University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—A Room in the Palace.
The Empress; afterwards Michael.
Emp.
How slowly comes the dawn to watching eyes!
How goes the fight? Last night as midnight struck
My husband and his army issued forth,
From out the western gates, hoping to take
The foemen unawares, and now the morning
Has come and brought no news, only a glare
Of fire upon the sky and shouts and cries
Of victory and pain, but nothing certain
Has reached the city. Oh that I might see
My love again unharmed. But as I hope,
Whether untouched he come or wounded sore,
He will have cast from him the weary load
Which weighed upon his soul. To have him thus
Were happiness enough.

Enter Servant.
Ser.
My gracious liege,
There comes a Captain from the field who brings
Good news.

Emp.
Let him appear.

Enter Captain.
Cap.
My liege, I bring
Good tidings. The Bulgarian force has fled
Before the Emperor, in shameful rout
With dreadful slaughter. Our victorious forces
Chase them in hot pursuit. The Emperor
Returns ere long, letting his Generals
Deal with the wretches, and will soon give thanks
At St. Sophia's.

Emp.
God be praised for this.
Heaven has forgiven his sin.

Enter Michael.
Mich.
Good news, dear lady,
For Rome and for thyself. The Emperor
Is safe and cometh soon. Ah, happy man
Whom a fond wife and gracious children wait
To smooth his careworn brow. Such precious fate
Might have been mine long since, but adverse fortune
Blighted my hope.

Emp.
My lord, I well remember
Thy fealty and do thank thee, but young love
Is tyrannous and drives out all besides;
Let us be friends.

Mich.
Nay, never, lady! Never!
Or less or more.

Emp.
You do forget yourself,
And what a loyal friend and subject owes
His Sovereign and his friend.

Mich.
Ah, friend no more,
But loyal subject still.

Emp.
Why not his friend?
Tho' I remember well on that sad day
Of our defeat he spoke impatient words
Of thee and thy design.

Mich.
Me?—My design?
Art jesting, lady?

Emp.
Sir, 'tis solemn truth.

Mich.
He had no cause
But I have much. I could record a tale
Of treachery which would make thy cheek grow pale,
Dared I to give thee pain.

Emp.
Whose treachery;
My husband's?

Mich.
Ay, good lady, and no other's.

Emp.
I do disdain to hear. Nay, sir, say on
What have your lips to say against a man
The noblest I have known?

Mich.
You know his trouble;
You know his careworn visage—his confession
Of sin, his sleepless nights—his load of sorrow.

Emp.
Nay, Heaven! 'tis true
He did confess it, though I grasped it not.
Something hath been of which it doth repent him,
And I have marked his pain; but know he was
The tempted, not the tempter. Is't not so,
Michael? I do conjure thee by the love
You bore me once, tell me by all the saints
What is it that has been?

Mich.
I can but answer.
Such words are a command. What would you know?

Emp.
The cause of his unrest.

Mich.
Oh, awful power
Of conscience which doth rack the sinful head
Beneath the Imperial Crown! I cannot do it.
Have me excused.

Emp.
Nay, sir, I am your Sovereign.

Mich.
Have I your word to keep all undivulged?

Emp.
The Empress breaks not faith.

Mich.
Madam, your husband
Betrayed his comrade Aplaces to death
With all his men, at the great fight, and wherefore?
That he might reign, and you. When at the gates
The fierce Bulgarian raged, and all his sin
Seemed fruitless, he devised a crafty plot
By which our men should at a given signal
Fall on the King and all his train. I prayed him
By all our ancient friendship, by the love
I bore you while I might, to keep his soul
Unstained, by such gross sin. Better defeat,
Disgrace, a ruined Empire, prison, exile,
Nay death, than such dishonour. But he listened
As one who hears not—went his way, and failed,
As he deserved.

Emp.
Oh, it is true! all true!
And is this treacherous wretch my love, my dear,
My spotless martyr?

Mich.
Spotless martyr, say you?
Nay, murderer in act and thought, imbued
With floods of innocent blood!

Emp.
Ah, Heaven! his sorrow!
Must I believe this thing?

Mich.
Nay, heed not, lady.
He comes to lay his prize of victory
Upon the altar, and there is no voice
To say a conqueror nay.

Emp.
But I will say it.
I will not live a day with such a traitor.
Good Michael! Well I know thou lov'st me well.
Advise me! I am wretched, and my head
Abhors this bloodstained crown. Nay, I will fly
Before he cometh.

Mich.
Thou should'st fly with me
But that thy delicate faith and troth forbid thee,
But bear awhile to know his villainy;
Speaking no word, it may be Providence
Will pity thee and send thee swift relief.
Heaven pity thee, my love!

Emp.
Nay, sir, remember,
Such words dishonour me.

Mich.
Farewell! Farewell!