University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

—The Palace of the Cæsars.
Nicephorus.
Priests are even all but Kings, and would be Kings
But that the diadem disdains bald crowns.
That snake engendered amid Rome's green ruins,
The inheritor of Satan's pomp and pride,
At whose fierce hiss the royal Henry shook
An Emperor excommunicate, and bowed
His haughty spirit, after three days' fast,
To walk barefooted to Canusio's gates
Most abject in submission—that proud priest
Is imitated here: but I can spurn
Their interdicts, and call my crown my own,
Seeing their schism doth comminute their power.
Is no one there? What, Corius! Lazer! Ho!
Enter Attendant.
Comes not our reverend Lord the Patriarch yet?

Attendant.
Not yet, my Liege.

Nicephorus.
Ha! what hast got beneath thine upper vest?
Here, here; 'tis steel!

Attendant.
The star you bade me wear.

Nicephorus.
Ay, true—the star—thou hast deserved it well.
The Patriarch, as I think, is past his hour;
The moon should rise at eight and we should see her
But that the horizon's cloudy; yon's her light;
What says the Persian water-clock? How now!
There's dust upon thy sandals! where hast been?

Attendant.
You sent me for my Lord the Patriarch, Sire.

Nicephorus.
Ay, true, 'twas thou; a trusty knave thou art.
What's doing in the streets?

Attendant.
Sire, here and there
The people gather and invoke the death
Of Count Comnenus and reproach his house
For all the ills they suffer.

Nicephorus.
Why, so let them.
What, saw'st thou nought of the other faction, ha?

Attendant.
My Liege, there's none can see them; they're so few
And cowardly they dare not venture forth.

Nicephorus.
Well: let me know the hour.
[Exit Attendant.
They may be few,
But whether cowardly demands a doubt.
There never was a kingdom but comprised
Some thousands of bold men that hate the King,
Whom in some kingdoms there are none to love;
And of these thousands one life sacrificed
In killing of this King would quench the hate,
The smouldering hate that burns these bosoms black.
Now, it is strange that men hang, burn, and drown
For love, religion, pride, I know not what,—
Cast away life for very wantonness,—
Yet of these thousands you shall not find one
Will dare an instant death and slay the King.
And through the lack of this one instrument
Innocuous malice lies a coiled-up snake
Through life till toothless age. What threatens me
Is not a general hatred; 'tis the growth
Which year by year a lengthened puissance breeds
Of checked ambition and exasperate will;
For who reigns long must needs wear out the hopes
And baulk the aims of many. Yet are these
By prosperous suitors shackled . . .

Enter Attendant.
Attendant.
Please my Liege,
The Patriarch has arrived.

Nicephorus.
At last. Admit him.
And some are yet more hated than they hate;
Careless withal, incautious, eating, drinking,
Sporting and sleeping like a Goth or Frank
After a victory. Then why this fear?
Here is the Church too, glad to change with me
And hug my burthen. Be it so! Amen!
For Kings should never seem to be men's foes,
There being always some to take that part
Whose malice, seeming to be bridled in,
Is spurred the while and chafes with neck high-arched,
Till, once let go, it gallops to its goal,
And hath the scandal for its guerdon fair.
Thus with this headstrong priest, in extreme age
Fiercer and fierier—
Enter Patriarch.
Most reverend Lord,
We give you hearty welcome.

Patriarch.
May the host
Of heaven in all good thoughts preserve the King!

Nicephorus.
I sent for you through pressure of some ills
That weigh but heavily on ourself and state.
How is't, my Lord, that in our sovereign seat
We cannot rest in peace for slaves and monks
Careering through the streets from morn till night?

Patriarch.
How is it, say you, Sire? Why thus it is,
Yea, thus it is; the sovereign arm is weak,
The sovereign heart is palsied, and the Church,
Reft of her strength thereby, is trampled down.
How is it? look abroad—Time, crippled sore,
Hath lost his footing and slid back three ages.
Behold! the spirit of Isaurian Leo,
Accursed heresiarch! is forth and fighting.

Nicephorus.
Ay, ay, my Lord, since first she found a voice
In Paul of Tarsus, still the Church hath cried
That heresies are growing; yet she thrives
From age to age, till crowns but hang on crosiers.

