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Updated: June 5, 2025
They had gone into Pipa's room until the villa was made ready. Pipa told Adamo, and he told the others, that the marchesa had not seen the burning papers, and the lighted pile of wood, until the flames rose high behind her back. She had rushed forward, and fallen.
He approaches her, secretly making horns against the evil-eye with his fingers. "You saved my life, now you must save my honor." The words came hissing into his ear. Adamo drew back a step or two. "Blessed mother, what ails her?" But he held his tongue. The marchesa stands before him drawn up to her full height, every nerve and muscle strained to the utmost. "Adamo, do you hear?
Adamo, a stout, big-limbed man, bull-necked with large lazy eyes and a black beard as thick as horse-hair, a rifle slung by a leather strap across his chest, answered out of the shrubs now blackening in the twilight: "I am here, padrona, command me." "Adamo, who is shooting on my land?" "Padrona, I do not know." "Where is Angelo?"
Argo is stronger than three men; Argo knocks over any one, and he is trained to follow on the scent like a bloodhound. Adamo, you are an idiot!" Adamo hung his head, either in shame or rage, but he dared not reply. "Now take the dogs out with you instantly you hear, Adamo? Argo, and Ponto the bull-dog, and Tuzzi and the others. Take them and go down at once to the bottom of the cliffs.
I may mention that this curious anecdote, together with a variety of other interesting matter respecting Perugino and the other artists of the Umbrian school, will be found in a volume by Professor Adamo Rossi, to be published in 1876 under the auspices of the Italian government commission for the preservation and publication of historical documents regarding Tuscany and Umbria.
He received them with grave courtesy. Adamo, arrayed by Pipa in his Sunday clothes, with a flower behind his ear, and Silvestro, stood uncovered at the entrance. Once, and once only, Silvestro abstained from addressing his mistress with his usual question about her health.
They shall not overrun my woods and break through my vineyards they shall not! You hear?" Her shrill voice rings round the low room, "No poachers no trespassers, remember that; I shall tell Adamo the same. Now go, and, as you pass, tell Fra Pacifico I want him to-morrow." When Silvestro was gone, a haggard look came over the marchesa's pale face.
"Tell me, love," he said, drawing Enrica to him, "did you hear my signal last night? the shot I fired below, out of the woods?" "Yes, I heard a shot. Something told me it must be you. I thought I should have died when I heard my aunt order Adamo to unloose those dreadful dogs. How did you escape them?" "The cunning beasts! They were upon my track.
I was aware that Signor Adamo Rossi is one of the most accomplished and indefatigable readers of archives in Italy, especially on the subject of Umbrian art, and I was sure that if any documentary evidence were in existence which could throw any light on the facts, he would be in possession of it.
Pipa, who, next to Adamo and the marchesa, loved Enrica with all the strength of her warm heart, sings all day those unwritten songs of Tuscany that rise and fall with such spontaneous cadence among the vineyards, and in the olive-grounds, that they seem bred in the air Pipa sings all day for gladness that the signorina is going to marry a rich and handsome gentleman.
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