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Beatrice
Cannot understand it.
Filippo
What do you mean by that?
Beatrice
have I not told you?
To him everything has stood still these seven years,
And everything we do is child’s play to him.
Filippo
(Perplexed)
How is that?
Beatrice
The people say: It’s madness.
But I know full well, that something happened
Seven years ago, that smote him so
And so it comes about —
That time stands still.
That we to him are as his little children
And so he valks to us —
Of the past,
And takes us on his knoe, me and Rosina,
Francesco runs away –them tells us fairy tales,
And rocks us and sing to us, until we laugh.
Filippo
(coming nearer to her)
You laugh? Is this not sad without compare?
Beatrice
What does he know about it? — Thus he ages,
And does not feel it, and my mother remaines
As beautiful and young for him as ever, and all,
That she had done to harm him, he forget.
Filippo
(Garing at her for a long time)
How good it is that I take you away from all this!
How good, that you a child, should become mine,
As soon thou must. For I have nought but thee.
Though I had much, nothing was satisfying,