Patriarch.
Yea, doth she thrive? and from her very walls
The images of her most glorious saints
Down shivered into shards; her ministers
By every uncommunicating slave
Laughed unto scorn! yea, thriving call you this?
Then take thou heed, for by the bones of Basil
The Empire and the Church shall thrive alike.

Nicephorus.
Be temperate, priest.

Patriarch.
I tell thee, monarch, when the crosier bends,
The sceptre breaks; and I will tell thee more;
'Twere better for thy temples to have worn
The iron crown in Lombardy, than here
Thy golden diadem and tarnished thus.

Nicephorus.
What wouldst thou have? Truly 'tis aid I need,
Not admonition. Seek I not an end
To all these troubles, or did I begin them?
Or can I with a heartier will consult
For compassing their cure?

Patriarch.
Tis well, my Liege;
The Church shall aid with her maternal arm,
Propping her aged servant at his task.
I am gone in years, my Liege, am very old,
Coreless and sapless, weak, and needs must crave
Support of secular force, else had this sore
Not grown upon us thus. It is not well
When that the Church and State divide their power
And carp upon the difference. In my youth
I can remember, old as I may be,
I sojourned at the convent of St. Anne
In the Hercynian forest; and one night
There was a storm abroad, and forth I went
Along with it, and roaming through the wood
I saw an aged oak which groaned and creaked
And flung its arms aloft, whereof the nearest
Ground each into the other till both fell
Sawn thorough sheer; and this I likened then
To Nebuchadnezzar's tree of monarchy—
But I am wandering; 'tis mine age's weakness.

Nicephorus.
I grant you, holy father, that for us
To be at strife, is but for each to waste
The strength that each hath need of. But the Church,
The Church it is Count Isaac hath assailed,
And if her champions strike not, how should I?

Patriarch.
Speak but the word, the blow shall follow fast.
I will abet your majesty in all,
So it be sudden. Whatsoe'er is feared
In states is dangerous. The man is bold,
His friends are many, and it were not safe
That warning went before.

Nicephorus.
Yes, more than bold.
There is in him a carelessness of life
Which ofttimes betters care.

Patriarch.
In him I grant;
Not in his friends and followers. All they have
Of courage falters seeing him removed.

Nicephorus.
Removed—removed; but how?

Patriarch.
With gracious speed
And godly prudence; swift and therefore sure.
Let but a whisper of a threat be heard
And you shall see him desperate and his friends
By very fear compacted and compelled
To follow where his frenzied boldness bids.
Who then shall answer for the issue?

Nicephorus.
Well
What wouldst thou counsel—exile? interdict?

Patriarch.
Commit him to the power of Mother Church;
Call we a Synod, cite we the Count forthwith
To answer for his sacrilege.

Nicephorus.
What! now?

Patriarch.
Now, now, I say; the time is fitting; thus
Surprise shall bar resistance or escape.
The measure of his wickedness filled full
We take him in the surfeit of his sins—
The deadly surfeit and the doom.

Nicephorus.
So, so;
'Tis sudden, but I hardly may deny
That ofttimes what is sudden is more safe
Than what is slow. Thy counsel shall be mine,
And may God speed it!

Patriarch.
That He surely shall.
Despatch a guard; arrest the Count; meanwhile
A Synod shall be summoned.

Nicephorus.
And the award?
What dost thou purpose?

Patriarch.
That is for the Church
Assembled to adjudge: the sinner thou
Deliverest to her hands; the rest is hers;
And she will purge her sanctuary.

Nicephorus.
'Tis just.
Yet bear in mind that nothing has been proved
Of treasonable sort, and lacking proof,
I burthen not my conscience with his blood;
Nor of his following, till their guilt be clear,
Would I take life too hastily.

Patriarch.
My Liege,
Know you not there are maladies in men
Which in their rise were easy to be cured
Were they but known; whereof when clear become
The diagnostics, difficult is the cure.
For treason timely treatment: be content:
This is an issue that concerns the Church,
Which sleeps not and will take her torch in hand.

Nicephorus.
Order it so. My crown these last few years
Hath pressed some furrows in my brow which else
Time had been tardier with. It lightens me
To have a friend like thee, in whom I trust.

Patriarch.
God have your majesty in His safe keeping!
An hour will bring us hither.

Nicephorus.
In an hour
The culprit shall attend you! God be with thee!