Charles Di Tocca: A Tragedy. Rice Cale Young. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Rice Cale Young
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is –       (Turns away from her.)

      Helena: Is what? Antonio?

      Antonio: Nothing: I who must ebb with you and flow

      A little was moved.

      Helena: Not you, not you! I'll change

      My tears to laughter, if but fantasy

      May so unmettle you! Not moved, indeed!

      Not moved, Antonio?

      Antonio: Well, let us off,

      My Helena, with these numb awes that wind

      About our joy.

      Helena: Thy kiss then, for it can

      Drive all gloom out of the world!

      Antonio: And thine, my own,

      On Fate's hard brow would shame it of all frown!

      Helena: Yet is thine mightier, for no frown can be

      When no more gloom's in the world!

      Antonio: But 'tis thy lips

      That lend it might. If I pressed other —

      Helena: Other!

      You should not know that any other lips

      Could e'er be pressed; I'll have no kiss but his

      Who is all blind to every mouth but mine!

      (Breaks from him.)

      Antonio: Oh? – Well.

      Helena: "Oh – well?" – Then it is well I go!

      Antonio: Perhaps.

      Helena: "Perhaps!"     (Makes to go.)

      Antonio: Good-night.

      Helena (returning): Antonio – ?

      Antonio: Ah! still – ?

      Helena: There's gloom in the world again.

      Antonio (kissing her): 'Tis gone?

      Helena: Not all, I think.

      Antonio: Two for so small a gloom?

      (Kisses her again.)

      Helena: So small!

      Antonio: And still you sigh?

      Helena: The vainest glooms

      To-night seem ominous – as cloud-flakes flung

      Upward before the heaving of the west.

      (In fright) Oh!

      Antonio: Helena!

      Helena: See, see! 'tis Agabus!

Enter Agabus unkempt and distracted

      Agabus: O – lovers! lovers! Lord have none of them!

      Antonio: Good monk —

      Agabus: O – yes, yes, yes. You'd give me gold

      To pray for your two souls. (Crossing himself.) Not I! Not I!

      Know you not love is brewed of lust and fire?

      It gnaws and burns, until the Shadow – Sir,

      (Searching about the air.)

      Have you not seen a Shadow pass?

      Antonio: A Shadow?

      Agabus: Silent and cold. A-times they call him Death:

      I'd have him for my brain – it shakes with fever.

      (Goes searching anxiously.

      Helena: Antonio —

      Antonio: You're calm?

      Helena: Yes, very calm —

      Of impotence – as one who in a tomb

      Awakes and waits?

      Antonio: He is but mad.

      Helena: But mad.

      Antonio: Yet fear you? still?

      (A shout is heard.)

      Helena: Who is it? soldiers come

      From Arta?

      Antonio: Yes.

      Helena: And by this road! – They must

      Not see us!

      Antonio: No. But quick, within this breach!

      (They conceal themselves in the breach. The soldiers pass across the stage. The last, as all shout "di Tocca!" strikes a column near him. It falls, and Helena starts forward shuddering.)

      Helena: Fallen! Ah, fallen! See, Antonio!

      Antonio: What now!

      Helena (swaying): It is as if the earth were wind

      Under my feet!

      Antonio: Are all things thus become

      Omen and dread to you?

      Helena: O, but it is

      The pillar grieving Venus leant upon

      Ere to forget she leapt, and wrote,

      When falls this pillar tall and proud

      Let surest lovers weave their shroud.

      Antonio: Mere myth!

      Helena: The shroud! It coldly winds about us – coldly!

      Antonio: Should a vain hap so desperately move you?

      Helena: The breath and secret soul of all this night

      Are burdened with foreboding! And it seems —

      Antonio: You must not, Helena!

      Helena: My love, my lord —

      Touch me lest I forget my natural flesh

      In this unnatural awe! (He takes her to him.)

      Ah how thy arms

      Warm the cold moan and misery of fear

      Out of my veins!

      Antonio: You rave, but in me stir

      Again the attraction of these dim portents.

      Nay, quiver not! 'tis but a passing mist,

      And this that runs in us is worthless dread!

      Helena: But ah, the shroud! the shroud!

      Antonio: We'll weave no shroud,

      But wedding robes and wreaths and pageantry!

      And you shall be my Sappho – but through joys

      Such as shall legend ecstasy about

      Our knitted names when distant lovers dream.

      Helena: I'll fear no more, then —

      Antonio: Yet?

      Helena: My lord, let us

      Unloose this strangling secrecy and be

      Open in love. My brother, Hæmon, let

      Our hearts betrothed exchange and hope be told

      Him and thy father!

      Antonio: