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I shall drop if I am not quick." Adamo's fingers were on the lock. "The door is bolted! Blessed Virgin, help me!" He unslings his unloaded gun he had forgotten it till then and, tightly seizing it in his strong hands, he flings the butt end against the lock. The wood is old, the bolt is loose. "Holy Jesus! It yields! It opens!" Overcome by the rush of fiery air, again Adamo staggers.
The matter is still unsettled, and in view of the number of recent scholars who have interested themselves in it, one is really surprised that no notice has yet been taken of an Italian article which goes far towards deciding this question and proving that the chief source of 'Paradise Lost' is the 'Adamo Caduto, a sacred tragedy by Serafino della Salandra.
It is so pleasant to hear her clear voice caroling overhead like a bird from the open window, and to see her bright face looking out now and then, her gold ear-rings bobbing to and fro her black rippling hair, and her merry eyes blinded with dust and flue to swallow a breath of air. Adamo does not work, but Pipa does.
His face was averted. The witnesses, Adamo and Silvestro, ranged themselves on either side. The marchesa and Maestro Guglielmi drew nearer to the altar. Angelo waved the censer, walking to and fro before the rails. Pipa peeped in at the open doorway. Her eyes were red with weeping. Pipa looked round aghast. "What a marriage was this! More like a death than a marriage!
So Adamo went to his dinner in all peace; and Argo and his friends knocked down the flowers, and scratched deep holes in the gravel, barking wildly all the time. The marchesa, sitting in grave confabulation with Cavaliere Trenta, rubbed her white hands as she listened. There was neither portcullis, nor moat, nor drawbridge to her feudal stronghold at Corellia, but there was big, white Argo.
How you did frighten me! I cannot bear to hear footsteps about when Adamo is out;" and Pipa gazes up and down into the darkness with an unpleasant consciousness that something ghostly might be watching her. "Pipa," says the cavaliere, putting his finger to his nose and winking palpably, "hold your tongue, and don't scream when I tell you something. Promise me."
With all these faults the Adamo is a lively and spirited representation of the Hebrew legend, and not unworthy to have been the antecedent of Paradise Lost. There is no question of plagiarism, for the resemblance is not even that of imitation or parentage, or adoption.
Now Adamo is on the landing of the first floor Adamo blinded, his head reeling but lifting his strong limbs, and firm broad feet, he struggles upward. He has reached the marchesa's door. The place is marked by a chink of fire underneath. Adamo passes his hand over the panel; it is unconsumed, the fire drawing the other way out by the window. "O God! if the door is bolted!
Trust me, no one shall leave the house to-night alive." The marchesa listens to Adamo breathlessly. "Go go," she says; "we must not be seen together." "The signora shall be obeyed," answers Adamo. He vanishes behind the trees. "Now I can meet Guglielmi!" The marchesa rapidly crosses the sala to the door of her own room, which she leaves ajar.
Is this the way you serve me, Adamo? and I pay you a crown a month. You idle vagabond!" "Padrona," spoke Adamo in a deep voice "I am here alone this boy helps me but little." "Alone, Adamo! you dare to say alone, and you have the dogs? Hear how they bark they have heard the shot too good dogs, good dogs, they are left me alone.
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