ACT THREE
Scene.—The gardens of the castle. Paths meet under a large lime in the centre, where seats are placed. The wall of the garden crosses the rear, and has a postern. It is night of the same day, and behind a convent on a near hill the moon is rising. A nightingale sings.
Enter Giulia, Cecco, and Naldo.
Giulia: That bird! Always so noisy, always vain
Of gushing. Sing, and sing, sing, sing, it must!
As if nobody else would speak or sleep.
Cecco: Let the bird be, my jaunty. 'Tis no lie
The shrew and nightingale were never friends.
Giulia: No more were shrew and serpent.
Cecco: Well what would
You scratch from me?
Giulia: If there is anything
To be got from you, then it must be scratched.
Cecco: Yet shrews do not scratch serpents.
Giulia: If they're caught
Where they can neither coil nor strike?
Cecco: Well, I
Begin to coil.
Giulia: And I'll begin to scotch
You ere 'tis done.—Give me the postern key.
Cecco: Your lady's voice—but you are not your lady.
Giulia: And were I you not long would be your lord's.
Give me the key.
Cecco: I coil—I coil! will soon
Be ready for a strike, my tender shrew.
Giulia: Does the duke know you've hidden from his ear
Antonio's passion? does he?—ah?—and shall
I tell him? ah?
Cecco: You heard then——
Giulia: He likes well
What's kept so thriftily.
Cecco (scowling): You want the key
To let in Boro to chuck your baby face
And moon with you! He's been discharged—take care.
Giulia: The duke might learn, too, you're not clear between
His ducats and your own.
Cecco: There then (gives key), but——
Giulia (as he goes): Oh?
And shrews do not scratch serpents? You may spy,
But others are not witless, I can tell you!
(Cecco goes.
Now, Naldo (gives him key and writing), do not lose the writing. But
Should you, he must not come till two. For 'tis
At twelve the Greek will meet Antonio.
(Naldo goes, through the postern: Giulia to the castle.
Enter Helena and Paula from another part of the gardens.
Helena: At twelve, said he, at twelve, beside the arbor?
Paula: Yes, mistress.
Helena: I were patient if the moon
Would slip less sadly up. She is so pale—
With longing for Endymion her lover.
Paula: Has she a lover? Oh, how strange. Is it
So sweet to love, my lady? I have heard
Men die and women for it weep themselves
Into the grave—yet gladly.
Helena: Sweet? Ah, yes,
To terror! for the edge of fate cares not
How quick it severs.
Paula: On my simple hills
They told of one who slew herself on her
Dead lover's breast. Would you do so?
Would you, my lady?
Helena: There's no twain in love.
My heart is in my lord Antonio's
To beat, Paula, or cease with it.
Paula: But died
He far away?
Helena: Far sunders flesh not souls.
Across all lands the hush of death on him
Would sound to me; and, did he live, denial,
Though every voice and silence spoke it, could
Not reach my rest!—But he is near.
Paula: O no,
Not yet, my lady.
Helena: Then some weariness
Has pluckt the minutes' wings and they have crept.
Paula: But 'tis not twelve, else would we hear the band
Of holy Basil from their convent peace
Dreamily chant.
Helena: Nay, hearts may hear beyond
The hark of ears! Listen! to me his step
Thrills thro' the earth.
(Antonio approaches and enters the postern.)
'Tis he! Go Paula, go:
But sleep not.
(Paula hastens out.)
(Going to him.) My Antonio, I breathe,
Now no betiding fell athwart thy path
To stay thee from me!
Antonio: Stronger than all betiding
This hour has reached and drawn me yearning to thee! (Takes her in his arms.)
Helena: And may all hours!
Antonio: All! tho' we two will still
Be more than destiny—which cannot grasp
Beyond the grave.
Helena: 'Tis sadly put, my lord.
Antonio: Ah, sadly, loathly; but, my Helena—
Helena: I would not sink from it, the simple sun—
Fade to a tomb! What dirging hast thou heard
To mind thee of it?
Antonio: Love is a bliss too bright
To rest on earth. With it God should give us
Ever to soar above mortality.
