And make it worth his while he had the right
And not the wrong i’ the matter judged at Rome.
Inadequate her punishment, no less
Punished in some slight sort his wife had been;
Then, punished for adultery, what else? (1280)
On such admitted crime he thought to seize,
And institute procedure in the courts
Which cut corruption of this kind from man,
Cast loose a wife proved loose and castaway:
He claimed in due form a divorce at least.
Pompilia sought divorce from bed and board
Of Guido, whose outrageous cruelty,
Whose mother’s malice and whose brother’s hate
Were just the white o’ the charge, such dreadful depths (1290)
Blackened its centre,—hints of worse than hate,
Love from that brother, by that Guido’s guile,
That mother’s prompting. Such reply was made,
So was the engine loaded, wound up, sprung
On Guido, who received the bolt 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, (1300)
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 scorpion nip,
And never mind till he contorts his tail!
But there was sting i’ the creature; thus it struck.
Guido had thought in his simplicity—
That lying declaration of remorse,
That story of the child which was no child (1310)
And motherhood no motherhood at all,
—That even this sin might have its sort of good
Inasmuch as no question could be more,
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 still his wife: to plead right now
Were to declare the abjuration false:
He was relieved from any fear henceforth
Their hands might touch, their breath defile again (1320)
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,—
Rendering 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! (1330)
She had demanded—had obtained indeed,
By intervention of whatever friends
Or perhaps lovers—(beauty in distress
In one whose tale is the town-talk beside,
Never lacks friendship’s arm about her neck)—
Not freedom, scarce remitted penalty,
Solely the transfer to some private place
Where better air, more light, new food might be—
Incarcerated (call it, all the same)
At some sure friend’s house she must keep inside, (1340)
Be found in at requirement fast enough,—
Domus 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 and entertain.
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 (1350)
So long as Guido could be robbed thereby,
And only fell back on relationship
And found their daughter safe and sound again
So soon as that might 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. (1360)
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, (1370)
Found that a friend’s abode was pleasanter
Than relegation, penance, and the rest.
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 why a convent wants the cheerful hearts
And helpful hands which female straits require, (1380)
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. (1390)
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
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