[seagulls crying] [waves crashing] [seagulls crying] [waves crashing] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (male narrator) Many claim the falcon is now his only link with reality.

Perhaps they are right.

To seek after the empty love of the Lady Giovanna seems meaningless and to no purpose.

But sane or mad, few men can equal Count Federigo, a caring man of great individual strength... a man alone... above all, a gentle man, who knows the cost of love.

♪ ♪ Lady Giovanna, who hath been away so long, came back last night to the castle.

My bird, art thou jealous of her?

My princess of the cloud, my plumed purveyor, far-eyed queen of the winds that canst soar beyond the morning lark and howsoe'er thou quarry wind and wheel, swoop down upon him-- eaglelike, lighteninglike-- strike, make his feathers glance in mid heaven.

I wish thou had a mate!

Thy breed will die with thee and mine with me.

I am as lone and loveless as thyself.

Giovanna, here!

[chirping] Ay, ruffle thyself; be jealous of her.

Though I bred thee and loved thee and thou me, yet if Giovanna be here again-- no, buss me, my bird!

Stately widow has no heart for me.

Thou art the last friend left me upon earth.

No, again to that, good nurse.

I had forgotten thou sitting there.

Forgotten thy foster brother too.

Bird-babble for my falcon!

Let it pass.

What art thou doing there?

(Nurse) Darning, your lordship.

We cannot flaunt it in new feathers now.

If we buy diamond necklaces to please our lady, we must darn, my lord.

Here they are but stone beads.

My Piero, God rest his soul, he bought them for me but knew I meant to marry him.

How couldst thou do it, my son?

She saw it at a dance and longed for it.

She told thee?

No, a friend.

Shame, she rich enough to have bought it herself!

She would have robbed me of great pleasure.

But hath she yet returned thy love?

Not yet.

She should return thy necklace.

If she knew the giver, but I left it privily in her palace.

And sold thine own to buy it!

[laughing maniacally] Ah, the women, the women!

Monna Giovanna, you, here again!

You that have the face of an angel and heart-- that's too positive!

You that have a score of lovers and not a heart for any-- that's positive-negative.

You have not the head of a toad and not a heart like the jewel-- that's too negative.

A cheek like a peach and a heart like the stone in it--that's positive again!

That's better!

Shh, Filippo!

Ah, here has our master been a-glorifying and a-velveting and a-silking himself, peacocking and spreading to catch her eye a dozen year till he hasn't an eye left in his tail to flourish among the peahens, and all alone are you!

You're saying behind his back what you are saying afore his face.

Let him!

I never spare your lordship to your lordship's face, nor behind your lordship's back, nor right, nor left, nor back to your lordship's face again, for I'm honest, your lordship!

Filippo, what is in the larder?

Shelves and hooks.

I am like to hang myself on the hooks.

No bread?

Breakfast for a rat!

Milk?

Three laps fo r a cat!

No bird?

Half a tit.

Let be thy jokes, man; anything or nothing?

If all-but-nothing be anything, and one plate of prunes be all-but-nothing, then there is anything in your lordship's service, if your lordship cares for it.

Happy was the prodigal son, returned to rich father.

I add my poverty to thine.

Pray thee, make thy slender meal out of those scraps Filippo spoke of.

For him and me, there sprouts a salad in the garden.

♪ [chirping] ♪ Why didst thou miss thy quarry?

My beauty, dash us down our dinner from the skies.

[chirping] Away, Filippo!

[chirping] I knew it would come to this.

She has beggared him.

I always knew it would come to this!

[wood chips crunching underfoot] Why, as I live, there is Monna Giovanna, coming down the path from the castle.

Stops and stares at our cottage.

Ay, ay, stare at it!

It's all you have left us.

Shame on you!

She beautiful, sleek as a miller's mouse!

Meal enough, meat enough, well fed, but beautiful--bah!

Nay... see, why she turns down the path through our little vineyard, and I sneezed three times this morning.

Coming to visit my lord, for the first time in her life too!

Why, bless the saints!

I'll be bound, to confess her love for him at last!

I knew it would come to this.

I always knew it would come to this!

Come in, Madonna, come in.

Let me place this chair for your ladyship.

Can I speak with the Count?

Won't you speak with the old woman?

Tell her and make her happy.

I've been on my knees every day these half-dozen years in hopes the saints would send this blessed morning.

He always took you kindly.

He always took the world kindly.

When he was little, I put bitters on my breast to wean.

