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^ 
 
 utL^^^ym^Ajut Arr 
 
 J'^U^e-.i- 
 
 MADOI^NA PIA 
 
 SL -a^ragB^ii. 
 
He was juslly accounted a skilful 
 poisoner who destroyed his viclims by 
 bouqucls of lovely and frag-ranl Ilowers. 
 The art has not been losl, nay it is 
 practised every day hy — the world, 
 Bisliop Latimer. 
 
MADONNA PI A: 
 
 a €m]th\. 
 
 IN THREE ACTS. 
 
 SECOND EDITIOIir. 
 
 Ricordili di me, che son la Pia; 
 Siena mi fu', disrocciiii Marcmiiia: 
 SaUi colui die iiincllala piia 
 Disposando ni'avea con la sua g-cninia. 
 
 ■Purgatorio, C'aiilo 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED rOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION. 
 
 laeo, 
 
 U.L. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 ihe tragic circumstances of Madonna *Pia's marriage, 
 which Dante has indicated with his usual suggestive power 
 in the few lines quoted on the title-page, have heen a 
 favourite theme with poets. They seem not incapahle 
 of being made interesting on our stage, although the 
 vindictive jealousy of her husband is more akin to Ita- 
 lian than to English nature. The date of the Lady Pia's 
 story is uncertain, but the year 1260 has been selected 
 for the opening of the following drama', as aifording a 
 background of interest in the strife of the Guelph and 
 Ghibelline factions , which reached a decisive climax on 
 the 4th of September in that year, in the defeat, of the 
 former at Monte Aperto, on the banks of the Arbia, 
 about five miles from Sienna, by the combined forces 
 of Sienna and Pisa, under the command of Farinata 
 degli Uberti. In this memorable battle , of which Dante, 
 in the Inferno, Canto x. , speaks as — 
 
 Lo strazio , e il grande scempio , 
 Che fece I'Arbia colorata in rosso, 
 
 about ten thousand of the Guelphs are said to have 
 fallen; and the rout was so complete, that, according 
 
PKEPACE. 
 
 to Maccliiavelli , those who escaped took refuge, not in 
 Florence, which city they considered as lost to them, 
 but in. Lucca. The defeat was in some measure occa- 
 sioned by the treachery of Bocca degli Abbati, who, 
 during the engagement, cut off the hand of Giacopo del 
 Vacca de' Pazzi , bearer of the great standard of Flo- 
 rence, which fell into the hands of the Siennese. The 
 poles of this standard are still preserved in the Cathe- 
 dral at Sienna. It is to this battle that the incidents 
 of the first act are presumed to refer. 
 
 The third act of the present tragedy is an adaptation 
 of a drama in one act, by the Marquis de Belloy, pro- 
 duced at the Comedie Francaise, in February 1853, under 
 the name of La Malaria. 
 
DEAMATIS PEKSON^. 
 
 Count Agostino dei Tolommei , a noble Sielinese. 
 
 GuiDO CniAKAMONiE , his Nephew. 
 
 Count Nello della Pietha, a noble Siennese. 
 
 Prior of a Convent in the Maremma. 
 
 Bertoldo,! 
 
 Jacomo, / Retainers in the- service of Count Agostino. 
 
 CosiMO, ' 
 
 Flavio, a Gentlemau-at-Arms in the service of Count Nello. 
 
 Messenger. 
 
 PiA DEI Tolommei, Daughter of Count Agostino. 
 
 MARGnEEiTA , his Sister. 
 
 Nina, a Toung Girl in the service of PiA. 
 
 I'he Scene during the first two Acts lies in the vicinity of Sienna, 
 and during the third^ in the Tuscan Maremma. An interval of 
 six montlis is supposed to elapse between each Act. 
 
 Time a.d. 1260, 1261. 
 
The words printed within hrackets are to be omitted 
 in representation. 
 
MADONNA PIA. 
 
 ACT FIRST. 
 
 A garden. To the left the entrance of a castellated mansion. In 
 the background a picturesque mountainous country. 
 
 Jacomo and Bektoldo enter severally. 
 Jacomo. 
 What tidings of the battle? 
 
 Bertoldo. 
 
 Not a word. 
 Have you heard nothing either? 
 
 Jacomo. 
 
 No , not I. 
 For hours I have not seen a soul about. 
 
 Bektoldo. 
 I have been watching up there on the tower, 
 Till I can watch no longer. Neither man 
 Nor horse is to be seen. Oh, what I 'd give, 
 To be right in the thick of it! 
 
 Jacomo. 
 
 'Tis like 
 To be a bloody day. The Florentines, 
 They say, are- forty thousand strong, and we 
 Scarce half the number. 
 
MADONNA J-IA. 
 
 Bektoldo. 
 
 'Tis a heavy odds. 
 We've not a man to spare, yet here they leave us 
 Like rusty armour nail'd against the wall. 
 
 Jacom'o. 
 Ay, there's the grief on't, — fretting out our hearts 
 With fears and fancies, when our good swords might 
 lie doing yeoman's service in the field. 
 
 Beetoldo. 
 Hush! Hark! A horse! There! 
 
 Jacomo. 
 
 No! 'Tis but the plash 
 Of the fountain in the court. Yet Jacopo 
 Should have been hack ere this, and Beppo too. 
 
 Bertoldo. 
 
 They'll not shew face, not they, till all is done. 
 
 Jacomo. 
 How! Cravens! Runagates! 
 
 Bektoldo. 
 
 No , by the mass ! 
 A pass of arms is meat and drink to them. 
 I know their mettle well. My life upon't, 
 They found the battle raging and struck in. 
 To have a breathing on their own account. 
 
 Jacomo. 
 They were sent out for news, and not to fight. 
 Why must they meddle V Brawling makebaits! Zounds, 
 As if there won't be broken heads enough. 
 But they must hunt for bloody cocks-combs too! 
 
 Bektoldo. 
 Nay, you 're too hard upon the lads. Why, you 
 Had done the same yourself, had you been there. 
 
MADONNA, PIA. 
 
 Wlio was it, eh ? — was ever first to join, 
 And last to leave a fray in days of yore? 
 "Whose blade was out, and flashing in the sun, 
 "Ere other nien were dreaming of a hrawl? 
 "Jfot Jacomo's , eh, the fiery Jacomo's? 
 "Ha, do you take me, gossip.?" 
 
 Jaoomo. 
 
 "Well, go to! 
 "In sooth I was a mad hotheaded knave, 
 "As evej: fingered steel. Ah, many's the time 
 "My blessed Marjory, heaven rest her soul! 
 "Has begg'd and pray'd me on her knees, to sheathe 
 "My whinger close, and hold my way in peace, 
 "Let rail who might, or take the wall of me; 
 "And I have vow'd to be a very lamb — ■, 
 "And meant to keep my word; but what of that? 
 "Next hour, belike, some passing knave would flout 
 "My lord or me his man, and presto, hey! 
 "My promises forgot, out flew my sword, 
 "And rang reveille round the rascal's ears." 
 
 Beetoldo. 
 
 Bare sport it was to see you! That back stroke 
 Of yours was never match'd before or since. 
 How the Pietri used to scud before it! 
 
 Jacomo. 
 
 Like skipjacks as they were! 
 
 Bertoi.do. 
 
 Ha! These were times! 
 My old heart leaps at the remembrance still. 
 The saints forgive me ! but I'd like a bout 
 With the Pietri yet before I die. 
 
MADONNA PIA. 
 
 Jacomo. 
 Cospetto! so would I. If fight we must, 
 Let's settle up our ancient scores with them. 
 I hate these wars of Guelf and Ghibelline ; 
 'Tis good hlood thrown away. Wc of the herd 
 Can scarcely fathom what they're all about. 
 To us what matter, which is uppermost? 
 But these Pietri, overbearing dogs, 
 "We owe them grudge for years of scaith and scorn. 
 They owe us blood for blood , and blow for blow. 
 But get ye to the hill! And there perhaps 
 You may see something of our men. You hnow 
 The Eagle's Rock — it should command the field. 
 
 (They retire np conversing. Exit Bektoldo. Jacomo occupies 
 
 himself among the flowerbeds , gathering a nosegay. Enter 
 
 'Makghekita from the castle.) 
 
 MAKGnEniTA. 
 
 'Tis very strange! She is not in the house. 
 I thought to find her here. — Ha, Jacomo, 
 Has' your young mistress pass'd this way? 
 
 Jacomo. 
 
 Yes, madam. 
 Some two hours gone , or so , I saw her cross 
 The yew-tree walk, and through the lower gate. 
 Then climb the hill that fronts the Arbia. 
 Bless her sweet face! How pale she look'd! Not one 
 Of her old smiles had she for Jacomo, 
 Not one glance for her flowers! Out on these wars'. 
 That they should take the bloom from such a face! 
 
 Makghiekita. 
 Ah, many's the fair cheek, good Jacomo, 
 These cruel wars will blanch. 
 
MADONNA PIA. 
 
 Jaoomo. 
 
 Wliy look you, madam, 
 There was a time I liked the wars full well; 
 "When I could bear my part, and this good arm 
 "Has made the varlets of the Pietri skip, 
 "Or hewed its way through shrinking Florentines. 
 But out! these stirring times are gone for me. 
 And I must creep among my rose-beds here , 
 And see the women folks look pale and wan, 
 Thinking what grief these wars may soon bring home , 
 And. therefore say I, out upon these wars! 
 
 Marghekita. 
 Gently, good Jacomo, you'll crush the flowers. 
 They're not a sword, that you should grasp them so. 
 
 Jacomo. 
 No more they are; I'd nearly ruin'd them. 
 And then what would my dear young mistress say? 
 Of all my flowers they're what she likes the best. 
 Beshrew my heart! I wish she were come back. 
 These rambles out of bounds are scarcely safe. 
 
 Makghebita. 
 How! Scarcely safe! What mean you? 
 
 Jacomo. 
 
 Only this. 
 That there be knaves abroad — some too, that bear 
 No special good will to my master's house. 
 Rare prize were such a dove for hungry hawk. 
 
 Makgherita. 
 Explain yourself. 
 
 I 
 Jacomo. 
 
 I will, my lady. Well, 
 You know how fond the lady Pia is 
 Of wandering by herself for hours on hours, 
 
MADONNA FIA. 
 
 Sometimes along the hills , or by the stream , 
 
 But chiefly here among my garden plots. 
 
 It was her way from childhood. Now as then 
 
 My eye is on her, wheresoe'er she goes; 
 
 For she is dear to me, if I may he 
 
 So bold to say so, as she were my child, 
 
 And it would kill me should she come to harm. 
 
 Well then, of late, whene'er she stirr'd abroad, 
 
 I. saw that she was followed by a man, 
 
 AVho hover'd round her steps, yet kept aloof. 
 
 Yea, would for hours sit gazing from yon cliff, 
 
 Watching her movements in the garden here ! 
 
 As he watch'd her, so I set watch on him, 
 
 And found he was — 
 
 Mabghekita. 
 Yes — who? 
 
 Jacomo. 
 
 Your ladyship 
 Would never guess — Count Nello della Pietra. 
 
 Makghebita. 
 Count della Pietra? 
 
 Jacomo. 
 
 Ay , my haughty Count. 
 A lonely, silent, melancholy man. 
 As he was once a proud and froward boy. 
 Of all his stock him do I like the least. 
 Proud were they all, and hot as Lucifer: 
 But then they spoke their rancour openly, 
 And fought it fairly out, too, when they might; 
 But this Count Nello smothers up his hate 
 Behind that pale and handsome face of his. 
 Yet for all this you read it in his eye, 
 
MADONNA PIA. 
 
 That seems to watch, like tiger, for its spring, 
 Hoarding its hunger till the prey's secure. 
 
 Makghebita. 
 Old enmities, I fear, make you unjust. 
 He is reputed for a, noble youth, 
 Accomplished, brave. 
 
 Jacomo. 
 
 Unjust or not unjust, 
 Why does he dog the lady Pia thus? 
 It cannot be for good. No. If I see 
 The kestrel wheeling o'er my dovecot, madam. 
 Full well I know the errand brings him there. 
 
 Marghekita. 
 You wrong him, Jacomo, be sure you do. 
 Though old ancestral feuds divide our houses, 
 No baseness stains the noble name he bears. 
 Besides, we need not fear hira now; for he 
 Is, like my brother, with Uberti join'd, 
 Gone to do .battle with the Florentines. 
 
 Jacomo. 
 Ay, there it is! Such leagues I like not. No! 
 The Tolommei and Pietri should 
 Be ranged not side by side, but face to face. 
 Heaven grant there come no ill of it, say I, 
 And send my master safely home again! 
 
 Makgherita. 
 Amen to that, good Jacomo! And see, 
 In happy omen, where your mistress comes. 
 
 (Enter Pia at the upper end ef the garden.) 
 Jacomo. 
 The saints be praised! And with a step so light, 
 I could be sworn she brings some welcome news. 
 
10 MADONNA PTA. 
 
 PiA (advancing). 
 The day is ours, dear aunt! The day is ours! 
 
 Makghekita. 
 Ours, Pia, ours? What fancy's this! 
 
 PlA. 
 
 No fancy! 
 I mean the battle has been fought and won, 
 Won gloriously, and the field remains with us. 
 
 Makghekita. 
 Great heavens, how came you by these tidings? How? 
 
 Pia. 
 With mine own eyes I look'd upon the fray , 
 And am myself onr victory's messenger. 
 
 Makghekita. 
 It cannot be, rash girl, that you — 
 
 Pia. 
 
 It might 
 Be wrong, unmaidenly; perhaps it was; 
 But could I sit here listlessly, and still. 
 In dreamy dalliance with my broidery frame. 
 When our best blood, perchance, was flowing free. 
 And a great cause hung in the balance? No! 
 There was more terror in the hush of home , 
 Thau in the din and ghastly shapes of war. 
 Fear throng'd on fear, until the very blood 
 Seera'd thickening at my heart. So I went forth — 
 
 Jacomo. 
 Eight Tolommei blood in every vein! 
 No wonder, she had ne'er a word for me. 
 
 Pia. 
 
 Across the wood and up the mountain slope, 
 I took my way, scarce knowing where I went. 
 
MADONNA PIA. 11 
 
 But the fresli breeze brought coolness to my brow, 
 And some o'erimstering impulse bore me on, 
 Till to the summit of the hill 1 came. 
 Then on my sight there burst a spectacle , 
 That fill'd my eyes with wonder, and my heart 
 With such wild tremors as shook all my frame. 
 Far o'er the plain beneath the rival ranks 
 Flash'd in the sun, a briglit array of war. 
 Compact, unbroken. Even as I gazed. 
 The solid mass took motion; on it came, 
 And the hosts clash'd together in the midst. 
 Methinks I should have been a man — for I 
 Yearn'd to be struggling in that yeasty sea. 
 That sway'd in angry surges at my feet. 
 Not long the issue waver'd; soon I saw 
 The mighty standard of the Florentines, 
 That flung a proud defiance to our arms, 
 Sink, like a tall ship swallbw'd bj the deep. 
 Thicker and thicker grew the fray, and then 
 The tide of steel swept o'er their scatter'd ranks, 
 Their horsemen turn'd in flight, our banners crown'd 
 The slopes, where late the Florentines had stood. 
 The field was ours; with long triumphant swell 
 The trumpets rang the tidings through the hills, 
 And with a cry of joy I turn'd for home. 
 
 Makghekita. 
 That was no sight, my child, for maiden's eyes. 
 
 PlA. 
 
 So had I thought, had I not seen it. Now, 
 
 I would not give the memory of that sight. 
 
 That moment's fiery spasm, its throes of joy. 
 
 For all that's best in the remembered past. 
 
 All former hopes, cares, aims, seem'd trivial, mean; 
 
12 MADONNA PIA 
 
 My soul sprang up fuU-statured at «. tound, 
 Along each fibre ran the inspiring thrill , 
 That nerves the arm with all a giant's force, 
 And with that charging chivalry I swept 
 O'er prostrate foes to death or victory. 
 (Retires up.) 
 
 Makghekita. 
 Jlcthinks we should have tidings of our friends. 
 Go, Jacomo, ascend the garden tower, 
 And bring us news betimes of their approach. 
 
