BOOK VI., GIUSEPPE CAPONSACCHI.--The court now hears the story of

Caponsacchi: he has been sent for to repeat the evidence which he gave on a former occasion, and to counsel the court in this extremity. It was six months ago, he says, that in the very place where he now stands, he told the facts, at which they decorously laughed, the stifled titter that so plainly meant "We have been young too,--come, there's greater guilt!" Now they are grave enough,--they stare aghast; as for himself, in this sudden smoke from hell he hardly knows if he understands anything aright. He asks why are they surprised at the ending of a deed whose beginning they had seen? He had his grasp on Guido's throat; they had interfered, they saw no peril, wanted no priest's intrusion; he had given place to law, left Pompilia to them,--and there and thus she lies! What do they want with him? he asks: is it that they understand at last it was consistent with his priesthood to endeavour to save Pompilia? It was well they had even thus late seen their error. He owns he talks to the court impertinently, yet they listen because they are Christians; and even a rag from the body of the Lord makes a man look greater, and be the better. He will be calm and tell the simple facts. He is a priest, one of their own body, and of a famous Florentine descent; he had been brought up for the priesthood from his youth, but had trembled when he came to take the vows, and would have shrunk from doing so had not the bishop quieted his qualms of conscience, and satisfied him there was an easier sense in which the vows could be taken than had appeared in his first rough reading. Nobody expected him in these days to break his back in propping up the Church: the martyrs built it; all that priests had to do now was to adorn its walls. He must therefore cultivate his gift of making madrigals, that he may please the great ladies, and make the bishop boast that he was theirs. And so he became a priest, a fribble, and a coxcomb, but a man of truth. He said his breviary and wrote the rhymes, was regular at service, and as regular at his post where beauty and fashion ruled. One night, after three or four years of this life, he found himself at the theatre with a brother Canon; he saw enter and seat herself,--

"A lady, young, tall, beautiful, strange, and sad,"

like a Rafael over an altar. As he stared, his companion the Canon said he would make her give him back his gaze; and straightway tossed a packet of comfits to her lap, and dodged behind him, nodding from over Caponsacchi's shoulder. The lady turned, looked their way, and smiled--a strange, sad smile. "Is she not fair, my new cousin?" said Canon Conti. The fellow at the back of the box is Guido; she's his wife, married three years since. He cautioned him to do nothing to make her husband treat her more cruelly than he already did; but this was not required,--the sight of Pompilia's 'wonderful white soul' shining through the sadness of her face had filled him with disgust for the frivolity and the vanity of his former life. Lent was near; he would live as became a priest. His patron, when he found him absent from the assemblies of fashion and reproved him, reproached him with playing truant, Caponsacchi said he had resolved to go to Rome, and look into his heart a little. One evening, as he sat musing over a volume of St. Thomas, contrasting his past life with that required of him by his office, his thoughts recurred to the sad, strange lady. There was a tap at the door, and a masked, muffled mystery entered with a letter; it purported to come from her to whom the comfits had been thrown, and assured him the recipient had a heart to offer him in return. Inquiring who the messenger might be, she said she was Guido's "kind of maid"; all the servants hated him, she added, and she had offered her aid to bring comfort to the sweet Pompilia. Caponsacchi said he then took pen and wrote, "No more of this!" explaining that once on a time he should not have proved so insensible to her beauty, but now he had other thoughts. Caponsacchi said that he saw Guido's mean soul grinning through this transparent