 | Gregory VII |  |
77
ACT V.
SCENE I.
—Hall in Matilda's Palace.Enter Godfrey, as if pursued.
Godf.
I have escaped his bloodhounds!—now no more
Is aught held sacred!—even from the fane,
Where I took sanctuary, have his minions driven me!
I saw their silent-laughing, wolfish eyes,
That shone demoniac through the painted glass!
Oh, what a state is mine! Worn and exhausted
With passion, foiled revenge, and sleepless nights—
Pursued by murderers—my friends subdued,
Or linked with those I hate; now am I forced
To shelter my devoted form here—here—
In the palace of a most unloving wife,
Abetting my arch-foe! Most hated Gregory!
Has not my folly equalled all my hate!
No opportunity, no gleam of chance,
Since the full hour of vengeance which I wasted,
Hath e'er illumed my rapier's darkened blade.
Now what 's to do?—A fiery struggle 's at hand!
The Emperor in the field—must I join him?
I choke at the thought!—yet, to thrust Gregory down,
It should be done. I 'll see Matilda first.
Strange rumours and misgivings thicken the air—
Where is she? Oh, where should she be, my heart!
[Exit.
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Enter Matilda.
Mat.
He wastes himself upon me!—this the reward
Of sympathies that reached from heaven to hell,
Steeped thrilling in his never-questioned course!
Now do the etherial and the nether fires
Confuse and mingle their extremes—What 's that?
A strange breath stung my shoulder from behind!
What are those footfalls? Well—well—nothing in life
Seems natural to those sick of it; grief conjures
With commonest sounds and things. I am, indeed,
In extreme wretchedness, and my knees tremble
With fast-declining health. Poor Damianus!
He, too, is sinking.
[Exit.
[Clash of swords within.
Re-enter Godfrey, mortally wounded.
Godf.
Oh, he has reached me! he has reached my life
By hireling steel!—would he had done it himself,
So should my death-grasp sway him down before me.
[Falls.
The blow has stunned me! I am shading off
To a sick air! My soul fades fast away!
Re-enter Matilda.
Mat.
It is my husband!—murdered!—Godfrey—Godfrey!
He bleeds!—it pours out! Stop, stop! Oh, my God!
Lift up!—speak, Godfrey!—speak to me!
In mercy, look at me, and speak!
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(dying).
It is an ice-drop
That sinks through the melting mist.
Mat.
Oh, Godfrey, look at me!
Godf.
And a faint voice, heard far—o'er the misty sea!
Was it my wife who cried far off in the mist?
Mat.
It is! it is thy wife! Look up!
Godf.
I loved her—
And send a last farewell.
Mat.
(wildly catching his hand).
Say you forgive her?
Godf.
Great God! is this Thy hand
Passing me onward?
[Dies.
Mat.
He is gone!—and I,
An unforgiven wretch, do seem to have hastened
His awful passage. This is Gregory's deed!
Where have I been? Godfrey, awake! awake!
I cast off—I curse Gregory! Fix not on me
Thy blood-shot, stony eyes!—Forgive, forgive!
[Gregory is heard calling without.
Gre.
Where are these Tuscan dullards?—they were wont
To lead the van of all the Papal force!
Mat.
It is his voice! Come, ponderous Mystery!
Betrayer of the soul and body, come!
Enter Gregory.
Gre.
Rebellion rides the wind; I hear his cry!
Marshal our Tuscan—Oh, the accursed slaves!
They 've killed him in his wife's palace!
Mat.
(rising).
Look here!
Gre.
Who did it?
Mat.
Art thou an iron bell,
Tolling men's dooms, insensible thyself?
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Appalling pictures, voices, pointing hands!
Murderer! look, look in the widening mirror there!
There, where it ebbs into eternity,—
Wilt thou dare ask of me again, “Who did it?”
Gre.
By what sad accident found he this end?
Mat.
Pontiff, no more! From my o'erladen soul
I cast thee, as its heaviest load of guilt!
Much could I say—I leave it to your thoughts—
And much that lies too deep for any speech.
In presence of yon bleeding form, I burst
All links that bound me to thee, and do pour
His blood and his eternity between us!
Within! within!—
Bring hither my white robes!
