University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A chamber in the chateau of Count Tolommei.
Enter Tolommei and Margherita.
Tol.
Deny me to my daughter! By the Gods,
'Tis not to be endured! Was it for this
I gave him up my darling, frankly gave her,
Unsunned my home, that she might gladden his,
To have her now debarred from me? So, so,
It seems my wish is nothing—his is all.
He grants me speech with my own flesh and blood,
Just when his sovereign will and pleasure prompts;
Withholds it, when his surly fit is on.
I'll not endure it.

Mar.
What's the matter, brother?

Tol.
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?

Mar.
Why, how is this?
What has occurred?

Tol.
“Heavens! He shall answer it,
“As I'm a Tolommei.

Mar.
“Pray, be calm,
“And tell me what's amiss.

Tol.
“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-opened, 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.

Mar.
Nay, brother, nay,
“Count Nello meant not such command for you.

Tol.
“How am I sure of that? The churl that gave
“The message was right worthy of his charge.
“He 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.”

Mar.
There must be some mistake?

Tol.
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,
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.

Mar.
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?

Tol.
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?

Mar.
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.

Tol.
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 mewed up close from sky and sun,
Till his caprice shall give it air again.
Clog the heart so, 'twill stifle, break. “True love
“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
Like Pia's. But I only thought, to him
I owed my life—with him I closed the feud
Had been the curse of both our houses! Then,
His love appeared so absolute, so deep,
That I consented—nay, I backed his suit,
And sacrificed my daughter.

Mar.
'Tis not so.
She loved Count Nello. Her whole heart had gone
Into his keeping, ere your wishes spoke.

Tol.
I'll not believe it! No. I fear me much
'Twas not her heart she followed, but my wish.

Mar.
Brother, it was her heart, her heart alone.
She might have given't elsewhere—oh, would she had!
But she chose him.

Tol.
Elsewhere? Elsewhere? What mean you?

Mar.
Her cousin Guido—

Tol.
What of him?

Mar.
Loved, wooed her.
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.

Tol.
Guido loved Pia—sought her? Oh, ye gods,
And I ne'er thought of this! Forgot him, when
I most should have remembered! 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!

Mar.
Guido returns to-day.

Tol.
To-day?

Mar.
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.

Tol.
Oh, ye gods,
How shall I meet him?

Mar.
Worse is yet to tell.
He does not know of Pia's marriage.

Tol.
How!
Not know of that? The letter that I wrote?

Mar.
'Tis plain he ne'er received.

Tol.
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 all,
“And finds her gone!”

(A trumpet sounds without.)
Mar.
Hark, hark!

Tol.
'Tis he! 'Tis he!
I'd know his bugle 'mongst 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
“Would find a vent, were gentler woman near.
“'Tis kinder for us both!” You'll tell him, sister?

Mar.
I will.

Tol.
Thanks, thanks! Heaven comfort my poor boy!

(Exit.)
Mar.
And comfort thee, old man! My heart forebodes
Thou'lt need its aid. Not Guido's peace alone,
But Pia's too is blighted by this marriage.
She wed a dream, an image she had clothed
With her own spirit's radiance. This Count Nello,
She deemed 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 Guido'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
Revenge a duty. Meet they must not. Hark,
'Tis Guido'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!

Mar.
Dear Guido, welcome to us all!

Guido.
The dear
Old place! What joy to look on it again!
Time has been busy with me since we parted,
But it has left me all unaltered here.
(Touching his heart.)
Cities most fair I've seen, but none looked half
So fair as our Sienna,—crested peaks
I've crossed, that dwarf our hills to pigmies, yet
They seemed not half so near to heaven as these;
Kind words, kind looks have hailed 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!

Mar.
(aside, and turning away).
Happy? Alas! Alas!

Guido.
Why, what's the matter?
You do not seem so glad to see me. Speak,
There's no mischance? My uncle?

Mar.
He is well.

Guido.
And Pia?

Mar.
Well.

Guido.
Thank heaven for that! And yet
Your looks belie your words. All is not well.
Why come they not to greet me? Where's my uncle?

Mar.
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.

Mar.
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?

Mar.
She—she is not here.

Guido.
Not here? Why, how is this?
When was it that my uncle learned to spare
His Pia from her home?

Mar.
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!

Mar.
She is
Another's bride.

Guido.
She? She another's? She?

Mar.
Yes, dearest Guido, yes! Some three month's since
She wedded the Count Nello della Pietra.