 Jacomo. 
 1 will , my lady. All my pretty flowers 
 Are pluck'd in vain. My mistress heeds them not. 
 
 PiA (observing him for the first time). 
 
 Good-morrow , Jacomo ! 
 
 (lie boms, and presents her with the nosegay.) 
 
 Your flowers shall deck 
 
 The caps of our victorious cavaliers. 
 
 [Exit Jacomo. 
 Margiierita. 
 
 So gay of mood, my child! And have you, then, 
 
 No fears this victoiy may bring us grief? 
 
 PlA. 
 
 None! None! There's something whispers to my heart, 
 
 A new life opens on me from this day. 
 
 No shade shall overcast its dawn , and soon 
 
 Shall my dear father fold rae in his arms. 
 
 Makghekita. 
 Is there no other than your father, then. 
 Whose not returning safe woiild cast a shade 
 Upon a life that has been cloudless yet? 
 Keflect! Of all our kinsmen is there not — 
 Not one, a little dearer than the rest? 
 
MADONNA PIA. 13 
 
 PlA. 
 
 I do not understand — I think not — No! 
 
 Mabgherita. 
 Art very sure of that? Not Chiaramonte? 
 
 PiA. 
 Oh, my brave cOusin Guido! Ah, dear annt, 
 That were a loss indeed! My dear, kind cousin, 
 I was to hlamo, not to have singled him — 
 My heart's true brother! 
 
 Marsherita. 
 
 No more than brother, Pia? 
 Such title scarcely would content your cousin. 
 
 Pia. 
 Why should you think so? Why? 
 Marghekita.- 
 
 Bepause the name 
 Of brother, be it spoken ne'er so soft. 
 Jars like a death-knell on a lover's ear. 
 
 Pia. 
 A lover's! Guido never thought of love. 
 He is no sighing cavalier, not he, 
 No more than I a lovelorn damoselle. 
 
 Marghekita. 
 He never made my ear his confessor, 
 Yet that he loves you I can see full well. 
 
 Pia. 
 
 That I am dear to him, as he to me. 
 
 It is most certain. How could I be less? 
 
 We grew together, Guido and myself. 
 
 From childhood's budding springtime: all my first 
 
 Remembrances are twined with him — 'twas he, 
 
 First fill'd my lap with flowers, dried my first tears. 
 
14 MADONNA PIA. 
 
 Shared my first sports, first studies. As we grew, 
 
 Still was the boy companion of my hours, 
 
 Led my young fancies, play'd, sang, read with me; 
 
 Was now my troubadour, — my kniglit, fast sworn 
 
 To bring far kings in homage to roy feet : 
 
 And as we ripened into graver years. 
 
 He was my friend, my dear familiar friend, — 
 
 Next to ray father valued — whom I'd trust 
 
 In sorrow as in sunshine. As we were. 
 
 When children we pluck'd cowslips by the stream , 
 
 So are we now; a brave, kind brother he, 
 
 And I his faithful sister. Trust me, aunt, 
 
 You dream , to think that I am more to him. 
 
 [Retii'es up. 
 
 Maiiguekita (alone). 
 Would I were sure of that! Yes, 'tis too plain. 
 This is not, noV is aught akin to love. 
 My gallant boy! It is not thus with you, 
 These years of intimacy close and sweet 
 Have rippled on in sunshine ; they have left 
 Far deeper prints upon your heart, I fear. 
 
 Eiitcr Jacumo and Cosimo. 
 
 Jacomo. 
 This way, this way! There stands your mistress! Madam, 
 A messenger, sent onwards by my lord. 
 He's close at hand. I heard the bugles ring 
 Among the pines between us and the town. 
 
 PlA. 
 
 I knew he must be safe. 
 
 Mabgheeita. 
 
 Your message , sir? 
 
MADOSNA riA. 15 
 
 COSIMO. 
 
 My master sends his loving greetings home. 
 He comes unscathed and conquering from the war. 
 With him he brings a guest, a valued guest, 
 A stranger to his house , and bids prepare 
 Such tendance as befits his noble state. 
 
 Mabguekita. 
 A stranger, said you? 
 
 CosiMO. 
 
 Yes, my lady. I 
 Was bid to say no more , and make despatch. 
 I've spurred my hardest, but their steeds are fresh, 
 And I have scarcely headed them a mile. 
 
 Maeoherita. 
 No time is- to be lost. Come with me, Pia, 
 And help prepare reception for our guest. 
 
 Pia. 
 A stranger, and his name not told to us? 
 I wonder who it can be! 
 
 [Exeunt Maegheeita and Pia into the castle. 
 
 CoSIMO. 
 
 •■ You are lilce 
 To wonder more than ever when you know. 
 To think, now, such a thing should come about! 
 The kite will fondle with the pigeon soon. 
 The sheep embrace the wolf, the weasel share 
 His rations with the rat. 'Tis out of all 
 Believing. What! A Tolommei sit 
 At board with the Pietri — pledge the cup 
 In wassail with his sworn ancestral foe? 
 'Tis monstrous, 'tis unnatural! 
 
16 . MADONNA PIA. 
 
 Jacomo. 
 
 How is this? 
 Out with your story, friend! 
 
 CosiMO. 
 
 "Why, look you now. 
 For what have we been squabbling all these years, 
 Scoring each other madly o'er the sconce 
 For generations back, and handing down 
 A sound, well-grown inheritance of hate, 
 If we are now, like brothers, to shake hands, 
 Mess in one dish, and quaff Chianti down 
 In bumpers to this mongrel amity? 
 
 Jacomo. 
 Come to the point, man, who is coming? 
 
 CoSIMO. 
 
 Point! 
 Fine point, indeed! Count Nello della Pietra. 
 
 Jacomo. 
 Count Nello! It can't be. It should not be. 
 No! — What should make my master mate with him? 
 Between them flows a sea of blood. — And he , 
 What makes lie with my master? 
 
 CosiMO. 
 
 There's the marvel. 
 They say. Count Nello, when my lord was down 
 To-day, and struggling for his very life. 
 Cut through a score of lances, bore him off. 
 And placed him safely in the ranks again. 
 Why should Count Nello, now, have done this, tell me? 
 
 Jacomo. 
 'Tis that which puzzles me. 
 
MADONiNA PIA. 17 
 
 Messengek. 
 
 Why should he care 
 To serve his enemy? There's more in this 
 Than meets the view , say I. 
 
 Enter Tolommei and Count Nello della Pietka. 
 
 TOLOMMEI {to COSIMO). 
 
 Ha, loitering, varlet? 
 Is this the way you bear my messages? 
 Begone, sir! 
 
 {Exit CosiMO.) 
 Ah, good Jacomo , great news! 
 It would have made you young again, to see 
 A field so stoutly fought. But hark ye , friend ! 
 Our troops are hot and weary. Look to them , 
 Both horse and man; let them have best of cheer. 
 
 Jacomo. 
 I will, my lord. 
 
 Tolommei. 
 Where is your mistress? She 
 Has had ray message, eh? 
 
 Jacomo. 
 
 She has, my lord. 
 
 Tolommei. 
 'Tis well. — Now go — and, Jacomo, a word! 
 See to my roan yourself — he has a wound. 
 
 [Jacomo lingers. 
 So, so! You marvel at the guest we bjing. 
 I thought we should surprise you. Good my lord. 
 This worthy fellow — never honester 
 D'id master suit and service — looks upon you 
 With a scant loving eye. I dare be sworn 
 
18 MADONNA rrA. 
 
 He's thinking now, how often he cross'd swords 
 With the Pietri, in our br<awls of yore, 
 And feels his fingers itching for a fray. 
 Confess now, Jacomo. 
 
 Jacosio. 
 
 To tell the truth, 
 I had some sharp remembrances just then. 
 But — but, my lord — 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 Nay, never falter, man. 
 Count Nello will not think the worse of you. 
 That you hate stoutly in your master's cause. 
 Strong love, strong hate, right mettle for true hearts! 
 And you shall love Count Nello yet — you shall — 
 If you love me, as I am sure you do. 
 Why, but for him, your house had lost its chief, — 
 My Pia — but 'twere best not think of that — 
 And home my good steed had come masterless. 
 Whose wound, my friend, you should be tending now. 
 Instead of listening to j'our master's prate. 
 
 Jacomo. 
 My lord, we owe Count Nello much. {Aside) But still, 
 I doubt such friendliness at such a hand. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Nello. 
 That man, methiuks, will never be my friend. 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 Not be your friend! He must, my lord, he shall. 
 Old grudges rankle longer with the churl 
 Than with the noble; and, in his youth, our feud 
 Blazed at its hottest. But the man I love. 
 My vassals shall regard with friendly eye , 
 
MAIIONNA PIA. 19 
 
 Or they are none of mine. Now, by the mass, 
 If we forget the past, if wo forgive, 
 Methinks the herd, that feed upon our hand. 
 May chew the cud of ancient hates in peace. 
 To you, my lord, I owe my life. Henceforth 
 We and our house are friends. 
 
 Nello. 
 
 We shall be so , 
 If word and deed of mine, and best good will 
 Can compass aught, my lord. 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 Well said! And I 
 Shall bless the chance that placed my life in peril. 
 That I might have to thank you for't! 'Fore heaven. 
 You shall have better than an old man's thanks; 
 Ay, fifty- fold, my lord. I have a child — 
 
 Nello {aside). 
 Can he divine? 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 Ha, sir, I see the blood 
 Mounts to your cheek already. Wait, till you 
 Shall see her, sir — 
 
 Nello (aside). 
 
 See her! Oh bursting heart! 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 And you are not the man I take you for. 
 
 If only for one smile of such a maid — 
 
 I will not say her thanks , her heart-warm thUuks — 
 
 You would not proudly barter life. Ha, ha! 
 
 I see I touch you. Oh believe me, sir, 
 
 'Tis not the old man's doting. You shall say, 
 
 When you have made your eyes rich with her beauty. 
 
20 MADONNA PrA. 
 
 All Tuscany shows not her peer. Kind heavens, 
 Had this day left my Pia fatherless! 
 Oh, dear my lord, bear with me. The great debt 
 I owe you overwhelms me — 
 
 Nello. 
 
 Speak not so. 
 Mine is the debt. {Aside) Heaven knows how deep! 
 
 (Aloud) For I 
 Do hold me overpaid, that my young sword 
 ^Yas worthy to be wielded for a life 
 So precious to my country. But you add 
 A double guerdon, granting me to see 
 The joy that melts in your fair daughter's eyes , 
 To hold her father safe within her arms. 
 It needs, my lord, a heart as lone as mine, 
 A life uusunn'd as mine, as dark, forlorn. 
 To know what luxury it is to gaze 
 On the deep transports of a love so pure. 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 A life unsunn'd! What's this? A lonely heart? 
 Go to, my lord, we'll cure you of such thoughts. 
 Young, brave, well born, you're of the stuff that carves 
 Fortune and friends out, stand where'er it may. 
 Your favour such as wins young maiden's hearts — 
 
 (Nello starts.) 
 Nay, never start, I'm cunning in such lore — 
 An eye, that tempts to fathom what it broods, 
 A Up to break whose firmness into smiles. 
 Beauty -frould give her heart up. Look you, sir. 
 You wrong yourself, your nature, and your gifts. 
 To tell me of a, life unsunn'd, forlorn. 
 Your crow sits blinking in the mist — the eagle 
 Mounts o'er the clouds, and fronts the glorious sun. 
 
MADONNA PIA. 
 
 Nello. 
 True, but its wings have not been clipp'd lilic mine. 
 I am, you know, the last shoot of a stem, 
 That once soar'd high, and spread a bounteous shade, 
 But now stands wither'd , bare , a blighted trunk. 
 All those that might Iiave loved me lost in youth, 
 And prizing not the things the world calls friends , 
 I've lived so long alone, a dreamer's life, 
 I fear me much, I've lost the nerve to soar. 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 Come out into the sunshine. Look around you. 
 
 Mix with our life. This mood will pass, and soon 
 
 You'll find yourself careeriiig on free wing. 
 
 Lonely at least you shall not be. True friends 
 
 You'll ever find in me and mine , and this 
 
 Is but the first of many days, that yet 
 
 Shall flood your life with sunshine. Get we in; 
 
 I long to tell my Pia what she owes you. 
 
 {Enter Jacomo. Tolommei retires up and addresses him.) 
 
 Nello (aside). 
 Oh heaven! The one wild dream of many a month 
 Is now made real, and I shrink before it. 
 Should she look coldly on me! What am I, 
 That she should heed me more than other men? 
 Fool, fool! Or wherefore should I think her heart 
 Folds not some other image in its core? 
 Oh , that were madness I 
 
 Tolommei. 
 
 Come , I wait for you. 
 He hears me not. A dreamer, by my faith! 
 
 Nello {still in a reverie). 
 One plunge, and I sink stifled in the ooze, 
 Or rise triumphant with my priceless pearl. 
 
 21 
 
22 MADONNA PIA. 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 Wilt go with me? They wait for us within. 
 
 NeLLO {to ToLOMMEl). 
 
 Your pardon, some old thoughts — 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 Come on, my lord. 
 We'll show you that shall make you quit your dreams. 
 No talking more of lonely hearts! Come on! 
 
 \_They retire up and exeunt into the castle, as 
 GniDO Chtaramonte enters from the 
 other side. 
 
 GniDo. 
 Too late, too late! Oh most unlucky chance! 
 This comes now of distinction! AVhat the plague, 
 Of all men else why should Uberti choose 
 Me, simple me, for offices of trust? 
 Why charge me with despatches for his friends 
 In Florence , just when I had set my heart 
 On stealing one sweet half hour with my cousin, 
 And finding out my fate for good or ill, ' 
 
 Before my uncle came? For all my spurring 
 He's here already. What n chance to lose! 
 Oh, had I come before her, with the flush 
 Of hattle on my cheek, and its full pulse 
 Still throbbing in my breast, and laying down 
 My maiden laurels at her feet, had pour'd 
 All the full tide of year-long hoarded love , 
 I ne'er had dared in a more tranquil hour 
 To give free vont , how might I not have thriven! 
 But it is past, the happy moment's lost — 
 My dream dissolved. And now I scarcely care 
 To see her with a, throng of gazers by — 
 With strangers, too, for .such are here, I see — 
 
MADONNA PIA. 
 
 To speak to her cold words which all may hear, 
 And take a common greeting from her lips, 
 When I had hoped — I will not see her so , 
 But straight to horse , and bide a happier time. 
 
 [Is going out, rohen lie is met by Jacomo. 
 
 Jacomo. 
 Leave us again so soon, dear master Guido? 
 "Why, how is this? You have not been within! 
 My master scarce will think this courteojis, 
 And, lord! what will the lady Pia say? 
 
 GtriDO. 
 Nay, Jacomo, they're busy — so am I. 
 I should ere this have been a, league tow'rds Florence. 
 They need not know I have been here at all; 
 And if they should, say that my charge was urgent. 
 I halted but to bring your mistress news 
 Of our success, and my dear uncle's safety; 
 But he is here before me, as I learn. 
 And every minute lost may cost me dear. 
 
 Jacomo. 
 Nay , Master Guido , yon. look worn ! A cup 
 Of old Chianti, ere you go, were worth 
 A second pair of spurs. Go in — 
 
 GniDO. 
 , I cannot.' 
 
 Jacomo. 
 I see, sir, how it is. You fancy not 
 Our new guest, our new friend; and think, perchance, 
 To see him at the Tolommei's board 
 Would take the savour from the best of cheer! 
 
 GniDO. 
 New guest! New friend! What mean you? 
 
24 MADONNA riA. 
 
 Jacomo. 
 
 How! Not know, 
 
 Count Nello della Pietra is within? 
 
 Home came my master with him, hand and glove, 
 
 Hot friends, each vying each in courtesies. 
 
 And tills Count Nello — may the red plague seize him! 
 
 Sits in the halls, whose threshold ne'er till now 
 
 Was cross'd by one of his detested race. 
 
 GUIDO. 
 
 I'm glad of it. I'm very glad of it. 
 
 Nay, man, be calm! He never did us wrong, 
 
 And wherefore should we visit on his head 
 
 All the mad passions of a day gone by. 
 
