathering, bodes her bale ? — 
 Prop the irresoluteness may portend 
 Suspension of the project, check the flight, 
 Bring ruin on them both ? Use every means. 
 Since means to the end are lawful ! What i' the way 
 Of wile should have allowance like a kiss 
 Sagely and sisterly administered, 
 Sororia salte7n oscula ? We find ^ 
 Such was the remedy her wit applied 
 To each incipient scruple of the priest, ^ 
 If we believe, — as, while my wit is mine 
 I cannot, — M'hat the driver testifies, 
 Borsi, called Venerino, the mere tool 
 Of Guido and his friend the Governor, — 
 Avowal I proved wrung from out the wretch, 
 After long rotting in imprisonment, 
 As price of liberty and favor : long 
 They tempted, he at last succumbed, and lo 
 Counted them out full tale each kiss and more, 
 <' The journey being one long embrace," quoth he. 
 Still, though we should beheve the driver's lie, 
 Nor even admit as probable excuse. 
 Right reading of the riddle, — as I urged 
 In my first argument, with fruit perhaps — 
 That what the owl-like eyes (at back of head !) 
 O' the driver, drowsed by driving night and day, 
 Supposed a vulgar interchange of lips. 
 This was but innocent jog of head 'gainst head, 
 Cheek meeting jowl as apple may touch pear^ 
 From branch and branch contiguous in the wind. 
 When Autumn blusters and the orchard rocks : — 
 That rapid run and the rough road were cause 
 O' the casual ambiguity, no harm 
 
336 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 T the world to eyes awake and penetrative : — 
 Say, — not to grasp a truth I can release 
 And safely fight without, yet conquer still, — 
 Say, she kissed him, say, he kissed her again ! 
 Such osculation was a potent means, 
 A very efficacious help, no doubt : 
 Such with a third part of her nectar did 
 Venus imbue : why should Pompilia fling 
 The poet's declaration in his teeth ? — 
 Pause to employ what, — since it had success, 
 And kept the priest her servant to the end, — 
 We must presume of energy enough, 
 No whit superfluous, so permissible ? 
 
 The goal is gained : day, night, and yet a day 
 
 Have run their round : a longf and devious road 
 
 Is traversed, — many manners, various men 
 
 Passed in view, what cities did they see, 
 
 What hamlets mark, what profitable food 
 
 For after-meditation cull and store ! 
 
 Till Pome, that Rome whereof — this voice 
 
 Would it might make our Molinists observe, 
 
 That she is built upon a rock nor shall 
 
 Their powers prevail against her ! — Rome, I say, 
 
 Is all but reached ; one stage more and they stop 
 
 Saved : pluck up heart, ye pair, and forward, then 1 
 
 Ah, Nature — baffled she recurs, alas ! 
 Nature imperiously exacts her due. 
 Spirit is willing but the flesh is weak : 
 Pompilia needs must acquiesce and swoon. 
 Give hopes alike and fears a breathing-while. 
 The innocent sleep soundly : sound she sleeps. 
 So let her slumber, then, unguarded save 
 By her own chastity, a triple mail, 
 And his good hand whose stalwart arms have borne 
 The sweet and senseless burden like a babe 
 From coach to coach, — the serviceable strength ! 
 Nay, what and if he gazed rewardedly 
 On the pale beauty prisoned in embrace. 
 Stooped over, stole a balmy breath perhaps 
 For more assurance sleep was not decease — 
 " Ut vidi," "how I saw ! " succeeded by 
 " Ut peril," " how I sudden lost my brains ! " 
 — What harm ensued to her unconscious quite ? 
 For, curiosity — how natural ! 
 
JOHANNES-BAPTISTA BOTTINIUS 337 
 
 Importunateness — what a privilege 
 
 In the ardent sex ! And why curb ardor here i 
 
 How can the priest but pity whom he saved . 
 
 And pity is so near to love, and love 
 
 So neighborly to all unreasonableness ! 
 
 As to love's object, whether love were sage 
 
 Or foohsh, could Pompilia know or care, 
 
 Being still sound asleep, as I premised ? 
 
 Thus'the philosopher absorbed by thought, 
 
 Even Archimedes, busy o'er a book 
 
 The while besiegers sacked his Syracuse,^ 
 
 Was ignorant of the imminence o' the point 
 
 O' the^'sword till it surprised him : let it stab. 
 
 And never knew himself was dead at all. 
 
 So sleep thou on, secure whate'er betide ! 
 
 For thou, too, hast thy problemhard to solve — 
 
 How so much beauty is compatible 
 
 With so much innocence I 
 
 Fit place, methinks, 
 While in this task she rosily is lost. 
 To treat of and repel objection here 
 Which, — frivolous, I grant, — my mind misgives, 
 May somehow still have flitted, gadfly-like. 
 And teased the Court at times — as if, all said 
 And done, there seemed, the Court might nearly say, 
 In a certain acceptation, somewhat more 
 Of what may pass for insincerity. 
 Falsehood, throughout the course Pompilia took, 
 Than befits Christian. Pagans held, we know, 
 Man always ought to aim at good and truth. 
 Not always put one thing in the same words : 
 Non idem semper clicere sed sjjectare ^ 
 Debemus. But the Pagan yoke was light ; 
 « Lie not at aU," the exacter precept bids : 
 Each least lie breaks the law, — is sin, we hold. 
 I humble me, but venture to submit — 
 What prevents sin, itself is sinless, sure : 
 
 And sin, which hinders sin of deeper dye, 
 
 Softens itself away by contrast so. 
 
 Conceive me I Little sin, by none at all. 
 
 Were properly condemned for great : but great, 
 
 By greater, dwindles into small again. 
 
 Now, what is greatest sin of womanhood ? 
 
 That which unwomans it, abolishes 
 
 The nature of the woman, — impudence. 
 
338 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Who contradicts me here ? Concede me, then, 
 
 Whatever friendly fault may interpose 
 
 To save the sex from self-abolishment 
 
 Is three-parts on the way to virtue's rank ! 
 
 And, what is taxed here as duplicity, 
 
 Feint, wile, and trick, — admitted for the nonce, — 
 
 What worse do one and all than interpose, 
 
 Hold, as it were, a deprecating hand, 
 
 Statuesquely, in the Medicean mode. 
 
 Before some shame which modesty w^ould veil ? 
 
 Who blames the gesture prettily perverse ? 
 
 Thus, — lest ye miss a point illustrative, — 
 
 Admit the husband's calumny — allow 
 
 That the wife, having penned the epistle fraught 
 
 With horrors, charge on charge of crime she heaped 
 
 O' the head of Pietro and Yiolante — (still 
 
 Presmned her parents) — having dispatched the same 
 
 To their arch-enemy Paolo, through free choice 
 
 And no sort of compulsion in the world — 
 
 Put case she next discards simplicity 
 
 For craft, denies the voluntary act. 
 
 Declares herself a passiA^e instrument 
 
 I' the husband's hands ; that, duped by knavery, 
 
 She traced the characters she could not write, 
 
 And took on trust the unread sense which, read, 
 
 And recognized were to be spurned at once : 
 
 Allow this calumny, I reiterate ! 
 
 Who is so dull as wonder at the pose 
 
 Of our Pompilia in the circumstance ? 
 
 Who sees not that the too-ingenuous soul. 
 
 Repugnant even at a duty done 
 
 Which brought beneath too scrutinizing glare 
 
 The misdemeanors, — buried in the dark, — 
 
 Of the autliors of her being, as believed, — 
 
 Stung to the quick at her impulsive deed. 
 
 And willing to repair what harm it worked. 
 
 She — wise in this beyond what Nero proved. 
 
 Who, when folk urged the candid juvenile 
 
 To sign the warrant, doom the guilty dead, 
 
 " Would I had never learned to write ! '" quoth he ! 
 — Pompilia rose above the Roman, cried, 
 
 " To read or w^rite I never learned at all ! " 
 O splendidly mendacious ! 
 
 But time fleets : 
 Let us not linger : hurry to the end, 
 
JOHANJS ES-BAPTISTA BOTTINIUS 339 
 
 Since flight does end and that, disastrously. 
 
 Beware ye blame desert for imsuccess, 
 
 Disparage each expedient else to praise, 
 
 Call failure folly ! Man's best effort fails. 
 
 After ten years' resistance Troy succumbed : 
 
 Could valor save a town, Troy still had stood. 
 
 Pompilia came off halting in no point 
 
 Of courage, conduct, her long journey through : 
 
 But nature sank exhausted at the close. 
 
 And, as I said, she swooned and slept all night. 
 
 Morn breaks and brings the husband : we assist 
 
 At the spectacle. Discovery succeeds. 
 
 Ha, how is this ? What moonstruck rage is here ? 
 
 Though we confess to partial frailty now, 
 
 To error in a woman and a wife, 
 
 Is 't by the rough way she shall be reclaimed ? 
 
 Who bursts upon her chambered privacy ? 
 
 What crowd profanes the chaste cubicidtim ? 
 
 What outcries and lewd laughter, scurril gibe 
 
 And ribald jest to scare the ministrant 
 
 Good angels that commerce with souls in sleep ? 
 
 Why, had the worst crowned Guido to his wish, 
 
 Confirmed his most irrational surmise. 
 
 Yet there be bounds to man's emotion, checks 
 
 To an immoderate astonishment. 
 
 'T is decent horror, regulated wrath. 
 
 Befit our dispensation : have we back 
 
 The old Pagan license ? Shall a Vulcan clap 
 
 His net o' the sudden and expose the pair 
 
 To the unquenchable universal mirth ? 
 
 A feat, antiquity saw scandal in 
 
 So clearly, that the nauseous tale thereof — 
 
 Demodocus his nugatory song — 
 
 Hath ever been concluded modern stuff 
 
 Imj^ossible to the mouth of the grave Muse, 
 
 So, foisted into that Eighth Odyssey 
 
 By some impertinent pickthank. O thou fool, 
 
 Count Guido Franceschini, what didst gain 
 
 By publisliing thy secret to the world ? 
 
 Were all the precepts of the wise a waste — 
 
 Bred in thee not one touch of reverence ? 
 
 Admit thy wife — admonish we the fool — 
 
 Were falseness' self, why chronicle thy shame ? 
 
 Much rather should thy teeth bite out thy tongue, 
 
 Dumb lip consort with desecrated brow. 
 
 Silence become historiographer. 
 
340 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 And thou — thine own Cornelius Taeitus ! 
 
 But virtue, barred, still leaps the barrier, lords ! 
 
 — Still, moon-like, penetrates the encroaching mist 
 
 And bursts, all broad and bare, on night, ye know! 
 
 Surprised, then, in the garb of truth, perhaps, 
 
 Pompilia, thus opposed, breaks obstacle. 
 
 Springs to her feet, and stands Thalassian-pure, 
 
 Confronts the foe, — nay, catches at his sword 
 
 And tries to kill the intruder, he complains. 
 
 Why, so she gave her lord his lesson back. 
 
 Crowned him, this time, the virtuous woman's way, 
 
 With an exact obedience ; he brought sword. 
 
 She drew the same, since swords are meant to draw. 
 
 Tell not me 't is sharp play with tools on edge ! 
 
 It was the husband chose the weapon here. 
 
 Why did not he inaugurate the game 
 
 With some gentility of apophthegm 
 
 Still pregnant on the philosophic page. 
 
 Some captivating cadence still a-lisp 
 
 O' the poet's lyre ? Such spells subdue the surge, 
 
 Make tame the tempest, much more mitigate 
 
 The passions of the mind, and probably 
 
 Had moved Pompilia to a smiling blush. 
 
 No, he must needs prefer the argument 
 
 O' the blow : and she obeyed, in duty bound, 
 
 Returned him buffet ratiocinative — 
 
 Ay, in the reasoner's own interest, 
 
 For wife must follow whither husband leads, 
 
 Vindicate honor as himself prescribes. 
 
 Save him the very way himself bids save ! 
 
 No question but who jumps into a quag 
 
 Should stretch forth hand and pray us " Pull me out 
 
 By the hand ! " such were the customary cry : 
 
 But Guido pleased to bid " Leave hand alone ! 
 
 Join both feet, rather, jump upon my head : 
 
 I extricate myself by the rebound ! " 
 
 And dutifully as enjoined she jumped — 
 
 Drew his own sword and menaced his own life, 
 
 Anything to content a wilful spouse. 
 
 And so he was contented — one must do 
 
 Justice to the expedient which succeeds. 
 
 Strange as it seem : at flourish of the blade, 
 
 The crowd drew back, stood breathless and abashed, 
 
 Then murmured, " This should be no wanton wife. 
 
 No conscience-stricken sinner, caught i' the act, 
 
JOHANNES-BAPTISTA BOTTINIUS 341 
 
 And patiently awaiting our first stone : 
 But a poor hard-pressed all-bewildered thing, 
 Has rushed so far, misguidedly perhaps, 
 Meaning no more harm than a frightened sheep. 
 She sought for aid ; and if she made mistake 
 I' the man could aid most, why — so mortals do : 
 Even the blessed INTasdalen mistook 
 Far less f orgivably : consult the place — 
 Supposing him to be the gardener, 
 ' Sir,' said she, and so following." Why more words ? 
 Forthwith the wife is pronounced innocent : 
 What would the husband more than gain his cause, 
 And find that honor flash in the world's eye, 
 His apprehension was lest soil had smirched ? 
 
 So, happily the adventure comes to close 
 
 Whereon my fat opponent grounds his charge 
 
 Preposterous : at mid-day he groans '' How dark ! " 
 
 Listen to me, thou Archangelic swine I 
 
 Where is the ambiguity to blame. 
 
 The flaw to find in our Pompilia ? Safe 
 
 She stands, see ! Does thy comment follow quick, 
 " Safe, inasmuch as at the end proposed ; 
 
 But thither she picked way by devious path — 
 
 Stands dirtied, no dubiety at all ! 
 
 I recognize success, yet, all the same, 
 
 Importunately will suggestion prompt — 
 
 Better Pompilia gained the right to boast, 
 ' No devious path, no doubtful patch was mine, 
 
 I saved my head nor sacrificed my foot ! ' 
 
 Why, being in a peril, show mistrust 
 
 Of the angels set to guard the innocent ? 
 
 Why rather hold by obvious vulgar help 
 
 Of stratagem and subterfuge, excused 
 
 Somewhat, but still no less a foil, a fault, 
 
 Since low with high, and good with bad is linked ? 
 
 Methinks I view some ancient bass-relief. 
 
 There stands Hesione thrust out by Troy, 
 
 Her father's hand has chained her to a crag, 
 
 Her mother's from the virgin plucked the vest. 
 
 At a safe distance both distressful watch. 
 
 While near and nearer comes the snorting ore. 
 
 I look that, white and perfect to the end, 
 
 She wait till Jove dispatch some demigod ; 
 
 Not that, — impatient of celestial club 
 
 Alcmena's son should brandish at the beast, — 
 
342 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 She daub, disguise her dainty limbs with pitch, 
 And so elude the purblind monster ! Ay, 
 The trick succeeds, but 't is an ugly trick, 
 Where needs have been no trick ! " 
 
 My answer ? Faugh 
 Nimis incongrue ! Too absurdly put ! 
 Sententiam ego teneo contrariam^ 
 Trick, I maintain, had no alternative. 
 The heavens were bound with brass, — Jove far at feast 
 (No feast like that thou didst not ask me to, 
 Arcangeli, — I heard of thy regale !) 
 With the unblamed ^thiop, — Hercules spun wool 
 I' the lap of OmjDhale, while Virtue shrieked — 
 The brute came paddling all the faster. You 
 Of Troy, who stood at distance, where 's the aid 
 You offered in the extremity ? Most and least, 
 Gentle and simple, here the Governor, 
 There the Archbishop, everywhere the friends, 
 Shook heads and waited for a miracle. 
 Or went their way, left Virtue to her fate. 
 Just this one rough and ready man leapt forth ! 
 — Was found, sole anti-Fabius (dare I say) 
 Who restored things, with no delay at all, 
 Qui haucl cunctando rem restituit ! He, 
 He only, Caponsacchi 'mid a crowd, 
 Caught Virtue up, carried Pompilia off 
 Through gaping impotence of sympathy 
 In ranged Arezzo : what you take for pitch, 
 Is nothing worse, belike, than black and blue. 
 Mere evanescent proof that hardy hands 
 Did yeoman's service, cared not where the gripe 
 Was niDre than duly energetic : bruised. 
 She smarts a little, but her bonnes are saved 
 A fracture, and her skin will soon show sleek. 
 How it disgusts when weakness, false-refined, 
 Censures the honest rude effective strength, — ^ 
 When sickly dreamers of the impossible 
 Decry plain sturdiness which does the feat 
 With eyes wide open I 
 
 Did occasion serve, 
 I could illustrate, if my lords allow ; 
 Quid vetat, what forbids I aptly ask 
 With Horace, that I give my anger vent. 
 While I let breathe, no less, and recreate, 
 The gravity of my Judges, by a tale ? 
 
JOHANNES-BAPTISTA BOTTINWS 343 
 
 A case in point — what though an apologue 
 
 Graced by tradition ? — possibly a fact : 
 
 Tradition must precede all scripture, words 
 
 Serve as our warrant ere our books can be : 
 
 So, to tradition back we needs must go 
 
 For any fact's authority : and this 
 
 Hath lived so far (like jewel hid in muck) 
 
 On page of that old lying vanity 
 
 Called '' Sepher Toldoth Yeschu : " God be praised, 
 
 I read no Hebrew, — take the thing on trust : 
 
 But I believe the writer meant no good 
 
 (Blind as he was to truth in some respects) 
 
 To our pestiferous and schismatic . . . well, 
 
 My lords' conjecture be the touchstone, show 
 
 The thing for what it is I The author lacks 
 
 Discretion, and his zeal exceeds : but zeal, — 
 
 How rare in our degenerate day I Enough ! 
 
 Here is the story : fear not, I shall chop 
 
 And change a little, else my Jew would press 
 
 All too unmannerly before the Court. 
 
 It happened once, — begins this foolish Jew, 
 
 Pretending to write Christian history, — 
 
 That three, held greatest, best and worst of men, 
 
 Peter and John and Judas, spent a day 
 
 In toil and travel through the country-side 
 
 On some sufficient business — I suspect, ' 
 
 Suppression of some Molinism i' the bud. 
 
 Foot-sore and hungry, dropping with fatigue, 
 
 They reached by nightfall a poor lonely grange, 
 
 Hostel or inn : so, knocked and entered there. 
 " Your pleasure, great ones ? " — '" Shelter, rest and food ! " 
 
 For shelter, there was one bare room above ; 
 
 For rest therein, three beds of bundled straw : 
 
 For food, one wretched starveling fowl, no more — 
 
 Meat for one mouth, but mockery for tbree. 
 *' You have my utmost." How should supper serve ? 
 
 Peter broke silence : " To the spit with fowl I 
 
 And while 't is cooking, sleep ! — since beds there be, 
 
 And, so far, satisfaction of a want. 
 
 Sleep we an hour, awake at supjjer-time. 
 
 Then each of us narrate the dream he had. 
 
 And he whose dream shall prove the happiest, point 
 
 The clearliest out the dreamer as ordained 
 
 Beyond his fellows to receive the fowl, 
 
 Him let our shares be cheerful tribute to, 
 
344 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 His the entire meal, may it do him good ! " 
 
 Who could dispute so plain a consequence ? 
 
 So said, so done : each hurried to his straw, 
 
 Slept his hour's-sleep and dreamed his dream, and woke. 
 
 " I," commenced John, " dreamed that I gained the prize 
 We all aspire to : the proud place was mine. 
 Throughout the earth and to the end of time 
 I was the Loved Disciple : mine the meal I " 
 
 " But I," proceeded Peter, " dreamed, a word 
 Gave me the headship of our company. 
 Made me the Vicar and Vice-gerent, gave 
 The keys of heaven and hell into my hand, 
 And o'er the earth, dominion : mine the meal ! '* 
 
 " While I," submitted in soft under-tone 
 The Iscariot — sense of his unworthiness 
 Turning each eye up to the inmost white — 
 With long-drawn sigh, yet letting both lips smack, 
 
 " I have had just the pitifullest dream 
 That ever proved man meanest of his mates. 
 And born foot-washer and foot-wiper, nay 
 Foot-kisser to each comrade of you all ! 
 I dreamed I dreamed ; and in that mimic dream 
 (Impalpable to dream as dream to fact) 
 Methought I meanly chose to sleep no wink 
 But wait until I heard my brethren snore ; 
 Then stole from couch, slipped noiseless o'er the planks. 
 Slid downstairs, furtively approached the hearth. 
 Found the fowl duly brown, both back and breast, 
 Hissing in harmony with the cricket's chirp. 
 Grilled to a point ; said no grace but fell to. 
 Nor finished till the skeleton lay bare. 
 In penitence for which ignoble dream, 
 Lo, I renounce my portion cheerfully ! 
 Fie on the flesh — be mine the ethereal gust, 
 And yours the sublunary sustenance ! 
 See that whate'er be left ye give the poor ! " 
 Down the two scuttled, one on other's heel, 
 Stung by a fell surmise ; and found, alack, 
 A goodly savor, both the drumstick bones, 
 And that which henceforth took the appropriate name 
 O' the Merry-thought, in memory of the fact 
 That to keep wide awake is man's best dream. 
 
 So, — as was said once of Thucydides 
 
 And his sole joke, "The lion, lo, hath laughed ! " — 
 
 Just so, the Governor and all that 's great 
 
JOHANNES-BAPTISTA BOTTINIUS 345 
 
 I' the city, never meant that Innocence 
 Should quite starve while Authority sat at meat ; 
 They meant to fling a bone at banquet's end : 
 Wished well to our Pompilia — in their dreams, 
 Nor bore the secular sword in vain — asleep. 
 Just so the Archbishop and all good like him 
 Went to bed meaning to pour oil and wine 
 I' the wounds of her, next day, — but long ere day, 
 They had burned the one and drunk the other, while 
 Just so, again, contrariwise, the priest 
 Sustained poor Nature in extremity 
 By stuffing barley-bread into her mouth, 
 Saving Pompilia (grant the parallel) 
 By the plain homely and straightforward way 
 Taught him by common sense. Let others shriek 
 *^ Oh what refined expedients did we dream 
 Proved us the only lit to help the fair ! '' 
 He cried, " A carriage waits, jump in with me ! " 
 
 And now, this application pardoned, lords, — 
 
 This recreative pause and breathing-while, — 
 
 Back to beseemingness and gravity ! 
 
 For Law steps in : Guido appeals to Law, 
 
 Demands she arbitrate, — does well for once. 
 
 O Law, of tliee how neatly was it said 
 
 By that old Sophocles, thou hast thy seat 
 
 I' the very breast of Jove, no meanlier throned ! 
 
 Here is a piece of work now, hitherto 
 
 Begun and carried on, concluded near. 
 
 Without an eye-glance cast thy sceptre's way ; 
 
 And, lo, the stumbling and discomfiture ! 
 
 Well may you call them " lawless " means, men take 
 
 To extricate themselves through mother-wit 
 
 When tangled haply in the toils of life ! 
 
 Guido would try conclusions with his foe, 
 
 Whoe'er the foe was and whate'er the offence ; 
 
 He would recover certain dowry-dues : 
 
 Instead of asking Law to lend a hand, 
 
 What pother of sword drawn and pistol cocked, 
 
 What peddling with forged letters and paid spies, 
 
 Politic circumvention ! — all to end 
 
 As it began — by loss of the fool's head, 
 
 First in a figure, presently in a fact. 
 
 It is a lesson to mankind at large. 
 
 How other were the end, would men be sage 
 
 And bear confidingly each quarrel straight, 
 
346 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 O Law, to thy recipient mother-knees ! 
 
 How would the children light come and prompt go, 
 
 This, with a red-cheeked apple for reward, 
 
 The other, peradventure red-cheeked too 
 
 I' the rear, by taste of birch for punishment. 
 
 No foolish brawling murder any more ! 
 
 Peace for the household, practice for the Fisc, 
 
 And plenty for the exchequer of my lords ! 
 
 Too much to hope, in this world : in the next. 
 
 Who knows ? Since, why should sit the Twelve enthroned 
 
 To judge the tribes, unless the tribes be judged ? 
 
 And 't is impossible but offences come : 
 
 So, all 's one lawsuit, aU one long leet-day ! 
 
 Forgive me this digression — that I stand 
 
 Entranced awhile at Law's first beam, outbreak 
 
 O' the business, when the Count's good angel bade 
 " Put up thy sword, born enemy to the ear. 
 
 And let Law listen to thy difference 1 " 
 
 And Law does listen and compose the strife, 
 
 Settle the suit, how wisely and how well ! 
 
 On our Pompilia, faultless to a fault, 
 
 Law bends a brow maternally severe, 
 
 Implies the worth of perfect chastity, 
 
 By fancying the flaw she cannot find. 
 
 Superfluous sifting snow, nor helps nor harms : 
 
 'T is safe to censure levity in youth, 
 
 Tax womanhood with indiscretion, sure ! 
 
 Since toys, permissible to-day, become 
 
 Follies to-morrow : prattle shocks in church : 
 
 And that curt skirt which lets a maiden skip, 
 
 The matron changes for a trailing robe. 
 
 Mothers may aim a blow with half-shut eyes 
 
 Nodding above their spindles by the fire. 
 
 And chance to hit some hidden fault, else safe. 
 
 Just so, Law hazarded a punishment — 
 
 If applicable to the circumstance. 
 
 Why, well ! if not so apposite, well too. 
 " Quit the gay range o' the world," I hear her cry, 
 " Enter, in lieu, the penitential pound : 
 
 Exchange the gauds of pomp for ashes, dust ! 
 
 Leave each mollitious haunt of luxury ! 
 
 The golden-garnished silken-couched alcove. 
 
 The many-columned terrace that so tempts 
 
 Feminine soul put foot forth, extend ear 
 
 To fluttering joy of lover's serenade, — 
 
JOHANNES-BAPTISTA BOTTINIUS 347 
 
 Leave these for cellular seclusion ! mask 
 
 And dance no more, but fast and pray ! avaunt — 
 
 Be burned, thy Avicked townsman's sonnet-book ! 
 
 Welcome, mild hymnal by . . . some better scribe ! 
 
 For the warm arms were wont enfold thy flesh, 
 
 Let wire-shirt plough and whip-cord discipline ! " 
 
 If such an exhortation proved, perchance, 
 
 Inapplicable, words bestowed in waste, 
 
 What harm, since Law has store, can spend nor miss ? 
 
 And so, our paragon submits herself, 
 
 Goes at command into the holy house, 
 
 And, also at command, comes out again : 
 
 For, could the effect of such obedience prove 
 
 Too certain, too immediate ? Being healed. 
 
 Go blaze abroad the matter, blessed one I 
 
 Art thou sound forthwith ? Speedily vacate 
 
 The step by pool-side, leave Bethesda free 
 
 To patients plentifully posted round. 
 
 Since the whole need not the physician I Brief, 
 
 She may betake her to her parents' place. 
 
 Welcome her, father, with wide arms once more ; 
 
 Motion her, mother, to thy breast again ! 
 
 For why ? Since Law relinquishes the charge, 
 
 Grants to your dwelling-place a prison's style. 
 
 Rejoice you with Pompilia ! golden days, 
 
 Redeunt Saturnia regna. Six weeks slij^, 
 
 And she is domiciled in house and home 
 
 As though she thence had never budged at all. 
 
 And thither let the husband — joyous, ay, 
 
 But contrite also — quick betake himself. 
 
 Proud that his dove which lay among the pots 
 
 Hath mued those dingy feathers, — moulted now. 
 
 Shows silver bosom clothed with yellow gold ! 
 
 So shall he tempt her to the perch she fled, 
 
 Bid to domestic bliss the truant back. 
 
 But let him not delay ! Time fleets how fast, 
 
 And opportunity, the irrevocable, 
 
 Once flown will flout him ! Is the furrow traced ? 
 
 If field wdth corn ye fail preoccupy. 
 
 Darnel for wheat and thistle-beards for grain, 
 
 Iiifelix lolium, carduus horridus, 
 
 Will grow apace in combination prompt. 
 
 Defraud the husbandman of his desire. 
 
 Already — hist — what murmurs 'monish now 
 
348 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 The laggard ? — doubtful, nay, fantastic bruit 
 
 Of such an apparition, such return 
 
 Interdum, to anticipate the spouse, 
 
 Of Caponsacchi's very self ! 'T is said, 
 
 When nights are lone and company is rare, 
 
 His visitations brighten winter up. 
 
 If so they did — which nowise 1 believe — 
 
 (How can I ? — proof abounding that the priest. 
 
 Once fairly at his relegation-place, 
 
 Never once left it), still, admit he stole 
 
 A midnight march, would fain see friend again. 
 
 Find matter for instruction in the past. 
 
 Renew the old adventure in such chat 
 
 As cheers a fireside ! He was lonely too, 
 
 He, too, must need his recreative hour. 
 
 Shall it amaze the philosophic mind 
 
 If he, long wont the empurpled cup to quaff, 
 
 Have feminine society at will. 
 
 Being debarred abruptly from all drink 
 
 Save at the spring which Adam used for wine. 
 
 Dreads harm to just the health he hoped to guard, 
 
 And, trying abstinence, gains malady ? 
 
 Ask Tozzi, now physician to the Pope ! 
 
 " Little by little break " — (I hear he bids 
 Master Arcangeli my antagonist, 
 Who loves good cheer, and may indulge too much : 
 So I explain the logic of the plea 
 Wherewith he opened our proceedings late) — 
 
 " Little by little break a habit, Don, 
 Become necessity to feeble flesh ! " 
 And thus, nocturnal taste of intercourse 
 (Which never happened, — but, suppose it did) 
 May have been used to dishabituate 
 By sip and sip this drainer to the dregs 
 O' the draught of conversation, — heady stuff, 
 Brewage which, broached, it took two days and nights 
 To properly discuss i' the journey. Sirs ! 
 Such power has second-nature, men call use. 
 That undelightful objects get to charm 
 Instead of chafe : the daily colocynth 
 Tickles the palate by repeated dose. 
 Old sores scratch kindly, the ass makes a push 
 Although the mill-yoke-wound be smarting yet, 
 For mill-door bolted on a holiday : 
 Nor nmst we marvel here if impulse urge 
 To talk the old story over now and then, 
 
JOHANNES-BAPTISTA BOTTINIUS 349 
 
 The hopes and fears, the stoppage and the haste, — 
 
 Subjects of colloquy to surfeit once. 
 *' Here did you bid me twine a rosy wreath ! " 
 "And there you paid my lips a compliment! " 
 *' Here you admired the tower could be so tall ! " 
 " And there you likened that of Lebanon 
 
 To the nose of the beloved ! " Trifles ! still, 
 *' Forsan et kcec olim^''^ — such trifles serve 
 
 To make the minutes pass in winter-time. 
 
 Husband, return then, I re-counsel thee ! 
 For, finally, of all glad circumstance 
 Should make a prompt return imperative, 
 AVhat in the world awaits thee, dost suppose? 
 O' the sudden, as good gifts are wont befall, 
 What is the hap of our unconscious Count ? 
 That which lights bonfire and sets cask a-tilt, 
 Dissolves the stubborn'st heart in jollity. 
 O admirable, there is born a babe, 
 A son, an heir, a Franceschini last 
 And best o' the stock ! Pompilia, thine the palm ! 
 Repaying incredulitv with faith, 
 Ungenerous thrift of each marital debt 
 With bounty in profuse expenditure, 
 Pompilia scorns to have the old year end 
 Without a present shall ring in the new — 
 Bestows on her too-parsimonious lord 
 An infant for the apple of his eye. 
 Core of his heart, and crown completing life, 
 True summimi homtin of the earthly lot ! 
 " We," saith ingeniously the sage, " are born 
 Solely that others may be born of us." 
 So, father, take thy child, for thine that child. 
 Oh nothing doubt I In wedlock born, law holds 
 Baseness impossible : since ^'- films est 
 Quem nupticB deinoDstrant,'" twits the text 
 Whoever dares to doubt. 
 
 Yet doubt he dares ! 
 
 O faith, where art thou flown from out the world? 
 
 Already on what an age of doubt we fall I 
 
 Instead of each disjiuting for the prize. 
 
 The babe is bandied here from that to this. 
 
 Whose the babe ? " Ctijum pecus ? " Guido's lamb ? 
 ''An MeliboRl ? " Nay, but of the priest ! 
 " Non sed jEgonis ! " Some one must be sire : 
 
350 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 And who shall say, in such a puzzling strait, 
 
 If there were not vouchsafed some miracle 
 
 To the wife who had been harassed and abused 
 
 More than enough by Guido's family 
 
 For non-production of the promised fruit 
 
 Of marriage ? What if Nature, I demand, 
 
 Touched to the quick by taunts upon her sloth, 
 
 Had roused herself, put forth recondite power, 
 
 Bestowed this birth to vindicate her sway, 
 
 Like the strange favor, Maro memorized 
 
 As granted Aristseus when his hive 
 
 Lay empty of the swarm ? not one more bee — 
 
 Not one more babe to Franceschini's house ! 
 
 And lo, a new birth filled the air with joy. 
 
 Sprung from the bowels of the generous steer, 
 
 A novel son and heir rejoiced the Count ! 
 
 Spontaneous generation, need I prove 
 
 Were facile feat to Nature at a pinch ? 
 
 Let whoso doubts, steep horsehair certain weeks, 
 
 In water, there will be produced a snake ; 
 
 Spontaneous product of the horse, which horse 
 
 Happens to be the representative — 
 
 Now thu] I think on 't — of Arezzo's self, 
 
 The very city our conception blessed : 
 
 Is not a prancing horse the City-arms ? 
 
 What sane eye fails to see coincidence ? 
 
 Cur ego^ boast thou, my Pompilia, then, 
 
 Desper em, fieri sine conjiige 
 
 Mater — how well the Ovidian distich suits ! — 
 
 Et parere intacto duvimodo 
 
 Casta viro ? such miracle was wrought ! 
 
 Note, further, as to mark the prodigy. 
 
 The babe in question neither took the name 
 
 Of Guido, from the sire presumptive, nor 
 
 Giuseppe, from the sire potential, but 
 
 Gaetano — last saint of our hierarchy. 
 
 And newest namer for a thing so new ! 
 
 What other motive could have prompted choice ? 
 
 Therefore be peace again : exult, ye hills ! 
 Ye vales rejoicingly break forth in song ! 
 Incite, parve puer, begin, small boy, 
 Risu cognoscere patreTn, with a laugh 
 To recognize thy parent ! Nor do thou 
 Boggle, oh parent, to return the grace ! 
 Nee anceps hcere, pater, puero 
 
JOHANNES-BAPTISTA BOTTINIUS 351 
 
 Cognoscendo — one may well eke out the prayer ! 
 In vain ! The perverse Guido doubts his eyes, 
 Distrusts assurance, lets the devil drive. 
 Because his liouse is swept and garnished now, 
 He, having summoned seven like himself. 
 Must hurry thither, knock and enter in, 
 And make the last worse than the first, indeed ! 
 Is he content ? We are. No further blame 
 O' the man and murder ! They were stigmatized 
 Befittingly : the Court heard long ago 
 My mind o' the matter, which, outpouring full, 
 Has long since swe2)t like surge, i' the simile 
 Of Homer, overborne both dyke and dam. 
 And whelmed alike client and advocate : 
 His fate is sealed, his life as good as gone, 
 On him I am not tempted to waste word. 
 Yet though my purpose holds, — which was and is 
 And solely shall be to the very end, 
 To draw the true effigies of a saint, 
 Do justice to perfection in the sex, — 
 Yet let not some gross pamperer of the flesh 
 And niggard in the spirit's nourishment. 
 Whose feedino; hath obfuscated his wit 
 Rather than law, — he never had, to lose — 
 Let not such advocate object to me 
 I leave my proper function of attack ! 
 " What 's this to Bacchus ? " — (in the classic phrase, 
 Well used, for once) he hiccups probably. 
 O Advocate o' the Poor, thou born to make 
 Their blessing void — beati pauperes ! 
 By painting saintship I depicture sin : 
 Beside my pearl, I prove how black thy jet, 
 And, through Pompilia's virtue, Guido's crime. 
 
 Back to liGFy then, — with but one beauty more, 
 End we our argument, — one crowning grace 
 Pre-eminent 'mid agony and death. 
 For to the last Pompilia played her part. 
 Used the right means to the permissible end, 
 And, wily as an eel that stirs the mud 
 Thick overhead, so baffling spearman's thrust, 
 She, while he stabbed her, simulated death, 
 Delayed, for his sake, the catastrophe. 
 Obtained herself a respite, four days' grace, 
 Whereby she told her story to the world, 
 Enabled me to make the present speech. 
 And, by a full confession, saved her soul. 
 
352 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Yet hold, even here would malice leer its last, 
 Gurgle its choked remonstrance : snake, hiss free ! 
 Oh, that 's the objection ? And to whom ? — not her 
 But me, forsooth — as, in the very act 
 Of both confession and (what followed close) 
 Subsequent talk, chatter and gossipry. 
 Babble to sympathizing he and she 
 Whoever chose besiege her dying-bed, — 
 As this were found at variance with my tale, 
 Falsified all I have adduced for truth, 
 Admitted not one peccadillo here, 
 Pretended to perfection, first and last, 
 O' the whole procedure — perfect in the end, 
 Perfect i' the means, perfect in everything, 
 Leaving a lawyer nothing to excuse. 
 Reason away and show his skill about ! 
 — A flight, impossible to Adamic flesh, 
 Just to be fancied, scarcely to be wished. 
 And, anyhow, unpleadable in court ! 
 " How reconcile," gasps Malice," that with this ? '* 
 
 Your "this," friend, is extraneous to the law, 
 
 Comes of men's outside meddling, the unskilled 
 
 Interposition of such fools as press 
 
 Out of their province. Must I speak my mind ? 
 
 Far better had Pompilia died o' the spot 
 
 Than found a tongue to wag and shame the law. 
 
 Shame most of all herself, — could friendship fail. 
 
 And advocacy lie less on the alert : 
 
 But no, they shall protect her to the end ! 
 
 Do I credit the alleged narration ? No! 
 
 Lied our Pompilia then, to laud herself ? 
 