My bridal night-dress, with sweet herbs and flowers,
To wrap my lord in!
Enter Attendants.
Where, where shall we go!
[Exeunt Matilda, and Attendants, bearing the body.
Gre.
(after a pause).
And where are now my hopes
Can the grey ashes,
Which sullen years shake from a dead man's urn,
Rise, like the procreant dust of autumn's weeds,
And plant themselves to supersede designs
Of noblest harvest?—can calamity
Fall on the far futurity of my fields,
And their great produce blight, with this one man?
Yes—yes—a palsy shakes time's giant hand.
O'er one poor corse Prometheus' self might stumble,
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Self-preservation thus seems double-edged,
And, guarding me, cleaves through my steep-set throne.
But then the future?—So, his corse is gone!
But it has left his silence in the hall,
As if himself were present, though unseen.
Would he were living, fierce in glittering arms!
I should not feel or fear him as I do,
Mute—pallid—motionless—standing out straight!
Horrible! horrible! I never thought before
That death was horrible.—
It must be borne.
Matilda!—Oh, nought can supply this loss!
Enter an Officer.
Off.
Your sovereign Holiness!
Gre.
Say it at once!
Off.
The Tuscan armies are withdrawn: e'en now
They pass the gates.
Gre.
(thoughtfully).
It is an evil hour.
They pass the gates?—How stands the Imperial force?
Off.
Great lord, the Emperor hath pitched a tent
Near to the baths of Titus, there to watch
The advancing of his army from the frontier.
Gre.
'T were fit he march from aught that 's left of Titus—
Titus, the embattled pestilence who marched
Against Jerusalem. Oh, these warlike brands!
Illiterate emperors and fighting kings.
Already so near!—but I was apt for this.
The Papal Guards?
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All armed for instant call,
But much o'ernumbered by the coming powers.
Gre.
I 'll go alone amidst their trembling spears,
And tell them—stay!—send Damianus hither.
[Exit Officer.
Hath the galled Emperor burst my spiritual bonds?
He may be chained once more:—the means?—lord Guido!
Who like a leaf now quivers o'er the event,
And may fall either way. The Emperor yet
Shall wither 'neath my rod. Myself I'll plant
Full in his path tow'rds Rome, and shrouded close
In monkish garments, from beneath the cowl
With heaven's denouncement will his soul assault.
Thereto must Guido lend unconscious aid,
The madness of this sworder's sacrilege
To melt in dews of fear; thus twice disarmed
Before I strike him with my visible power.
But if he fall not?—how if he resist,
And with the vantage of his armies strive
My sway to level?—cursed be his hand!
He shall have no equality! I have wrought
For the supreme dominion of the world;
Have gained it, and must bear high onward still.
[Exit.
SCENE II.
—Royal Tent near the Baths of Titus.Martial Music. Enter Officers and Soldiers of the Imperial Army, followed by German Nobles,
1st Off.
Will it fare well with us?
1st Nob.
Be sure of't, sir:
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And spurns no reconcilements. He approaches
With angry looks, but pardon in his hand.
Enter the Emperor, Eberardus, Fabio, Cardinals, and train. The German Nobles and Officers kneel.
Emp.
Rise! and remember our great clemency;
And in your thoughts let past rebellion live
Only as fuel for your love.
[They rise.
(To Ebe.)
Art sure of this? Tancredi, then, will lead
The Papal armies.
Ebe.
He is seduced, my liege,
By Gregory's subtle and o'erwhelming tongue;
Albeit, methinks, himself will lead the fight.
Emp.
Grant me to meet him flaming in the van!
Grant it, keen honour! Where are the veterans
Who fought my battles with me in Suabia?
Ebe.
They will arrive to-night.
Fab.
If heaven be with us!
Emp.
Our own picked German troops ourself will head:
The rest we shall distribute for command.
Enter Agnes.
Welcome, imperial mother! soon thou 'lt feel
Thy son redeem his gage in thy proud thoughts.
Agn.
I doubt it not; and higher to confirm
Thy purpose with strong hopes, I come to tell thee
The Tuscan army now is all thine own!
Emp.
How should this be?
Agn.
It is no matter how;
But understand at once that Godfrey 's dead,
And hither soon Matilda will arrive
Thy cause to aid.
