University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—Colonnade in Matilda's Palace.
Enter the Emperor and Eberardus, attired as pilgrims.
Ebe.
Her intercession 's sure: my liege, I pray you
Do not droop now—the worst is well nigh past.

Emp.
(despondingly).
How canst thou say the worst—drive me not mad!
Think of the homage of enforced knees,
And suppliance to those we hate, for pardon!
Pardon for what? Oh, do not speak to me,
I cannot bear remonstrance!
[A Domestic passes.
Stay you, sir!
You serve the Countess of Tuscany?

Dom.
Humph!—Whom serve you?

Emp.
Say to her that a friend would speak with her.

Dom.
Wait here!
[Exit Domestic.

Emp.
A menial bids me wait!
The lowest office, exercised in extreme,
O'ertops the highest with a gross burlesque.
To wait!—I cannot understand the change;
Yet everything reminds me of my fall
From sceptre-sway to common, subject life.
Oh, dreadful Gregory! accursed and dreadful!
His voice—his very substance haunts my soul.
His image over-shadows all my prayers;
His large hands sway the air about my head,
And act like laws amidst the atmosphere;
My forehead aches with gazing at his foot,
Puzzling its breadth and purpose. 'Tis his step!

Ebe.
My liege! my liege!

Emp.
I'm no liege lord! Away!
Enter Matilda.
I pr'ythee, leave me!

[Exit Eberardus.
Mat.
Should I not meet a penitent prince, who comes,
A subject's knee to offer to the church,
And sue the restoration of his crown?

Emp.
I am that powerless prince.

Mat.
And penitent?

Emp.
To heaven most contrite.

Mat.
And to heaven's Vicegerent?

Emp.
Oh, lady! dare I speak at such an hour
Of what I've felt in presence of thy beauty,
It would not sink me 'neath fair manhood's pride
Were I to ask some pity for my state.
I am o'ercome by Gregory as by a spell!
His curse, like lightning on a single oak,
Has left me charred and hollow. Armies fade
Before his voice: my subjects own no king;
My nobles cast me forth; my very arm
Hangs like a broken bulrush o'er the stream
Of my now stagnant life; and in my soul
Sorrow hath hung weed-garlands o'er each thought,
While terror guards the porch. Oh, when the sense
Of what I was, and what I am become,
Struggles for steady sight, the level earth
Wheels upward from beneath my feet, and leaves me
Constantly sinking! Lady, stretch forth your hand!
And let its lustrous whiteness interpose
In aid of one whose utmost wrong to you
Was fond oblivion of himself!

Mat.
Beseech you,
No more of this; it pains me much, and wakens
The depths of other days, to you unknown,
But full of thoughts for me. Brief be your griefs!
And may the thorns now rankling round your brow,
Where late shone sovereignty, fall to earth, and rot
Beyond all memory's reach!

Emp.
Sweetness and hope
Drop from their natural home upon your lips,
O'er my despair.

Mat.
But, well advised, and bowed
With deep submission to the Rule supreme,
You hither come?

Emp.
Oh! it doth grieve my spirit,
And yet enrapture me thy voice to hear,
Mingling sweet reconcilement with the gall
Of humbling authority. Pr'ythee, lady,
Is there some penance most severe in store?
For thus 't is rumoured to my feverish ear;
And, therefore, am I come to lay the grief,
The doubts, the fears, the madness of the thought,
Before thy mediating feet!

Mat.
'T is true,
Some penance is enjoined; I know not what;
But counsel thee to humble all thy pride,
And then resume thy crown.

Emp.
But what the penance?

Mat.
Doubtless not much in bodily form and show;
The spirit 't is must bow.

Emp.
Madam, you pour
An urn of balm upon my tortured mind:
I shall in all things follow your advice.

[Exeunt.