 Still, no I Clear up what seems discrepancy ? 
 
 The means abound : art 's long, though time is short ; 
 
 So, keeping me in compass, all I urge 
 
 Is — since, confession at the point of death, 
 
 Nam in articulo mortis, with the Church 
 
 Passes for statement honest and sincere, 
 
 Nemo presumitur reus esse, — then. 
 
 If sure that all affirmed would be believed, 
 
 'T was charity, in her so circumstanced, 
 
 To spend the last breath in one effort more 
 
 For universal good of friend and foe : 
 
 And, — by pretending utter innocence. 
 
 Nay, freedom from each foible we forgive, — 
 
 Re-integrate — not solely her own fame, 
 
JOHANNES-BAPTISTA BOTTINIUS 358 
 
 But do the like kind office for the priest 
 
 Whom telling the crude truth about might vex, 
 
 Haply expose to peril, abbreviate 
 
 Indeed the long career of usefulness 
 
 Presumably before him : while her lord, 
 
 Whose fleeting life is forfeit to the law, — 
 
 What mercy to the culprit if, by just 
 
 The gift of such a full certificate 
 
 Of his immitigable guiltiness, 
 
 She stifled in him the absurd conceit 
 
 Of murder as it were a mere revenge 
 
 — Stopped confirmation of that jealousy 
 
 Which, did she but acknowledge the first flaw, 
 
 The faintest foible, had emboldened him 
 
 To battle with the charge, balk penitence, 
 
 Bar preparation for impending fate ! 
 
 Whereas, persuade him that he slew a saint 
 
 Who sinned not even where she may have sinned, 
 
 You urge him all the brisklier to repent 
 
 Of most and least and aught and everything ! 
 
 Still, if this view of mine content you not, 
 
 Lords, nor excuse the genial falsehood here, 
 
 We come to our Triarii^ last resource : 
 
 We fall back on the inexpugnable. 
 
 Submitting, — she confessed before she talked ! 
 
 The sacrament obliterates the sin : 
 
 What is not, — was not, therefore, in a sense. 
 
 Let Molinists distinguish, " Souls washed white 
 
 But red once, still show pinkish to the eye ! " 
 
 We say, abolishment is nothingness, 
 
 And nothingness has neither head nor tail, 
 
 End nor begiiming ! Better estimate 
 
 Exorbitantly, than disparage aught 
 
 Of the efficacity of the act, 1 hope ! 
 
 SolvunUcr tabulce ? May we laugh and go ? 
 Well, — not before (in filial gratitude 
 To Law, who, mighty mother, waves adieu) 
 We take on us to vindicate Law's self ! 
 For, — yea. Sirs, — curb the start, curtail the stare ! — 
 Remains that we apologize for haste 
 r the Law, our lady who here bristles up, 
 " Blame my procedure ? Could the Court mistake ? 
 (Which were indeed a misery to think) ; 
 Did not my sentence in the former stage 
 O' the business bear a title plain enough ? 
 
354 THE RISG AND THE BOOK 
 
 Decretum " — I translate it word for word — 
 " ' Decreed : the priest, for his comphcity 
 I' the flight and deviation of the dame, 
 As well as for unlawful intercourse, 
 Is banished three years : ' crime and penalty, 
 Declared alike. If he be taxed with guilt, 
 How can you call Pompilia innocent ? 
 If both be innocent, have I been just ? " 
 
 Gently, mother, judge men — whose mistake 
 Is in the mere misapprehensiveness ! 
 The Titulus a-top of your decree 
 Was but to ticket there the kind of charge 
 You in good time would arbitrate upon. 
 Title is one thing, — arbitration's self, 
 Prohatio, quite another possibly. 
 Subsist it, there holds good the old response, 
 Resjoonsio tradita, we must not stick, 
 Quod non sit attendendus Titulus, 
 To the Title, sed Prohatio, but the Proof, 
 Residtans ex processu, the result 
 O' the Trial, and the style of punishment, 
 Et poena per sententiavi imposita. 
 All is tentative, till the sentence come : 
 An indication of what men expect. 
 But nowise an assurance they shall find. 
 Lords, what if we permissibly relax 
 The tense bow, as the law-god Phoebus bids, 
 Relieve our gravity at labor's close ? 
 I traverse Rome, feel thirsty, need a draught. 
 Look for a wine-shop, find it by the bough 
 Projecting as to say " Here wine is sold I " 
 So much I know, — " sold : " but what sort of wine ? 
 Strong, weak, sweet, sour, home-made or foreign drink ? 
 That much must I discover by myself. 
 " Wine is sold," quoth the bough, " but good or bad, 
 Find, and inform us when you smack your lips ! " 
 Exactly so, Law hangs her title forth. 
 To show she entertains you with such case 
 About such crime. Come in ! she pours, you quaff. 
 You find the Priest good liquor in the main. 
 But heady and provocative of brawls : 
 Remand the residue to flask once more, 
 Lay it low where it may deposit lees, 
 I' the cellar : thence produce it presently. 
 Three years the brighter and the better I 
 
JOHANNES-BAPTISTA BOTTINIUS 355 
 
 Thus, 
 Law's son, have I bestowed my filial help. 
 And thus I end, tenax proposito ; 
 Point to point as 1 purposed have I drawn 
 Pompilia, and implied as terribly 
 Guide : so, gazing, let the world crown Law — 
 Able once more, despite my impotence, 
 And helped by the acumen of the Court, 
 To eliminate, display, make tiiumph truth ! 
 What other prize than truth were worth the pains ? 
 
 There 's my oration — much exceeds in length 
 That famed panegyric of Isocrates, 
 They say it took him fifteen years to pen. 
 But all those ancients could say anything ! 
 He put in just what rushed into his head : 
 While I shall have to prune and pare and print. 
 This comes of being born in modern times 
 With priests for auditory. Still, it pays. 
 
X. 
 
 THE POPE. 
 
 Like to Ahasuerus, that shrewd prince, 
 
 I will begin, — as is, these seven years now, 
 
 My daily wont, — and read a History 
 
 (Written by one whose deft right hand was dust 
 
 To the last digit, ages ere my birth) 
 
 Of all my predecessors, Popes of Rome : 
 
 For though mine ancient early dropped the pen, 
 
 Yet others picked it up and wrote it dry, 
 
 Since of the making books there is no end. 
 
 And so I have the Papacy complete 
 
 From Peter first to Alexander last ; 
 
 Can question each and take instruction so. 
 
 Have I to dare? — I ask, how dared this Pope ? 
 
 To suffer ? Such-an-one, how suffered he ? 
 
 Being about to judge, as now, I seek 
 
 How judged once, well or ill, some other Pope ; 
 
 Study some signal judgment that subsists 
 
 To blaze on, or else blot, the page which seals 
 
 The sum up of what gain or loss to God 
 
 Came of His one more Vicar in the world. 
 
 So, do I find example, rule of life ; 
 
 So, square and set in order the next page. 
 
 Shall be stretched smooth o'er my own funeral cyst. 
 
 Eight hundred years exact before the year 
 I was made Pope, men made Formosus Pope, 
 Say Sigebert and other chroniclers. 
 Ere I confirm or quash the Trial here 
 Of Guido Franceschini and his friends. 
 Read, — How there was a ghastly Trial once 
 Of a dead man by a live man, and both, Popes : 
 Thus — in the antique penman's very phrase. 
 
 " Then Stephen, Pope and seventh of the name, 
 Cried out, in synod as he sat in state, 
 While choler quivered on his brow and beard, 
 
THE POPE 357 
 
 ' Come into court, Formosus, thou lost wretch, 
 That claimedst to be late Pope as even I ! ' 
 
 " And at the word, the great door of the church 
 Flew wide, and in they brought Formosus' self. 
 The body of him, dead, even as embalmed 
 And buried duly in the Vatican 
 Eight months before, exhumed thus for the nonce. 
 They set it, that dead body of a Pope, 
 Clothed in pontific vesture now again, 
 Upright on Peter's chair as if alive. 
 
 "And Stephen, springing up, cried furiously, 
 
 ' Biskop of Porto, wherefore didst presume 
 To leave that see and take this Roman see, 
 Exchange the lesser for the greater see, 
 — A thing against the canons of the Church ? ' 
 
 *' Then one — (a Deacon who, observing forms. 
 Was placed by Stephen to repel the charge. 
 Be advocate and mouthpiece of the corpse) — 
 Spoke as he dared, set stammeringly forth 
 With white lips and dry tongue, — as but a youth. 
 For frightful was the corpse-face to behold, — 
 How nowise lacked there precedent for this. 
 
 " But when, for his last precedent of all, 
 
 Emboldened by the Spirit, out he blurts, 
 ' And, Holy Father, didst not thou thyself 
 
 Vacate the lesser for the greater see. 
 
 Half a year since change Arago for Rome ? ' 
 ' — Ye have the sin's defence now, synod mine ! ' 
 
 Shrieks Stephen in a beastly froth of rage : 
 ' Judge now betwixt him dead and me alive ! 
 
 Hath he intruded, or do I pretend? 
 
 Judge, judge ! ' — breaks wavelike one whole foam of wrath. 
 
 " Whereupon they, being friends and followers. 
 Said, ' Ay, thou art Christ's Vicar, and not he ! 
 Away with what is frightful to behold ! 
 This act was uncanonic and a fault.' 
 
 *' Then, swallowed up in rage, Stephen exclaimed, 
 * So, guilty ! So, remains I punish guilt ! 
 
 He is unpoped, and all he did I damn : 
 
 The Bishop, that ordained him, I degrade : 
 
358 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Depose to laics those he raised to priests : 
 
 AViiat they have wrought is mischief nor shall stand, 
 
 It is confusion, let it vex no more ! 
 
 Since I revoke, annul and abrogate 
 
 All his decrees in all kinds : they are void ! 
 
 In token whereof and warning to the world, 
 
 Strip me yon miscreant of those robes usurped, 
 
 And clothe him with vile serge befitting such ! 
 
 Then hale the carrion to the market-place ; 
 
 Let the town-hangman chop from his right hand 
 
 Tliose same three fingers which he blessed withal ; 
 
 Next cut the head off, once was crowned forsooth : 
 
 And last go fling them, fingers, head and trunk, 
 
 To Tiber that my Christian fish may sap ! ' 
 
 — Either because of 1X©Y2 which means Fish 
 
 And very aptly symbolizes Christ, 
 
 Or else because the Pope is Fisherman, 
 
 And seals with Fisher' s-signet. 
 
 " Anyway, 
 So said, so done : himself, to see it done, 
 Followed the corpse they trailed from street to street 
 Till into Tiber wave they threw the thing. 
 The people, crowded on the banks to see. 
 Were loud or mute, wept or laughed, cursed or jeered, 
 According as the deed addressed their sense ; 
 A scandal verily : and out spake a Jew, 
 * Wot ye your Christ had vexed our Herod thus ? ' 
 
 " Now when, Formosus being dead a year. 
 His judge Pope Stephen tasted death in turn. 
 Made captive by the mob and strangled straight, 
 Romanus, his successor for a month, 
 Did make protest Formosus was with God, 
 Holy, just, true in thought and word and deed. 
 Next Theodore, who reigned but twenty days, 
 Therein convoked a synod, whose decree 
 Did reinstate, repope the late unpoped. 
 And do away with Stephen as accursed. 
 So that when presently certain fisher-folk 
 (As if the queasy river could not hold 
 Its swallowed Jonas, but discharged the meal) 
 Produced the timely product of their nets, 
 The mutilated man, Formosus, — saved 
 From putrefaction by the embalmer's spice. 
 Or, as some said, by sanctity of flesh, — 
 
THE POPE 359 
 
 ' Why, lay the body again,' bade Theodore, 
 ' Among his predecessors, in the church 
 
 And burial-place of Peter ! ' which was done. 
 'Andj'addeth Luitprand,'many of repute, 
 
 Pious and still alive, avouch to me 
 
 That, as they bore the body up the aisle. 
 
 The saints in imag-ed row bowed each his head 
 
 For welcome to a brother-saint come back.' 
 
 As for Romanus and this Theodore, 
 
 These two Popes, through the brief reign granted each, 
 
 Could but initiate what John came to close 
 
 And give the linal stamp to : he it was 
 
 Ninth of the name, (I follow the best guides) 
 
 Who, — in full synod at Ravenna held 
 
 With Bishops seventy-four, and present too 
 
 Eude King of France with his Archbishopry, — 
 
 Did condemn Stephen, anathematize 
 
 The disinterment, and make all blots blank. 
 ' For,' argueth here Auxilius in a place 
 
 De Ordinationibus, ' precedents 
 
 Had been, no lack, before Formosus long. 
 
 Of Bishops so transferred from see to see, — - 
 
 Marinus, for example : ' read the tract. 
 
 " But, after John, came Sergius, reaffirmed 
 The right of Stephen, cursed Formosus, nay 
 Cast out, some say, his corpse a second time. 
 And here, — because the matter went to ground, 
 Fretted by new griefs, other cares of the age, — • 
 Here is the last pronouncing of the Church, 
 Her sentence that subsists unto this day. 
 Yet constantly opinion hath prevailed 
 1' the Church, Formosus was a holy man." 
 
 Which of the judgments was infallible ? 
 Which of my predecessors spoke for God ? 
 And what availed F'ormosus that this cursed. 
 That blessed, and then this other cursed again ? 
 ' Fear ye not those whose power can kill the body 
 And not the soul," saith Christ, " but rather* those 
 Can cast both soul and body into hell I " 
 
 John judged tlms in Eight Hundred Ninety Eight, 
 Exact eight hundred yeats ago to-day 
 When, sitting in his stead, Vicegerent here, 
 I must give judgment on my own behoof. 
 So worked the predecessor : now, my turn ! 
 
360 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 In God's name ! Once more on this earth of God's, 
 
 While twilight lasts and time wherein to work, 
 
 I take His staff with my uncertain hand, 
 
 And stay my six and fourscore years, my due 
 
 Labor and sorrow, on His judgment-seat, 
 
 And forthwith think, speak, act, in place of Him — 
 
 The Pope for Christ. Once more appeal is made 
 
 From man's assize to mine : I sit and see 
 
 Another poor weak trembling human wretch 
 
 Pushed by his fellows, who pretend the right. 
 
 Up to the gulf which, where I gaze, begins 
 
 From this world to the next, — gives way and way, 
 
 Just on the edge over the awful dark : 
 
 With nothing to arrest him but my feet. 
 
 He catches at me with convulsive face. 
 
 Cries " Leave to live the natural minute more ! " 
 
 While hollowly the avengers echo " Leave ? 
 
 None ! So has he exceeded man's due share 
 
 In man's lit license, wrung by Adam's fall, 
 
 To sin and yet not surely die, — that we, 
 
 All of us sinful, all with need of grace, 
 
 All chary of our life, — the minute more 
 
 Or minute less of grace which saves a soul, — 
 
 Bound to make common cause with who craves time, 
 
 — We yet protest against the exorbitance 
 
 Of sin in this one sinner, and demand 
 
 That his poor sole remaining piece of time 
 
 Be plucked from out his clutch : put him to death ! 
 
 Punish him now ! As for the weal or woe 
 
 Hereafter, God grant mercy ! Man be just, 
 
 Nor let the felon boast he w^ent scot-free ! " 
 
 And I am bound, the solitary judge. 
 
 To weigh the worth, decide upon the plea, 
 
 And either hold a hand out, or withdraw 
 
 A foot and let the wretch drift to the fall. 
 
 Ay, and while thus I dally, dare perchance 
 
 Put fancies for a comfort 'twixt this calm 
 
 And yonder passion that I have to bear, — 
 
 As if reprieve were possible for both 
 
 Prisoner and Pope, — how easy were reprieve ! 
 
 A touch o' the hand-bell here, a hasty word 
 
 To those who wait, and v/onder they wait long, 
 
 I' the passage there, and I should gain the life ! — 
 
 Yea, though I flatter me with fancy thus, 
 
 I know it is but Nature's craven-trick. 
 
 The case is over, judgment at an end. 
 
THE POPE 361 
 
 And all things done now and irrevocable : 
 
 A mere dead man is Franceschini here, 
 
 Even as Formosus centuries ago. 
 
 I have worn through this sombre wintry day, 
 
 With winter in my soul beyond the world's, 
 
 Over these dismalest of documents 
 
 Which drew night down on me ere eve befell, — 
 
 Pleadings and counter-pleadings, figure of fact 
 
 Beside fact's self, these summaries, to wit, — 
 
 How certain three were slain by certain live : 
 
 I read here why it was, and how it went. 
 
 And how the chief o' the five preferred excuse, 
 
 And how law rather chose defence should lie, — 
 
 What argument he urged by wary word 
 
 When free to play off wile, start subterfuge. 
 
 And what the unguarded groan told, torture's feat 
 
 When law grew brutal, outbroke, overbore 
 
 And glutted hunger on tlie truth, at last, — 
 
 No matter for the flesh and blood between. 
 
 All 's a clear rede and no more riddle now. 
 
 Truth, nowhere, lies yet everywhere in these — 
 
 Not absolutely in a portion, yet 
 
 £volvible from the whole : evolved at last 
 
 Painfully, held tenaciously by me. 
 
 Therefore there is not any doubt to clear 
 
 When I shall write the brief word presently 
 
 And chink the hand-bell, which I pause to do. 
 
 Irresolute ? Not I, more than the mound 
 
 With the pine-trees on it yonder ! Some surmise, 
 
 Perchance, that since man's wit is fallible. 
 
 Mine may fail here ? Suppose it so, — what then ? 
 
 Say, — Guido, I count guilty, there 's no babe 
 
 So guiltless, for I misconceive the man ! 
 
 What 's in the chance should move me from my mind? 
 
 If, as I walk in a rough country-side. 
 
 Peasants of mine cry, " Thou art he can help. 
 
 Lord of the land and counted wise to boot : 
 
 Look at our brother, strangling in his foam. 
 
 He fell so where we find him, — prove thy worth ! " 
 
 I may presume, pronounce, " A frenzy-fit, 
 
 A falling-sickness or a fever-stroke ! 
 
 Breathe a vein, copiously let blood at once ! " 
 
 So perishes the patient, and anon 
 
 I hear my peasants — " All was error, lord ! 
 
 Our story, thy prescription : for there crawled 
 
 In due time from our hapless brother's breast 
 
362 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 The serpent which had stung him : bleeding slew 
 Whom a pronijDt cordial had restored to health." 
 What other should I say than "' God so willed : 
 Mankind is ignorant, a man am I : 
 Call ignorance my sorrow not my sin ! " 
 So and not otherwise, in after-time. 
 If some acuter wit, fresh probing, sound 
 This multifarious mass of words and deeds 
 Deeper, and reach through guilt to innocence, 
 I shall face Guido's ghost nor blench a jot. 
 " God who set me to judge thee, meted out 
 So much of judging faculty, no more : 
 Ask Him if I was slack in use thereof I " 
 I hold a heavier fault imputable 
 Inasmuch as I changed a chaplain once, 
 For no cause, — no, if I must bare my heart, — 
 Save that he snuffled somewhat saying mass. 
 For I am 'ware it is the seed of act, 
 God holds appraising in His hollow palm, 
 Not act grown great thence on the world below, 
 Leafage and branchage, vulgar eyes admire. 
 Therefore I stand on my integrity, 
 Nor fear at all : and if I hesitate, 
 It is because I need to breathe awhile. 
 Rest, as the human right allows, review 
 Intent the little seeds of act, my tree, — 
 The thought, which, clothed in deed, I give the world 
 At chink of bell and push of arrased door. 
 
 O pale departure, dim disgrace of day ! 
 
 Winter 's in wane, his vengeful worst art thou, 
 
 To dash the boldness of advancino; March ! 
 
 Thy chill persistent rain has purged our streets 
 
 Of gossipry ; pert tongue and idle ear 
 
 By this, consort 'neath archway, portico. 
 
 But wheresoe'er Rome gathers in the gray. 
 
 Two names now snap and flash from mouth to mouth - 
 
 (Sparks, flint and steel strike) — Guido and the Pope. 
 
 By this same hour to-morrow eve — aha, 
 
 How do they call him ? — the sagacious Svvede 
 
 Who finds by figures how the chances prove. 
 
 Why one comes rather than another thing. 
 
 As, say, such dots turn up by throw of dice, 
 
 Or, if we dip in Virgil here and there 
 
 And prick for such a verse, when such shall point. 
 
 Take this Swede, tell him, hiding name and rank, 
 
THE POPE 363 
 
 Two men are in our city this dull eve ; 
 
 One doomed to death, — but hundreds in such plight 
 
 Slip aside, clean escape by leave of law 
 
 Which leans to mercy in this latter time ; 
 
 Moreover in the plenitude of life 
 
 Is he, with strength of limb and brain adroit, 
 
 Presumably of service here : beside, 
 
 The man is noble, backed by nobler friends : 
 
 Nay, they so wish him well, the city's self 
 
 Makes common cause with who — house-magistrate, 
 
 Patron of hearth and home, domestic lord — 
 
 But ruled his own, let aliens cavil. Die ? 
 
 He '11 bribe a jailer or break prison first ! 
 
 Nay, a sedition may be helpful, give 
 
 Hint to the mob to batter wall, burn gate, 
 
 And bid the favorite malefactor march. 
 
 Calculate now these chances of escape I 
 " It is not probable, but well may be." 
 
 Again, there is another man, weighed now 
 
 By twice eight years beyond the seven-times-ten, 
 
 Appointed overweight to break our branch. 
 
 And this man's loaded branch lifts, more than snow, 
 
 All the world's cark and care, though a bird's-nest 
 
 Were a superfluous burden : notably 
 
 Hath he been pressed, as if his age were youth, 
 
 From to-day's dawn till now that day departs, 
 
 Trying one question with true sweat of soul, 
 " Shall the said doomed man fitlier die or live ? " 
 
 When a straw swallowed in his posset, stool 
 
 Stumbled on where his path lies, any puff 
 
 That 's incident- to such a smoking flax. 
 
 Hurries the natural end and quenches him ! 
 
 Now calculate, thou sage, the chances here, 
 
 Say, which shall die the sooner, this or that ? 
 "That, possibly, this in all likelihood." 
 
 I thought so : yet thou tripp'ot, my foreign friend ! 
 
 No, it will be quite otherwise, — to-day 
 
 Is Guido's last : my term is yet to run. 
 
 But say the Swede were right, and I forthwith 
 Acknowledge a prompt summons and lie dead : 
 Why, then I stand already in God's face 
 And hear, " Since by its fruit a tree is judged. 
 Show me thy fruit, the latest act of thine ! 
 For in the last is summed the first and all, — 
 What thy life last put heart and soul into, 
 
364 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 There shall I taste thy product." I must plead 
 This condemnation of a man to-day. 
 
 Not so ! Expect nor question nor reply 
 At what we figure as God's judgment-bar ! 
 None of this vile way by the barren words 
 Which, more than any deed, characterize 
 Man as made subject to a curse : no speech — 
 That still bursts o'er some lie which lurks inside, 
 As the split skin across the coppery snake, 
 And most denotes man ! since, in all beside, 
 In hate or lust or guile or unbelief, 
 Out of some core of truth the excrescence comes, 
 And, in the last resort, the man may urge 
 " So was I made, a weak thing that gave way 
 To truth, to impulse only strong since true. 
 And hated, lusted, used guile, forewent faith." 
 But when man walks the garden of this world 
 For his own solace, and, unchecked by law, 
 Speaks or keeps silence as himself sees fit. 
 Without the least incumbency to lie, 
 
 — Why, can he tell you what a rose is like. 
 Or how the birds fly, and not slip to false 
 Though truth serve better ? Man must tell his mate 
 Of you, me and himself, knowing he lies. 
 Knowing his fellow knows the same, — will think 
 
 " He lies, it is the method of a man ! " 
 And yet will speak for answer " It is truth " 
 To him who shall rejoin " Again a lie ! " 
 Therefore these filthy rags of speech, this coil 
 Of statement, comment, query and response, 
 Tatters all too contaminate for use. 
 Have no renewing : He, the Truth, is, too, 
 The Word. We men, in our degree, may know 
 There, simply, instantaneously, as here 
 After long time and amid many lies, 
 Whatever we dare think we know indeed 
 
 — That I am I, as He is He, — what else ? 
 But be man's method for man's life at least ! 
 Wherefore, Antonio Pignatelli, thou 
 
 My ancient self, who wast no Pope so long 
 But studied God and man, the many years 
 I' the school, i' the cloister, in the diocese 
 Domestic, legate-rule in foreif^n lands, — 
 Thou other force in those old busy days 
 Than this gray ultimate decrepitude, — 
 
THE POPE 365 
 
 Yet sensible of fires that more and more 
 
 Visit a soul, in passage to the sky, 
 
 Left nakeder than wiien flesh-robe was new — 
 
 Thou, not Pope but the mere old man o' the world, 
 
 Supposed inquisitive and dispassionate, 
 
 "VVilt thou, the one whose speech I somewhat trust, 
 
 Question the after-me, this self now Pope, 
 
 Hear his procedure, criticise his work ? 
 
 Wise in its generation is the world. 
 
 This is why Guido is found reprobate. 
 
 I see him furnished forth for his career. 
 
 On starting for the life-chance in our world. 
 
 With nearly all we count sufficient help : 
 
 Body and mind in balance, a sound frame, 
 
 A solid intellect : the wit to seek, 
 
 Wisdom to choose, and courage wherewithal 
 
 To deal in whatsoever circumstance 
 
 Should minister to man, make life succeed. 
 
 Oh, and much drawback ! what were earth without ? 
 
 Is this our ultimate stage, or starting-place 
 
 To try man's foot, if it will creep or climb, 
 
 'Mid obstacles in seeming, points that prove 
 
 Advantage for who vaults from low to high 
 
 And makes the stumbling-block a stepping-stone ? 
 
 So, Guido, born with appetite, lacks food : 
 
 Is poor, who yet could deftly play-off wealth : 
 
 Straitened, whose limbs are restless till at large. 
 
 He, as he eyes each outlet of the cirque 
 
 And narrow penfold for probation, pines 
 
 After the good things just outside its grate, 
 
 With less monition, fainter conscience-twitch. 
 
 Rarer instinctive qualm at the first feel 
 
 Of greed unseemly, prompting grasp undue, 
 
 Than nature furnishes her main mankind, — 
 
 Making it harder to do wrong than right 
 
 The first time, careful lest the common ear 
 
 Break measure, miss the outstep of life's march. 
 
 Wherein I see a trial fair and fit 
 
 For one else too unfairly fenced about. 
 
 Set above sin, beyond his fellows here : 
 
 Guarded from the arch-tempter all must fight, 
 
 By a great birth, traditionary name, 
 
 Diligent culture, choice companionship. 
 
 Above all, conversancy with the faith 
 
 Which puts forth for its base of doctrine just, 
 
866 THE niNG AND THE BOOK 
 
 " Man is born nowise to content himself, 
 But please God." He accepted such a rule, 
 Recognized man's obedience ; and the Church, 
 Which simply is such rule's embodiment, 
 He clave to, he held on by, — nay, indeed. 
 Near pushed inside of, deep as layman durst, 
 Professed so much of priesthood as might sue 
 For priest's-exemption where the layman sinned, — 
 Got his arm frocked which, bare, the law would bruise. 
 Hence, at this moment, what 's his last resource. 
 His extreme stay and utmost stretch of hope 
 But that, — convicted of such crime as law 
 Wipes not away save with a worldling's blood, — 
 Guido, the three-parts consecrate, may 'scape ? 
 Nay, the portentous brothers of the man 
 Are veritably jjriests, protected each 
 May do his murder in the Church's pale. 
 Abate Paul, Canon Girolamo ! 
 This is the man proves irreligiousest 
 Of all mankind, religion's parasite ! 
 This may forsooth plead dinned ear, jaded sense, 
 The vice o' the watcher who bides near the bell. 
 Sleeps sound because the clock is vigilant. 
 And cares not whether it be shade or shine. 
 Doling out day and night to all men else ! 
 Why was the choice o' the man to niche himself 
 Perversely 'neath the tower where Time's own tongue 
 Thus undertakes to sermonize the world ? 
 Why, but because the solemn is safe too. 
 The belfry proves a fortress of a sort, 
 Has other uses than to teach the hour : 
 Turns sunscreen, paravent and ombrifuge 
 To whoso seeks a shelter in its pale, 
 — Ay, and attractive to unwary folk 
 Who gaze at storied portal, statued spire, 
 And go home with full head but empty purse, 
 Nor dare suspect the sacristan the thief ! 
 Shall Judas — hard upon the donor's heel. 
 To filch the fragments of the basket — plead 
 He was too near the preacher's mouth, nor sat 
 Attent with fifties in a company ? 
 No, — closer to promulgated decree. 
 Clearer the censure of default. Proceed ! 
 
 I find him bound, then, to begin life well ; 
 Fortified by propitious circumstance. 
 
THE POPE 367 
 
 Great birth, good breeding, with the Church for guide, 
 
 How lives he ? Cased thus in a coat of proof, 
 
 INlailed like a man-at-arms, though all the while 
 
 A puny starveling, — does the breast pant big, 
 
 The limb swell to the limit, emptiness 
 
 Strive to become solidity indeed ? 
 
 Rather, he shrinks up like the ambiguous fish, 
 
 Detaches flesh from shell and outside show. 
 
 And steals by moonlight (I have seen the thing) 
 
 In and out, now to prey and now to skulk. 
 
 Armor he boasts when a wave breaks on beach. 
 
 Or bird stoops for the prize : with peril nigh, — 
 
 The man of rank, the much-befriended man, 
 
 The man almost affiliate to the Church, 
 
 Such is to deal with, let the world beware ! 
 
 Does the world recognize, pass prudently ? 
 
 Do tides abate and sea-fowl hunt i' the deep ? 
 
 Already is the slug from out its mew, 
 
 Ignobly faring with all loose and free. 
 
 Sand-fly and slush-worm at their garbage-feast, 
 
 A naked blotch no better than they all : 
 
 Guido has dropped nobility, slipped the Church, 
 
 Plays trickster if not cut-purse, body and soul 
 
 Prostrate among the filthy feeders — faugh ! 
 
 And when Law takes him by surprise at last, 
 
 Catches the foul thing on its carrion-prey. 
 
 Behold, he points to shell left high and dry. 
 
 Pleads " But the case out yonder is myself ! " 
 
 Nay, it is thou, Law prongs amid thy peers, 
 
 Congenial vermin ; that was none of tiiee. 
 
 Thine outside, — give it to the soldier-crab ! 
 
 For I find this black mark impinge the man, 
 
 That he believes in just the vile of life. 
 
 Low instinct, base pretension, are these truth ? 
 
 Then, that aforesaid armor, probity. 
 
 He figures in, is falsehood scale on scale ; 
 
 Honor and faith, — a lie and a disguise, 
 
 Probably for all livers in this world, 
 
 Certainly for himself ! All say good words 
 
 To who v/ill hear, all do thereby bad deeds 
 
 To who must undergo ; so thrive mankind ! 
 
 See this habitual creed exemplified 
 
 Most in the last deliberate act ; as last, 
 
 So, very sum and substance of the soul 
 
 Of him that planned and leaves one perfect piece. 
 
368 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 The sin brought under jurisdiction now, 
 Even the marriage of the man : this act 
 I sever from his life as sample, show 
 For Guido's self, intend to test him by, 
 As, from a cup filled fairly at the fount, 
 By the components we decide enough 
 Or to let flow as late, or stanch the source. 
 
 He purposes this marriage, I remark. 
 On no one motive that should prompt thereto — 
 Farthest, by consequence, from ends alleged 
 Appropriate to the action ; so they were : 
 The best, he knew and feigned, the worst he took. 
 Not one permissible impulse moves the man, 
 From the mere liking of the eye and ear, 
 To the true longing of the heart that loves, 
 No trace of these : but all to instigate, 
 Is what sinks man past level of the brute, 
 Whose appetite if brutish is a truth. 
 All is the lust for money : to get gold, — 
 ■ Why, lie, rob, if it must be, murder ! Make 
 Body and soul wring gold out, lured within 
 The clutch of hate by love, the trap's pretence ! 
 What good else get from bodies and from souls ? 
 This got, there were some life to lead thereby, 
 — What, where or how, appreciate those who tell 
 How the toad lives : it lives, — enough for me ! 
 To get this good — with but a groan or so. 
 Then, silence of the victims — were the feat. 
 He foresaw, made a picture in his mind, — 
 Of father and mother stunned and echoless 
 To the blow, as they lie staring at fate's jaws 
 Their folly danced into, till the woe fell ; 
 Edged in a month by strenuous cruelty 
 From even the poor nook whence they watched the wolf 
 Feast on their heart, the lamb-like child his prey ; 
 Plundered to the last remnant of their wealth, 
 (What daily pittance pleased the plunderer dole,) 
 Hunted forth to go hide head, starve and die. 
 And leave the pale awe-stricken wife, past hope 
 Of help i' the world now, mute and motionless. 
 His slave, his chattel, to first use, then destroy. 
 All this, he bent mind how to bring about. 
 Put plain in act and life, as painted plain. 
 So have success, reach crown of earthly good, 
 In this particular enterprise of man. 
 
THE POPE 869 
 
 By marriage — undertaken in God's face 
 With all these lies so opposite God's truth, 
 For end so other than man's end. 
 
 Thus schemes 
 Guido, and thus would carry out liis scheme : 
 But when an obstacle first blocks the path, 
 When he finds none may boast monopoly 
 Of lies and trick i' the tricking lying world, — 
 That sorry timid natures, even this sort 
 O' the Comparini, want nor trick nor lie 
 Proper to the kind, — that as the gor-crow treats 
 The bramble-finch so treats the finch the moth, 
 And the great Guido is minutely matched 
 By this same couple, — whether true or false 
 The revelation of Pompilia's birth, 
 Which in a moment brings his scheme to nought, — 
 Then, he is piqued, advances yet a stage, 
 Leaves the low region to the finch and fly. 
 Soars to the zenith whence the fiercer fowl 
 May dare the inimitable swoop. I see. 
 He draws now on the curious crime, the fine 
 Felicity and flower of wickedness ; 
 Determines, by the utmost exercise 
 Of violence, made safe and sure by craft. 
 To satiate malice, pluck one last arch-pang 
 From the parents, else would triumph out of reach, 
 By punishing their child, within reach yet. 
 Who, by thought, word or deed, could nowise wrong 
 I' the matter that now moves him. So plans he, 
 Always subordinating (note the point !) 
 Revenge, the manlier sin, to interest 
 The meaner, — would pluck pang forth, but unclench 
 No gripe in the act, let fall no money-piece. 
 Hence a plan for so plaguing, body and soul. 
 His wife, so putting, day by day, hour by hour, 
 The untried torture to the untouched place, 
 As must precipitate an end foreseen. 
 Goad her into some plain revolt, most like 
 Plunge upon patent suicidal shame. 
 Death to herself, damnation by rebound 
 To those whose hearts he, holding hers, holds still : 
 Such plan as, in its bad completeness, shall 
 Ruin the three together and alike. 
 Yet leave himself in luck and liberty. 
 No claim renounced, no right a forfeiture, 
 
370 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 His person unendangered, his good fame 
 Without a flaw, his pristine worth intact, — 
 Wliile they, with all their claims and rights that cling, 
 Shall forthwith crumble off him every side, 
 Scorched into dust, a plaything for the winds. 
 As when, in our Campagna, there is fired 
 The nest-like work that overruns a hut ; 
 And, as the thatch burns here, there, everywhere, 
 Even to the ivy and wild vine, that bound 
 And blessed the home where men were happy once, 
 There rises gradual, black amid the blaze, 
 Some grim and unscathed nucleus of the nest, — 
 Some old malicious tower, some obscene tomb 
 They thought a temple in their ignorance. 
 And clung about and thought to lean upon — 
 There laughs it o'er their ravage, — where are they ? 
 So did his cruelty burn life about, 
 And lay the ruin bare in dreadfulness, 
 Try the persistency of torment so 
 Upon the wife, that, at extremity. 
 Some crisis brought about by fire and flame. 
 The patient frenzy-stung must needs break loose, 
 Fly anyhow, find refuge anywhere. 
 Even in the arms of who should front her first. 
 No monster but a man — while nature shrieked 
 " Or thus escape, or die ! " The spasm arrived. 
 Not the escape by way of sin, — O God, 
 Who shall pluck sheep Thou boldest, from Thy hand ? 
 Therefore she lay resigned to die, — so far 
 The simple cruelty was foiled. Why then, 
 Craft to the rescue, let craft supplement 
 Cruelty and show hell a masterpiece ! 
 Hence this consummate lie, this love-intrigue. 
 Unmanly simulation of a sin. 
 With place and time and circumstance to suit — 
 These letters false beyond all forgery — 
 Not just handwriting and mere authorship. 
 But false to body and soul they figure forth — 
 As though the man had cut out shape and shape 
 From fancies of that other Aretine, 
 To paste below — incorporate the filth 
 With cherub faces on a missal-page ! 
 
 Whereby the man so far attains his end 
 That strange temptation is permitted, — see ! 
 Pompilia, wife, and Caponsacchi, priest, 
 
riiE POPE 371 
 
 Are brought together as nor priest nor wife 
 
 Should stand, and there is passion in the place, 
 
 Power in the air for evil as for good, 
 
 Promptings from heaven and hell, as if the stars 
 
 Fought in their courses for a fate to be. 
 
 Thus stand the wife and priest, a spectacle, 
 
 I doubt not, to unseen assemblage there. 
 
 No lamp will mark that window for a shrine, 
 
 No tablet signalize the terrace, teach 
 
 New generations which succeed the old. 
 
 The pavement of the street is holy ground ; 
 
 No bard describe in verse how Christ prevailed 
 
 And Satan fell like lightning ! Why repine ? 
 
 What does the world, told truth, but lie the more ? 
 
 A second time the plot is foiled ; nor, now, 
 
 By corresponding sin for countercneck. 
 
 No wile and trick that baffle trick and wile, — 
 
 The play o' the parents ! Here the blot is blanched 
 
 By God's gift of a purity of soul 
 
 That will not take pollution, ermine-like 
 
 Armed from dishonor by its own soft snow. 
 