 When our forefathers paid his wrong for wrong, 
 
 Insult for insult, and with usury too? 
 
 Jacomo, 
 And you say this? Yovl, that I trained myself? 
 You, that I taught the manage of a sword, 
 I'll not believe that you can brook to owe 
 A debt to one of the Pietri? You! 
 
 GUIDO. 
 
 A debt? What debt? 
 
 Jacomo. 
 
 My master's life. To-day 
 When he was down, and stood at bay for life, 
 They say Count Nello rescued him. 
 
 GuiDo. 
 
 He did! 
 So it was true the rumour that I heard? 
 AVliy, then, I am his debtor too. 'Twas well, 
 'Twas nobly done! I would I might have stay'd 
 To tender him my thanks among the rest. 
 Friend, I shall think the love you bear your lord 
 Is cold indeed, if you can hate this man. 
 
MADONNA PIA. 25 
 
 Jaoomo. 
 What call had he to strike in sucli a cause? 
 They never loved us, these Pietri, never — 
 Never had cause to love us. 
 
 GuiDO. 
 
 Noble hearts 
 Demand no better cause for noble deeds , 
 Than that a brave man — be he friend or foe , 
 The rather if a, foe — is at a pinch, 
 That needs the succour of a valiant arm. 
 Now, as I live, he bears a noble heart, 
 This same Count Nello. 
 
 Jacomo. 
 Well, well! Time proves all. 
 But I have deep misgivings of some ill. 
 When such guests sit at Toloramei's hearth. 
 
 GniDo. 
 Out, croaking owl! I know, when I come back, 
 I'll find you warm as any in his praise. 
 But it grows late. Bid them bring out my horse. 
 
 [As they are going out, enter Pi a from the 
 castle. She does not observe them. 
 Jacomo. 
 I'll look to him myself. But see, my lord. 
 The lady Pia! You will surely wait 
 To say a word with her before you go? 
 
 GoiDO. 
 I will. Go you and see my horse prepared. 
 
 [Exit Jacomo. Pia advances to the front of the 
 stage in a reverie, GniDO remaining behind. 
 
 Pia. 
 I breathe again! The air is sweet and cool, 
 And yet I felt a fever fan my cheek'. 
 
26 MADOSNA riA. 
 
 A stifling in my bosom, as I stood 
 
 And heard ray father speak. What could it be? 
 
 All that he said is eddying in my brain 
 
 In wild confusion , and I seem to feel 
 
 Count Nello's gaze still rooted on my face, 
 
 As then I felt it, though I saw it not. 
 
 I ne'er have seen this stranger, ne'er before, 
 
 And yet he secm'd no stranger to my thoughts. 
 
 Is't fancy, or some half-forgotten dream? 
 
 AVhat means this sudden tumult in my blood. 
 
 This vague disquietude? 'Tis nothing! Nothing? 
 
 Can I be sure of that? Some change there is: 
 
 What 'tis I know not; but I feel it. Yes, 
 
 My flowers are fair and fragrant as before. 
 
 The thrush is piping from his myrtle bush, 
 
 As yesterday he piped, the sun slopes on 
 
 Into the west, majestically calm; 
 
 They are the same , but do they wear to me 
 
 The self-same aspect yesterday they wore? 
 
 Or have my eyes beheld a fairer sight, 
 
 Than blossom'd flower, or the majestic sun. 
 
 Or has a richer music smote mine ear. 
 
 Than ever rang from throat of sweetest bird. 
 
 That still one form will rise before me — still 
 
 One voice thrill at my heart'? If this should be? 
 
 GuiDo (aside). 
 So deeply wrapt! Oh might I only hope. 
 She miss'd one 'midst her friends, she fain had seen. 
 And I that happy one I 
 
 PlA. 
 
 It was not much 
 He said; but wherefore did it seem, as though 
 The tones spoke to me as of something heard 
 
MADONNA PIA. 27 
 
 Long, long ago, and hoarded up till then 
 Next to my heart? 'Tis very, very strange. 
 
 GniDO {advancing). 
 What's strange, fair Pia? 
 
 PiA. 
 Ah, dear cousin Guido! 
 Welcome , thrice' welcome ! 
 
 GniDO. 
 
 Thanks, dear Pia, thanks! 
 But when did my sweet merry-hearted cousin 
 Take to such musings deep, she lets her friend 
 Stand by some score of seconds — nay, you did — 
 Without a word to say she's glad to see liim? 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Nay, did I so? 
 
 Guido. 
 Now woiild I give the half 
 Of my best lands, to be the happy theme 
 Of thoughts so close and earnest. Might I hope , 
 That in the hour which brought my uncle home 
 Victorious and unharm'd , my Pia had 
 One thought for cousin Guido? 
 
 Pia. 
 
 Can you doubt? 
 Guido. 
 You did not then forget me? Oh, dear Pia, 
 Make me assured of that, — let me but dream. 
 When I am gone , my image finds some niche 
 In the fair temple of your maiden thoughts. 
 Where it, perchance, may claim a stray regard, 
 And I am blest beyond all utterance. 
 
28 MADONNA PIA. 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Does Pia need, then, to assure her cousin, 
 She is not so untrue to_ former days , 
 Or so ungrateful for his kindness past, 
 She had forgot him now , or ever shall? 
 
 GuiDO. 
 I did not think it — could not. But my heart 
 Yearn'd for some word — oh, Pia, pardon me — 
 Some word to say I was remember'd there, 
 Where it were death to think myself forgot. 
 You are not angry? 
 
 Pia. 
 Wherefore should I be? 
 I would not but be dear to you as ever, 
 And be remember'd ever in your thoughts. 
 
 GuiDo. 
 Kemember'd! Is there any lightest act. 
 Word, look, of Pia's, I remember not? 
 
 Pia. 
 
 But wherefore talk we of remembrances? 
 
 You speak as though we had been parted years. 
 
 Not scarce a month. 
 
 GuiDO. 
 Pia, it seem'd like years. 
 That month seem'd longer than my whole life else. 
 
 Pia. 
 
 That's strange! Yet no. For in that little month 
 A world of new pursuits, ambitions, hopes. 
 The stir of great events, have throng'd your life. 
 So much to do , and done , you thought it long. 
 
 Gdido. 
 It was not that. No, no, it was not that. 
 
MADONNA PIA. 29 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Indeed! What then, dear Guide? 
 GuiDO. 
 
 (Aside) Where shall I 
 Find words to tell her? (Aloud) Pia, I am not 
 The same as when I parted from you here. 
 That little month has wrought such change in me, 
 I scarcely know myself for what 1 was. 
 
 Pia. 
 Such change? 
 
 GuiDO. 
 Ay, change! Shall I proceed? 
 Pia. 
 
 Go on. 
 GuiDO. 
 I left you, Pia, a mere giddy boy. 
 Whose life had fleeted like a summer day, 
 Nor knew he had .i heart, nor cared to know. 
 I come, a man, who woke to iind his heart 
 Gone from his keeping ere he knew his lo.ss. 
 Shall I go on? 
 
 Pia. 
 
 Yes, yes! 
 
 GuiDO. 
 
 How shall I tell 
 The fever of the spirit, the unrest. 
 The longings infinite that woke within me , 
 When first I felt myself alone , my foot 
 Pressing the threshold of a. stormy life! 
 "Then o'er me rush'd remembrance of the past, 
 "And flooded all my being with a strange 
 
30 MADONNA PIA. 
 
 "Bewilder'd sense of mingled joy and pain. 
 
 I plunged amid the tumult of the camp , 
 
 Still went that feeling with me ; — when I fled 
 
 Into the silence of the hills, 'twas there. 
 
 Where'er I' went, one passion followed me, 
 
 Made up an atmosphere of light around me , 
 
 By one dear presence haunted, by one voice 
 
 Made musical, till life seem'd bounded in 
 
 By some enchanter's spell. Oh, words ai-e poor, 
 
 AVeak , vain , to picture that tumultuous sea , 
 
 Where joy, hope, fear, contended wave with wave. 
 
 Your heart must picture it! Yet how should that. 
 
 Which sleeps unruffled as an inland lake , 
 
 Reflecting but the sunshine and the stars. 
 
 Divine the turmoil of the storm-vext deep? 
 
 PlA. 
 
 I can divine it , Guide. — And this change 
 You speak of — ? 
 
 GuiDO. 
 Is ii change from thoughtless ease 
 To passionate a.spiring — from the dreams 
 Of unreflecting youth to the close aims 
 Of manhood. Said I, aims? There is but one. 
 
 PlA. 
 
 And that one? 
 
 GuiDO. 
 
 Love! For love embraces all. 
 Our every thought is his, our every deed; 
 Wealth, honour, fame, we prize them but as means 
 And ministrants to love. 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Does love so change? 
 
MADONNA PIA. 31 
 
 GuiDO. 
 
 Yes, Pia, yes. It changes all within, 
 
 Without us, too. The commonest things of earth 
 
 Wear not the semblance to a lover's eyes. 
 
 They wear to other men's. He hopes, and then 
 
 A giant's spirit swells within his breast. 
 
 His step is wing'd with lightness, and he strides 
 
 The earth triumphant. Straight. come fears, and lo! 
 
 There droops no verier craven 'neath the moon. 
 
 Canst thou divine this change — hast thou e'er felt 
 
 One touch of it, dear Pia? 
 
 Pia. 
 
 I? I cannot tell — 
 And yet — 
 
 GUIDO. 
 
 Oh, say thou hast. Oh, say thy heart 
 Can read my bosom's secret by its own! 
 Speak to me, Pia! Answer me! 
 
 Pia. 
 
 I cannot! 
 This is so new, so sudden. A strange world 
 Seems to dawn forth upon my soul to-day. 
 And all's confusion still. 
 
 GniDO {aside). 
 
 Shall I urge more, 
 Or wait till time mature this budding hope? 
 
 Pia {musingly). 
 And this is love! Strange witchery, that wakes 
 A soul within the soul, blots out the past, 
 And makes the heart a wonder to itself! 
 
 GniDO. 
 Then thou hast felt this witchery, too! Oh, joy! 
 
32 MADONNA PIA. 
 
 And there's n voice within thy breast will plead 
 My STiit with eloqiience more rare than mine! 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Thy suit? I plead thy suit? When Guido woos, 
 What tongue so skill'd to urge it as his own? 
 
 Guido. 
 Think thou but so, and I am blest indeed! 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Nay, when thy mistress thinks so, then thou may'st be. 
 
 Guido. 
 But has she not — 
 
 (enter Jacomo.) 
 
 Jacomo. 
 Your horse, my lord, is ready at the gate. 
 
 Gdido. 
 
 Plague on the fellow ! Why 
 Should he come blundering here at such a time? 
 
 Jacomo. 
 (Aside.) I've half a mind, Pra one too many here. 
 
 [Retires up. 
 
 Pia. 
 
 Plow! Going? Now, so .soon? Yon have not seen 
 My father. 
 
 Guido. 
 Nay, I must set on to Florence. 
 My duty craves despatch. I am not weary. 
 And the strong joy that's here (pressing ?iis heart) would 
 
 bear me on, 
 Were't twice as far, unflaggingly. But see, 
 My dear aunt Margherita! 
 
 [E?iter Makgiiekita, fi'om the castle. 
 
MADONNA PIA. 33 
 
 Marghekita. 
 
 Guido here! 
 Welcome, dear Guido, welcome! We have heard 
 How gallantly you bore yourself to-day. 
 My brother longs to see you. Come, niece, come. 
 Your father asks for you, and wonders why 
 You left his side so soon. 
 
 Guido. 
 
 The fault is mine , 
 Who have detained her by my prate so long. 
 But now, farewell, farewell! 
 
 Maeghekita. 
 
 How, what is this? 
 (To PiA.) Pia, have you no word to keep him here? 
 [To Gdido.) You must not leave us so. 
 
 GniDO. 
 
 Nay, nay, I must. 
 I bear despatches from Uberti. They 
 Will be the signal for his friends to strike , 
 Ere Florence has recovered from the shock 
 Of this day's loss. I have outstay'd my time, 
 But the first hour my duty sets me free 
 Shall see me here again. "Such hope have I, 
 Would wing me back unbreathed from farthest Ind." 
 And so farewell! Dear Pia, till we meet, 
 I steer by one sole star. [Exil. 
 
 Pia. 
 But , Guido — stay ! 
 He heeds me not. Ah, me! 
 
 Marghekita {lo Pia). 
 
 What means all this? 
 
34 MADONNA I'lA. 
 
 Pray heav'n, she may have found, within her heart 
 There vibrate deeper chords than she had dream'd! 
 
 [PiA stands as if lost in meditation, Maeghe- 
 
 KiTA looking at her with apparent surprise. 
 
 ToLOMMEi and Nello appear at the door 
 
 of the castle. 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 Ho! "We have found our runaway at last! 
 
 Is this the courtesy ye show our guest? 
 
 Come hither , girl ! Young maids , when I was young, 
 
 Would not have shuun'd such gallant company. 
 
 And now to dine. Your hand, girl, to the Count! 
 
 [Nello advances and leads off Fia, followed 
 by Makghekita and Tolommei. 
 
 END OP ACT THE FIRST. 
 
ACT SECOND. 
 
 SCENE FIEST. 
 A chamber in the chateau of Count Tolommei. 
 Enter Tolommei and Maegherita. 
 Tolommei. 
 Deny me to njy daughter! By the Gods, 
 'Tis not to be endured ! ' Was it for this 
 I gave him up my darling, frankly gave her, 
 TJusunn'd my home, that she might gladden his, 
 To have her now debarr'd from me ? So , so , 
 It seems my wish is nothing — his is all. 
 He grants me speech with my own flesh and hlood. 
 Just when his sovereign will and pleasure prompts; 
 Withholds it, when his surly fit is on. 
 I'll not endure it. 
 
 Maruhekita. 
 What's the matter, brother? 
 Tolommei. 
 Insult and wrong's the matter! Sister, sister. 
 Why did we give our Pia to this man? 
 Where were our eyes, our hearts, they told us not, 
 He was no mate for her? 
 
 Maegherita. 
 
 Why, how is this? 
 What has occurred? 
 
 3* 
 
36 MADONNA riA. 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 Heavens! Ho shall answer it, 
 As I'm ii Tolommei. 
 
 Makqheeita. 
 
 Pray, be calm. 
 And tell me what's amiss. 
 
 Tolommei. 
 
 Calm! Well, I will. 
 Hark you, I went to-day to see my child; 
 Oh that Count Nello ever called her his! 
 What greeting, think you, waited me? A gate 
 Half-open'd, and a lackey charged to say. 
 Count Nello had gone forth, and left command. 
 That no one should have entrance to his lady. 
 Until he should return. 
 
 Mabgheeita. 
 
 Nay, brother, nay. 
 Count Nello meant not such command for you. 
 
 Tolommei. 
 How am I sure of that? The churl that gave 
 The message was right worthy of his charge. 
 Ho shut the gate ere scarce his speech was closed. 
 And well for him he did. Another second. 
 And I had cleft the rascal to the chine, 
 Fit guerdon for his scoundrel insolence. 
 
 Makghehita. 
 There must be some mistake? 
 
 Tolommei. 
 
 Oh, no mistake! 
 I've felt some mischief brooding. Day by day, 
 I've marked a growing coolness to myself, 
 A kind of jealousy in Nello's eye. 
 
MADONNA PIA. 37 
 
 As if he grudged my hold on Pia's love. 
 
 I that so freely trusted him with her, 
 
 I that in her gave up my all , am grudged 
 
 Some few poor grains of the love was wholly mine. 
 
 He never leaves her side when I am by, 
 
 Watches her words, her looks. His presence flings 
 
 A shadow of constraint upon us, freezes up 
 
 Those streams of natural confidence should flow 
 
 Between a father and his child, until 
 
 I seem each day to know her less and less. 
 
 Mahghebita. 
 Nay , brother , this is fancy. You have been 
 ■ So used to have our darling all your own , 
 Art sure you are not jealous, and not he? 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 I jealous, I? Of what should I be jealous? 
 Of the love that is to fill the place of mine , 
 When I am gone — the love, which had I questioned. 
 Count Nello never should have had my child? 
 
