University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—Leo's Palace, Byzantium.
Leo.
One little week has passed since the great fight
Which wrecked the power of Rome, the fight which found me
An honourable soldier, but has left me
Dishonoured and a murderer at heart,
But Emperor of Rome! How small appears
The Imperial Crown, Earth's highest dignity
To him who by deceit has climbed to it!
This is the way the tempter knows to take
The struggling souls of men,—holds forth to the eye
Some glittering bauble, which secured by blood,
Turns straight to dross, leaving the longing wretch
Without the gain he sinned for, and his soul
Stained ineffaceably. I swear by the saints
I never nursed a wish for this sad gift
Of power which weighs me down, I knew too well
Envy's sharp tooth, the deep anxieties
Which round the ruler's head set piercing thorns,
As sharp as Calvary's. I do affirm
I never aimed at power, yet did consent
To do what led me to it, since I knew
That Aplaces enthroned would ruin Rome!
I am innocent of that, but am I guiltless
Of blood? Nay, that I am not! Oh, my God!
When the loud anthems echoed through the dome
Of St. Sophia's, through the throng of priests
The rolling perfumed clouds, the kneeling people,
I saw my dream, which was a dream no more,
But mournful truth. My comrade Aplaces
Betrayed through me! I heard a ghastly voice
Out-ringing all the music, crying, “Treason!”
And who then was the traitor? Was it I?
Nay, nay, I never willed it. Was it Michael?
My friend from boyhood? Nay, what has he gained?
Nothing! While I have reaped a crown, am Cæsar,
And rule the fate of Rome. Gain, did I say?
Oh, would that I might sleep unbroken sleep,
As then I did, ere this sad load of sin
Lay heavy on my soul, making life anxious
And full of boding fears. One little week
Has passed, no more, the fierce Bulgarian still
Is at our gates, flushed with the mis-won triumph
Which treachery has gained him. How shall I,
I, a poor wretch, whose conscience makes him coward,
Lead Rome against the foe? I cannot do it.
The ghosts of Aplaces and his dead soldiers,
Slain by no fault but mine, forbid it. Michael
May know some politic art to save the city;
I'll summon him. Without, there! Summon hither
Michael the Amorian.
Though his enemies
Denounce his crafty temper, yet I know him,
A friend of ancient times, and though he shares
With me the guilt of murdered Aplaces,
I do believe it was his noble hate
Of priestcraft and corrupt idolatries
Which did mislead him. Who am I to accuse
His treason?—I, who profit by his sin,
Who have gained all he might?
Enter Michael, with low obeisance.
Nay, Michael, kneel not,
We are old comrades.

Mich.
Nay, most puissant Cæsar,
I am a soldier only, and do kneel
Where fealty is due.

Leo.
Rise! I ennoble thee,
Patrician of Rome!

Mich.
Cæsar, I thank thee
For this unhoped-for honour, and I swear
To be thy servant, always.

Leo.
Nay, good Michael,
I would not have thee servant, only friend,
As of old time.

Mich.
Leo, my inmost soul
Is touched with gratitude to thee and thine.
Command me to what service thou desirest,
To the cost of life I'll do it.

Leo.
I know well
How fertile in resource thou art, how grave
Our present peril looms. The fierce Bulgarian,
Thanks to our grievous error, presses hard
Upon our city itself.

Mich.
Leo, 'tis true
The enemy press on us, thousands strong,
From the Blachernian to the Golden Gate,
And like the Goth and Hun of older Rome,
Are thundering at our doors.

Leo.
And can we meet them
And drive them hence?

Mich.
Nay, that indeed we cannot,
The spirit of our men is for the present
So crushed by sharp defeat; a score Bulgarians
Would rout the arms of Rome.

Leo.
Then are we ruined
And sunk beyond recall.

Mich.
I said not so.
There are other means than arms to drive them hence.
They dare not press us further, their rough warriors
Are anxious for their homes—there comes some sickness,
Which on their ill-fed levies falling, widens
The gaps which war has made. I do believe
That they would rise to any painted lure
That Rome might set before them.

Leo.
Any lure!
Would'st have us break our word?