 Such was this gift of God who showed for once 
 
 How He would have the world go white : it seems 
 
 As a new attribute were born of each 
 
 Champion of truth, the priest and wife I praise, — 
 
 As a new safeguard sprang up in defence 
 
 Of their new noble nature : so a thorn 
 
 Comes to the aid of and completes the rose — 
 
 Courage, to wit, no woman's gift nor priest's, 
 
 I' the crisis ; might leaps vindicating right. 
 
 See how the strong aggressor, bad and bold, 
 
 With every vantage, preconcerts surprise. 
 
 Leaps of a sudden at his victim's throat 
 
 In a byway, — how fares he when face to face 
 
 With Caponsacchi ? Who fights, who fears now ? 
 
 There quails Count Guido, armed to the chattering teeth, 
 
 Cowers at the steadfast eye and quiet word 
 
 O' the Canon of the Pieve ! There skulks crime 
 
 Behind law called in to back cowardice ! 
 
 While out of the poor trampled worm the wife, 
 
 Springs up a serpent ! 
 
 But anon of these ! 
 Him I judge now, — of him proceed to note. 
 Failing the first, a second chance befriends 
 
372 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Guido, gives pause ere punishment arrive. 
 
 The law he called, comes, hears, adjudicates, 
 
 Nor does amiss i' the main, — secludes the wife 
 
 From the husband, respites the oppressed one, grants 
 
 Probation to the oppressor, could he know 
 
 The mercy of a minute's fiery purge ! 
 
 The furnace-coals alike of public scorn. 
 
 Private remorse, heaped glowing on his head, 
 
 What if — the force and guile, the ore's alloy, 
 
 Eliminate, his baser soul refined — 
 
 The lost be saved even yet, so as by fire ? 
 
 Let him, rebuked, go softly all his days 
 
 And, when no graver musings claim their due, 
 
 Meditate on a man's immense mistake 
 
 Who, fashioned to use feet and walk, deigns crawl — 
 
 Takes the unmanly means — ay, though to ends 
 
 Man scarce should make for, would but reach through 
 
 wrong, — 
 May sin, but nowise needs shame manhood so : 
 Since fowlers hawk, shoot, nay and snare the game, 
 And yet eschew vile practice, nor find sport 
 In torch-light treachery or the luring owl. 
 
 But how hunts Guido ? Why, the fraudful trap — 
 
 Late spurned to ruin by the indignant feet 
 
 Of fellows in the chase who loved fair play — 
 
 Here he picks up the fragments to the least. 
 
 Lades him and hies to the old lurking-place 
 
 Where haply he may patch again, refit 
 
 The mischief, file its blunted teeth anew, 
 
 Make sure, next time, first snajD shall break the bone. 
 
 Craft, greed and violence complot revenge : 
 
 Craft, for its quota, schemes to bring about 
 
 And seize occasion and be safe withal : 
 
 Greed craves its act may work both far and near, 
 
 Crush the tree, branch and trunk and root beside, 
 
 Whichever twig or leaf arrests a streak 
 
 Of possible sunshine else would coin itself, 
 
 And drop down one more gold piece in the path : 
 
 Violence stipulates, " Advantage proved, 
 
 And safety sure, be pain the overplus ! 
 
 Murder with jagged knife ! Cut but tear too ! 
 
 Foiled oft, starved long, glut malice for amends ! " 
 
 And what, craft's scheme ? scheme sorrowful and strange 
 
 As though the elements, whom mercy checked, 
 
 Had mustered hate for one eruption more, 
 
THE POPE 373 
 
 One final deluge to surprise the Ark 
 
 Cradled and sleeping on its mountain-top : 
 
 Their outbreak-signal — what but the dove's coo, 
 
 Back with the olive in her bill for news 
 
 Sorrow was over ? 'T is an infant's birth, 
 
 Guido's first-born, his son and heir, that gives 
 
 The occasion : other men cut free their souls 
 
 From care in such a case, fly up in thanks 
 
 To God, reach, recognize His love for once : 
 
 Guido cries, " Soul, at last the mire is thine ! 
 
 Lie there in likeness of a money-bag, 
 
 My babe's birth so pins down past moving now, 
 
 That I dare cut adrift the lives I late 
 
 Scrupled to touch lest thou escaj^e with them I 
 
 These parents and their child my wife, — touch one, 
 
 Lose all ! Their rights determined on a head 
 
 I could but hate, not harm, since from each hair 
 
 Dangled a hope for me : now — chance and change ! 
 
 No right was in their child but passes plain 
 
 To that child's child and through such child to me. 
 
 I am a father now, — come what, come will, 
 
 I represent my child ; he comes between — 
 
 Cuts sudden off the sunshine of this life 
 
 From those three : why, the gold is in his curls ! 
 
 Not with old Pietro's, Violante's head, 
 
 Not his gray horror, her more hideous black — 
 
 Go these, devoted to the knife ! " 
 
 'T is done : 
 Wherefore should mind misgive, heart hesitate ? 
 He calls to counsel, fashions certain four 
 Colorless natures counted clean till now, 
 — Rustic simplicity, uncorrupted youth, 
 Ignorant virtue ! Here 's the gold o' the prime 
 When Saturn ruled, shall shock our leaden day — 
 The clown abash the courtier ! Mark it, bards ! 
 The courtier tries his hand on clownship here. 
 Speaks a word, names a crime, appoints a price, — 
 Just breathes on what, suffused with all himself. 
 Is red-hot henceforth past distinction now 
 I' the common glow of hell. And thus they break 
 And blaze on us at Rome, Christ's birthnight-eve ! 
 Oh angels that sang erst " On the earth, peace ! 
 To man, good will ! " — such peace finds earth to-day ! 
 After the seventeen hundred years, so man 
 Wills good to man, so Guido makes complete 
 His murder ! what is it I said ? — cuts loose 
 
374 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Three lives that hitherto he suffered cling, 
 Simply because each served to nail secure, 
 By a corner of the money-bag, his soul, — 
 Therefore, lives sacred till the babe's first breath 
 O'erweights them in the balance, — off they fly ! 
 
 So is the murder managed, sin conceived 
 
 To the full : and why not crowned with triumph too ? 
 
 Why must the sin, conceived thus, bring forth death ? 
 
 I note how, within hair's-breadth of escape, 
 
 Impunity and the thing supposed success, 
 
 Guido is found when the check comes, the change, 
 
 The monitory touch o' the tether — felt 
 
 By few, not marked by many, named by none 
 
 At the moment, only recognized aright 
 
 I' the fulness of the days, for God's, lest sin 
 
 Exceed the service, leap the line : such check — 
 
 A secret which this life finds hard to keep, 
 
 And, often guessed, is never quite revealed — 
 
 Needs must trip Guido on a stumbling-block 
 
 Too vulgar, too absurdly plain i' the path ! 
 
 Study this single oversight of care. 
 
 This hebetude that marred sagacity, 
 
 Forgetfulness of all the man best knew, — 
 
 How any stranger having need to fly, 
 
 Needs but to ask and have the means of flight. 
 
 Why, the first urchin tells you, to leave Rome, 
 
 Get horses, you must show the warrant, just 
 
 The banal scrap, clerk's scribble, a fair word buys, 
 
 Or foul one, if a ducat sweeten word, — 
 
 And straight authority will back demand. 
 
 Give you the pick o' the post-house ! — how should he, 
 
 Then, resident at Rome for thirty years, 
 
 Guido, instruct a stranger ! And himself 
 
 Forgets just this poor paper scrap, wherewith 
 
 Armed, every door he knocks at opens wide 
 
 To save him : horsed and manned, with such advance 
 
 O' the hunt behind, why, 't were the easy task 
 
 Of hours told on the fingers of one hand, 
 
 To reach the Tuscan frontier, laugh at home. 
 
 Light-hearted with his fellows of the i)lace, — 
 
 Prepared by that strange shameful judgment, that 
 
 Satire upon a sentence just pronounced 
 
 By the Rota and confirmed by the Granduke, — 
 
 Ready in a circle to receive their peer. 
 
 Appreciate his good story how, when Rome, 
 
 The Pope-King and the populace of priests 
 
THE POPE 375 
 
 Made common cause with their confederate 
 
 The other priestling who seduced his wife, 
 
 He, all unaided, wiped out the affront 
 
 Witli decent bloodshed and could face his friends, 
 
 Frolic it in the world's eye. Ay, such tale 
 
 Missed such applause, and by such oversight ! 
 
 So, tired and footsore, those blood-flustered five 
 
 Went reeling on the road through dark and cold, 
 
 The few permissible miles, to sink at length, 
 
 Wallow and sleep in the first wayside straw. 
 
 As the other herd quenched, i' the wash o' the wave, 
 
 — Each swine, the devil inside him : so slept they. 
 
 And so were caught and caged — all through one trip, 
 
 One touch of fool in Guido the astute ! 
 
 He curses the omission, I surmise, 
 
 More than the murder. Why, thou fool and blind, 
 
 It is the mercy-stroke that stops thy fate. 
 
 Hamstrings and holds thee to thy hurt, — but how ? 
 
 On the edge o' the precipice ! One minute more, 
 
 Thou hadst gOBe farther and fared worse, my son, 
 
 Fathoms down on the flint and fire beneath ! 
 
 Thy comrades each and all were of one mind. 
 
 Thy murder done, to straightway murder thee 
 
 In turn, because of promised pay withheld. 
 
 So, to the last, greed found itself at odds 
 
 With craft in thee, and, proving conqueror. 
 
 Had sent thee, the same night that crowned thy hope, 
 
 Thither where, this same day, I see thee not, 
 
 Nor, through God's mercy, need, to-morrow, see. 
 
 Such I find Guido, midmost blotch of black 
 
 Discernible in this group of clustered crimes 
 
 Huddling together in the cave they call 
 
 Their palace, outraged day thus penetrates. 
 
 Around him ranged, now close and now remote, 
 
 Prominent or obscure to meet the needs 
 
 O' the mage and master, I detect each shape 
 
 Subsidiary i' the scene nor loathed the less. 
 
 All alike colored, all descried akin 
 
 By one and the same pitchy furnace stirred 
 
 At the centre : see, they lick the master's hand, — 
 
 This fox-faced horrible priest, this brother-brute 
 
 The Abate, — why, mere wolfishness looks well, 
 
 Guido stands honest in the red o' the flame. 
 
 Beside this yellow that would pass for white, 
 
 Twice Guido, all ca-aft but no violence, 
 
376 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 This copier of the mien and gait and garb 
 
 Of Peter and Paul, that he may go disguised, 
 
 Rob halt and lame, sick folk i' the temple-porch ! 
 
 Armed with religion, fortified by law, 
 
 A man of peace, who trims the midnight lamp 
 
 And turns the classic page — and all for craft, 
 
 All to work harm with, yet incur no scratch ! 
 
 While Guido brings the struggle to a close, 
 
 Paul steps back the due distance, clear o' the trap 
 
 He builds and baits. Guido I catch and judge ; 
 
 Paul is past reach in this world and my time : 
 
 That is a case reserved. Pass to the next, 
 
 The boy of the brood, the young Girolamo, 
 
 Priest, Canon, and what more ? nor wolf nor fox, 
 
 But hybrid, neither craft nor violence 
 
 Wholly, part violence part craft : such cross 
 
 Tempts speculation — will both blend one day, 
 
 And prove hell's better product ? Or subside 
 
 And let the simple quality emerge, 
 
 Go on with Satan's service the old way ? 
 
 Meanwhile, what promise, — what performance too ! 
 
 For there 's a new distinctive touch, I see. 
 
 Lust — lacking in the two — hell's own blue tint 
 
 That gives a character and marks the man 
 
 More than a match for yellow and red. Once more, 
 
 A case reserved : why should I doubt ? Then comes 
 
 The gaunt gray nightmare in the furthest smoke, 
 
 The hag that gave these three abortions birth, 
 
 Unmotherly mother and unwomanly 
 
 Woman, that near turns motherhood to shame, 
 
 Womanliness to loathinof ' no one word. 
 
 No gesture to curb cruelty a whit 
 
 More than the she-pard thwarts her playsome whelps 
 
 Trying their milk-teeth on the soft o' the throat 
 
 O' the first fawn, flung, with those beseeching eyes, 
 
 Flat in the covert ! How should she but couch, 
 
 Lick the dry lips, unsheathe the blunted claw, 
 
 Catch 'twixt her placid eyewinks at what chance 
 
 Old bloody half-forgotten dream may flit, 
 
 Born when herself was novice to the taste. 
 
 The while she lets youth take its pleasure. Last, 
 
 These God-abandoned wretched lumps of life. 
 
 These four companions, — country-folk this time, 
 
 Not tainted by the unwholesome civic breath. 
 
 Much less the curse o' the court ! Mere striplings too, 
 
 Fit to do human nature justice still ! 
 
THE POPE 377 
 
 Surely when impudence in Guide's shape 
 Shall propose crime and proffer money's-worth 
 To these stout tall rough bright-eyed black-haired boys, 
 The blood shall bound in answer to each cheek 
 Before the indignant outcry break from lip ! 
 Are these i' the mood to murder, hardly loosed 
 From healthy autumn-finish of ploughed glebe, 
 Grapes in the barrel, work at happy end, 
 And winter near with rest and Christmas play ? 
 How greet they Guido with his final task — 
 (As if he but proposed " One vineyard more 
 To dig, ere frost come, then relax indeed ! ") 
 " Anywhere, anyhow and anywhy, 
 Murder me some three people, old and young. 
 Ye never heard the names of, — and be paid 
 So much ! " And the whole four accede at once. 
 Demur ? Do cattle bidden march or halt ? 
 Is it some lingering habit, old fond faith 
 I' the lord o' the land, instructs them, — birthright badge 
 Of feudal tenure claims its slaves again ? 
 Not so at all, thou noble human heart ! 
 All is done purely for the pay, — which, earned. 
 And not forthcoming at the instant, makes 
 Religion heresy, and the lord o' the land 
 Fit subject for a murder in his turn. 
 The patron with cut tlii'oat and riHed purse, 
 Deposited i' the roadside-ditch, his due. 
 Nought hinders each good fellow trudging home, 
 The heavier by a piece or two in poke. 
 And so with new zest to the common life. 
 Mattock and spade, plough-tail and wagon-shaft, 
 Till some such other piece of luck betide, 
 Who knows ? Since this is a mere start in life, 
 And none of them exceeds the twentieth year. 
 Nay, more i' the background yet ? Unnoticed forms 
 Claim to be classed, subordinately vile ? 
 Complacent lookers-on that laugh, — perchance 
 Shake head as their friend's horse-play grows too rough 
 With the mere child he manages amiss — 
 But would not interfere and make bad worse 
 For twice the fractious tears and prayers : thou know'st 
 Civility better, Marzi-Medici, 
 Governor for thy kinsman the Granduke ! 
 Fit representative of law, man's lamp 
 I' the magistrate's grasp full-flare, no rushlight-end 
 Sputtering 'twixt thumb and finger of the priest ! 
 
378 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Whose answer to the couple's Comparini's cry for help 
 
 Is a threat, — whose remedy of Pompilia's wrong, 
 
 A shrug o' the shoulder, and facetious word 
 
 Or wink, traditional with Tuscan wits, 
 
 To Guido in the doorway. Laud to law ! 
 
 The wife is pushed back to the husband, he 
 
 Who knows how these home-squabblings persecute 
 
 People who have the public good to mind, 
 
 And work best with a silence in the court I 
 
 Ah, but I save my word at least for thee, 
 Archbishop, who art under, i' the Church, 
 As I am under God, — thou, chosen by both 
 To do the shepherd's office, feed the sheep — 
 How of this lamb that panted at thy foot 
 While the wolf pressed on her within crook's reach ? 
 Wast thou the hireling that did turn and flee ? 
 With thee at least anon the little word ! 
 
 Such denizens o' the cave now cluster round 
 
 And heat the furnace sevenfold : time indeed 
 
 A bolt from heaven should cleave roof and clear place, 
 
 Transfix and show the world, suspiring flame. 
 
 The main offender, scar and brand the rest 
 
 Hurrying, each miscreant to his hole : then flood 
 
 And purify the scene with outside day — 
 
 Which yet, in the absolutest drench of dark. 
 
 Ne'er wants a witness, some stray beauty-beam 
 
 To the despair of hell. 
 
 First of the first. 
 Such I pronounce Pompilia, then as now 
 Perfect in whiteness : stoop thou down, my child, 
 Give one good moment to the poor old Pope 
 Heart-sick at having all his world to blame — 
 Let me look at thee in the flesh as erst. 
 Let me enjoy the old clean linen garb, 
 Not the new splendid vesture ! Armed and crowned, 
 Would Michael, yonder, be, nor crowned nor armed. 
 The less pre-eminent angel ? Everywhere 
 I see in the world the intellect of man. 
 That sword, the energy his subtle spear. 
 The knowledge which defends him like a shield — 
 Everywhere ; but they make not up, I think. 
 The marvel of a soul like thine, earth's flower 
 She holds up to the softened gaze of God ! 
 
THE POPE 379 
 
 It was not given Pompilia to know much, 
 
 Speak much, to write a book, to move mankind, 
 
 Be memorized by who records my time. 
 
 Yet if in purity and patience, if 
 
 In faith hekl fast despite the plucking fiend, 
 
 Safe Hke the signet stone with the new name 
 
 That saints are known by, — if in right returned 
 
 For wrong, most pardon for worst injury, 
 
 If there be any virtue, any praise, — 
 
 Then will this woman-child have proved — who knows ? -- 
 
 Just the one prize vouchsafed unworthy me. 
 
 Seven years a gardener of the untoward ground 
 
 I till, — this earth, my sweat and blood manure 
 
 All the long day that barrenly grows dusk : 
 
 At least one blossom makes me proud at eve 
 
 Born 'mid the briers of my enclosure ! Still 
 
 (Oh, here as elsewhere, nothingness of man !) 
 
 Those be the plants, imbedded yonder South 
 
 To mellow in the morning, those made fat 
 
 By the master's eye, that yield such timid leaf. 
 
 Uncertain bud, as product of his pains ! 
 
 While — see how this mere chance-sown, cleft-nursed seed, 
 
 That sprang up by the wayside 'neath the foot 
 
 Of the enemy, this breaks all into blaze. 
 
 Spreads itself, one wide glory of desire 
 
 To incorporate the whole great sun it loves 
 
 From the inch-height whence it looks and longs ! My flower. 
 
 My rose, I gather for the breast of God, 
 
 This I praise most in thee, where all I praise. 
 
 That having been obedient to the end 
 
 According to the light allotted, law 
 
 Prescribed thy life, still tried, still standing test, — 
 
 Dutiful to the foolish parents first. 
 
 Submissive next to the bad husband, — nay. 
 
 Tolerant of those meaner miserable 
 
 That did his bests, eked out the dole of pain, — 
 
 Thou, patient thus, couldst rise from law to law, 
 
 The old to the new, promoted at one cry 
 
 O' the trump of God to the new service, not 
 
 To longer bear, but henceforth fight, be found 
 
 Sublime in new impatience with the foe ! 
 
 Endure man and obey God : plant firm foot 
 
 On neck of man, tread man into the hell 
 
 Meet for him, and obey God all the more ! 
 
 Oh child that didst despise thy life so much 
 
 When it seemed only thine to keep or lose, 
 
380 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 How the fine ear felt fall the first low word 
 *' Value life, and preserve life for My sake ! " 
 Thou didst . . . how shall I say ? . . . receive so long 
 The standing ordinance of God on earth, 
 "What wonder if the novel claim had clashed 
 With old requirement, seemed to supersede 
 Too much the customary law ? But, brave. 
 Thou at first prompting of what I call God, 
 And fools call Nature, didst hear, comprehend, 
 Accept the obligation laid on thee, 
 Mother elect, to save the unborn child. 
 As brute and bird do, reptile and the fly, 
 Ay and, I nothing doubt, even tree, shrub, plant 
 And flower o' the field, all in a common pact 
 To worthily defend the trust of trusts, 
 Life from the Ever Living : — didst resist — 
 Anticipate the office that is mine — 
 And with his own sword stay the upraised arm, 
 The endeavor of the wicked, and defend 
 Him who — again in my default — was there 
 For visible providence : one less true than thou 
 To touch, i' the past, less practised in the right, 
 Approved less far in all docility 
 To all instruction, — how had such an one 
 Made scruple " Is this motion a decree ? " 
 It was authentic to the experienced ear 
 O' the good and faithful servant. Go past me 
 And get thy praise, — and be not far to seek 
 Presently when I follow if I may ! 
 
 And surely not so very much apart 
 
 Need I place thee, my warrior-priest, — in whom 
 
 What if I gain the other rose, the gold. 
 
 We grave to imitate God's miracle, 
 
 Greet monarchs with, good rose in its degree ? 
 
 Irregular noble scapegrace — son the same ! 
 
 Faulty — and peradventure ours the fault 
 
 Who still misteach, mislead, throw hook and line, 
 
 Thinking to land leviathan forsooth. 
 
 Tame the scaled neck, play with him as a bird, 
 
 And bind him for our maidens ! Better bear 
 
 The King of Pride go wantoning awhile, 
 
 Unplagued by cord in nose and thorn in jaw, 
 
 Through deep to deep, followed by all that shine, 
 
 Churning the blackness hoary : He who made 
 
 The comelv terror. He shall make the sword 
 
THE POPE 381 
 
 To match that piece of netherstone his heart, 
 
 Ay. nor miss praise thereby ; who else shut fire 
 
 I' the stone, to leap from mouth at sword's first stroke, 
 
 In lamps of love and faith, the chivalry 
 
 That dares the right and disregards alike 
 
 The yea and nay o' the world ? Self-sacrifice, — 
 
 What if an idol took it ? Ask the Church 
 
 Why she was w ont to turn each Venus here, — 
 
 Poor Rome perversely linoered round, despite 
 
 Instruction, for the sake of purblind love, — 
 
 Into Madonna's shape, and waste no whit 
 
 Of aught so rare on earth as gratitude ! 
 
 All this sweet savor was not ours but thine, 
 
 Nard of the rock, a natural wealth we name 
 
 Incense, and treasure up as food for saints, 
 
 When flung to us — whose function was to give 
 
 Not find the costly perfume. Do I smile ? 
 
 Nay, Caponsacchi, much I find amiss. 
 
 Blameworthy, punishable in this freak 
 
 Of thine, this youth prolonged, though age was ripe, 
 
 This masquerade in sober day, with change 
 
 Of motley too, — now hypocrite's disguise. 
 
 Now fool's-costume : which lie was least like truth, 
 
 Which the ungainlier, more discordant garb. 
 
 With that symmetric soul inside my son, 
 
 The churchman's or the worldling's, — let him judge, 
 
 Our adversary who enjoys the task ! 
 
 I rather chronicle the healthy rage, — 
 
 When the first moan broke from the martyr-maid 
 
 At that uncaging of the beasts, — made bare 
 
 My athlete on the instant, gave such good 
 
 Great undisguised leap over post and pale 
 
 Right into the mid-cirque, free fighting-place. 
 
 There may have been rash stripping — every rag 
 
 Went to the winds, — infringement manifold 
 
 Of laws prescribed pudicity, I fear. 
 
 In this impulsive and prompt self-display ! 
 
 Ever such tax comes of the foolish youth ; 
 
 Men mulct the wiser manhood, and suspect 
 
 No veritable star swims out of cloud. 
 
 Bear thou such imputation, undergo 
 
 The penalty I nowise dare relax, — 
 
 Conventional chastisement and rebuke. 
 
 But for the outcome, the brave starry birth 
 
 Conciliating earth with all that cloud, 
 
 Thank heaven as I do I Ay, such championship 
 
382 THE RING AND THE BOCK 
 
 Of God at first blush, such prompt cheery thud 
 Of glove on ground that answers ringingly 
 The challenge of tite false knight, — watch we long, 
 And wait we vainly for its gallant like 
 From those appointed to the service, sworn 
 His body-guard with pay and privilege — 
 White-cinct, because in white walks sanctity, 
 Red-socked, how else proclaim fine scorn of flesh, 
 Unchariness of blood when blood faith begs ! 
 Where are the men-at-arms with cross on coat ? 
 Aloof, bewraying their attire : whilst thou 
 In mask and motley, pledged to dance not fight, 
 Sprang'st forth the hero ! In thought, word and deed, 
 How throughout all thy warfare thou wast pure, 
 I find it easy to believe : and if 
 At any fateful moment of the strange 
 Adventure, the strong passion of that strait, 
 Fear and surprise, may have revealed too much, — 
 As when a thundrous midnight, with black air 
 That burns, raindrops that blister, breaks a spell, 
 Draws out the excessive virtue of some sheathed 
 Shut unsuspected flower that hoards and hides 
 Immensity of sweetness, — so, perchance. 
 Might the surprise and fear release too much 
 The perfect beauty of the body and soul 
 Thou savedst in thy passion for God's sake, 
 He who is Pity. Was the trial sore ? 
 Temptation sharp ? Thank God a second time ! 
 Why comes temptation but for man to meet 
 And master and make crouch beneatli his foot, 
 And so be pedestalled in triumph ? Pray 
 " Lead us into no such temptations, Lord I 
 Yea, but, O Thou whose servants are the bold, 
 Lead such temptations by the head and hair, 
 Reluctant dragons, up to who dares fight. 
 That so he may do battle and have praise I 
 Do I not see the praise ? — that while thy mates 
 Bound to deserve i' the matter, prove at need 
 Unprofitable through the very pains 
 We gave to train them well and start them fair, — 
 Are found too stiff, with standing ranked and ranged. 
 For onset in good earnest, too obtuse 
 Of ear, through iteration of command, 
 For catching quick the sense of the real cry, — 
 Thou, whose sword-hand was used to strike the lute, 
 Whose sentry-station graced some wanton's gate, 
 
THE POPE 383 
 
 Thou didst push forward and show mettle, shame 
 The laggards, and retrieve the day. "Well done ! 
 Be glad thou hast let light into the world, 
 Through that irregular breach o' the boundary, — see 
 The same upon thy path and march assured, 
 Learning anew the use of soldiership, 
 Self-abnegation, freedom from all fear, 
 Loyalty to the life's end ! Ruminate, 
 Deserve the initiatory spasm, — once more 
 Work, be unhapi:)y but bear life, my son ! 
 
 And troop you, somewhere 'twixt the best and worst, 
 
 "Where crowd the indifferent product, all too poor 
 
 Makeshift, starved samples of humanity ! 
 
 Father and mother, huddle there and hide ! 
 
 A gracious eye may find you ! Foul and fair, 
 
 Sadly mixed natures : self-indulgent, — yet 
 
 Self-sacrificing too : how the love soars, 
 
 How the craft, avarice, vanity and spite 
 
 Sink again ! So they keep the middle course, 
 
 Slide into silly crime at unaware, 
 
 Slip back upon the stupid virtue, stay 
 
 Nowhere enough for being classed, I hope 
 
 And fear. Accept the swift and rueful death. 
 
 Taught, somewhat sternlier than is wont, what waits 
 
 The ambiguous creature, — how the one black tuft 
 
 Steadies the aim of the arrow just as well 
 
 As the wide faultless white on the bird's breast ! 
 
 Nay, you were punished in the very part 
 
 That looked most pure of speck, — 't was honest love 
 
 Betrayed you, — did love seem most worthy pains, 
 
 Challenge such purging, since ordained survive 
 
 When all the rest of you was done with ? Go ! 
 
 Never ao-ain elude the choice of tints ! 
 
 White shall not neutralize the black, nor good 
 
 Compensate bad in man, absolve him so : 
 
 Life's business being just the terrible choice. 
 
 So do I see, pronounce on all and some 
 Grouped for my judgment now, — profess no doubt 
 While I pronounce : dark, difficult enough 
 The human sphere, yet eyes grow sharp by use, 
 I find the truth, dispart the shine from shade, 
 As a mere man may, with no special touch 
 O' the lynx-gift in each ordinary orb : 
 Nay, if the popular notion class me right, 
 
384 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 One of wellnigh decayed intelligence, — 
 
 What of that ? Through hard labor and good will, 
 
 And liabitude that gives a blind man sight 
 
 At the practised finger-ends of him, I do 
 
 Discern, and dare decree in consequence, 
 
 Whatever prove the peril of mistake. 
 
 Whence, then, this quite new quick cold thrill, — cloud-like, 
 
 This keen dread creeping from a quarter scarce 
 
 Suspected in the skies I nightly scan ? 
 
 What slacks the tense nerve, saps the wound-up spring 
 
 Of the act that should and shall be, sends the mount 
 
 And mass o' the whole man's-strength, — conglobed so late - 
 
 Shudderingly into dust, a moment's work ? 
 
 While I stand firm, go fearless, in this world, 
 
 For this life recognize and arbitrate. 
 
 Touch and let stay, or else remove a thing. 
 
 Judge " This is right, this object out of place," 
 
 Candle in hand that helps me and to spare, — 
 
 What if a voice deride me, " Perk and pry ! 
 
 Brighten each nook with thine intelligence ! 
 
 Play the good householder, ply man and maid 
 
 With tasks prolonged into the midnight, test 
 
 Their work and nowise stint of the due wage 
 
 Each worthy worker : but with gyves and whip 
 
 Pay thou misprision of a single point 
 
 Plain to thy happy self who lift'st the light, 
 
 Lament'st the darkling, — bold to all beneath ! 
 
 What if thyself adventure, now the place 
 
 Is purged so well ? Leave pavement and mount roof, 
 
 Look round thee for the light of the upper sky, 
 
 The fire which lit thy fire which finds default 
 
 In Guido Franceschini to his cost ! 
 
 What if, above in the domain of light. 
 
 Thou miss the accustomed signs, remark eclipse ? 
 
 Shalt thou still gaze on ground nor lift a lid, - — 
 
 Steady in thy superb prerogative. 
 
 Thy inch of inkling, — nor once face the doubt 
 
 I' the sphere above thee, darkness to be felt ? " 
 
 Yet my poor spark had for its source, the sun ; 
 
 Thither I sent the great looks which compel 
 
 Light from its fount : all that I do and am 
 
 Comes from the truth, or seen or else surmised, 
 
 Remembered or divined, as mere man may : 
 
 I know just so, nor otherwise. As I know, 
 
 I speak, — what should I know, then, and how speak 
 
THE POPE 385 
 
 Were there a wild mistake of eye or brain 
 
 As to recorded governance above ? 
 
 If my own breath, only, blew coal alight 
 
 I styled celestial and the morning-star ? 
 
 I, who in this world act resolvedly, 
 
 Dispose of men, their bodies and their souls, 
 
 As they acknowledge or gainsay the light 
 
 I show them, — shall I too lack courage ? — leave 
 
 I, too, the post of me, like those I blame ? 
 
 Refuse, with kindred inconsistency. 
 
 To grapple danger whereby souls grow strong ? 
 
 I am near the end ; but still not at the end ; 
 
 All to the very end is trial in life : 
 
 At this stage is the trial of my soul 
 
 Danger to face, or danger to refuse ? 
 
 Shall I dare try the doubt now, or not dare ? 
 
 Thou, — as represented here to me 
 In such conception as my soul allows, — 
 Under Thy measureless, my atom width ! — 
 Man's mind, what is it but a convex glass 
 Wherein are gathered all the scattered points 
 Picked out of the immensity of sky. 
 
 To reunite there, be our heaven for earth. 
 
 Our known unknown, our God revealed to man ? 
 
 Existent somewhere, somehow, as a whole ; 
 
 Here, as a whole proportioned to our sense, — 
 
 There, (which is nowhere, speech must babble thus!) 
 
 In the absolute immensity, the whole 
 
 Appreciable solely by Thyself, — 
 
 Here, by the little mind of man, reduced 
 
 To littleness that suits his faculty, 
 
 In the degree appreciable too ; 
 
 Between Thee and ourselves — nay even, again, 
 
 Below us, to the extreme of the minute, 
 
 Appreciable by how many and what diverse 
 
 Modes of the life Thou madest be ! (why live 
 
 Except for love, — how love unless they know ?) 
 
 Each of them, only filling to the edge. 
 
 Insect or angel, his just length and breadth, 
 
 Due facet of reflection, — full, no less, 
 
 Angel or insect, as Thou framedst things. 
 
 1 it is who have been appointed here 
 
 To represent Thee, in my turn, on earth. 
 Just as, if new philosophy know aught, 
 This one earth, out of all the multitude 
 
B86 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Of peopled worlds, as stars are now supposed, — 
 
 Was chosen, and no sun-star of the swarm, 
 
 For stage and scene of Thy transcendent act 
 
 Beside which even the creation fades 
 
 Into a puny exercise of power. 
 
 Choice of the world, choice of the thing I am, 
 
 Both emanate alike from Thy dread play 
 
 Of operation outside this our sphere 
 
 Where things are classed and counted small or great, — 
 
 Incomprehensibly the choice is Thine ! 
 
 I therefore bow my head and take Thy place. 
 
 There is, beside the works, a tale of Thee 
 
 In the world's mouth, which I find credible : 
 
 I love it with my heart : unsatisfied, 
 
 I try it with my reason, nor discept 
 
 From any point I probe and pronounce sound. 
 
 Mind is not matter nor from matter, but 
 
 Above, — leave matter then, proceed with mind ! 
 
 Man's be the mind recognized at the height, — 
 
 Leave the inferior minds and look at man ! 
 
 Is he the strong, intelligent and good 
 
 Up to his own conceivable height ? Nowise. 
 
 Enough o' the low, — soar the conceivable height, 
 
 Find cause to match the effect in evidence, 
 
 The work i' the world, not man's but God's ; leave man ! 
 
 Conjecture of the worker by the work : 
 
 Is there strength there ? — enough : intelligence ? 
 
 Ample : but goodness in a like degree ? 
 
 Not to the human eye in the present state, 
 
 An isosceles deficient in the base. 
 
 What lacks, then, of perfection fit for God 
 
 But just the instance which this tale supplies 
 
 Of love without a limit ? So is strength, 
 
 So is intelligence ; let love be so, 
 
 Unlimited in its self-sacrifice. 
 
 Then is the tale true and God shows complete. 
 
 Beyond the tale, I reach into the dark. 
 
 Feel what I cannot see, and still faith stands : 
 
 I can believe this dread machinery 
 
 Of sin and sorrow, would confound me else. 
 
 Devised — all pain, at most expenditure 
 
 Of pain by Who devised pain — to evolve. 
 
 By new machinery in counterpart. 
 
 The moral qualities of man — how else ? — 
 
 To make him love in turn and be beloved, 
 
 Creative and self-sacrificing too. 
 
THE POPE 387 
 
 And thus eventually God-like, (ay, 
 
 I have said ye are Gods," — shall it be said for nought ?) 
 
 Enable man to wring, from out all pain, 
 
 All pleasure for a common heritage 
 
 To all eternity : this may be surmised, 
 
 The other is revealed, — whether a fact, 
 
 Absolute, abstract, independent truth. 
 
 Historic, not reduced to suit man's mind, — 
 
 Or only truth reverberate, changed, made pass 
 
 A spectrum into mind, the narrow eye, — 
 
 The same and not the same, else unconceived — 
 
 Though quite conceivable to the next grade 
 
 Above it in intelligence, — as truth 
 
 Easy to man were blindness to the beast 
 
 By parity of procedure, — the same truth 
 
 In a new form, but changed in either case : 
 
 What matter so intelligence be filled ? 
 
 To a child, the sea is angry, for it roars : 
 
 P'rost bites, else why the tooth-like fret on face ? 
 
 Man makes acoustics deal with the sea's wrath, 
 
 Explains the choppy cheek by chemic law, — 
 
 To man and child remains the same effect 
 
 On drum of ear and root of nose, change cause 
 
 Never so thoroughly : so my heart be struck, 
 
 What care I, — by God's gloved hand or the bare ? 
 
 Nor do I much perplex me with aught hard, 
 
 Dubious in the transmitting of the tale, — 
 
 No, nor with certain riddles set to solve. 
 
 This life is training and a passage ; pass, — 
 
 Still, we march over some flat obstacle 
 
 AVe made give way before us ; solid truth 
 
 In front of it, what motion for the world ? 
 
 The moral sense grows but by exercise. 
 
 'T is even as man grew probatively 
 
 Initiated in Godship, set to make 
 
 A fairer moral world than this he finds. 
 
 Guess now what shall be known hereafter. Deal 
 
 Thus with the present problem : as we see, 
 
 A faultless creature is destroyed, and sin 
 
 Has had its way i' the world where God should rule. 
 
 Ay, but for this irrelevant circumstance 
 
 Of inquisition after blood, we see 
 
 Pompilia lost and Guido saved : how long ? 
 
 For his whole life : how much is that whole life ? 
 
 We are not babes, but know the minute's worth, 
 
 And feel that life is large and the world small. 
 
 So, wait till life have passed from out the world. 
 
B88 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Neither does this astonish at the end, 
 
 Tliat whereas I can so receive and trust, 
 
 Other men, made with hearts and souls the same, 
 
 Reject and disbeUeve, — subordinate 
 
 Tlie future to the present, — sin, nor fear. 
 
 This I refer still to the foremost fact, 
 
 Life is probation and the earth no goal 
 
 But starting-point of man : compel him strive, 
 
 Which means, in man, as good as reach the goal, — 
 
 Why institute that race, his life, at all ? 
 
 But this does overwhelm me with surprise, 
 
 Touch me to terror, — not that faith, the pearl, 
 
 Should be let lie by fishers wanting food, — 
 
 Nor, seen and handled by a certain few 
 
 Critical and contemptuous, straight consigned 
 
 To shore and shingle for the pebble it proves, — 
 
 But that, when haply found and known and named 
 
 By the residue made rich forevermore, 
 
 These, — that these favored ones, should in a trice 
 
 Turn, and with double zest go dredge for whelks, 
 
 JNlud-worms that make the savory soup ! Enough 
 
 O' the disbelievers, see the faithful few ! 
 
 How do the Christians here deport them, keep 
 
 Their robes of white unsjDotted by the world ? 
 
 What is this Aretine Archbishop, this 
 
 Man under me as I am under God, 
 
 This champion of the faith, I armed and decked, 
 
 Pushed forward, put upon a pinnacle. 
 
 To show the enemy his victor, — see ! 
 
 What 's the best fighting when the couple close ? 
 
 Pompilia cries, " Protect me from the wolf ! " 
 
 He — " No, thy Guido is rough, heady, strong, 
 
 Dangerous to disquiet : let him bide ! 
 
