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CHARLES: You utter and he seemeth still of life.
FULVIA: He was a child in mimic mail clad out When first this threshold poured its welcome to me.
CHARLES: Softly you muse it, and call to your eyes No quailing nor a flame of execration!
You do not burst out on me? from me do Not shrink as from an executioner?
FULVIA: I am a woman who in tears came to Your strength, in tears depart.
CHARLES: And will not judge?
But fear me--fear, and flee?--You shall not go!
FULVIA: Perhaps----
CHARLES: Again "perhaps"--this calm "perhaps!"---- To Rome?--I say you shall not.
FULVIA: Yet should he, Antonio, from those curtains come----
CHARLES: Should--should?
You speak not reasonably. Why do you say "If he should come?"
FULVIA: Because----
CHARLES: You've touched And led me trembling from reality!
Those curtains?--those?--just those?--You shall not go.
FULVIA: I will not then.
CHARLES: But something breaks from you, And as an air of resurrection stirs.
Speak; on your words I wait unutterably.
FULVIA: Did not a soldier lately come, my lord, Breathless with eager speech of mutiny----?
CHARLES: Well--well----?
FULVIA: Within your guard?
CHARLES: My guard? No--yes---- What do I see yet cannot in your words?
FULVIA: The mutiny was roused at my command.
CHARLES: Say it--say all!
FULVIA: To save you the mad blot Of a son's blood.
CHARLES: Antonio----?
FULVIA: Lives!
CHARLES: Low--low---- Joy come too furious has piercing peril.
He lives?--You have done this? With these soft hands, These little hands, held off the shears of Fate?
Have dared? and have not feared?
FULVIA: Your danger was My fear--that, and no more.
CHARLES: He lives?--I have No worth, no grat.i.tude, no gift that may Answer this deed--no glow, no eloquence But would ring poor in rarest words of earth.
He lives?--Years yet are mine. Too brief they'll be To muse with love of this!
FULVIA: No, no, my lord.
CHARLES: But where is he? Belief, tho' risen, strains In me as if 'twere fast in cerements That seeing must unbind.
FULVIA: Turn then, and see.
(_ANTONIO steps from the curtains._)
CHARLES: Antonio!--boy! boy!
ANTONIO: My father! (_They embrace._)
_Re-enter CARDINAL._
CARDINAL: Princess, If your decision and desire are still----
(_Sees ANTONIO._)
FULVIA: Your eyes look upon flesh, lord Cardinal.
(_A cry is heard, then weeping._)
ANTONIO (_startled_): Whose pain is this?--strangely it hurts me--strangely!
_Enter CECCO hastily, bearing robe and coronet._
CECCO: My lord, the lady Helen's little maid----
(_Sees ANTONIO. Shrinks from him._)
ANTONIO: What of her? Are you horrified to stone!
Her maid?--There are than risen dead worse things And worse to dread!--her maid?
CECCO: Sir----
ANTONIO: Forth with it!
She direness of her mistress brings? some tale That earth elsewhere abyssless gaped her up?
That b.u.t.terfly or bud turn asp to bite her?
CECCO: Sir--she--the maid craves audience with the duke.
ANTONIO: Fetch her, and quickly.
