University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

—A Room in the Palace.
The Empress and her Lady.
Empress.
Good Helena, I am weary, yet I know
Sleep will not come to me, if I should seek it.
These rumours of dark plots, and stratagems
Forbid me rest. The Emperor, my husband,
Comes not, so heavy lies the load of care
Upon the Imperial brow.

Helena.
Your Majesty,
Would you that I should sing to you and lull
Your sleepless care to rest?

Emp.
Nay, Helena,
Music speaks comfort to harmonious souls,
But not to those racked with discordant cares,
As mine is now. But come! I know thy skill.
Sing me some sweet, sad song.

[Helena. sings.

[Emp.]
I thank thee, dear,
'Tis a sweet, sad song.

Hel.
Nay, wherefore, gracious mistress,
Are you thus anxious, since your enemies
Are fallen into the toils; the Amorian pines,
Loaded with chains, in prison, and with him all
The vile conspiring crew.

Emp.
Oh, Helena!
Can I rejoice because these hapless men
Are taken, and go forth to die with tortures
Because they did conspire?

Hel.
The Emperor
Were else undone and you—sure it is justice that dooms them.

Emp.
Nay, good Helena, a throne
Gained by unworthy means, treachery, bloodshed,
Breeds like offence in others.

Hel.
Gracious lady!
When did the Emperor shed blood of any?
That saintly man!

Emp.
Nay, Helena, forget
My hasty words—I am unhinged to-night
And miserable, and know not what I say;
This loneliness and brooding thought o'erset
My feeble spirit.

Hel.
I would the Emperor
Might come to comfort you.

Emp.
Nay, nay, indeed
I would not, for I shrink from sight of him.
Long years we live apart from bed and board;
'Tis long since I have seen him, for there comes
A bar between our souls.

Hel.
My gracious mistress,
Surely this is but phantasy; your spouse
Is faithful to your bed, husband and father
Without a spot of blame. For policy
He is the soul of justice, not a subject
But knows it well.

Emp.
Ay! But were this the cloak
Of vile hypocrisy? What then? What say'st thou
If it were proved that every step he trod
To his throne was through deceit; if every jewel
In the proud crown he wears was bought with blood
And treachery; if now he purchases
His safety with the freedom and the lives
Of those who would have saved him from the crimes
Which, unrepented, damn him?
Helena!
I cannot doubt this horror. Michael,
A pure and noble soul, with much reluctance
Discovered all, and since that day I know not
Comfort, or sleep, or peace.

Hel.
Dost know him well?

Emp.
Ay, for I loved him once,
And he—he loves me still.

Hel.
Dared he declare
His lawless love?

Emp.
'Twas his great passion broke,
Despite him, into utterance, and I pitied
His loveless life; I whom kind Heaven had blest
With love requited, till I forced from him
The tale of Leo's guilt. Nay, Helena,
His is a stainless soul.

Hel.
By Heaven, it is not,
But a deceiver's and a villain's—traitor
And murderer at heart!

Emp.
What proof have you
Of these wild whirling words, for without proof
I will not hold him false?

Hel.
Oh, how to free
A woman self-enchained! Listen, dear Mistress,
There is no other way. I needs must speak,
Though the words blight my life.
Dear lady, heed not
His glozing words. I too have loved this man,
And he betrayed me. See, he is a villain!
There is no lie too vile for him, no action
Too treacherous, no stain of blood so deep
But he would soil his soul with it to gain
The pettiest end.

Emp.
Nay, Helena, I loved him,
'Tis long ago, yet cannot hear such things
Even now unmoved.

Hel.
Hast thou not spoken of it
To the Emperor?

Emp.
Nay, I could not.

Hel.
Ah, dear lady,
Love mates not with unfaith.
Oh, tell him all.
I hear without the trumpets which announce
His coming. Tell him all that Michael told thee,
And trust thy love again.

[Exit.
Enter Leo.
Leo.
Wife, is it well with thee? 'Tis long, meseems,
Since thou and I have been as we were once,
One heart, one soul, some secret chilling doubt
Comes 'twixt our lives, not mine, for I am still
Thy lover as of old; but thou hast ta'en
Some deep distrust, 'twould seem.
What is't, my heart?

Emp.
Nay, nay, my lord, nothing but what thyself
Knows best.