 Mabqhebita. 
 But lovers are exacting — will not brook 
 Division of affection; and Count Nello, 
 Like the fond miser, keeps his treasure close. 
 To feed his eyes alone. 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 And if he does, 
 I tell you, sister, that a young girl's heart 
 Is not a thing to brook a miser's gripe , 
 To feed the selfish hunger of his eyes, 
 And then be mew'd up close from sky and sun. 
 Till his caprice shall give it air again. 
 Clog the heart so, 'twill stifle, break. "True love 
 
38 MADONNA rIA. 
 
 "Is generous, unsuspicious, proudly wears 
 
 "Its prize before the world, made doubly proud, 
 
 "Reading the homage of admiring eyes." 
 
 "Where love is, there is trust: and, sister, that 
 
 I find not in Count Nello. Oh fool, fool! 
 
 I might have known a nature so austere , 
 
 So moody, was no mate for a frank heart 
 
 Ijike Pia's. But I only thought, to him 
 
 I owed my Jife — with him I closed the feud , 
 
 Had been the curse of both our houses! Then, 
 
 His love appear'd so absolute, so deep. 
 
 That I consented — nay, I back'd his suit, 
 
 And sacrificed my daughter. 
 
 Makgheeita. 
 
 'Tis not so. 
 She loved Count Nello. Her whole heart had gone 
 Into his keeping, ere your wishes spoke. 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 I'll not believe it! No. I fear me much, 
 'Twas not her heart she followed, but my wish. 
 
 Maksheeita. 
 Brother, it was her heart, her heart alone. 
 She might have giveu't elsewhere — oh, would she had! 
 But she chose him. 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 Elsewhere? ElsewhereV What mean you? 
 Maeoheeita. 
 
 Her cousin Guido — 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 What of him? 
 Mae&heeita. 
 
 Loved , woo'd her. 
 
MADONNA FIA. 39 
 
 Dear as he was, and well we know, how dear, 
 What hold he had on Pia's heart she found 
 Full soon was nothing , set against the sway , 
 The sovereign sway, it yielded to Count Nello. 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 Guido loved Pia — sought her? Oh, ye gods. 
 
 And I ne'er thought of this! Forgot him, when 
 
 I most should have remember'd! He away, 
 
 I let another take his place beside her. 
 
 Woo her, and win her , and this other now — 
 
 It makes me mad! And Guido loved my girl? 
 
 How could he else? And had the foremost claim 
 
 On my regard; yet I forgot him, gave her 
 
 To a stranger, who now shuts her from my heart. 
 
 And in that act made wreck of Guido's peace! 
 
 Harghebita. 
 Guido returns to-day. 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 To-day? 
 Makgherita. 
 
 This very day. 
 Here is his letter, writ from Florence, where 
 He only tarries to report the issue 
 Of his late mission to the Emperor, 
 Then hastens to Sienna. 
 
 ToLOMMEI. 
 
 Oh, ye Gods, 
 How shall I meet him? 
 
 Makgherita. 
 
 Worse is yet to tell. 
 He does not know of Pia's marriage. 
 
40 MADONNA riA. 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 How! 
 Not know of that? The letter that I wrote? 
 
 Margherita. 
 'Tis plain he ne'er received. 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 True. Now I think, 
 He sent no answer. Oh, I see it all, 
 And now he is to learn from my lips — mine — 
 The heaviest news shall ever load his heart. 
 ''He left us, sister, full of promise, hope, 
 "He comes back, charged with honours, trust, renown, 
 "To seek her for whose sake he won them alV, 
 "And finds her gone!" 
 
 (A trumpet sounds without.) 
 
 Mabgheeita. 
 
 Hark, hark! 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 'Tis he! 'Tis he! 
 I'd know his bugle 'mougst a thousand, sister. 
 Its ring was ever gallant. I can hear 
 The flutter of his heart upon its tones, 
 Half trembling, half triumphant. Sister, I 
 Dare not be first to shiver into dust 
 The fabric of his hopes. Best that he learn 
 The truth from you! Poor boy, from you he'll take 
 The balsam with the wound. Men shrink from men, 
 When the heart's pierced, and stifle with the grief 
 AVould find a. vent, were gentler woman, near. 
 'Tis kinder for us both! You'll tell him, sister? 
 
 Makgheeita. 
 I will. 
 
MADONNA PIA. 41 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 Thanks, thanks! Heaven comfort my poor hoy! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Maeoheeita. 
 And comfort thee, old man! My heart forehodes 
 Thou'lt need its aid. Not Guide's peace alone, 
 But Pia's too is hlighted by this marriage. 
 She wed a dream , an image she had clothed 
 With her own spirit's radiance. This Count Nello, 
 She deem'd the pattern of all nobleness, 
 Is close, suspicious, cruel; what's worse, jealous. 
 His fetters even now begin to gall; 
 He'll link the rivets closer, till they bite 
 Into his young bride's soul — and then 'twill rend 
 Its shackles, or be rent — each "way, despair! 
 He loves her, yet he doubts her, doubts himself. 
 And he will find some cue for his distrust, 
 Or, finding not, will make one. When did such 
 As he lack cause for jealousy? Great heavens. 
 Should he e'er come to know of Guide's love, 
 'Twere fatal. He must never learn it, never. 
 Should he but see him , his suspicious eye 
 Would read confession in his rival's looks. 
 And his dark thoughts piece out a tale to make 
 Eevenge a duty. Meet they must not. Hark, 
 'Tis Guide's step! 
 
 GuiDO (enters rapidly through door in centre). 
 
 I'll find them here, you say? 
 Ah, my kind aunt, your welcome still the first! 
 
 MAEaHEKITA. 
 
 Dear Guido, welcome to us all! 
 
 Gdido. 
 
 The dear 
 
42 MADONNA PIA. 
 
 Old place! What joy to look on it again! 
 Time has been husy with me since we parted, 
 But it has left me all unaltered here. 
 
 (Touching hU heart.) 
 Cities most fair I've seen, but none look'd half 
 So fair as our Sienna, — crested peaks 
 I've crossed, that dwarf our hills to pigmies, yet 
 They seem'd not half so near to heaven as these; 
 Kind words, kind looks have hail'd me, none so sweet 
 As I bore with me in my memory; 
 Fair faces, too, have smiled on me, but none 
 So fair as one I hoarded in my heart. 
 That was my talisman by day and night. 
 Through weariness and danger. Happy hour. 
 That sees me back with all I love again! 
 
 Marghekita (atide, and turning away). 
 Happy? Alas! Alas! 
 
 GniDO. 
 
 Why, what's the matter? 
 You do not seem so glad to see me. Speak, 
 There's no mischance? My uncle? 
 
 Marghekita. 
 
 He is well. 
 
 And Pia? 
 
 GUIDO. 
 
 Margherita. 
 
 Well. 
 
 GuiDO. 
 
 Thank heaven for that! And yet 
 Your looks belie your words. All is not well. 
 Why come tliey not tt) greet me? Where's ray uncle? 
 
MADONXA PIA. 43 
 
 Maegheeita. 
 He left me even now. 
 
 GuiDO. 
 
 What! He heard my step, 
 Yet waited not to welcome me? Speak, speak. 
 There is some mystery here. Torture me not. 
 It is not Pia — no, no, look at me, 
 No words, no words, but tell me with thine eyes, 
 That she is safe! Then come what misery else. 
 And I can bear it. 
 
 Maegheeita. 
 
 She is safe. 
 
 GuiDO. 
 
 Hast thou 
 No ampler words to still my fears than these? 
 If she be safe and well, why comes she not? 
 
 Maegheeita. 
 She — • she is not here. 
 
 GuiDO. 
 Not here? Why, how is this? 
 When was it that my uncle learn'd to spare 
 His Pia from her home? 
 
 Maegheeita. 
 
 Her home no more. 
 
 GuiDO. 
 
 Where should her home be? Wherefore do you strain me 
 Thus piecemeal on the rack? Out with your tale! 
 My heart is at your feet. In mercy, speak. 
 Tell me of Pia, of my love! 
 
 Maegheeita. 
 
 She is 
 Another's bride. 
 
44 MADONNA PIA. 
 
 GniDO. 
 
 She? She another's? She? 
 Maesherita. 
 Yes , dearest Guide , yes ! Some three months since 
 She wedded the Count Nello della Pietra. 
 
 GuiDo. 
 AVedded Count Nello — she, my Pia , mine, 
 My own vow'd love, whose latest words to me 
 Were words of sweet assurance — she to wed 
 Another! She! Oh, false one, false! Yet no, 
 She has been forced to this. Yes! I remember, 
 He saved my uncle's life — she his reward, 
 Her heart the sacrifice. 
 
 Marohehita. 
 
 No, Guide, no! 
 There was no force, no sacrifice. 
 
 GuiDO. 
 
 I'll not 
 Believe it. She was mine; AVhat need.ed vow, 
 When all my life was but one vow of love,' 
 And all her looks, words, acts, acceptance of it? 
 AVhy, why was I not here? This ne'er had been. 
 Oh cruel! Where my trust were fullest, there 
 To be most deeply stxmg! 
 
 Margheeita. 
 
 Nay, wrong us not! 
 Wrong not your cousin! With her hand her heart 
 Went freely. 
 
 GuiDO. 
 She shall tell me so, and then. 
 Belike, I shall believe it. I will see herj 
 And have assurance from her lips of all. 
 
MADOHNA PIA. 45 
 
 I deem'd my travel ended; there is yet 
 A point beyond. 
 
 Mabgheeita. 
 (Aside.) This must not he. Yet how 
 Shall I prevent him ? (Aloud.) Guide , you know well , 
 That I have loved you ever, — have I not? 
 Some claim I have upon your trust, and now 
 I urge it. You shall see her, but not now. 
 
 GniDo. 
 Why should I pause? 
 
 MAnaHEBITA. 
 
 For her sake. Think, she is 
 Another's bride. You would not have her lord 
 Make question of the love he deems his own? 
 
 GuiDO. 
 Was I considered? 
 
 Makghekita. 
 (Aside.) I must tell him all. 
 (Aloud.) Count Nello keeps close watch upon his bride. 
 You raarTjel , yet 'tis so. Already v-^e 
 Are fearful for her happiness; a creature 
 So frank, so noble, mated to a lord. 
 Whose love is strangely mingled with distrust. . 
 He knows not how you grew, up, side by side, 
 Nor dreams love's homage ever reach'd her ears. 
 From other tongue than his. I fear me much. 
 Came he to learn the story of your youth, 
 His jealous doubts would grow to certainties. 
 Then farewell peace for ever! Think of this. 
 Be patient. Leave to me to find the means 
 To bring you to your cousin. Hush, my brother! 
 No word of this to him! 
 
 [Enter Tolommei. 
 
40 MADONNA PIA. 
 
 ToLOMMEi (embracing GniDo). 
 My gallant boy! 
 How shall I look on you! Indeed, I knew not, 
 How 'twas 'twixt you and Pia! Yet I ought — 
 Oh purblind fool! Ah, Guide! — 
 
 GUIDO. 
 
 Not a word! 
 The past is past, and I will learn to bear. 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 Eail on me , spurn me ! Call me dotard , ass , 
 In grate, unnatural! All these I am, 
 And only fit for scorn. 
 
 GuiDO. 
 
 Nay, uncle, nay! 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 I am, I am! You wrong'd, and Pia wreck'd , 
 Yes, Guido, wreck'd! And all through me. .1 see 
 My folly now, biit all too late, too late! 
 
 GcriDO. > 
 
 Think not so sadly. Wherefore should she not 
 Be happy? Nobly wedded — a kind lord — 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 Kind! He is hard, cold, selfish; sets even now 
 
 A barrier 'twixt my child and me, and holds her 
 
 Enmew'd and prison'd, like a bird he fears 
 
 Is yearning for her eyrie far away. 
 
 And yearn she will, if now she yearneth not. 
 
 That where she gave her trust there in return 
 
 No trust is given , and then — 
 
 GuiDO. 
 
 She still is ours 
 
MADONNA PIA. 47 
 
 To guard from wvong. Though lost to me, my life 
 Was hers, and shall be to the last. 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 My own 
 True-hearted Guide! You shall he my sou. 
 You're all that's left to cheer the old man now. 
 Oh, but to think what we have lost, how all 
 Might well have been so different, had you, 
 My sou indeed, and my dear Pia, crowned 
 With summer buds, the winter of my years! 
 
 Maegsheeita. 
 Give not the rein to thoughts like these! (7'o Guido.) 
 
 Come in. 
 You're weary, need repose. 
 
 Gdido (to her). 
 
 Ah, not so weary. 
 As sick at heart. (Aside.) Let come what may, I'll see 
 
 her, 
 And know the truth. If she be happy, well! 
 There's comfort still. If not, then let him look to't. 
 This tyrant lord ! 
 
 TOLOMMEI. 
 
 Our sorrows make us selfish. 
 You've ridden far, and at your journey's end 
 Found cheerless welcome. But you are come, Guido, 
 And these old walls look brighter even now. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
48 MADONNA PIA. 
 
 SCENE SECOND. 
 
 A. Garden. 
 Jacomo and Flavio enter. 
 
 Flavio. 
 I tell you, fellow, 'tis Count Nello's orders. 
 
 Jacomo. 
 And, fellow! I tell you, I do not care. 
 Though 'twere ten times his orders. Fellow! Zounds, 
 If you don't mend your manners, by the mass, 
 I'll cudgel you into civility. 
 A pickthank , sneaking knave ! 
 
 ^ Flavio. 
 
 {Half drams his sword, then puis it back.) 
 
 Pshaw! Let him rail! 
 Who heeds the barking of a toothless cur? 
 
 Jacomo. 
 Oh, you do well to put your rapier up. 
 The sight of steel might give your valour qualms. 
 Fellow! Go to! Many's the bloody crown 
 I've given your betters for a less affront. 
 
 Flavio. 
 Most valiant ancientry, the time may come. 
 And welcome, too, to put your threats to proof. 
 When, if I don't avenge these bloody crowns, 
 I'll give you leave to call me jackanapes. 
 But meanwhile you have heard my lord's commands, — 
 Af?/. lord's and yours — and look they be obeyed! 
 
 \_Exit Flavio. 
 
MADONNA PIA. 49 
 
 Jacomo. 
 My lord, indeed! I serve Count Nello? I? 
 'Tis not to do his bidding I am here. 
 On Such condition doomsday should have come, 
 Ere I had set a, foot within his gates. 
 The Lady Pia, at her wish I came. 
 And her and only her will I obey. 
 His orders, quotha? Save with his consent 
 I must not seek my lady's presence, eh? 
 And so 'tis come to this! But they shall find 
 I have an eye upon them. His commands! 
 I'll seek her when I will and where I may, 
 And never ask his leave. I fear him not. 
 Although he be her lord, — woe worth the hour! 
 He is no lord of mine. Till she forbid, 
 I'll come and go as freely as before , 
 And see who shall prevent me. Sunset , hey , 
 And not a flower cut yet! Whom have we here? 
 
 [Enter Cosimo. 
 Now, as I live, "tis Cnsimo! Why, man, 
 I scarcely knew you in this brave attire. 
 Who ever would have thought to see you here? 
 
 Cosimo. 
 'Faith, friend, I've risen somewhat in the world, 
 Since last we met. I've travelled, Jacomo; 
 The rolling stone for once has gathered moss, 
 A comfortable moss, the bounteous growth 
 Of right good living and of right good wages. 
 Service is no inheritance, they say; 
 But I protest, to serve Count Guido is. 
 
 Jacomo. 
 Count Guido? You went with him, so you did. 
 And is the Count come back? 
 
50 MADONNA I'lA. 
 
 ('OSIMO. 
 
 Am I come back? 
 His page, liis equerry, his man-at-arms, 
 Chief conservator of his lordship's person, 
 The very shadow of his presence, I. 
 You see me here. Then judge , if he's come back. 
 
 Jacomo. 
 And I not know it? Times are changed, when he 
 Could be so near, and yet not seek me out. 
 But I'm a fool! How .should he seek me here? 
 
 CosiMu. 
 Why there it is, friend! Times are changed indeed. 
 To echo people's words is scarce polite — 
 Oh , trust me , wo that travel know what's what — 
 But if I were to die for't, I must say, 
 Who ever would have thought to see you here? 
 