trick. Next morning a second letter was brought by the same messenger; it urged him to visit the lovesick lady, and no longer cruelly delay; it declared she was wretched, that she had heard he was going to Rome, and implored him to take her with him. He asked the maid "what risk they ran of the husband?" "None at all," she answered; "he is more stupid than jealous." He took a pen and wrote that she solicited him in vain; he was a priest and had scruples. After that in many ways he was still pursued, and ever his reply was "Go your ways, temptress!" Urged to pass her window, and glance up thereat, if only once, he resolved to expose the trick and punish the Count. He went. There at the window, with a lamp in hand, stood Pompilia, grave and grief-full; like Our Lady of all the Sorrows, she was there but a moment, and then vanished. He knew she had been induced by some pretence to watch a moment on the balcony. He was about to cry, "Out with thee, Guido!" when all at once she reappeared, just on the terrace overhead; so close was she that if she bent down she could almost touch his head; and she did bend, and spoke, while he stood still, all eye, all ear. She told him that he had sent her many letters; that she had read none, for she could neither read nor write; that she was in the power of the woman who had brought them; that she had explained their purport, that she had made her listen while she told her that he, a priest, had dared to love her, a wife, because he had seen her face a single time. This wickedness she thinks cannot be true,--it were deadly to them both; but if indeed he had true love to offer, did he indeed mean good and true, she might accept his help. It was so strange, she said, that her husband, whom she had not wronged, should hate her so, should wish to harm her: for his own soul's sake would the priest hinder the harm? Then she told him how happily she had dwelt at Rome, with those dear Comparini whom she had been wont to call father and mother; she could not understand what it was that had prompted his soul to offer her his help, but, as he had done so, would he render her just aid enough to save her life with? To leave the man who hated her so were no sin. "Take me to Rome!" she cried. "You go to Rome: take me as you would take a dog!" She told him how she had turned hither and thither for aid,--to great good men, Archbishop and Governor, she had opened her heart. They only smiled: "Get you gone, fair one!" they said. In her despair she went to an old priest, a friar who confessed her; to him she told how, worse than husband's hate, she had to bear the solicitations of his young idle brother. "Write to your parents," said the friar. She said she could neither read nor write. "I will write," he promised; but no answer came. She ended with repeating her entreaty that he should take her to the Comparinis' home at Rome. Caponsacchi promised at once to do this thing for her; it was settled he should find a carriage, and the money for the purpose, and return when he had made arrangements for the flight [The messenger who had brought him the Count's letters was shown to be his mistress; the Count had forged the notes from Pompilia, and the replies thereto.] Then the priest went home to meditate on this strange matter, and the more he thought of what he had agreed to do, the more incongruous with his sacred office did it seem. Was he not wedded to the mystic bride--the Church? Did it not say to him, "Leave that live passion; come, be dead with me"? Then came the voice of God, His first authoritative word: "I had been lifted to the level of her!" he exclaimed. Now did he perceive the function of the priest: to leave her he had thought self-sacrifice; to save her, was the price demanded, and he paid it. "Duty to God is duty to her." Yet, when the morning broke, his heart whispered, "Duty is still wisdom," and the day wore on. When evening came he determined to see her again, to advise her, to bid her not despair. He went. There she stood as before, and now reproached him for not returning earlier; and when he saw her sadness, and heard her piteous pleading, he said