Guido.
Wedded Count Nello—she, my Pia, mine,
My own vowed 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.

Mar.
No, Guido, no!
There was no force, no sacrifice.

Guido.
I'll not
Believe it. She was mine. What needed vow,
When all my life was but one vow of love,
And all her looks, words, acts, acceptance of it?
Why, why was I not here? This ne'er had been.
Oh cruel! Where my trust was fullest, there
To be most deeply stung!

Mar.
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 her,
And have assurance from her lips of all.
I deemed my travel ended; there is yet
A point beyond.

Mar.
“ (aside).
This must not be. Yet how
“Shall I prevent him?” (Aloud.)
Guido, 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.

Guido.
Why should I pause?

Mar.
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?

Mar.
“(aside)
.
I must tell him all.” (Aloud.)

Count Nello keeps close watch upon his bride.
You marvel, yet 'tis so. Already we
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 reached 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.
Tol.
(embracing Guido).
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, Guido!—

Guido.
Not a word!
The past is past, and I will learn to bear.

Tol.
Rail on me, spurn me! Call me dotard, ass,
Ingrate, unnatural! All these I am,
And only fit for scorn.

Guido.
Nay, uncle, nay!

Tol.
I am, I am! You wronged, and Pia wrecked,
Yes, Guido, wrecked! And all through me. I see
My folly now, but all too late, too late!

Guido.
Think not so sadly. Wherefore should she not
Be happy? Nobly wedded—a kind lord—

Tol.
Kind! He is hard, cold, selfish; sets even now
A barrier 'twixt my child and me, and holds her
Enmewed and prisoned, 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
To guard from wrong. Though lost to me, my life
Was hers, and shall be to the last.

Tol.
My own
True-hearted Guido! You shall be my son.
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 son indeed, and my dear Pia, crowned
With summer buds the winter of my years!

Mar.
Give not the rein to thoughts like these! (To Guido.)
Come in.
You're weary, need repose.

Guido
(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!

Tol.
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.)

SCENE II.

A Garden.
Jacomo and Flavio enter.
Fla.
I tell you, fellow, 'tis Count Nello's orders.

Jac.
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!

Fla.
(half draws his sword, then puts it back).
Pshaw! Let him rail!
Who heeds the barking of a toothless cur?

Jac.
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.

Fla.
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,—
My lord's and yours—and look they be obeyed!

(Exit Flavio.)
Jac.
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 Cosimo! Why, man,
I scarcely knew you in this brave attire.
Who ever would have thought to see you here?

Cos.
'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.

Jac.
Count Guido? You went with him, so you did.
And is the Count come back?

Cos.
Am I come back?
His page, his 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.

Jac.
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?

Cos.
Why there it is, friend! times are changed indeed.
“To echo people's words is scarce polite—
“Oh, trust me, we 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?

Jac.
Ay, who indeed?

Cos.
How came it all about?

Jac.
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 own kin to this Count Nello here!

Cos.
Who could have thought it, and so sudden too?

Jac.
Oh, ne'er sped wooing quicker. “At the first
“She shrank before him like a fluttered dove,
“But day by day he came, and day by day,—
“There must have been some witchcraft in his eye—
“She trembled closer to the falconer's lure,
“Until he held her fast within his toils.”

Cos.
And the Count Tolommei?

Jac.
Why, it seemed
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.

Cos.
Marry in haste, repent at leisure, eh?
The saw holds good, I fancy?

Jac.
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?

Cos.
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 so choleric, so sharp and sour?

Jac.
“An old man's failing! Nothing strange in that.

Cos.
“Ay, but” he visits not the Count, nor comes
The Count to visit him. That's strange, you'll own.
Not quite like new-made sire and son-in-law?

Jac.
A chance, a chance! (Aside.)
Confound this curious fool!
(Aloud.)
Count Nello has had business on his hands.

Cos.
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?

Jac.
(coming close up to him, and looking anxiously round).
A letter, and for whom?

Cos.
Why, look and see.

Jac.
“For whom, I say? Speak low!”

Cos.
The Lady Pia.

Jac.
And from whom?

Cos.
From my master, the Count Guido.

Jac.
Count Guido? (Snatches the letter, and hides it hastily in his breast.)
Hush!