 Jacomo. 
 Ay, who indeed? 
 
 CosiMO. 
 How came it all about? 
 Jacomo. 
 That's more than I can tell , or any man. 
 The foul fiend had some hand in it, I think, 
 To turn the Lady Pia's thoughts away 
 From her oivn kin to this Count Nello here! 
 
 CosiMO. 
 Who couW have thought it, and so sudden too? 
 
 Jacomo. 
 Oh, ne'er sped wooing quicker. At the first 
 She shrunk before him like a fluttered dove, 
 But day by day he came, and day by day, — 
 
MADONNA PIA. 51 
 
 There must have been some witchcraft in his eye — 
 She trembled closer to the falconer's Inre , 
 Until he held her fast within his toils. 
 
 CosiMO. 
 And the Count Tolommei? 
 
 Jacomo. 
 
 Why, it seeni'd 
 As though he'd set his heart upon the match. 
 It was to solder up old feuds , he said , 
 To join their lands in one broad seignory, 
 And Lord knows what beside. Enough, he gave 
 His frank consent, and there's the story told. 
 
 CosiMO. 
 Marry in haste, repent at leisure, eh? 
 The saw holds good, I fancy? 
 
 Jacomo. 
 
 Who says so? 
 Count Nello dotes on her, and she on him, 
 As fondly as the day they plighted hands. 
 Who dares to say, then, they repent the bond? 
 
 CosiMO. 
 Oh, nobody says so; but I can tell 
 As well as most folks , when the wind's at east. 
 Whate'er the lady and her lord may be, 
 Count Tolommei has grown cold, I'll swear. 
 Were all things as they should be, why should he 
 Be grown jo choleric, so sharp and sour? 
 
 Jacomo. 
 An old man's failing! Nothing strange in that. 
 
 COSIMO. 
 
 Ay, but he visits not the Count, nor comes 
 
52 MADONNA PI A. 
 
 The Count to visit liim. That's strange, you'll own. 
 Not quite like new-made sire and son-in-law? 
 
 Jacomo. 
 A chance, n chance! (Aside.) Confound this curious fool! 
 (Aloud.) Count Nello has had business on his hands. 
 
 CosiMO. 
 Indeed! Well, well, it's no affair of mine. 
 {Aside.) A close old dog. I'll try another tack. 
 (Aloud.) This letter (showing letter), eh? Now what may 
 this portend? 
 
 Jacomo. 
 (Coming close up to him, and looking anxiously round.) 
 A letter, and for whom? 
 
 CosiMO. 
 
 Why, look and see. 
 
 Jacomo. 
 For whom, I say? Speak low! 
 
 CosiMO. 
 
 The Lady Pia. 
 
 Jacomo. 
 And from whom? 
 
 Cosimo. 
 From my master, the Count Guido. 
 Jacomo. 
 Count Guido? (Snatches the letter, and hides it hastily in 
 his lifeast.) Hush! 
 
 Cosimo. 
 Well, now, this i.s passing strange. 
 Count Guido gives me charge to find you out. 
 To give this letter to no hand hut yours. 
 First making sure that nobody is by. 
 
MADONNA PIA. 53 
 
 'Be wary, close, and secret!' was his charge. 
 
 AVell, I do find you, nobody is by. 
 
 I sliow the letter, — up you smother it, 
 
 As it would spread infection on the air. 
 
 And whisper, and cry hush, as though each shrub 
 
 Contained an eaves-dropper. 'Tis very odd. 
 
 Some secret embassy, — so secret, zounds. 
 
 They keep it from the ambassador himself! 
 
 Jacomo. 
 You had no other message? 
 
 CosiMO. 
 
 None. 
 
 Jacomo. 
 
 That's well. 
 Now , if you'll profit by a, friend's advice , 
 You'll quit this place as fast as you can post; 
 For should they find you in his lordship's grounds, 
 . I will not answer for your squireship's ears. 
 
 COSIMO. 
 
 How? 
 
 Jacomo. 
 The order's strict to keep intruders out. 
 'Tis growing dusk, and these Pietri churls 
 Might fairly fail to recognise a friend 
 In an old foe of such long standing — hey? 
 So, friend, good even! 
 
 CosiMO. 
 
 But 
 
 Jacomo. 
 
 You'd best be gone. 
 Yonder goes Messer Flavio. Let him see you, 
 And he'll not leave a whole bone in your skin. 
 
54 MADONNA riA. 
 
 COSIMO. 
 
 Now, by my valour, I'll not stir a foot. 
 
 My rapier lacks an airing. Flavio! 
 
 AVho's he, that I should strike my flag to liim? 
 
 Jacomo. 
 (Aside.) Oh, I must humour this hot fool, I see. 
 (Aloud.) Suppose yours were a secret emhassy,' — 
 As 'tis no less — is this the way to do 
 Your master's will? He charged you to he close, 
 Wary , and secret. You would court a brawl — 
 Peril Count Guide's secret? Tush! Your brains 
 Will serve him better here, man, than your sword. 
 He's on the rack to know his letter's safe , 
 And will not stint his ducats for your news. 
 Away! 
 
 CosiMO. 
 Thou put'st the matter cogently. 
 I'll go — but not for fear of Flavio. 
 No, by my valour; no, nor fifty such! I Exit. 
 
 Jacomo. 
 Thank heaven, he's gone! A letter for my lady, 
 And from Count Guido! They that should have wed! 
 My dear young master! Better 'twere, perchance. 
 She saw it not. But can I say him nay? 
 No , she shall have it. Wherefore not? I was 
 To see her uuly by Count Nello's leave ! 
 That was the word ! The letter she shall have. 
 Jealous, my lord? You shall have reason, then. 
 It could not well have come at fitter time. [Exit. 
 
MAnONNA riA. 55 
 
 SCENE THIED. 
 
 A chamber in the castle of Count Nello Della Pietea. Win- 
 dom in centre, opening on a balcony. Lamp burning on a table, 
 at nhich Count Nello is discovered seated; Fr,Avio standing near 
 him. Count Nello lakes papers from table, and hajids them to 
 Flavio. 
 
 Nello. 
 These for Viseonti; for the Balbi these! 
 Away to horse! JRide as for life and death, 
 And meet me with their answers ere the dawu 
 In Florence! 
 
 Flavio. 
 X am gone (going). 
 Nello. 
 
 A word! You gave 
 My orders, none should have admittance here? 
 
 Flavio. 
 I did, my lord; and can rely on all 
 To obey them to the letter 
 
 Nello. 
 
 Good! 
 
 Flavio. 
 
 Save one — 
 
 An' I might be so bold? 
 
 Nello. 
 Well, speak, man, speak! 
 
56 MADONNA I'lA. 
 
 FTiAVIO. 
 
 That Jacomo — he grows rebellious. 
 
 Nelt^o. 
 
 He! 
 Nay, fear him not. A rough and gnarlefl bark, 
 But honest at the core. The very love 
 He bears the Lady Pia, she for him, 
 Is voucher for his loyalty and truth. 
 I'll trust him. Now, away! 
 
 [Exit Flaa'io. Count Nei.t.o 
 Tises and comes forward. 
 No , Flavio , no 1 
 If I do set this guard upon my house. 
 It is not that I doubt my lady's faith. 
 I know her love as pure and free from taint , 
 As the white vestments of a saint in bliss. 
 It is myself, not her, that I distrust. 
 Churl that I am, I cannot spare one glance 
 Of the endearing kindness of her eyes; 
 Forego one smile, or share the tones that come 
 Like a. caress upon the wondering ear. 
 Oh, bane of love, tliat in its own excess 
 Is rack'd cv'n by the charms on which it doats. 
 And dreads to lose what most it knows its own! 
 My own! My own! Dear words! They haunt my lips. 
 Yet still hang doubt and tremor at my heart. 
 How have I won her? Are there no regrets. 
 No lookings back on happy days gone by, 
 No contrast of my harsh and wayward moods 
 With the smooth homage of some spriglitlier tongue? 
 Who's he she spoke of once, but would not name? 
 Why does his shadow ever cross my thoughts? 
 Why do I pry and peer in every face, 
 That kindles —whose does not? —- beneath her glance. 
 
MADONNA PIA. 57 
 
 To find if there a smouldering passion burns? 
 
 Wlio loved her once, loves ever! How, if she 
 
 Should nurse some lingering tenderness for him? 
 
 I will not think it. Like an open book 
 
 She lays her heart before me. Mine it is. 
 
 And I'll so fence and hedge it round with love , 
 
 So interweave her being with my own. 
 
 That, knowing thus my priceless gem secure, 
 
 Covet who may, my heart shall be at jjeace. 
 
 [Goes up to windorv at back, and looks out. 
 
 The moon already up! That's well! 'Twill lend 
 
 Her light to speed me on my way to-night. 
 
 There may be danger stirring. Well bethought! 
 
 A score or so of spears were not amiss. 
 
 Ho, Flavio! Tush, he must ere this be gone! 
 
 Ottavio! No! I'll look to this myself. [Exit. 
 
 As he goes off, enter on the other side 
 Jacomo. 
 
 His moody lordship gone! That's quite as well. 
 
 To greet him ever goes against my grain. 
 
 Now, there's a, chance I may have speech, beside. 
 
 With my dear lady mistress. Here she comes! 
 
 \_Enter Pia. She does not at first observe 
 Jacomo. Goes up to the table, and raises 
 the papers on which Count Nello has 
 been engaged. 
 
 Pia. 
 
 Not here? His message, too, so urgent! Strange! 
 Some new disquietude! Ah, me! these wars 
 Make cruel havoc of the life of home! 
 These scrolls , in each I see fresh lines of care 
 Upon my Nello's brow , — hours when his heart 
 Is barred to me, and all that mine would speak. 
 
58 
 
 MADONNA PIA. 
 
 Hard! When a work! of things are yet to say, 
 Would draw our spirits closer, lift the cloud 
 Of dark distrust, that sometimes veils his mind, 
 And hathe it in the sunshine of content! 
 
 [Observes Jacomo. 
 Ah, Jacomo, good even! Best of friends! 
 I feared you had forgot me. 
 
 Jacomo (presents her with flowers). 
 I! Forget! 
 What has the old man to remember else, 
 But how to pleasure you? 'Tis like old times. 
 When X can see you smile. 
 
 Pia. 
 
 The dear old times. 
 Jacomo. 
 Ah, they were times indeed! Dear heart! I miss 
 The old faces sometimes , the old hearty ways , 
 The old kind voices ! 
 
 Pia. 
 'Tis too hard a task 
 I've laid upon you , to attend me here , 
 Where all are strangers round you. You must leave me. 
 
 Jacomo. 
 Strangers! the greater need for me to stay. 
 Leave you! While life is left me, leave you — never! 
 Heed not the old man's grumbling. I had news 
 From the old house, that set me longing. 
 
 Pia. 
 
 News? 
 What news? 
 
 Jacomo. 
 The young Count Guide has come back. 
 
MADONNA PIA. 59 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Guido ! My cousin Guido ! 
 
 Jacomo. 
 
 I so long 
 To see liis bright and handsome face again, 
 His gallant air! To think I had some hand 
 In training him into the man he is! 
 She heeds me not. Dear lady? 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Guido returned? 
 
 Jacomo. 
 I have a message for you from him (looking round). Ay, 
 A letter ! Here ! (Gives letter. She takes it, opens it hastily, 
 and reads it.) 
 (Aside.) Heaven send. Count Nello comes not! 
 There's trouble in that letter! It was like! 
 How pale she grows! Fool that I was to give it! 
 (Aloud.) I trust this letter bears no evil news. 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Oh, nothing, nothing. (Aside.) Oh, disastrous chance! 
 (Aloud.) How came you by this? 
 
 Jacomo. 
 ' Scarce an hour ago, 
 
 'Twas given me by Count Guide's equerry. 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Sad! Sad! 
 
 Jacomo. 
 She is deeply troubled. It were best 
 I should be gone, before the Count returns. 
 Lady, good night! 
 
 PiA (abstractedly). 
 
 Good night, dear Jacomo! 
 
(jO madonna pia. 
 
 Jacomo. 
 There's miscliief brooding. If Count Nollo should! — 
 'Tis very like, he may, and then. Heaven knows, 
 "What might ensue. I'll be upon the watch. [Exit. 
 
 Pia. 
 He knew not of my marriage, then; and all 
 The hopes whereon I had begun to build 
 Were quicksands merely ! {Heads from Idler.) 
 
 'See you. Prom your lips, 
 'Yours only, take the assurance of my doom, 
 'And claim, — it is my right, — a last farewell!' 
 It must not be! I feel my every step 
 Is marked and followed by no friendly eyes! 
 And were Count Nello to encounter him, 
 'T would fire the slumbering jealousy, that waits 
 But for a spark to kindle it in flame , 
 How to be quench'd appals me even to think! 
 No, if I've done my cousin Guide wrong, — 
 And yet I know not how — not on his head. 
 Nor yet on my dear lord's, that wronged him not. 
 The penalty must fall ! I hear his step. 
 He must not find me thus. This too ! Lie there ! 
 
 (Places the letter in her bosom.) 
 So near my heart like treason seems to him. 
 Who is its master; — yet what refuge else? [Enter Ndllo. 
 I came upon your bidding, dear my lord, 
 
 But you were gone, ere I 
 
 Nello. 
 
 Your pardon, love! 
 I had to put some matters in despatch, 
 Of sudden urgency. 
 
 Pia. 
 Is aught amiss? 
 Ah, I can read new trouble in yoxir eyes! 
 
MADONNA PIA. 61 
 
 Nello. 
 No trouLlg, but my heart's impatience, sweet, 
 That I must leave you for some little space! 
 They summon me to conference at Florence. 
 I must away to-night. 
 
 PlA. 
 
 How ! Go from me 
 Again so soon? 
 
 Nello. 
 The sooner to return. 
 I will be back ere you have time to miss me. 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Ah, Nolle, no! 'Tis very lonely here, 
 When you're away. 
 
 Nello. 
 Lonely? You'd flatter me! 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Why should you think I flatter? Did I flatter. 
 When Nello sued, and Pia heard his suit, 
 When Nello vowed his absence from her side 
 But for one little hour was wretchedness. 
 And she believed him , happy in her faith? 
 "Say, was it flattery then, or the heart's voice, 
 "That recognised its mate, and said, I come? 
 "Then, dearest, can you think I should be aught 
 "But lonely, reft of that society, 
 "Which is my soul's sole comfort, and its joy.' 
 
 Nello. 
 "The subtlest flattery of all is that, 
 "Which makes the lover feel he is beloved, 
 "Yet not in words avows it.'' Oh, dear Pia, 
 You make even absence sweet to me, assured. 
 
MADONNA riA. 
 
 Your thoughts are with me still, as mine with you. 
 Yet why should you be sad, when I am goqe. 
 Here be your flowers, your birds, your broidery, 
 Your poets and romancers; what need more 
 To make the hours run swiftly? 
 
 PlA. 
 
 And you think 
 The heart demands no more? 
 
 Nello. 
 
 What would it have? 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Freedom! Free air, free intercourse with those 
 It loves! 
 
 Nello. 
 It loves? A wife should have no love 
 But for her husband. 
 
 PlA. 
 
 You would have me, then. 
 Forget 'my father, my dear aunt — the years. 
 When they were all in all to me? 
 
 Nello. 
 
 Not all. 
 There was another. I have not forgot 
 That pretty tale you told, yet told but half. 
 Hiding its hero. Freedom? Yes! Free speech. 
 Free intercourse with him? 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Oh , unworthy ! 
 This is your guerdon for my maiden trust! 
 This your requital for the frankness, laid 
 Its heart's sole secret open to your hand! 
 
MADONNA PIA. 63 
 
 I deem'd you worthy of such confldence, 
 You teach me I was wrong. 
 
 Nello. 
 
 Why do you hide 
 His nftme from me? 
 
 PlA. 
 
 My secret has been told: 
 You have no right to his. 
 
 Nello. 
 
 You love him, Pia? 
 
 PlA. 
 
 If I had loved him, you had never ownVl 
 
 The right to question me. Go, sir! You make 
 
 Your absence welcome 
 
 Nello (kneeling). 
 