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Matilda aid our cause!
The sound runs through my veins—didst say, Matilda?
'Gainst Gregory too,—her husband dead?
Agn.
'T is true.
Emp.
(aside).
Oh, what conflicting passions crowd my soul
With lifting joy, too bright to see its way!
What memories of early blissful dreams
Quenchless imagination casts afresh
On the heaped embers of my wounded breast,—
Sore with disgrace, and prostrate penitence
Before the foot of one who held her fast
In supernatural bonds!—a rivalry,
Clear as the light at bottom of a well,
Though darkness wall its depths. Come, all my thoughts,
Hopes, passions, and the instincts of my nerves!
And to my sword give edge for Gregory's fall;
Which hell roar up to meet, and midway poise
In soul-suspended torment! What is this?
Enter Matilda and Centius, with armed train.
Ye sainted shapes! ye bright ecstatic powers,
That hover o'er us, what a change is here!
Agn.
Count Centius, too, from banishment returned!
Emp.
Princess of Tuscany! we bid thee welcome
With a full heart, that 's troubled with many things,
Yet hails thy presence with deep thankfulness,
And ever-cherished thoughts.
Mat.
I recognise
The Emperor!
[She moves apart.
Emp.
Who knows not how to thank.
Welcome, good Centius; heretofore, methinks,
Not loving toward us.
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Gracious prince! receive
My present frankness for apology:
The popular cause is flung aside, and sinks
Before these swollen contentions; like small fry
Amidst the sweeping plunges, bursts, and whirls,
Of gross leviathans at war or sport.
[Moving towards Matilda.
Emp.
Your rudeness, sir, shall serve you best a-field.
(To Mat.)
Well hast thou chosen thy general, noble lady—
Mat.
(aside, moving apart).
The approach of man fills me with shuddering,
Lest that he touch my garments, or set foot
Upon my shadow.
Emp.
(aside).
Wreck of loveliness!
Her thin hand—dimpled once and dazzling white,
Oft toying daintily with saffron locks,
Now hangs a sere-veined leaf at her straight side—
That 's shapeless with neglect, and swollen with grief—
Whose waving symmetry was like a cloud
Of incense round a shrine.
Agn.
(to the Emp.)
She stands in a vision!
Let be awhile—the struggle is within.
Epm.
Can nothing aid her?
Agn.
No, 't were dangerous:
She might sweep round and face us as her foes.
[Agnes and the Emperor confer apart.
Mat.
(aside).
Talking and plotting to pull Gregory down!
His enemies—'t is possible—waste their lives
On him, as he did waste himself on me.
Oh, what a sickly weight! what fluttering spasms!
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My hair 's all scorpions and my brain all fire!
Its myriad thoughts are singing one fierce tune,
With confused unity that ends in ashes!
Merciful elements! oh, waste yourselves
On this crushed heart, and supersede revenge
In my oblivion!
Emp.
(to Mat.)
Doth the Tuscan force
Hold itself ready to obey our call?
Mat.
(as if waking).
It doth—and ye may all act as ye will—
Nor care I if an earthquake take us all!
[Exit.
Emp.
Her brain is turned!
Agn.
Quite—quite.
Cen.
I fear she will run mad into her grave!
So sweet, so gentle once! Saw you her eye-balls
Project and glisten?
Agn.
Think of her men at arms,
And of the heretic Pontiff!
1st Car.
Pray you forbear,
Most royal lady, that appalling union
Of words. Though Gregory we repudiate,
The holiness of the Sovereign Pontiff's office
Claims deepest reverence still.
Emp.
It is most true.
Agn.
We bend to your rebuke, lord Cardinal.
Enter Guido.
Emp.
Welcome, our good archbishop of Milan!
Gui.
To my dear liege, all homage! I am come,
In part to greet and bless you ere the strife;
In part a suppliant.
[He kneels.
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What is this, my lord?
We deemed thee ever loyal.
Gui.
Ever, ever!
I now would crave a boon.
Emp.
Name it, and rise!
Gui.
Our holy Church with incense of its love
Thy steps attends, but I feel sick with fear
Lest thy fierce struggle with Pope Gregory,
Wherein we join, blind dangers should involve;
With foot too rude, the Church's sanctity
Approaching, and salvation of our souls,
Which ne'er should tamper with these mortal coils,
Setting at risk.