Cos.
Well, now, this is passing strange.
Count Guido gives me charge to find you out,
To give this letter to no hand but yours,
First making sure that nobody is by.
“‘Be wary, close, and secret!’ was his charge.
“Well, I do find you, nobody is by.
“I show 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 eavesdropper. 'Tis very odd.”
Some secret embassy,—so secret, zounds,
They keep it from the ambassador himself!

Jac.
You had no other message?

Cos.
None.

Jac.
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.

Cos.
“How?”

Jac.
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!

Cos.
But—

Jac.
You'd best be gone.
Yonder goes Messer Flavio. Let him see you,
And he'll not leave a whole bone in your skin.

Cos.
Now, by my valour, I'll not stir a foot.
My rapier lacks an airing. Flavio!
Who's he, that I should strike my flag to him?

Jac.
(aside).
Oh, I must humour this hot fool, I see.
(Aloud.)
Suppose yours were a secret embassy,—
As 'tis no less—is this the way to do
Your master's will? He charged you to be close,
Wary, and secret. You would court a brawl—
Peril Count Guido'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!

Cos.
Thou put'st the matter cogently.
I'll go—but not for fear of Flavio.
No, by my valour; no, nor fifty such!

(Exit.)
Jac.
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 only 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.)

SCENE III.

A chamber in the castle of Count Nello della Pietra. Window in centre, opening on a balcony. Lamp burning on a table, at which Count Nello is discovered seated; Flavio standing near him. Count Nello takes papers from table, and hands them to Flavio.
Nello.
These for Visconti; for the Balbi these!
Away to horse! Ride as for life and death,
And meet me with their answers ere the dawn
In Florence!

Fla.
I am gone.

(Going.)
Nello.
A word! You gave
My orders, none should have admittance here?

Fla.
I did, my lord; and can rely on all
To obey them to the letter—

Nello.
Good!

Fla.
Save one—
An' I might be so bold?

Nello.
Well, speak, man, speak!

Fla.
That Jacomo—he grows rebellious.

Nello.
He!
Nay, fear him not. A rough and gnarled 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 Flavio. Count Nello rises and comes forward.)
No, Flavio, no!
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, that in its own excess
Is racked even 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 sprightlier 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,
To find if there a smouldering passion burns?
Who 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 peace.
(Goes up to window 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 Jac.
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.
Hard! When a world of things are yet to say,
Would draw our spirits closer, lift the cloud
Of dark distrust, that sometimes veils his mind,
And bathe it in the sunshine of content!
(Observes Jacomo.)
Ah, Jacomo, good even! Best of friends!
I feared you had forgot me.

Jac.
(presents her with flowers).
I! Forget!
What has the old man to remember else,
But how to pleasure you? 'Tis like old times
When I can see you smile.

Pia.
The dear old times.

Jac.
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.

Jac.
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?

Jac.
The young Count Guido has come back.

Pia.
Guido! My cousin Guido!

Jac.
I so long
To see his 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?”

Pia.
Guido returned?

Jac.
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.

Pia.
Oh, nothing, nothing. (Aside.)
Oh, disastrous chance!
(Aloud.)
How came you by this?

Jac.
Scarce an hour ago,
'Twas given me by Count Guido's equerry.

Pia.
Sad! Sad!

Jac.
She is deeply troubled. It were best
I should be gone, before the Count returns.
Lady, good night!

Pia
(abstractedly).
Good night, dear Jacomo!

Jac.
There's mischief brooding. If Count Nello 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!
(Reads from letter.)
‘See you. From 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,
'Twould fire the slumbering jealousy, that waits
But for a spark to kindle into flame,
How to be quenched appals me even to think!
No, if I've done my cousin Guido 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 Nello.)
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 your eyes!

Nello.
No trouble, 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.

Pia.
How! Go from me
Again so soon?

Nello.
The sooner to return.
I will be back ere you have time to miss me.

Pia.
Ah, Nello, no! 'Tis very lonely here,
When you're away.

Nello.
Lonely? You'd flatter me!

Pia.
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,
Your thoughts are with me still, as mine with you.
Yet why should you be sad, when I am gone.
Here be your flowers, your birds, your broidery,
Your poets and romancers; what need more
To make the hours run swiftly?

Pia.
And you think
The heart demands no more?

Nello.
What would it have?

Pia.
Freedom! Free air, free intercourse with those
It loves!

Nello.
It loves? A wife should have no love
But for her husband.

Pia.
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?

Pia.
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!
I deemed you worthy of such confidence,
You teach me I was wrong.

