University of Virginia Library

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.)