Emp.
How 's this?—my lord, no more!
Gui.
(agitated).
I have heard voices of the martyred saints
Exhort me from the walls, the trees, the air!
And holy men came to me in the night,
And solemnly stood beside my trembling bed
With high-wrought speech! And one of them announced
A mission from above, with counsel charged,
In this your difficult pass, that so your feet
Unto your lawful throne should nobly speed,
But tread on nothing sacred by the way!
Emp.
Thou dost confuse my sight! I'll hear no more.
Rise, rise my lord!
Gui.
Yet hear the boon I crave.
Emp.
Be brief.
Gui.
That it would please you, gracious sir,
Forthwith to meet for conference and advice,
This holy father who a message bears
Of awful warning, vital to your soul
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For battle.
Agn.
Fie! thou 'rt weak, my lord archbishop.
Gui.
Weak as a mortal face to face with death,
And listening for his doom.
Emp.
Is this a time?
Gui.
It is my ghostly care—my love that cries
With voice importunate. This holy man
Awaits your coming.
Emp.
I'll not see nor hear him:
Delay mars all.
Gui.
(rising).
Think of my words, great King!
Agn.
Shall this suspend your sword, now raised to cleave
Straight through the crest of hated Gregory!
Emp.
It shall not! I shake off, and blow to the wind
All terrors of his usurpation's sway!
Marshal our horsemen! let the ringing steel
Give token of their mounting brilliancy,
Like armies fresh descended from the light,
Down-sweeping o'er the earth! On, on to Rome;
And wild-eyed tumult herald our advance!
[Martial music. Exeunt.
SCENE III.
—Outer walls of a Monastery. Marble tombs. Time, sunset.Enter Gregory, habited as a Monk, and Damianus.
Gre.
How now, frail nature! think'st thou I shall fail?
This way he 'll pass, and here will I confront him
With solemn warnings from the endangered Church.
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I rise upon the waves of thy resolve:
My heart 's uplifted, and I shall not fall.
Gre.
Good Damianus, dost thou call to mind,
In Clugny's monastery, when we two
Were lowly acolites—'tis now some years;
Forty and more—that, in my cell one night,
When all the brothers slept, an oath we swore
The papal power to lift above the crowns
Of subject princes? Lo! we 've seen it done.
Now comes a final struggle for the hand
That wrought this work; and if 'tis hewn to earth,
Its deeds spring up the same.
Dami.
But thou 'lt prevail?
Gre.
Assuredly, as thou hast ever seen.
Dami.
(aside).
And yet I tremble: would this hour were past!
(Aloud).
The Countess of Tuscany—
Gre.
She will return.
Do not disturb my calm. Think'st thou, lord Guido
Was urged sufficiently?
Dami.
I well believe it.
Gre.
Then will vague fears enforce him constantly
Unnerve the Emperor's purpose, and prepare
His impious will for censure. Hark! retire!
[Distant sound of martial music.
Dami.
(aside).
If they should recognise him?—if he fail—
Unarmed amidst their madness—and alone?
He must not know my fear.
Gre.
Retire, I say!
Dami.
Your guards I 'll plant at call—let me, too, stay!
In time of peril I would never leave thee!
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My purpose will be best advanced alone.
It is the Emperor with his train that come
This way: his armies pass o'the other side.
Retire, good Damianus.
Dami.
God inspire thee!
[Exit.
Gre.
I do invoke it from the boundless depths
Of this my human heart! Oh, give me words,
As from Vulcanian forges, armed in proof,
To shield or smite! (lets fall the cowl over his face)
and to my breath impart
A spirit of lightning! Blasted be his tree
Of life, which I will tear down and uproot,
Chanting Thy Name!
Enter the Emperor, Eberardus, and Guido.
Emp.
Why stand'st thou in my path?
Gre.
It is my path, O Emperor! and not thine.
I am a servant of yon holy house,
To which thou also shouldst in faith belong,
And kneel with reverence.
Emp.
Stand aside, rude monk!
Dar'st thou my faith impugn?
Gre.
By God's command!
'Twas not in dreams that pious Guido heard
The spiritual breathings of the night,—
The deep words echoed from a sphere remote:
Beware! thou 'rt warned!
