Charles Di Tocca: A Tragedy. Rice Cale Young
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It cannot be, and you a god? I'll bow
Before your eyes no more! – say that it can!
Antonio: Not yet – not now. Hæmon's suspicious, quick,
And melancholy: must be won with service.
And you are Greek, a name till yesterday
I never knew pass in the portal to
My father's ear, but it came out his mouth
Headlong and dark with curses.
Helena: Yet of late
He oft has smiled upon me as he passed.
Antonio: On you – my father? O, he only dreamt,
And saw you not.
Helena: Then have you also dreamt!
He looked as you, when, moonlight in my hair,
You call me —
Antonio: Stay: I'll call you so no more.
Helena: You'll call me so no more?
Antonio: No more.
Helena: Why do
You say so – is it kind?
Antonio: Why? – why? Because
Words were they miracles of beauty could
As little reveal you as a taper's ray
The lone profundity and space of night!
Helena: And yet —
Antonio: And yet?
Helena: I'll hold you not too false
If sometimes they trip out upon your lips.
Antonio: Or to my father's eye?
Helena: If he but look
Upon me for thy sake.
Antonio: He smiled, you say?
Helena: Gently, as one might in forgetting pain.
Antonio: Perhaps: for some unwonted softness seems
Near him. But yesterday he called for song,
Dancing and wine.
Helena: Then tell him! These are years
So dyed in crime that secrecy must seem
Yoke-mate of guilt.
Antonio: Fear has bewitched you – shame!
Helena: Antonio, love's wave has cast us high
I would do all lest now it turn to fate
Under our feet and draw us out —
Antonio: 'Twill not!
Paula: My lady, some one comes.
Helena: And is the world
Not space enough but he must needs come here!
If it were – ?
Antonio: Hæmon? – 'Twere perhaps not ill.
Helena: I know not! Broodings smoulder from his moods
Feverous bitter.
Antonio: Kindness then shall quench them.
But now, away. Forget this dread and be you
By day my lark, by night my nightingale,
Not a sad bird of boding!
Helena: With the day
All will be well.
Antonio: Remember then you are
Only a little slept from your life's shore
Out on the infinite of love, whose air
Is awe and mystery.
Helena: I go, my lord.
Think of me oft!
Antonio (taking her in his arms): My Helena!
(She goes with Paula. He steps aside and watches the approaching forms.)
'Tis Hæmon!
My father!
Charles: So, no farther? you'll stop here?
Hæmon: Sir, if you grant it. I —
Charles (twittingly): Some rendezvous?
Who is she? Ah, young blood and Spring and night!
Hæmon: No rendezvous, my lord.
Charles: Some lay then you
Would muse on?
Hæmon: Yes, a lay.
Charles: And one of love?
The word, you see, founts easy to my lips.
(With confidential archness.) 'Tis recent in my thought – as you will learn.
Hæmon: How, sir, and when?
Charles: O, when? Be not surprised! —
Well, to the lay!
Hæmon: Cruel! His soldiers waste
The bread of honesty, the hope of age!
Are drunken, bloody, indolent, and lust
To tear all innocence away and robe
Our loveliest in shame! – Yet me, a Greek,
He suddenly befriends!
Antonio (coming forward): Hæmon —
Hæmon: Ah, you?
Antonio: There's room between your tone and courtesy.
Hæmon: And shall be while I'm readier to bend
Over a beggar's pain than prince's fingers.
Antonio: And yet you know me better —
Hæmon: Than to believe
You're not Antonio, son of Charles di Tocca?
Antonio: I'd be your friend.
Hæmon: So would he: and he smiles.
Antonio: There are deep reasons for it.
Hæmon: With him too!
Against a miracle, you are his heir!
Antonio: I think it would be well for you to listen.
My confidence once curbed —
Hæmon: May bite and paw?
Let it! for fools are threats, and cowards. Were
You Tamerlane and mine the skull should cap
A bloody pyramid of enemies,
I'd – !
Antonio: Hear me. Will you be so blind?
Hæmon: To your
Fair graces? No, my lord – not so. Your sword
And doublet are sublimely worn! sublimely!
Your curls would tempt an empress' fingers, and —
Antonio: Why is my anger silent?
Hæmon: Let it