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? (1400)
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!”
Knocked at the door,—“Who is it knocks?” cried one.
“I will make,” surely Guido’s angel said,
“One final essay, last experiment,
“Speak the word, name the name from out all names
“Which, if,—as doubtless strong illusions are, (1410)
“And strange disguisings whence even truth seems false,
“And, for I am a 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 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 neighbour, even a belated man,
“ ‘Much less your husband’s friend, your husband’s self:’
“At such appeal the door is bound to ope. (1421)
“But I will say”—here’s rhetoric and to spare!
Why, Sir, the stumbling- block is cursed and kicked,
Block though it be; the name that brought offence
Will bring offence: the burnt child dreads the fire
Although that fire feed on a taper-wick
Which never left the altar nor singed 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. (1430)
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 again
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 imprisoned yesternight
O’ the day all this was. (1440)
And how the old couple come to lie in state
Though hacked to pieces,—never, the experts 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’ll hope,
To somewhat purify her putrid soul
By full confession, make so much amends
While time lasts; since at day’s end die she must. (1450)
The hero of the adventure, who so fit
To tell it in the coming Carnival?
’Twill 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, the most unromantic spouse,
No longer fit to laugh at since the blood (1460)
Gave the broad farce an all too brutal air,
Why, he and those our 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!
“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, (1470)
Master or men—touch one hair of the five,
Then I say in the name of all that’s left
Of honour in Rome, civility i’ the world
Whereof Rome boasts herself the central source,—
There’s an end to all hope of justice more.
Astræa’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 see,
This crowd of miseries make the man a mark, (1480)
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,
“Of the male-Grissel or the 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 (1490)
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
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