 He needs some bone to mumble, help amuse 
 
 The darkness of his den with : so, the fawn 
 
 Which limjDs up bleeding to my foot and lies, 
 
 — Come to me, daughter ! — thus I throw him back I '* 
 Have we misjudged here, over-armed our knight. 
 Given gold and silk where plain hard steel serves best, 
 Enfeebled whom we sought to fortify, 
 
 Made an archbishop and undone a saint ? 
 
 Well, then, descend these heiglits, this pride of life, 
 
 Sit in the ashes with a barefoot monk 
 
 Who long ago stamped out the worldly sparks. 
 
 By fasting, watching, stone cell and wire scourge, 
 
 — No such indulgence as unknits the strength — 
 
THE POPE 389 
 
 These breed the tight nerve and tough cuticle, 
 
 And the world's praise or blame runs rillet-wise 
 
 Off the broad back and brawny breast, we know ! 
 
 He meets the first cold sprinkle of the world, 
 
 And shudders to the marrow. "Save this child? 
 
 Oh, my superiors, oh, the Archbishop's self ! 
 
 Who was it dared lay hand upon the ark 
 
 His betters saw fall nor put finger forth ? 
 
 Great ones could help yet help not : why should small ? 
 
 I break my promise : let her break her heart ! " 
 
 These are the Christians not the worldlings, not 
 
 The sceptics, who thus battle for the faith ! 
 
 If foolish virgins disobey and sleep, 
 
 What wonder ? But, this time, the wise that watch, 
 
 Sell lamps and buy lutes, exchange oil for wine. 
 
 The mystic Spouse betrays the Bridegroom here. 
 
 To our last resource, then ! Since all flesh is weak, 
 
 Bind weaknesses together, we get strength ; 
 
 The individual weighed, found wanting, try 
 
 Some institution, honest artifice 
 
 Whereby the units grow compact and firm ! 
 
 Each props the other, and so stand is made 
 
 By our embodied cowards that grow brave. 
 
 The Monastery called of Convertites, 
 
 Meant to help women because these helped Christ, — 
 
 A thing existent only while it acts, 
 
 Does as designed, else a nonentity, — 
 
 For what is an idea unrealized ? — 
 
 Pompilia is consigned to these for help. 
 
 They do help : they are prompt to testify 
 
 To her pure life and saintly dying days. 
 
 She dies, and lo, who seemed so poor, proves rich ! 
 
 What does the body that lives through helpfulness 
 
 To women for Christ's sake ? The kiss turns bite, 
 
 The dove's note changes to the crow's cry : judge ! 
 
 Seeing that this our Convent claims of right 
 
 What goods belong to those we succor, be 
 
 The same proved women of dishonest life, — ^ 
 
 And seeing that this Trial made appear 
 
 Pompilia was in such predicament, — 
 
 The Convent hereupon pretends to said 
 
 Succession of Pompilia, issues writ, 
 
 And takes possession by the Fisc's advice." 
 
 Such is their attestation to the cause 
 
 Of Christ, who had one saint at least, they hoped : 
 
 But, is a title-deed to filch, a corpse 
 
390 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 To slander, and an infant-heir to cheat ? 
 Christ must give up his gains then ! Tliey unsay- 
 All the fine speeches, — who was saint is whore. 
 Why, scrii^ture yields no parallel for this ! 
 The soldiers only threw dice for Christ's coat ; 
 We want another legend of the Twelve 
 Disputing if it was Christ's coat at all, 
 Claiming as prize the woof of price — for why ? 
 The Master was a thief, purloined the same, 
 Or paid for it out of the common bag ! 
 Can it be this is end and outcome, all 
 I take with me to show as stewardship's fruit, 
 The best yield of the latest time, this year 
 The seventeen-hundredth since God died for man ? 
 Is such effect proportionate to cause ? 
 And still the terror keejDS on the increase 
 When 1 perceive . . . how can I blink the fact ? 
 That the fault, the obduracy to good, 
 Lies not with the impracticable stuff 
 Whence man is made, his very nature's fault, 
 As if it were of ice the moon may gild 
 Not melt, or stone 't was meant the sun should warm 
 Not make bear flowers, — nor ice nor stone to blame : 
 But it can melt, that ice, can bloom, that stone, 
 Impassible to rule of day and night ! 
 This terrifies me, thus compelled perceive, 
 Whatever love and faith we looked should spring 
 At advent of the authoritative star. 
 Which yet lie sluggish, curdled at the source, — 
 These have leapt forth profusely in old time. 
 These still respond with promptitude to-day. 
 At challenge of — what unacknowledged powers 
 O' the air, what uncommissioned meteors, warmth 
 By law, and light by rule should supersede ? 
 For see this priest, this Caponsacchi, stung 
 At the first summons, — " Help for honors sake, 
 Play the man, pity the oppressed I " — no pause, 
 How does he lay about him in the midst, 
 Strike any foe, right wrong at any risk. 
 All blindness, bravery and obedience ! — blind ? 
 Ay, as a man would be inside the sun. 
 Delirious with the plenitude of light 
 Should interfuse him to the finger-ends — 
 Let him rush straight, and how shall he go wrong ? 
 Where are the Christians in their panoply ? 
 The loins we girt about with truth, the breasts 
 
THE POPE 391 
 
 Righteousness plated round, the shield of faith, 
 The helmet of salvation, and that sword 
 O' the Spirit, even the word of God, — where these ? 
 81unk into corners ! Oh, I hear at once 
 Hubbub of protestation ! " What, we monks, 
 We friars, of such an order, such a rule, 
 Have not we fought, bled, left our martyr-mark 
 At every point along tiie boundary-line 
 'Twixt true and false, religion and the world. 
 Where this or the other dogma of our Church 
 Called for defence ? " And I, despite myself. 
 How can I but speak loud what truth speaks low, 
 
 " Or better than the best, or nothing serves I 
 What boots deed, I can cap and cover straight 
 With such another doughtiness to match, 
 Done at an instinct of the natural man ? " 
 Immolate body, sacrifice soul too, — 
 Do not these publicans the same ? Outstrip ! 
 Or else stop race you boast runs neck and neck. 
 You with the wings, they with the feet, — for shame ! 
 Oh, I remark your diligence and zeal ! 
 Five years long, now, I'ounds faith into my ears, 
 
 *' Help thou, or Christendom is done to death ! " 
 Five years since, in the Province of To-kien, 
 Which is in China as some people know, 
 Maigrot, my Vicar Apostolic there. 
 Having a great qualm, issues a decree. 
 Alack, the converts use as God's name, not 
 Tien-chu but plain Tien or else mere Shang-ti^ 
 As Jesuits please to fancy politic. 
 While, say Dominicans, it calls down fire, — 
 For Tien means heaven, and Shang-ti^ supreme prince. 
 While Tien-cJiii means the lord of lieaven : all cry, 
 
 '* There is no business urgent for dispatcli 
 As that thou send a legate, specially 
 Cardinal Tournon, straight to Pekin, there 
 To settle and compose the difference ! " 
 So have I seen a potentate all fume 
 For some infringement of his realm's just right. 
 Some menace to a mud-built straw-thatched farm 
 O' the frontier ; while inside the mainland lie, 
 Quite undisputed-for in solitude, 
 Whole cities })lague may waste or famine sap : 
 What if the sun crumble, the sands encroach, 
 While he looks on sublimely at his ease ? 
 How does their ruin touch the empire's bound ? 
 
392 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 And is this little all that was to be ? 
 
 Where is the gloriously-decisive change, 
 
 Metamorphosis the immeasurable 
 
 Of human clay to divine gold, we looked 
 
 Should, in some poor sort, justify its price ? 
 
 Had an adept of the mere Rosy Cross 
 
 Spent his life to consummate the Great Work, 
 
 Would not we start to see the stuff it touched 
 
 Yield not a grain more than the vulgar got 
 
 By the old smelting-process years ago ? 
 
 If this were sad to see in just the sage 
 
 Who should profess so much, perform no more, 
 
 What is it when suspected in that Power 
 
 Who undertook to make and made the world. 
 
 Devised and did effect man, body and soul, 
 
 Ordained salvation for them both, and yet . . . 
 
 Well, is the thing we see, salvation ? 
 
 I 
 Put no such dreadful question to myself. 
 Within whose circle of exj^erience burns 
 The central truth. Power, Wisdom, Goodness, — God : 
 I must outlive a thing ere know it dead : 
 When I outlive the faith there is a sun, 
 When I lie, ashes to the very soul, — 
 Some one, not I, must wail above the heap, 
 " He died in dark whence never morn arose." 
 While I see day succeed the deepest night — 
 How can I speak but as I know ? — my speech 
 Must be, throughout the darkness, " It will end : 
 The light that did burn, will burn ! " Clouds obscure — 
 But for which obscuration all were bright ? 
 Too hastily concluded ! Sun-suffused, 
 A cloud may soothe the eye made blind by blaze, — 
 Better the very clarity of heaven : 
 The soft streaks are the beautiful and dear. 
 AVhat but the weakness in a faith supplies 
 The incentive to humanity, no strength 
 Absolute, irresistible, comports ? 
 How can man love but what he yearns to help ? 
 And that which men think weakness within strength, 
 But angels know for strength and stronger yet — 
 What were it else but the first things made new, 
 But repetition of the miracle, 
 The divine instance of self-sacrifice 
 That never ends and aye begins for man ? 
 So, never I miss footing in the maze. 
 No, — I have licfht nor fear the dark at all. 
 
THE POPE 393 
 
 But are mankind not real, who pace outside 
 
 My petty circle, world that 's measured me ? 
 
 And when they stumble even as I stand, 
 
 Have I a right to stop ear when they cry, 
 
 As they were phantoms who took clouds for crags, 
 
 Tripped and fell, where man's march might safely move ? 
 
 Beside, the cry is other than a ghost's, 
 
 When out of the old time there pleads some bard. 
 
 Philosopher, or both, and — whispers not, 
 
 l^at words it boldly. " The inward work and worth 
 
 Of any mind, what other mind may judge 
 
 Save God who only knows the thing He made, 
 
 The veritable service He exacts ? 
 
 It is the outward product men appraise. 
 
 Behold, an engine hoists a tower aloft : 
 
 I looked that it should move the mountain too ! ' 
 
 Or else ' Had just a turret toppled down, 
 
 Success enough ! ' — may say the jNlachinist 
 
 Who knows what less or more result might be : 
 
 But we, who see that done we cannot do, 
 
 A feat beyond man's force,' we men must say. 
 
 Regard me and that shake I gave the world ! 
 
 I was born, not so long before Christ's birth 
 
 As Christ's birth haply did precede thy day, — 
 
 But many a watch before the star of dawn : 
 
 Therefore I lived, — it is thy creed affirms, 
 
 Pope Innocent, who art to answer me I — 
 
 Under conditions, nowise to escape, 
 
 Whereby salvation was impossible. 
 
 Each impulse to achieve the good and fair, 
 
 Each aspiration to the pure and true, 
 
 Beincr without a warrant or an aim. 
 
 Was just as sterile a felicity 
 
 As if the insect, born to spend his life 
 
 Soaring his circles, stopped them to describe 
 
 (Painfully motionless in the mid-air) 
 
 Some word of weighty counsel for man's sake. 
 
 Some ' Know thyself ' or ' Take the golden mean ] ' 
 
 — Forewent his happy dance and the glad ray. 
 
 Died half an hour the sooner and was dust. 
 
 I, born to perish like the brutes, or worse. 
 
 Why not live brutishly, obey brutes' law ? 
 
 But I, of body as of soul complete, 
 
 A gymnast at the games, philosopher 
 
 I' the schools, who painted, and made music, — all 
 
 Glories that met upon the tragic stage 
 
394 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 When the Third Poet's tread surprised the Two, — 
 Whose lot fell in a land where life was great 
 And sense went free and beauty lay profuse, 
 I, untouched by one adverse circumstance, 
 Adopted virtue as my rule of life, 
 Waived all reward, loved but for loving's sake, 
 And, what my heart taught me, I taught the world. 
 And have been teaching now two thousand years. 
 W^itness my work, — plays that should please, forsooth ! 
 ^ They might please, they may displease, they shall teach. 
 For truth's sake,' so I said, and did, and do. 
 Five hundred years ere Paul spoke, Felix heard, — 
 How much of temperance and righteousness. 
 Judgment to come, did I find reason for. 
 Corroborate with my strong style that spared 
 No sin, nor swerved the more from branding brow 
 Because the sinner was called Zeus and God ? 
 How nearly did I guess at that Paul knew ? 
 How closely come, in what I represent 
 As duty, to his doctrine yet a blank ? 
 And as that limner not untruly limns 
 Who draws an object round or square, which square 
 Or round seems to the unassisted eye. 
 Though Galileo's tube display the same 
 Oval or oblong, — so, who controverts 
 I rendered rightly what proves wrongly wrought 
 Beside Paul's picture ? Mine was true for me. 
 I saw that theie are, first and above all. 
 The hidden forces, blind necessities. 
 Named Nature, but the thing's self unconceived : 
 Then follow — how dependent upon these, 
 We know not, how imposed above ourselves. 
 We well know — what I name the gods, a power 
 Various or one : for great and strong and good 
 Is there, and little, weak and bad there too. 
 Wisdom and folly : say, these make no God, — 
 What is it else that rules outside man's self ? 
 A fact then, — always, to the naked eye, — 
 And so, the one revealment possible 
 Of what were unimagined else by man. 
 Therefore, what gods do, man may criticise, 
 Applaud, condemn, — how should he fear the truth ? - 
 But likewise have in awe because of power, 
 Venerate for the main munificence, 
 And give the doubtful deed its due excuse 
 From the acknowledged creature of a day 
 
THE POPE 395 
 
 To the Eternal and Divine. Thus, bold 
 
 Yet self-mistrusting, should man bear himself, 
 
 Most assured on what now concerns him most — 
 
 The law of his own life, the path he prints, — 
 
 Which law is virtue and not vice, I say, — 
 
 And least inquisitive where search least skills, 
 
 I' the nature we best give the clouds to keep. 
 
 What could I paint beyond a scheme like this 
 
 Out of the fragmentary truths where light 
 
 Lay fitful in a tenebrific time ? 
 
 You have tlie sunrise now, joins truth to truth, 
 
 Shoots life and substance into death and void ; 
 
 Themselves compose the whole we made before : 
 
 The forces and necessity grow God, — 
 
 The beings so contrarious that seemed gods, 
 
 Prove just His operation manifold 
 
 And multiform, translated, as must be. 
 
 Into intelligible shape so far 
 
 As suits our sense and sets us free to feel. 
 
 What if I let a child think, childhood-long. 
 
 That lightning, I would have him spare his eye. 
 
 Is a real arrow shot at naked orb ? 
 
 The man knows more, but shuts his lids the same : 
 
 Lightning's cause comprehends nor man nor child. 
 
 Why then, my scheme, your better knowledge broke. 
 
 Presently readjusts itself, the small 
 
 Proportioned largelier, parts and whole named new : 
 
 So much, no more two thousand years have done ! 
 
 Pope, dost thou dare pretend to punish me. 
 
 For not descrying sunshine at midnight. 
 
 Me who crept all-fours, found my way so far — 
 
 While thou rewardest teachers of the truth, 
 
 Who miss the plain way in the blaze of noon, — 
 
 Though just a word from that strong style of mine. 
 
 Grasped honestly in hand as guiding-staff, 
 
 Had pricked them a sure path across the bog. 
 
 That mire of cowardice and slush of lies 
 
 Wherein I find them wallow in wide day ! " 
 
 How should I answer this Euripides ? 
 
 Paul — 't is a legend — answered Seneca, 
 
 But that was in the day-spring ; noon is now, 
 
 We have got too familiar with the light. 
 
 Shall I wish back once more that thrill of dawn ? 
 
 When the whole truth-touched man burned up, one fire ? 
 
 — Assured the trial, fiery, fierce, but fleet, 
 
396 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Would, from his little heap of ashes, lend 
 
 Wings to that conflagration of the world 
 
 AVhich Christ awaits ere He makes all things new : 
 
 So should the frail become the perfect, rapt 
 
 From glory of pain to glory of joy ; and so, 
 
 Even in the end, — the act renouncing earth, 
 
 Lands, houses, husbands, wives and children here, — 
 
 Begin that other act which finds all, lost. 
 
 Regained, in this time even, a hundredfold, 
 
 And, in the next time, feels the finite love 
 
 Blent and embalmed with the eternal life. 
 
 So does the sun ghastlily seem to sink 
 
 In those north parts, lean all but out of life. 
 
 Desist a dread mere breathing-stop, then slow 
 
 Re-assert day, begin the endless rise. 
 
 Was this too easy for our after-stage ? 
 
 Was such a lighting-up of faith, in life, 
 
 Only allowed initiate, set man's step 
 
 In the true way by help of the great glow ? 
 
 A way wherein it is ordained he walk. 
 
 Bearing to see the light from heaven still more 
 
 And more encroached on by the light of earth, 
 
 Tentatives earth puts forth to rival heaven. 
 
 Earthly incitements that mankind serve God 
 
 For man's sole sake, not God's and therefore man's. 
 
 Till at last, who distinguishes the sun 
 
 From a mere Druid fire on a far mount ? 
 
 More praise to him who with his subtle prism 
 
 Shall decomjDOse both beams and name the true. 
 
 In such sense, who is last proves first indeed ; 
 
 For how could saints and martyrs fail see truth 
 
 Streak the night's blackness ? Who is faithful now. 
 
 Who untwists heaven's white from the yellow flare 
 
 O' the world's gross torch, without night's foil that helped 
 
 Produce the Christian act so possible 
 
 When in the way stood Nero's cross and stake, — 
 
 So hard now when the world smiles " Right and wise ! 
 
 Faith points the politic, the thrifty way. 
 
 Will make who plods it in the end returns 
 
 Beyond mere fool's-sport and improvidence. 
 
 We fools dance through the cornfield of this life. 
 
 Pluck ears to left and right and swallow raw, 
 
 — Nay, tread, at pleasure, a sheaf underfoot. 
 
 To get the better at some poppy-flower, — 
 
 Well aware we shall have so much less wheat 
 
 In the eventual harvest : you meantime 
 
THE POPE 397 
 
 Waste not a spike, — the richlier will you reap I 
 AVhat then ? There will be always garnered meal 
 Sufficient for our comfortable loaf, 
 While you enjoy the undiminished sack ! " 
 Is it not this i^inoble confidence. 
 Cowardly hardihood, that dulls and damps, 
 Makes the old heroism impossible ? 
 
 Unless . . . what whispers me of times to come ? 
 
 What if it be the mission of that age 
 
 My death will usher into life, to shake 
 
 This torpor of assurance from our creed, 
 
 Reintroduce the doubt discarded, bring 
 
 That formidable danger back, we drove 
 
 Lona: asfo to the distance and the dark ? 
 
 No wild beast now prowls round the infant camp : 
 
 We have built wall and sleep in city safe : 
 
 But if some earthquake try the towers that laugh 
 
 To think they once saw lions rule outside, 
 
 And man stand out again, pale, resolute. 
 
 Prepared to die, — which means, alive at last ? 
 
 As we broke up that old faith of the world, 
 
 Have we, next age, to break up this the new — 
 
 Faith, in the thing, grown faith in the report — 
 
 Whence need to bravely disbelieve report 
 
 Through increased faith i' the thing reports belie ? 
 
 Must we deny, — do they, these Molinists, 
 
 At peril of their body and their soul, — 
 
 Recognized truths, obedient to some truth 
 
 Unrecognized yet, but perceptible ? — 
 
 Correct the portrait by the living face, 
 
 Man's God, by God's God in the mind of man ? 
 
 Then, for the few that rise to the new height, 
 
 The many that must sink to the old depth. 
 
 The multitude found fall away ! A few. 
 
 E'en ere new law speak clear, may keep the old, 
 
 Preserve the Christian level, call good good 
 
 And evil evil, (even though razed and blank 
 
 The old titles,) helped by custom, habitude, 
 
 And all else they mistake for finer sense 
 
 O' the fact that reason warrants, — as before, 
 
 They hope perhaj^s, fear not impossibly. 
 
 At least some one Pompilia left the world 
 
 Will say " I know the right place by foot's feel, 
 
 I took it and tread firm there ; wherefore change ? " 
 
 But what a multitude will surely fall 
 
398 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Quite through the crumbling truth, late subjacent, 
 
 Sink to the next discoverable base, 
 
 Rest upon human nature, settle there 
 
 On what is firm, the lust and pride of life ! 
 
 A mass of men, whose very souls even now 
 
 Seem to need re-creating, — so they slink 
 
 Worm-like into the mud, light now lays bare, — 
 
 AVhose future we dispose of with shut eyes 
 
 And whisper — " They are grafted, barren twigs, 
 
 Into the living stock of Christ : may bear 
 
 One day, till when they lie death-like, not dead," — 
 
 Those who with all the aid of Christ succumb, 
 
 How, without Christ, shall they, unaided, sink ? 
 
 Whither but to this gulf before my eyes ? 
 
 Do not we end, the century and I ? 
 
 The impatient antimasque treads close on kibe 
 
 O' the very masque's self it will mock, — on me, 
 
 Last lingering personage, the impatient mime 
 
 Pushes already, — will I block the way ? 
 
 Will my slow trail of garments ne'er leave space 
 
 For pantaloon, sock, plume and castanet ? 
 
 Here comes the first experimentalist 
 
 In the new order of things, — he plays a priest ; 
 
 Does he take inspiration from the Church, 
 
 Directly make her rule his law of life ? 
 
 Not he : his own mere impulse guides the man — 
 
 Happily sometimes, since ourselves allow 
 
 He has danced, in gayety of heart, i' the main 
 
 The right step through the maze we bade him foot. 
 
 But if his heart had prompted him break loose 
 
 And mar the measure ? Why, we must sulmit, 
 
 And thank the chance that brought him safe so far. 
 
 Will he repeat the prodigy ? Perhaps. 
 
 Can he teach others how to quit themselves, 
 
 Show why this step was right while that were wrong ? 
 
 How should he ? " Ask your hearts as I asked mine, 
 
 And get discreetly through the morrice too ; 
 
 If your hearts misdirect you, — quit the stage, 
 
 And make amends, — be there amends to make ! " 
 
 Such is, for the Augustin that was once. 
 
 This Canon Caponsacchi we see now. 
 
 " But my heart answers to another tune," 
 Puts in the Abate, second in the suite ; 
 
 " I have my taste too, and tread no such step ! 
 You choose the glorious life, and may, for me ! 
 I like the lowest of life's appetites, — 
 
THE POPE 
 
 So you judge, — but the very truth of joy 
 
 To my own apprehension which decides. 
 
 Call me knave and you get yourself called fool ! 
 
 I live for greed, ambition, lust, revenge ; 
 
 Attain these ends by force, guile : hypocrite. 
 
 To-day, perchance to-morrow recognized 
 
 The rational man, the type of conmion sense." 
 
 There 's Loyola adapted to our time I 
 
 Under such guidance Guido plays his part, 
 
 He also influencing in the due turn 
 
 These last clods where I track intelligence 
 
 By any glinmier, these four at his beck 
 
 Ready to murder any, and, at their own, 
 
 As ready to murder him, — such make the world ! 
 
 And, first effect of the new cause of things. 
 
 There they lie also duly, — the old pair 
 
 Of the weak head and not so wicked heart, 
 
 AVith the one Christian mother, wife and girl, 
 
 — Which three gifts seem to make an angel up, — 
 
 The world's first foot o' the dance is on their heads ! 
 
 Still, I stand here, not off the stage though close 
 
 On the exit : and my last act, as my first, 
 
 I owe the scene, and Him who armed me thus 
 
 With Paul's sword as with Peter's key. I smite 
 
 With my whole strength once more, ere end my part, 
 
 Ending, so far as man may, this offence. 
 
 And when I raise my arm, who plucks my sleeve ? 
 
 Who stops me in the righteous function, — foe 
 
 Or friend ? Oh, still as ever, friends are they 
 
 Who, in the interest of outraged truth 
 
 Deprecate such rough handling of a lie ! 
 
 The facts being proved and incontestable. 
 
 What is the last word I must listen to ? 
 
 Perchance — " Spare yet a term this barren stock, 
 
 W^e pray thee dig about and dung and dress 
 
 Till he repent and bring forth fruit even yet ! " 
 
 Perchance — " So poor and swift a punishment 
 
 Shall throw him out of life with all that sin : 
 
 Let mercy rather pile up pain on pain 
 
 Till the flesh expiate what the soul pays else I " 
 
 Nowise ! Remonstrants on each side commence 
 
 Instructing, there 's a new tribunal now 
 
 Higher than God's — the educated man's ! 
 
 Nice sense of honor in the human breast 
 
 Supersedes here the old coarse oracle — 
 
 Confirming none the less a point or so 
 
 399 
 
400 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Wherein blind predecessors worked aright 
 By rule of thumb : as when Christ said, — - when, where ? 
 Enough, I find it pleaded in a place, — 
 " All other wrongs done, patiently I take : 
 But touch my honor and the case is changed ! 
 I feel the due resentment, — nemini 
 Honorem trado is my quick retort." 
 Right of Him, just as if pronounced to-day ! 
 Still, should the old authority be mute 
 Or doubtful, or in speaking clash with new, 
 The younger takes permission to decide. 
 At last we have the instinct of the world 
 Ruling its household without tutelage : 
 And while the two laws, human and divine. 
 Have busied finger with this tangled case. 
 In pushes the brisk junior, cuts the knot. 
 Pronounces for acquittal. How it trips 
 Silverly o'er the tongue ! " Remit the death ! 
 Forgive, . . . well, in the old way, if thou please. 
 Decency and the relics of routine 
 Respected, — let the Count go free as air ! 
 Since he may plead a priest's immunity, — 
 The minor orders help enough for that, 
 With Farinacci's license, — who decides 
 That the mere implication of such man. 
 So privileged, in any cause, before 
 Whatever Court except the Spiritual, 
 Straight quashes law-procedure, — quash it, then ! 
 Remains a pretty loophole of escape 
 Moreover, that, beside the patent fact 
 O' the law's allowance, there 's involved the weal 
 O' the Popedom : a son's privilege at stake, 
 Thou wilt pretend the Church's interest. 
 Ignore all finer reasons to forgive I 
 But herein lies the crowning cogency — 
 (Let thy friends teach thee while thou tellest beads) ^ 
 That in this case the spirit of culture speaks, 
 Civilization is imperative. 
 To her shall we remand all delicate points 
 Henceforth, nor take irregular advice 
 O' the sly, as heretofore : she used to hint 
 Remonstrances, when law was out of sorts 
 Because a saucy tongue was put to rest, 
 An eye that roved was cured of arrogance : 
 But why be forced to mumble under breath 
 What soon shall be acknowledged as plain fact. 
 
THE POPE 401 
 
 Outspoken, say, in thy successor's time ? 
 Methinks we see the golden age return ! 
 Civilization and the Emj^eror 
 Succeed to Christianity and Pojie. 
 One Emperor then, as one Pope now : meanwhile, 
 Anticipate a little I We tell thee ' Take 
 Guido's life, sapped society shall crash, 
 Whereof the main prop was, is, and shall be 
 — Supremacy of husband over wife ! ' 
 Does the man rule i' the house, and may his mate 
 Because of any plea dispute the same ? 
 Oh, pleas of all sorts shall abound, be sure, 
 One but allowed validity, — for, harsh 
 And savage, for, inept and silly-sooth, 
 For, this and that, will the ingenious sex 
 Demonstrate the best master e'er graced slave : 
 And there 's but one short way to end the coil, — 
 Acknowledge right and reason steadily 
 I' the man and master : then the wife submits 
 To plain truth broadly stated. Does the time 
 Advise we shift — a pillar? nay, a stake 
 Out of its place i' the social tenement ? 
 One touch may send a shudder through the heap 
 And bring it toppling on our children's heads ! 
 Moreover, if ours breed a qualm in thee, 
 Give thine own better feeling play for once ! 
 Thou, whose own life winks o'er the socket-edge, 
 Wouldst thou it went out in such ugly snuff 
 As dooming sons dead, e'en though justice prompt ? 
 Why, on a certain feast, Barabbas' self 
 Was set free, not to cloud the general cheer : 
 Neither shalt thou j^ollute thy Sabbath close ! 
 Mercy is safe and graceful. How one hears 
 The howl begin, scarce the three little taps 
 O' the silver mallet silent on thy brow, — 
 * His last act was to sacrifice a Count 
 And thereby screen a scandal of the Church ! 
 Guido condenmed,*the Canon justified 
 Of course, — delinquents of his cloth go free ! * 
 And so the Luthers chuckle, Calvins scowl, 
 So thy hand helps Molinos to the chair 
 Whence he may hold forth till doom's day on just 
 These petit-maitre priestlings, — in the choir 
 Sanctus et Benedictiis, with a brush 
 Of soft guitar-strings that obey the thumb. 
 Touched by the bedside, for accompaniment ! 
 
402 l^E RING AND THE BOOK. 
 
 Does this give umbrage to a husband ? Death 
 To the fool, and to the priest impunity ! 
 But no imjjunity to any friend 
 So simply over-loyal as these four 
 Who made religion of their patron's cause, 
 Believed in him and did his bidding straight, 
 Asked not one question but laid down the lives 
 This Pope took, — all four lives together make 
 Just his own length of days, — so, dead they lie, 
 As these were times when loyalty 's a drug, 
 And zeal in a subordinate too cheap 
 And common to be saved w^lien we spend life ! 
 Come, 't is too much good breath w^e waste in words 
 The pardon, Holy Father ! Spare grimace, 
 Shrugs and reluctance ! Are not we the world. 
 Art not thou Priam ? let soft culture plead 
 Hecuba-like, * no7i tali' (Virgil serves) 
 * Auxilio,* and the rest! Enough, it works ! 
 The Pope relaxes, and the Prince is loth, 
 The father's bowels yearn, the man's will bends, 
 Reply is apt. Our tears on tremble, hearts 
 Big with a benediction, wait the word 
 Shall circulate through the city in a trice, 
 Set every window flaring, give each man 
 O' the mob his torch to wave for gratitude. 
 Pronounce then, for our breath and patience fail I " 
 
 I will, Sirs : but a voice other than yours 
 Quickens my spirit. " Quis pro Domino ? 
 Who is upon the Lord's side ? " asked the Count. 
 I, who write — 
 
 " On receipt of this command, 
 Acquaint Count Guido and his fellows four 
 They die to-morrow : could it be to-night. 
 The better, but the work to do, takes time. 
 Set with all diligence a scaffold up. 
 Not in the customary place, by Bridge 
 Saint Angelo, where die the common sort ; 
 But since the man is noble, and his peers 
 By predilection haunt the People's Square, 
 There let him be beheaded in the midst, 
 And his companions hanged on either side : 
 So shall the quality see, fear, and learn. 
 All which work takes time : till to-morrow, then, 
 Let there be prayer incessant for the five ! " 
 
 For the main criminal I have no hope 
 
THE POPE 403 
 
 Except in such a suddenness of fate. 
 
 I stood at Naples once, a night so dark 
 
 I could have scarce conjectured there was earth 
 
 Anywhere, sky or sea or world at all : 
 
 But the night's black was burst through by a blaze — 
 
 Thunder struck blow on blow, earth groaned and bore, 
 
 Through her whole length of mountain visible : 
 
 There lay the city thick and plain with S2)ires, 
 
 And, like a ghost disshrouded, white the sea. 
 
 So may the truth be flashed out by one blow, 
 
 And Guido see, one instant, and be saved. 
 
 Else I avert my face, nor follow him 
 
 Into that sad obscure sequestered state 
 
 Where God unmakes but to remake the soul 
 
 He else made first in vain ; which must not be. 
 
 Enough, for I may die this very night : 
 
 And how should I dare die, this man let live ? 
 
 Carry this forthwith to the Governor ! 
 
XI. 
 
 GUIDO. 
 
 You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you, 
 
 Abate Panciatichi — two good Tuscan names : 
 
 Acciaiuoli — ah, your ancestor it was 
 
 Built the huge battlemented convent-block 
 
 Over the little forky flashing Greve 
 
 That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill 
 
 Just as one first sees Florence : oh those days ! 
 
 'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet, 
 
 The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over, — yes, 
 
 Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain 
 
 The Roman Gate from where the Ema 's bridged : 
 
 Kingfishers fly tbere : how I see the bend 
 
 O'erturreted by Certosa which he built, 
 
 That Senescal (we styled him) of your House ! 
 
 I do adjure you, help me, Sirs ! My blood 
 
 Comes from as far a source : ought it to end 
 
 This way, by leakage tbrough their scaffold-planks 
 
 Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs ? 
 
 Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy. 
 
 If there be any vile experiment 
 
 In the air, — if this your visit simply prove, 
 
 When all 's done, just a well-intentioned trick, 
 
 That tries for truth truer than truth itself, 
 
 By startling up a man, ere break of day, 
 
 To tell him he must die at sunset, — pshaw ! 
 
 That man 's a Franceschini ; feel his pulse, 
 
 Laugh at your folly, and let 's all go sleep ! 
 
 You have my last word, — innocent am I 
 
 As Innocent my Pope and murderer. 
 
 Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own. 
 
 As Mary's self, — I said, say and repeat, — 
 
 And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence ? I — 
 
 AVhom, not twelve hours ago, the jailer bade 
 
 Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound 
 
 That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay 
 
 His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross 
 
GUI DO 405 
 
 His palin with fee of the good-hand, beside, 
 
 As gallants use who go at large again ! 
 
 For why ? All honest Rome approved my part ; 
 
 Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter, — nay. 
 
 Mistress, — had any shadow of any right 
 
 That looks like right, and, all the more resolved, 
 
 Held it with tooth and nail, — these manly men 
 
 Approved ! I being for Rome, Rome was for me. 
 
 Then, there 's the point reserved, the subterfuge 
 
 My lawyers held by, kept for last resource. 
 
 Firm should all else — the impossible fancy ! — fail. 
 
 And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day. 
 
 The knaves ! One plea at least would hold, — they 
 
 laughed, — 
 One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock 
 Even should the middle mud let anchor go ! 
 I hooked my cause on to the Clergy's, — plea 
 Which, even if law tipped off my hat and plume, 
 Revealed my priestly tonsure, saved me so. 
 The Pope moreover, this old Innocent, 
 Being so meek and mild and merciful. 
 So fond o' the poor and so fatigued of earth, 
 So . . . fifty thousand devils in deepest hell ! 
 Why must he cure us of our strange conceit 
 Of the angel in man's likeness, that we loved 
 And looked should help us at a pinch ? He help ? 
 He pardon ? Here 's his mind and message — death ! 
 Thank the good Pope ! Now, is he good in this, 
 Never mind. Christian, — no such stuff 's extant, — 
 Bat will my death do credit to his reign, 
 Show he both lived and let live, so was good ? 
 Cannot I live if he but like ? " The law ! " 
 Why, just the law gives him the very chance, 
 The precise leave to let my life alone. 
 Which the archangelic soul ojl him (he says) 
 Yearns after ! Here they drop it in liis palm, 
 My lawyers, capital o' the cursed kind, — 
 Drop life to take and hold and keep : but no ! 
 He sighs, shakes head, refuses to shut hand. 
 Motions away the gift they bid him grasp. 
 And of the coyness comes — that off I run 
 And down I go, he best knows whither I mind, 
 He knows, who sets me rolling all the same I 
 Disinterested Vicar of our Lord, 
 This way he abrogates and disallows, 
 Nullifies and ignores, — reverts in fine 
 
406 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 To the good and right, in detriment of me ! 
 Talk away ! Will you have the naked truth ? 
 He 's sick of liis life's supper, — swallowed lies : 
 So, hobbling bedward, needs must ease his maw 
 Just where I sit o' the doorsili. Sir Abate, 
 Can you do nothing ? Friends, we used to frisk : 
 What of this sudden slash in a friend's face. 
 This cut across our good companionship 
 That showed its front so gay when both were young ? 
 Were not we jDut into a beaten path, 
 Bid pace the world, we nobles born and bred, 
 We body of friends with each his 'scutcheon full 
 Of old achievement and impunity, — 
 Taking the laugh of morn and Sol's salute 
 As forth we fared, pricked on to breathe our steeds 
 And take equestrian sport over the green 
 Under the blue, across the crojD, — what care ? 
 If we went prancing up hill and down dale. 
 In and out of the level and the straight, 
 By the bit of pleasant byway, where was harm ? 
 Still Sol salutes me, and the morning laughs : 
 I see my grandsire's hoofprints, — point the spot 
 Where he drew rein, slipped saddle, and stabbed knave 
 For daring throw gibe — much less, stone — from pale : 
 Then back, and on, and up with the cavalcade. 
 Just so wend we, now canter, now converse, 
 Till, 'mid the jauncing pride and jaunty port. 
 Something of a sudden jerks at somebody — 
 A dagger is out, a flashing cut and thrust. 
 Because I play some prank my grandsire played. 
 And here I sprawl : where is the company ? Gone ! 
 A trot and a trample ! only I lie trapped, 
 Writhe in a certain novel springe just set 
 By the good old Pope : I 'm first prize. Warn me ? Why? 
 Apprise me that the law o' the game is changed ? 
 Enough that I 'm a warning, as I writhe, 
 To all and each my fellows of the file. 
 And make law plain henceforward past mistake, 
 " For such a prank, death is the penalty ! " 
 Pope the Five Hundredth (what do I know or care ?) 
 Deputes your Eminency and Abateship 
 To announce that, twelve hours from this time, he needs 
 I just essay upon my body and soul 
 The virtue of his brand-new engine, prove 
 Represser of the pranksome ! I 'm the first ! 
 Thanks. Do you know what teeth you mean to try 
 
GUIDO 407 
 
 The sharpness of, on this soft neck and throat ? 
 I know it, — I have seen and hate it, — ay, 
 As you shall, while I tell you ! Let me talk, 
 Or leave me, at your pleasure ! talk I must : 
 What is your visit but my lure to talk ? 
 Nay, you have something to disclose ? — a smile. 
 At end of the forced sternness, means to mock 
 The heart-beats here ? I call your two hearts stone ! 
 Is your charge to stay with me till I die ? 
 Be tacit as your bench, then ! Use your ears, 
 I use my tongue : how glibly yours will run 
 At pleasant supper-time . . . God's curse I . . . to-night 
 When all the guests jump up, begin so brisk, 
 " Welcome, his Eminence who shrived the wretch ! 
 Now we shall have the Abate's story ! " 
 
 How I could spill this overplus of mine 
 
 Among those hoar-haired, siirunk-shanked odds and ends 
 
 Of body and soul old age is chewing dry ! 
 
