 | Madonna Pia |  |
ACT I.
(A garden. To the left the entrance of a castellated mansion. In the background a picturesque mountainous country.Jacomo and Bertoldo enter severally.
Jac.
What tidings of the battle?
Bert.
Not a word.
Have you heard nothing either?
Jac.
No, not I.
For hours I have not seen a soul about.
Bert.
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!
Jac.
'Tis like
8
They say, are forty thousand strong, and we
Scarce half the number.
Bert.
“'Tis a heavy odds.
“We've not a man to spare, yet here they leave us
“Like rusty armour nailed against the wall.
Jac.
“Ay, there's the grief on't—fretting out our hearts
“With fears and fancies, when our good swords might
“Be doing yeoman's service in the field.”
Bert.
Hush! Hark! A horse! There!
Jac.
No! 'Tis but the plash
Of the fountain in the court. Yet Jacopo
Should have been back ere this, and Beppo too.
Bert.
They'll not show face, not they, till all is done.
Jac.
“How! Cravens! Runagates!
Bert.
“No, by thee 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.
Jac.
They were sent out for news, and not to fight.
Why must they meddle? Brawling makebaits! Zounds,
As if there won't be broken heads enough,
But they must hunt for bloody cockscombs too!
Bert.
Nay, you're too hard upon the lads. Why, you
Had done the same yourself, had you been there.
Who 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 men were dreaming of a brawl?
9
“Ha, do you take me, gossip?
Jac.
“Well, go to!
“In sooth I was a mad hot-headed knave
“As ever fingered steel. Ah, many's the time
“My blessed Marjory, heaven rest her soul!
“Has begged and prayed 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 vowed 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 réveillé round the rascal's ears.”
Bert.
Rare sport it was to see you! “That back stroke
“Of yours was never matched before or since.
“How the Pietri used to scud before it!
Jac.
“Like skipjacks as they were!
Bert.
“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.
Jac.
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 blood thrown away. We of the herd
“Can scarcely fathom what they're all about.
“To us what matter, which is uppermost?
“But these Pietri, overbearing dogs,
10
“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 know
The Eagle's Rock—it should command the field.
(They retire up conversing. Exit Bertoldo. Jacomo occupies himself among the flower-beds gathering a nosegay. Enter Margherita from the castle.)
Mar.
'Tis very strange! She is not in the house.
I thought to find her here.—Ha, Jacomo,
Has your young mistress passed this way?
Jac.
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 looked! 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!
Mar.
“Ah, many's the fair cheek, good Jacomo,
“These cruel wars will blanch.
Jac.
“Why, 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,
11
Mar.
“Gently, good Jacomo, you'll crush the flowers.
“They're not a sword, that you should grasp them so.
Jac.
“No more they are; I'd nearly ruined 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.
Mar.
How! Scarcely safe! What mean you?
Jac.
Only this:
“That there be knaves abroad—some, too, that bear
“No special goodwill to my master's house.
“Rare prize were such a dove for hungry hawk.
Mar.
“Explain yourself.
Jac.
“I will, my lady. Well.”
You know how fond the lady Pia is
Of wandering by herself for hours on hours,
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 be
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 stirred abroad,
I saw that she was followed by a man,
Who hovered round her steps, yet kept aloof,
Yea, would for hours sit gazing from yon cliff,
Watching her movements in the garden here!
As he watched her, so I set watch on him
And found he was—
12
Yes—who?
Jac.
Your ladyship
Would never guess—Count Nello della Pietra.
Mar.
Count della Pietra?
Jac.
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,
That seems to watch, like tiger, for its spring,
Hoarding its hunger till the prey's secure.
Mar.
Old enmities, I fear, make you unjust.
“He is reputed for a noble youth,
“Accomplished, brave.
Jac.
“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.”
Mar.
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 him now; for he
Is, like my brother, with Uberti joined,
Gone to do battle with the Florentines.
Jac.
Ay, there it is! Such leagues I like not. No!
13
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!
Mar.
Amen to that, good Jacomo! And see,
In happy omen, where your mistress comes.
Enter Pia at the upper end of the garden.
Jac.
