University of Virginia Library

Scene VII.

—The Banqueting Chamber.
Enter Isaac Comnenus and Macrinus, with an Attendant.
Comnenus.
The guests have all departed?

Attendant.
All, my Lord.

Comnenus.
Here, take my sword. Bring me a cup of wine.
[Exit Attendant.
And he is dead?

Macrinus.
He bled to death, my Lord.
A barber there had left the instrument
Wherewith he did this violence to himself.

Comnenus.
Farewell, Nicephorus the first and last!
Soldier of fortune, bold and free in Thrace,
Poor abject Emperor in Byzantium!
He's better dead, so let us hope, by much.
Thou wouldst not think it, friend, but it is true,
Had I been of this war the wilful cause,
I could have killed myself for conquering
As soon as he for suffering defeat.
Though it be not a soldier's word to say,
The sight of all this blood has sickened me.

Macrinus.
No blood has needlessly been shed by us.

Comnenus.
By us, I trust, no drop. But think, Macrinus,
When civil war's afoot, whate'er the cause,
And whosoe'er the leaders, in the fray
How many a beast breaks loose and roams abroad
In shelter of an honourable name.
Go, good Macrinus, give my orders forth
That whosoe'er unsheathes his sword to-night
But at the word of his commander, dies;
And in the public view of all who pass
Plant in each quarter where the throng is thick
A headsman and his block. Look it be done.
If chopping off of heads can stop the course
Of these disorders, I will have them stopped.

Macrinus.
I will about it straight.

Comnenus.
Good night, Macrinus. [Exit Macrinus.
(After a pause).

So here am I, to say my work is done.
Thus churchyard visions mock us as we merit,
When man, for lack of manliness, is made
A lazaret for the mind's maladies.
[Walks to a casement.
How changed those skies from what they were at eve!
They change as do the destinies of men,
And give no warning,—or at best a brief one.
Black, save a seam, a trench, a gaping chasm
Of ghastly moonshine betwixt cloud and cloud!
And therewithin a pale and shivering star,
Like hope in far futurity, a gleam
Of half-extinguished light still struggles on.—
I feel that chill and heaviness of cheer
Which follows oft a chase that's hotly won;
For then the hazards and vicissitudes,
The pride of conflict, spur of opposition,
The quickening sense of danger, and the need
And exercise of wit, are all effete;
And the reward of all (which seen remote
Shone like a Caucasean peak at dawn)
Meets with a cold reality the touch
And bares the blank and nothingness of life.—
Were I a man to take delight in crowns,
And purple boots, and sending forth of bulls,
And dealing out of dignities,—to wit,
Calling this man Sebastos and that Cæsar,
Bidding one worthy follower wear red hose,
Another hope the like advancement soon
And wear them mottled in the mean time—yea,
Could I rejoice in royal sports like these,
I should exult in this day's victory
And not feel all this barrenness within.
I will go hence to-morrow.

Re-enter Attendant with wine.
Comnenus
(drinks).
Ho! the Gods!
That re-creates the spirit. Marvellous!
How this amalgam of a body and soul
Can grain by grain so interpenetrate
That washing of a ventricle with drink
Shall strengthen and uplift the low-laid mind.
Oh, then what potent menstruum is that
Which shall dissolve the so compacted compound
And segregate the subtler element
To live apart when all the other dies.
Enter Alexius.
God save your Highness! Well, how speed you now?
To her Imperial cousin what saith Anna?

Alexius.
When first I spoke she said at once 'twas vain;
But when I urgd your sanction to my suit,
She faltered and grew pale, then turned away,
Nor honoured me with one look more.

Comnenus.
So fixed!
Then shall she have her way and follow me;
And though a wanderer on the earth am I,
I will requite her constancy with care
And in that care may chance to find at times
A resting-place myself.

Alexius.
God grant it you!

Comnenus.
He will, He will. Some minutes ere you came
A kind of vision had enwrapped itself
Around me like a winding-sheet. I saw
I know not what phantasmas, and was moved
To moralize the matter of that change
Which theologians call—how aptly, say—
The quitting of a tenement, or else
The casting off old clothes—the . . . Oh, the gods!
The figures are as multitudinous
And ugly as their archetype.

Alexius.
To me
These seem as apt as any.

