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, (460)
Till times, that could not well grow worse, should mend.
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 (470)
“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 neighbourliness, the companionship,
“The treat and feast when holidays came round,
“The daily feast that seemed no treat at all, (480)
“Called common by the uncommon fools we were!
“Even the sun 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 recognised of true novercal type, (490)
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And formal habits long since out of date,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 up by way of change?
Dispose himself for affability?
The malapert, too complaisant by half (500)
To the alarmed young novice of a bride!
Let him go buzz, betake himself elsewhere
Nor singe his fly-wings in the candle-flame!
Dog-snap and cat-claw, curse and counterblast,
The devil’s self had been 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, (510)
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, they struck tent, marched:
—Renounced their share o’ the bargain, flung what dues
Guido was bound to pay, in Guido’s face, (521)
Left their hearts’- darling, treasure of the twain
And so forth, the poor inexperienced bride,
To her own devices, bade Arezzo rot
And the life signorial, and sought Rome once more.
“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, (530)
“Lead his own life now, henceforth breathe unplagued.”
Could he? You know the sex like Guido’s self.
Learn the Violante-nature!
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, announced a boon
Should make us bless the fact, held Jubilee— (540)
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: (550)
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 a Rome,
Down in the deepest of our social dregs, (560)
A woman who professed the wanton’s trade
Under the requisite thin coverture,
Communis 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
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