The saints be praised! And with a step so light,
I could be sworn she brings some welcome news.
Pia
advancing).
The day is ours, dear aunt! The day is ours!
Mar.
Ours, Pia, ours? What fancy's this!
Pia.
No fancy!
I mean the battle has been fought and won,
Won gloriously, and the field remains with us.
Mar.
Great heavens, how came you by these tidings? How?
Pia.
With mine own eyes I looked upon the fray,
And am myself our victory's messenger.
Mar.
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
Than in the din and ghastly shapes of war.
Fear thronged on fear, until the very blood
Seemed thickening at my heart. So I went forth—
14
Right 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.
But the fresh breeze brought coolness to my brow,
And some o'ermastering impulse bore me on,
Till to the summit of the hill I came.
Then on my sight there burst a spectacle
That filled 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
Flashed in the sun, a bright array of war,
Compact, unbroken. Even as I gazed,
The solid mass took motion; on it came,
And the hosts clashed together in the midst.
Methinks I should have been a man—for I
Yearned to be struggling in that yeasty sea,
That swayed in angry surges at my feet.
Not long the issue wavered; soon I saw
The mighty standard of the Florentines,
That flung a proud defiance to our arms,
Sink, like a tall ship swallowed by the deep.
Thicker and thicker grew the fray, and then
The tide of steel swept o'er their scattered ranks,
Their horsemen turned in flight, our banners crowned
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 turned for home.
Mar.
That was no sight, my child, for maiden's eyes.
Pia.
So had I thought, had I not seen it. Now,
15
That moment's fiery spasm, its throes of joy,
For all that's best in the remembered past.
All former hopes, cares, aims, seemed trivial, mean;
My soul sprang up full-statured at a bound,
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.)
Mar.
Methinks we should have tidings of our friends.
Go, Jacomo, ascend the garden tower,
And bring us news betimes of their approach.
Jac.
I will, my lady. All my pretty flowers
Are plucked in vain. My mistress heeds them not.
Pia
(observing him for the first time).
Good-morrow, Jacomo!
(He bows and presents her with the nosegay.)
Your flowers shall deck
The caps of our victorious cavaliers.
(Exit Jacomo.)
Mar.
So gay of mood, my child! And have you, then,
No fears this victory may bring us grief?
Pia.
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 me in his arms.
Mar.
Is there no other than your father, then,
Whose not returning safe would cast a shade
Upon a life that has been cloudless yet?
Reflect! Of all our kinsmen is there not—
Not one, a little dearer than the rest?
16
I do not understand—I think not—No!
Mar.
Art very sure of that? Not Chiaramonte?
Pia.
Oh, my brave cousin Guido! Ah, dear aunt,
That were a loss indeed! My dear, kind cousin,
I was to blame, not to have singled him—
My heart's true brother!
Mar.
No more than brother, Pia?
Such title scarcely would content your cousin.
Pia.
Why should you think so? Why?
Mar.
Because 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 love-lorn damoselle.
Mar.
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 spring-time: all my first
Remembrances are twined with him—'twas he
First filled my lap with flowers, dried my first tears,
Shared my first sports, first studies. As we grew,
Still was the boy companion of my hours,
Led my young fancies, played, sang, read with me;
Was now my troubadour,—my knight, fast sworn
To bring far kings in homage to my feet:
And as we ripened into graver years,
He was my friend, my dear familiar friend,—
Next to my father valued—whom I'd trust
17
When children we plucked 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.
(Retires up.)
Mar.
(alone).
Would I were sure of that! Yes, 'tis too plain,
This is not, nor is aught akin to love.
My gallant boy! It is not thus with you,
Have rippled on in sunshine; they have left
Far deeper prints upon your heart, I fear.
Enter Jacomo and Cosimo.
Jac.
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.
Pia.
I knew he must be safe.
Mar.
Your message, sir?
Cos.
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.
Mar.
A stranger, said you?
Cos.
Yes, my lady. I
Was bid to say no more, and make despatch.
18
And I have scarcely headed them a mile.
Mar.
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!
Who can it be, I wonder?
(Exeunt Margherita and Pia into the castle.)
Cos.
You are like
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!
Jac.
