University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—Michael's Dungeon.
Michael in chains, and Gaoler; afterwards Leo.
Mich.
Good sir, I pray you pity me, and ease
These galling chains a little. It is late,
And I shall die with morning. Of your kindness—
And I have much to thank you for—I pray you
Let me rest now. It is the last request
That I shall make on earth.

Gao.
My lord, my duty
Compels me that I guard thee, but indeed
I grieve to see thee here in this sad cell
Which opens on the grave.

Mich.
They call me traitor.
But I was never traitor to my country,
Nor sold her, as did some.

Gao.
Nay, that, my lord,
I am sure thou didst not. Noble Aplaces
Was long my leader, and who was it sold him
And all his men to death? Not thou, I know.

Mich.
Sir, thou art right indeed. I loved my comrade
With more than woman's love. The power that pens me
Within this dungeon's walls, did to his death
Drive on that precious life. Who is the traitor?
Nay, nay, not I, but Leo.

Gao.
My good lord,
I pity your sad case—and here are many
Who do espouse your fortunes.

Mich.
Give to them
An innocent man's blessing. If your pity
Is real, as I think it, let me pass
The few hours left me in unfettered rest.

Gao.
Nay, that I cannot, for the Emperor
Carries with him the keys; but on my bed,
Softer than is your own, I pray you stretch
Your weary limbs, until the signal comes
Which bids you wake to die. Good night, my lord,
Sleep well till, waking, you shall bid good morning
In the new dawn of heaven.

Mich.
Canst thou condemn
An innocent man? My friends, without the walls,
Are planning my release. Thou wilt have gold
And rank if they succeed.

Gao.
My lord, I dare not;
I care not for my life, but dread to leave
My children fatherless.
Pray you take rest
It may be Heaven will touch the tyrant's heart
With clemency.

Mich.
Sir, it is wasting time
To trifle with you. Let me sleep, I pray you.
I am dead tired.

[Throws himself on Gaoler's bed and falls asleep.
Enter Leo.
Leo.
I cannot sleep. My heart is sore, I dread
The morning. 'Tis the mystic eve when all
The kine, they say, kneel in their stalls, and sounds
Of angel-music fill the starry pole.
To-night of all nights in the year shall I
Sleep while my comrade spends the waning hours
That lie 'twixt him and death? What can I do
To spare his life?
Gaoler, how fares your prisoner?
What! Sleeping on your bed? Hadst thou not charge
That he within the straitest cell of doom
Should wait the morning?

Gao.
Good, my lord, forgive me
If I have erred in this, for I will answer
With my own life for his.

Leo.
Withdraw awhile,
Leave us alone.

[Exit Gaoler.
Leo.
(regarding Michael asleep).
He sleeps the dreamless sleep
Of an untroubled soul. Great God! how strange
Thy judgments show—for know I not Thy Word,
“For so He giveth His beloved sleep.”
Dost Thou then love the traitor, who for self
Would tread the paths of bloodshed and betray
Love, friend, or country? Is not innocence
Dearer than guilt to the All-seeing Eye
Too pure to look on foulness? Does Thy mercy
Open so wide a door, that to the cry
Of the repentant heart Thou dost unseal
The treasures of Thy grace? And if Thy hand
Is pitiful, shall I, who am a wretch,
Needing Thy pardon sorely for ill-deeds
Acted or thought, forgive not? Michael! Michael!
Guilty thou art indeed, but it may be
Thou hast found peace. Here is the master-key
Of all thy gyves—what should the Emperor
Unlock them now, so that thou wake with dawn
To freedom, and a word, a sign might open
Thy prison doors for thee? Nay, nay, I may not!
Would not this plotter, who it seems has gained
That simple gaoler to him, and his friends
The idolatrous crew, the vile, corrupt oppressors,
The needy courtiers and the dregs of the city
Flood Rome with blood? Nay, though he shall not die,
To-morrow, I will send him, guarded well,
To exile.
[Chanting of carols heard without.
Ah, the sacred music passes.
'Tis Christmas morn, once more. I am rejoiced
To hear them once again. I cannot mar
This sacred day with blood; peril there is,
Great peril, in delay; but I will spend
(It may be that I have not long to live)
One happy day at least. With early dawn
I must to the chapel with the choir and sing
My hymns of praise to Heaven.
Enter Gaoler.
Gaoler, keep safe
Your prisoner. It is Christmas-day. God keep you.
He came to-day to save.

[Exit Leo.
Gao.
Ah, who would think
A tyrant could thus speak!

[Michael wakes.
Mich.
What a strange dream!
I dreamt the Emperor looked on me as I slept.

Gao.
Nay, my lord, truly
It was no dream.

Mich.
What! did he come and see me
At rest upon your bed?

Gao.
Ay, that he did.

Mich.
Seemed he surprised?

Gao.
He gave me charge to keep
My prisoner safe—no more, and then I heard him
Say in low tones, these words, “Peril there is,
Great peril, in delay.”

Mich.
Said he no more?

Gao.
Ay, this, “With early dawn
I must to the chapel with the choir.”
Then went
Stealthily as he came.

Mich.
Then am I nigh
Death's gate as ever luckless mortal was,
Who yet did breathe and live. I do beseech you
Succour a dying man. Fetch a confessor.
I cannot die unshriven.

Gao.
My lord, I go to send him.
[Exit Gaoler.

Mich.
Quick! Now with these fettered hands
To write to Theodore and the vile crew
Who did conspire with me. “Michael, the Amorian,
Dies with the dawn. Therefore lose not a moment.
The Emperor in the chapel with the day
Singeth the Christmas chants. Take trusty men,
Disguised as choristers, and beneath their robes
Let them bear arms. If any doubt their man,
Let them await until his pealing voice
Mounts loftier than the rest. Then let the singer
Fall 'neath sure strokes. Remember, if you do not,
Michael, at daybreak, purchases his freedom
With all your heads!”

Enter Priest.
Priest.
My poor unhappy son,
Wouldst make confession?

Mich.
Welcome, holy father,
I would make my peace with God and with the Church,
Whose loving son I am. I have borne no part
With those idolatrous dogs, whose vile devices
Defile the sanctuary, and therefore only
It is I come to die.

Priest.
My son, the Church
Is grateful for thy service, and would give thee,
Through my poor hands, her blessing. Therefore, kneel
And make confession first.

Mich.
That will I, father.
Yet pardon me if I should dare to make
One last request. There are whom once I fear
I did offend—the Abbot Theodore
And other worthy souls. I fain would die
At peace with all the world. Would'st thou, good father,
For I am prisoned, bear the message to them
Which here is written, and to the holy man
Give it in his own hands?

Priest.
My son, I will.

Mich.
I thank thee, father, and will count the minutes
Until thou comest to shrive me.
[Exit Priest.
Nay, my hour
Is not yet come. I shall not die, but live
To wear the Imperial Crown!