 Pardon, Pia, pardon! 
 Forget what I have said. My words were mad. 
 This once forgive. I live but on your love, 
 And grudge the very air, which fans your cheek. 
 The sweetness that it rifles. Mine, mine all, 
 Fd have you, heart, soul, sense. Your very dreams 
 Should all be mine. Your girlho,od's memories 
 I would rase out, and all your life gone by, 
 That mingled not with mine. There should not live 
 The man could say, I knew this Pia once. 
 And from her smiles drew sunshine. Look on me ! 
 Turn not in anger from me, or I die. 
 
 [She turns toniards hin 
 Oh, thanks! And when this frenzy mads my brain, 
 rU think of thee, as I behold thee now, 
 And be at peace. I must away awhile, 
 To see my force prepared. You pardon me? 
 
64 MADONNA PIA. 
 
 PlA. 
 
 I do. {Exit Nello.) Ay, pardon, pity — you, myself, 
 
 For this offence but preludes many more , 
 
 To crave new pardon, putting to fresh strain 
 
 The chords of love should hind us each to each» 
 
 Till we shall wake some day and find them rent. 
 
 And this is man's devotion! Yielding us 
 
 Now homage as we vi^ere- enshrined saints, 
 
 Anon arraigning us as blurr'd and foul 
 
 With falsehood most abhorr'd! And he could doubt rae — 
 
 Does doubt me now! Ay, though he stooped so low 
 
 For my forgiveness, he distrusts me still. 
 
 Yes, Pia, shrink not from the fatal truth. 
 
 His faith is gone — and, nurse it how you may. 
 
 That flower once snapp'd revives not evermore. 
 
 [GuiDO is seen to cross the balnstrnde of the 
 balcony, and appears at the window. 
 
 GuiDO. 
 'Tis she 1 Alone ! 
 
 Pia (seating herself on a couch). 
 
 How little dreamt the bride. 
 Who entered here but three short months ago. 
 How close the clouds were gathering on the verge 
 Of her fair heaven of new-enkindled hopes! 
 But this is girlish weakness! Nello loves me. 
 And it may be his very love — perchance. 
 Some doubt, too, of his worthiness — excites 
 These jealous moods that change him to a thing 
 His better self despises. Shall I, then. 
 Not bear with them , till in my life he reads 
 Such confutation of his fears, shall make 
 His faith in me as absolute , as I 
 Am well assured his love isV 
 
MADONNA PIA. 65 
 
 GniDo (advancing). 
 Pia! 
 
 FlA. 
 
 Who spoke? 
 
 Ha, 
 
 GruiDO {kneels to her). 
 One Guido whom you knew. 
 
 Pia. 
 
 Great Heavens! 
 How came you here? What madness prompted you? 
 
 GuiDO. 
 Ay, call it madness! I do think I'm mad. 
 Thought, reason, gone, oh, would that memory, too, I 
 
 Were dead! — One burning impulse only left. 
 To find you, look upon your face once more, 
 And turn my heart to stone hy gazing there! 
 
 Pia. 
 And thus you seek me? Oh, 'tis bravely done. 
 To steal thus on my privacy! Away! 
 If you must seek me, seek me openly. 
 Each word you speak is outrage to myself, 
 And treason to my lord. 
 
 Gumo. 
 
 Treason to him! 
 If I have sought you thus, who made me? He! 
 This lord, that holds you prison'd from all eyes, 
 Sets spies upon your motions, makes these walls 
 The barrier 'twixt yourself and all mankind — 
 
 Pia. 
 Hold, Sir! 
 
 Guido. 
 Nay, thrusts your father from his gates — 
 
66 MADONNA I'lA. 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Oil, cahimiij' most foul! 
 
 GUIDO. 
 
 Oil , truth most foul! 
 This very clay he \yiik denied admittance. 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Oh no, 'tis false! 
 
 DriDo. 
 Then is your father false , 
 Whose ery of broken anguish echoes still 
 Uiiou mine cars, lamenting for his child, 
 Shut )jy a jealous tyrant from his arms. 
 His lordsliiji's lackeys spurned him from your gates, 
 'Tivas nice, then, 1 should have his leave to come. 
 I tarried not to ask it. He was gone 
 From home, they said. I leapt the garden walls. 
 And found my way here. 
 
 PlA. 
 
 (Aside) Shut my father from mi'! 
 Is this his love for )iie? (Aloud) You must aw.ny 
 He left WW e\'cu now — should he retui-n — 
 
 GoiDO. 
 Let him return. I care not. lie and I 
 lla\'(; a dread reckoning to make together; 
 It matter.'^ not how soon. 
 
 PlA. 
 
 You .shall not stay. 
 
 GuiDO. 
 Wlio shall prevent me? 
 
 PlA. 
 
 I will. Are yon a man, 
 Sworn hy the sword you wear to do the right. 
 
MADONNA PIA. 
 
 67 
 
 To guard the weak, from wrong, yet would compel 
 A helpless woman to endure your presence, 
 Taint her with holding secret conference. 
 Blast her repute with foul surmise , and bring 
 Disgrace upon the Tolommei's name? 
 You linger still? 
 
 GuiDO. 
 Wfiat message to your father? 
 That you approve your lord's commands , content 
 To sacrifice all other ties to him? 
 
 PlA. 
 
 My father needs no message to assure him , 
 His daughter knows- her duty, and will do it. 
 Sir, you abuse his name to press me thus, 
 And cloak the wilful madness brought you here! 
 Must I again command? 
 
 GuiDO. 
 
 I will be gone. 
 Thus meet we, and thus part. Thus is the star, 
 I steer'd my course by, quench'd. I had a dream 
 Of Paradise — I turn'd, and lo, the hand. 
 That held love's sparkling chalice to my lips, 
 Spurn'd me aside , and gave it to another. 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Is this my cousin Guido? 
 
 GuiDO. 
 
 Oh, well feigned, — 
 Well as the love you cheated me withal , 
 When last we stood together! 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Love! Well feign'd! 
 
 5.i. 
 
MADONNA PIA. 
 
 GniDO. 
 
 Oh, tell mo you were Ignorant I loved you, 
 
 Nor ever look'd approval of my love; 
 
 Say that I never vow'd my heart to you, 
 
 Say that you never took the offering, 
 
 Say that our parting words, words hurnt in flame 
 
 Upon my heart , were but an idler's dream , 
 
 Say anything to vindicate the wrong, 
 
 Has laid my soul in ruins ! 
 
 PiA. 
 
 Hear me, Guido. 
 I never loved you, save in such a sort 
 As sister may the brother of her youth. 
 So have I loved you ever. Never' act 
 Of mine gave warrant of a different faith; 
 Or if it did, at least I knew it not. 
 
 Gtjido. 
 'Twas nothing, then, to listen to my suit. 
 To send me forth, without one word to wake 
 A doubt of its acceptance, fired with hopes, 
 That were the very lifeblood of my heart! 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Alas, and was it thus, then, that you read 
 My silence in that hurried parting hour? 
 'Twas all so strange, so sudden! 
 GniDO. 
 
 Sudden ! Strange ! 
 The voice of a life's devotion! A true heart 
 Had found as sudden answer — truth for truth 
 At least had given! A word had done't. 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Forgive me , 
 That I have wrong'd you thus unwittingly. 
 
MADONHA PIA. 69 
 
 'Tis pain enough, that I have done you wrong; 
 
 You must not hold me guilty of deceit. 
 
 Let the plain truth he still hetween us, Guido, 
 
 As it was ever in the olden days. 
 
 You never spoke to me of love but then, 
 
 And your words fill'd me with a strange surprise. 
 
 For I had dreamt not of the love they told, 
 
 Had you but stay'd , I should have told you this — 
 
 Gdido. 
 Oh cursid hour, that took me from Sienna! 
 
 Madonna. 
 When from that dream I woke , and found you gone , 
 1 fear'd, a false hope might have fill'd your heart; 
 But yoTTr long silence Inll'd my fears, and I 
 Began to think, believe, that in the stir 
 Of other scenes , the wound , if wound it were , 
 Had found a balm, which left your heart unscarr'd. 
 
 GniDO. 
 Look on me now, and say, if love like mine 
 Is like to find a balm for hopes betrayed. 
 It was my life — fed every hope, thought, dream; 
 The growth of years, its fibres in my heart, 
 'Tis rooted there, and there it needs must live, 
 Till that heart cease to beat. But you , so soon 
 You could forget me! 
 
 PlA. 
 
 I did not forget. 
 Be just to me. You love, — know what love is, 
 And to that love you bear I make appeal. 
 Love comes, — how, when we know not, — does not lie 
 Within our wills, will not be bought by love. 
 
70 SrADONNA PIA. 
 
 Have brought to ycu. But what you ever were , 
 That you are now to me , and ever shall be , — 
 As dear to me, as may comport with due 
 Allegiance to my lord. 
 
 GuiDo. 
 
 You love him, then? 
 I Avould believe it from your lips alone. 
 All's said! So ends the story of my love. 
 The glory of my life. 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Oh, say not so! 
 Life is for other ends than but to love ; 
 Nor always in fulfilment of its wish 
 Finds love content. Heav'n sends its lessonings 
 To one through triumph, through failure to another. 
 Trial to all. 'Tis by the blows of fate 
 The spirit's strength is welded; only hearts 
 Of vulgar temper shiver 'neatli their shock. 
 Hay you have lost your love , all is not lost. 
 IShatl you for this forego the noble strife 
 For honour, and the power to compass good 
 And glory for our country? No ! In that 
 Brave strife forget the past — at least, its pain. 
 And if at times, perchance, its .shadows rest 
 Too darkly on your path, think there is one, 
 AVliose eye is on your progress , — one , whose heart 
 Will triumph in your triumph, proud to know, 
 That for her sake you wrestled witli your grief 
 And overthrew it. 
 
 GuiDo. 
 My best teacher ever! 
 I will .'ipprove me worthy to have loved 
 A being all so noble. When you hear 
 
MADOMNA I'lA. 71 
 
 Of me hereafter, you shall know it is 
 
 Your spirit lives within me. Life has lost 
 
 Not all its sweetness, while it offers still 
 
 An aim so fair, a memory so endeared. 
 
 Forgive my hasty words! Forgive this rash 
 
 Intrusion on your presence! Now, adieu! 
 
 And Heaven rain all sweet blessings on your path. 
 
 And comfort you with sunshine to its close! 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Adieu! My loving greeting to my father! 
 Assure him I am well, and well at ease. 
 You'll ho a son to him? 
 
 GuiDO. 
 
 lie sure I will. 
 He shall not lack an arm to help or guide, 
 While Guido lives. Adieu! 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Heaven's peace go with you! 
 [, /s GuiDO is retiring across the balcontj , enter 
 Nello, mho hears the hist mortis. Via turns, 
 and observing ISeTuIjO starts, but immediately 
 recovers her composure , while he rushes for- 
 ward and seizinji her by the wrist points to 
 the window. 
 
 Nello. 
 This is the freedom that you pine for! This 
 Your heart's free intercourse with those it loves! 
 
 EHD OF ACT TUE SECOND. 
 
ACT THIRD. 
 
 A hall in a chateau. Door in centre. An apartment opens out 
 on left; on the right a rvindow, barricaded with iron stanchions. 
 A Gothic couch with a table. 
 
 Count Nello (discovered seated, with a book in his hand). 
 I'll read no more. Some fascination draws 
 Me ever back to this accursed book. 
 What wretch was he who gave his nights and days 
 To wring from nature all her secret banes, 
 Compound and label them, like vulgar wares, 
 And make a ghastly merchandise of death? 
 What I would have this shows me how to gain: 
 But oh , not thus , not thus ! 
 
 [Rises. Looks restlessly towards the door on the left. 
 What keeps this monk 
 So long within her chamber? Does she trust 
 Him with the secret she withholds from me, 
 And make to him confession of the love 
 Which bars me from the portals of her heart? 
 Oh, how I loved this woman! Loved? Love still! 
 To know her soul mine , as her hand is , were 
 Supremest bliss. But this can never be. 
 Yet, if not mine, no other man shall boast. 
 He won the prize I wrestled for in vain. 
 Death only shall dispute my bride \vith me. 
 And him will I encounter by her side , 
 And give him welcome , come how soon he may ! 
 
 [The Pbior enters from the chamber of the Countess. 
 
MADONNA PIA. 73 
 
 At last he comes. Good even, holy father! 
 
 How fares it with my gentle lady, pray? 
 
 Men laud your cunning in the leech's craft. 
 
 Not less than they extol your piety. 
 
 I look that she may profit much hy hoth. 
 
 What "of her malady? Not grave, I trust? 
 
 How's this? You do not answer — and that look? 
 
 Pkiok. 
 You've sought my aid, sir, somewhat tardily. 
 
 Nello . 
 How! Tardily? What means this freezing tone? 
 Speak! Tell me all! What fear is in your thoughts? 
 Within the last few days her eyes have gained 
 All their old lustre, and her cheek its bloom; 
 "Smiles sat upon her lips, her tones were glad, 
 "And health seem'd living in her frame anew." 
 What blight has come to change all in an hour? 
 
 PmoB. 
 Trust not, my lord, this fleeting gleam. Our art 
 Warns us to dread it as a fatal sign. 
 Even death at times puts on a masking guise. 
 
 Nello. 
 Death! And no remedy? . 
 
 Pnioit. 
 
 But one. 
 Nello. 
 
 Say on — 
 What must be done? 
 
 Pkio e. 
 . Remove her hence at once 
 From the Maremma's pestilential air! 
 
74 MADONNA riA. 
 
 To-nionow — nay, to-night, this very hour. 
 If it be not even now, perchance, too late! 
 
 Nello. 
 Nay, nay, you must mistake. It cannot be! 
 t>o soon to suffer — 
 
 Pkiok. 
 I do not mistake. 
 
 Nello. 
 I am to blame. Intent upon the cares 
 Of patchin;j;' up old flaws, adjusting feuds, 
 Stopping the breaches of ungainful waste, 
 AMiich long neglect and absence had engendered 
 In my domains in the Maremma here , 
 I had forgot the dangers of the climate. 
 \Vc shall depart to-morrow. Yet, now I think — . 
 Not that I would make question of your skill, — 
 You, father, though a stranger — from the uortli, 
 'Tis said — have sojourned here some twenty years 
 Defying death, yet daily fronting it; 
 How comes it, then, this malady, I pray. 
 Is so capricious, working, as 'twould seem, 
 In si.": short months, more mischief on my wife, 
 Than on yourself in twenty yearsV Go to! 
 'Tis somethiug else — 
 
 Pino I!. 
 
 'Tis nothing else ! The air 
 Of the Maremma blights more certainly. 
 That she is pining with an untold grief; 
 The heart's homc-sickuess, — a consuming bane. 
 That fires the eye with an unnatural light, 
 Puts a wan wistfulness into the smile, 
 Brings old familiar haunts and faces back 
 
MADONNA riA. 75 
 
 In the brief radiance of a feverish dream, 
 Straight to bo quenched in tears — a bane, my lord, 
 That o'er a sick mind throws a deadlier gloom. 
 Such is the malady, my lord, that now 
 Consumes the sources of your lady's life , 
 But which may be arrested by a pi-ompt 
 Removal hence — by company — by change — 
 
 Nello. 
 Nay, sir, proceed! And by a, lover — 
 
 Pkiob. 
 
 Count! 
 Nello. 
 Oh, holy father, you mistake my thought. 
 Heaven knows, though bow'd ay, to the dust with grief, 
 Tortured with jealousy , I hold my wife 
 Worthy of boundless honour and regard. 
 But did a husband's love suffice her heart. 
 Would she so droop and fade for weariness V 
 Some far-off image— memory, perchance, — 
 We are not always masters of our dreams. 
 Here you are in the dark as much as I. 
 She is not like to trust her confessor 
 With what she dares not whisper to herself. 
 In such case silence is no sacrilege. 
 Pkiok (indignanih/). 
 My lord , my lord , you shall not snare me thus. 
 
 Nello. 
 A most convenient weariness is this! 
 Who ever died of weariness? No, no! [Rises. 
 
 PnioB (aside). 
 Great heaven, forgive me my suspicious thoughts! 
 
