Charles Di Tocca Part 8

CHARLES: Well, who----?

CECCO: The Cardinal, your grace.

CHARLES: Then go, And bid our guests. Bring too Diogenes, Our most amusing raveller of all Philosophies. Say that the duke, his brother, Humbly desires it! (_CECCO goes._

FULVIA: And Helena?

CHARLES (_to ANTONIO_): Why do You start, sir?--Fulvia, we must look to This callow G.o.d our son. Yet, had our court Two eyes of loveliness to drown his heart, I'd think on oath 'twere done.

(_Goes to the throne._)

FULVIA (_low to ANTONIO_): Listen. No word Of Helena!

CHARLES: Now! is it secrets?

FULVIA: Sir, He scorns to spill a drop of confidence On my too thirsty questions.

CHARLES: Does he so Tightly seal up his spirits?

FULVIA: Put the rogue To prison on stale bread, my lord: I half Believe he's full of treasons.

CHARLES (_laughing_): Do you hear!

Because you are the son and scout our foes Justice is not impossible upon you!

_The guests enter, among them HaeMON and BARDAS, following the CARDINAL JULIAN and his suite, and last HELENA, whom FULVIA leads aside._

CARDINAL: Peace, worthy duke!

CHARLES: And more, lord Cardinal, We would to-day enlarge our worthiness With you and with great Rome.

CARDINAL: Firmly I crave It may be so.

CHARLES: Here unto all our guests We then do disavow our heresies---- For faith's as air, as ease to life--and seek At your absolving lips release from our Rough disobedience. Nor shall we shun The lash and needed weight of penitence.

(_A murmur of approval._)

JULIAN: These words, great lord, fall wise and soothing well.

Who so confesses, plants beneath his foot A step to scale all impotence and wrong.

Our royal Pope's conditions shall be told, Pledge them consenting seal and you shall be Briefly and fully free. (_Motions his secretary._)

SECRETARY (_opens and reads_): "Whereas the duke Di Tocca has offended----"

CARDINAL: Pa.s.s the offence.

Be it oblivion's. On, the penalty.

SECRETARY: "Therefore the duke di Tocca humbling himself Must pay into our vaults two hundred ducats--"

CHARLES: It shall be three.

SECRETARY: "And send a hundred men Armed 'gainst the foes that threaten Italy."

CHARLES: See to it, yes, Antonio, ere a dawn.

SECRETARY: "He must also yield up the princess Fulvia Who's fled her father's house and rightful marriage."

FULVIA (_to JULIAN_): You told me not of this--no word, my lord!

CARDINAL: My silence as my speech is not my own.

CHARLES: We'll more of it--a measure more.

Read on.

SECRETARY: "And for the better amity and weal Of Italy and Christ's most Holy Church, He is enjoined to wed with Beatrice Of Florence. If his wilful boldness grants Obedience, his sins shall melt to rest Under the calm of full forgiveness. He----"

CHARLES: A mild, a courteous, O a modest Pope!

I must tear from my happiness a friend Who fled a father's searing cruelty, And cast her back in the flames! And I must bind My crippled years that fare toward the grave In the cold clasp of an unloving hand!

No! No!

Then, sir, and Cardinal, 'tis not enough!

I pray you swift again to Rome and plead Most suppliantly that I for penance may Swear my true son is shame-begot, or lend My kin to drink clean of its fouling damp Some pestilent prison! And 'tis impious too That any still should trust my love. Beseech His Holiness' command for death upon them!

CARDINAL: This is your answer?

CHARLES (_rises_): A mite! a mite of it!

The rest is I will wed where I will wed Though every hill of earth raise up its pope To bellow at me thunderous d.a.m.nation!

I will--I will-- (_Falls back convulsed._)

FULVIA (_hastening to him_): Charles, ah! Wine for him, wine! (_It is brought._)

ANTONIO: Lord Cardinal, spare yourself more and go.

You shall learn if a change may loose this strain.

(_The CARDINAL goes with his suite amid timid reverence._)

CHARLES (_struggling_): I will--this frenzy--off my throat--!

I-- (_Recovering._) Ah, Thou, Fulvia? 'Twas as a fiend swung on me.

And shame! fear oozes out upon my brow, And I----. (_Rises and calms himself._) Forgive, friends, this so sudden wrench Upon your pleasure. One too quick made saint, Stands feebly: but at once wilt I atone.

Where is Diogenes--where is he? His Tangled fantastic wisdom shall divert us.

(_DIOGENES, who has stood unconscious of all that has pa.s.sed, is pushed forward._)

Ah, peer of Socrates and perfect Plato, Leave your unseeing silence now and tell us----

_Enter AGABUS gazing anxiously and wildly before him._

Who's this?

AGABUS (_hoa.r.s.ely_): Where went he--the Shadow?--whither?

CHARLES: Who's this broke from his grave upon us?