 | Attila, My Attila! |  |
59
ACT III
Scene—The library of the royal palace at Byzantium. Several steps lead up to a central apse, surrounded by windows that command the walls, and beyond that, a view of the Scythian tents.
Towards the centre of the room there is a table on which rolls of parchment and colours used for illuminating are laid.
Pulcheria, dressed as a nun, and Satyrus.
Pulcheria
You know I am intensely fond of her.
Satyrus
I do believe you love her.
Pulcheria
As my life.
Satyrus
Yet all these bitter years what have I seen,
What have I had to see? A little figure,
Thin, mournful—eyes in which the light was glazed,
And fingers busy with the broidery-frame
They loathed the touch of. She is not a creature
To thrive on barley-cakes and cold commands:
So, I beseech you, pardon her at once!
What was her crime? She talked with Maximin
One day when he returned from embassy
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How natural that she should thirst for news
Of this strange conqueror she used to worship
As if the land of fairy gave him birth.
It is a week since you imprisoned her:
If she should die . . . .
Pulcheria
I tell you, Satyrus,
That there is nothing with a blessing in it
I would not pluck down on her head, no flower,
Or starry wreath, or secret, favouring air.
Die!—do you think that I could let her die,
Who is the one live creature in our midst,
Who might become what I shall never be,
A saint, a power with God; so rich a nature,
Such Roman courage, and a power to light
Whole empires as the sun! If you speak truth,
If I indeed have killed her—
Satyrus
No; take heart!
Lies are enough to bring one to despair,
They so perplex the mind; but truth has always
A kind of comfort in it: you have time
To save my little mistress. Give her freedom
To eat and sleep and play just as she pleases,
And leave all things she ought to do undone—
For that is so delightful I have known it
Restore a raving madman to his wits.
Pulcheria
But I have such high hope of her.
Satyrus
Oh, then
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Be as a hope the weather will be fine;
But do not force her: in your noble zeal
You need not treat her as a common slave.
I saw your sister strike her in the face
A week ago—it was an ugly sight!
Pulcheria
You saw that with your eyes?
Then no more justice,
No struggle to be fair—the eddying sway
And current of my passion.
Lead her in!
(Exit Satyrus)
And now I will be deaf to all their voices,
And simply feast on her. She will despise me;
There are some deeds I would not have her witness
For all the world that shortly must be done;
And yet through this free pardon . . . but no matter!
Although she brings me to a tingling sense
Of misery, although I dread her comment
As if it were God's comment on my soul,
I cannot live without her.
(Re-enter Satyrus, with Honoria in the dress of a novice)
Oh, her face!
Honoria
Cousin Pulcheria, have you had a dream,
And is it in obedience to a vision
You suddenly unlock my prison doors?
Pulcheria
Dearest, a yearning for your face.
Honoria
My women
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But it may interest you to see the change!
(She throws back her hood)
For I am now returned from discipline
So much more than a penitent, a power,
Strong as a hermit from the rocks. At last
I have a kingdom where you cannot come,
And beat the bliss right out of me, at last
I have escaped you. In this dull, weak world
I feel the pressure of a sovereign force
Outside me and within. You ate and slept
While I was starved and waking—oh, I thank you!
I have had revelation. Do not ask me
What I have seen!
(Turning to Satyrus)
Some wine, a little fruit!
(Exit Satyrus)
Pulcheria
(taking Honoria's hand)
Open your heart to me!
Honoria
If you mean kindness—
Pulcheria
A mother's kindness.
Honoria
Leave me to myself.
(She closes her eyes. Pulcheria goes out, as if banished, just as Satyrus returns with wine and fruit)
If I could get more strength!
(Stroking the hand of Satyrus, as he offers the fruit)
This wrinkled hand
Tells me I am not yet in Paradise,
Although quite sure of it. You would lay down
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Satyrus
My life—
Truly a perfect offering! It is yours.
Honoria
O Satyrus, they think I'm growing old,
But really I have had quite time enough
Through these long, fourteen years of misery
To grow both old and young again. The spring
Must come again into one's life some day—
And it has been such winter! Fourteen years!