Nello.
Why do you hide
His name from me?

Pia.
My secret has been told:
You have no right to his.

Nello.
You love him, Pia?

Pia.
If I had loved him, you had never owned
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,
I'd have you, heart, soul, sense. Your very dreams
Should all be mine. Your girlhood'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 towards him.)
Oh, thanks! And when this frenzy mads my brain,
I'll think of thee, as I behold thee now,
And be at peace. I must away awhile,
To see my force prepared. You pardon me?

Pia.
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 bind 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 were enshrinèd saints,
Anon arraigning us as blurred and foul
With falsehood most abhorred! And he could doubt me—
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 snapped revives not evermore.

(Guido is seen to cross the balustrade of the balcony, and appears at the window.)
Guido.
'Tis she! 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 is?

Guido
(advancing).
Pia!

Pia.
Ha,
Who spoke?

Guido
(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,
Were dead!—One burning impulse only left,
To find you, look upon your face once more,
And turn my heart to stone by 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.

Guido.
Treason to him!
If I have sought you thus, who made me? He!
This lord, that holds you prisoned 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—

Pia.
Oh, calumny most foul!

Guido.
Oh, truth most foul!
This very day he was denied admittance.

Pia.
Oh no, 'tis false!

Guido.
Then is your father false,
Whose cry of broken anguish echoes still
Upon mine ears, lamenting for his child,
Shut by a jealous tyrant from his arms.
His lordship's lackeys spurned him from your gates,
'Twas like, then, I 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.

Pia.
(aside).
Shut my father from me!
Is this his love for me? (Aloud.)
You must away,
He left me even now—should he return—

Guido.
Let him return. I care not. He and I
Have a dread reckoning to make together;
It matters not how soon.

Pia.
You shall not stay.

Guido.
Who shall prevent me?

Pia.
I will. Are you a man
Sworn by the sword you wear to do the right,
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.
What message to your father?
That you approve your lord's commands, content
To sacrifice all other ties to him?

Pia.
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 steered my course by, quenched. I had a dream
Of Paradise—I turned, and lo, the hand,
That held love's sparkling chalice to my lips,
Spurned me aside, and gave it to another.

Pia.
Is this my cousin Guido?

Guido.
Oh, well feigned,—
Well as the love you cheated me withal,
When last we stood together!

Pia.
Love! Well feigned!

Guido.
Oh, tell me you were ignorant I loved you,
Nor ever looked approval of my love;
Say that I never vowed my heart to you,
Say that you never took the offering,
Say that our parting words, words burnt 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.

Guido.
'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 life-blood of my heart!

Pia.
Alas, and was it thus, then, that you read
My silence in that hurried parting hour?
'Twas all so strange, so sudden!

Guido.
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.

Pia.
Forgive me,
That I have wronged you thus unwittingly.
'Tis pain enough, that I have done you wrong;
You must not hold me guilty of deceit.
Let the plain truth be still between us, Guido,
As it was ever in the olden days.
You never spoke to me of love but then,
And your words filled me with a strange surprise,
For I had dreamt not of the love they told,
Had you but stayed, I should have told you this—

Guido.
Oh carsèd hour, that took me from Sienna!

Pia.
When from that dream I woke, and found you gone,
I feared, a false hope might have filled your heart;
But your long silence lulled 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 unscarred.

Guido.
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!

Pia.
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.
The heart a wife should bring, I never could
Have brought to you. 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 would believe it from your lips alone.
All's said! So ends the story of my love,
The glory of my life.

Pia.
Oh, say not so!
Life is for other ends than but to love;
Nor always in fulfilment of its wish
Finds love content. Heaven 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 'neath their shock.
Say you have lost your love, all is not lost.
Shall 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,
Whose eye is on your progress,—one, whose heart
Will triumph in your triumph, proud to know,
That for her sake you wrestled with your grief,
And overthrew it.

Guido.
My best teacher ever!
I will approve me worthy to have loved
A being all so noble. When you hear
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!

Pia.
Adieu! My loving greeting to my father!
Assure him I am well, and well at ease.
You'll be a son to him?

Guido.
Be sure I will.
He shall not lack an arm to help or guide,
While Guido lives. Adieu!

Pia.
Heaven's peace go with you!

(As Guido is retiring across the balcony, enter Nello, who hears the last words. Pia turns, and observing Nello, starts, but immediately recovers her composure, while he rushes forward and seizing 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!