But you must know——!
Helena: Not yet, tell me not yet!
Dimly I see the burden in your eyes,
But dare not take it yet into my own.
Let us a little look upon the moon,
Forgetting. (They seat themselves.)
Antonio (musingly): These hands—this hair—(Caressing them.)
Helena: Like a farewell
Your touch falls on them.
Antonio (moved): To a father yield them?
Helena: Antonio?
Antonio (still caressing): No, no! It cannot be!
Helena: This dread—and shrinking—let me have it!—speak!
You mean—look on me!—mean, your father?—
Antonio: Ah!
It must not! must not!
Helena: Do you mean—he—No!
Let him not touch me even in thy thought,
To me come nearer than a father may!
Antonio: He's swept by the sweet contagion of you, wrapt
In a fierce spell by your effulgent youth.
Helena: Say, say it not! To him I but smiled up—
But smiled!
Antonio: He knew not that such smiles could dawn
In a bare world. And now is flame; would take
Your tenderness into his arms and hear
Seized to him the warm music of your heart.
O, I could be for him—he is my father—
Prometheus stormed and gnawed on Caucasus,
Tantalus ever near the slipping wave,
Or torn and tossed to burning martyrdom—
But not—not this!
Helena: Then, flight! In it we may
Find haven and new nurture for our bliss.
Antonio: Snap from his hunger this one hope, so he
Must starve? Push him who has but learned there's light
Back into yawning blindness? Ah, not flight!
Helena: I know he is your father, and my days
Have been all fatherless, tho' I have made
Me child to every wind that had caress
And to each lonely tree of the deep wood—
Oft envious of those who touch gray hairs,
Or spend desire on filial grief and pang.
And most have you a softness in him kept,
Been to him more than empire's tyranny—
But baffled none can measure him nor trust!
Antonio: Yet must we wait.
Helena: When waiting shall but goad
The speed of peril?
Antonio: Still: and strain to win
Him from this brink.—If vainly, then birth, pity,
And memory shall fall from me!—all, all,
But fierceness for thy peace!
Helena: My Antony!
Antonio: And fierceness without falter!
Helena: I am thine,
Thine more than immortality is God's!
Hear, does the nightingale not tell it thee?
The stars do they not tremble it, the moon
Murmur it argently into thine eyes?
Antonio: Ah, sorceress! You need but breathe to put
Abysm from us; but build words to float us
On infinite ecstasy. (Kisses her.)
Helena: How, how thy kisses
Sing in me!
Antonio: From my heart they do but send
Echoes born of thy beauty mid its strings!
Helena: Then would I lean forever at thy lips,
Lose no reverberance, no ring, no waft,
Hear nothing everlastingly but them!
(A mournful chant is borne from the Convent. They slowly unclasp, awed.)
Antonio: Weary with vigil does it swell and sink,
Moaning the dead.
Helena: Ah, no! There are no dead
To-night in all the world. Could God see them
Lie cold and wondrous still, while we are rich
In warmth and throb!
Antonio: Yet, hear. The funeral tread
Of the old sea sighs in each strain, and breaks.
Helena: As I were drowned and heard it over me,
It cometh—cometh!
(Her head droops back on his arm. A pause.)
Antonio (touching her face): Cold! cold!—your lips—your brow!
And you are pale as with a prophecy!
Helena: Oh—oh!
Antonio: Your spirit is not in you but
Afar and suffering!
Helena: A vision sweeps me.
Antonio: Awake from it!
Helena (recovering): A waste of waves that beat
Upon a cliff—and beat! Yet thou and I
Had place in it.
Antonio: Come to yon arbour, come.
The moon has looked too long on the sad earth,
And can reflect but sorrow.
Helena: Ah, I fear!
(They go clinging passionately together.
Enter Charles and Cecco.
Charles: And yet it is a little thing to sleep—
Just to lie down and sleep. A child may do it.
Cecco: If my lord would, here's sleep for him wrapped in
A quiet powder.