“How is this?
“Out with your story, friend!
Cos.
“Why, look your 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?”
Jac.
Come to the point, man, who is coming?
Cos.
Point!
Fine point, indeed! Count Nello della Pietra.
Jac.
Count Nello! It can't be. It should not be.
19
Between them flows a sea of blood.—And he,
What makes he with my master?
Cos.
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?
Jac.
'Tis that which puzzles me.
Cos.
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 Pietra.
Tol.
(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.
Jac.
I will, my lord.
Tol.
“Where is your mistress? She
“Has had my message, eh?
Jac.
“She has, my lord.
Tol.
“'Tis well.—Now go”—and, Jacomo, a word!
See to my roan yourself—he has a wound.
(Jacomo lingers.)
20
I thought we should surprise you. Good my lord,
This worthy fellow—never honester
Did master suit and service—looks upon you
With a scant loving eye. I dare be sworn
He's thinking now, how often he crossed swords
With the Pietri, in our brawls of yore,
And feels his fingers itching for a fray.
Confess now, Jacomo.
Jac.
To tell the truth,
I had some sharp remembrances just then,
But—but, my lord—
Tol.
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 your master's prate.
Jac.
My lord, we owe Count Nello much.
(Aside.)
But still,
I doubt such friendliness at such a hand.
(Exit.)
Nello.
That man, methinks, will never be my friend.
Tol.
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,
21
Or they are none of mine. Now, by the mass,
If we forget the past, if we 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.
Tol.
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?
Tol.
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!
Tol.
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 thanks—
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,
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—
22
Speak not so.
Mine is the debt. (Aside.)
Heaven knows how deep!
(Aloud.)
For I
Do hold me overpaid, that my young sword
Was 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 unsunned as mine, as dark, forlorn,
To know what luxury it is to gaze
On the deep transports of a love so pure.
Tol.
A life unsunned! 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 maidens' hearts—
(Nello starts.)
“Nay, never start, I'm cunning in such lore—
“An eye, that tempts to fathom what it broods,
“A lip to break whose firmness into smiles,
“Beauty would give her heart up.” Look you, sir,
You wrong yourself, your nature, and your gifts,
To tell me of a life unsunned, forlorn.
Your crow sits blinking in the mist—the eagle
Mounts o'er the clouds, and fronts the glorious sun.
Nello.
True, but its wings have not been clipped like mine.
I am, you know, the last shoot of a stem,
That once soared high, and spread a bounteous shade,
23
All those that might have 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.
Tol.
Come out into the sunshine. Look around you.
Mix with our life. This mood will pass, and soon
You'll find yourself careering 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!
Tol.
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.
Tol.
Wilt go with me? They wait for us within.
Nello.
Your pardon, some old thoughts—
24
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 Guido Chiaramonte enters from the other side.)
Guido.
Too late, too late! Oh most unlucky chance!
This comes now of distinction! What 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 a chance to lose!
Oh, had I come before her, with the flush
Of battle on my cheek, and its full pulse
Still throbbing in my breast, and laying down
My maiden laurels at her feet, had poured
All the full tide of year-long hoarded love,
I ne'er had dared in a more tranquil hour
To give free vent, 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—
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, when he is met by Jacomo.)
25
Leave us again so soon, dear master Guido?
Why, how is this? You have not been within!
My master scarce will think this courteous,
And, Lord! what will the lady Pia say?
Guido.
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.
Jac.
Nay, Master Guido, you look worn! A cup
Of old Chianti, ere you go, were worth
A second pair of spurs. Go in—
Guido.
I cannot.
Jac.
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!
Guido.
New guest! New friend! What mean you?
Jac.
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 this Count Nello—may the red plague seize him!—
Sits in the halls whose threshold ne'er till now
Was crossed 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
26
When our forefathers paid his wrong for wrong,
Insult for insult, and with usury too?
Jac.
And you say this? You, 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?
Jac.
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?
Why, then, I am his debtor too. 'Twas well,
'Twas nobly done! I would I might have stayed,
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.
Jac.
“What call had he to strike in such 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.
Jac.
Well, well! Time proves all.
But I have deep misgivings of some ill,
When such guests sit at Tolommei's hearth.
