GUI. I'll have an end of these soft words at twilight, And these bad mornings full of bile! I'll have an end Of all this spying on me!

FRA. [Gently.] 'Tis not so.

I do not spy upon you. But I see you Bigger than other men, and your least gesture-- A giant moving rocks.--Oh, Guido, tell me You do not love her! Even though I know You lie, I will believe you,--for I must!

GUI. [Pause.] Nay, I am done with you. I will tell you nothing.

Out of my way!--I have that on my mind Would crush your silly skull like the sh.e.l.l of an egg!

Od's body, will you keep your ugly claws From scratching at my sleeve?

[He thrusts her roughly aside and rushes out.]

FRA. [Creeping away, sobbing.] Oh, G.o.d--oh, G.o.d-- I would whatever it is, that were over.

[Exit.]

[Enter Fidelio, and crosses the stage, singing.]

FID. [Singing.]

"Rain comes down And hushes the town.

_And where is the voice that I heard crying_?

Snow settles Over the nettles.

_Where is the voice that I heard crying_?

Sand at last On the drifting mast.

_And where is the voice that I heard crying_?

Earth now On the busy brow.

_And where is the voice that I heard crying_?"

[Exit Fidelio.]

Scene 2

[The court-room in the palace at Fiori, extremely crowded with restless and expectant people. The crowd is arranged on both sides of the stage, in such a way that a broad avenue is left in the middle, leading from the footlights to the back of the stage and gradually narrowing to a point at Beatrice's throne. On the extreme right and left of the stage, along the back of the crowd, stands the guard, a large body of armed soldiers, at attention, in double row. On either side the throne stands an armed soldier. As the curtain rises the court is all standing and looking off stage in a certain direction. Enter the Queen, Beatrice, from that direction, walks in, looking straight ahead, goes to the throne and seats herself. The court sits. The clerk begins to read.]

CLERK. The first case to be heard is that of Lisa, A widow with two small children, who resides Near the Duke's wood, and has been caught in the act Of cutting trees there, and hauling them home to burn.

BEA. Stand, Lisa. You are a widow, I am told.

With two small children.

LISA. Ay, your Majesty, Two little boys.

BEA. I know another widow, Lisa, With two small children,--but hers are little girls.

Have you been cutting trees on the Duke's land?

LISA. No, Majesty. I could not cut a tree.

I have no axe.

BEA. And are you strong enough To break a tree with your hands?

LISA. No, Majesty.

BEA. I see. What do you do, then? There must be Some reason for this plaint.

LISA. I gather wood That's dead,--dried boughs, and underbrush that's been A long time on the ground, and drag it home.

BEA. Have you a wood-pile?

LISA. Nay. I gather enough Each day for the day's need. I have no time To gather more.

BEA. And does the dry wood burn As well as other wood?

LISA. Oh, better!

BEA. I see.

You would as lief, then, have this wood you gather, This dead wood, as a green tree freshly cut?

LISA. Ay, I would liefer have it, Majesty.

I need a fire quickly. I have no time To wait for wood to season.

BEA. You may sit down,

LISA. Is the Duke's agent here?

AGENT. Ay, here.

BEA. What is it the Duke's custom to have done With this dead wood on his estate?

AGENT. He burns it, Your Majesty.

BEA. You mean to say, I think, He pays a price to have it gathered and burned.

AGENT. Ay, Majesty.

BEA. Where is it burned?

AGENT. In a clearing.

BEA. And what is cooked upon it?

AGENT. Nothing is cooked.

The Duke is not a gypsy. [With irritation.]

[Pause.]

[Slight t.i.tter in court-room, instantly hushed into profound silence.]

BEA. [Evenly.] If he were, He would be shrewder, and not be paying money For what this woman is glad to do for naught.

Nothing is cooked, and n.o.body is warmed,-- A most unthrifty fire! Do you bid the Duke, Until he show me sounder cause for plaint, Permit this woman to gather unmolested Dead wood in his forest, and bear it home.--Lisa, Take care you break no half-green boughs.--The next case?

CLERK. Is that of Mario, a miller, accused Of stealing grain. A baker, by name Pietro, Brings this complaint against him,