He made a wry mouth but took it so kindly.

Your ladyship has given him bitters in this world.

He never made a wry mouth at you.

He always took you kindly, which is more than I did, my lady, more than I.

And he, so handsome... bless your sweet face, you look as beautiful this morning as the very Madonna her own self.

Better late than never, come when they will, then or now.

They are made by the blessed saints, these marriages.

Marriages?

I shall never marry again!

[aside] Shame upon her!

Where is the Count?

Gone to fly his falcon.

Tell him I come to breakfast.

[aside] Holy mother, to breakfast!

Oh, sweet saints, and one plate of prunes!

Well, Madam, I will give your message to him.

(Giovanna) His falcon... and I come to ask for his falcon, the pleasure of his eyes, boast of his hand, pride of his heart, the solace of his hours, his one companion here.

I heard that through this costly gift to mine own self, he hath become so beggared his falcon wins dinner for him in the field.

Truth or talk, how can I ask for his falcon?

Oh, my sick boy!

My daily fading Florio, it is thou hath set me this hard task, for when I say, "What can I do for thee?"

he answers, "Get the Count to give me his falcon.

That will make me well."

If I ask, he knows I know he loves me!

Will he not pray me to marry him?

I can never marry him.

His grandsire struck my grandsire in a brawl at Florence.

My grandsire stabbed him.

The feud between our houses I cannot cross.

I dare not brave my brother, break with my kin.

My brother hates him, scorns the noblest-natured man alive.

And I, who have that reverence for him that I scarce dare beg him to receive his diamonds back, how can I-- dare I-- ask for his falcon?

I cannot do it myself.

Then, my lord, we are paupered out.

Do what I said!

Welcome to this poor cottage, dear lady.

Welcome turns a cottage to a palace.

Long since we met!

I come to break fast with you.

I am much honored.

Do what I told thee.

Must I do it?

I will, I will.

Poor fellow.

[door squeaking] My cottage, while you grace it, is a palace.

Cottage or palace, you are king of courtesy and liberality.

I maintain courtesy.

My liberality is dead through lack of means of giving.

I ask a gift.

It will be hard to find one shock.

But my boy-- [aside] not yet, I cannot!

How is that bright inheritor of your eyes?

Alas, my lord, he hath fallen into sickness.

Sick!

When he came to see me hawking, he was well.

Yes, you let him fly your flacon.

How charmed he was!

A gallant boy, a noble bird... each perfect of the breed.

What do you rate her at?

My bird?

A hundred gold pieces once were offered.

I had no heart to part.

No, not for money.

Wherefore do you sigh?

I have lost a friend of late.

I could sigh for fear of losing more than friend... a son, and if he leave, all the rest of life, that withered wreath were of more worth.

That wreath is of more worth than the leaf of this year.

Yet I never saw the land so rich.

Was not the year this was gathered richer?

How long ago?

Alas, ten summers!

A lady that was beautiful as day sat by me at a rustic festival with other beauties on a mountain meadow.

She was most beautiful of all, then but fifteen, and still as beautiful.

The mountain flowers grew thickly round about.

I made a wreath with some of these.

I asked a ribbon from her hair to bind it with.

I whispered, "Let me crown you Queen of Beauty," and softly placed the chaplet on her head.

A color, which has colored all my life, flushed in her face.

Then I was called away, and presently all arose and so departed.

She had thrown my chaplet on the grass, and I found it.

How long since?

The year before you married.

You were at war.

Had she not thrown my chaplet, I had never seen wars.

There ran a rumor that you were killed.

True tears were shed for you.

Might have been as well.

I was wounded and imprisoned.

Happily I see you quite recovered.

No, no, not quite, Madonna, not yet... not yet.

My lord, a word with you.

Pray, pardon me.

What is it, Filippo?

Spoons, your lordship.

Spoons?

Wasn't my lady born with a golden spoon?

We haven't so much as a silver one.

Have we not silver spoons?

Half of one.

How half?

I trod upon him in my hurry and broke him.

The other nine?

Sold!

Shall I mount with your lordship's leave to her ladyship's castle and confer with her ladyship's seneschal and so descend again with some of her ladyship's own appurtenances?

No, only see your cloth be clean.

Ay, this faded ribbon was the mode in Florence ten years back.

What's here?

A scroll pinned to the wreath-- [Federigo clearing his throat] You said so much of this wreath.

I was bold enough to take it down.

I find a written scroll that seems in rhymings.