 [To Count Nello. 
 My lord, 'tis fit that I be frank with you. 
 
76 MADONNA riA. 
 
 For some time past a rumour has been rife , 
 Which centres darkly on yourself. 'Tis said, 
 That goaded on by jealousy to seek 
 A vengeance dark, deliberate, and sure, 
 You wittingly expose your innocent wife 
 To this miasmal atmosphere of death. 
 
 Nello. 
 What matters it to me what babblers say? 
 If there bo danger, they must see I share it. 
 This atmosphere , that shrivels up the lips , 
 Has breathed on mine; — this fever of the blood. 
 This languor of the soul, I too partake. 
 
 Phioe. 
 Think you I know it not? Have I not read 
 In your wild eye the traces of your pangs? 
 Seen that a kindred fire consumes you, too, 
 And that, if death shall bear your lady hence. 
 You will go down with her into the grave? 
 This is your purpose — your desire, your hope. 
 
 Nello. 
 No more — no more! We shall depart to-night. 
 
 Pkiok. 
 Yes; save her, oh my son! She is most pure. 
 Loyal and loving, — such an one, as lieav'u 
 Gives to a man, when it would bless him most. 
 But, if untreasured, swiftly takes away. 
 Sienna, when you wedded her, foretold 
 A happy issue to the feuds that long 
 Had ranged your sires in sanguinary strife. 
 Blight not this golden promise. Watch yourself; 
 Distrust the blood that courses in your veins. 
 ' Tis there , and not in her the mischief lies ; 
 
MADONNA PIA. 
 
 77 
 
 No angel in yon heaven, where all. is pure, 
 
 Is freer from the taint of aught should wake 
 
 The jealousy which gnaws you. Yes, my sou, 
 
 Doubt her no more, and all may yet be well. [£xU. 
 
 Nello (alone). 
 
 How cheaply may an angel's name be bought! 
 
 An air of meek contrition, folded hands, 
 
 Some penitential words — the thing is- done! 
 
 Oh, this repentance may find grace above, 
 
 But not with frail humanity like mine. 
 
 I must have vengeance on this cruel girl , 
 
 Whom they call angel. She can see me suffer. 
 
 Can see me dying, yea, will die herself 
 
 Far rather than divulge her lover's name. 
 
 Ah, would I ne'er had known her — ne'er been born! 
 
 Fain would I die alone, no crime but one 
 
 Upon ray soul; but some fiend urges mo 
 
 To drag her down with me into the grave. 
 
 Still is the image present to my thoughts 
 
 Of one that dries her hypocritic tears. 
 
 Rich with my treasure, with my jewel blest — 
 
 Oh cruel Pia! How I love her still! 
 
 A word would save her. Why conceal this name? 
 
 That mystery broke, I would forgive her all. 
 
 Spare her, and die content, but to have seen 
 
 My rival for one moment face to face. 
 
 But yield her up to one, who now, perchance. 
 
 Even now, stalks like a phantom round these walls. 
 
 To pounce upon my wealth! Oh hell, to die 
 
 Ere our good swords have cross'd! Bear witness, heaven, 
 
 'Tis he that tortures her — 'tis he that kills, 
 
 'Tis he has roused this hell within my soul! 
 
 [A trumpet heard without. 
 
78 MADOS.N'A PIA. 
 
 A trumpet! [Ones t<i windom. 
 
 How! A horse, all white with foam! 
 The rider wears the Tolommei's garb. 
 He hears a letter. They have track'd us, then, 
 Ha! Jacomo! 'Tis he, has given the clue! 
 He foil'd me once , but shall not so again. 
 
 [ Enler Flavio with a Idler, which he delivers to 
 Count Nello. 
 
 'Tis even as I surmised. Her father's hand! 
 
 [Heads the letter, then turns lo Flavio. 
 The messenger saw no one? Talk'd witli uom? 
 
 Flavio. 
 No one, my lord. 
 
 Nello. 
 'Tis well. Give order straight, 
 vVdmittancc to the castle be denied 
 These next two days to all who may appear. 
 Away! \Exil Flavio. 
 
 Her father to be here to-morrow! 
 Well! Let him come! To-morrow? Ay, to-day! 
 
 \Sits down and resumes the honk. 
 Come, trusty counsellor, advise me now. 
 Let me peruse the place again. Ha! Goml! 
 'Tis here! (Reads.) 'The elixir of the Jlagian kings. 
 A subtle poison , of exceeding power , 
 Exhales a fragrance pleasant to the sense , 
 And works a gentle, easy, painless death.' 
 Good, I would have it so! 'If smelt to only. 
 Slowly it works, but still with certainty;' 
 Oh, excellent device of science, thus 
 To deaden pain, delighting while it kills! 
 Here is the poison, then, whicli freezes up 
 Tlie blood, yet pains not, — leaves no trace behind. 
 
MADONNA PIA. 
 
 Its action may be counteracted, too, 
 
 Should she relent, or I repent me. Here 
 
 I hold the antidote, in case of need. 
 
 Once more I'll see her; and this time, belike, 
 
 I may learn all , without these desperate means. 
 
 Oh, may she speak that word, and from herself 
 
 Avert the peril to my rival's head! 
 
 "Grant, oh ye heavens! he fall into my hands, 
 
 That she may live !" But let me forth awhile , 
 
 To cool the fever of my brain, and still 
 
 The raging pulses of my tortured heart. 
 
 Before I seek this final interview. 
 
 \^As he turns to go out, he is met hy Nina, mho 
 
 enters with a bouquet in her hand and slnrls 
 
 back, alarmed, on seeing him. 
 Ha, Nina, still with the accustomed gift! 
 
 Nina (rvitli enihnrrassment). 
 My Lord! 
 
 Nei.lo (taking the bouquet). 
 What brilliancy! what charming tints! 
 They grow choice flowers in the Marcmma, girl! 
 
 Nina. 
 Sir, mj' betrothed — 
 
 Net.lo. 
 Ha, Bcppo? A good youth. 
 
 Nina. 
 
 Oh no! 
 
 Nei.i.o. 
 
 Luigi ? 
 
 Nina. 
 No, sir. 
 
 70 
 
80 MADONNA PIA. 
 
 Nello. 
 
 How, another? 
 His name is — Ah, well, well, I see you blush. 
 But, Nina, have a care. Not yet sixteen, 
 And with a secret! (Aside.) Heavens! What fire is here! 
 (Aloud.) When girls are silent, 'tis because they love. 
 
 [Aside, and crossing to the left. 
 This lily never bloomed in the Maremma, 
 These ilowers were by no rustic's hand arranged. 
 Perhaps they hide some letter? No! Yet stay. 
 Have I not somewhere heard, that in the East 
 Flowers are disposed, by rules well understood. 
 To bear the secret messages of love? 
 I charge these flowers with mine. 
 
 [Empties the contents of a phial on tlie houquel. 
 
 Nina. 
 
 Heavens, what a look! 
 I pray you, let me have my flowers, my lord! 
 
 Nello. 
 I never saw more beautiful. 
 
 Nina. 
 Indeed 
 I had to travel for them many a mile. 
 You are not angry, sir? 
 
 Nello. 
 
 Angry? Oh no. 
 At such sweet thoughtfulness how could I be? 
 Take back your flowers. 
 
 Nina. 
 
 Oh thanks! 
 [She is about to smell to them nihen Count Nello 
 snatches them from her. 
 
MADONNA riA. 81 
 
 Nello. 
 
 On second thoughts, 
 I will myself present them to the Countess. 
 Go, child, and say that I await her here. 
 
 Nina. 
 Oh , thanks, my lord , this is so kind of you ! [Exit. 
 
 Nello (alone). 
 They are all leagued against me. Yes , not one 
 Can I find open to assault, not one. 
 Why, even this girl, I've had her dogg'd in vain. 
 There is a general compact to betray me. 
 So near the goal, I feel my purpose fail. 
 
 [Looking at the bouquet. 
 Poor flowers ! The tears lie heavy on your leaves. 
 Weep on, weep on, for ye are brimm'd with death. 
 No , let her live ! I will destroy them. Yet 
 Perchance they are a present from his hand, 
 Perchance he cuU'd them for her yesterday. 
 And though he did, what matter? Such a doom 
 Were much too cruel. Let me hence ! 
 
 Flavio (appearing at centre door). 
 Are you 
 Alone, my lord? 
 
 Nello. 
 Speak low! 
 
 Flavio (advancing). 
 
 One of our people 
 Has just come in, who tells me that he saw 
 Near Civitella, at the break of day, 
 A troop of cavaliers, all arm'd, upon 
 The march to this chateau. 
 
 Nello (aside). 
 
 Ha, is it so? 
 Her father here already! 
 
82 MADONNA PIA. 
 
 Flavio. 
 
 Striking off 
 
 By a cross path, he rlistanced them an hour 
 
 Or more. 
 
 Nello. 
 
 'Tis well ! An hour V That will suffice. 
 Flavio. 
 One word, my lord! One of the party sent 
 A bunch of flowers by Nina, who, no doubt, 
 Expected them. 
 
 Nello. 
 Ha, flowers? (Aside.) 'Tis he, 'tis he! 
 Father and lover both array'd against me. 
 
 [7'o Flavio. 
 Go find this man, and bid him wait for me. 
 
 [Exit Flavio. 
 And so. Count Tolommei, you would fain 
 Surprise us; but you'll find us on the watch. 
 Now lo prepare to give j'ou fitting welcome! 
 
 [Places the bouquet on the table, and exit throng/i 
 door in centre. 
 
 Enter Nina and Pia. 
 Nina. 
 How! no one here? Gone! and my flowers? Oh shame! 
 
 Pia. 
 Nina, yon must not blame my gracious lord. 
 Seeing me suffer, girl, he suffers too. 
 And he has much beside to task his thoughts. 
 This makes him wayward, — moody. 
 
 Nina. 
 
 For all that, 
 I can't see, why he should bo so with you. 
 
Madomna pia. 83 
 
 So good, so kind! 'Tis not for me to speak; 
 
 But if he loved you truly, he would be 
 
 More thoughtful for you, would not keep you here 
 
 In this dull place, that's plainly killing you, 
 
 And for no reason else, that I can see, 
 
 Except to have you wholly to himself, 
 
 To torture with his whims and moody fits. 
 
 Madonna. 
 Hush, Nina, you forget yourself. I know, 
 'Tis not without a cause , he is so changed ; 
 But while his love's unchanged, I am content. 
 
 Nina. 
 His love! Content! The peevish boy, whose bird. 
 Caged from the sunshine and the rushing breeze, 
 Droops plume by plume, and frets, until its song 
 Dies down into a broken fitful wail, 
 Will say he loves his bird, would break his heart 
 To think of losing it, but not the less 
 One day no flutter answers to his call, 
 And on its withered turf the bird lies dead. 
 
 Pia. 
 
 Hush! Hush! My pain is somewhat less to-day; 
 
 I do not seem to need your arm's support. 
 
 My spirits are more cheerful, and I long 
 
 To look upon the sky. 
 
 [Approaches the windon. 
 
 How beautiful! 
 
 Ye spreading pines, ye old primeval oaks, 
 
 And thou, calm lake, the mirror of the sky. 
 
 How fair ye are ! What fragrance from the earth 
 
 Exhales as from an altar heap'd with flowers! 
 
 And yonder sea, that stretches far away. 
 
 Its deep blue fading in a silver line! 
 
84 Madonna pia. 
 
 I love and bless thee , thou fair Tuscan land. 
 
 And yet, and yet, another jilace it is 
 
 To which I fain had spoke my last farewell. 
 
 Hear me, kind heaven, show it these eyes once more, 
 
 That so my sunset may reflect my dawn; 
 
 Though but a moment, grant me yet to see 
 
 My own sweet native soil ! My prayer is heard ! 
 
 Is this the murmur of my childhood's stream, 
 
 Laving the long hair of the willows? Hush! 
 
 My garden's balmy breath salutes my cheek! 
 
 Yes, yes, it is no dream! What joy to tread 
 
 This velvet sward again! Who spoke of dying? 
 
 Nina. 
 Oh , my poor mistress ! 
 
 Pia. 
 Castle of my sires. 
 Grand even in ruin! War has scathed thy front, 
 And o'er the scars of thy proud battlements 
 The ivy and the jasmine thickly creep. 
 Sec, Nina, see the white swans in the fosse, 
 The towers reflected in the trembling waves. 
 And yon old man) It is my father! Hark, 
 He calls to me! I come. Who dares restrain me? 
 Know you it is my father? Let me go! 
 My father! Ah, these bars! Where am I, then? 
 What dream was this? Ah me, death comes so slowly! 
 [Nina assists Iter to the couch. 
 What have I said? Nay, child, dry up your tears! 
 
 Nina (observing ike bouquet on the table). 
 No, let me weep! But look, here arc my flowers! 
 
 Pia (taking the bouquet in her hand). 
 See how unjust you were! 'Tis plain he left 
 
Madonna. Pia. 85 
 
 Your gift for me, and will no doubt return. 
 
 But tell me, child, how came you by these flowers? 
 
 How's this! You hesitate? 
 
 Nina. 
 I was forbid — 
 But what of that? What is there to conceal I 
 One day, as I was walking by myself 
 Down by the river, on the opposite bank 
 I spied a flower so lovely, I resolved 
 To have it; so I bared my feet, and stepp'd 
 Into the stream and having pluck'd the flower , 
 Had reach'd the bank, when all at once a man 
 Sprang from the thicket and stood full before me. 
 
 I'lA. 
 
 A robber? 
 
 Nina. 
 No, a, youth of noble air. 
 Who bore a hooded falcon on his wrist. 
 
 Pia. 
 Proceed. 
 
 Nina. 
 For whom these flowers? he said. I answer'd, 
 Sir, for my mistress! Do you serve, said he, 
 The noble lady, whom her lord, they say——? 
 But 'tis no matter what he said. 
 Pia. 
 
 He said? 
 
 NiHA. 
 
 What we all see and know, alas! too well. 
 He'd give his life, he said, could he but bring 
 The flush of health into your cheek and make you 
 The bright and happy thing you were of yore,— 
 
86 Madonna pia. 
 
 That something must be done to set you free, 
 That something should be done, and quickly, too. 
 And ask'd a thousand questions with an air 
 So tender! — 
 
 Pia. 
 You replied? You stay'd to hear? 
 Nina. 
 How could I else? He spoke to me of you, 
 And my heart warmed to every word he said. 
 Besides, he had my .slippers in his hand, 
 Which I had taken off to cro.ss the stream. 
 You smile — but could I go with feet all bare? 
 Well, in a word he would not let me part, 
 Till I had promised him to come again. 
 To meet him there the Tuesday afterward. 
 
 Pia. 
 Ah, foolish girl! That is to-day. 
 Nina. 
 
 It is. 
 
 Pia. 
 
 You will not go? 
 
 Nina. 
 I have but just returned. 
 He met me, — but to-day, arm'd head to foot. 
 The hour approach'd for your release, he said. 
 Again he press'd me close about your health. 
 And gave this nosegay to me. How, my lady. 
 Do you reject it? 
 
 Pia (aside, and lurninjj away). 
 Oh! alas, alas ! 
 Nina. 
 The very thing he dreaded. Should their beauty 
 
Madonna pia. 87 
 
 Surprise your mistress, were his very words, 
 And she suspects yoii, not a word of me, 
 Nor what I've said to you, but tell her this. 
 And then she scarcely will refuse the gift, 
 These flowers, the present of no stranger's hand, 
 Bloom'd in her father's gardens yester morn. 
 
 Pia. 
 My father's, do you say? Oh blessed gift! 
 I may then press them freely to my heart, 
 Inhale , without a blush , their sweet perfume ! 
 My father's gardens! Oh, my soul revives! 
 These lovely flowers! Remember, if I die, 
 That I would have them near me in the tomb. 
 Look at this golden broom , this dazzling rose ! 
 "Heaven has sown beauty wide through every land, 
 "But underneath no other skies, methinks, 
 "Shall one behold such gardens, flowers so fair, 
 "As those that bloom around my father's halls." 
 This smilax must have drunk my own Sear stream. 
 They used to praise its dark enamell'd tints 
 Against my cheek, its coral tendrils twined 
 Among my dusky tresses. Put it on. 
 