Not exile!—I should like to be so much,
Much further off from anyone who owns me,
Or who has ever called me by my name.
You have no relatives?
(Satyrus shakes his head)
How fortunate!
If earth were free of them and one might start
Quite fresh among the strangers, making friends
Just as one could! Sometimes I seem to breathe
Where a new country steals across my senses
As softly as the summer. Fourteen years!
And what have I been doing all the while?
Nothing at all, oh, nothing!—until love
Came and encamped around my life as round
This city the black tents of Attila.
Love!
Satyrus
But, dear mistress, you have been forbidden
To have a second lover.
Honoria
(Heedless)
Far away,
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Of a great hero—very fire of love
The breath and the embrace!
Satyrus
How pitiful!
I know this kind of dream and how it haunts;
It has no root in possibility.
I wish you had not dreamed a dream like that.
Honoria
But do not be so listless; you must help
To bring it all to pass. I count on you.
Who else is there to help me?
Satyrus
Be explicit,
My darling princess, if you have commands.
Honoria
Most certainly I have. It is so simple
To execute when one has dreamed the whole.
These people fussing round me do not dream;
They have their faith, and hope, and prayer, and not
The whole strong web before them. All is fixed,
And we have just to move into our places,
I and—
Satyrus
Your hero?
Honoria
My deliverer.
Satyrus
At least his name?
Honoria
No, guess it, Satyrus.
Satyrus
Some name they give a cloud!
Honoria
A thunder-cloud.
Who is it that is mixed up with our thoughts
So that the air is charged with him; who is it
That is not east nor west, but has an empire
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Satyrus
The Church has that.
Honoria
Who is it that can hold
The Church in awe, to whom the Pope himself
Bows down? Oh, you are stupid!—Attila,
My Attila!
I never have been mated,
I have a soul to give that is Augusta,
That cannot stoop. While the barbarian women
Contend around his tents, I have decreed
His passion shall be drawn across the borders
To me, I have received his salutation.
O Attila, my Attila!—the dreams
That he is dreaming of me! If the dead
Can walk to those they love, and force their senses
To sight and hearing, shall my great desire
Fail on its way to him? It does not fail.
We are betrothed in secret, and my life
Flows to fulfilment of these prophecies
As simply as a river to the sea.
The rest is easy. You must bear a ring . . .
Satyrus
The deuce I must!
Honoria
And he will claim his bride
The soldier's fashion. This will come to pass.
The world is his; he scarcely needs to fight,
He conquers by sheer willing: so I purpose
To win my place beside him in the world—
My Attila!
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But I would rather see you
Tortured before my eyes. I will not go.
It is an infamy! Think of your land,
Your mother, your—
Honoria
My land has been a prison,
My mother is the murderess of my child,
My lover was—a traitor. I desire
Nothing but retribution on them all.
When the storm bursts
Let me be in the thunder-cloud! You pause . .
O faithful, are you faithless when my need
Is so extreme. Why, why will you not go?
Satyrus
His instincts and his habits, his religion,
His language!—faugh! It is impossible
To love a stranger you have never seen.
Honoria
I never saw my child: but he is mine
For ever, and I love him day and night;
He makes my thoughts about the universe
More soft, and I have freedom in my blood
Because he was created. Then you know
The story of the soul and how it loves
Blindfolded its dear Eros. Take the ring!
(Satyrus silently refuses and walks away to a little distance)
You are afraid?
Satyrus
(Turning)
I am.
Honoria
(Contemptuously)
I thought at least
You still had courage.
Satyrus
Do not say such things;
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Do not, Augusta!
Honoria
I am desperate:
I cannot of myself fulfil my passion,
I cannot reach the freedom I desire,
I cannot carry suffering to its end. . . .
(Falling down before him)
O Satyrus, I will not spare you now!
Can you condemn me, you, to helplessness,
To life that is not failure, but a blank?
Satyrus
I have but one temptation left—despair.
God, do not wake it!
Honoria
It is here with me—
All that might come to pass if I were able
To live my life, and all the odious, long
And fettered way to death because I cannot:
For you have waked despair. Oh, how I hate
Your cruelty; it sweeps me like a tempest,
It rouses in me wrath and desperation,
Lightning and ice together—horrible!