Charles: Sleep is ever mate
Of peace and should go with it. I have slept
In the wild arms of battle when the winds
Of souls departing fearfully shook by,
And on the breast of dizzy danger cradled
Softly been lulled. Potions should be for them
Who wrestle and are thrown by misery.
Cecco: And is my lord at peace?
Charles: Strangely.—Yet seem
For sleep too coldly calm.
Cecco: So were you, sir—
I keep your words lest you may need of them—
On the same night young Hæmon's father went
The secret way to death.
Charles: Of that!—of that?—
Cecco: Pardon, I but——
Charles: Smirker!—Yet, was it so?
That night indeed?
Cecco: Sir, surely.
Charles: And the moon's
'Scutcheon hung stainless up the purple east?
Cecco: Half, sir; even as now.
Charles (as to himself): Since that hour's close
To this I have not stood in so much calm.
Still was he not in every vein of him,
And breath, a traitor? A Greek who—I'll not say it,
Since she is Greek I must forget the word
Sounds the diapason of perfidy.
Cecco: My lord thinks of the gentle Helena?
Charles: And if I do?
Cecco: Why, sir——
Charles: Well?
Cecco: Nothing: but——
Charles: Subtle! your nothing harboreth some theft
Of spial.
Cecco: Sir, I—no—that is——
Charles: That is
It does! Must I—persuade it from your throat?
(Makes to choke him.)
Cecco: It was of lord Antonio——
Charles: Speak then.
Cecco: Have you not marked him sundry of his moods?
Charles: Well?
Cecco: On his back in the wood as if the leaves
Sung fairy balladry; then riding wild
Nowhither and alone; about the castle
Yearning, yet absent to soft speech and arms!
He'll drink, sir, and not know if it be wine!
Charles: So is he! but to-day he bold unsheathed
His skill and bravery.
Cecco: And did not crave
A boon of you?
Charles: None. But you put not ill
My thought to it. His aspiration flags——
Cecco: Ah, flags.
Charles: New wings it needs and buoyancy.
My trust in him is ripe: the fruit of it,
He shall be lord of Arta—total lord.
Cecco: He begged no softer boon?
Charles: Cunning! again?
Sleek questions of a sleeker consequence?
Cecco: It was, sir, only of Antonio.
Charles: Worm, you began so. Stretch now to the end,
Or—will you?
Cecco: I would say—would ask—and hope
There is no thorny hint in it to vex you,
To prick your humor—may not he be sick,
Amorous, mellow sick upon some maid?
Charles: Have you so labored to this atom's birth?
Is a boy's passion so new under the moon
You gape at it?
Cecco: But if, sir——
Charles: I had thought
Would start up in your words some Titan woe,
No human catapult could war upon!
Some dread colossal doom, frenzied to fall!
Were it he's traitor gnawing at my throne,
Or ready with some potent cruelty
To blight this tenderness new-sprung in me—
I would—even have listened!
(Noise is heard at the postern. It is unlocked. Hæmon enters, and stops in consternation.)
Charles: Keys? To—this?
Hæmon: I—have excuse.
Charles: Perchance also you have
Them to my gems and secrecies? Shall I
Not show their hiding?—rubies, and fair gold?
Hæmon: Mistake me not, my lord.
Charles: I could not: you
Have come at midnight—a most honest hour.
Enter this postern—a most honest way,
And seem most honest—Why, I could not, sir!
Hæmon: You wrong me, and have wronged me. I but come
To loose my sister.
Charles: As to-day you would
Have loosed her with a piercing—into death?
Hæmon: Rather, could I! Antonio—yet neither.
Since you, not he, are here, my passion melts
Into a plea. Humbly as manhood may—
Charles: This fever still?
Hæmon: This fever! Must I be
As ice while soiling flames leap out at her?
And passionless—as one cold in a trance?
Rigid while she in stealth is drugged to shame?
Be voiceless and be vain, unstung, and still?
I must wait softly while her innocence
Is drained as virgin freshness from the morn?—
Though he were twice Antonio and your son,
An emperor and a god, I would not!
Charles: Ever,
And ever bent upon Antonio?
