University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

—A Colonnade in Rome.
Enter Matilda and Damianus.
Mat.
You falter—your lip quivers—and methinks
'T is not the first time you have verged on this,
And found no resolution shape your speech!
But why leave Rome? why separate yourself
From Gregory's confidence, to brood alone
Within some distant monastery's cell?

Dami.
I do grow old and care-worn, noble lady,
And weak of health.

Mat.
Sure, 't is not envious spleen
At the o'erwhelming glory of the change
Wrought by one man, while thou art left behind
At bottom of the hill, round which of yore
Ye both paced side by side, gazing towards heaven.

Dami.
Ah, no! I would but seek that state once more.
The pleasant, peaceful, bird-awakened days
Of learned solitude; the deep-mossed groves
In Clugny, where together we oft read
The words of earth's great patriarchs, and the lore
Of many a clime, were to my satisfied heart
More natural far than bickering crowns of power.
I, therefore, crave your influence with the Pontiff,
For prompt permission to depart.

Mat.
What need
Of influence, good father?

Dami.
Pray you, grant it,
And question me no deeper.

Mat.
You have some enmity, some secret fear,
At bottom of this wish.

Dami.
(wildly).
I do confess it!
My life long since hath been made up of fear,
Which all my thoughts and feelings rush to feed,
Turning my nature thus against myself.
Question me not; I dare not utter more;
But gain permission that I may depart—
And be you ever blessed!

[Exit.
Mat.
This is most strange!
Oft have I marked a deep awe trench his face,
And fill his cheek with shadows, while he gazed
On Gregory. I deemed 'twas reverence
For those all-subjugating qualities:
But now he stammers and shakes with fear aghast,
As though a phantom should step through the wall,
Or rise up from the earth beneath his feet,
And take him by the hair! Why, why is this?
A worthy, learned, close-conforming monk,
And high in confidence, might well expect
Preferment; yet, with shuddering tones he sues
To hide his days in some far monastery!
Gregory appals his thought: they 're oft alone;
And Damianus knows his deep designs—
Has always known them—and, perchance, could tell
Of deeds whose face would blacken in the light.
Where will this lead me! to what dreadful doubts?
My full-branched faith in Gregory hath been shaken,
And I have lost the fruit of all my life.
What if this being, whom I 've ever held
The paragon of all that 's great in nature,
Turn out half devil in that secret soul
Which lurks beneath man's human secrecy,
And feeds itself on humours all corrupt,
That burst in action? Dreadful, blighting thought!
Ye monstrous phantasies! ye unknown crimes!
Ye images, whose vague limbs alternate
Substance and shade, yet in your passage o'er
Imagination's deep-stained, troublous pool,
Shed germs that, as they fall, shriek into life!
Bloody realities and harsh facts of earth,
That startle us like spectres, being so plain,
But never deemed so near!—fade, fade away
From my confused and aching brain, or cease
To follow on my flight! Oh, let me think ye
The haunting shapes of mine own wickedness,
Or the sad fancies forced upon my heart
By Godfrey's cruel taunts! Would he were here!
I grieve, I weep that we are thus estranged.

[Exit.
[Voices outside.
Enter a Rabble, and Officers with Centius.
Cen.
Shout, blindfold energies! ye would rather howl,
Could ye but understand that your own cause
Falls with your champion.

[Rabble shout.
Offi.
Forward to banishment!

Cen.
Ay, banishment! Ye hear that? shout again!
Why are ye silent? Am I not the man
Who, for the popular welfare and defence,
Cast his patrician rank into the scale;
His wealth, his reputation, heart, and hope;
And poised his life o'er peril? Why are ye mute?
Have I not failed in all? Where are your taunts?

Offi.
On, towards the northern gates!

Voices.
Return! return!

Cen.
True sympathy is pitched too high for scorn,
And pity smiles on man's ingratitude.
I will return as with a meteor's speed,
When opportunity shakes hands with hope!