Might I read?

If you will.

It should be if you can.

"Dead mountain--" nay, for who could trace a hand so wild and staggering?

This was penned a winter morn in prison.

He that made it, his right hand lamed in battle, wrote it with his left.

Oh, heavens!

The very letters seem to shake with cold, with pain perhaps, poor prisoner!

Tell me the words, or better, I see a musical score along with them.

Repeat them to music.

You touch no chord in me that would not answer in music.

That is musically said.

♪ ♪ Dead mountain flowers, dead mountain-meadow flowers, ♪ ♪ dearer than when you made your mountain gay, ♪ ♪ sweeter than any violet of today, ♪ ♪ richer than the wide world-wealth of May, ♪ ♪ to me, though all your bloom has died away, ♪ ♪ you bloom again, dead mountain-meadow flowers.

♪ (Nurse) A word, my lord!

♪ Oh, mountain flowers-- ♪ A word, my lord!

♪ Dead flowers-- ♪ A word, my lord!

I pray, pardon me again!

(Federigo) Wh at is it?

We have one piece of earthenware to serve the salad, and that cracked!

That flowered bowl fetched from farthest east we never use for fear of breakage, but this occasion, take it!

I did take it, my lord.

My lady's coming had so flurried me, I did break it, my lord.

My one thing left of value!

No matter...see your cloth be white as snow!

White as snow on the mountain!

Yet to speak truth, I have seen it like snow on the moraine.

How can your lordship say so?

There, my lord!

Dear son, be not unkind to me.

One word more-- Let it be one!

Hath she yet returned thy love?

Not yet.

Will she?

I scarce believe it.

Shame upon her then!

[door closing] ♪ Dead mountain flowers.... ♪ Well, my nurse has broken the thread of my dead flowers as she has broken my china bowl.

My memory is as dead.

Strange that words at home so long with me fly like bosom friends when needed most.

If you would, the writing.

There, my lord, you are a poet.

Can you not imagine that the wreath, set, as you say, so lightly on her head, fell with her motion as she rose?

She, a girl, a child then but fifteen, however fluttered or flattered by your notice of her, was yet too bashful to return for it?

Was it so indeed?

Was it so?

Was it so?

I did not say it was so.

I said you might imagine it was so.

I said you might imagine it was so.

A fine salad for my lady!

Though we have been a soldier by his lordship's side and seen the red of the battlefield, yet are we now drill sergeant to his lordship's lettuces and profess to be great in green things.

I thank thee, good Filippo.

Here's fine fowl for my lady.

I hope he be not underdone, for we be undone in the doing of him.

(Giovanna) I thank thee, nurse.

And here are fine fruits for my lady...prunes, my lady, from the tree my lord planted here in his boyhood.

So I, Filippo, bring, with your ladyship's pardon, and as your ladyship knows, his own foster brother, would commend them to your most peculiar appreciation.

Will you not eat with me, my lord?

I cannot, not one morsel.

I have broken my fast already.

I will pl edge you.

Wine, Filippo, wi ne!

It is thin and cold, not like the vintage round your castle.

We lie deep down in shadows here.

Your ladyship lives higher in the sun.

If I might send you a flask?

There is iron in it, commended as a medicine.

I give it to my sick son.

If you be not recovered, wine might help.

None has told me the story of your battle.

I can tell you, my lady.

Will you take the word out of your master's mouth?

Giovanna, my dear lady, in this same battle, we had been beaten.

They were ten to one.

I and Filippo had done our best.

Having passed unwounded from the field, were seated sadly at a fountain, our horses gr azing by us, when a troop la den with booty and a flag of ours-- We fought back!

We killed them by the score!

We have left their fifty less by five, but angered at th e flaunting of our flag, we dashed in to them.

I wore the lady's chaplet.

It served me for a blessed rosary.

More than one fellow owed his death to it.

Our horses fell beneath us.

Down we went, crushed, trampled underfoot.

The night, as some co ld-mannered friend, had a touch of frost that he lped check the flowing blood.

The last sight ere I swooned was one sweet face, crowned with the wreath; it seemed to come and go.

They left us there for dead!

Hear that, my lady?

I left two fingers there for dead.

I see.

And my great toe.

And Filippo?

I left him there for dead too!

My lady, if your ladyship were not too proud to look upon the garland, you would find it stained-- Silence, Elisabetta!

Stained with blood of the best heart!

I can eat no more!

(Federigo) Yo u have trifled with salad, not eaten anything.

