University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

A pillared aisle or open space in the church of St. Sophia, with other parts of the church seen in perspective. The great bell heard. Enter Heugho, met by an inferior priest.
Priest.
Thou com'st before thy master and his friends:
How far are they behind?

Heugho.
Not many paces.

[Bell sounds again.
Priest.
Wherefore didst thou start?

Heugho.
It smote mine ear most strange and dolefully.
Is there soul in its sound which sadly says,
It is the last bell that shall Christians warn
To holy rites within these fated walls?
How many hundred years this sacred pavement
Has with the tread of Christian feet been worn!
And now—Heaven's will be done!

Priest.
So must we say, if that our turn be come.
We are a wicked and luxurious race,
And we have pull'd this ruin on our heads.

Heugho.
But there are those who needs must fall beneath it,
Whose noble worth deserved a better fate.

Priest.
Think ye the grand assault will be so soon?

Heugho.
'Tis so believed: and see where now they come,
In gen'rous love and brotherhood united,
Who shall, perhaps, no more see evening's close,
Or under social roof of living men
E'er meet again.

Priest.
Nay, do not weep, good Heugho;
For in that blessed place they shall be join'd
Where great and good men meet.—But I must haste
To give my brethren notice.

[Exit.
Enter Constantine, with Othus, Rodrigo, Justiniani, and others of his friends, who walk with solemn steps and bareheaded towards the front of the stage, the great bell sounding for the last time as they advance. Constantine then stops, and stretching out his arm as if he wished to speak, they all gather respectfully round him.
Con.
My friends, there greatly presses on my heart
Somewhat I've much desired to say to you,
If a full heart will grant me so much voice.

Othus.
Then speak it, royal sire, we all attend
With ears of love and most profound respect.

Con.
Thus station'd on a dark and awful verge,
In company with you, my noble friends,
I have desired, in this solemn act,
To make my peace with God. But, on my soul,
If any unforgiven wrong to man
Yet rests, how shall I lift my hands to Him
Who has made all men, and who cares for all,
As children of one grand and wondrous house,
Wherein the mightiest monarch of the earth
Holds but a little nook?
I have been one, placed on a giddy height
Of seeming greatness, therefore liable,
In nature's poor infirmity, to acts
Of blind and foolish pride. I have been one
In much real feebleness, upheld, defended,
By voluntary aid and gen'rous zeal
Of valiant strangers owing me no service;
And therefore liable, in the mind's weakness,
Its saddest weakness, to ungrateful thoughts
Tinctured with jealousy. If towards you,
My noble friends, I have contracted guilt,
I trust—I know—I beg—what shall I say?
Your gen'rous hearts to all your deeds of love
Will add a last forgiveness.

Othus.
O no, most royal Constantine! to us
And to all men thou'st ever worthy been,
Noble and gracious; pardon at our hands
Thou needest none.

Omnes.
O no, thou needest none!
As we to thee have faithful followers been,
Thou'st ever been to us a gen'rous lord.

Con.
Your love would make it so: would that, indeed,
A voice within me seal'd its fair report!
Alas! it doth not; therefore now indulge me.
If there be one amongst you, unto whom,
With dark forbidding brow, in a stern moment,
I've given ungen'rous pain; one whose kind service
I have with foolish and capricious humours
More irksome made; one whose frank openness
Of manly love, offer'd to me as man
In gen'rous confidence, with heartless pride
I coldly have repell'd; yea, if there be
One of you all that ever from my presence
I have with sadden'd heart unkindly sent,
I here, in meek repentance, of him crave
A brother's hand, in token of forgiveness.
And be it in true charity stretch'd forth,
As to a man of much infirmity,
Who has with many trials been beset,
Wounding ofttimes in bitterness of soul
The love he should have honour'd.
What! is there none that will to me hold out
The palm of charity?
Then I'll embrace you all, and, with eased heart
Believe myself forgiven.
[Embracing them all as they crowd affectionately to him, and coming last to Rodrigo.
And thou, my bold Rodrigo, who canst brave
The tempests when they rage, and onward bear,
With the opposed strength of towering navies
Black'ning before thee, com'st thou to my breast
In soft forgiving love? I know thou dost.

Rod.
Ay, in that love that would forgive to thee
The sum of all thy sins, though multiplied
Ten thousand thousand fold.—
That would do in thy service—O cursed limit!
That there should be what to man's sinew'd strength,
In all the burning zeal of righteous boldness,
Impossible is.

[Clenching his hands vehemently.
Othus
(to Rodrigo).
Cease! dost thou not respect these holy walls?

Rod.
I do respect them, Othus; ne'er a head,
Shorn to the scalp, doth bow itself more humbly
Before heaven's throne than mine, albeit in truth
My words unseemly are.

Con.
Come to my heart, my friend! He reigns above
Who will forgive us both.
[Embraces Rodrigo, and then observing Heugho, who has stood behind, not presuming to approach him with the rest.
But there is one who stands from me aloof
With modest backwardness, unto whose charity
I must be debtor also. Worthy Heugho,
Since earliest youth I from thy friendly hand
Have daily kindly offices received,
Proffer'd with love, exceeding far all duty
Belonging to thy state; yet, ne'ertheless,
I once, in a most vile and fretful mood,
Vex'd with cross things, thine honour'd age forgot.

Heugho.
Oh, say not so, my dear and royal master.
It breaks my heart that you should still remember.

Con.
Well, well, be not thus moved, my worthy Heugho,
I know I am forgiv'n; but lay thy hand,
Thine aged hand, upon thy master's head,
And give him a last blessing. Thou art now
Like to an ancient father with us grown,
And my heart says that it will do me good.
[Bowing his head, whilst Heugho, lifting up his aged hands over him, is unable to speak, but bursts into tears, and falls upon his master's neck. The band of friends close round and conceal them: afterwards they open to make way, and Constantine comes forward with a firm enlightened countenance.
And now, my noble friends, it pleases me
To think we all are knit in holy bands
Of fellowship; prepared, in virtue's strength,
Nobly to fight on earth, or meet in heaven.

Othus.
Yes, Constantine, we to each other will
True brothers prove, and to our noble chief
Devoted followers, whate'er betide.
What say ye, valiant friends?

Omnes.
All, all of us!

Con.
I know you will, full well, I know you will.
Oh, that on earth it had been granted me
Your gen'rous love to've recompensed! alas!
Ye can but share with me—

Omnes.
No other recompense,
But sharing fates with thee, our noble chief,
Do we desire, and on thy royal hand
Here will we seal it.

Con.
(eagerly preventing them as they are about to kneel and kiss his hands).
Forbear! forbear! within these sacred walls
Bend before worthless man the humble knee!
Fy, let not such shame be!
Am I your chief? then be it shown in this,
That to the mighty Majesty of heaven
I humbly bow, more lowly than ye all,
And do, on your behalf, devoutly beg
The blessing of our Master and our Sire.
[Kneeling and bowing his head very low to the ground, then rising afterwards with dignified solemnity.
Now to those sacred rites of our blest faith,
In which the humble soul ennobled bows,
In mem'ry of the dearest brothership
That ever honour'd man, I lead you on,
My noble brothers.

[Exeunt Constantine, &c., by another aisle, which may be supposed to lead to the altar of the church, whilst several priests are seen at a distance in their robes, as if waiting to receive them.