Comnenus.
Even so.—
The Prophet of the Zend expounded thus
The secret of original sin: he said
When Light, the Power of Good, created man,
Him Evil followed darkly as his shadow.
And this is fair philosophy, whereby
We typify what is not understood,
And say a thing is thus, and thus, and thus,
Just as another thing is thus and thus,
Though how or wherefore either thing came thus
We nothing know. Enough. One week from this
Will find me a day's journey on the road
To the Illyrian frontier. Who is here?
Eudocia and Anna. Take apart
Our sister sage, thy Councillor of State,
And leave to me my Anna. I would hold
Some present conference with my gentle friend. Enter Eudocia and Anna Comnena Alexius, advancing to meet them, leads Eudocia to the farther part of the stage, where he remains with her.

What ails thee, Anna? Why this changing cheek?
What rainbow is reflected in those eyes?
What dream hath moulded that pathetic mouth?
Thy lip hath pouted at an Emperor's suit,
And pouts it now repentant?

Anna.
Oh no, no!
Though I were truly what I ought to be,
A lifelong and perpetual penitent,
Yet never could my soul repent of that.

Comnenus.
Then are we two at odds with empire both;
And being therein of one mind and heart
What should gainsay us that from this time forth
Our hearts and lives be one? Thou know'st not, Anna,
How wide the vacancy, how deep the void,
That opens here, which empires could not fill,
Nor worlds—nay, weep not—

Anna.
It is not for grief.
I hear you say that you are desolate,
Yet feel no pang! My heart is not my own,
To be so happy, knowing you are not.
But onward I am looking, and rejoice
To think my eyes shall be upon you ever;—
And ever watching you, if haply once
I chased but half a sorrow from your soul,
'Twould fill me with such gratitude to God,
That suffering with you still, though for you too,
I scarce should seem to suffer.

Comnenus.
Born of Heaven
Love hath an empire o'er the spirits of pain
Beyond all earthly powers; else loth were I
To see thy lucid life obscured in mine.
But in the sun and summer of thy love,
My life shall live anew.

[Alexius advances, leaving, Eudocia, who is joined by Anna.
Alexius.
If go you must
We will not quarrel for the day and hour.
First to Illyrium, is it?

Comnenus.
Thither first,
If Anna shall forbid me not; for there
Some present propping will your State demand
Ere it be stablished. Now the little left
Of this night give to sleep. Good night, good night.

Alexius.
In the left wing the Protovestiary
Hath seen your couch prepared.

Comnenus.
No need of that;
In the adjoining chamber I'll lay by
These heavier trappings, write a rescript there,
And take what rest I may. Again good night.

[Exit.
Anna
(in discourse with Eudocia). . . .
I cannot tell you how it startled me;
And surely it was strange—still whensoe'er
A health was drunk and guests grew clamorous,
That ominous figure glided into sight,
Looked slowly round and vanished.

Alexius.
I gave leave
All should have entrance to the lower hall
To witness the festivities. This one
Had been some straggler.

Anna.
But her mourning dress?

Alexius.
She was a suitor for some forfeit head,
And thought to move compassion by her garb.

Anna.
Her face was veiled, but truly hers was not
The bearing of a suitor. There was too
At times a something I had seen before—
—Oh, God! I see it now—

Enter Theodora.
Eudocia.
Hush! 'tis the Princess.

Theodora.
Ye have feasted full,
And ye are merry. I must kneel to beg
A humble boon—the body of my sire.

Alexius.
Your pardon, if my officers imposed
Such and so needless an indignity.
The fitting orders I will give myself.

Theodora.
I know thee not, nor seek I aught of thee.
I am a suppliant to the Count Comnenus.

(To Eudocia.)
Thou knowest there hath that between us been
Which makes it fitting I receive my suit
In audience from himself.
Eudocia.
Doubtless, to-morrow . . .

Theodora.
Much is the doubt what morrows bring to them
Who tire of their to-days. 'Tis now, now, now,
That I must see him, or else never more.

Eudocia.
Through yonder door, then, if you pass . . . She's gone.

[Exit Theodora.
Alexius.
Her purpose is apparent; she will tread
Fast in the footsteps of her father.

Eudocia.
Yes;
And by her looks I doubt if even now
There be not poison working. I repent
That access has been granted her. Go in—
I fear she may design . . .

Anna.
Hark, hark!—a groan——

[All rush into the inner chamber, whilst Theodora, passing out from it, crosses the stage, holding in her hand a dagger covered with blood.