Gui.
My liege, our souls are perilled!
(Aside).
And yet that voice—that voice—would I dare speak!
Emp.
(to Gui.)
This is the holy man, of whom—
Gui.
It is.
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The broad sun sets; and o'er yon vault is spread
A smouldering purple, touched with crimson flame,
And based on gloomy gold. So shews the fate
Of kingdoms. Yet a little while, and night
Comes down, and with a universal blot
Sweeps out the gorgeous picture. Wickedness
Is short-lived as this scene; and while the glare
Of the world's tainted glory gilds its skirts,
Evanishing so fast—from bottomless pits
Issues its first wild cry midst torments fierce,
Prepared for impious kings, who each shall have
His own exclusive hell.
Emp.
Father, these words,
Which I receive prophetic, as yon scene,
Of Gregory's turbulent grandeur and dark fall,
Dar'st thou to me apply?
Gre.
To thee, and all
Who 'd trample on the Church!
Emp.
I vow myself
Her truest servant.
Gre.
Wouldst thou equivocate
With the all-seeing, the all-knowing God,
His high Vicegerent scorning!
Emp.
Never, never!
Gre.
Kneel'st thou before the Apostolic chair?
Emp.
Most reverently!
Gre.
With armies at thy heel?
Emp.
My armies march to thrust from off the throne
Of sanctity, a bold usurping man;
The tyrannous arch-hypocrite Gregory!
Father, give way!—set on!
Gre.
Behold these tombs!
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Time presses—see'st thou not thy lord—thy king?
Gre.
What is a lord or a king compared with thunder?
See them stand underneath; mark well their looks,
And think of nobility! These are the tombs of kings!
Emp.
The dead are silent. Give me passage, monk!
What wouldst thou more?
Gre.
The silence of a corpse
Is thunder to the soul! Listen awhile,
And thou shalt hear these monuments rehearse
The woes of nations; uttering cavernous sighs,
Death-fraught as pestilent breezes borne afar
From isles of gloom along the sweltering sea.
Sumatra, Java, and dark Borneo,
Ne'er shook from heavy and hearse-headed trees
Such baleful odours! Think'st thou that the souls
Of those who made large havoc in the world,
Peopling the grave in virtue of their crowns,
By wars accursed, are now enshrined in bliss?
Think'st thou to 'scape the torments of their doom
By reverent words, while devastating brands
Await thy shout for blood, e'en in the eye
Of heaven's Vicegerent?
Emp.
Monk, I will not fear thee:
Nor shall thy words sink deeper than mine ear,
Since Gregory is cast out!
Gre.
Cast out! By whom?
Emp.
By his own deeds, which sing aloft i' the wind,
Like evil spirits forced to celebrate
The history of their fall. There is no Pontiff!
Gre.
Who saith it?—thou! Thou fell'st before his power,
Flat as a shadow! Gregory to the Church
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To her dominion adding force and scope;
To all her sanctity a higher aim;
To all her splendours unity of tone;
Taking and giving an exulting light,
Like to a scarlet mantle in the sun!
Emp.
The Babylonian scarlet!
Gre.
(tearing off his monk's habit).
Fires o' my heart!
Emp.
What ho, my guards! is this an ambuscade?
Imperial Guards rush in; and Damianus, with several Cardinals: the latter range themselves beside Gregory.
Gre.
Fires o' my heart!—thou central source of fire,
Loose all thy tides!
Emp.
They shall not turn my course.
Gre.
Down to thy knees! Behold me as I am,
The ruling presence, bearer of God's keys!
The golden, self-sustained, pre-eminent cloud,
Whose inward breast holds all immortal life!
Emp.
That cloud is black within, and it shall burst
In rain, and disappear from the earth's face.
I spurn thy usurpation, and defy thee!
Gre.
(slowly).
Emperor of Germany! why art thou here
With armed bands and homicide looks of war?
Why flash the bloodshot eyes o'the trembling steeds?
Why scream the trumpets o'er the music, tuned
To barbarous deeds, while banner and buckler shew
Gross painted effigies which commemorate
The glorious battles of immortal fools
Who drove out mercy from the human heart,
And with red Furies filled the steaming fields?