"Leave this home in the dark to-morrow night."

He told her the place of meeting and the way thereto, promising to be ready at the appointed time. Then he secured a carriage, made all arrangements, and, at the time agreed, Pompilia draped in black, but with the soul's whiteness shining through her veil, was there. She sprang into the carriage, he beside her--she and he alone, and so began the flight through dark to light, through day and night, again to night, once more on to the last dreadful dawn. He told the court the incidents of the weary journey,--all her weakness and her craving for rest at Rome,--how she urged him to continue, till they were at last within twelve hours of the city, and there seemed no fear of pursuit. Then he entreated her to descend and take some rest. For a while she waited at a roadside inn, nursed a woman's child, sat by the garden wall and talked, then off again refreshed. On they went till they reached Castelnuovo. "As good as Rome!" he cried. She was sleeping as he spoke, and woke with a start and scream--

"Take me no further; I should die: stay here! I have more life to save than mine!"

then swooned. The people at the inn urged him to let her rest the night with them. He could not but choose. All the night through he paced the passage, keeping guard. "Not a sound, nor movement," they said. At first pretence of gray in the sky he bade them have out the carriage, while he called to break her sleep; and as he turned to go there faced him Count Guido, as master of the field encamped, his rights challenging the world, leering in triumph, scowling with malice. He was not alone. With him were the commissary and his men. At once he was arrested. Then "Catch her!" the husband bade. That sobered Caponsacchi. "Let me lead the way!" he cried, explaining he was privileged, being a priest, and claiming his rights. Then they went to Pompilia's chamber. There she lay sleeping, "wax-white, seraphic." "Seize and bind!" hissed Guido. Pompilia started up, stood erect, face to face with her tormentor. "Away from between me and hell!" she cried. "I am God's, whose knees I clasp,--hence!" Caponsacchi tried to reach her side, but his arms were pinioned fast; the rabble poured in and took the husband's part, heaping themselves upon the priest. Springing at the sword which hung at Guido's side, she drew and brandished it. "Die, devil, in God's name!" she cried; but they closed round her, twelve to one. Then Guido began his search for the gold, the jewels, and the plate of which he declared he had been robbed, and for the amorous letters he had reason to expect to find. They could not refuse the priest's appeal to be judged by the Church, and so he was sent to Rome with Pompilia; and to separate cells in the same prison they were borne. He told his judges then that he had never touched Pompilia with his finger-tip, except to carry her that evening to her couch, and that as sacredly as priests carry the vessels of the altar. He tells the court he might have locked his lips and laughed at its jurisdiction, for when this murder happened he was a prisoner at Civita. She had only the court to trust to when Guido hacked her to pieces. He had come from his retreat as friend of the court, had told his tale for pure friendship's sake. He reminds them how in the first trial he had disproved the accusation of the letters, and the verses they contained: if any were found, it was because those who found had hidden first. Then he tells how, as in relegation he was studying verse, suddenly a thunderclap came into his solitude. The whirlwind caught him up and brought him to the room where so recently the judges had dealt out law adroitly, and he learned how Guido had upset it all. In a frank and dignified appeal to the court, he explains how it was that God had struck the spark of truth from contact between his and Pompilia's soul, daring him to try to be good and show himself above the power of show. Had they not acted as babes in their flight? Had they been criminals, was there not opportunity for sin without a flight at all? or, if it were necessary to fly, where had they stayed for sin? Had he saved Pompilia against the law?--against the law Guido slays her. Deal with him! If they say he was in love, unpriest him then; degrade, disgrace him: for himself no matter; for Pompilia let them "build churches, go pray!" They will find him there. He knows they too will come. He sees a judge weeping: he is glad--they see the truth. Pompilia helped him just so. As for the Count, he had him on the fatal morning in arms' reach; he could have killed him. It was through him (Caponsacchi) he had survived to do this deed. He asks them not to condemn the Count to death. Leave him to glide as a snake from off the face of things, and be lost in the loneliness. He stops the rapid flow of words, owns he has been rash in what he has said, fears he has been but a poor advocate of the woman, protests they had no thought of love, and begs them to be just. Even while he pleads for Pompilia they tell him she is dead. Why did they let him ramble on?--his friends should have stopped him. Then he grows almost incoherent in his mental distress; asks them if they will one day make Pope of the friar who heard Pompilia's dying confession, and declares he had never shriven a soul

"so sweet and true, and pure and beautiful."

Then he grows calm again, speaks of being as good as out of the world now he is a relegated priest, and concludes with a despairing cry to the God whom he is no longer permitted to serve.