Be not a torrent, boy, of rush and foam.
Be not, of roar!—Yet—look: Antonio?
You said Antonio?
Hæmon: Yes.
Charles (troubled): You did ill
To say it! He's my son.
Hæmon: I care not.
Charles: Have
You cause—a ground—some reason? Men should when
Suspicions curve their lips.
Hæmon: Cause! reason!
Charles: No:
He is my son. His flesh has memories
That would cry out and curdle him to madness,
Palsy and strangle every pregnant wish,
Or bring in him compassion like a flood.
Hæmon (contemptuous): O——?
Charles: Never!—Yet, a lurking at my brain!
Enter Paula, hurriedly.
Paula: My lord Antonio! my lady! (Seeing Charles.) O!
Charles (strangely): Come here.
Paula: O, sir!
Charles (taking her wrist): Were you not in a haste?
Paula: I—I—I do not know.
Charles: Girl!—Why do you
Drop fearful to your knees?
Paula: 'Tis late, sir, late,
Let me go in!
Charles: You have a mistress who
Keeps quick temptation in her eyes and hair.
A shy mole too lies pillowed on her cheek—
Does she rest well?
Paula: My lord——
Charles: Ah, you would say
She sometimes walks asleep: and you have come
To fetch her?
Paula: Loose me, sir!
Charles: Or she has left
Her kerchief in some nook: you seek it?
Paula: O,
Your eyes! your eyes!
Charles: I have a son: are his
Not like them?
Paula: My wrist, sir!
Charles: It was night, then—night?
You could not see him clearly?
Paula: Mercy!
Charles (looking about): Yet
Perchance he too walks in his sleep. Were it
Quite well if they have met—these two that walk?
Paula: My lady, my sweet lady!
Charles (releasing her): Go, for she
Still wonderful may lie upon her couch,
One arm dropt whitely. If you prayed for her—
If you should pray for her—Something may chance:
There is so much may chance—we cannot know!
(Paula goes.
(Disturbed.) This child who hath but dwelt about her, touched
And coiled the mystery of her hair, has might
Almost too much!
Hæmon: You cloud me with these words.
Were they Antonio's——
Charles: If I but think
"Helena" must you link "Antonio" to it!
Can they not be, yet be apart? Will winds
Not bear them, and not sound them separate!
If angels cry one at the stars will they
But echo back the other?—This is froth—
The froth and fume of folly. You are thick
In falsity, and in disquietude.
Another rapture rules Antonio's eye,
Not Helena.
Hæmon: You know it—yet have led
Her to his arms?
Charles: His arms! Ah, mole to burrow
Thus under blind and muddy misbelief!
To mine is she come here. (Terribly.) Were he a seraph,
And did from Paradise desire to fold her—
No mercy!—But, I will speak as a child,
As he who woke with Ruth fair at his feet;
Long have I gleaned amid the years and lone.
She shall glean softly now beside me—softly,
Till sunset fail in me and I am night.
Hæmon: This is a gin, a net, and I am fast!
Charles: A net to snare what never has been free?
Hæmon: Still must it be this tenderness lives false
Upon your lips.
Charles: "Must," say you, "must," yet stand——
Hæmon: Then shall he rest—lie easy down and rest In treachery?
Charles: He——?
Hæmon: Yes.
Charles: You mean——?
Hæmon: Yes!—yes!
Charles: Antonio?
Hæmon: Is it not open?
Charles (confusedly): No:
Glooms start around me, glooms that seethe and cling.
Hæmon: This maid who called, did she come idly here?
You stir? you rouse?
Charles: A coldness runs in me.
Hæmon: And have not I come strangely on the hour!
Charles: It 'gins to burn!
Hæmon: Not entered a strange way?
Charles: You pause and ever pause upon my patience.
'Twill heave unbearably!
Hæmon: Then hear me, hear!—
Senseless against a bank I found a boy,
Hurled by some ruthless hoof. Near him this key
And writing——
Charles: Tell it!