I am a wreck through you. (She sobs in frantic misery: then of a sudden faces him defiantly)
But do not think
I shall not find a bearer for my ring;
If you refuse me, I will choose some other,
No trusted servant, but a shifty slave,
And risk that other's treason.
Satyrus
(With terror in his face)
No, you shall not,
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Just to die wretched in a miry hut
Amid the filth and clatter, fetch your ring,
And I will bear it. This design of yours
Has one or two good points of policy. . . .
Honoria
Why were you stubborn, why did you inflict
Such sorrow on us both? Forgive my cry
Against your harshness, O forgive, forget—
Satyrus
(With a sad smile)
And do your will! There is a fearful strength
Beneath these silken temples. Lose no time.
Honoria
There is the ring.
Satyrus
But tell me on which hand
Do you propose to fix the magic token?
Honoria
(Putting the ring on Satyrus's right hand)
On this, on this! Say that I give him all
With this, my faith, my honour, and my love.
Say that I worship him
(Kissing the ring on Satyrus's finger).
Satyrus
So I have won
A kiss at last.
Honoria
Say I am older now—
Satyrus
Yes, after fourteen years you have received
That grace of time.
Honoria
And am not covetous
Of youth or beauty—
Satyrus
Why, I have gray hairs . . .
Honoria
But full of admiration for great deeds,
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A greatness to wed greatness. Something answers
Deep in my nature to that energy
That makes a waste place of an obstacle.
Say that I fear him.
Satyrus
That is ably put,
Fear him and yet desire.
Honoria
It is a challenge,
For, if he loves me, Attila must come
And claim me with an army.
Satyrus
And your dower?
He will be keen on that.
Honoria
Oh, half the kingdom,
All that his sword can win. You need not speak
To him of dowry.
Satyrus
Well, your eyes are bright,
Most starry, preternatural. You have
That way of shining like a goddess through
Your flesh when you are happy: that is why
I like to give you pleasure. Recollect
On my return you must not run to greet me
As if I were a messenger from Zeus;
But cast a pensive glance at me, and say
I trust the holy John is well in health—
For I must seem to come from conference
With the great hermit who confesses you.
Honoria
Oh, run as if you were a messenger
In very earnest. Speed!
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How happiness
Will always be just in a pair of rings,
The giving and the taking, nothing more!
I wonder—will he send me back his own,
And what will be the posy? . . . Just perhaps
An iron hoop, and I shall miss the art;
No matter, if it comes from him and is
As strong and simple as his character:
I shall not trouble. Oh, how glad I am,
And young again to-day. I used to think—
But then I was a little fool, sixteen—
That I must beg for love upon my knees,
Instead of loving, breaking into bloom
Myself, and feeling all the crush of flowers.
(As she leans from a window, Theodosius comes in with Arcadia and Marina, both dressed as nuns. He goes up to his painting-table, while his sisters sit down at a great embroidery-frame)
Theodosius
You, little cousin, are you here alone?
I met your eunuch; he avoided me.
Where was he going?
Honoria
Simply from my presence.
I had dismissed him. Let me see your painting.
Dear Theodosius, you are happy now
Among your missals—
(As she comes from the window toward him Pulcheria's voice is heard outside)
Pulcheria
Is the Emperor here?
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Then, Theodosius, you are ignorant
Of my instructions to the envoys?
Theodosius
(Carelessly)
Yes.
How well these scarlet stems run up and down,
A net-work on the blue! I call this page
My masterpiece.
Pulcheria
Indeed! But let it be,
And give me your attention. In your name
I sent the three ambassadors with gold . . .
Theodosius
Good!
Pulcheria
With a donative—you understand?
A subsidy.
Theodosius
Oh good!
Pulcheria
You do not mind?
Arcadia
Well, anything is better than the sense
Of savages all round.
Marina
This Attila
Infests the very air.
Pulcheria
He casts a shadow,
I know, a great, black shadow on our thoughts.
But yet to send him bribes . . .
Honoria
(At the window)
O horrible!
(Pulcheria shudders; then paces backward and forward)
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When did the envoys start?
Pulcheria
This very hour.