NOTES.--_Arezzo_, the ancient Arretium, is the seat of a bishop and a prefect. The present population of the town is about eleven thousand, or, if the neighbouring villages are included, about thirty-nine thousand inhabitants. In the middle ages the town suffered severely in the wars of the Guelfs and Ghibellines; in this struggle it usually took the side of the Ghibellines. Caponsacchi's church is that of S. Maria della Pieve, said to be as old as the beginning of the ninth century, with a tower and façade dating from 1216. The façade has four series of columns, arranged rather incongruously. Many ancient sculptures are over the doors. The interior of the church consists of a nave, with aisles and a dome. Petrarch was born at No. 22 in the Via dell' Orto; the house bears an inscription to the effect that "Francesco Petrarca was born here, July 20th, 1304." The cathedral is a fine Italian Gothic building, dating from 1177; the façade is still unfinished. The interior has no transept, but is of fine and spacious proportions, with some good stained-glass windows of the early part of the sixteenth century. Pope Gregory X. died at Arezzo, and his tomb is in the right aisle. There is a marble statue of Ferdinand de' Medici in front of the cathedral, which was erected in 1595 by John of Douay. Arezzo is about a hundred miles north of Rome. In the story of the flight from Arezzo towards Rome, Caponsacchi indicates the chief places which they passed on the road. The first halt was at _Perugia_, the capital of the province of Umbria, with a population of some fifty thousand. It is the residence of a prefect, a military commandant, the seat of a bishop and a university. The city is built partly on the top of a hill and partly on the slope. _Assisi_ may well be called "holy ground" (_Caponsacchi_, line 1205). Here was born St. Francis in 1182. "He was the son of the merchant Pietro Bernardine, and spent his youth in frivolity. At length, whilst engaged in a campaign against Perugia, he was taken prisoner, and attacked by a dangerous illness. Sobered by adversity, he soon afterwards (1208) founded the Franciscan order." St. Francis was one of the most beautiful characters in religious history. His whole life was devoted to the poor and sick, and his order, to the present day, is the most charitable monastic order in the world. The monastery of St. Francis at Assisi has existed for six centuries. _Foligno_ is an industrial town of twenty-one thousand inhabitants, and is the seat of a bishop. The cathedral was erected in the twelfth century. The church of S. Anna, or Delle Contesse, once contained Rafael's famous Madonna di Foligno, now in the Vatican. _Castelnuovo_: at this place Guido overtook the travellers. It is situated about fifteen miles from Rome, and is only a village, with an inn. Line 230, "_Capo-in-Sacco, our progenitor_": see note to Book II., "HALF ROME," l. 1250. l. 234, _Old Mercato_: the old market-place in Florence, where the Caponsacchi formerly resided. l. 249, _Grand-duke Ferdinand_: the marble statue of Ferdinand in front of the cathedral was erected by Giovanni da Bologna in 1595. l. 251, _Aretines_: the men of Arezzo. l. 280, "_The Jews and the name of God_": the Jews do not pronounce the name of Jehovah, or Jahveh, out of reverence; they substitute the word Adonai, Lord. l. 333, _Marinesque Adoniad_: a celebrated poem called _Adonis_ was written by Giovanni Marini, who lived at the beginning of the seventeenth century. l. 346, _Pieve_: the parish church of S. Maria della Pieve, said to have been built in the ninth century on the site of a temple of Bacchus. l. 389, _Priscian_ was a great grammarian of the fifth century, whose name was almost synonymous with grammar. "To break Priscian's head" was to violate the rules of grammar. l. 402, _facchini_: porters, or scoundrels. l. 449, _in sæcula sæculorum_, "world without end": the concluding words of the "Glory be to the Father," etc., chanted at the end of each psalm. l. 467, _canzonet_: a short song in one, two, or three parts. l. 559, _Thyrsis_, a shepherd of Arcadia; _Myrtilla_, a country maid in love with Thyrsis. l. 574, "_At the Ave_": at the hour of evening prayer, when the "Hail Mary" and hymns to the Virgin are sung. l. 707, "_Our Lady of all the Sorrows_": the Blessed Virgin is called "Our Lady of Sorrows," and is painted with a sword piercing her heart, from the words of the Gospel, "A sword shall pierce through thine own soul also" (St. Luke xi. 35). l. 828, _The Augustinian_: the friar of the order of St. Augustine. l. 960, _St. Thomas with his sober grey goose-quill_: St. Thomas Aquinas is referred to here. He was a famous Dominican theologian. His _Sum of Theology_ is the standard text-book of the divine science in all Catholic countries. Aquinas was called "the angelic doctor." l. 961, "_Plato by Cephisian reed_": the Cephisus was a river on the west side of Athens, falling into the Saronic Gulf; the largest river in Attica. l. 988, "_Intent on his corona_": the rosary or chaplet of beads is in Italy and Spain called the "corona." The monk was intent on his rosary. l. 1102, _Our Lady's girdle_: legend says that the Blessed Virgin, as she was being assumed into heaven, loosened her girdle, which was received by St. Thomas. (See Mrs. Jameson's _Legends of the Madonna_.) l. 1170, _Parian_: a pure and beautiful marble of Paros; _coprolite_: the petrified dung of carnivorous reptiles. l. 1203, _Perugia_: a city about thirty-five miles from Arezzo, on the road to Rome. l. 1205, "_Assisi--this is holy ground_": because there was the monastery founded by St. Francis of Assisi. l. 1266, _The Angelus_: a prayer consisting of the angelical salutation to Mary, with versicle and response and collect, said three times a day, at morning, noon and night; in Catholic countries and religious houses a bell is rung in a peculiar manner to announce the hour of this prayer. l. 1275, _Foligno_: a small town near Perugia. l. 1666, "_Bembo's verse_": Cardinal Bembo. (See notes to _Asolo_, p. 51.) l. 1667, "_De Tribus_": the title of a scandalous pamphlet, called "The Three Impostors," which was well known in the seventeenth century: Moses, Christ, and Mahomet were thus designated. (This explanation was sent me by the late Mr. J. A. Symonds.) l. 1747, "_De Raptu Helenæ_": concerning the rape of Helen of Troy.