Hæmon: That avows, mid lines
Clandestine of purport, Antonio
And Helena, under these shades at twelve——
Charles: You bring on me a furious desolation.
But Fulvia, ah, she——
Hæmon: Not there is trust!
She is aware and aids in his deceit.
This writing says it of her.
Charles: Fulvia? No!
No, no!—Though she had sudden whispers for him!
A lie—Yet fast belief fixes its fangs
On me and will not loose me—for against
My hope she set a coldness and a doubt!
O woman woven through all fibres of me!
(Starting up.) But he——!
Hæmon: Ah then, it runs in you, the rush
And pang that answer mine?
Charles (quietly): If they are still——
Hæmon: Under these shades?
Charles: And—lips to lips——
Hæmon: Ah, God!
You will?—you will?
Charles: Hush! something—No, it was
But fate cried out in me, not any voice.
Hæmon: We must be swift.
Charles: It cries again. I will
Not listen! He's not flesh of me—not flesh!
A traitor is no son, nor was nor shall be!
Though it shriek desolation utterly
I will not listen!
Hæmon: Do not!
Charles: And to-day
He shook, ashen and clenched, remembering
The guilty secret in him!
Hæmon: Still he's free.
Charles: My words fell warm as tears—"A rift has come,
A rift, a smile, a breath"—men speak so when
They creep from madness up into some space
Whose element is love.
Hæmon: And will you sink
To a weak palsy—who should o'erwhelm
With penalty!
Charles (rousing): No! all and ever false
Was he who's so when most he should be true!
I will make treachery bitter to all time.
Bring dread on all to whom are given sons!
Down generations shall they peer and tremble,
Look on me as on majesties accursed!—
Search every shade—search, search! You stand as death.
I am in famine till he gives me groan!
(They go in opposite directions.
Enter Fulvia, distressed, and Giulia.
Fulvia: He was with Hæmon?
Giulia: On that seat.
Fulvia: Convulsed,
Yet passionless?
Giulia: His words were low
Fulvia: Why were
You not asleep?
Giulia: I——
Fulvia: Did he beat his hands
Briefly—and then no more?
Giulia: I was behind——
Fulvia: And could not see? But heard their names?
The Greek is still without?
Giulia: My lady, yes.
Fulvia: Your voice is guilty. How came Hæmon in?
Answer me, answer! No, go quickly! If
The duke has entered now and sleeps! Or if——!
(Words and swords are heard, then a shriek from Helena. Charles rushes in furious and wounded in the arm, followed by Helena, Antonio, who is dazed, and from the Castle side by Hæmon, guards, etc.)
Antonio: You, you, sir? father? I knew it not, so swift
Your rage fell on me.
Charles (to a guard): Gaping, ghastly fool!
Do you behold him murderous and lay
No hand on him!
Antonio: But, sir——!
Charles: Let him not fawn
About me! Seize him! God forgives not Hell.
Not this blood only but my soul's be on him.
Helena: O, do not, he——
Charles: Stand! stand! Touch me not with
Your voice or eyes or being! They are soft
With perfidy, and stole me to believe
There's sweetness in a flower, light in air,
And beauty in the innocence of earth.
Bind him! Leucadia's just cliff awaits
All traitors—'tis the law, they must be flung
Out on the dizzy and supportless wind.
Fulvia: But this shall never be! No, though your looks
Heave out with hate upon me.
Charles (convulsed, then coldly): You are dead,
And speak to me. Once you were Fulvia—
No more! And once my friend, now but a ghost
Whom I must gaze upon forgetlessly.
Obey, at once! and at to-morrow's sunset!
(Antonio is taken and led out.)
Helena (falling at Charles' feet): You cannot, will not—O, he is your son
And loves you much!
Charles: Touch me not! touch me not!
(To Hæmon.) Lead her away—and quickly, quickly, quickly! (Hæmon goes with Helena through the postern.
Friends—friends—(unsteadily) I am—quite—friendless now—? (Clutching his wounded arm.) Ah—quite! (He faints.)
Fulvia: Charles! Charles! my lord! return!—A numbness
Has barred the way of soothing to his breast!