Charles Di Tocca: A Tragedy

Charles Di Tocca: A Tragedy
Cale Rice

Cale Young Rice

Charles Di Tocca: A Tragedy

To My Wife

CHARLES DI TOCCA

A Tragedy

Nardo, a boy, and Diogenes, a philosopher

A Captain of the Guard. Soldiers, Guests,

Attendants, etc

Time: Fifteenth Century

ACT ONE

Scene. —The Island Leucadia. A ruined temple of Apollo near the town of Pharo. Broken columns and stones are strewn, or stand desolately about. It is night – the moon rising. Antonio, who has been waiting impatiently, seats himself on a stone. By a road near the ruins Fulvia enters, cloaked.

Antonio (turning): Helen – !

Fulvia: A comely name, my lord.

Antonio: Ah, you?
My father's unforgetting Fulvia?

Fulvia: At least not Helena, whoe'er she be.

Antonio: And did I call you so?

Fulvia: Unless it is
These stones have tongue and passion.

Antonio: Then the night
Recalling dreams of dim antiquity's
Heroic bloom worked on me. – But whence are
Your steps, so late, alone?

Fulvia: From the Cardinal,
Who has but come.

Antonio: What comfort there?

Fulvia: With doom
The moody bolt of Rome broods over us.

Antonio: My father will not bind his heresy?

Fulvia: You with him walked to-day. What said he?

Antonio: I?
With him to-day? Ah, true. What may be done?

Fulvia: He has been strange of late and silent, laughs,
Seeing the Cross, but softly and almost
As it were some sweet thing he loved.
Antonio (absently): As if
'Twere some sweet thing – he laughs – is strange – you say?

Fulvia: Stranger than is Antonio his son,
Who but for some expectancy is vacant.

(She makes to go.)

Antonio: Stay, Fulvia, though I am not in poise.
Last night I dreamed of you: in vain you hovered
To reach me from the coil of swift Charybdis.

(A low cry, Antonio starts.)

Fulvia: A woman's voice!
(Looking down the road.)
And hasting here!

Antonio: Alone?

Fulvia: No, with another!

Antonio: Go, then, Fulvia.
'Tis one would speak with me.

Fulvia: Ah? (She goes.)

Enter Helena frightedly with Paula

Helena: Antonio!

Antonio: My Helena, what is it? You are wan
And tremble as a blossom quick with fear
Of shattering. What is it? Speak.

Helena: Not true!
O, 'tis not true!