Leo.
Nay, that indeed I do not. Tell me.
Thou art not jealous?

Emp.
Nay, indeed, my lord,
My grief is more than that; of that unfaith
I never did suspect thee.

Leo.
Ay, I thought not.
What is it, then? Let us not live asunder.
It may be in a time of treacheries,
And plots, and murders,—it may be our fate
To die together.

Emp.
Treacheries! murders! say you
Thus glibly off the tongue? Hast thou no fear
To use them?

Leo.
Nay, that have I not, nor fear
To punish them when found.

Emp.
Even in thyself?
Deep hidden within thy soul?

Leo.
Not in myself!
I mete no other measure to myself
Than that I give to others.

Emp.
Oh! my husband,
Be not deceivèd thus!

Leo.
Nay, wife, what is it?

Emp.
Is thy soul free from stain for Aplaces?

Leo.
Alas, 'tis not indeed, my days, my nights
Are full of him, and every trivial hour
Has threescore tongues which whisper, “Aplaces,”
Nought else, and shall till death.

Emp.
Then art thou guilty!
It was as they have told me, and 'tis true
Thou did'st betray thy comrade—that thyself
Might grasp the crown.

Leo.
Nay, nay, I did it fearing
He should betray the faith of Christ, no more.
Heaven be my witness.

Emp.
But thou did'st betray him,
And Rome with him?

Leo.
Nay, nay! Not willingly.
I strove to give my life for him, but found
It was too late, our Roman legions routed,
And my dear comrade slain, and for a lie
Forged by a villain.

Emp.
Dear, I do rejoice
That 'twas not as I feared. But that sad plot
Against the hostile King?

Leo.
Heaven has forgiven
The sin I did not. The same serpent-voice
That tempted to betray my comrade, urging
That I should keep the Faith unblemished, bade me
For thee and for our children's honour, freedom,
Nay, life itself, accept the crafty scheme
Which, I praise Heaven, failed.

Emp.
For me and mine!
Was it for us thou sinned'st!
My love! My life!
My martyr once again! My paragon!
Stainless no longer, but more lovable
Even for thy fault—forgive me that I doubted
Thy precious truth. Before thee I would kneel
As to my lord.

Leo.
Nay, wife, thou art forgiven.
'Tis a sad world. But who was it betrayed
My fault to thee?

Emp.
Thy friend, whom once I loved,
Michael the Amorian.

Leo.
God! how base is man!
'Twas he who did persuade me to offend
By subtle argument, which, reinforced
By my great love, misled me.

Emp.
The base wretch!
That I should once have loved so black a soul!
He should be punished.

Leo.
Nay, his punishment
Should rest with Heaven, but now his treacheries
And murderous intrigues, being discovered,
He lies in prison, and to-day the judges
Have sentenced him to die. Poor wretch, I would
That I might spare his life and banish him,
For we were boys together.

Emp.
Good, my lord,
What is his sentence?

Leo.
'Tis to die to-morrow
In boiling oil. 'Tis the law speaks, remember,
Not I.

Emp.
And is't to-morrow? Dost thou mind
What day it is? The birthday of our Lord.
The brightest day in the revolving year,
Vowed to high revelry and innocent mirth,
Because the world is saved.

Leo.
Ay, so it is.
But the law dooms him, and I dare not set
My will above it.

Emp.
Leo, thou art Cæsar.
Thy will is law. I pray you think a moment
What thing thou dost. If thy great clemency
Pardon him not; yet, oh, I prithee, stain not
This holy day with blood.

Leo.
Thou dost not know,
As I, how grave his plot, how great a danger,
I speak not of ourselves, but for the State,
Comes from delay. Nay, nay, I dare not do it.
Let the law take its course.

Emp.
Leo, I pray you
Listen to me this once. To-morrow's dawn
Will see thee in the church, bearing your part
In chanted hymns,—to-morrow thou wilt take
The solemn Eucharist, while in his cell
The comrade of thy boyhood writhes in torture
And his cries shock thy ears. 'Twere mortal sin
To do this thing!

Leo.
Good wife, thou can'st not know
The peril, but because thou takest care
For my soul's welfare only—let it be
Even as thou wilt. I will bid the officer
Bring to me ere I sleep the master-key
Of Michael's fetters. For thy tender heart,
I pray it bring not swift calamity
On thee, and on our children.

[Exeunt.