 Those windle-straws that stare while purblind death 
 
 Mows here, mows there, makes hay of juicy me. 
 
 And misses just the bunch of withered weed 
 
 Would brighten hell and streak its smoke with flame ! 
 
 How the life I could shed yet never shrink, 
 
 Would drench their stalks with sap like grass in May ! 
 
 Is it not terrible, I entreat you. Sirs ? 
 
 With manifold and plenitudinous life, 
 
 Prompt at death's menace to give blow for threat, 
 
 Answer his " Be thou not ! " by " Thus I am I " — ■ 
 
 Terrible so to be alive yet die ? 
 
 How I live, how I see ! so, — how I speak ! 
 Lucidity of soul unlocks the lips : 
 I never had the words at will before. 
 How I see all my folly at a glance ! 
 " A man requires a woman and a wife : " 
 There was my folly ; 1 believed the saw. 
 I knew that jnst myself concerned myself, 
 Yet needs must look for what I seemed to lack. 
 In a woman, — why, the woman 's in the man ! 
 Fools we are, how we learn things when too late ! 
 Overmuch life turns round my woman-side ; 
 The male and female in me, mixed before. 
 Settle of a sudden : I 'm my wife outright 
 In this unmanly appetite for truth. 
 
408 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 This careless courage as to consequence, 
 
 This instantaneous sight through things and through, 
 
 This voluble rhetoric, it" you please, — 't is she ! 
 
 Here you have that Pompilia whom I slew. 
 
 Also the folly for which I slew her ! 
 
 Fool! 
 And, fool-like, what is it I wander from ? 
 What did I say of your sharp iron tooth ? 
 Ah, — that I know the hateful thing ! this way. 
 I chanced to stroll forth, many a good year gone, 
 One warm Spring eve in Rome, and unaware 
 Looking, mayhap, to count what stars were out, 
 Came on your fine axe in a frame, that falls 
 And so cuts off a man's head underneath, 
 Mannaia, — thus we made acquaintance first : 
 Out of the way, in a by-part o' the town. 
 At the Mouth-of-Truth o' the river-side, you know : 
 One goes by the Capitol : and wherefore coy. 
 Retiring out of crowded noisy Rome ? 
 Because a very little time ago 
 It had done service, chopped off head from trunk, 
 Belonging to a fellow whose poor house 
 The thing must make a point to stand before. 
 Felice Whatsoever-was-the-name 
 Who stabled buffaloes and so gained bread, 
 (Our clowns unyoke them in the ground hard by,) 
 And, after use of much improjDer speech. 
 Had struck at Duke Some-title-or-other's face. 
 Because he kidnapped, carried away and kept 
 Felice's sister who would sit and sing 
 1' the filthy doorway while she plaited fringe 
 To deck the brutes with, — on their gear it goes, — 
 The good girl with the velvet in her voice. 
 So did the Duke, so did Felice, so 
 Did Justice, intervening with her axe. 
 There the man-mutilating engine stood 
 At ease, both gay and grim, like a Swiss guard 
 Off duty, — purified itself as well. 
 Getting dry, sweet and proper for next week, — 
 And doing incidental good, 't was hoped 
 To the rough lesson-lacking populace 
 Who now and then, forsooth, must right their wrongs ! 
 There stood the twelve-foot-square of scaffold, raUed 
 Considerately round to elbow-lieiglit. 
 For fear an officer should tumble thence 
 And sprain his ankle and be lame a month, 
 
GUIDO 409 
 
 Through starting when the axe fell and head too ! 
 
 Railed likewise were the steps whereby 't was reached. 
 
 All of it painted red : red, in the midst, 
 
 Ran up two narrow tall beams barred across. 
 
 Since from the summit, some twelve feet to reach, 
 
 The iron plate with the sharp shearing edge 
 
 Had slannned, jerked, shot, slid, — I shall soon find which ' 
 
 And so lay quiet, fast in its fit place. 
 
 The wooden half-moon collar, now eclipsed 
 
 By the blade which blocked its curvature : apart. 
 
 The other half, — the under half-moon board 
 
 Which, helped by this, completes a neck's embrace, — 
 
 Joined to a sort of desk that wheels aside 
 
 Out of the way when done with, — down you kneel. 
 
 In you 're pushed, over you the other drops, 
 
 Tight you 're clipped, whiz, there 's the blade cleaves its best, 
 
 Out trundles body, down flops head on floor, 
 
 And where 's your soul gone ? That, too, I shall find ! 
 
 This kneeling-place was red, red, never fear ! 
 
 But only slimy-like with paint, not blood. 
 
 For why ? a decent pitcher stood at hand, 
 
 A broad dish to hold sawdust, and a broom 
 
 By some unnamed utensil, — scraper-rake, — 
 
 Each with a conscious air of duty done. 
 
 Underneath, loungers, — boys and some few men, — 
 
 Discoursed this platter, named the other tool, 
 
 Just as, when grooms tie up and dress a steed. 
 
 Boys lounge and look on, and elucubrate 
 
 What the round brush is used for, what the square, — 
 
 So was explained — to me the skill-less then — 
 
 The manner of the grooming for next world 
 
 Undergone by Felice What's-his-name. 
 
 There 's no such lovely month in Rome as May — 
 
 May's crescent is no half-moon of red plank, 
 
 And came now tilting o'er the wave i' the west, 
 
 One greenish-golden sea, right 'twixt those bars 
 
 Of the engine — I began acquaintance with, 
 
 Understood, hated, hurried from before. 
 
 To have it out of sight and cleanse my soul ! 
 
 Here it is all aofain, conserved for use : 
 
 Twelve hours hence, I may know more, not hate worse. 
 
 That young May-moon-month ! Devils of the deep ! 
 Was not a Pope then Pope as much as now ? 
 Used not he chirrup o'er the Merry Tales, 
 Chuckle, — his nephew so exact the wag 
 
ilO THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 To play a jealous cuUion such a trick 
 As wins the wife i' the pleasant story I Well ? 
 Why do things change ? Wherefore is Rome un-Romed ? 
 I tell you, ere Felice's corpse was cold, 
 The Duke, that night, threw wide his palace-doors, 
 Received the compliments o' the quality 
 For justice done him, — bowed and smirked his best, 
 And in return passed round a pretty thing, 
 A portrait of Felice's sister's self, 
 Florid old rogue Albano's masterpiece, 
 As — better than virginity in rags — 
 Bouncing Europa on the back o' the bull : 
 They laughed and took their road the safelier home. 
 Ah, but times change, there 's quite another Pope, 
 I do the Duke's deed, take Felice's place. 
 And, being no Felice, lout and clout, 
 Stomach but ill the phrase, " I lost my head I " 
 How euphemistic ! Lose what ? Lose your ring, 
 Your snuff-box, tablets, kerchief ! — but, your head ? 
 I learnt the process at an early age ; 
 'T was useful knowledge, in those same old days, 
 To know the way a head is set on neck. 
 My fencing-master urged, " Would you excel ? 
 Rest not content with mere bold give-and-guard, 
 Nor pink the antagonist somehow-anyhow ! 
 See me dissect a little, and know your game ! 
 . Only anatomy makes a thrust the thing." 
 Oh Cardinal, those lithe live necks of ours ! 
 Here go the vertebrae, here 's Atlas, here 
 Axis, and here the symphyses stop short. 
 So wisely and well, — as, o'er a corpse, we cant, — 
 And here 's the silver cord which . . . what 's our word ? 
 Depends from the gold bowl, which loosed (not "lost") 
 Lets us from heaven to hell, — one chop, we 're loose ! 
 " And not much pain i' the process," quoth the sage : 
 Who told him ? Not Felice's ghost, I think I 
 Such " losing " is scarce Mother Nature's mode. 
 She fain would have cord ease itself away. 
 Worn to a thread by threescore years and ten, 
 Snap while we slumber : that seems bearable. 
 I 'm told one clot of blood extravasate 
 Ends one as certainly as Roland's sword, — 
 One drop of lymph suffused proves Oliver's mace, — 
 Intruding, either of the pleasant pair. 
 On the arachnoid tunic of my brain. 
 That 's Nature's way of loosing cord I — but Art, 
 
GUIDO 411 
 
 How of Art's process with the engine here, 
 
 When bowl and cord alike are crushed across, 
 
 Bored between, bruised through? Why, if Fagon's self. 
 
 The French Court's pride, that famed practitioner. 
 
 Would pass his cold pale lightning of a knife, 
 
 Pistoja-ware, adroit 'twixt joint and joint, 
 
 With just a " See how facile, gentlefolk ! " — 
 
 The thing were not so bad to bear ! Brute force 
 
 Cuts as he comes, breaks in, breaks on, breaks out 
 
 O' the hard and soft of you : is that the same ? 
 
 A lithe snake thrids the hedge, makes throb no leaf : 
 
 A heavy ox sets chest to brier and branch, 
 
 Bursts somehow through, and leaves one hideous hole 
 
 Behind him ! 
 
 And why, why must this needs be ? 
 Oh, if men were but good ! They are not good, 
 Nowise like Peter : people called him rough. 
 But if, as I left Rome, I spoke tlie Saint, 
 
 — " Petrus, quo vadis ? " — doubtless, I should hear, 
 " To free the prisoner and forgive his fault ! 
 
 I plucked the absolute dead from God's own bar, 
 
 And raised up Dorcas, — why not rescue thee?" 
 
 What would cost one such nullifying word ? 
 
 If Innocent succeeds to Peter's place. 
 
 Let him think Peter's thought, speak Peter's speech ! 
 
 I say, he is bound to it : friends, how say you ? 
 
 Concede I be all one bloodguiltiness 
 
 And mystery of murder in the flesh, 
 
 Why should that fact keep the Pope's mouth shut fast ? 
 
 He execrates my crime, — good ! — sees hell yawn 
 
 One inch from the red plank's end which I press, — 
 
 Nothing is better ! What 's the consequence ? 
 
 How should a Pope proceed that knows his cue ? 
 
 Why, leave me linger out my minute here, 
 
 Since close on death comes judgment and comes doom. 
 
 Not crib at dawn its pittance from a sheep 
 
 Destined ere dewfall to be butcher' s-meat ! 
 
 Think, Sirs, if I have done you any harm, 
 
 And you require the natural revenge. 
 
 Suppose, and so intend to poison me, 
 
 — Just as you take and slip into my draught 
 The paperful of powder that clears scores. 
 You notice on my brow a certain blue : 
 How you both overset the wine at once ! 
 
 How you both smile, " Our enemy has the plague ! 
 
412 rilE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Twelve hours hence he '11 be scraping his bones bare 
 Of that intolei'able flesh, and die, 
 Frenzied with pain : no need for poison here ! 
 Step aside and enjoy the spectacle ! '*' 
 Tender for souls are you, Pope Innocent ! 
 Christ's maxim is — one soul outweighs the world : 
 Respite me, save a soul, then, curse the world ! 
 " No," venerable sire, I hear you smirk, 
 " No : for Christ's gospel changes names, not things, 
 Renews the obsolete, does nothing more ! 
 Oar fire-new gospel is re-tinkered law. 
 Our mercy, justice, — Jove 's rechristened God, — - 
 Nay, whereas, in the popular conceit, 
 'T is pity that old harsh Law somehow limps, 
 Lingers on earth, although Law's day be done, 
 Else would benignant Gospel interpose. 
 Not furtively as now, but bold and frank 
 O'erflutter us with healing in her wings, 
 Law being harshness. Gospel only love — 
 We tell the people, on the contrary, 
 Gospel takes up the rod which Law lets fall ; 
 Mercy is vigilant when justice sleeps ! 
 Does Law permit a taste of Gospel-grace ? 
 The secular arm allow the spiritual power 
 To act for once ? — no compliment so fine 
 As that our Gospel handsomely turn harsh, 
 Thrust victim back on Law the nice and coy ! " 
 Yes, you do say so, — else you would forgive 
 Me, whom Law does not touch but tosses you ! 
 Don't think to put on the professional face ! 
 You know what I know, — casuists as you are. 
 Each nerve must creep, each hair start, sting and stand, 
 At such illogical inconsequence I 
 Dear my friends, do but see ! A murder 's tried, 
 There are two parties to the cause : I 'm one, 
 — Defend myself, as somebody must do : 
 I have the best o' the battle : that 's a fact. 
 Simple fact, — fancies find no place just now. 
 AVhat though half Rome condemned me ? Half approved 
 And, none disputes, the luck is mine at last. 
 All Rome, i' the main, acquitting me : whereon, 
 What has the Pope to ask but '* How finds Law ? " 
 " I find," replies Law, " I have erred this while : 
 Guilty or guiltless, Guido proves a priest, 
 No layman : he is therefore yours, not mine : 
 I bound him : loose him, vou whose will is Christ's ! " 
 
GUIDO 413 
 
 And now what does this Vicar of our Lord, 
 
 Shepherd o' the flock, — one of whose charge bleats sore 
 
 For crook's help from the quag wherein it drowns ? 
 
 Law suffers him employ the crumpled end : 
 
 His pleasure is to turn staff, use the point, 
 
 And thrust the shuddering sheep, he calls a wolf, 
 
 Back and back, down and down to where hell gapes ! 
 
 '• Guiltless," cries Law — " Guilty," corrects the Pope ! 
 
 '' Guilty," for the whim's sake I " Guilty," he somehow thinks, 
 And anyhow says : 't is truth ; he dares not lie ! 
 
 Others should do the lying. That 's the cause 
 Brings you both here : I ought in decency 
 Confess to you that I deserve my fate, 
 Am guilty, as the Pope thinks, — ay, to the end, 
 Keep up the jest, lie on, lie ever, lie 
 I' the latest gasp of me ! What reason, Sirs ? 
 Because to-morrow will succeed to-day 
 For you, thougli not for me : and if I stick 
 Still to the truth, declare with my last breath, 
 I die an innocent and murdered man, — 
 Why, there 's the tongue of Rome will wag apace 
 This time to-morrow, — don't I hear the talk ! 
 " So, to the last he proved impenitent ? 
 Pagans have said as much of martyred saints ! 
 Law demurred, washed her hands of the whole case. 
 Prince Somebody said this, Duke Something-, that. 
 Doubtless the man 's dead, dead enough, don't fear ! 
 But, hang it, what if there have been a spice, 
 A touch of ... eh ? You see, the Pope 's so old. 
 Some of us add, obtuse, — age never slips 
 The chance of shoving youth to face death first ! " 
 And so on. Therefore to suppress such talk 
 You two come here, entreat 1 tell you lies, 
 And end, the edifying way. I end. 
 Telling the truth ! Your self-styled shepherd thieves ! 
 A thief — and how thieves hate the wolves we know : 
 Damage to theft, damage to thrift, all 's one ! 
 The red hand is sworn foe of the black jaw. 
 That 's only natural, that 's right enough : 
 But why the wolf should compliment the thief 
 With shepherd's title, bark out life in thanks. 
 And, spiteless, lick the prong that spits him, — eh, 
 Cardinal ? My Abate, scarcely thus ! 
 There, let my sheepskin-garb, a curse on 't, go — 
 Leave my teeth free if I must show my shag ! 
 
414 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Repent ? What good shall follow ? If I pass 
 
 Twelve hours repenting, will that fact hold fast 
 
 The thirteenth at the horrid dozen's end ? 
 
 If I fall forthwith at your feet, gnash, tear, 
 
 Foam, rave, to give your story the due grace, 
 
 Will that assist the engine half-way back 
 
 Into its hiding-house ? — boards, shaking now. 
 
 Bone against bone, like some old skeleton bat 
 
 That wants, at winter's end, to wake and prey ! 
 
 Will howling put the spectre back to sleep ? 
 
 Ah, but I misconceive your object, Sirs ! 
 
 Since I want new life like the creature, — life, 
 
 Being done with here, begins i' the world away : 
 
 I shall next have " Come, mortals, and be judged ! " 
 
 Tliere 's but a minute betwixt this and then : 
 
 So, quick, be sorry since it saves my soul ! 
 
 Sirs, truth shall save it, since no lies assist ! 
 
 Hear the truth, you, whatever you style yourselves, 
 
 Civilization and society ! 
 
 Come, one good grapple, I with all the world ! 
 
 Dying in cold blood is the desperate thing ; 
 
 The angry heart explodes, bears off in blaze 
 
 The indignant soul, and I 'ra combustion-ripe. 
 
 Why, you intend to do your worst with me ! 
 
 That 's in your eyes ! You dare no more than death. 
 
 And mean no less. I must make up my mind ! 
 
 So Pietro — when I chased him here and there, 
 
 Morsel by morsel cut away the life 
 
 I loathed — cried for just respite to confess 
 
 And save his soul : much respite did I grant ! 
 
 Why grant me respite who deserve my doom ? 
 
 Me — who engaged to play a prize, fight you, 
 
 Knowing your arras, and foil you, trick for trick, 
 
 At rapier-fence, your match and, maybe, more. 
 
 I knew that if I chose sin certain sins. 
 
 Solace my lusts out of the regular way 
 
 Prescribed me, I should find you in the path, 
 
 Have to try skill with a redoubted foe ; 
 
 You would lunge, I would parry, and make end. 
 
 At last, occasion of a murder comes : 
 
 We cross blades, I, for all my brag, break guard. 
 
 And in goes the cold iron at my breast. 
 
 Out at my back, and end is made of me. 
 
 You stand co-nfessed the adroiter swordsman, — ay. 
 
 But on your triumph you increase, it seems, 
 
 Want more of me than lying flat on face : 
 
GUI DO 415 
 
 I ought to raise my ruined head, allege 
 Not simply 1 pushed worse blade o' the pair, 
 But my antagonist dispensed with steel ! 
 There was no passage of arms, you looked me low, 
 With brow and eye abohshed cut-and-thriist, 
 Nor used the vulgar weapon ! This chance scratch, 
 This incidental hurt, this sort of hole 
 I' the heart of me ? I stumbled, got it so I 
 Fell on my own sword as a bungler may ! 
 Yourself proscribe such heathen tools, and trust 
 To the naked virtue : it was virtue stood 
 Unarmed and awed me, — on my brow there burned 
 Crime out so plainly, intolerably red, 
 That I was fain to cry — " Down to the dust 
 With me, and bury there brow, brand and all ! " 
 Law had essayed the adventure, — but what 's Law ? 
 Morality exposed the Gorgon shield ! 
 Morality and Religion conquer me. 
 If Law sufficed would you come here, entreat 
 I supplement law, and confess forsooth ? 
 Did not the Trial show things plain enough ? 
 "Ah, but a word of the man's very self 
 Would somehow j)ut the keystone in its place 
 And crown the arch ! " Then take the word you want ! 
 
 I say that, long ago, when things began, 
 
 All the world made agreement, such and such 
 
 AYere pleasure-giving profit-bearing acts. 
 
 But henceforth extra-legal, nor to be : 
 
 You must not kill the man whose death would please 
 
 And profit you, unless his life stop yours 
 
 Plainly, and need so be put aside : 
 
 Get the thing by a public course, by law. 
 
 Only no private bloodshed as of old ! 
 
 All of us, for the good of every one. 
 
 Renounced such license and conformed to law : 
 
 Who breaks law, breaks pact therefore, helps himself 
 
 To pleasure and profit over and above the due. 
 
 And must pay forfeit, — pahi beyond his share : 
 
 For, pleasure being the sole good in the world. 
 
 Any one's pleasure turns to some one's pain. 
 
 So, law must watch for every one, — say we. 
 
 Who call things wicked that give too much joy. 
 
 And nickname mere reprisal, envy makes. 
 
 Punishment : quite right ! thus the world goes round. 
 
 I, being well aware such pact there was, 
 
il6 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 I, in my time who found advantage come 
 
 Of law's observance and crime's penalty, — 
 
 Who, but for wholesome fear law bred in friends, 
 
 Had doubtless given example long ago, 
 
 Furnished forth some friend's pleasure with my pain, 
 
 And, by my death, pieced out his scanty life, — 
 
 I could not, for that foolish life of me. 
 
 Help risking law's infringement, — I broke bond, 
 
 And needs must pay price, — wherefore, here 's my head, 
 
 Flung with a flourish ! But, repentance too ? 
 
 But pure and simple sorrow for law's breach 
 
 Rather than blunderer's-ineptitude ? 
 
 Cardinal, no ! Abate, scarcely thus ! 
 
 'T is the fault, not that 1 dared try a fall 
 
 With Law and straightway am found undermost, 
 
 But that I failed to see, above man's law, 
 
 God's precept you, the Christians, recognize ? 
 
 Colly my cow ! Don't fidget. Cardinal ! 
 
 Abate, cross your breast and count your beads 
 
 And exorcise the devil, for here he stands 
 
 And stiffens in the bristly nape of neck. 
 
 Daring you drive him hence ! You, Christians both? 
 
 I say, if ever was such faith at all 
 
 Born in the world, by your community 
 
 Suffered to live its little tick of time, 
 
 'T is dead of age, now, ludicrously dead ; 
 
 Honor its ashes, if you be discreet. 
 
 In epitaph only ! For, concede its death. 
 
 Allow extinction, you may boast unchecked 
 
 What feats the thing did in a crazy land 
 
 At a fabulous epoch, — treat your faith, that way, 
 
 Just as you treat your relics : " Here 's a shred 
 
 Of saintly flesh, a scrap of blessed bone. 
 
 Raised King Cophetua, who was dead, to life 
 
 In Mesopotamy twelve centuries since, 
 
 Such was its virtue ! " — twangs the Sacristan, 
 
 Holding the shrine-box up, with hands like feet 
 
 Because of gout in every finger-joint : 
 
 Does he bethink him to reduce one knob. 
 
 Allay one twinge by touching what he vaunts ? 
 
 I think he half uncrooks fist to catch fee, 
 
 But, for the grace, the quality of cure, — 
 
 Cophetua was the man put that to proof I 
 
 Not otherwise, your faith is shrined and shown 
 
 And shamed at once : you banter while you bow ! 
 
 Do you dispute this ? Come, a monster-laugh, 
 
GUIDO 41T 
 
 A madman's laugh, allowed his Carnival 
 
 Later ten days than when all Rome, but he. 
 
 Laughed at the candle-contest : mine 's alight, 
 
 'T is just it sputter till the putt* o' the Pope 
 
 End it to-morrow and the world turn Ash. 
 
 Come, thus I wave a wand and bring to pass 
 
 In a moment, in the twinkle of an eye, 
 
 What but that — feigning everywhere grows fact, 
 
 Professors turn possessors, realize 
 
 The faith they play with as a fancy now, 
 
 And bid it operate, have full effect 
 
 On every circumstance of life, to-day, 
 
 In Rome, — faith's flow set free at fountain-head ! 
 
 Now, you'll own, at this present, when I speak. 
 
 Before I work the wonder, there 's no man 
 
 Woman or child in Rome, faith's fountain-head, 
 
 But might, if each were minded, realize 
 
 Conversely unbelief, faith's opposite — 
 
 Set it to work on life unflinchingly. 
 
 Yet give no symptom of an outward change : 
 
 Why should things change because men disbelieve ? 
 
 What 's incompatible, in the whited tomb, 
 
 With bones and rottenness one inch below ? 
 
 What saintly act is done in Rome to-day 
 
 But might be prompted by the devil, — "^ is " 
 
 I say not, — " has been, and again may be," — 
 
 I do say, full i' the face o' the crucifix 
 
 You try to stop my mouth with I Oft' with it ! 
 
 Look in your own heart, if your soul have eyes ! 
 
 You shall see reason why, though faith were fled. 
 
 Unbelief still might work the wires and move 
 
 Man, the machine, to play a faithful part. 
 
 Preside your college, Cardinal, in your cape, 
 
 Or, — having got above his head, grown Pope, — 
 
 Abate, gird your loins and wash my feet ! 
 
 Do you suppose I am at loss at all 
 
 Why you crook, why you cringe, why fast or feast ? 
 
 Praise, blame, sit, stand, lie or go I — all of it. 
 
 In each of you, purest unbelief may prompt. 
 
 And wit explain to who has eyes to see. 
 
 But, lo, I wave wand, make the false the true ! 
 
 Here 's Rome believes in Christianity I 
 
 What an explosion, how the fragments fly 
 
 Of what was surface, mask and make-believe ! 
 
 Begin now, — look at this Pope's-halberdier 
 
 In wasp-like black and yellow foolery I 
 
il8 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 He, doing duty at the corridor, 
 
 Wakes from a muse and stands convinced of sin ! 
 
 Down he flings halbert, leaps the passage-length, 
 
 Pushes into the presence, pantingly 
 
 Submits the extreme peril of the case 
 
 To the Pope's self, — whom in the world beside ? — 
 
 And the Pope breaks talk with ambassador, 
 
 Bids aside bishop, wills the whole world wait 
 
 Till he secure that prize, outweighs the world, 
 
 A soul, relieve the sentry of his qualm I 
 
 His Altitude the Referendary — 
 
 Robed right, and ready for the usher's word 
 
 To pay devoir — is, of all times, just then 
 
 'Ware of a master-stroke of argument 
 
 Will cut the spinal cord . . . ugh, ugh ! . . . I mean, 
 
 Paralyze Molinism forevermore ! 
 
 Straight he leaves lobby, trundles, two and two, 
 
 Down steps to reach home, write, if but a word 
 
 Shall end the impudence : he leaves who likes 
 
 Go pacify the Pope : there 's Christ to serve ! 
 
 How otherwise would men display their zeal ? 
 
 If the same sentry had the least surmise 
 
 A powder-barrel 'neath the pavement lay 
 
 In neighborhood with what might prove a match, 
 
 jNIeant to blow sky-high Pope and presence both — 
 
 Would he not break through courtiers, rank and file, 
 
 Bundle up, bear off, and save body so, 
 
 The Pope, no matter for his priceless soul ? 
 
 There 's no fool's-freak here, nought to soundly swinge. 
 
 Only a man in earnest, you '11 so praise 
 
 And pay and prate about, that earth shall ring ! 
 
 Had thought possessed the Referendary 
 
 His jewel-case at home was left ajar. 
 
 What would be vrrong in running, robes awry. 
 
 To be beforehand with the pilferer ? 
 
 What talk then of indecent haste ? Which means, 
 
 That both these, each in his degree, would do 
 
 Just that — for a comparative nothing's sake, 
 
 And thereby gain approval and reward — 
 
 Which, done for what Christ says is worth the world, 
 
 Procures the doer curses, cuffs and kicks. 
 
 I call such difference 'twixt act and act, 
 
 Sheer lunacy unless your truth on lip 
 
 Be recognized a lie in heart of you ! 
 
 How do you all act, promptly or in doubt, 
 
 When there 's a guest poisoned at supper-time 
 
GUIDO 419 
 
 And he sits chatting on with spot on cheek ? 
 
 " Pluck him by the skirt, and round him in the ears, 
 Have at him by the beard, warn anyhow ! " 
 Good ; and this other friend that 's cheat and thief 
 And dissokite, — go stop the devil's feast, 
 Withdraw him from the imminent hell-fire ! 
 Why, for your life, you dare not tell your friend, 
 
 " You lie, and I admonish you for Christ ! " 
 Who yet c^are seek that same man at the Mass 
 To warn him — on his knees, and tinkle near, — 
 He left a cask a-tilt, a tap unturned. 
 The Trebbian running : what a grateful jump 
 Out of the Church rewards your vigilance ! 
 Perform that selfsame service just a thought 
 More maladroitly, — since a bishop sits 
 At function I — and he budges not, bites lip, — • 
 
 " You see my case : how can I quit my post ? 
 He has an eye to any such default. 
 See to it, neighbor, I beseech your love ! " 
 He and you know the relative worth of things, 
 AVhat is permissible or inopportune. 
 Contort your brows ! You know I speak the truth : 
 Gold is called gold, and dross called dross, i' the Book : 
 Gold you let lie and dross pick up and prize ! 
 — Despite your muster of some fifty monks 
 And nuns a-maundering here and mumping there, 
 Who could, and on occasion would, spurn dross. 
 Clutch gold, and prove their faith a fact so far, — 
 I grant you ! Fifty times the number squeak 
 And gibber in the madhouse — firm of faith, 
 This fellow, that his nose supports the moon ; 
 The other, that his straw hat crowns him Pope : 
 Does that prove all the world outside insane ? 
 Do fifty miracle-mongers match the mob 
 That acts on the frank faithless principle, 
 Born-baptized-and-bred Christian-atheists, each 
 With just as much a right to judge as you, — 
 As many senses in his soul, and nerves 
 I' neck of him as I, — whom, soul and sense, 
 Neck and nerve, you abolish presently, — 
 I beino^ the unit in creation now 
 Who pay the Maker, in this speech of mine, 
 A creature's duty, spend my last of breath 
 In bearing witness, even by my worst fault, 
 To the creature's obligation, absolute. 
 Perpetual : my worst fault protests, " The faith 
 
420 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Claims all of me : I would give all she claims, 
 
 But for a spice of doubt : the risk 's too rash : 
 
 Double or quits, I play, but, all or nought. 
 
 Exceeds my courage : therefore, I descend 
 
 To the next faith with no dubiety — 
 
 Faith in the present life, made last as long 
 
 And prove as full of pleasure as may hap, 
 
 Whatever pain it cause the world." I 'm wrong ? 
 
 I 've had my life, whate'er I lose : I 'm right ? 
 
 I 've got the single good there was to gain." 
 
 Entire faith, or else complete unbelief ! 
 
 Aught between has my loathing and contempt, 
 
 Mine and God's also, doubtless : ask yourself, 
 
 Cardinal, where and how you like a man ! 
 
 Why, either with your feet upon his head, 
 
 Confessed your caudatory, or, at large. 
 
 The stranger in the crowd who caps to you 
 
 But keeps his distance, — why should he presume ? 
 
 You want no hanger-on and dropper-off. 
 
 Now yours, and now not yours but quite his own. 
 
 According as the sky looks black or bright. 
 
 Just so I capped to and kept off from faith — 
 
 You promised trudge behind through fair and foul, 
 
 Yet leave i' the lurch at the first spit of rain. 
 
 Who holds to faith whenever rain begins ? 
 
 What does the father when his son lies dead. 
 
 The merchant when his money-bags take wing, 
 
 The politician whom a rival ousts ? 
 
 No case but has its conduct, faith prescribes : 
 
 Where 's the obedience that shall edify ? 
 
 Why, they laugh frankly in the face of faith 
 
 And take the natural course, — this rends his hair 
 
 Because his child is taken to God's breast. 
 
 That gnashes teeth and raves at loss of trash 
 
 Which rust corrupts and thieves break through and steal, 
 
 And this, enabled to inherit earth 
 
 Through meekness, curses till your blood runs cold ! 
 
 Down they all drojD to my low level, rest 
 
 Heart upon dungy earth that 's warm and soft, 
 
 And let v/ho please attempt the altitudes. 
 
 P^ach plain prodigal son of heavenly sire, 
 
 Turning his nose up at the fatted calf. 
 
 Fain to fill belly with the husks, we swine 
 
 Did eat by born depravity of taste ! 
 
 Enough of the hypocrites. But you, Sirs, you — 
 Who never budged from litter where I lay. 
 
GUIDO ^"21 
 
 And buried snout i' the draff-box while I fed, 
 Cried amen to my creed's one article — 
 
 " Get pleasure, 'scape pain, — give your preference 
 To the immediate good, for time is brief. 
 And death ends good and ill and everything I 
 What 's got is gained, what 's gained soon is gained twice, 
 And — inasmuch as faith ffains most — fei^n faith I " 
 So did we brother-like pass word about : 
 ■ — You, now, — like bloody drunkards but half-drunk, 
 Who fool men yet perceive men find them fools, — 
 Vexed that a titter gains the gravest mouth, — 
 O' the sudden you must needs reintroduce 
 Solemnity, straight sober undue mirth 
 By a blow dealt me your boon companion here, 
 AVho, using the old license, dreamed of harm 
 No more than snow in harvest : yet it falls I 
 You check the merriment effectually 
 By pushing your abrupt machine i' the midst. 
 Making me Rome's example : blood for wine ! 
 The general good needs that you chop and change ! 
 I may dislike the hocus-pocus, — Rome, 
 The laughter-loving people, won't they stare 
 Chapf alien ! — while serious natures sermonize, 
 
 *' The masfistrate, he beareth not the sword 
 In vain ; who sins may taste its edge, we see ! '* 
 Why my sin, drunkards ? Where have I abused 
 Liberty, scandalized you all so much ? 
 Who called me, who crooked finger till I came, 
 Fool that I was, to join companionship ? 
 I knew my own mind, meant to live my life, 
 P^lude your envy, or else make a stand, 
 Take my own part and sell you my life dear. 
 But it was " Fie ! No prejudice in the world 
 To the proper manly instinct ! Cast your lot 
 Into our lap, one genius ruled our births, 
 We '11 compass joy by concert ; take with us 
 The regular irregular way i' the wood ; 
 You '11 miss no game through riding breast by breast, 
 In this preserve, the Church's jmrk and pale. 
 Rather than outside where the world lies waste ! " 
 Come, if you said not that, did you say this ? 
 Give plain and terrible warning, " Live, enjoy ! 
 Such life begins in death and ends in hell ! 
 Dare you bid us assist your sins, us priests 
 Who hurry sin and sinners from the earth ? 
 No such delight for us, why then for you ? 
 
422 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Leave earth, seek heaven or find its opposite ! " 
 Had you so warned me, not in lyin^v words 
 But veritable deeds with tongues of flame, 
 That had been fair, that might have struck a man, 
 Silenced the squabble between soul and sense, 
 Compelled him to make mind up, take one course 
 Or the other, peradventure ! — wrong or right, 
 Foolish or wise, you would have been at least 
 Sincere, no question, — forced me choose, indulge 
 Or else renounce my instincts, still play wolf 
 Or find my way submissive to your fold. 
 Be red-crossed on my fleece, one sheep the more. 
 But you as good as bade me wear sheep's-wool 
 Over wolf's-skin, suck blood and hide the noise 
 By mimicry of something like a bleat, — 
 AVhence it comes that because, despite my care. 
 Because I smack my tongue too loud for once, 
 Drop baaing, here 's the village up in arms ! 
 Have at the wolf's throat, you who hate the breed ! 
 Oh, were it only open yet to choose — 
 One little time more — whether I 'd be free 
 Your foe, or subsidized your friend forsooth ! 
 Should not you get a growl through the white fangs 
 In answer to your beckoning ! Cardinal, 
 Abate, managers o' the multitude, 
 I 'd turn your gloved hands to account, be sure ! 
 You should manipulate the coarse rough mob : 
 'Tis you I 'd deal directly with, not them, — 
 Using your fears : why touch the thing myself 
 When I could see you hunt, and then cry " Shares ! 
 Quarter the carcass or we quarrel ; come. 
 Here 's the world ready to see justice done ! " 
 Oh, it had been a desperate game, but game 
 Wherein the winner's chance were worth the pains ! 
 We 'd try conclusions ! — at the worst, what worse 
 Than this Mannaia-machine, each minute's talk 
 Helps push an inch the nearer me ? Fool, fool ! 
 
 You understand me and forgive, sweet Sirs ? 
 I blame you, tear my hair and tell my woe — 
 All 's but a flourish, figure of rhetoric ! 
 One must try each expedient to save life. 
 One makes fools look foolisher fifty-fold 
 By putting in their place men wise like yoUj 
 To take the full force of an argument 
 Would buffet their stolidity in vain. 
 
GUI DO 423 
 
 If you should feel aggrieved by the mere whid 
 
 O' the blow that means to miss you and maul them, 
 
 That 's my success ! Is it not folly, now, 
 
 To say with folk, " A plausible defence — 
 
 We see through notwithstanding, and reject " ? 
 
 Reject the plausible they do, these fools. 
 
 Who never even make pretence to show 
 
 One point beyond its plausibility 
 
 In favor of the best belief they hold ! 
 
 '* Saint Soraebody-or-other raised the dead : " 
 Did he ? How do you come to know as much ? 
 
 " Know it, what need ? The story 's plausible, 
 Avouched for by a martyrologist, 
 And why should good men sup on cheese and leeks 
 On such a saint's day, if there were no saint ? " 
 I praise the wisdom of these fools, and straight 
 Tell them my story — "plausible, but false ! " 
 False, to be sure ! What else can story be 
 That runs — a young wife tired of an old spouse, 
 Found a priest whom she fled away with, — both 
 Took their full pleasure in the two-days' flight. 
 Which a gray-headed grayer-hearted ])air 
 (Whose best boast was, their life had been a lie) 
 Helped for the love they bore all liars. Oh, 
 Here incredulity begins ! Indeed ? 
 Allow then, were no one point strictly true, 
 There 's that i' the tale might seem like truth at least 
 To the unlucky husband, — jaundiced patch, — 
 Jealousy maddens people, why not him ? 
 Say, he was maddened, so forgivable I 
 Humanity pleads that though the wife were true, 
 The priest true, and the pair of liars true. 
 They might seem false to one man in the world ! 
 A thousand gnats make up a servient's sting. 
 And many sly soft stinmlants to wrath 
 Compose a formidable wrong at last. 
 That gets called easily by some one name 
 Not applicable to the single parts, 
 And so draws down a general revenge, 
 Excessive if you take crime, fault by fault. 
 Jealousy ! I have known a score of plays, 
 Were listened to and laughed at in my time 
 As like the every-day life on all sides. 
 Wherein the husband, mad as a March hare, 
 Suspected all the world contrived his shame. 
 What did the wife ? The wife kissed both eyes blind, 
 
424 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Explained away ambiguous circumstance, 
 
 And while she held him captive by the hand, 
 
 Crowned his head — you know what 's the mockery — - 
 
 By half her body behind the curtain. That 's 
 
 Nature now ! That 's the subject of a piece 
 
 I saw in Vallombrosa Convent, made 
 
 Expressly to teach men v/hat marriage was ! 
 
 But say, " Just so did I misapprehend. 
 