[Exeunt clamorously.

SCENE II.

—Private Chapel in the Vatican.
Gregory, kneeling before a lighted Shrine.
Gre.
And to behold
A shadowy portion of Thy Countenance
Reflected o'er the insufficient sea!
Let the great hopes of ages concentrate
In all their depth and splendour of device;
Best thoughts of men, and changeless essence fine,
Be mingled now in one eternal flame
To spring from this one altar! Oh, my God!
Thou send'st us time, even as a little rain;
Thou send'st us death, as potentates of earth
Their signet send; but send'st us prayer, to reach
The steep stars and the thrones of the Remote,
On palpitating and refulgent wings!
Now do I watch the triune Diadem,
Like a new planet, dawn o'er the world's shrine!
Its guiding spirit—central in my heart—
With solemn exhortation lighting up,
And vividly detaching from their shadows,
Broad continents of life, and tracks of splendour,
Ne'er seen by mortal eyes before; but wrapped
I' the smouldering bosom of eternity,
Waiting Thy procreant hand of light, through me,
O God, the Giver!
[He rises, and stands awhile in silence.
There was a carpenter of Tuscany,
Whose son, from a cowled monk, made himself Pontiff.
High-fronted saints and martyrs, men sublime
In aspiration and security,—
Trusting to virtue, wisdom, justice, peace,
The elements of nature in their souls,—
Have, by thus trusting, left their tasks undone,
Staked midst the roar of flames, or nailed and left
In silence on the lonely night-black cross.
So I, who know what blood I have within,
Do act, believing all mankind the same;
And, being now in thunder throned above them,
Shall melt them with my fiery bolts, and pour
These tremblers in the moulds of my fixed will.
One Altar—one High Pontiff—and some kings,
Holding in fief their sceptres,—
[Signal at a secret door.
Lo, I come!
These small events do yet advance the whole.
Enter two Guards.
Godfrey is dead, then—no!—ye have poorly failed!

1st Gua.
He has taken sanctuary.

Gre.
Ha!—in my very hands!
Go now at once, with full authority—

Enter Damianus.
Dami.
Thou wilt not have him at the altar slain!

Gre.
What didst thou say?

Dami.
Oh, pause!

Gre.
Repeat your words!

Dami.
That he—had taken sanctuary.

Gre.
I thank thee:
The news is old. (To the Guards.)
Finish it instantly!

1st Gua.
If our souls—

Gre.
Full—full pardon from the church
In her own cause!
[Exeunt Guards.
Well said, self-sacrifice!
Think'st thou I'd be the victim?

Dami.
Oh, my lord!
Most high-dispensing Gregory! forgive me!
But I am thoroughly shaken by these things.
Since Alexander's death I've never prayed
Audibly; but in whispers, with closed eyes.
Horrors chase through my brain in dreams by night,
And, screaming, act the dreadful scene again!
Their monstrous variations seem all ours—
The madness ours! Oh, let there be no more!

Gre.
No more deaths, except mine! would you say that?
For that 's the alternative—and I've made my choice.
He raised his steel o'er me, and shall draw down
Electric answers!

Dami.
Doth this clear the conscience?

Gre.
Ay, like the air!

Dami.
Oh, my liege, make 't not so light,
For conscience holds the balance of the world.

Gre.
I have a conscience higher than the world,
And its opinion's narrow measurement;
Its timorous grasp and terrors of the will
At every magnitudinal desire,
With all the ruinous weakness of remorse,
Who lets the heaved-up stone roll down again,
A self-doomed Sysiphus.

Dami.
I trembling pray
For all my sins, and for frail human nature.

Gre.
Frail what?

Dami.
Frail nature—I do humbly own
All my unworthiness to be thus placed
Near one so lofty; I would fain retire:
My health sinks daily.

