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Updated: June 5, 2025
Adamo shouted back to Pipa out of the din his big stupid eyes looking down upon her face. "Up-stairs?" Pipa nodded. She could not speak, it was too horrible. "Santo Dio! I did not know it!" He struck upon his breast. "Assassin! I have killed her! Assassin! Beast! what have I done?" Again the air rang with Pipa's shrill cries.
So they parted Trenta with Enrica descending flight after flight of steps, leading from terrace to terrace, down to the villa; Nobili mounting upward to the forest with Fra Pacifico toward Corellia, to await the marchesa's answer. Fra Pacifico, with Adamo and Pipa, had labored ever since-daybreak to arrange the rooms at the villa before the marchesa rose.
I was going to feed them." "Are they very hungry?" "Very poverini! they have had nothing since this morning. Now it is five o'clock." "Don't feed them, Adamo, don't feed them." The marchesa is strangely excited. She holds out her hand to detain him. Adamo stares at her in mute consternation. "The padrona is certainly going mad before she dies," he mutters, trying to get away. "Adamo, come here!"
Other portraits that he painted were those of Messer Adamo Fumani, a Canon and a very learned gentleman of Verona, of Messer Vincenzio de' Medici of Verona, and of his consort, Madonna Isotta, in the guise of S. Helen, and of their grandson, Messer Niccolò.
Even now he had been brooding the anguish of Maestro Adamo who hears for ever Li ruscelletti che de' verdi colli Del Casentin discendon giuso in Arno " and the music of the Tuscan fountains blended with the voice of this moorland stream. There was a knock at the door; the maid-servant handed him a letter; it came from Piers. The father read it, and, after a few lines, with grave visage.
There had been at least three editions of the Adamo by 1641, and Milton may have brought one of these with him, among the books which he had shipped from Venice, even, if he had not seen the drama on the Italian stage, or had not, as Todd suggests, met Andreini in person. So much appears to me to be certain from the internal evidence of the two compositions as they stand.
These men promptly formed a line down the hill, to carry the water from the willful mountain-stream that fed the town fountain. Fra Pacifico took the lead. Adamo, recovered now, was soon upon the ladder, receiving the buckets from below. Pipa beside the fountain watched the marchesa, sprinkling water on her face. "Surely her eyelids faintly quiver!" thinks Pipa.
Count Nobili and Fra Pacifico exchange glances. There is a knock at the door. Pipa enters carrying a lighted lamp which she places on the table. Pipa does not even salute Fra Pacifico, but fixes her eyes, swollen with crying, upon Count Nobili. "What is the matter?" asks the priest. "Riverenza, I do not know. Adamo and Angelo are out watching." "But, Pipa, it is very strange. A shot was fired.
As Adam opened his mouth, the rush of hot air, pent upon the winding stair, drawn downward by the draught from the open door, catches his breath. He staggers against the wall. Then the strong man shook himself together again he shouts, "Pipa! Pipa! rise!" Without waiting for an answer, putting his hand over his mouth, Adamo charges up the stone stairs up to the marchesa's door.
He had never seen such a look upon her face all the years he had served her. She almost smiled at him. "Adamo," the marchesa addresses him eagerly, "come here. How many years have you lived with me?" Adamo grins and shows two rows of white teeth. "Thirty years, padrona I came when I was a little lad." "Have I treated you well, Adamo?" As she asks this question, the marchesa moves close to him.
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