 Imagine she deceived me to my face ! " 
 
 And that 's pretence too easily seen through ! 
 
 All those eyes of all husbands in all plays, 
 
 At stare like one expanded peacock-tail, 
 
 Are laughed at for pretending to be keen 
 
 While horn-blind : but the moment I step forth — - 
 
 Oh, I must needs o' the sudden prove a lynx 
 
 And look the heart, that stone-wall, through and through! 
 
 Such an eye, God's may be, — not yours nor mine. 
 
 Yes, presently . . . what hour is fleeting now ? 
 When you cut earth away from under me, 
 I shall be left alone with, pushed beneath 
 Some such an apparitional dread orb 
 As the eye of God, since such an eye there glares : 
 I fancy it go filling up the void 
 Above my mote-self it devours, or what 
 Proves wrath, immensity wreaks on nothingness. 
 Just how I felt once, couching through the dark, 
 Hard by Vittiano ; young I was, and gay, 
 And wanting to trap fieldfares : first a spark 
 Tipped a bent, as a mere dew-globule might 
 Any stiff grass-stalk on the meadow, — this 
 Grew fiercer, flamed out full, and proved the sun. 
 What do I want with proverbs, precepts here ? 
 Away with man ! What shall I say to God ? 
 This, if I find the tongue and keep the mind — 
 •' Do Thou wipe out the being of me, and smear 
 This soul from off Thy white of things, I blot I 
 I am one huge and sheer mistake, — whose fault ? 
 Not mine at least, who did not make myself ! " 
 Some one declares my wife excused me so ! 
 Perhaps she knew what argument to use. 
 Grind your teeth. Cardinal, Abate, writhe ! 
 What else am I to cry out in my rage, 
 Unable to repent one particle 
 
 O' the past ? Oh, how I wish some cold wise man 
 Would dig beneath the surface which you scrape, 
 
GUI DO 425 
 
 Deal with the depths, pronounce on my desert 
 
 Groundedly ! I want simple sober sense, 
 
 That asks, before it finishes with a dog, 
 
 Who taught the dog that trick you hang him for ? 
 
 You both persist to call that act a crime, 
 
 Which sense would call . . . yes, I maintain it, Sirs, . . . 
 
 A blunder ! At the worst, I stood in doubt 
 
 On cross-road, took one path of many paths : 
 
 It leads to the red thing, we all see now, 
 
 But nobody saw at first : one primrose-patch 
 
 In bank, one singing-bird in bush, the less, 
 
 Had warned me from such wayfare : let me prove ! 
 
 Put me back to the cross-road, start afresh ! 
 
 Advise me when I take the first false step ! 
 
 Give me my wife : how should I use my wife. 
 
 Love her or hate her ? Prompt my action now ! 
 
 There she is, there she stands alive and pale, 
 
 The thirteen-years'-old child, with milk for blood, 
 
 Pompilia Comparini, as at first, 
 
 Whicli first is only four brief years ago ! 
 
 I stand too in the little ground-floor room 
 
 O' the father's house at Via Vittoria : see ! 
 
 Her so-called mother — one arm round the waist 
 
 O' the child to keep her from the toys, let fall 
 
 At wonder I can live yet look so grim — 
 
 Ushers her in, with deprecating wave 
 
 Of the other, — and she fronts me loose at last, 
 
 Held only by the mother's finger-tip. 
 
 Struck dumb, for she was white enough before ! 
 
 She eyes me with those frightened balls of black, 
 
 As heifer — the old simile comes pat — 
 
 Eyes tremblingly the altar and the priest. 
 
 The amazed look, all one insupjjressive prayer, — 
 
 Might she but breathe, set free as heretofore, 
 
 Have this cup leave her lips unblistered, bear 
 
 Any cross anywhither anyhow. 
 
 So but alone, so but apart from me ! 
 
 You are touched ? So am I, quite otherwise. 
 
 If 't is with pity. I resent my wrong. 
 
 Being a man : I only show man's soul 
 
 Through man's flesh : slie sees mine, it strikes her thus ! 
 
 Is that attractive ? To a youth perhaps — 
 
 Calf-creature, one-part boy to three-parts girl, 
 
 To whom it is a flattering novelty 
 
 That he, men use to motion from their path, 
 
 Can thus impose, thus terrify in turn 
 
426 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 A chit whose terror shall be changed apace 
 To bliss unbearable when, grace and glow, 
 Prowess and pride descend the throne and touch 
 Esther in all that pretty tremble, cured 
 By the dove o' the sceptre ! But myself am old, 
 O' the wane at least, in all things : what do you say 
 To her who frankly thus confirms my doubt ? 
 I am past the prime, I scare the woman-world, 
 Done-with that way : you like this piece of news ? 
 A little saucy rose-bud minx can strike 
 Death-damp into the bre:ist of doughty king 
 Though 't were French Louis, — soul I understand, 
 Saying, by gesture of repugnance, just 
 
 " Sire, you are regal, puissant, and so forth, 
 But — young you have been, are not, nor will be ! " 
 In vain the mother nods, winks, bustles up, 
 
 " Count, girls incline to mature worth like you ! 
 As for Pompilia, wliat 's flesh, fish or fowl 
 To one who apprehends no difference. 
 And would accept you even were you old 
 As you are . . . youngish by her father's side ? 
 Trim but your beard a little, thin your bush 
 Of eyebrow ; and for presence, portliness, 
 And decent gravity, you beat a boy 1 " 
 Deceive yourself a minute, if you may, 
 In presence of the child that so loves age, 
 Whose neck writhes, cords itself against your kiss, 
 Whose hand you wring stark, rigid with despair! 
 Well, I resent this ; I am young in soul. 
 Nor old in body, — thews and sinews here, — 
 Though the vile surface be not smooth as once, — 
 Far beyond that first wheelwork which went wrong 
 Through the uutempered iron ere 't was proof : 
 I am the rock man worth ten times the crude, — 
 Would woman see what this declines to see. 
 Declines to say "I see," — the officious word 
 That makes the thing, pricks on the soul to shoot 
 New fire into the half-used cinder, flesh ! 
 Therefore 't is she begins with wronging me, 
 Who cannot but begin with hating her. 
 Our marriage follows : there she stands again ! 
 Why do I laugh ? Why, in the very gripe 
 O' the jaws of death's gigantic skull, do I 
 Grin back his grin, make sport of my own pangs ? 
 Why from each clashing of his molars, ground 
 To make the devil bread from out my grist, 
 
GUI DO 427 
 
 Leaps out a spark of mirth, a hellish toy ? 
 
 Take notice we are lovers in a church, 
 
 Waiting- the sacrament to make us one 
 
 And happy I Just as bid, she bears herself, 
 
 Comes and kneels, rises, speaks, is silent, — goes : 
 
 So have I brought my horse, by word and blow, 
 
 To stand stock-still and front the fire he dreads. 
 
 How can I other than remember this, 
 
 Resent the very obedience ? Gain thereby ? 
 
 Yes, I do gain my end and have my will, — 
 
 Thanks to whom ? When the mother speaks the word, 
 
 She obeys it — even to enduring me I 
 
 There had been compensation in revolt — 
 
 Revolt 's to quell : but martyrdom rehearsed, 
 
 But predetermined saintshijD for the sake 
 
 O' the mother ? — " Go ! " thought I, " we meet again I " 
 
 Pass the next weeks of dumb contented death. 
 
 She lives, — wakes up, installed in house and home, 
 
 Is mine, mine all day-long, all night-long mine. 
 
 Good folk begin at me with open mouth : 
 
 " Now, at least, reconcile the child to life ! 
 Study and make her love . . . that is, endure 
 The ... hem ! the ... all of you though somewhat old, 
 Till it amount to something, in her eye. 
 As good as love, better a thousand times, — 
 Since nature helps the woman in such strait, 
 Makes passiveness her pleasure : failing which, 
 What if you give up boy-and-girl-fools'-play 
 And go on to wise friendship all at once ? 
 Those boys and girls kiss themselves cold, you know. 
 Toy themselves tired and slink aside full soon 
 To friendship, as they name satiety : 
 Thither go you and wait their coming ! " Thanks, 
 Considerate advisers, — but, fair play ! 
 Had you and I, friends started fair at first, 
 We, keeping fair, might reach it, neck by neck, 
 This blessed goal, whenever fate so please : 
 But w^hy am I to miss the daisied mile 
 The course begins with, why obtain the dust 
 Of the end precisely at the starting-point? 
 Why quaff life's cup blown free of all the beads. 
 The bright red froth wherein our beard sliould steep 
 Before our mouth essay the black o' the wine ? 
 Foolish, the love-fit? Let me prove it such 
 Like you, before like you I puff things clear ! 
 
 " The best 's to come, no rapture but content ! 
 
428 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Not love's first glory but a sober glow, 
 
 Nor a spontaneous outburst in pure boon, 
 
 So much as, gained by patience, care and toil. 
 
 Proper appreciation and esteem ! " 
 
 Go preach that to your nephews, not to me 
 
 Who, tired i' the midway of my life, would stop 
 
 And take my fii'st refreshment, pluck a rose : 
 
 What 's this coarse woolly hip, woi'n smooth of leaf, 
 
 You counsel I go plant in garden-plot, 
 
 AVater with tears, manure with sweat and blood. 
 
 In confidence the seed shall germinate 
 
 And, for its very best, some far-off day. 
 
 Grow big, and blow me out a dog-rose bell ? 
 
 Why must your nephews begin breathing spice 
 
 O' the hundred-petalled Provence prodigy ? 
 
 Nay, more and worse, — would such my root bear rose - 
 
 Prove really flower and favorite, not the kind 
 
 That 's queen, but those three leaves that make one cup 
 
 And hold the hedge-bird's breakfast, — then indeed 
 
 The prize though poor would pay the care and toil ! 
 
 Respect we Nature that makes least as most. 
 
 Marvellous in the minim ! But this bud. 
 
 Bit through and burned black by the tempter's tooth, 
 
 This bloom whose best grace was the slug outside 
 
 And the wasp inside its bosom, — call you " rose " ? 
 
 Claim no immunity from a weed's fate 
 
 For the horrible present ! What you call my wife 
 
 I call a nullity in female shape, 
 
 Vapid disgust, soon to be pungent plague. 
 
 When mixed with, made confusion and a curse 
 
 By two abominable nondescripts, 
 
 That father and that mother : think you see 
 
 The dreadful bronze our boast, we Aretines, 
 
 The Etruscan monster, the three-headed thing, 
 
 Bellerophon's foe ! How name you the whole beast ? 
 
 You choose to name the body from one head. 
 
 That of tlie simple kid which droops the eye. 
 
 Hangs the neck and dies tenderly enougli : 
 
 I rather see the griesly lion belch 
 
 Flame out i' the midst, the serpent writhe her rings. 
 
 Grafted into the common stock for tail, 
 
 And name the brute, Chimaera which I slew I 
 
 How was there ever more to be — (concede 
 
 My wife's insipid harmless nullity) — 
 
 Dissociation from that pair of plagues — 
 
 That mother with her cunning and her cant — 
 
GUI DO 429 
 
 The eyes with first their twinkle of conceit, 
 Then, dropped to earth in mock-demureness, — now, 
 The smile self-satisfied from ear to ear, 
 Now, the i)rim piirsed-up mouth's protruded lips, 
 With deferential duck, slow swing of head. 
 Tempting the sudden fist of man too much, — 
 That owl-like screw of lid and rock of ruff ! 
 As for the father, — Cardinal, you know, 
 The kind of idiot ! — such are rife in Rome, 
 But they wear velvet commonly ; good fools. 
 At the end of life, to furnish forth young folk 
 Who grin and bear with imbecility : 
 Since the stalled ass, the joker, sheds from jaw 
 Corn, in the joke, for those who laugh or starve. 
 But what say we to the same solemn beast 
 Wagging his ears and wishful of our pat, 
 When turned, with holes in hide and bones laid bare, 
 To forage for himself i' the waste o' the world, 
 Sir Dignity i' the dumps ? Pat him ? We drub 
 Self-knowledge, rather, into frowzy pate. 
 Teach Pietro to get trappings or go hang ! 
 Fancy this quondam oracle in vogue 
 At Via Vittoria, this personified 
 Authority when time was, — Pantaloon 
 Flaunting his tom-fool tawdry just the same 
 As if Ash- Wednesday were mid-Carnival ! 
 That 's the extreme and unforgivable 
 Of sins, as I account such. Have you stooped 
 For your own ends to bestialize yourself 
 By flattery of a fellow of this stamp ? 
 The ends obtained or else shown out of reach. 
 He goes on, takes the flattery for pure truth, — 
 " You love, and honor me, of course : what next ? " 
 What, but the trifle of the stabbing, friend ? — 
 Which taught you how one worships when the shrine 
 Has lost the relic that we bent before. 
 Angry ! And how could I be otherwise ? 
 'T is plain : this pair of old pretentious fools 
 Meant to fool me : it happens, I fooled them. 
 Why could not these who sought to buy and sell 
 Me, — when they found themselves were bought and sold. 
 Make up their mind to the proved rule of right. 
 Be chattel and not chapman any more ? 
 Miscalculation has its consequence ; 
 But when the shepherd crooks a sheep-like thing 
 And meaning to get wool, dislodges fleece 
 
430 THE PdNG AND THE BOOK 
 
 And finds the veritable wolf beneath, 
 (How that staunch image serves at every turn !) 
 Does he, by way of being politic, 
 Pluck the first whisker grimly visible ? 
 Or rather grow in a trice all gratitude, 
 Protest this sort-of-what-one-might-name sheep 
 Beats the old other curly-coated kind, 
 And shall share board and bed, if so it deign, 
 With its discoverer, like a royal ram ? 
 Ay, thus, with chattering teeth and knocking knees, 
 Would wisdom treat the adventure ! these, forsooth, 
 Tried whisker-plucking, and so found what trap 
 The whisker kept perdue, two rows of teeth — 
 Sharp, as too late the prying fingers felt. 
 What would you have ? The fools transgress, the fools 
 Forthwith receive appropriate punishment : 
 They first insult me, I return the blow, 
 There follows noise enough : four hubbub months, 
 Now hue and cry, now whimpering and wail — 
 A perfect goose-yard cackle of complaint 
 Because I do not gild the geese their oats, — 
 I have enough of noise, ope wicket wide. 
 Sweep out the couple to go whine elsewhere. 
 Frightened a little, hurt in no respect, 
 And am just taking thought to breathe again, 
 Taste the sweet sudden silence all about, 
 When, there they raise it, the old noise I know, 
 At Rome i' the distance ! " What, begun once more ? 
 Whine on, wail ever, 'tis the loser's right ! " 
 But eh, what sort of voice grows on the wind ? 
 Triumph it sounds and no complaint at all I 
 And triumph it is. My boast was premature : 
 The creatures, 1 turned forth, clapped wing and crew 
 Fighting-cock-fashion, — they had filched a pearl 
 From dung-heap, and might boast with cause enough I 
 I was defrauded of all bargained for : 
 You know, the Pope knows, not a soul but knows 
 My dowry was derision, my gain — muck. 
 My wife (the Church declared my flesh and blood). 
 The nameless bastard of a common wliore : 
 My old name turned henceforth to . . . shall 1 say 
 " He that received the ordure in his face " ? 
 And they who ])lanned this wrong, performed this wrong, 
 And then revealed this wrong to the wide world. 
 Rounded myself in the ears with my own wrong, — 
 Why, these were (note hell's lucky malice, now!) 
 
GUIDO 431 
 
 These were just they who, they alone, could act 
 And publish and proclaim their infamy, 
 Secure that men would in a breath believe 
 Compassionate and pardon them, — for why? 
 They plainly were too stupid to invent, 
 Too simple to distinguish wrong from right, — • 
 Inconscious agents they, the silly-sooth, 
 Of heaven's retributive justice on the strong 
 Proud cunning violent oppressor — me ! 
 Follow them to their fate and help your best, 
 You Rome, Arezzo, foes called friends of me. 
 They gave the good long laugh to, at my cost ! 
 Defray your share o' the cost, since you partook 
 The entertainment ! Do ! — assured the while. 
 That not one stab, I dealt to right and left, 
 But went the deeper for a fancy — tliis — 
 That each might do me twofold service, find 
 A friend's face at the bottom of each wound, 
 And scratch its smirk a little ! 
 
 Panciatichi ! 
 There 's a rejDort at Florence, — is it true ? — 
 That when your relative the Cardinal 
 Built, only the other day, that barrack-bulk, 
 The palace in Via Larga, some one picked 
 From out the street a saucy quip enough 
 That fell there from its day's flight through the town, 
 About the flat front and the windows wide 
 And bulging heap of cornice, — hitched the joke 
 Into a sonnet, signed his name thereto, 
 And forthwith pinned on post the pleasantry : 
 For which he 's at the galleys, rowing now 
 Up to his waist in water, — just because 
 Panclatlc and lymphatic rhymed so pat ! 
 I hope. Sir, those who passed this joke on me 
 Were not unduly punished ? What say you. 
 Prince of the Church, my patron ? Nay, indeed, 
 I shall not dare insult your wits so much 
 As think this problem difficult to solve. 
 This Pietro and Violante then, I say. 
 These two ambiguous insects, changing name 
 And nature with the season's warmth or chill, — 
 Now, grovelled, grubbing toiling moiling ants, 
 A very synonym of thrift and peace, — 
 Anon, with lusty June to prick their heart. 
 Soared i' the air, winged flies for more offence. 
 Circled me, buzzed me deaf and stung me blind, 
 
432 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 And stunk me dead with fetor in the face 
 Until I stopped the nuisance : there 's my crime ! 
 Pity I did not suffer them subside 
 Into some further shape and final form 
 Of execrable life ? My masters, no ! 
 I, by one blow, wisely cut short at once 
 Them and their transformations of disgust, 
 In the snug little Villa out of hand. 
 " Grant me confession, give bare time for that ! " — 
 Shouted the sinner till his mouth was stopped. 
 His life confessed ! — that was enough for me, 
 Who came to see that he did penance. 'S death ! 
 Here 's a coil raised, a pother and for what ? 
 Because strength, being provoked by weakness, fought 
 And conquered, — the world never heard the like ! 
 Pah, how 1 spend my breath on them, as if 
 'T was their fate troubled me, too hard to range 
 Among the right and fit and proper things ! 
 
 Ay, but Pompilia, — I await your word, — 
 
 She, unimpeached of crime, unimplicate 
 
 In folly, one of alien blood to these 
 
 I punish, why extend my claim, exact 
 
 Her portion of the penalty ? Yes, friends, 
 
 I go too fast : the orator 's at fault : 
 
 Yes, ere I lay her, with your leave, by them 
 
 As she was laid at San Lorenzo late, 
 
 I ought to step back, lead you by degrees, 
 
 Recounting at each step some fresh offence, 
 
 Up to the red bed, — never fear, I will ! 
 
 Gaze at her, where I place her, to begin, 
 
 Confound me with her gentleness and worth ! 
 
 The horrible pair have fled and left her now, 
 
 She has her husband for her sole concern : 
 
 His wife, the woman fashioned for his help, 
 
 Flesh of his flesh, bone of his bone, the bride 
 
 To groom as is the Church and Spouse to Christ : 
 
 There she stands in his presence : " Thy desire 
 
 Shall be to the husband, o'er thee shall he rule ! " 
 
 — " Pompilia, who declare that you love God, 
 
 You know who said that : then, desire my love. 
 
 Yield me contentment and be ruled aright ! " 
 
 She sits up, she lies down, she comes and goes, 
 
 Kneels at the couch-side, overleans the sill 
 
 0' the window, cold and pale and mute as stone, 
 
 Strong as stone also. " AVell, are they not fled ? 
 
GUIDO 433 
 
 Am I not left, am I not one for all ? 
 
 Speak a word, drop a tear, detach a glance, 
 
 Bless me or curse me of your own accord ! 
 
 Is it the ceiling only wants your soul, 
 
 Is worth your eyes ? " And then the eyes descend, 
 
 And do look at me. Is it at the meal ? 
 " Speak ! " she obeys. " Be silent ! " she obeys. 
 
 Counting the minutes till I cry '' Depart," 
 
 As brood-bird when you saunter past her eggs. 
 
 Departs she just the same through door and wall 
 
 I see the same stone strength of white despair. 
 
 And all this will be never otherwise ! 
 
 Before, the parents' presence lent her life : 
 
 She could play off her sex's armory, 
 
 Entreat, reproach, be female to my male. 
 
 Try all the shrieking doubles of the hare. 
 
 Go clamor to the Commissary, bid 
 
 The Archbishop hold my hands and stop my tongue, 
 
 And yield fair sport so : but the tactics change, 
 
 The hare stands stock-still to enrage the hound ! 
 
 Since that day when she learned she was no child 
 
 Of those she thought her parents, — that their trick 
 
 Had tricked me whom she thought sole trickster late, — 
 
 Why, I suppose she said within herself 
 " Then, no more struggle for my parents' sake ! 
 
 And, for my own sake, why needs struggle be ? " 
 
 But is there no third party to the pact ? 
 
 What of her husband's relish or dislike 
 
 For this new game of giving up the game. 
 
 This worst offence of not offending more ? 
 
 I '11 not believe but instinct wrought in this, 
 
 Set her on to conceive and execute 
 
 The preferable plague : how sure they probe, — 
 
 These jades, the sensitivest soft of man ! 
 
 The long black hair was wound now in a wisp, 
 
 Crowned sorrow better than the wild web late : 
 
 No more soiled dress, 't is trimness triumphs now, 
 
 For how should malice go with negligence ? 
 
 The frayed silk looked the fresher for her spite ! 
 
 There was an end to springing out of bed, 
 
 Praying me, with face buried on my feet, 
 
 Be hindered of my pastime, — so an end 
 
 To my rejoinder, " What, on the ground at last ? 
 
 Vanquished in fight, a supplicant for life ? 
 
 What if I raise you ? 'Ware the casting down 
 
 When next you fight me .' " Then, she lay there, mine : 
 
484 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Now, mine she is if I please wring her neck, — 
 
 A moment of disquiet, working eyes, 
 
 Protruding tongue, a long sigh, then no more, — 
 
 As if one killed the horse one could not ride ! 
 
 Had I enjoined " Cut off the hair ! " — why, snap 
 
 Tlie scissors, and at once a yard or so 
 
 Had fluttered in black serpents to the floor : 
 
 But till I did enjoin it, how she combs. 
 
 Uncurls and draws out to the complete length, 
 
 Plaits, places the insulting rope on head 
 
 To be an eyesore past dishevelment ! 
 
 Is all done ? Then sit still ao^ain and stare ! 
 
 I advise — no one think to bear that look 
 
 Of steady wrong, endured as steadily 
 
 — Through what sustainment of deluding hope ? 
 
 Who is the friend i' the background that notes all ? 
 
 Who may come presently and close accounts ? 
 
 This self-possession to the uttermost, 
 
 How does it differ in aught, save degree, 
 
 From the terrible patience of God ? 
 
 "All which just means, 
 She did not love you I " Again the word is launched 
 And the fact fronts me ! What, you try the wards 
 With the true key and the dead lock flies ojie ? 
 No, it sticks fast and leaves you fumbling still ! 
 You have some fifty servants. Cardinal, — 
 Which of them loves you ? Which subordinate 
 But makes parade of such officiousness 
 That — if there 's no love prompts it — love, the sham, 
 Does twice the service done by love, the true. 
 God bless us liars, where 's one touch of truth 
 In what we tell the world, or world tells us, 
 Of how we love each other ? All the same, 
 We calculate on word and deed, nor err, — 
 Bid such a man do such a loving act. 
 Sure of effect and negligent of cause, 
 Jnst as we bid a horse, with cluck of tongue, 
 Stretch his legs arch-wise, crouch his saddled back 
 To foot-reach of the stirrup — all for love. 
 And some for memory of the smart of switch 
 On the inside of the foreleg — what care we ? 
 Yet where 's the bond obliges horse to man 
 Like that which binds fast wife to husband ? God 
 Laid down the law : gave man the brawny arm 
 And ball of fist — woman the beardless cheek 
 And proper place to suffer in the side : 
 
GUIDO 435 
 
 Since it is he can strike, let her obey I 
 
 Can she feel no love ? Let her show the more, 
 
 Sham the worse, damn herself praiseworthily ! 
 
 Who 's that soprano, Rome went mad about 
 
 Last week while I lay rotting in my straw ? 
 
 The very jailer gossiped in his praise — 
 
 How, — dressed up like Armida, though a man ; 
 
 And painted to look pretty, though a fright, — 
 
 He still made love so that the ladies swooned, 
 
 Being an eunuch. "Ah, Rinaldo mine! 
 
 But to breathe by thee while Jove slays us both ! " 
 
 All the poor bloodless creature never felt, 
 
 SI, do, re, mi, fa, squeak and squall — for what ? 
 
 Two gold zecchines the evening. Here 's my slave, 
 
 Whose body and soul depend upon my nod. 
 
 Can't falter out the first note in the scale 
 
 For her life I Why blame me if I take the life ? 
 
 All women cannot give men love, forsooth ! 
 
 No, nor all pullets lay the henwife eggs — 
 
 Whereat she bids them remedy the fault. 
 
 Brood on a chalk-ball : soon the nest is stocked — 
 
 Otherwise, to the plucking and the spit ! 
 
 This wife of mine was of another mood — 
 
 Would not begin the lie that ends with truth. 
 
 Nor feigrn the love that bring's real love about : 
 
 Wherefore I judged, sentenced, and punished her. 
 
 But why particularize, defend the deed ? 
 
 Say that I hated her for no one cause 
 
 Beyond my pleasure so to do, — what then ? 
 
 Just on as much incitement acts the world. 
 
 All of you ! Look and like ! You favor one, 
 
 Browbeat another, leave alone a third, — 
 
 Why should you master natural caprice ? 
 
 Pure nature ! Try : plant elm by ash in file ; 
 
 Both unexceptionable trees enough. 
 
 They ought to overlean each other, pair 
 
 At top, and arch across the avenue 
 
 The whole path to the pleasaunce : do they so — 
 
 Or loathe, lie off abhorrent each from each ? 
 
 Lay the fault elsewhere : since we must have faults, 
 
 Mine shall have been — seeing there 's ill in the end 
 
 Come of my course — that I fare somehow worse 
 
 For the way I took : my fault ... as God 's my judge, 
 
 I see not where my fault lies, that 's the truth I 
 
 I ought . . . oh, ought in my own interest 
 
 Have let the whole adventure go untried, 
 
i36 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 This chance by marriage, — or else, trying it, 
 Ought to have turned it to account, some one 
 O' the hundred otherwises ? Ay, my friend, 
 Easy to say, easy to do : step right 
 Now you 've stepped left and stumbled on the thing, 
 — Tlie red thing ! Doubt I any more than you 
 That practice makes man perfect ? Give again 
 The chance, — same marriage and no other wife, 
 Be sure 1 11 edify you ! That 's because 
 I 'm practised, grown fit guide for Guido's self. 
 You proffered guidance, — I know, none so well, — 
 You laid down law and rolled decorum out. 
 From pulpit-corner on the gospel-side, — 
 Wanted to make your great experience mine, 
 Save me the personal search and pains so : thanks ! 
 Take your word on life's use ? When I take his — 
 The muzzled ox that treadeth out the corn, 
 Gone blind in padding round and round one path, — 
 As to the taste of green grass in the field ! 
 What do you know o' the world that 's trodden flat 
 And salted sterile with your daily dung, 
 Leavened into a lump of loathsomeness ? 
 Take your opinion of the modes of life. 
 The aims of life, life's triumph or defeat. 
 How to feel, how to scheme, and how to do 
 Or else leave undone ? You preached long and loud 
 On high-days, " Take our doctrine upon trust ! 
 Into the mill-house with you ! Grind our corn, 
 Relish our chaff, and let the green grass grow I " 
 I tried chaff, found I famished on such fare, 
 So made this mad rush at the mill-house-door. 
 Buried my head up to the ears in dew. 
 Browsed on the best : for which you brain me, Sirs ! 
 Be it so. I conceived of life that way. 
 And still declare — life, without absolute use 
 Of the actual sweet therein, is death, not life. 
 Give me, — pay down, — not promise, which is air, — 
 Something that 's out of life and better still. 
 Make sure reward, make certain punishment, 
 Entice me, scare me, — I '11 forego this life ; 
 Otherwise, no I — the less that words, mere wind. 
 Would cheat me of some minutes while they plague, 
 Balk fulness of revenge here, — blame yourselves 
 For this eruption of the pent-up soul 
 You prisoned first and played with afterward ! 
 ** Deny myself " meant simply pleasure you, 
 
GUIDO 437 
 
 The sacred and superior, save the mark ! 
 
 You, — whose stupidity and insolence 
 
 I must defer to, soothe at every turn, — 
 
 Wliose sv/ine-like snuffling greed and grunting lust 
 
 I had to wink at or help gratify, — 
 
 While the same passions, — dared they perk in me. 
 
 Me, the immeasurably marked, by God, 
 
 Master of the whole world of such as you, — 
 
 I, boast such passions ? 'T was, " Suppress them straight ! 
 
 Or stay, we '11 pick and choose before destroy. 
 
 Here 's wrath in you, a serviceable sword, — 
 
 Beat it into a ploughshare ! What 's this long 
 
 Lance-like ambition ? Forge a pruning-hook, 
 
 May be of service when our vines grow tall I 
 
 But — sword used swordwise, spear thrust out as spear ? 
 
 Anathema ! Suppression is the word ! " 
 
 My nature, when the outrage was too gross. 
 
 Widened itself an outlet over-wide 
 
 By way of answ^er, sought its own relief 
 
 With more of fire and brimstone than you wished. 
 
 All your own doing : preachers, blame yourselves ! 
 
 'T is I preach while the hour-glass runs and runs ! 
 God keep me patient ! All I say just means — 
 My wife proved, whether by her fault or mine, — 
 .That 's immaterial, — a true stumbling-block 
 I' the way of me her husband. I but plied 
 The hatchet yourselves use to clear a path. 
 Was politic, played the game you warrant wins, 
 Plucked at law's robe a-rustle through the courts, 
 Bowed down to kiss divinity's buckled shoe 
 Cushioned i' the church : efforts all wide the aim ! 
 Procedures to no purpose ! Then flashed truth. 
 The letter kills, the spirit keeps alive 
 In law and gospel : there be nods and winks 
 Instruct a wise man to assist himself 
 In certain matters, nor seek aid at all. 
 " Ask money of me," — quoth the clownish saw, — 
 " And take my purse ! But, — speaking with respect, — 
 Need you a solace for the troubled nose ? 
 Let everybody wipe his own himself! " 
 Sirs, tell me free and fair ! Had things gone well 
 At the wayside inn : had I surprised asleep 
 The runaways, as was so probable. 
 And pinned them each to other partridge-wise, 
 Through back and breast to breast and back, then bade 
 
438 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Bystanders witness if the spit, my sword, 
 Were loaded with unlawful game for once — 
 Would you have interposed to damp the glow 
 Applauding me on every husband's cheek ? 
 Would you have checked the cry, " A judgment, see! 
 A warning, note ! Be henceforth chaste, ye wives, 
 Nor stray beyond your proper precinct_^ priests ! " 
 If you had, then your house against itself 
 Divides, nor stands your kingdom any more. 
 Oh why, why was it not ordained just so? 
 Why fell not things out so nor otherwise ? 
 Ask that particular devil whose task it is 
 To trip the all-but-at perfection, — slur 
 The line o' the painter just where paint leaves off 
 And life begins, — put ice into the ode 
 O' the poet while he cries " Next stanza — fire ! '* 
 Inscribe all human effort with one word, 
 Artistry's haunting curse, the Incomplete ! 
 Being incomplete, my act escaped success. 
 Easy to blame now ! Every fool can swear 
 To hole in net that held and slipped the fish. 
 But, treat my act with fair unjaundiced eye, 
 What was there wanting to a masterpiece 
 Except the luck that lies beyond a man ? 
 My way with the woman, now proved grossly wrong, 
 Just missed of being gravely grandly right 
 And making mouths laugh on the other side. 
 Do, for the poor obstructed artist's sake. 
 Go with him over that spoiled work once more ! 
 Take only its first flower, the ended act 
 Now in the dusty pod, dry and defunct ! 
 I march to the Villa, and my men with me, 
 That evening, and we reach the door and stand. 
 I say . . . no, it shoots through me lightning-like 
 While I pause, breathe, my hand upon the latch, 
 " Let me forebode ! Thus far, too much success : 
 I want the natural failure — find it where ? 
 Which thread will have to break and leave a loop 
 1' the meshy combination, my brain's loom 
 Wove this long while, and pow next minute tests ? 
 Of three that are to catch, two should go free, 
 One must : all three surprised, — impossible ! 
 Beside, I seek three and may chance on six, — 
 This neighbor, t' other gossip, — the babe's birth 
 Brings such to fireside, and folks give them wine, — 
 'T is late : but when I break in presently 
 
GUI DO 439' 
 
 One will be found outlingering the rest 
 
 For promise of a posset, — one whose shout 
 
 Would raise the dead down in the catacombs, 
 
 Much more the city-watch that goes its round. 
 
 When did I ever turn adroitly up 
 
 To sun some brick imbedded in the soil, 
 
 And with one blow crush all three scorpions there ? 
 
 Or Pietro or Violante shambles off — 
 
 It cannot be but I surprise my wife — 
 
 If only she is stopped and stamped on, good ! 
 
 That shall suffice : more is improbable. 
 
 Now I may knock ! " And this once for my sake 
 
 The impossible was effected : I called king, 
 
 Queen and knave in a sequence, and cards came, 
 
 All three, three only 1 So, I had my way, 
 
 Did my deed : so, unbrokenly lay bare 
 
 Each taenia that had sucked me dry of juice, 
 
 At last outside me, not an inch of ring 
 
 Left now to writhe about and root itself 
 
 I' the heart all powerless for revenge ! Henceforth 
 
 I mio-ht thrive : these were drawn and dead and damned. 
 
 Oh Cardinal, the deep long sigh you heave 
 
 When the load 's off you, ringing as it runs 
 
 All the way down the serpent-stair to liell ! 
 
 No doubt the fine delirium flustered me. 
 
 Turned my brain with the influx of success 
 
 As if the sole need now were to wave wand 
 
 And find doors fly wide, — wdsh and have my will, — 
 
 The rest o' the scheme would care for itself : escape ? 
 
 Easy enough were that, and poor beside ! 
 
 It all but proved so, — ought to quite have proved, 
 
 Since, half the chances had sufficed, set free 
 
 Any one, wnth his senses at command. 
 
 From thrice the danger of my flight. But, drunk, 
 
 Redundantly triumphant, — some reverse 
 
 Was sure to follow I There 's no other way 
 
 Accounts for such prompt perfect failure then 
 
 And there on the instant. Any day o' the week, 
 
 A ducat slid discreetly into palm 
 
 O' the mute postmaster, while you whisper him — • 
 
 How you the Count and certain four your knaves, 
 
 Have just been mauling who was malapert. 
 
 Suspect the kindred may prove troublesome. 
 
 Therefore, want horses in a hurry, — that 
 
 And nothing more secures you any day 
 
 The pick o' the stable ! Yet I try the trick, 
 
440 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Double the bribe, call myself Duke for Count, 
 And say the dead man only was a Jew, 
 And for my pains find I am dealing just 
 With the one scrupulous fellow in all Rome — 
 Just this immaculate official stares, 
 Sees I want hat on head and sword in sheath, 
 Am splashed with other sort of wet than wine. 
 Shrugs shoulder, puts my hand by, gold and all, 
 Stands on the strictness of the rule o' the road ! 
 
 " Where 's the Permission ? " Where 's the wretched rag 
 With the due seal and sign of Rome's Police, 
 To be had for asking, half-an-hour ago ? 
 
 " Gone ? Get another, or no horses hence ! " 
 He dares not stop me, we five glare too grim, 
 But hinders, — hacks and hamstrings sure enough, 
 Gives me some twenty miles of miry road 
 More to march in the middle of that night 
 Whereof the rough beginning taxed the strength 
 O' the youngsters, much more mine, both soul and flesh. 
 Who had to think as well as act : dead-beat, 
 We gave in ere we reached the boundary 
 And safe spot out of this irrational Rome, — 
 Where, on dismounting from our steeds next day. 
 We had snapped our fingers at you, safe and sound, 
 Tuscans once more in blessed Tuscany, 
 Where laws make wise allowance, understand 
 Civilized life and do its champions right! 
 Witness the sentence of the Rota there, 
 Arezzo uttered, the Granduke confirmed. 
 One week before I acted on its hint, — 
 Giving friend Guillichini, for his love. 
 The galleys, and my wife your saint, Rome's saint, — • 
 Rome manufactures saints enough to know, — 
 Seclusion at the Stinche for her life. 
 All this, that all but was, might all have been, 
 Yet was not ! balked by just a scrupulous knave 
 Whose palm was horn through handling horses' hoofs 
 And could not close upon my proffered gold ! 
 What say you to the spite of fortune ? Well, 
 The worst 's in store : thus hindered, haled this way 
 To Rome again by hangdogs, whom find I 
 Here, still to fight with, but my pale frail wife ? 
 — Riddled with wounds by one not like to waste 
 The blows he dealt, — knowing anatomy, — 
 (I think I told you) bound to pick and choose 
 The vital parts I 'T was learning all in vain ! 
 
GUIDO 411 
 
 She too must shimmer through the gloom o' the grave, 
 
 Come and confront me — not at judgment-seat 
 
 Where I could twist her soul, as erst her flesh. 
 
 And turn her truth into a lie, — but there, 
 
 O' the deatli-bed, with God's hand between us both, 
 
 Striking me dumb, and helping her to speak. 
 
 Tell her own story her own way, and turn 
 
 My plausibility to nothingness ! 
 
 Four whole days did Pompilia keep alive, 
 
 With the best surgery of Rome agape 
 
 At the miracle, — this cut, the other slash. 
 
 And yet the life refusing to dislodge. 
 
 Four whole extravagant impossible days. 
 
 Till she had time to finish and persuade 
 
 Every man, every woman, every child 
 
 In Rome, of what she would : the selfsame she 
 
 Who, but a year ago, had wrung her hands, 
 
 Reddened her eyes and beat her breasts, rehearsed 
 
 The whole game at Arezzo, nor availed 
 
 Thereby to move one heart or raise one hand ! 
 