Gre.
You shall never leave me!
You followed me out of the cloister's shade,
Believing me a great Artificer!—
A throne-builder for God!—a putter-down
Of militant kings!—now you turn pale, beholding
My hands in actual work; but you shall stay:
We 've known each other's thoughts too well to part.
To your couch!—and in your dreams remember this,
In answer to your indigestion's fancies,—
Conquerors for space of earth their thousands kill;
Lasting dominion o'er the soul—for which
A century full of life were cheaply given—
Needs but few offerings of this dust we wear.

[Exeunt.

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.

SCENE IV.

—Grand Hall in the Vatican.
Gregory, in full state, standing on his throne. Cardinals, Bishops, Abbots, Nobles, Monks, Soldiers, and a vast concourse, are on their knees.
Gre.
I bless the world! let the far nations hear it!
[A trumpet peals forth one lengthened note.
First, all ye pillars of the Church of Rome,
Receive the rays of beatific peace,
And let your massy glory shed around
Light, warmth, and splendour, wisdom, beauty, hope,
To fill the heart of faith, and grace your power!
In just gradation next, its dignitaries,
Who walk erect, through life's uneven ways,
Blessing and blessed; and all our holiest hands
And ablest servitors,—whether to uplift
The sick or faltering, and the impious crest
To smite; and whether holding temporal sway
From high patrician ancestry, whose deeds
Crimson fame's cheek with pride, or humbly bearing
Office monastic, and a spirit of life
Whose purity toucheth heaven! Thence, the vast throng,
Bowed in a flock o'er this their pasturing field;
Sinful, yet hopeful—and who may be saved—
And children all, of every loving land,
Whose souls, like matin dews, rise up from earth!
[Solemn note of a trumpet, as before. All rise, except Guido, Tancredi, and Fabio, who continue kneeling, in chains. Gregory sits.
Lastly, I do confer protecting thoughts
On prostrate sinners,—who have rigidly,
And to the very roots of inward sense,
Their due amount of penances performed;—
And on all living creatures and things that walk
Or creep along the earth, or skim the sea
And air! Rise, penitents; go forth, forgiven!
[Guido, Tancredi, and Fabio rise, and step aside with humility.
Where is the other penitent, once a king?

[Damianus comes forward.
Dami.
Oh, supreme Ruler! the dethroned man,
In ashes and sackcloth, barefoot stands without,
On the bitter stones, awaiting your behest,
And praying constantly, with a loud voice,
For pardon and restoration!

Gre.
It is well:
I 'll think of him anon.

Enter the Empress Agnes.
Agn.
My lord! high Pontiff!
It is the winter season—I had forgot—
Bethink, your holiness, of what you do!—
'T is winter's worst—
His aching gleams pierce through the marble floor,
To the clear-eyed sun insensible; while, barefoot—
Barefoot, the Emperor stands, and all his prayers
Are choaked in clouds of his congealed breath!
Bethink you, well!

Gre.
I do; and it is good.

Agn.
Good!—while the Emperor—

Gre.
There 's no such office.

Agn.
What mean'st to do? What 's this! I cannot bear
To see 't. My son, an Emperor skilled in arms,
Thus held in lengthened penance! To what end
Is this unnecessary harshness shewn,
When all the forms of man's humility
Have to the church been tendered?

Gre.
(with severity.)
Royal lady!
Maternal guardian! you do ill in this.
Not for mere forms of man's humility,
These acts of penitence do I enjoin;
But for the true prostration of his pride,
And heretic wickedness.

Agn.
Look to thyself,
High pontiff! 'T is a treacherous exercise
Of thine authority to use us thus!
My naked heart returns unto my son,
And leaves its rent, soiled garment unto thee!

[Exit.
[Gregory descends slowly from his throne.
Gre.
(aside).
It must be done, though she should take his place;
And that, methinks, were also very good.
She shall be watched.
Enter Matilda.
Why wer 't not here before?

Mat.
(to Gre.)
I have just seen,
Not without sympathy, not without pain,
The Emperor standing barefoot on the stones!