Mich.
Nay, we would meet them
And settle terms of peace.

Leo.
Ay, that were well,
The Empire must have peace to recreate
Its wasted strength, which never had been broken
But for our act.

Mich.
Nay, nay, my gracious lord.
It was foredoomed to fall and rise again
To nobler heights.

Leo.
Michael, I would that this
Were as thou sayest; but what terms of peace
Would these Bulgarian rebels, flushed with triumph,
Accept of weakling Rome?

Mich.
It matters little.
All would be well. Be sure the Conference
Would fix good terms for Rome.

Leo.
The Conference?
How mean you?

Mich.
That an embassy go hence
To the Bulgarian camp, and do propose
An armistice. Upon the Roman side
The Emperor and half a score of magnates,
While the Bulgarian King and nobles meet us
With like equipment, in some neutral place
And settle terms.

Leo.
But will they give us terms?

Mich.
I do not know indeed; but if they do not
We have no force to make them.

Leo.
If they will not?

Mich.
Then Rome is ruined. What then shall we do?
There is no course but one, and that I know not
If thou wilt take; but were I in thy stead,
Master of Rome, it were not long in doubt.

Leo.
What would you have?

Mich.
I hold all means are lawful
Against these robbers who invade our peace,
Whom now an undeserved good fortune makes
Masters of Rome. Think, Leo, think, I pray you!
What bloody insults, and unmeasured rapine
Your peaceful people, all unused to war,
Are suffering at your doors, what if they force
Our gates and carry death and cruel outrage
To our uncounted myriads, and Rome sinks
In a pit of blood and fire, and thou should'st die,
Last of the Cæsars!

Leo.
Nay, it must not be.
'Tis from our fault it comes. It must not be.
Nay, nay, it must not be.

Mich.
Then have thou courage.
There is one way alone. When these Bulgarians.
Meet us, as I have said, their King and nobles.
Amongst them, thou knowest well in that rude people
The King and Chiefs are, brain and sinew and arm,
Without which they are nought.

Leo.
Thou speak'st in riddles;
What would'st thou?

Mich.
This! The King and chiefs are all;
The people without these are scattered sheep.
Take measures then, when this convention ends,
Let their strength end with it.

Leo.
Michael, I know not
Even now what thou would'st do.

Mich.
I would set upon them
And kill them to a man!

Leo
(drawing his sword).
Thou most deceitful
And traitorous of men! Would'st have me stain
My honour thus. Quick, draw, defend thyself,
Ere my sword pierce thee through.

Mich.
Nay, kill me, Cæsar,
So I save Rome.

Leo.
Treachery! Treason! Murder!
What warps thy nature thus?

Mich.
What do I gain
If I am traitor? 'Tis for Rome alone,
Not for myself. Can others say the same
Who have gained all—I nought?

Leo.
That we have erred
I know, but never did I dream our error
Would thus imperil Rome. I trusted thee
When thou saidst Aplaces was the Priests' creature.
I compassed not his death, but his disgrace;
But now I know how great a sin it is
To swerve from duty.

Mich.
Then 'tis pity truly
Thou didst not sift my tale, for this is sure,
I was misled in thinking Aplaces
Was the Priests' creature.

Leo.
Oh, perfidious wretch,
Is my soul stained for this?

Mich.
Howe'er it be,
At least 'tis by our fault Rome lies in peril,
And ours it is to save her. Would'st redress
Thy wrong? The way lies open.

Leo.
Leave my presence.
Thy words dishonour me.

Mich.
Ay, but remember
One way there is to save Rome, that I show thee.
There is no other.
If the fate of Rome
Move thee not, nor thy own, I pray you ponder
What fate awaits our innocent citizens.
What thy loved wife and children, if the fierce
Bulgarians sack thy palace, or some soldier,
Less full of brain-sick scruples, seize thy crown
And beat the foeman back. Thou knowest our manners.
Would'st have thy boys unmanned and thy young daughters
Cribbed in a life-long cloister, and their mother
A household drudge, or pining, poor and exiled?
Wilt thou not save thy loved ones and thy country?

Leo
(hiding his face).
There is no other way!
Help me, oh God!