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And what are thy intents?
Emp.
To enter Rome,
And in the Vatican proclaim aloud
Thy wickedness and fall.
Gre.
Bethink you well
Of your last visit.
Emp.
Therefore am I come.
Oh! doubt me not I shall remember it;
The better, that with reason in the mouth
And madness in the brain, thou comest to thrust
A brand amidst my never-closing wounds,
And urge to final action by thy calm
Smile of insane superiority.
Forward to Rome!
Gre.
I do forbid you, solemnly, in the name
Of all—
Emp.
All thou profanest by thine own deeds:
I scorn thy raving and thy prohibition.
And what shall serve thy taunts at feats of arms?
Disgust at the keen glories and high scenes
Of necessary and ennobling war,—
The hypocritical horror in thy looks?
Thou, who didst get and hold preposterous power
Entirely through main force and sworded hands;
Else hadst thou lived and died within thy cell,
An obscure, scowling, self-corroded monk.
Gre.
(calmly).
This is not true.
Emp.
Not!
Gre.
(passionately).
By my soul, 't is false!
Was it by war I made Rome high in art;
Heaped her with beauty and magnificence?
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And wise men ceased to beg about the streets?
Was it by war the Vatican reared her crest
O'er all your temporal palaces and powers?
Was it by war, by main force, and the sword,
That I, the son of a poor carpenter
Of Tuscany, did gather up strong thoughts,
Learning, and eloquence, and energy,
Till on my brows I fixed the triple crown,
And made an Emperor kneel like a child before me?
Emp.
(stamping with rage).
To arms!
Gre.
See where he flies to arms, d' ye mark!
Forbear, I charge ye! Dread the curse of Rome!
Emp.
We 'll dread no curse that one like thee can hurl.
Stand from my path on peril of thy life!
[Damianus and the Cardinals advance.
Gre.
My life is sacred, as my curse is sure:
I do revoke the pardon I conferred!
Emp.
I dare thee to the field! Away! away!
On to the city!
Gre.
And again depose thee,—
Emp.
Sound to the charge!
[Trumpets.
Gre.
And excommunicate!
Emp.
Charge the Papal Guards!
[Exeunt all but Gregory.
Alarum. The charge without.
Gre.
(after a pause).
Power writhes out of my grasp, while I do seem
To crush what I would cherish; and the coils
O' the high-necked dazzling serpent, wise and strong,
Drop heavy at my feet!
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You had my orders!
Off.
They were clear as steel,
But could not be effected.
Gre.
Could not be?
Off.
Dread sir, the Emperor hath this instant charged
With his main force.
Gre.
(contemptuously).
I heard him:
So may you know
By the small click of his machinery,
When the invisible grasshopper takes a leap
At the far sun. Your phalanx did not move?
Off.
'T will move no more till the Last Day!
[Retreat sounded.
Enter a Messenger.
Gre.
And you?
Mess.
The Count Tancredi—your chief leaders—all
Are slain! The Papal forces fly!
Gre.
For vengeance!
They fly to the onslaught?
Mess.
No, no! for their lives.
Gre.
Now, by my father's hand! my mother's spirit,
Which early broke her heart! I little reck
These closing accidents of life's brief scene.
The world doth spin from underneath my feet,
Or else my brain turns giddy and sick with its noise.
Enter Damianus.
What worse, what worse?—pale Damianus, speak!
Dami.
Oh, friend! dread sir! your troops are all dispersed.
Take refuge now: ere long you may return.
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My heart 's too heavy to move. Curses pursue them!
Dami.
Oh, stay not here! you tempt your fate.
Gre.
I do;
And I defy her! Fate 's an idiot
Confronted by man's will; and never yet
A single high-branched action reared or blighted;
But only gabbled after all was done.
I'll wait till the firmament comes down.
Dami.
What shape
Of desolate agony approaches now?
Gre.
Away, and let it come!
[Exit Damianus.
What more can come,
When hope is irretrievably lost and gone?
'T is she!—now would I turn aside, and shun
The sands of such an hour. She comes to me!
Enter Matilda (who advances with an air of forlorn anguish, breaking occasionally into fits of distraction).
Mat.
Perfect humanity of Christian souls!
