University of Virginia Library

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:
His Majesty of all our swords hath need,
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.

Emp.
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.

Cen.
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!
But nobody shall know—not even he.
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.
Emp.
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
And to your crown. This do ere you advance
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.