Honoria
The envoys at his camp . . .
(Under her breath)
While Satyrus—
(She advances impetuously)
Recall them! Is it possible the grandchild
Of Theodosius can corrupt a foe?
Pulcheria
(Turning)
Honoria, my wretched people starve
For miles beyond the gates. Reason and pity
Urge me to sheathe the sword.
Arcadia
And you imagine
Our gifts and flatteries will fail to win
A welcome from the greed of Attila!
Honoria
Send after those cursed messengers! I warn you—
And I to-day am full of prophecies
That sweep like storms across my soul; I see
The universe as in a crystal glass—
Avoid this shameful meeting: it will draw
Wide ruin on us all! I am inspired
To know that this is right and must be done.
(She moves to the door)
Arcadia
(Scornfully)
Well, do not rush out in the street with orders;
Summon your chamberlain.
Honoria
(As she turns back with drooping hands, and despair on her face)
It is too late . . .
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Before my child was born I saw the eyes
Of murderers round my bed: it is the same
Now, it will be the same throughout my life.
All human creatures round me want to kill
My hopes and my ambitions.
Pulcheria
All but one,
A woman, pitted against Attila.
Honoria
If I could make you feel how great a power
He is to touch the spring of as a helm—
How he will laugh to see the Roman gold,
For he is no mean, despicable foe
To palter with, but one of those great souls
With whom great souls must dwell in amity.
But there! I cannot help you: you have bribed him,
Are sending him ambassadors—the shame!
Pulcheria
Yes, Roman money and not Roman swords
To drive the devil off! Oh, how I suffer—
Two nuns, a painter, and myself a weak,
Peace-loving woman, to repel the Hun!
Theodosius
You are Augusta!
Pulcheria
Ah, I am—in name.
Honoria
You bring the blood into my ghostly title.
In name!—but I am in reality:
(Aside, as she turns to the window)
I am . . . Those envoys!
Pulcheria
Nothing comes to pass
That I desire; I have no force to rule.
(Turning fiercely on Theodosius)
You will have none.
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I own no genius
For politics.
Pulcheria
No sense of your great place,
The awful power it gives you.
(She comes to him, strikes the brush out of his hand and opens one of the rolls of parchment before him)
Read this paper
You signed without a scruple yesterday.
Theodosius
(Glancing at it)
Pulcheria! I signed it. O my God!
Pulcheria
Yes, you condemned to death that fair Greek maiden,
Who fled to me, an orphan, from the slights
And avarice of her brothers, Athenais.
I had this order laid among the rest;
You signed each one unread. Go through them now.
We leave you to your thoughts.
(She goes out with Arcadia and Marina)
Theodosius
My misery!
How could I do it? Athenais—love!
(He tears the death-warrant across, pushes the other parchments away, and hides his face in his hands. Honoria rushes down and puts her arms round him)
Honoria
O Theodosius, I am just like you!
I understand—you cannot read the edicts,
For there is only one thing in the world,
Dear fellow, that you care for, but one name.
You are in love.
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Beyond all remedy,
And in despair.
Honoria
But love should give a strength.
It is because we disbelieve in love
We get so thwarted; for Time stoops to catch
Our lovers' whispers—in futurity
He plants them as a seed. Do not despair;
I have a hundred reasons to despair;
I will not.
Theodosius
But you must not turn away
Now you have learnt the truth. Ask me some questions!
My mistress is so perfect.
Honoria
You have seen her,
The lady that you dote on.
Theodosius
Why, of course.
(He shows a page of illumination)
This face, these tresses in their golden plaits . . .
You recognise?
Honoria
How lovely! Tell me more.
Theodosius
But there can be no more. She is not royal;
The child of a philosopher.
Honoria
I thought
Your lip was trembling, oh, I thought you loved her;
And then—
Theodosius
What then, Honoria! Alas,
The child is pagan.
Honoria
Do not speak to me
Of things outside,—the colour of her hair,
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You love her—do you feel the answer back?
Quick, I am breathless.
Theodosius
But I cannot offer
My honourable love. She is a servant,
Low-born, impossible. Oh, I have blundered!
I did not mean to hurt you.
Honoria
No, you cannot.