 When destiny intends you cards like these, 
 
 What good of skill and preconcerted play ? 
 
 Had she been found dead, as I left her dead, 
 
 T should have told a tale brooked no reply : 
 
 You scarcely will suppose me found at fault 
 
 With that advantage ! " What brings me to Rome ? 
 
 Necessity to claim and take my wife : 
 
 Better, to claim and take my new-born babe, — ■ 
 
 Strong in paternity a fortnight old, 
 
 When 't is at strongest : warily I work. 
 
 Knowing the machinations of my foe ; 
 
 I have companionship and use the night : 
 
 I seek my wife and child, — I find — no child 
 
 B'lt wife, in the embraces of that priest 
 
 AVho caused her to elope from me. These two, 
 
 Backed by the pander-pair who watch the while, 
 
 Spring on me like so many tiger-cats, 
 
 Glad of the chance to end the intruder. I — • 
 
 What should I do but stand on my defence. 
 
 Strike right, strike left, strike thick and threefold, slay, 
 
 Not all — because the coward priest escapes. 
 
 Last, I escape, in fear of evil tongues, 
 
 And having had my taste of Roman law." 
 
 What 's disputable, refutable here ? — 
 
 Save by just this one ghost-thing lialf on earth, 
 
 Half out of it. — as if she held God's hand 
 
442 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 While she leant back and looked her last at me, 
 Forgiving nie (here monks begin to weep) 
 Oh, from her very soul, commending mine 
 To heavenly mercies which are infinite, — 
 While fixing fast my head beneath your knife ! 
 'T is fate not fortune. All is of a piece ! 
 When was it chance informed me of my youths ? 
 My rustic four o' the family, soft swains, 
 What sweet surprise had they in store for me. 
 Those of my very household, — what did Law 
 Twist with her rack-and-cord-contrivance late 
 From out their bones and marrow ? What but this 
 Had no one of these several stumbling-blocks 
 Stopped me, they yet were cherishing a scheme, 
 All of their honest country homespun wit. 
 To quietly next day at crow of cock 
 Cut my own throat too, for their own behoof. 
 Seeing I had forgot to clear accounts 
 O' the instant, nowise slackened speed for that, — 
 And somehow never might find memory. 
 Once safe back in Arezzo, where things change, 
 And a court-lord needs mind no country lout. 
 Well, being the arch-offender, I die last, — 
 May, ere my head falls, have my eyesight free, 
 Nor miss them dangling high on either hand. 
 Like scarecrows in a hemp-field, for their pains ! 
 
 And then my Trial, — 't is my Trial that bites 
 Like a corrosive, so the cards are packed, 
 Dice loaded, and my life-stake tricked away ! 
 Look at my lawyers, lacked they grace of law, 
 Latin or logic ? Were not they fools to the height, 
 Fools to the depth, fools to the level between, 
 O' the foolishness set to decide the case ? 
 They feign, they flatter ; nowise does it skill, 
 Everything goes against me : deal each judge 
 His dole of flattery and feigning, — why, 
 He turns and tries and snuffs and savors it. 
 As some old fly the sugar-grain, your gift ; 
 Then eyes your thumb and finger, brushes clean 
 The absurd old head of him., and whisks away. 
 Leaving your thumb and finger dirty. Faugh ! 
 
 And finally, after this long-drawn range 
 
 Of affront and failure, failure and affront, — 
 
 This path, 'twixt crosses leading to a skull, 
 
GUIDO 443 
 
 Paced by me barefoot, bloodied by my palms 
 
 From the entry to the end, — there 's light at length, 
 
 A cranny of escape : appeal may be 
 
 To the old man, to the father, to the Pope, 
 
 For a little life — from one whose life is spent, 
 
 A little pity — from pity's source and seat, 
 
 A little indulgence to rank, privilege. 
 
 From one who is the thing personified, 
 
 Rank, privilege, indulgence, grown beyond 
 
 Earth's bearing, even, ask Jansenius else ! 
 
 Still the same answer, still no other tune 
 
 From the cicala perched at the tree-top 
 
 Than crickets noisy round the root, — 'tis " Die ! " 
 
 Bids Law — "Be damned ! " adds Gospel, — nay, 
 
 No word so frank, — 't is rather, " Save yourself ! '^ 
 
 The Pope subjoins — " Confess and be absolved ! 
 
 So shall my credit countervail your shame. 
 
 And the world see I have not lost the knack 
 
 Of trying all the spirits : yours, my son, 
 
 Wants but a fiery washing to emerge 
 
 In clarity ! Come, cleanse you, ease the ache 
 
 Of these old bones, refresh our bowels, boy ! " 
 
 Do I mistake your mission from the Pope ? 
 
 Then, bear his Holiness the mind of me ! 
 
 I do get strength from being thrust to wall. 
 
 Successively wrenched from pillar and from post 
 
 By this tenacious hate of fortune, hate 
 
 Of all things in, under, and above earth. 
 
 Warfare, begun this mean unmanly mode. 
 
 Does best to end so, — gives earth spectacle 
 
 Of a brave fighter who succumbs to odds 
 
 That turn defeat to victory. Stab, I fold 
 
 My mantle round me ! Rome approves my act : 
 
 Applauds the blow which costs me life but keeps 
 
 My honor spotless : Rome would praise no more 
 
 Had I fallen, say, some fifteen years ago. 
 
 Helping Vienna when our Aretines 
 
 Flocked to Duke Charles and fought Turk Mustafa; 
 
 Nor would you two be trembling o'er my corpse 
 
 With all this exquisite solicitude. 
 
 Why is it that I make such suit to live ? 
 
 The popular sympathy that 's round me now 
 
 Would break like bul)ble that o'er-domes a fly — 
 
 Solid enough while he lies quiet there. 
 
 But let him want the air and ply the wing, 
 
 Why, it breaks and bespatters him, what else ? 
 
444 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Cardinal, if the Pope had pardoned me, 
 
 And I walked out of prison through the crowd, 
 
 It would not be your arm I should dare press ! 
 
 Then, if I got safe to my place again, 
 
 How sad and sapless were the years to come ! 
 
 I go my old ways and find things grown gray ; 
 
 You priests leer at me, old friends look askance ; 
 
 The mob 's in love, I '11 wager, to a man. 
 
 With my poor young good beauteous murdered wife : 
 
 For hearts require instruction how to beat. 
 
 And eyes, on warrant of the story, wax 
 
 Wanton at portraiture in white and black 
 
 Of dead Pompilia gracing ballad-sheet, 
 
 Which eyes, lived she unmurdered and unsung. 
 
 Would never turn though she paced street as bare 
 
 As the mad penitent ladies do in France. 
 
 My brothers quietly would edge me out 
 
 Of use and management of things called mine ; 
 
 Do I command ? " You stretched command before ! " 
 
 Show anger ? " Anger little helped you once ! " 
 
 Advise ? " How managed you affairs of old ? " 
 
 My very mother, all the while they gird, 
 
 Turns eye up, gives confirmatory groan ; 
 
 For unsuccess, explain it how you will, 
 
 Disqualifies you, makes you doubt yourself, 
 
 — Much more, is found decisive by your friends. 
 
 Beside, am I not fifty years of age ? 
 
 What new leap would a life take, checked like mine 
 
 I' the spring at outset ? Where 's my second chance ? 
 
 Ay, but the babe ... I had forgot my son, 
 
 My heir ! Now for a burst of gratitude ! 
 
 There 's some appropriate service to intone, 
 
 Some gaudeamus and thanksgiving-psalm I 
 
 Old, I renew my youth in him, and poor 
 
 Possess a treasure, — is not that the phrase ? 
 
 Only I must wait patient twenty years — 
 
 Nourishing all the while, as father ought, 
 
 The excrescence with my daily blood of life. 
 
 Does it respond to hope, such sacrifice, — 
 
 Grows the wen plump while I myself grow lean ? 
 
 Why, here 's my son and heir in evidence, 
 
 Who stronger, wiser, handsomer than I 
 
 By fifty years, relieves me of each load, — 
 
 Tames my hot horse, carries my heavy gun, 
 
 Courts my coy mistress, — has his apt advice 
 
 On house-economy, expenditure, 
 
GUI DO 445 
 
 And what not ? All which good gifts and great growth, 
 
 Because of my decline, he brings to bear 
 
 On Guido, but half apprehensive how 
 
 He cumbers earth, crosses the brisk young Count, 
 
 Who civilly would thrust him from the scene. 
 
 Contrariwise, does the blood-offering fail ? 
 
 There 's an ineptitude, one blank the more 
 
 Added to earth in semblance of my child ? 
 
 Then, this has been a costly piece of work. 
 
 My life exchanged for his ! — why he, not I, 
 
 Enjoy the world, if no more grace accrue ? 
 
 Dwarf me, what giant have you made of him ? 
 
 I do not dread the disobedient son — 
 
 I know how to suppress rebellion there, 
 
 Being not quite the fool my father was. 
 
 But grant the medium measure of a man, 
 
 The usual compromise 'twixt fool and sage, 
 
 — You know — the tolerably-obstinate, 
 
 The not-so-much-perverse but you may train, 
 
 The true son-servant that, when parent bids 
 
 Go work, son, in my vineyard ! " makes reply 
 
 I go, Sir ! " — Why, what profit in your son 
 
 Beyond the drudges you might subsidize. 
 
 Have the same work from, at a paul the head ? 
 
 Look at those four young precious olive-plants 
 
 Reared at Vittiano, — not on flesh and blood, 
 
 These twenty years, but black bread and sour wine ! 
 
 I bade them put forth tender branch, hook, hold, 
 
 And hurt three enemies I had in Rome : 
 
 They did my hest as unreluctantly, 
 
 At promise of a dollar, as a son 
 
 Adjured by mumping memories of the past. 
 
 No, nothing repays youth expended so — 
 
 Youth, I say, who am young still : grant but leave 
 
 To live my life out, to the last I 'd live 
 
 And die conceding age no right of youth ! 
 
 It is the will runs the renewing nerve 
 
 Through flaccid flesh that faints before the time. 
 
 Therefore no sort of use for son have I — 
 
 Sick, not of life's feast but of steps to climb 
 
 To the house where life prepares her feast, — of means 
 
 To the end : for make the end attainable 
 
 Without the means, — my relish were like yours. 
 
 A man may have an appetite enough 
 
 For a \Yhole dish of robins ready cooked. 
 
 And yet lack courage to face sleet, pad snow, 
 
 And snare sufficiently for supper. 
 
446 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Thus 
 The time 's arrived when, ancient Roman-like, 
 I am bound to fall on my own sword, — why not 
 Say — Tuscan-like, more ancient, better still ? 
 Will you hear truth can do no harm nor good ? 
 I think I never was at any time 
 A Christian, as you nickname all the world, 
 Me among others : truce to nonsense now ! 
 Name me, a primitive religionist — 
 As should the aboriginary be 
 I boast myself, Etruscan, Aretine, 
 One sprung — your frigid Virgil's fieriest word — 
 From fauns and nyniphs, trunks and the heart of oak, 
 With — for a visible divinity — 
 The portent of a Jove ^giochus 
 
 Descried 'mid clouds, lightning and thunder, couched 
 On topmost crag of your Capitoline : 
 'T is in the Seventh ^neid, — what, the Eighth ? 
 Right, — thanks. Abate, — though the Christian 's dumb, 
 The Latinist 's vivacious in you yet ! 
 I know my grandsire had our tapestry 
 Marked with the motto, 'neath a certain shield, 
 Whereto his grandson presently will give gules 
 To vary azure. First we fight for faiths. 
 But get to shake hands at the last of all : 
 Mine 's your faith too, — in Jove jEgiochus ! 
 Nor do Greek gods, that serve as supplement, 
 Jar with the simpler scheme, if understood. 
 We want such intermediary race 
 To make communication possible ; 
 The real thing were too lofty, we too low, 
 Midway hang these : we feel their use so plain 
 In linking height to depth, that we doff hat 
 And put no question nor pry narrowly 
 Into the nature hid behind the names. 
 We grudge no rite the fancy may demand ; 
 But never, more than needs, invent, refine, 
 Improve upon requirement, idly wise 
 Beyond the letter, teaching gods their trade, 
 Which is to teach us : we '11 obey when taught. 
 Why should we do our duty past the need ? 
 When the sky darkens, Jove is wroth, — say prayer ! 
 When the sun shines and Jove is glad, — sing psalm ! 
 But wherefore pass prescription and devise 
 Blood-offering for sweat-service, lend the rod 
 A pungency through pickle of our own ? 
 
GUI DO 447 
 
 Learned Abate, — no one teaches you 
 What Venus means and who 's Apollo here ! 
 I spare you, Cardinal, — but, though you wince, 
 You know rae, I know you, and both know that ! 
 So, if Apollo bids us fast, we fast : 
 But where does Venus order we stop sense 
 When Master Pietro rhymes a pleasantry ? 
 Give aims prescribed on Friday, — but, hold hand 
 Because your foe lies prostrate, — where 's the word 
 Explicit in the book debars revenge ? 
 The rationale of your scheme is just 
 " Pay toll here, there pursue your pleasure free ! " 
 So do you turn to use the medium-jDOwers, 
 Mars and Minerva, Bacchus and the rest, 
 And so are saved propitiating — whom ? 
 What all-good, all-wise, and all-potent Jove 
 Vexed by the very sins in man, himself 
 Made life's necessity when man he made ? 
 Irrational bunglers ! So, the living truth 
 Revealed to strike Pan dead, ducks low at last, 
 Prays leave to hold its own and live good days 
 Provided it go masque grotesquely, called 
 Christian not Pagan. Oh, you purged the sky 
 Of all gods save the One, the great and good, 
 Clapped hands and triumphed ! But the change came fast : 
 The inexorable need in man for life — 
 (Life, you may mulct and minish to a grain 
 Out of the lump, so that the grain but live) 
 Laughed at your substituting death for life, 
 And bade you do your worst : which worst was done 
 In just that age styled primitive and pure 
 When Saint this, Saint that, dutifully starved. 
 Froze, fought with beasts, was beaten and abused 
 And finally ridded of his flesh by fire : 
 He kept life-long unspotted from the world ! — 
 Next age, how goes the game, what mortal gives 
 His life and emulates Saint that, Saint this ? 
 Men mutter, make excuse, or mutiny. 
 In fine are minded all to leave the new, 
 Stick to the old, — enjoy old liberty. 
 No prejudice in enjoyment, if you please. 
 To the new profession : sin o' the sly, henceforth ! 
 The law stands though the letter kills : what then ? 
 The spirit saves as unmistakably. 
 Omniscience sees. Omnipotence could stop, 
 Omnibenevolence pardons : it must be, 
 Frown law its fiercest, there 's a wink somewhere ! 
 
448 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Such was the logic in this head of mine : 
 
 I, like the rest, wrote " poison " on my bread, 
 
 But broke and ate : — said " those that use the sword 
 
 Shall perish by the same ; " then stabbed my foe. 
 
 I stand on solid earth, not empty air : 
 
 Dislodge me, let your Pope's crook hale me hence ! 
 
 Not he, nor you ! And I so pity both, 
 
 I '11 make the true charge you want wit to make : 
 
 *' Count Guido, who reveal our mystery, 
 And trace all issues to the love of life : 
 We having life to love and guard, like you. 
 Why did you put us upon self-defence ? 
 You well knew what prompt pass-word would appease 
 The sentry's ire when folk infringed his bounds. 
 And yet kept mouth shut : do you wonder then 
 If, in mere decency, he shot you dead ? 
 He can't have people play such pranks as yours 
 Beneath his nose at noonday : you disdained 
 To give him an excuse before the world 
 By crying ' I break rule to save our camp ! ' 
 Under the old rule, such offence were death ; 
 And you had heard the Pontifex pronounce, 
 
 ' Since you slay foe and violate the form. 
 Slaying turns murder, which were sacrifice 
 Had you, while, say, lawsuiting foe to death. 
 But raised an altar to the Unknown God, 
 Or else the Genius of the Vatican.' 
 Why then this pother ? — all because the Pope, 
 Doing his duty, cried ' A foreigner. 
 You scandalize the natives : here at Rome 
 Romano vivitur more : wise men, here, 
 Put the Church forward and efface themselves. 
 The fit defence had been, — you stamped on wheat, 
 Intending all the time to trample tares, — 
 Were fain extirpate, then, the heretic, 
 You now find, in your haste was slain a fool : 
 Nor Pietro, nor Yiolante, nor your wife 
 Meant to breed up your babe a Molinist ! 
 Whence you are duly contrite. Not one word 
 Of all this wisdom did you urge : which slip 
 Death must atone for.' " 
 
 So, let death atone \ 
 So ends mistake, so end mistakers ! — end 
 Perhaps to recommence, — how should I know? 
 Only, be sure, no punishment, no pain 
 Childish, preposterous, impossible, 
 
GUWO 449 
 
 But some such fate as Ovid could foresee, — 
 
 Byhlls iyijiuvlum, let the weak soul end 
 
 In water, sed Ltjcaon in lupum, but 
 
 The strong become a wolf forevermore ! 
 
 Change tliat Pompilla to a puny stream 
 
 Fit to reflect the daisies on its bank ! 
 
 Let me turn wolf, be whole, and sate, for once, — 
 
 Wallow in what is now a wolfishness 
 
 Coerced too much by the humanity 
 
 That 's half of me as well ! Grow out of man, 
 
 Glut the wolf-nature, — what remains but grow 
 
 Into the man again, be man indeed 
 
 And all man ? Do I ring the changes right ? 
 
 Deformed, transformed, reformed, informed, conformed ! 
 
 The honest instinct, pent and crossed through life, 
 
 Let surge by death into a visible flow 
 
 Of rapture : as the strangled thread of flame 
 
 Painfully winds, annoying and annoyed. 
 
 Malignant and mahgned, througli stone and ore, 
 
 Till earth exclude the stranger : vented once, 
 
 It finds full play, is recognized atop 
 
 Some mountain as no such abnormal birth. 
 
 Fire for the mount, the streamlet for the vale ! 
 
 Ay, of the water was that wife of mine — 
 
 Be it for good, be it for ill, no run 
 
 O' the red thread through that insignificance ! 
 
 Again, how she is at me with those eyes ! 
 
 Away with the empty stare ! Be holy still, 
 
 And stupid ever I Occupy your patch 
 
 Of private snow that 's somewhere in what world 
 
 May now be growing icy round your head, 
 
 And aguish at your footprint, — freeze not me, 
 
 Dare follow not another step I take. 
 
 Not with so much as those detested eyes. 
 
 No, though they follow but to pray me pause 
 
 On the incline, earth's edge that 's next to hell ! 
 
 None of your abnegation of revenge ! 
 
 Fly at me frank, tug while I tear again ! 
 
 There 's God, go tell Him, testify your worst ! 
 
 Not she ! There was no touch in her of hate : 
 
 And it would prove her hell, if I reached mine 1 
 
 To know I suffered, would still sadden her, 
 
 Do what the angels might to make amends ! 
 
 Therefore there 's either no such place as hell. 
 
 Or thence shall I be thrust forth, for her sake, 
 
 And thereby undergo three hells, not one — 
 
-150 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 I who, with outlet for escape to heaven, 
 Would tarry if such flight allowed my foe 
 To raise his head, relieved of that firm foot 
 Had pinned him to the fiery pavement else ! 
 So am I made, " who did not make myself : " 
 (How dared she rob my own lip of the word ?) 
 Beware me in what other world may be ! — 
 Pompilia, who have brought me to this pass ! 
 All I know here, will I say there, and go 
 Beyond the saying with the deed. Some use 
 There cannot but be for a mood like mine, 
 Implacable, persistent in revenge. 
 She maundered, " All is over and at end : 
 I go my own road, go you where God will ! 
 Forgive you ? I forget you ! " There 's the saint 
 That takes your taste, you other kind of men ! 
 How you had loved her ! Guido wanted skill 
 To value such a woman at her worth ! 
 Properly the instructed criticise, 
 *' What 's here, you simpleton have tossed to take 
 Its chance i' the gutter ? This a daub, indeed ? 
 Why, 't is a Rafael that you kicked to rags ! " 
 Perhaps so : some prefer the pure design : 
 Give me my gorge of color, glut of gold 
 In a glory round the Virgin made for me ! 
 Titian 's the man, not Monk Angelico 
 WJio traces you some timid chalky ghost 
 That turns the church into a charnel : ay, 
 Just such a pencil might depict my wife ! 
 She, — since she, also, would not change herself, — 
 Why could not she come in some heart-shaped cloud, 
 Rainbowed about with riches, royalty 
 Rimming her round, as round the tintless lawn 
 Guardingly runs the selvage cloth of gold ? 
 I would have left the faint fine gauze untouched. 
 Needle-worked over with its lily and rose, 
 Let her bleach unmolested in the midst, 
 Chill that selected solitary spot 
 Of quietude she pleased to think was life. 
 Purity, pallor grace the lawn no doubt 
 AVhen there 's the costly bordure to unthread 
 And make again an ingot : but what 's grace 
 When you want meat and drink and clothes and fire ? 
 
 A tale comes to my mind that 's apposite — 
 Possibly true, probably false, a truth 
 Such as all truths we live by. Cardinal ! 
 
GUIDO 451 
 
 'T is said, a certain ancestor of mine 
 Followed — whoever was the potentate, 
 To Paynimrie, and in some battle, broke 
 Through more than due allowance of the foe, 
 And, risking much his own life, saved the lord's. 
 Battered and bruised, the Emperor scrambles up, 
 Rubs his eyes and looks round and sees my sire, 
 Picks a furze-sprig from out his hauberk-joint, 
 (Token how near the ground went majesty,) 
 And says, " Take this, and if thou get safe home, 
 Plant the same in thy garden-ground to grow : 
 Run thence an hour in a straight line, and stop : 
 Describe a circle round (for central point) 
 The furze aforesaid, reaching every w^ay 
 The length of that hour's run : I give it thee, — 
 The central point, to build a castle there. 
 The space circumjacent, for fit demesne, 
 The whole to be thy children's heritage, — 
 AVhom, for thy sake, bid thou wear furze on cap ! " 
 Those are my arms : we turned the furze a tree 
 To show more, and the grayhound tied thereto. 
 Straining to start, means swift and greedy both ; 
 He stands upon a triple mount of gold — 
 By Jove, then, he 's escaping from true gold 
 And trying to arrive at empty air I 
 Aha ! the fancy never crossed my mind ! 
 My father used to tell me, and subjoin, 
 
 " As for the castle, that took wings and flew : 
 The broad lands, — why, to traverse them to-day 
 Scarce tasks my gouty feet, and in my prime 
 I doubt not I could stand and spit so far : 
 But for the furze, boy, fear no lack of that, 
 So long as fortune leaves one field to grub ! 
 Wherefore, hurrah for furze and loyalty ! " 
 What may I mean, where may the lesson lurk ? 
 
 *' Do not bestow on man, by way of gift. 
 Furze without land for f ramew^ork, — vaunt no grace 
 Of purity, no furze-sprig of a w4fe, 
 To me, i' the thick of battle for my bread, 
 Without some better dowry, — gold will do I " 
 No better gift than sordid muck ? Yes, Sirs ! 
 Many more gifts much better. Give them me ! 
 O those Olimpias bold, those Blancas brave. 
 That brought a husband power wortli Ormuz' wealth ! 
 Cried, " Thou being mine, why, wdiat but thine am I ? 
 Be thou to me law, right, wrong, heaven and hell ! 
 
452 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Let us blend souls, blent, thou in me, to bid 
 
 Two bodies work one pleasure ! What are these 
 
 Called king, priest, father, mother, stranger, friend ? 
 
 They fret thee or they frustrate ? Give the word — 
 
 Be certain they shall frustrate nothing more ! 
 
 And who is this young florid foolishness 
 
 That holds thy fortune in his pygmy clutch, 
 
 — Being a prince and potency, forsooth ! — 
 
 He hesitates to let the trifle go ? 
 
 Let me but seal up eye, sing ear to sleep 
 
 Sounder than Samson, — pounce thou on the prize 
 
 Shall slip from off my breast, and down couch-side. 
 
 And on to floor, and far as my lord's feet — 
 
 Where he stands in the shadow with the knife, 
 
 Waiting to see what Delilah dares do ! 
 
 Is the youth fair ? What is a man to me 
 
 Who am thy call-bird ? Twist his neck — my dupe's, 
 
 Then take the breast shall turn a breast indeed ! " 
 
 Such women are there ; and they marry whom ? 
 
 Why, when a man has gone and hanged himself 
 
 Because of what he calls a wicked wife, — 
 
 See, if the very turpitude bemoaned 
 
 Prove not mere excellence the fool ignores ! 
 
 His monster is perfection, — Circe, sent 
 
 Straight from the sun, with wand the idiot blames 
 
 As not an honest distaff to spin wool ! 
 
 thou Lucrezia, is it long to wait 
 Yonder where all the gloom is in a glow 
 With thy suspected presence ? — virgin yet, 
 Virtuous again, in face of what 's to teach — 
 Sin unimagined, unimaginable, — ■ 
 
 1 come to claim my bride, — thy Borgia's self 
 Not half the burning bridegroom I shall be ! 
 Cardinal, take av/ay your crucifix ! 
 
 Abate, leave my lips alone, — they bite ! 
 
 Vainly you try to change what should not change, 
 
 And shall not. I have bared, you bathe my heart — 
 
 It grows the stonier for your saving dew ! 
 
 You steep the substance, you would lubricate, 
 
 In watei's that but touch to petrify ! 
 
 You too are petrifactions of a kind : 
 
 Move not a muscle that shows mercy ; rave 
 
 Another twelve hours, every word were waste ! 
 
 I thought you would not slay impenitence. 
 
 But teased, from men you slew, contrition first, — 
 
GUIDO 453 
 
 I thought you had a conscience. Cardinal, 
 
 You know I am wronged ! — wronged, say, and wronged, 
 
 maintain. 
 Was this strict inquisition made for blood 
 When first you showed us scarlet on your back. 
 Called to the College ? Your straightforward way 
 To your legitimate end, — I think it passed 
 Over a scantling of heads brained, hearts broke. 
 Lives trodden into dust ! — how otlierwise ? 
 Such was the way o' the world, and so you walked. 
 Does memory haunt your pillow ? Not a whit. 
 God wills you never pace your garden-path, 
 One appetizing hour ere dinner-time, 
 But your intrusion there treads out of life 
 A universe of happy innocent things : 
 Feel you remorse about that damsel-fly 
 Which buzzed so near your mouth and flapped your face ? 
 You blotted it from being at a blow : 
 It was a fly, you were a man, and more, 
 Lord of created things, so took your course. 
 Manliness, mind, — these are things fit to save, 
 Fit to brush fly from : why, because I take 
 My course, must needs the Pope kill me ? — kill you ! 
 You ! for this instrument, he throws away, 
 Is strong to serve a master, and were yours 
 To have and hold and get much good from out ! 
 The Pope who dooms me needs nuist die next year ; 
 I '11 tell you how the chances are supposed 
 For his successor : first the Chamberlain, * 
 
 Old San Cesario, — CoUoredo, next, — 
 Then, one, two, three, four, I refuse to name ; 
 After these, comes Altieri ; then come you — 
 Seventh on the list you come, unless . . . ha, ha, 
 How can a dead hand give a friend a lift ? 
 Are you the person to despise the help 
 O' the head shall drop in pannier presently ? 
 So a child seesaws on or kicks away 
 The fulcrum-stone that 's all the sage requires 
 To fit his lever to and move the world. 
 Cardinal, I adjure you in God's name, 
 Save my life, fall at the Pope's feet, set forth 
 Things your own fashion, not in words like these 
 Made for a sense like yours who apprehend ! 
 Translate into the Court-conventional 
 " Count Guido must not die, is innocent ! 
 Fair, be assured ! But what an he were foul, 
 
454 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Blood-drenclied and murder-crusted head to foot ? 
 
 Spare one whose death insults the Emperor, 
 
 Nay, outrages the Louis you so love ! 
 
 He has friends who will avenge him ; enemies 
 
 Who will hate God now with impunity, 
 
 Missing the old coercive : would you send 
 
 A soul straight to perdition, dying frank 
 
 An atheist ? " Go and say this, for God's sake ! 
 
 — Why, you don't think I hope you '11 say one word ? 
 
 Neither shall I persuade you from your stand 
 
 Nor you persuade me from my station : take 
 
 Your crucifix away, I tell you twice ! 
 
 Come, I am tired of silence ! Pause enough ! 
 
 You have prayed : I have gone inside my soul 
 
 And shut its door behind me : 't is your torch 
 
 Makes the place dark : the darkness let alone 
 
 Grows tolerable twilight : one may grope 
 
 And get to guess at length and breadth and depth. 
 
 What is this fact 1 feel persuaded of — 
 
 This something like a foothold in the sea, 
 
 Although Saint Peter's bark scuds, billow-borne, 
 
 Leaves me to founder where it flung me first ? 
 
 Spite of your splashing, I am high and dry ! 
 
 God takes his own part in each thing he made ; 
 
 Made for a reason, he conserves his work, 
 
 Gives each its proper instinct of defence. 
 
 My lamblike wife could neither bark nor bite. 
 
 She bleated, bleated, till for pity pure 
 
 The village roused up, ran with pole and prong 
 
 To the rescue, and behold the wolf 's at bay ! 
 
 Shall he try bleating ? — or take turn or two, 
 
 Since the wolf owns some kinship with the fox. 
 
 And, failing to escape the foe by craft, 
 
 Give up attempt, die fighting quietly ? 
 
 The last bad blow that strikes fire in at eye 
 
 And on to brain, and so out, life and all. 
 
 How can it but be cheated of a pang 
 
 If, fighting quietly, the jaws enjoy 
 
 One re-embrace in mid backbone they break, 
 
 After their weary work through the foe's flesh ? 
 
 That 's the wolf-nature. Don't mistake my trope ! 
 
 A Cardinal so qualmish ? Eminence, 
 
 INIy fight is figurative, blows i' the air. 
 
 Brain-war with powers and principalities, 
 
 Spirit-bravado, no real fisticuffs ! 
 
GUI DO 455 
 
 I shall not presently, when the knock comes, 
 
 Cling to this bench nor claw the hangman's face, 
 
 No, trust me ! I conceive worse lots than mine. 
 
 Whether it be, the old contagious fit 
 
 And plague o' the prison have surprised me too, 
 
 The appropriate drunkenness of the death-hour 
 
 Crept on my sense, kind work o' the wine and myrrh, — 
 
 I know not, — I begin to taste my strength, 
 
 Careless, gay even. What 's the worth of life ? 
 
 The Pope 's dead now, my murderous old man, 
 
 For Tozzi told me so : and you, forsooth — 
 
 Why, you don't think, Abate, do your best, 
 
 You '11 live a year more with that hacking cough 
 
 And blotch of crimson where the cheek 's a pit ? 
 
 Tozzi has got you also down in book ! 
 
 Cardinal, only seventh of seventy near, 
 
 Is not one called Albano in the lot ? 
 
 Go eat your heart, you '11 never be a Pope ! 
 
 Inform me, is it true you left your love, 
 
 A Pucci, for promotion in the church ? 
 
 She 's more than in the church — in the churchyard ! 
 
 Plautilla Pucci, your afhanced bride. 
 
 Has dust now in the eyes that held the love, — 
 
 And Martinez, suppose they make you Pope, 
 
 Stops that with veto, — so, enjoy yourself ! 
 
 I see you all reel to the rock, you waves — 
 
 Some forthright, some describe a sinuous track, 
 
 Some, crested brilliantly, with heads above. 
 
 Some in a strangled swirl sunk who knows how, 
 
 But all bound whither the main-current sets, 
 
 Rockward, an end in foam for all of you ! 
 
 What if I be overtaken, pushed to the front 
 
 By all you crowding smoother souls behind, 
 
 And reach, a minute sooner than was meant, 
 
 The boundary whereon I break to mist ? 
 
 Go to ! the smoothest safest of you all. 
 
 Most perfect and compact wave in my train, 
 
 Spite of the blue tranquillity above. 
 
 Spite of the breadth before of lapsing peace. 
 
 Where broods the halcyon and the fish leaps free, 
 
 Will presently begin to feel the prick 
 
 At lazy heart, the push at torpid brain, 
 
 Will rock vertiginously in turn, and reel. 
 
 And, emulative, rush to death like me. 
 
 Later or sooner by a minute then, 
 
 So much for the untimeliness of death ! 
 
456 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 And, as regards the manner that offends, 
 
 The rude and rough, I count the same for gain. 
 
 Be the act harsh and quick ! Undoubtedly 
 
 The soul 's condensed and, twice itself, expands 
 
 To burst through life, by alternation due. 
 
 Into the other state whate'er it prove. 
 
 You never know what life means till you die : 
 
 Even throughout life, 't is death that makes life live, 
 
 Gives it whatever the significance. 
 
 For see, on your own ground and argument, 
 
 Suppose life had no death to fear, how find 
 
 A possibility of nobleness 
 
 In man, prevented daring any more ? 
 
 What 's love, what 's faith without a worst to dread ? 
 
 Lack-lustre jewelry ! but faith and love 
 
 With death behind them bidding do or die — - 
 
 Put such a foil at back, the sparkle 's born ! 
 
 From out myself how the strange colors come ! 
 
 Is there a new rule in another world ? 
 
 Be sure I sliall resign myself : as here 
 
 I recognized no law I could not see. 
 
 There, what I see, I shall acknowledge too : 
 
 On earth I never took the Pope for God, 
 
 In heaven I shall scarce take God for the Pope. 
 
 Unmanned, remanned : I hold it probable — 
 
 With something changeless at the heart of me 
 
 To know me by, some nucleus that 's myself : 
 
 Accretions did it wrong ? Away with them — 
 
 You soon shall see the use of fire ! 
 
 Till when, 
 All that was, is ; and must forever be. 
 Nor is it in me to unhate my hates, — 
 I use up my last strength to strike once more 
 Old Pietro in the wine-house-gossip-face. 
 To trample underfoot the whine and wile 
 Of beast Violante, — and I grow one gorge 
 To loathingly reject Pompilia's pale 
 Poison my hasty hunger took for food. 
 A strong tree wants no wreaths about its trunk, 
 No cloying cups, no sickly sweet of scent. 
 But sustenance at root, a bucketful. 
 How else lived that Athenian who died so. 
 Drinking hot bull's blood, fit for men like me ? 
 I lived and died a man, and take man's chance, 
 Honest and bold : right will be done to such. 
 
GUIDO 457 
 
 Who are these you have let descend my stair ? 
 
 Ha, their accursed psalm ! Lights at the sill ! 
 
 Is it " Open " they dare bid you ? Treachery ! 
 
 Sirs, have I spoken one word all this while 
 
 Out of the world of words I had to say ? 
 
 Not one word ! All was folly — I laughed and mocked ! 
 
 Sirs, my first true word, all truth and no lie. 
 
 Is — save me notwithstanding ! Life is all ! 
 
 I was just stark mad, — let the madman live 
 
 Pressed by as many chains as you jjlease pile ! 
 
 Don't open ! Hold me from them ! I am yours, 
 
 I am the Granduke's — no, I am the Pope's ! 
 
 Abate, — Cardinal, — Christ, — Maria, — God, . o . 
 
 Pompilia, will you let them murder me ? 
 
XII. 
 
 THE BOOK AND THE RING. 
 
 Here were the end, had anything an end : 
 
 Thus, Ht and launched, up and up roared and soared 
 
 A rocket, till the key o' the vault was reached. 
 
 And wide heaven held, a breathless minute-space, 
 
 In brilliant usurpature : thus caught spark. 
 
 Rushed to the height, and hung at full of fame 
 
 Over men's upturned faces, ghastly thence, 
 
 Our glaring Guido : now decline must be. 
 
 In its explosion, you have seen his act, 
 
 By my power — maybe, judged it by your own, — 
 
 Or composite as good orbs prove, or crammed 
 
 With worse ingredients than the Wormwood Star. 
 
 The act, over and ended, falls and fades : 
 
 What was once seen, grows what is now described, 
 
 Then talked of, told about, a tinge the less 
 
 In every fresh transmission ; till it melts, 
 
 Trickles in silent orange or wan gray 
 
 Across our memory, dies and leaves all dark, 
 
 And presently we find the stars again. 
 
 Follow the main streaks, meditate the mode 
 
 Of brightness, how it hastes to blend with black ! 
 
 After that February Twenty-Two, 
 Since our salvation, Sixteen-Ninety-Eight, 
 Of all reports that were, or may have been, 
 Concerning those the day killed or let live. 
 Four I count only. Take the first that comes. 
 A letter from a stranger, man of rank, 
 Venetian visitor at Rome, — who knows, 
 On what pretence of busy idleness ? 
 Thus he begins on evening of that day. 
 
 " Here are we at our end of Carnival ; 
 Prodigious gayety and monstrous mirth, 
 And constant shift of entertaining show : 
 
THE BOOK AND THE RING -159 
 
 With influx, from each quarter of the globe, 
 Of strangers nowise wishful to be last 
 I' the struggle for a good place presently 
 When that befalls, fate cannot long defer. 
 The old Pope totters on the verge o' the grave : 
 You see, Malpichi understood far more 
 Than Tozzi how to treat the ailments : age, 
 No question, renders these inveterate. 
 Cardinal Spada, actual Minister, 
 Is possible Pope ; I wager on his head. 
 Since those four entertainments of his niece 
 Which set all Rome a-stare : Pope probably — - 
 Though CoUoredo has his backers too, 
 And San Cesario makes one doubt at times : 
 Altieri will be Chamberlain at most. 
 
 " A week ago the sun was warm like May, 
 And the old man took daily exercise 
 Along the riverside ; he loves to see 
 That Custom-house he built upon the bank. 
 For, Naples-born, his tastes are maritime : 
 But yesterday he had to keep in-doors 
 Because of the outrageous rain that fell. 
 On such days the good soul has fainting-fits, 
 Or lies in stupor, scarcely makes believe 
 Of minding business, fumbles at his beads. 
 They say, the trust that keeps his heart alive 
 Is that, by lasting till December next, 
 He may hold Jubilee a second time, 
 And, twice in one reign, ope the Holy Doors. 
 By the way, somebody responsible 
 Assures me that the King of France has writ 
 Fresh orders : Fenelon will be condemned : 
 The Cardinal makes a wry face enough, 
 Having a love for the delinquent : still, 
 He 's the ambassador, must press the point. 
 Have you a wager too, dependent here ? 
 
