sphemous raillery is part
despair, part calculated horror. In his last revolt against death and
all his foes, he snatches at any weapon, even truth, that may serve his
purpose and gain a reprieve:--

"I thought you would not slay impenitence,
But teazed, from men you slew, contrition first,--
I thought you had a conscience ...
Would you send
A soul straight to perdition, dying frank
An atheist?"

How much of truth there is in it all we need not attempt to decide. It
is not likely that Guido could pretend to be much worse than he really
was, though he unquestionably heightens the key of his crime, working up
to a pitch of splendid ferocity almost sublime, from a malevolence
rather mean than manly. At the last, struck suddenly, as he sees death
upon him, from his pretence of defiant courage, he hurls down at a blow
the whole structure of lies, and lays bare at once his own malignant
cowardice and the innocence of his murdered wife:--is it with a touch of
remorse, of saving penitence?

"Nor is it in me to unhate my hates,--
I use up my last strength to strike once more
Old Pietro in the wine-house-gossip-face,
To trample underfoot the whine and wile
Of beast Violante,--and I grow one gorge
To loathingly reject Pompilia's pale
Poison my hasty hunger took for food.
A strong tree wants no wreaths about its trunk,
No cloying cups, no sickly sweet of scent,
But sustenance at root, a bucketful.
How else lived that Athenian who died so,
Drinking hot bull's blood, fit for men like me?
I lived and died a man, and take man's chance,
Honest and bold: right will be done to such.
Who are these you have let descend my stair?
Ha, their accursed psalm! Lights at the sill!
Is it 'Open' they dare bid you? Treachery!
Sirs, have I spoken one word all this while
Out of the world of words I had to say?
Not one word! All was folly--I laughed and mocked!
Sirs, my first true word, all truth and no lie,
Is--save me notwithstanding! Life is all!
I was just stark mad,--let the madman live
Pressed by as many chains as you please pile!
Don't open! Hold me from them! I am yours,
I am the Granduke's,--no, I am the Pope's!
Abate,--Cardinal,--Christ,--Maria,--God, ...
Pompilia, will you let them murder me?"

The coward's ago