 Nina. 
 No, place it on a brow more fit to wear it. 
 
 Pia (ruhile Nina is engaged in adjusting the floivers 
 in her hair). 
 Would you believe, my girl, that far, far hence. 
 Hearts have been found, — thank heaven! not often 
 
 found , — 
 Corrupted so by the polluting air. 
 And dreary life of cities — men so vile. 
 And sometimes women, too, alas! — who've mix'd 
 Poispn with the pure perfume of a flower! 
 
yS Madonna pia. 
 
 Nina (aside). 
 Poison! Great heaven! This deadly paleness — 
 
 [Snatches the nosegay from the hand of PiA. 
 CoDNT Nello, mho has entered a short time 
 before, advances and takes it from her. 
 
 Ah! 
 Nello. 
 What is the matter, Nina? 
 
 (Smells to the bouquet). I rejoice 
 To find you stirring, madam. (To Nina.) You may go. 
 I would be private with your mistress here. [^Exit Nina. 
 [Nello restores the bouquet to Pi a, who throws it 
 haslilij down upon the table. 
 It is enough my hand has touch'd the flowers , 
 To make you cast them from you with disdain. 
 Your pardon. 
 
 PiA. 
 Ever this sarcastic tone? 
 You do me wrong, my lord, most heavy wrong. 
 What are the flowers to me, when you are by? 
 Your eyes with sorrow wan are all I see. 
 In them I read the pangs that rack your heart, 
 Seek in them, oh in vain! some glimpse of joy. 
 Ah, to rekindle that— one gleam, but one — 
 Chase with my words the trouble from your brow, 
 Calm for one day the fever of your brain, 
 I'd give my life — alas! I would, I would. 
 
 Nello. 
 Madam, I doubt it not. Death is your hope. 
 'Twill rid you of a bondage you detest. 
 And so the tomb for you is but a bed. 
 Fragrant with flowers, and wooing, where you yearn 
 To sink into a long luxurious sleep. 
 
Madonna pia. 89 
 
 PiV 
 
 Ah no, my lord. Life, even when bitterest, is 
 A tyrant whom we love, although he wounds. 
 Oh, with what rapture would I cling to it. 
 If in your eyes I saw the old fond smile, 
 If trusted, loved, as once, my days roU'd on 
 Betwixt my father and yourself in peace. 
 Think you, for aught beyond the sphere of time 
 I'd barter such dear certainty of bliss. 
 Speak but the wish, I am ready to live on. 
 
 Nello. 
 Oh say, resign'd to bear a life you loathe! 
 No, Pia, no, you die without regret. 
 Clasping your secret to your heart — cold, calm. 
 Too proud to sully my name or your own. 
 But all too full of his, for mine to find 
 The sorriest corner there! What is the world. 
 What sunshine or our weary life to you? 
 You look to find a better world beyond, 
 A world where souls that love shall meet once more,— 
 Oh, I am jealous of the heavens themselves! — 
 A world where I shall never meet you, for 
 Within its limits I may never come ! 
 
 Pia (rising). 
 You fright me, Nello. What wild words arethese? 
 
 Nello. 
 So death but part us, you will smile on death. 
 
 \Sils down. 
 
 Pia (going up to him). 
 Nello, this frenzy drives me to despair. 
 Come forth from these black labyrinths of doubt. 
 Rend from your eyes this curtain of thick night. 
 
90 Madonna pia. 
 
 And recognise your wife for what she is. 
 
 I am not what your tortured fancy paints: 
 
 Living I suffer — suifer if I die. 
 
 Deatli, as I see it througli a mist of tears, 
 
 Is blank to me as life, and as unlovely. 
 
 Yet would you but forget that hour of pain, 
 
 And be the Nello of our early love , 
 
 Oh , how you might enamour me of life , 
 
 By giving me an aim , a proud desire , 
 
 A hope, howe'er remote, to win you back! 
 
 Then, Nello, then, oh I should fear to die. 
 
 liow sweet a task it were for you and me , 
 
 Bravely to tread this new path side by side, 
 
 Each cheer'd by each, and bearing each our load. 
 
 Which every day should lighten in the joy 
 
 Of the returning dawn of golden hours. 
 
 So cheer'd, the heart would falter not, nor fail, 
 
 And we might find again 
 
 Nello. 
 
 No more, no more! 
 (Aside.) Oh , how her words confound me ! Who , to 
 
 hear. 
 To see her, but must deem her pure from guile? 
 (Aloud.) And so my cruelty, my fell designs. 
 Might in your pity be redeem'd at last? 
 Oh, could I hope for that! 
 
 Pia. 
 
 I see your thought. 
 That this should be, to you seems hopeless, wild; 
 'Tis hard, I own, yet not impossible. 
 For one who bears a noble knightly name 
 To hide him in » pestilential waste. 
 To kill a wife there , is an act abhorr'd , 
 
MADONNA PIA. 91 
 
 And mark'd for infamy by all mankind: 
 Yet on this victim of a jealous rage , 
 His victim with a, gentler eye can look. 
 Passion so erring, snch dark frenzied thoughts 
 Deserve her pity, who hath caused them all; 
 And- when this man, blameless till then, and bravo, 
 Who, if he fell, fell by his love o'erthrown. 
 Led back by love, regains his former self. 
 Stoops for forgiveness, begs to be beloved. 
 
 Then 
 
 Nello. 
 Then? 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Oh then, far, far from all can wake 
 Eemembrance of that dark unhappy time , 
 For these twin hearts are blessings yet in store. 
 
 Nello. 
 And in this pilgrimage you'd follow me? 
 PlA. 
 
 I would! 
 
 Nello. 
 You could find courage for the task! 
 But he, this lover — he, who mask'd in night 
 Held parley with you at your balcony. 
 He, whom your silence shields from my revenge, 
 Shall he, I pray thee, bear us company? 
 
 [PiA covers her face with her hands; the Count 
 continues pacing up and down the chamber as 
 he spfiaks. 
 This phantom who makes havoc of my sleep , 
 This man, whose hand, perchance, I've clasp'd in mine, 
 This mask, that vanish'd in the shapeless night. 
 
92 MADONNA PIA. 
 
 But left a stinging whisper in mine ear, 
 Wliich murimirs evermore, 'She loves thee not!' 
 
 PiA. 
 
 Nello ! 
 
 Nello. 
 Who at this very hour, belike, 
 ]3oasts of his triumph 'mongst his wassail friends. 
 Anil pledging my dishonour in his cups. 
 Completes the revel with his mistress's name! 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Nello! [Fa/Is fainting at his feel. 
 
 Nello. 
 Good heavens! What have I done? 
 
 \^Raises her, and places her on the couch. 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Fear not. 
 I am dying, Nello; this blow is the last. 
 Yet is there something I would say before 
 I die; heaven knows it is the very truth. 
 That fatal interview — 
 
 Nello. 
 
 Ay, what of thatV 
 
 PlA. 
 
 It was not of my seeking — with my will 
 
 Should ne'er have been, nor know I how he found 
 
 His way thnt night to me, upon whose heart 
 
 He dream'd, — why dreamed, it recks not now to think, - 
 
 He held some claim, which in his absence had 
 
 Been thrust aside too roughly. 
 
 Nello. 
 
 Then it was — 
 
MADONNA VIA. 93 
 
 PlA. 
 
 The object of that love of early years, 
 
 Whoso story I have told yoii. It was rash, 
 
 Wilful, unjust to me, to seek me so; 
 
 Yet, knowing all, I can forgive the mood, 
 
 Which yearn'd to wrest assurance from myself. 
 
 That with my hand I gave my heart to you, 
 
 That though the act, which made me yora-s, had made 
 
 Division of our paths for evermore. 
 
 He still might live in ray regard, might claim 
 
 A sentence not ungentle from my lijis , 
 
 A farewell not unkind — the heart needs such! 
 
 Nello. 
 Sentence? Farewell? What proof have I of that! 
 
 PlA. 
 
 The oath I swear in this my dying hour. 
 These lonely walls, these iron bars, yourself! 
 
 Nello. 
 What surety have I in these iron bars? 
 Can love not force them in a thousand ways? 
 Lacks he a, messenger — a bird will serve, 
 An arrow, or a nosegay waft his tale. 
 
 PlA. 
 
 I understand your meaning. Be it so! 
 I'll not defend myself. Yet one word more! 
 Look in my face; then say, if you read there 
 The traces of disloyalty and shame! 
 
 Nello. 
 No,, no, guilt never spoke in tones like these. 
 I feel your words are true. That look, that voice. 
 Suspicion cannot live within their sphere. , 
 Oh, Pia, to forget, and be once more 
 
94 MADONNA PIA. 
 
 The same as in the days , when this wild heart 
 Drew charmed life from every word of thine ; 
 When all its golden dreams came rushing hack 
 At one sweet gleam of kindness in your eyes ! 
 Then at your feet I was content to live , 
 Or die — I cared not, if 'twere pity, duty — 
 You loved me, Pia — loved, and I was happy. 
 My watchful tenderness had won your soul. 
 When this man came — 
 
 Pia. 
 He could not alter me. 
 
 Nello. 
 Then, wherefore do you countenance his suit? 
 Emholdencd by your silence , he hopes on , 
 Believes you love him — 
 
 Pia. 
 
 As a sister might. 
 Did I not know he holds your honour dear. 
 Dear as my own, I should abhor the man 
 I now, perforce, must pity and respect. 
 
 Nello. 
 By heavens, I long to see him more and more! 
 But this true squire, this brother, this tame slave 
 Of duty, has made shipwreck of my life. 
 To black perdition hmi'd my soul, and I 
 Will not believe you, madam, till your lijis 
 Keveal the caitiff's name. Your life and mine 
 Depend upon that word. Do you consent? 
 
 Pia. 
 
 No! 
 
 Nello. 
 
 If I vow'd I should forgot this name. 
 
 That undivulged thus tortures me, or, say 
 
MADONNA I'lA. 95 
 
 Oblivion were impossible, should swear 
 
 To crush all thoughts of vengeance in my heart? 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Still would I not. That name, my lord, my tongue 
 
 Shall never speak. Revenge , with all your race , 
 
 Is native in the blood, and, though you swore 
 
 By every holiest vow, a day would come. 
 
 When words , oaths , all would fail to curb your hand. 
 
 Nello. 
 Ah, how you love this man! 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Love? Love? 1 would 
 Save both from crime. 
 
 Nello. 
 
 And make a double victim. 
 
 PlA. 
 Would I might fall the only sacrifice , 
 And by my death redeem another's life! 
 
 Nello. 
 And whose that othei-'s? His alone, ay, his! 
 Mock me no more ! I read it in your soul , 
 'Tis some base churl you shroud up from my wrath: 
 Shame, and not love, puts gyves upon your tongue; 
 Shame to have stoop'd to a debasing choice. 
 My rival's name — 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Is peer, sir, to your own. 
 And were my life now to begin anew, 
 I would desire no better, nobler name; 
 For he that bears it bears a soul as high 
 As his proud titles, and a heart as pure. 
 Brave, but the terror of his foes alone. 
 Respecting my position, sir, and yours. 
 
96 MADONNA PIA. 
 
 Bearing his sorrow meekly, he would ne'er 
 Lilce a, foul spider, have enmesh'd his prey 
 Within his coils in loathsome nook obscure, 
 To gnaw it slowly, surely, noiaelessly. 
 Lover or spouse , if love had warped his brain 
 To murderous thoughts against his mistress, he 
 Had slain her by one open blow, not slunk 
 Accomplice of the vaporous pestilence! 
 
 Wello. 
 My wrath shall make thee tremble ! . 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Tremble? I, 
 A daughter of the Tolomei? Oft 
 Our ancestors have met in battle gripe; 
 When did they quail before each other's frown? 
 Their sinews, sir, are yours — their heart is mine! 
 Slay, but no outrage! Take such vengeance as 
 Befits your lineage. My life is yours. 
 To expiate my fault. Let that suffice ! 
 Urge me no more ; I bear unto my grave 
 That name, nor you, nor any one shall know. 
 
 Nello. 
 Defend your lover, madam, to my shame! 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Count della Pietra, I defend your wife; 
 
 Against yourself defend your honour — mine. 
 
 But I am weak, ill, suffering, most unfit 
 
 Longer to urge a parley, which but serves 
 
 To quicken wounds that rankle. What, beside. 
 
 Would it avail mef The disguise is dropped,. 
 
 And the conditions of the bargain clear: 
 
 Die, or denounce the object of yovir hate! 
 
 My choice is made. Death! Let him take his prey. 
 
MADONNA PIA. 
 
 Nello. 
 False to the last! I look'd for nothing loss. 
 Madam, but one word more, and I have done. 
 Your father — 
 
 PlA. 
 
 My father! — 
 
 Nello. 
 
 Instigated by 
 The slanders of that traitor Jacomo — 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Is coming? 
 
 Nello. 
 Ay, to-day. 
 
 PlA. 
 
 My father! I 
 Shall see him — 
 
 Nello. 
 See, I hold his letter here. 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Oh, thanks, kind heaven! Then all may yet be well. 
 
 Nello. 
 Within an hour your father should be here. 
 But mark me, madam, but as my foe he comes. 
 You shall not see him. 
 
 PlA. 
 
 How! Not see him! Who 
 Shall step between the father and his child? 
 
 Nello. 
 Death, that even now sits darkly in your eyes. 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Who told you what my sufferings are? 
 
98 MADONNA I'lA. 
 
 Nello. 
 
 My heart, 
 That shares them — my blood, iced in ray veins like yours, 
 By the same poison! 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Whose hand gave it? 
 
 Nello. 
 
 Mine! 
 
 Mine, in these flowers my hate suspected. 
 
 PlA. 
 
 How! 
 
 These flowers? Just Heaven! And is it thus I die? 
 
 Alas! 'Tis death indeed. When hope had dawn'd — 
 
 My father — 
 
 Nello. 
 
 Listen! You may see him still — 
 
 You still may live to nurse his failing years. 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Ah, you deceived me, then? 
 
 Nello. 
 
 No , madam ! But 
 The hand that dealt the wound can heal it too: 
 This perfume (holding out a phial) — 
 
 PlA. 
 
 Give it me ! 
 Nello. 
 (Music lieard without.) Hark, hark! that air. 
 The Tolommei's March! Live for your father! Live! 
 
 Pja. 
 The air I loved. 
 yes! I would live still! Give me! 
 
 [Grasps the phial, and is about to smell to it. 
 
MADONNA PIA. 99 
 
 Nello. 
 
 His namo? 
 
 PiA (pushes arvay llw pkial). 
 Never! [y)/es. 
 
 Nei,lo (draming his sword). 
 Dead with her secret! Dead! My vengeance foil'd! 
 Ho, Flavio! 
 
 Flavio (enters hastily). 
 My lord, your people have thrown down their arms. 
 Count Tolommei — 
 
 Nello. 
 
 Admit him! Let him como; 
 He'll find his daughter with her biidcgroom here! 
 
 [Tolommei and Guino rusk in. 
 
 Tolommei. 
 Thou ravening hell-kite, give me back my child! 
 
 Nello (pointing to PiA.j 
 Go, claim her for thy bidding! There she lies! 
 
 Tolommei (rushes formard, and raises Iter from the couch. 
 Oh , murderous hypocrite ! Too late , too late ! 
 
 GuiDO. 
 Pia! My love! My Pia! 
 
 Nello. 
 
 Thine! Ha! then 
 At length I meet my rival front to front! 
 Look to thyself! She loved thee, and 'tis meet, 
 That with thy blood her bier should be baptized. 
 
 GuiDO. 
 Loved me? No, fiend, she loved but thee alone! 
 
100 MADONNA I'lA. 
 
 And thus thou hast repaid her! Oh, my soul's bride, 
 I live hut to avenge thee. 
 (They fight. After a ferv passes, Nello drops his sword.) 
 
 Neli.o. 
 
 Hold! My brain 
 Is dizzy — my arm withers! See, see there! 
 Pia ! She looks at me ! No light , no smile ! 
 All dark — dark! 
 
 (dies. ) 
 
 Taisleau. Cdrtatn falls.