Gre.
The man you mean was once an emperor:
Now he is nothing.

Mat.
Yes, he is still a man.

Gre.
Whate'er he was, or is, in fact or fancy,
To nothing shall he come!

Mat.
Sure to forgiveness?—
Though you delay it to extremity.
The penance you enjoin is too severe.

Gre.
(aside to Matilda, and hoarse with passion).
Too, too severe! Daughter, I'll judge of that.
You are presumptuous, weak, and ignorant,
To interfere, and fail at such a pass!
It is the very point and pinnacle
Of proof, beyond dispute, and sets at rest,
Beneath the monument of his disgrace,
Built up of prayers and groans of penitence,
Their quillets for all future emperors,
Who shall look back upon this day—and bow
Their heads, like savage nations when they hear
The exalted thunder! Get thee from my sight!
I'll have no purblind, short-breathed policies:
Up the high hill at one great bound I'll go,
And then direct the light seen from afar.
Away! What dost thou here with half resolves?
Retire, retire!—I waste myself upon you.

[Gregory resumes his throne.
Mat.
(stunned).
Some hand assist me!

[Exit, blindly.
Gre.
Let the penitent now
Approach the seat of mercy! Lead him hither!
[Exeunt Monks in attendance.
His diadem I purpose to restore,
Receiving him once more beneath heaven's wing,
When that his heart is humbled with the dust.

Enter a procession of Monks; and then the Emperor, in sackcloth and ashes, bare-headed and bare-footed, with a rope round his waist. He kneels before Gregory, who raises his right hand in sign of vicegerent power.

SCENE V.

—A Colonnade in Rome.
Enter Agnes.
Agn.
Oh, for a bolt of lightning, to strike down
And scatter all Rome's statuary in the streets!
To sweep her gods to an impalpable dust,
Confused and lost in air! Let the dread hand
Of great avenging nature, in our cause,
Heap this blind city in one funeral pyre;
Where treacherous Gregory may sit crowned with flames!
But of this blindness what dark share was mine?
What error, and what madness of resolve!
Why did I listen to Matilda's voice,
Devoted as she is, and lost of soul,
To this arch-demon, whom she thought a saint;
Though now the strong truth beats upon her brain,
Or 'twill do soon, as with an iron mace,
By knowledge of his crimes! My princely son!
What, in the winter, too? Ne'er could I dream
Of such a penance, and a bodily act
Outreaching credible sense. I was betrayed.
See, who come hitherward! more penitents;
Rage and self-hatred struggle in their looks.
Enter Guido, Tancredi, and Fabio.
How fare your knees, my lords? do they not glow
With keen reflections of your contrite hearts?

Tan.
With shame and fury, rather!

Fab.
And deep hate.

Agn.
Then whet your blades upon your ignominy,
And send the poison back with every blow.

Tan.
Would it could be!

Agn.
It can be, and it shall!
The Tuscan armies loathe this Gregory,
Who scowls and scoffs at his best friend—the sword!
And ranks a soldier as the lowest tool
Of his supremacy.

Gui.
Madam, you know the Princess
Of Tuscany?

Agn.
Yes; and methinks she 's ours!
Canst prove the murder of Pope Alexander?
Canst give me proof of this, and other deeds
Now darkly rumoured?

Gui.
No; but certainly
You can obtain them, as I may advise.

Agn.
Enough. Matilda's soul by these fierce truths
Shall be enfranchised.

Tan.
Madam, you startle us!

Agn.
The German troops will gladly snatch a chance
Of thrusting home his scorn.

Tan.
But who will lead them?

Agn.
I, in my son's name! I will lead them on.

Enter the Emperor, in a rich robe, with ghastly looks.
Tan.
(aside).
How doth the lingering sense of Gregory's curse,
Though now removed, return upon his heart!

Emp.
Have I once more a name?

Gui.
Great sir, take life
Into your own high hands!