All knowledge, grace, and happy love are thine,
Pure nature guides the clearness of thy ways,
And general misery shews 'tis all a lie.
See! see!—see what a piteous height she rose!
Methought she leaned upon a heavenward tower,
And the tower fell to earth. Light, light the candles!
The shrine is dark. Now it sheds blood for rays!
Now all is dark again; and laughter shakes
The base o'the crucifix! There is a hand
Upon me!—tomb-o'erstumbling misery
Hales me by the hair before Christ's spurning foot!
A cold shape rises—it is Annihilation!—
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Dim, interlunar giant! shadowed light
Of my lost substance of eternity,
Receive this wasted being! No, no, no!
I would fain live, and save my sinking soul.
The shrine bursts forth in light! I am turned black—
Opaque—incapable to take one ray.
Oh, thou sweet-featured Christ! look not upon me
With eye severe: I strove on fatal wings,
And most sincerely fell. Give me the cords!
The music sounds at Satan's wedding feast;
I must dive deep down through the icy air!
Gre.
Am I the shape I was—the thing called power,
That woke this morn from natural human sleep?
Mat.
(approaching Gre.)
Oh, you are here!
Emperor of Germany, I know you well,
Though you disguise yourself like Gregory!
But what avails you that?—the gravest dwarf
Doth look most laughable in a great man's robes.
I come to say I shall return to him,
With all the Tuscan forces: they're not like
Godfrey's imaginary myrmidons;
But steel-shod cattle to tread empires down:
And thus his murder shall be well avenged.
Emperor, I trample thee in Gregory's name;
Gregory, the supreme ruler of the earth!
I dreamed he had become a little child.
Hush! hush! be silent—Oh, be silent I pray,
For nobody knows of this.—
They're coming!—they bring the perfect humanity,
With skeleton morals and a full-fed doom.
Pity me, pity me! where shall I fly
99
(With steady earnestness).
We do not make ourselves, but we are made right.
My flesh is ague, and my bones are ice,
And therefore have I led a perfect life,
Which reason, chastity, and heaven approve.
You look at me as if you knew me not;
Or do I see thee far, far off i'the mist?
I 've been confused with deep conflicting thoughts,
But you shall hear my name: I am the ruins
Of the city of Magdala! woe and alas!
The sun doth waste himself upon me!
[Exit, with a moaning anguish.
Gre.
Wheel on, ye spheres! intensest particles
Must fly off first. Come thou Infallible Death!
I take thee by the hand; but save my sight
From that wan face—mine ears from those lost cries!
Enter Guido, Agnes, and a German Officer, with Guards.
Gui.
Yonder he stands, confounded!
Agn.
Now, advance.
Gui.
He wanders blind through ruins of high hopes,
And feels their chilling shadows. Speak to him!
Off.
Surrender all authority!
Agn.
Homicide!
Gui.
See'st thou Pope Alexander's famished form
Hovering before thee?
Agn.
See'st Duke Godfrey,
In 's bloody winding sheet, and hear'st thou not
Matilda's frantic voice?
100
(abstractedly).
Hush! be ye silent:
Oh, be silent I pray!
Agn.
Canst thou hope mercy?
Gui.
(aside).
What doth he gaze upon in the mid air,
Far onward? His face changes!—
[To Officer].
Let us not
Act cruelly, but firmly, sir.
Off.
(to Gre).
You are
The Emperor's prisoner!
Agn.
To the city bear him!
Our yoke of triumph brooks not this delay.
Off.
Wilt thou not move?
Agn.
Drag! drag him hence!
Voices.
Away!
Gre.
(with lofty melancholy).
Rude winds, rude winds! ye shall as easily drag
Tri-zoned Jove's star-set eternity
Back to his past life on Olympus old,
As move my body or soul!
Agn.
(to the Guards).
Are ye struck with frost—
Or stand ye pale i' the disk of a gorgon shield?
[Shouts outside.
Off.
Madam, retire!
Gui.
Your stay were perilous!
[Exeunt. Manet Gregory.
Gre.
Am I too strong for death?—let him come soon!
Enter Damianus, with a small body of the Papal Guards.
Dami.
Oh, save yourself! the Vatican 's all a-blaze!
Its choice collections, grandeur, sanctity,
In clouds of ashes now float back to heaven!