I loved Eugenius, and regret the loving
Not for a single moment of my life.
There! We will speak no more of him. But you,
Dear Theodosius, do not let it pass,
This glory that is rising on your life,
Rising on hers, for love makes life so whole,
Fills up all hollow spaces, enters in
All gaps of solitude: it is the vigil,
The fasting, and the ecstasy in one.
Theodosius
Honoria, you speak as if you felt
What I feel now, yet kept in strict seclusion—
Honoria
I have seen no man, but I love apart
From time, from sense.
Theodosius
This is too difficult:
You must have had a vision.
Honoraria
I have drawn
A destiny too great upon my head,
Have claimed so much I never can receive,
A joy that I shall die of if I taste . . .
Theodosius
But here is Athenais, and alone.
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Honoria
Leave everything to me.
(She pushes him behind the embroidery frame; Athenais goes up to a reading-desk)
Dear Athenais, put away those scrolls,
And I will give you knowledge far more precious
Than any they can give. You are beloved.
Athenais
You mean?
Honoria
By him.
Athenais
But he will never dare
To marry me, and, princess, I am proud;
I will not stoop to hear of love unless
He takes me as his consort.
Honoria
But he will.
Athenais
His sister may despise my parentage,
Although I am the great Leontius' daughter,
And trained in Grecian science; but if this
Is so, I will return and beg my bread—
For, oh, I do adore him!
Theodosius
(Springing forward)
I have heard:
I pledge to you my honourable love.
Come with me to my sister. I have chosen,
And, as I am a man, she shall accept.
(To Honoria)
My dearest cousin, lonely, little exile,
Tell me of something I could do to give
More sweetness to your life; for Athenais
And I would grant whatever you desire,
Would we not, love?
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We would.
Honoria
I shall remember!
But do not think of me.
(They go out)
How wise they are,
Perfect and fearless.—We shall tread like that
Etzel's red fleeces. Oh, how glorious
To push aside the curtains of a tent,
And feel the breeze, and face the multitude.
My Attila, it is a happy omen,
This pairing of young lovers! . . . I am certain
The envoys have encountered Satyrus,
Certain they will betray him. But the power
That throws dust into mortal eyes, bewilders,
And carries through its heavenly intents,
Is with me, and no enterprise can fail
That is entirely hopeless. I am safe.
(Re-enter Pulcheria)
(Honoria has stood for a long time looking out. It is now sunset)
Pulcheria
Well, I have blest the lovers. Theodosius,
Through you, is now a man, and I believe
His choice may save him; it does save the soul,
I think, to have her choice.
Honoria
It does, it does!
Pulcheria
I dared not thwart him.
Honoria
No, you would be damned,
Thwarting the soul's desires
Pulcheria
I think I should.
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Honoria
Then I will listen.
Pulcheria
Theodosius says
You have a love apart from time and sense.
He finds that difficult to understand;
I do not. I have longed through all my life
To love like that and cannot.
Honoria
No, indeed!
You talk of ecstasies and I enjoy,
Of the soul's freedom and my soul is free,
You talk of blessedness and I am blessed
Above all other women.
Pulcheria
(Below the steps in front)
I believe
She is God's chosen and will be an empress
Among the saints.
Honoria
(Turning)
You are a hypocrite,
A traitor, sending bribes to Attila.
Ah, I have found you out! And dare you face
That glory rushing toward us from the sun,
Bearing such honour to us? I receive it,
It comes in answer to my dream: but you—
Pulcheria
I am all names you call me. How you read
Straight down into my heart! A hypocrite;
For I have seemed a saint and am a sinner;
And traitor, yes, for I have offered bribes.
Honoria, in the light of those gold beams,
Bless me and pardon.
Honoria
(Coming close to her)
I have sat and hated
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Pulcheria
I could bear that,
If you would let me be your stepping-stone,
If you would give your family the saint
I may not hope to give it.
Honoria
I have hated
My family for more than fourteen years.
Pulcheria
Oh, that is nothing, all the saints do that.
I love you as a stranger, with the passion
The heathen give to those who bring them life.
There had been death around me till you came,
You, with your living face and living eyes
And living voice! (She tries to embrace her and is repulsed)
Oh, you are pitiless!