Tan.
Trample our shame!

Emp.
(abstractedly).
Thou preternatural influence! thou pall,
From whose incumbent darkness o'er my head,
The dead-faced sufferers and the gleaming ghosts
Start, and leap down with cries upon my soul!
Break up the substance of thy panoply
Of torment—Oh, retreat into the night!
And let the shape-thronged whirlwind of thy spell,
In clouded silence, with no parting hints,
Shift and disperse! What are all these?

Gui.
He dreams.

Agn.
O, pallid image of an heroic prince!
Art thou my son?

Emp.
This is a sorry hour!

Agn.
For Gregory. Dost thou mark?

Emp.
What wouldst thou say?

Agn.
Heap up destruction!

Emp.
Upon Gregory?

Agn.
Upon whom else in the wide world?
Stands he not up, the highest devil that's set
Amidst the scorching desert? From prostration
Spring serpent-like, and strike the idol down!

Emp.
(bitterly).
He was thine idol once, though never mine:
I looked not for this change.

Agn.
It is his change
That hath unscarfed mine eyes, and I do loathe him
An hundred fold for that my soul once worshipped.

Emp.
His change?

Agn.
Say rather, the discovery
By circumstance, which sails on every wind,
Of blackest regions, earthed up in his heart;
Luxuriant with all fruits that breed despair,
Though 'neath a sapphire and carbuncle blaze,
Ripe hanging over pits of dazzling gloom,
They lied of crowns in heaven. Rise, thou king!
His deeds in secret shall no longer bloom,
But rot in daylight. From thy mind cast off
All sense of sanctity, all reverent fear
Of his usurped vicegerency of heaven:
Murder and mischiefs, heresies and lies,
Shall soon be hung i' the air where all may see!

Emp.
I gasp for too much breath! Hear I aright?

Agn.
Nay, more; methinks, Matilda wavers from him.

Emp.
Matilda! No, no!—say you?

Agn.
Believe it well.
Of Godfrey art thou sure; for even now
I learnt that Gregory's murderous guards pursued him,
E'en to the fane, where he took sanctuary;
And long were seen to glide around the walls.
Taunt me not, then, with this my sudden change;
But taunt thy pride with its base penitence!

Emp.
All thou canst say falls faint in my hot ear:
I hate myself! I madden at my thoughts!

Agn.
I'm glad to see it: but waste not thy passion
Upon things past: the German nobles now
Will crowd around thee with their powers: I know
They cannot brook the insatiate despotism
Of one who stole the eternal keys, and feigned
That angels stooped and laid them in his lap.
To full allegiance gladly they'll return.

Emp.
Is this true?

Agn.
It will prove so. Centius
Must be recalled, who, with these outraged lords,
And hosts beside, will join thee in the field.

Tan.
We will—we will!

Emp.
Peace! I can hear no more!

Agn.
Let nations hear thee; and speak first to Rome!
Dominion waits thee: look up, like an eagle,
And scan the circles of yon altitude
Which shall be thine! Gregory no longer shines.

Emp.
What! this Infallible, whom I have felt
The adumbration and the realised power
Of heaven and earth; chief substance of the forms
That walk upon the walls of destiny!
A murderer, dost thou say? A heretic?

Gui.
Oh, the bright day; the excellent, holy day!

Emp.
The German nobles, and the Tuscan force,
With friends in Rome beside?

Agn.
All will be thine.

Emp.
When that my armies faded from my call,
I moved as in a dream; now do I wake,
And will repay, with deadly certitude,
The sufferings of involuntary sleep.

Agn.
(embracing him).
Thou art my son—my great, imperial son!

Emp.
Again I feel a king, and doubly strong:
First did I mount the throne by lawful choice;
Now will I carve me out an emperor's seat—
Space, wealth, dominion, majesty, and might—
By trampling opposition into mire,
Till none shall know where Gregory's armies stood!

[Exeunt.