 " Now, from such matters to divert awhile. 
 Hear of to-day's event which crowns the week, 
 Casts all the other wagers into shade. 
 Tell Dandolo I owe him fifty drops 
 Of heart's blood in the shape of gold zecchines ! 
 The Pope has done his worst : I have to pay 
 For the execution of the Count, by Jove ! 
 Two days since, I reported liim as safe, 
 
460 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Re-echoing the conviction of all Rome : 
 
 Who could suspect its one deaf ear — the Pope's ? 
 
 But prejudices grow insuperable, 
 
 And that old enmity to Austria, that 
 
 Passion for France and France's pageant-king 
 
 (Of which, why pause to multiply the proofs 
 
 Now scandalously rife in Europe's mouth ?) 
 
 These fairly got the better in our man 
 
 Of justice, prudence, and esprit de corps, 
 
 And he persisted in the butchery. 
 
 Also, 't is said that in his latest walk 
 
 To that Dogana-by-the-Bank he built, 
 
 The crowd, — he suffers question, unrebuked, — 
 
 Asked, ' Whether murder was a privilege 
 
 Only reserved for nobles like the Count ? ' 
 
 And he was ever mindful of the mob. 
 
 Martinez, the Caesarean Minister, 
 
 — Who used his best endeavors to spare blood, 
 And strongly pleaded for the life ' of one,' 
 Urged he, ' I may have dined at table with ! ' — 
 He will not soon forget the Pope's rebuff, 
 
 — Feels the slight sensibly, I promise you ! 
 And but for the dissuasion of two eyes 
 
 That make with him foul weather or fine day, 
 
 He had abstained, nor graced the spectacle : 
 
 As it was, barely would he condescend 
 
 Look forth from the palchetto where he sat 
 
 Under the Pincian : we shall hear of this ! 
 
 The substituting, too, the People's Square 
 
 For the out-o'-the-way old quarter by the Bridge, 
 
 Was meant as a conciliatory sop 
 
 To the mob ; it gave one holiday the more. 
 
 But the French Embassy might unfurl flag, — 
 
 Still the good luck of France to fling a foe ! 
 
 Cardinal Bouillon triumphs pro]3erly I 
 
 Palchetti were erected in the Place, 
 
 And houses, at the edge of the Three Streets, 
 
 Let their front windows at six dollars each : 
 
 Anguisciola, that patron of the arts. 
 
 Hired one ; our Envoy Contarini too. 
 
 " Now for the thing ; no sooner the decree 
 Gone forth, — 't is four-and-twenty hours ago, — =• 
 Than Acciaiuoli and Panciatichi, 
 Old friends, indeed compatriots of the man, 
 Being pitched on as the couple properest 
 
THE BOOK AND THE RING 461 
 
 To intimate the sentence yesternight, 
 
 Were closeted ere cock-crow with the Count. 
 
 They both report their efforts to dispose 
 
 The unhappy nobleman for ending well, 
 
 Despite the natural sense of injury. 
 
 Were crowned at last with a complete success. 
 
 And when the Company of Death arrived 
 
 At twenty -hours, — the way they reckon here, — 
 
 We say, at sunset, after dinner-time, — 
 
 The Count was led down, hoisted up on car, 
 
 Last of the five, as heinousest, you know : 
 
 Yet they allowed one whole car to each man. 
 
 His intrepidity, nay, nonchalance, 
 
 As up he stood and down he sat himself, 
 
 Struck admiration into those who saw. 
 
 Then the procession started, took the way 
 
 From the New Prisons by the Pilgrim's Street, 
 
 The street of the Governo, Pasquin's Street, 
 
 (Where was stuck up, 'mid other epigrams, 
 
 A quatrain . . . but of all that, presently !) 
 
 The Place Navona, the Pantheon's Place, 
 
 Place of the Column, last the Corso's length. 
 
 And so debouched thence at Mannaia's foot 
 
 I' the Place o' the People. As is evident, 
 
 (Despite the malice, — plainly meant, I fear, 
 
 By this abrupt change of locality, — 
 
 The Square 's no such bad place to head and hang) 
 
 We had the titillation as we sat 
 
 Assembled, (quality in conclave, ha ?) 
 
 Of, minute after minute, some report 
 
 How the slow show was winding on its way. 
 
 Now did a car run over, kill a man. 
 
 Just opposite a pork-shop numbered Twelve : 
 
 And bitter were the outcries of the mob 
 
 Against the Pope : for, but that he forbids 
 
 The Lottery, why, Twelve were Tern Quatern ! 
 
 Now did a beggar by Saint Agnes, lame 
 
 From his youth up, recover use of leg. 
 
 Through prayer of Guido as he glanced that way : 
 
 So that the crowd near crammed his hat with coin. 
 
 Thus was kept up excitement to the last, 
 
 — Not an abrupt out-bolting, as of yore. 
 
 From Castle, over Bridge and on to block. 
 
 And so all ended ere you well could wink ! 
 
 " To mount the scaffold-steps, Guido was last 
 Here also, as atrociousest in crime. 
 
462 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 We hardly noticed how the peasants died, 
 
 They dangled somehow soon to right and left, 
 
 And we remained all ears and eyes, could give 
 
 Ourselves to Guido undividedly, 
 
 As he harangued the multitude beneath. 
 
 He begged forgiveness on the part of God, 
 
 And fair construction of his act from men, 
 
 Whose suffrage he entreated for his soul, 
 
 Suggesting that we should forthwith repeat 
 
 A Pater and an Ave^ with the hymn 
 
 Salve Regina Cceli, for his sake. 
 
 Which said, he turned to the confessor, crossed 
 
 And reconciled himself, with decency. 
 
 Oft glancing at Saint Mary's opposite, 
 
 Where they possess, and showed in shrine to-day, 
 
 The Blessed Umbilicus of our Lord, 
 
 (A relic 't is believed no other church 
 
 In Rome can boast of) — then rose up, as brisk 
 
 Knelt down again, bent head, adapted neck. 
 
 And, with the name of Jesus on his lips. 
 
 Received the fatal blow. 
 
 " The headsman showed 
 The head to the populace. Must I avouch 
 We strangers own to disappointment here ? 
 Report pronounced him fully six feet high. 
 Youngish, considering his fifty years. 
 And, if not handsome, dignified at least. 
 Indeed, it was no face to please a wife ! 
 His friends say, this was caused by the costume : 
 He wore the dress he did the murder in. 
 That is, 2i jiist-a-Gorps of russet serge, 
 Black camisole, coarse cloak of baracan 
 (So they style here the garb of goat's-hair cloth), 
 White hat and cotton cap beneath, poor Count, 
 Preservative against the evening dews 
 During the journey from Arezzo. Well, 
 So died the man, and so his end was peace ; 
 Whence many a moral were to meditate. 
 Spada — you may bet Dandolo — is Pope ! 
 Now for the quatrain I " 
 
 No, friend, this will do ! 
 You 've sputtered into sparks. What streak comes next ? 
 A letter : Don Giacinto Arcangeli, 
 
THE BOOK AND THE RING 463 
 
 Doctor and Proctor, him I made you mark 
 
 Buckle to business in his study late, 
 
 The virtuous sire, the valiant for the truth, 
 
 Acquaints his correspondent, — Florentine, 
 
 By name Cencini, advocate as well, 
 
 Soclus and brother-in-the-devil to match, — • 
 
 A friend of Franceschini, anyhow. 
 
 And knit up with the bowels of the case, — 
 
 Acquaints him (in this paper that I touch) 
 
 How their joint effort to obtain reprieve 
 
 For Guido had so nearly nicked the nine 
 
 And ninety and one over, — folk would say, 
 
 At Tarocs, — or succeeded, — in our phrase. 
 
 To this Cencini's care I owe the Book, 
 
 The yellow thing I take and toss once more, — 
 
 How will it be, my four-years'-intimate. 
 
 When thou and I part company anon ? — 
 
 'T was he, the " whole position of the case," 
 
 Pleading and summary, were put before ; 
 
 Discreetly in my Book he bound them all. 
 
 Adding some three epistles to the point. 
 
 Here is the first of these, part fresh as penned, 
 
 The sand, that dried the ink, not rubbed away. 
 
 Though penned the day whereof it tells the deed : 
 
 Part — extant just as plainly, you know where, 
 
 Whence came the other stuff, went, you know how, 
 
 To make the Ring that 's all but round and done. 
 
 " Late they arrived, too late, egregious Sir, 
 Those same justificative points you urge 
 Might benefit His Blessed Memory 
 Count Guido Franceschini now with God : 
 Since the Court, — to state things succinctly, — styled 
 The Congregation of the Governor, 
 Having resolved on Tuesday last our cause 
 I' the guilty sense, with death for punishment. 
 Spite of all pleas by me deducible 
 In favor of said Blessed Memory, — 
 I, with expenditure of pains enough, 
 Obtained a respite, leave to claim and prove 
 Exemption from the law's award, — alleged 
 The ])ower and privilege o' the Clericate : 
 To which effect a courier was dispatched. 
 But ere an answer from Arezzo came, 
 The Holiness of our Lord the Pope (prepare I) 
 
464 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Judging it inexpedient to postpone 
 
 The execution of such sentence passed, 
 
 Saw fit, by his particular chirograph. 
 
 To derogate, dispense with privilege, 
 
 And wink at any hurt accruing thence 
 
 To Mother Church through damage of her son : 
 
 Also, to overpass and set aside 
 
 That other plea on score of tender age. 
 
 Put forth by me to do Pasquini good, 
 
 One of the four in trouble with our friend. 
 
 So that all five, to-day, have suffered death 
 
 With no distinction save in dying, — he, 
 
 Decollate by mere due of privilege, 
 
 The rest hanged decently and in order. Thus 
 
 Came the Count to his end of gallant man. 
 
 Defunct in faith and exemplarity : 
 
 Nor shall the shield of his great House lose shine 
 
 Thereby, nor its blue banner blush to red. 
 
 This, too, should yield sustainment to our hearts — 
 
 He had commiseration and respect 
 
 In his decease from universal Rome, 
 
 Quantum est hominuni venustiorum, 
 
 The nice and cultivated everywhere : 
 
 Though, in respect of me his advocate, 
 
 Needs must I groan o'er my debility, 
 
 Attribute the untoward event o' the strife 
 
 To nothing but my own crass ignorance 
 
 Which failed to set the valid reasons forth, 
 
 Find fit excuse : such is the fate of war ! 
 
 May God compensate us the direful blow 
 
 By future blessings on his family 
 
 Whereof I lowly beg the next commands ; 
 
 — Whereto, as humbly, I confirm myself "... 
 
 And so forth, — follow name and place and date. 
 On next leaf — 
 
 " Hactenus senior ibus ! 
 There, old fox, show the clients t' other side 
 And keep this corner sacred, I beseech ! 
 You and your pleas and proofs were what folk call 
 Pisan assistance, aid that comes too late. 
 Saves a man dead as nail in post of door. 
 Had I but time and space for narrative ! 
 What was the good of twenty Clericates 
 When Somebody's thick headpiece once was bent 
 On seeing Guido's drop into the bag ? 
 
THE BOOK AND THE RING ^05 
 
 How these old men like giving youth a push I 
 
 So much the hetter : next push goes to him, 
 
 And a new Pope begins the century. 
 
 Much good I get by my superb defence ! 
 
 But argument is solid and subsists, 
 
 Wliile obstinacy and ineptitude 
 
 Accompany the owner to his tomb ; 
 
 What do I care how soon ? Beside, folks see ! 
 
 Rome will have relished heartily the show, 
 
 Yet understood the motives, never fear, 
 
 Which caused the indecent change o' the People's Place 
 
 To the People's Playground, — stigmatize the spite 
 
 Which in a trice precipitated things ! 
 
 As oft the moribund will give a kick 
 
 To show they are not absolutely dead, 
 
 So feebleness i' the socket shoots its last, 
 
 A spirt of violence for energy ! 
 
 " But thou, Cencini, brother of my breast, 
 
 fox, whose home is 'mid the tender grape. 
 Whose couch in Tuscany by Themis' throne, 
 Subject to no such . . . best I shut my mouth 
 Or only open it again to say, 
 
 This pother and confusion fairly laid. 
 
 My hands are empty and my satchel lank. 
 
 Now then for both the JVIatrimonial Cause 
 
 And the case of Gomez ! Serve them hot and hot ! 
 
 " Rellfiiia dlfferamus in crastinum ! 
 The impatient estafette cracks whip outside : 
 Still, though the earth should swallow him who swears 
 And me who make the mischief, in must slip — 
 My boy, your godson, fat-chaps Hyacinth, 
 Enjoyed the sight while Papa plodded here. 
 
 1 promised him, the rogue, a month ago, 
 The day his birthday was, of all the days. 
 That if I failed to save Count Guido's head, 
 Cinuccio should at least go see it chopped 
 
 From trunk — ' So, latinize your thanks I ' quoth I, 
 * That I prefer, hoc mailing raps me out 
 The rogue : you notice the subjunctive ? Ah ! 
 Accordingly he sat there, bold in box, 
 Proud as the Pope behind the peacock-fans : 
 Whereon a certain lady-patroness 
 For whom I manage things (my boy in front, 
 Her Marquis sat the third in evidence ; 
 
i6Q THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Boys have no eyes nor ears save for the show) 
 
 ' This time, Cintino,' was her sportive word, 
 When whiz and thump went axe and mowed lay man, 
 And folk could fall to the suspended chat, 
 
 ' This time, you see, Bottini rules the roast, 
 Nor can Papa with all his eloquence 
 Be reckoned on to help as heretofore ! ' 
 Whereat Cinone pouts ; then, sjDarkishly — 
 
 ' Papa knew better than aggi^ieve his Pope, 
 And balk him of his grudge against our Count, 
 Else he 'd have argued-off Bottini's ' . . . what ? 
 
 * His nose,' — the rogue ! well parried of the boy ! 
 He 's long since out of Caesar (eight years old) 
 And as for tripping in Eutropius . . . well. 
 Reason the more that we strain every nerve 
 To do him justice, mould a model-mouth, 
 A Bartolus-cum-Baldo for next age : 
 For that I purse the pieces, work the brain, 
 And want both Gomez and the marriage-case, 
 Success with which shall plaster aught of pate 
 That 's broken in me by Bottini's flail, 
 And bruise his own, belike, that wags and brags. 
 Adverti supplico hiimiliter 
 Quod, don't the fungus see, the fop divine 
 That one hand drives two horses, left and right ? 
 With this rein did I rescue from the ditch 
 The fortune of our Franceschini, keep 
 Unsplashed the credit of a noble House, 
 And set the fashionable cause at Rome 
 A-prancing till bystanders shouted ' 'ware ! ' 
 The other rein's judicious management 
 Suffered old Somebody to keep the pace, 
 Hobblingly play the roadster : who but he 
 Had his opinion, was not led by the nose 
 In leash of quibbles strung to look like law ! 
 You '11 soon see, — when I go to pay devoir 
 And compliment him on confuting me, — 
 If, by a back-swing of the pendulum, 
 Grace be not, thick and threefold, consequent 
 
 ' I must decide as 1 see proper, Don ! 
 I 'm Pope, I have my inward lights for guide. 
 Had learning been the matter in dispute, 
 Could eloquence avail to gainsay fact, 
 Yours were the victory, be comforted ! ' 
 Cinuzzo will be gainer by it all. 
 Quick then with Gomez, hot and hot next case ! " 
 
THE BOOK AND THE RING 467 
 
 Follows, a letter, takes the other side. 
 
 Tall blue-eyed Fisc whose head is capped with cloud, 
 
 Doctor Bottini, — to no matter who. 
 
 Writes on the Monday two days afterward. 
 
 Now shall the honest championship of right, 
 
 Crowned with success, enjoy at last, unblamed, 
 
 Moderate triumph ! Now shall eloquence 
 
 Poured forth in fancied floods for virtue's sake, 
 
 (The print is sorrowfully dyked and dammed, 
 
 But shows where fain the unbridled force would flow, 
 
 Finding a channel) — now shall this refresh 
 
 The thirsty donor with a drop or two I 
 
 Here has been truth at issue with a lie : 
 
 Let who gained truth the day have handsome pride 
 
 In his own prowess ! Eh ? What ails the man ? 
 
 " Well, it is over, ends as I foresaw : 
 Easily proved, Pompilia's innocence ! 
 Catch them entrusting Guido's guilt to me 
 Who had as usual, the plain truth to plead. 
 I always knew the clearness of the stream 
 Would show the fish so thoroughly, child might prong 
 The clumsy monster : with no mud to splash. 
 Small credit to lynx-eye and lightning-spear ! 
 This Guido, — (much sport he contrived to make, 
 Who at first twist, preamble of the cord. 
 Turned white, told all, like the poltroon he was !) — 
 Finished, as you expect, a penitent. 
 Fully confessed his crime, and made amends. 
 And, edifying Rome last Saturday, 
 Died like a saint, poor devil ! That 's the man 
 The gods still give to my antagonist : 
 Imagine how Arcangeli claps wing 
 And crows ! ' Such formidable facts to face, 
 So naked to attack, my client here, 
 And yet I kept a month the Fisc at bay. 
 And in the end had foiled him of the prize 
 By this arch-stroke, this plea of privilege. 
 But that the Pope must gratify his whim. 
 Put in his word, poor old man, — let it pass ! * 
 — Such is the cue to which all Rome responds. 
 What with the plain truth given me to uphold. 
 And, should I let truth slip, the Pope at hand 
 To pick up, steady her on legs again. 
 My oftice turns a pleasantry indeed.' 
 
468 . THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Not that the burly boaster did one jot 
 
 O' the little was to do — young Spreti's work ! 
 
 But for him, — manikin and dandiprat, 
 
 Mere candle-end and inch of cleverness 
 
 Stuck on Arcangeli's save-all, — but for him 
 
 The spruce young Spreti, what is bad were worse ! 
 
 " I looked that Rome should have the natural gird 
 At advocate with case that proves itself ; 
 I knew Arcangeli would grin and brag : 
 But what say you to one impertinence 
 Might move a stone ? That monk, you are to know, 
 That barefoot Augustinian whose report 
 O' the dying woman's words did detriment 
 To my best points it took the freshness from, 
 — That meddler preached to purpose yesterday 
 At San Lorenzo as a winding-up 
 O' the show which proved a treasure to the church. 
 Out comes his sermon smoking from the press : 
 Its text — ' Let God be true, and every man 
 A liar ' — and its application, this, 
 The longest-winded of the paragraphs, 
 I straight unstitch, tear out and treat you with : 
 'T is piping hot and posts through Rome to-day. 
 Remember it, as I engage to do ! 
 
 " But if you rather be disposed to see 
 In the result of the long trial here, — 
 This dealing doom to guilt and doling praise 
 To innocency, — any proof that truth 
 May look for vindication from the world, 
 Much will you have misread the signs, I say. 
 God, who seems acquiescent in the main 
 With those who add ' So will he ever sleep ' ^ 
 Flutters their foolishness from time to time, 
 Puts forth his right-hand recognizably ; 
 Even as, to fools who deem he needs must right 
 Wrong on the instant, as if earth were heaven. 
 He wakes remonstrance — ' Passive, Lord, how long ? ' 
 Because Pompilia's purity prevails, 
 Conclude you, all truth triumphs in the end ? 
 So might those old inhabitants of the ark, 
 Witnessing haply their dove's safe return. 
 Pronounce there was no danger, all the while 
 O' the deluge, to the creature's counterparts, 
 
THE BOOK AND THE RING 469 
 
 Aught that beat wing i' the world, was white or soft, — 
 And that the lark, the thrush, the culver too, 
 Might equally have traversed air, found earth. 
 And brouofht back olive-branch in unharmed bill. 
 Methinks 1 hear the Patriarch's warning voice — 
 
 * Though this one breast, by miracle, return, 
 No wave rolls by, in all the waste, but bears 
 Within it some dead dove-like thing as dear. 
 Beauty made blank and harmlessness destroyed ! ' 
 How many chaste and noble sister-fames 
 Wanted the extricating hand, so lie 
 Strangled, for one Pompilia proud above 
 
 The welter, plucked from the world's calumny, 
 Stupidity, simplicity, — who cares ? 
 
 " Romans ! An elder race possessed your land 
 Long ago, and a false faith lingered still. 
 As shades do, though the morning-star be out. 
 Doubtless some pagan of the twilight-day 
 Has often pointed to a cavern-mouth. 
 Obnoxious to beholders, hard by Rome, 
 And said, — nor he a bad man, no, nor fool, — 
 Only a man born blind like all his mates, — 
 
 * Here skulk in safety, lurk, defying law, 
 The devotees to execrable creed. 
 
 Adoring — with what culture . . . Jove, avert 
 
 Thy vengeance from us worshippers of thee ! . . . 
 
 What rites obscene — their idol-god an Ass ! ' 
 
 So went the word forth, so acceptance found. 
 
 So century re-echoed century. 
 
 Cursed the accursed, — and so, from sire to son. 
 
 You Romans cried, ' The offscourings of our race, 
 
 Corrupt within the depths there : fitly fiends 
 
 Perform a temple-service o'er the dead : 
 
 Child, gather garment round thee, pass nor pry ! ' 
 
 Thus groaned your generations : till the time 
 
 Grew ripe, and lightning had revealed, belike, — 
 
 Through crevice peeped into by curious fear, — 
 
 Some object even fear could recognize 
 
 I' the place of spectres ; on the illumined wall. 
 
 To wit, some nook, tradition talks about, 
 
 Narrow and short, a corpse's length, no more : 
 
 And by it, in the due receptacle. 
 
 The little rude brown lamp of earthenware, 
 
 The cruse, was meant for flowers, but now held blood, 
 
 The rough-scratched palm-branch, and the legend left 
 
470 THE B.ING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Pro Christo. Then the mystery lay clear : 
 
 The abhorred one was a martyr all the time, 
 
 Heaven's saint whereof earth was not worthy. What ? 
 
 Do you continue in the old belief ? 
 
 Where blackness bides unbroke, must devils brood ? 
 
 Is it so certain not another cell 
 
 O' the myriad that make up the catacomb. 
 
 Contains some saint a second flash would show ? 
 
 Will you ascend into the light of day 
 
 And, having recognized a martyr's shrine. 
 
 Go join the votaries that gape around 
 
 Each vulgar god that awes the market-place ? 
 
 Are these the objects of your praising 'i See I 
 
 In the outstretched right hand of AjdoIIo, there. 
 
 Lies screened a scorpion : housed amid the folds 
 
 Of Juno's mantle lurks a centipede ! 
 
 Each statue of a god were fitlier styled 
 
 Demon and devil. Glorify no brass 
 
 That shines like burnished gold in noonday glare, 
 
 For fools ! Be otherwise instructed, you ! 
 
 And preferably ponder, ere ye judge, 
 
 Each incident of this strange human play 
 
 Privily acted on a theatre. 
 
 That seemed secure from every gaze but God's, — 
 
 Till, of a sudden, earthquake laid wall low 
 
 And let the world perceive wild work inside, 
 
 And how, in petrifaction of surprise, 
 
 The actors stood, — raised arm and planted foot, — 
 
 Mouth as it made, eye as it evidenced. 
 
 Despairing shriek, triumphant hate, — transfixed. 
 
 Both he who takes and she who yields the life. 
 
 " As ye become spectators of this scene — 
 Watch obscuration of a pearl-pure fam.e 
 By vapory films, enwoven circumstance, 
 — A soul made weak by its pathetic want 
 Of just the first apprenticeship to sin. 
 Which thencefortli makes the sinning soul secure 
 From all foes save itself, soul's truliest foe, — 
 Since egg turned snake needs fear no serpentry, — 
 As ye behold this web of circumstance 
 Deepen the more for every thrill and throe, 
 Convulsive effort to disperse the fdms 
 And disenmesh the fame o' the martyr, — mark 
 How all those means, the unfriended one pursues, 
 To keep the treasure trusted to her breast. 
 
THE BOOK AND THE RING 471 
 
 Each struggle in the flight from death to life, 
 
 How all, by procuration of the powers 
 
 Of darkness, are transformed, — no single ray, 
 
 Shot forth to show and save the inmost star, 
 
 But, passed as through hell's prism, proceeding black 
 
 To the world that hates white : as ye watch, I say, 
 
 Till dusk and such defacement grow eclipse 
 
 By — marvellous perversity of man ! — 
 
 The inadequacy and inaptitude 
 
 Of that selfsame machine, that very law 
 
 Man vaunts, devised to dissipate the gloom, 
 
 Rescue the drowning orb from calumny, 
 
 — Hear law, appointed to defend the just. 
 
 Submit, for best defence, that wickedness 
 
 Was bred of flesh and innate with the bone 
 
 Borne by Pompilia's spirit for a space. 
 
 And no mere chance fault, passionate and brief : 
 
 Finally, when ye find, — after this touch 
 
 Of man's protection which intends to mar 
 
 The last pin-point of light and damn the disc, — 
 
 One wave of the hand of God amid the worlds 
 
 Bid vapor vanish, darkness flee away. 
 
 And let the vexed star culminate in peace 
 
 Approachable no more by earthly mist — 
 
 What I call God's hand, — you, perhaps, — mere chanc ; 
 
 Of the true instinct of an old good man 
 
 Who happens to hate darkness and love light, — 
 
 In whom too was the eye that saw, not dim, 
 
 The natural force to do the thing he saw, 
 
 Nowise abated, — both by miracle, — 
 
 All this well pondered, — I demand assent 
 
 To the enunciation of my text 
 
 In face of one proof more that ' God is true 
 
 And every man a liar ' — that who trusts 
 
 To human testimony for a fact 
 
 Gets this sole fact — himself is proved a fool ; 
 
 Man's speech being false, if but by consequence 
 
 That only strength is true ! while man is weak. 
 
 And, since truth seems reserved for heaven not earth, 
 
 Plagued here by earth's prerogative of lies, 
 
 Should learn to love and long for what, one day, 
 
 Approved by life's probation, he may speak. 
 
 " For me, the weary and worn, who haply prompt 
 To mirth or pity, as I move the mood, — 
 A friar who glides unnoticed to the grave, 
 
472 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 With these bare feet, coarse robe and rope-girt waist, •— • 
 
 I have long since renounced your world, ye know : 
 
 Yet what forbids I weigh the prize foregone, 
 
 The worldly worth ? I dare, as I were dead, 
 
 Disinterestedly judge this and that 
 
 Good ye account good : but God tries the heart. 
 
 Still, if you question me of my content 
 
 At having put each human pleasure by, 
 
 I answer, at the urgency of truth : 
 
 As this world seems, I dare not say I know 
 
 — Apart from Christ's assurance which decides — 
 Whether I have not failed to taste much ioy. 
 
 For many a doubt will fain perturb my choice — 
 
 Many a dream of life spent otherwise — 
 
 How human love, in varied shapes, might work 
 
 As glory, or as rapture, or as grace : 
 
 How conversancy with the books that teach. 
 
 The arts that help, — how, to grow good and great, 
 
 Rather than simply good, and bring thereby 
 
 Goodness to breathe and live, nor, born i' the brain. 
 
 Die there, — how these and many another gift 
 
 Of life are precious though abjured by me. 
 
 But, for one prize, best meed of mightiest man, 
 
 Arch-object of ambition, — earthly praise, 
 
 Repute o* the world, the flourish of loud trump, 
 
 The softer social fluting, — Oh, for these, 
 
 — No, my friends ! Fame, — that bubble which, world-wide 
 Each blows and bids his neighbor lend a breath, 
 
 That so he haply may behold thereon 
 One more enlarged distorted false fool's-face, 
 Until some glassy nothing grown as big 
 Send by a touch the imperishable to suds, — ■ 
 No, in renouncing fame, my loss was light, 
 Choosing obscurity, my chance was well ! " 
 
 Didst ever touch such ampollosity 
 As the monk's own bubble, let alone its spite ? 
 What 's his speech for, but just the fame he flouts ? 
 How he dares reprehend both high and low, 
 Nor stoops to turn the sentence " God is true 
 And every man a liar — save the Pope 
 Happily reigning — my respects to him ! " 
 And so round off the period. Molinism 
 Simple and pure ! To what pitch get we next ? 
 I find that, for first pleasant consequence, 
 
THE BOOK AND THE RING 473 
 
 Gomez, who had intended to appeal 
 From the absurd decision of the Court, 
 Declines, though plain enough his privilege, 
 To call on help from lawyers any more — 
 Resolves earth's liars may possess the world, 
 Till God have had sufficiency of both : 
 So may I whistle for my job and fee ! 
 
 But, for this virulent and rabid monk, — 
 
 If law be an inadequate machine, 
 
 And advocacy, froth anct impotence. 
 
 We shall soon see, my blatant brother I That 's 
 
 Exactly what I hope to show your sort I 
 
 For, by a veritable piece of luck, 
 
 The providence, you monks round period with, 
 
 All may be gloriously retrieved. Perpend ! 
 
 That Monastery of the Convertites 
 
 Whereto the Court consigned Pompilia first, 
 
 — Observe, if convertite, why, sinner then. 
 Or what 's the pertinency of award ? — 
 And whither she was late returned to die, 
 
 — Still in their jurisdiction, mark again ! — 
 That thrifty Sisterhood, for perquisite. 
 Claims every piece whereof may die possessed 
 Each sinner in the circuit of its walls. 
 
 Now, this Pompilia seeing that, by death 
 
 O' the couple, all their wealth devolved on her, 
 
 Straight utilized the respite ere decease. 
 
 By regular conveyance of the goods 
 
 She thought her own, to will and to devise, — 
 
 Gave all to friends, Tighetti and the like. 
 
 In trust for him she held her son and heir, 
 
 Gaetano, — trust which ends with infancy : 
 
 So willing and devising, since assured 
 
 The justice of the Court would presently 
 
 Confirm her in her rights and exculpate, 
 
 Ke-integrate and rehabilitate — 
 
 Place her as, through my pleading, now she stands. 
 
 But here 's the capital mistake : the Court 
 
 Found Guido guilty, — but pronounced no word 
 
 About the innocency of his wife : 
 
 I grounded charge on broader base, I hope ! 
 
 No matter whether wife be true or false, 
 
 The husband must not push aside the law. 
 
 And punish of a sudden : that 's the point : 
 
 Gather from out my speech the contrary ! 
 
474 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 It follows that Pompilia, unrelieved 
 By formal sentence from imputed fault, 
 Remains unfit to have and to dispose 
 Of property which law provides shall lapse : 
 Wherefore tlie Monastery claims its due. 
 And whose, pray, whose the office, but the Fisc's ? 
 Who but I institute procedure next 
 Against the person of dishonest life, 
 Pompilia, whom last week I sainted so ? 
 I it is teach the monk what scripture means, 
 And that the tongue should prove a two-edged sword. 
 No axe sliarp one side, blunt the other way. 
 Like what amused the town at Guido's cost ! 
 Astrcea redicx, ! I 've a second chance 
 Before the selfsame Court o' the Governor 
 Who soon shall see volte-face and chop, change sides. 
 Accordingly, I charge you on your life, 
 Send me with all dispatch the judgment late 
 O' the Florence Rota Court, confirmative 
 O' the prior judgment at Arezzo, clenched 
 Again by the Granducal signature, 
 Wherein Pompilia is convicted, doomed. 
 And only destined to escape through flight 
 The proper punishment. Send me the piece, — 
 I '11 work it ! And this foul-mouthed friar shall find 
 His Noah's-dove that brought the olive back 
 Turn into quite the other sooty scout, 
 The raven, Noah first put forth the ark. 
 Which never came back, but ate carcasses ! 
 No adequate machinery in law ? 
 No power of life and death i' the learned tongue ? 
 Methinks I am already at my speech. 
 Startle the world with " Thou, Pompilia, thus ? 
 How is the fine gold of the Temple dim ! " 
 And so forth. But the courier bids me close, 
 And clip away one joke that runs through Rome, 
 Side by side with the sermon which I send. 
 How like the heartlessness of the old hunks 
 Arcangeli ! His Count is hardly cold. 
 The client whom his blunders sacrificed. 
 When somebody must needs describe the scene — 
 How the procession ended at the church 
 That boasts the famous relic : quoth our brute, 
 " Why, that 's just Martial's phrase for ' make an end ' ■ 
 Ad umhllicum sic perventum est ! " 
 The callous dog, — let who will cut off head, 
 
THE BOOK AND THE RING 475 
 
 He cuts a joke, and cares no more than so ! 
 
 I think my speech shall modify his mirth : 
 
 How is the fine gold dim ! " — but send the piece ! 
 
 Alack, Bottini, what is my next word 
 But death to all that hope ? The Instrument 
 Is plain before me, print that ends my Book 
 With the definitive verdict of the Court, 
 Dated September, six months afterward, 
 (Such trouble and so long the old Pope gave !) 
 " In restitution of the perfect fame 
 Of dead Pompilia, quondam Guido's wife, 
 And warrant to her representative 
 Domenico Tighetti, barred hereby. 
 While doing duty in his guardianship, 
 From all molesting, all disquietude. 
 Each perturbation and vexation brought 
 Or threatened to be brought against the heir 
 By the Most Venerable Convent called 
 Saint Mary Magdalen o' the Convertites 
 I' the Corso." 
 
 Justice done a second time ! 
 Well judged. Marc Antony, Locum-tenens 
 O' the Governor, a Venturini too ! 
 For which I save thy name, — 'last of the list ! 
 
 Next year but one, completing his nine years 
 
 Of rule in Rome, died Innocent my Pope 
 
 — By some account, on his accession-day. 
 
 If he thought doubt would do the next age good, 
 
 'T is pity he died unapprised what birth 
 
 His reign may boast of, be remembered by — 
 
 Terrible Pope, too, of a kind, — Voltaire. 
 
 And so an end of all i' the story. Strain 
 Never so much my eyes, I miss the mark 
 If lived or died that Gaetano, child 
 Of Guido and Pompilia : only find. 
 Immediately upon his father's death, 
 A record, in the annals of the town — 
 That Porzia, sister of our Guido, moved 
 The Priors of Arezzo and their head 
 Its Gonfalonier to give loyally 
 A public attestation of the right 
 O' the Franceschini to all reverence — 
 
476 THE RING AND THE BOOK 
 
 Apparently because of the incident 
 
 O' the murder, — there 's no mention made o' the crime, 
 But what else could have caused such urgency 
 To cure the mob, just then, of greediness 
 For scandal, love of lying vanity, 
 And appetite to swallow crude reports 
 That bring annoyance to their betters ? — bane 
 Which, here, was promptly met by antidote. 
 I like and shall translate the eloquence 
 Of nearly the worst Latin ever writ : 
 " Since antique time whereof the memory 
 Holds the beginning, to this present hour. 
 The Franceschini ever shone, and shine 
 Still i' the primary rank, supreme amid 
 The lustres of Arezzo, proud to own 
 In this great family, the flag-bearer. 
 Guide of her steps and guardian against foe, — 
 As in the first beginning, so to-day ! " 
 There, would you disbelieve the annalist. 
 Go rather by the babble of a bard ? 
 I thought, Arezzo, thou hadst fitter souls, 
 Petrarch, — nay, Buonarroti at a pinch, 
 To do thee credit as vexillifer ! 
 Was it mere mirth the Patavinian meant. 
 Making thee out, in his veracious page. 
 Founded by Janus of the Double Face ? 
 
 Well, proving of such perfect parentage, 
 
 Our Gaetano, born of love and hate. 
 
 Did the babe live or die ? I fain would find ! 
 
 What were his fancies if he grew a man ? 
 
 Was he proud, — a true scion of the stock 
 
 Which bore the blazon, shall make bright my page — 
 
 Shield, Azure, on a Triple Mountain, Or, 
 
 A Palm-tree, Proper, whereunto is tied 
 
 A Grayhound, Rampant, striving in the slips ? 
 
 Or did he love his mother, the base-born, 
 
 And fight i' the ranks, unnoticed by the world ? 
 
 Such, then, the final state o' the story. So 
 Did the Star Wormwood in a blazing fall 
 Friohten awhile the waters and lie lost. 
 So did this old woe fade from memory : 
 Till after, in the fulness of the days, 
 I needs must find an ember yet unquenched, 
 And, breathing, blow the spark to flame. It lives, 
 If precious be the soul of man to man. 
 
THE BOOK AND THE RING 477 
 
 So, British Public, who may like me yet, 
 (Marry and amen !) learn one lesson hence 
 Of many which whatever lives should teach : 
 This lesson, that our human speech is nought, 
 Our human testimony false, our fame 
 And human estimation words and wind. 
 Why take the artistic way to prove so much ? 
 Because, it is the glory and good of Art, 
 That Art remains the one way possible 
 Of speaking truth, to mouths like mine at least. 
 How look a brother in the face and say, 
 ' Thy right is wrong, eyes hast thou yet art blind ; 
 Thine ears are stuffed and stopped, despite their length: 
 And, oh, the foolishness thou countest faith ! " 
 Say this as silverly as tongue can troll — 
 The anger of the man may be endured. 
 The shrug, the disappointed eyes of him 
 Are not so bad to bear — but here 's the plague 
 That all this trouble comes of telling truth. 
 Which truth, by when it reaches him, looks false. 
 Seems to be just the thing it would supplant. 
 Nor recognizable by whom it left : 
 While falsehood would have done the work of truth. 
 But Art, — wherein man nowise speaks to men. 
 Only to mankind, — Art may tell a truth 
 Obliquely, do the thing shall breed the thought. 
 Nor wrong the thought, missing the mediate word. 
 So may you paint your picture, twice show truth. 
 Beyond mere imagery on the wall, — 
 So, note by note, bring music from your mind. 
 Deeper than ever e'en Beethoven dived, — 
 So write a book shall mean beyond the facts, 
 Suffice the eye and save the soul beside. 
 
 And save the soul ! If this intent save mine, — 
 If the rough ore be rounded to a ring, 
 Render all duty which good ring should do. 
 And, failing grace, succeed in guardianship, — 
 Might mine but lie outside thine. Lyric Love, 
 Thy rare gold ring of verse (the poet praised) 
 Linking our England to his Italy !