27
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 Pia from the castle. She does not observe them.)
Jac.
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?
Guido.
I will. Go you and see my horse prepared.
(Exit Jacomo. Pia advances to the front of the stage in a reverie, Guido remaining behind.)
Pia.
I breathe again! The air is sweet and cool,
And yet I felt a fever fan my cheek,
A stifling in my bosom, as I stood
And heard my 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 seemed no stranger to my thoughts.
Is't fancy, or some half-forgotten dream?
What 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
28
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 blossomed flower, or the majestic sun,
Or has a richer music struck 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 missed one 'midst her friends, she fain had seen,
And I that happy one!
Pia.
It was not much
He said; but wherefore did it seem, as though
The tones spoke to me as of something heard
Long, long ago, and hoarded up till then
Next to my heart? 'Tis very, very strange.
Guido
(advancing).
What's strange, fair Pia?
Pia.
Ah, dear cousin Guido!
Welcome, thrice welcome!
Guido.
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 him?
Pia.
Nay, did I so?
Guido.
Now would 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
29
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.
Pia.
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
Yearned for some word—oh, Pia, pardon me—
Some word to say I was remembered 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 remembered ever in your thoughts.
Guido.
Remembered! 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 seemed like years.
That month seemed longer than my whole life else.
Pia.
That's strange! Yet no. For in that little month
A world of new pursuits, ambitions, hopes,
30
So much to do, and done, you thought it long.
Guido.
It was not that. No, no, it was not that.
Pia.
Indeed! What then, dear Guido?
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 I 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 a heart, nor cared to know.
I come, a man, who woke to find his heart
Gone from his keeping ere he knew his loss.
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 rushed remembrance of the past,
“And flooded all my being with a strange
“Bewildered 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,
31
By one dear presence haunted, by one voice
Made musical, till life seemed bounded in
By some enchanter's spell. Oh, words are poor,
Weak, 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?
Pia.
I can divine it, Guido.—And this change
You speak of—?
Guido.
Is a change from thoughtless ease
To passionate aspiring—from the dreams
Of unreflecting youth to the close aims
Of manhood. Said I, aims? There is but one.
Pia.
And that one?
Guido.
Love! For love embrances all.
Our every thought is his, our every deed;
Wealth, honour, fame, we prize them but as means
And ministrants to love.
Pia.
Does love so change?
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 winged 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
32
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.
Guido
(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!
Guido.
Then thou hast felt this witchery, too! oh, joy!
And there's a voice within thy breast will plead
My suit with eloquence more rare than mine!
Pia.
Thy suit? I plead thy suit? When Guido woos,
What tongue so skilled to urge it as his own?
Guido.
Think thou but so, and I am blest indeed!
Pia.
Nay, when thy mistress thinks so, then thou mayest be.
Guido.
But has she not—
(Enter Jacomo.)
Jac.
Your horse, my lord, is ready at the gate.
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Plague on the fellow! Why
Should he come blundering here at such a time?
Jac.
(aside).
I've half a mind, I'm one too many here.
(Retires up.)
Pia.
How! Going? Now, so soon? You 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 his heart)
would bear me on,
Were't twice as far, unflaggingly. But see,
My dear aunt Margherita!
Enter Margherita, from the Castle.
Mar.
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!
Mar.
How, what is this?
(To Pia.)
Pia, have you no word to keep him here?
(To Guido.)
You must not leave us so.
Guido.
Nay, nay, I must.
I bear despatches from Uberti. They
Will be the signal for his friends to strike,
34
Of this day's loss. I have outstayed 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.
(Exit.)
Pia.
But, Guido—stay!
He heeds me not. Ah, me!
Mar.
(to Pia.)
What means all this?
Pray heaven, she may have found, within her heart
There vibrate deeper chords than she had dreamed!
(Pia stands as if lost in meditation, Margherita looking at her with apparent surprise. Tolommei and Nello appear at the door of the castle.)
Tol.
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 shunned such gallant company.
And now to dine. Your hand, girl, to the Count!
(Nello advances and leads off Pia, followed by Margherita and Tolommei.)
| Madonna Pia | |