Nay, nay, I cannot.

My one child, Florio, lying still so sick.

I bound myself by solemn vow, that I would touch no flesh until he were well here or in Heaven.

But the prunes, my lady-- Lord Federigo, can I not speak with you alone?

You hear, Filippo... my good fellow, go!

Well, well, the women!

And thou, too, leave us, my dear nurse, alone.

And me too!

Ay, dear nurse will leave you alone... but for all that, she that has eaten the yolk is scarce like to swallow the shell!

[door slamming] I have angered your nurse.

Old-world servants are all but flesh and blood with those they serve.

I have a present to return and a boon to crave.

No, my most honored and long-worshiped lady, I take nothing in return from you except return of my affection, can deny nothing to you that you require of me.

Then I require you take your diamonds.

They are yours, for no other heart of such magnificence beats out of heaven.

They seemed too rich a prize to trust with any messenger.

I came in person to return them.

If the phrase return displease you, we will say "exchange" them for your... for your-- For mine... and what of mine?

Shall we say this wreath and your rhymes.

Have you worn my diamonds?

No, that would seem accepting of your love.

I cannot brave my brother, but I shall never marry again!

Is this your brother's order?

No, he would marry me to the richest man in Florence.

But you know the saying, "Better a man without riches, than riches without a man."

A noble saying, and acted on would yield nobler men and women.

Lady, I find you a shrewd bargainer.

The wreath you wore outvalues twentyfold diamonds you never deigned to wear.

Be gracious enough to let me know the boon by granting which I should be more happy than I hoped.

Keep your wreath, but you will find me a shrewd bargainer still.

I cannot keep your diamonds, for the gift I ask for outvalues all the jewels upon earth.

It should be love that thus outvalues all.

You love me not.

I have nothing but love for you.

It is love.

Love for my dying boy moves me to ask you.

My time... is it my time?

I can give my time to him.

Shall I return to the castle with you?

Shall I read to him, tell him tales, sing songs?

No, I thank you heartily, and you, from your nobleness of nature, will pardon me for asking what I ask.

Giovanna, I that once the wildest of the youth before I saw you, all my nobleness draws from you and from my constancy to you.

No more, but speak.

I will.

You know, sick people-- more specially, sick children-- have strange fancies, strange longings, and to thwart them in their mood may work them grievous harm at times, may even hasten their end.

I would you had a son!

It might be easier for you to make allowance for a mother who comes to rob you of your one delight.

How often has my sick boy yearned for this!

I put him off, but today I dared not.

So much weaker, I was weeping.

He gave me his hand: "I should be well if the Count would give me--" Give me. "

--his falcon."

My falcon?

Yes, your falcon, Federigo!

Alas, I cannot!

Cannot?

Even so, I feared as much.

Oh, this unhappy world!

How shall I tell him?

The boy may die.

More blessed were the rags of some beggar seeking alms for her son if he were to live than all my wealth if mine must die.

I was to blame.

The love you said you bore me, my lord; we thank you for your entertainment, and so return, Heaven help him, to our son.

Stay!

Stay.

I am most unlucky... most unhappy.

You never had looked in on me before.

When you dipped your sovereign head through these low doors, you asked to eat with me.

I had but emptiness to set before you-- no, not a draft of milk, no, not an egg-- nothing but my brave bird, my noble falcon, my comrade of the house and of the field.

She had to die for it; she died fo r you.

Perhaps I thought with those of old, the nobler the victim was, the more acceptable might be the sacrifice.

I fear you scarce will thank me for your entertainment now.

I bear with him no longer!

He will bear wi th it as he may.

[crying] I break with him forever!

He will keep hi s love to you forever!

You?

Not you!

My brother, my hard brother!

Federigo, Federigo, I love you!

In spite of ten thousand brothers, Federigo!

Then the dying of my noble bird served me better than her living.

These diamonds, yours and mine, have won their value again, beyond all markets.

There, I lay them for the first time round your neck.

[Giovanna sniffling and weeping] Then this chaplet... no more feuds, but peace, peace and conciliation!

I will make your brother love me.

I tear away the leaves darkened by the battle and crown you with the same crown, my Queen of Beauty.

I almost think the dead garland will break into living blossom.

Nay, nay, I pray you rise.

We two together will help to heal your son... your son and mine.

We shall do it.

We shall do it!

The purpose of my being is accomplished... ♪ and I am happy!

And I, too, Federigo.

Let's go to him.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