Magnani
What sort of people are these? This old man! This is not as
it should be!
Francesco-
(Returns from house, he holds Mrs.Nardi back from taking
Beatrice into the house. He Conething in his hand)
Stay out! stay out!,Beatrice!
That your blood does not curdle!
Mrs.Nardi
What has happened?
Rosina
ne han has gone quickly into house)
Vittorino! He has fainted and lies in the corner!
Francesco
(Showing the dagger, which he held in his hand.)
This stuck in his breast—He aimed truly!
Magnani
What has happened?
Rosina
Screaming, with untold hate towards Beatrice.)
He is dead!
Francesco
Beatrice,unfortunate sister!
Beatrice
That am I not, Francesco,no,and said I it,
'Twould be a lie!
Francesco
Beartice!
(He looks at her for a long time, she looks him steadily
in the eyes.)
I will not be a quest at this wedding!
It begins more Kindly than any other
I ever heard of. Poor Vittorino
Is dead, and this one,whom I so loved,
Is more lost to me, than if she were dead!
For one dead, – I would have last words,
To speak to her, and to Miss her closed eyes!
For these, Oh! Beatrice,have I nothing,
Not word or Miss! So strange to me
39.
What sort of people are these? This old man! This is not as
it should be!
Francesco-
(Returns from house, he holds Mrs.Nardi back from taking
Beatrice into the house. He Conething in his hand)
Stay out! stay out!,Beatrice!
That your blood does not curdle!
Mrs.Nardi
What has happened?
Rosina
ne han has gone quickly into house)
Vittorino! He has fainted and lies in the corner!
Francesco
(Showing the dagger, which he held in his hand.)
This stuck in his breast—He aimed truly!
Magnani
What has happened?
Rosina
Screaming, with untold hate towards Beatrice.)
He is dead!
Francesco
Beatrice,unfortunate sister!
Beatrice
That am I not, Francesco,no,and said I it,
'Twould be a lie!
Francesco
Beartice!
(He looks at her for a long time, she looks him steadily
in the eyes.)
I will not be a quest at this wedding!
It begins more Kindly than any other
I ever heard of. Poor Vittorino
Is dead, and this one,whom I so loved,
Is more lost to me, than if she were dead!
For one dead, – I would have last words,
To speak to her, and to Miss her closed eyes!
For these, Oh! Beatrice,have I nothing,
Not word or Miss! So strange to me
39.