101
(rousing as from a trance).
Who hath done this? beware thou tell'st me truth!
Dami.
It was the Emperor's deed.
Gre.
I suffocate
With his name! Burn down the Vatican, dost thou say?
Dami.
And catching fury from the voluble flame,
Raging he now returns in search of thee!
These soldiers do devote their lives—and vow—
Gre.
(passionately).
Ye handful of good soldiers! brim your hearts
From mine, with all-exterminating wrath,
And armed invulnerably 'gainst man and fiend
By this high mission, acted in God's eye,
And with His nostril's breath impelled, now follow
My forthright course, which never shall be turned!
Oh, for some terrible sword, that I may slay!
Slay! slay!—
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
—Open space in the Campagna, among the ruins of ancient Rome. Night. The Vatican blazing in the distance. Faint Alarum.Enter Fabio, with troops, meeting a German Officer.
Fab.
Still holds the fight?
Off.
'T is done.
Fab.
E'en now I heard
The ring of arms through the dark ruins echoing!
Off.
'T was but the last gust of a storm outspent—
102
Led on by Gregory.
Fab.
He is not dead?
Off.
Unless a miracle hath caught him up
To the stars.
Fab.
This dizzy moment—it confounds
The beating of my heart and all my thoughts.
I know not if I dare to wish him dead.
Enter Centius.
Off.
My lord, are you wounded?
Fab.
Is the Pontiff slain?
Cen.
'T is doubtful.
Fab.
Sir, beseech you—in few words!
Cen.
(faint and breathless).
With sword and shield, but in no armour clad,
A storm-black charger bore him towards the ranks
Of the Emperor's force. What passions lit his face!
He rushed, breast on, amidst them, man and steed:
No violent Centaur ever shook an arm
So terrible in air! The very clouds
Seemed to come down, although, indeed, you'll say
'T was but the spurned earth's dust.
Fab.
And is he slain?
Cen.
I know not; overthrown with many more,
Like to some raging element he rose,
On all sides devastating. He fought afoot,
Till smitten and speared on every side, he fell:
When, o' the instant, Cardinal Brazute
His form bestrode, and to our gleaming swords
A crucifix opposed. Some desperate monks
With screams then bore him off.
103
Voices.
Hail, Emperor!
And conqueror!
Fab.
The saints have blessed our arms.
Emp.
Dagon of Rome! thy heaven-affronting crest
No more shall arch its neck above the world;
Nor Henry's soul, with threatened torments rent,
Tossed by contending surges of his fears,
Hopes, apprehensions, doubts, and dreadful dreams,
Again be steeped in madness and despair.
Gregory, mortally wounded, is borne in by Damianus and Monks; followed by Brazute and other Cardinals.
Rejoice, great line of kings! the serf-born breath
That sullied your enshrined memories,
Now hovers o'er the gulf! Set him down here,
And bid the clarions cease!
Dami.
Lay him down gently.
Gre.
(dying).
I hear the roaring of the Vatican flames!
Its statues fall with Gregory—not its hopes.
Die, heart! die quickly!
Braz.
Clement the Third, we name,
Duly by us elected, Sovereign Pontiff!
Gui.
'T is premature—the Emperor,—
Braz.
It is done.
Voices.
Vivat Sanctus Pater Clemens Tertius!
Dami.
Let not our voices drown his parting sigh;
Oh, be our silence an intense heart's prayer!
104
Vivat Sanctus Pater Clemens Tertius!
Gre.
(faintly to Dami).
We have not failed; my breath fills all the place.
Emp.
What hath he murmured, monk, into thy breast?
Gre.
(faintly).
Approach, thou perfect hero, who hath ruled
This day of swords! Approach me with thine ear—
Stoop nearer—I wax faint.
Emp.
(stooping to listen).
What wouldst thou say?
Gre.
(raising himself).
Kiss thou the dust from off thy master's feet!
[Dies.
Funeral Mass without. The body of Matilda, extended upon a bier, is borne across at the back, while the Emperor speaks over the body of Gregory.
Emp.
All falsehood follow thy descending soul!
And in thy fall more reason shall we find
To bow with reverence to the See of Rome,
When pious hands shall sanctify its power!
THE END.
| Gregory VII | |