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,
And out of the wide world a single friend—
What could she other than resort to him, (480)
And how with any hope resort but thus?
Shall modesty dare bid a stranger brave
Danger, disgrace, nay death in her behalf—
Think to entice the sternness of the steel
Save by the magnet moves the manly mind?
—Most of all 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. (490)
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:
He dare to love, who may be Pope one day?
Suppose this man could love, though, all the same—
From what embarrassment she sets him free
Should one, a woman he could love, speak first— (500)
“’Tis I who break reserve, begin appeal,
“Confess that, whether you love me or no,
“I love you!” 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!
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, (510)
Rubbish o’ the rock, some diamond, muckworms prize,
Or pearl secreted by a sickly fish?
Scarcely! She caters for a generous taste.
’Tis 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!
I hope you heard my adversary ring
The changes on this precept: now, let me (520)
Reverse the peal! Quia dato licito fine,
Ad illum assequendum ordinata
Non sunt damnanda media,—licit end
Enough was the escape from death, I hope,
To legalise the means illicit else
Of feigned love, false allurement, fancied fact.
Thus Venus losing Cupid on a day,
(See that Idyllium Moschi) seeking help,
In the anxiety of motherhood,
Allowably promised “Who shall bring report (530)
“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 (540)
To catch and keep the man may save her life,
Whom otherwise nor catches she nor keeps!
Worst, once, is best now: in all faith, she feigns:
Feigning—the liker innocence to guilt,
The truer to the life is 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 (550)
To whoso gropes amid the dung for gold.
That promise was not simply made to break,—
No moonshine- structure meant to fade at dawn:
So call—(proofs consequent and requisite)—
What enemies allege of—more than words,
Deeds—meeting at the window, twilight-tryst,
Nocturnal entertainment in the dim
Old labyrinthine palace; lies, we know—
Inventions we, long since, turned inside out, (560)
Would such external semblance of intrigue
Demonstrate that intrigue must lurk perdue?
Does every hazel-sheath disclose a nut?
He were a Molinist who dared maintain
That midnight meetings 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.
Pompilia took not Judith’s liberty, (570)
No faulchion find you in her hand to smite,—
No damsel to convey the head in dish,
Of Holophernes,—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?(580)
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 serpents 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! Evidence shall be,
Some witness to the world how white she walks (590)
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 hope we still can punish
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