Honoria
As you are in pursuit.
Pulcheria
But do not hate me,
For you are all I have among my own,
All I can build on . . . You have had a vision;
Repeat the blessèd dream to me.
Honoria
I will not.
(Perceiving Satyrus)
But there are those to whom it has been trusted,
Who can receive it—
(Enter Satyrus)
Satyrus, what news?
Where is the ring? I shudder. Satyrus!
Satyrus
Lady, your will is done.
Honoria
And he replies—
What? Do not heed my cousin; the suspense
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My brain grows hollow with the agony,
And I hear echoes—save me!
Satyrus
All is well.
(To Pulcheria)
Empress, I come from John the Anchorite,
With full interpretation of a vision—
Pulcheria
(Doubtfully)
From John the Anchorite?
Honoria
And he replies—
Quick, this is torture.
Satyrus
Oh, he thinks you marked
For some great future, says you are elect
Beyond all question, an elected bride,
A spouse and well-beloved.
Pulcheria
(Devoutly lifting her hands)
How wonderful!
My thought confirmed.
Satyrus
But says you must be patient;
Great destinies are worked out by degrees.
Honoria
(Examining Satyrus' hand)
It pleased him . .?
(Enter a Chamberlain)
Chamberlain
Madam, the ambassadors
Are in the palace and most urgently
Beseech you for an audience.
Pulcheria
(To Honoria)
Beata,
I will return.
Honoria
No, do not, for this vision
Is something you can never understand.
(Exit Pulcheria and the Chamberlain)
Where is the ring?
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Not on his index-finger;
You had not calculated how enormous
That is: his hands—
Honoria
He could not put it on?
He tried? Was that the end? What did he say
When you unfolded all I felt for him,
All the great future I will bring to pass?
Satyrus
He liked that, and he fumbled with the hoop
While I was talking, scrutinised its motto;
And then he laughed—I never heard such laughter—
And said you were immodest.
Honoria
(As she recoils, with heaving breast)
While I thought
There was a god within him that could answer
Love's sheer divineness back!
He did not surely
Laugh all the time? They say he never laughs.
Satyrus
His Huns were thunder-struck to hear the sound:
But soon he had regained his gravity;
And then he said by the interpreter
Your messages were frank and interesting.
Honoria
Frank! But that seems to wound me; yet you say
His interest was awakened, perhaps his wonder;
For it must be a wondrous condescension
To him that I should offer him my ring.
Satyrus
It is to me an infamy so great
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Honoria
Oh, why?
Satyrus
Because, Augusta, he is such a beast,
This son of Mudzuk, with his hateful eyes
That seem to lick the terror they inspire.
If you could only watch them!
Honoria
He refused
To yield my ring?
Satyrus
Precisely: but he questioned—
Honoria
Of what?
Satyrus
Your dowry.
Honoria
Ah! You said that half
The West belonged to me?
Satyrus
And then he lent,
The devil, on the black skins of his throne—
Honoria
Musing?
Satyrus
His features did not work, and yet
It seemed as if some frenzy mastered him.
Honoria
Oh, then it was he brooded on my love;
He is half-savage, and these silences
Are needful for some brains to understand.
I like that silence, and can now forgive him
The laugh that hurt me, in my turn, laugh too.
So he is ugly, and his throne is black . . .
What are you thinking of to look so sad
Now I at last am happy?
Satyrus
You are safe,
Safe in your madness; they will never venture
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Would sack half Italy in his revenge.
Honoria
(Triumphantly)
He would.
Satyrus
But I am lost; I shall not serve you
After to-day.
Honoria
(Who has not listened)
O Satyrus, do you
Think me immodest?
Satyrus
No, unusual,
Poor little girl, that's all. And Attila
Has never seen you, there is that excuse.
If he had looked into your eyes, such noble,
Believing eyes, he never could have laughed.
Honoria
Thank you, dear Satyrus. Now if there's danger,
The least, you must escape.
(She pushes him away from her. Re-enter Pulcheria and a train of mutes and chamberlains)
Pulcheria
Not by this door.
(To attendants)
Arrest and bind him. And, Honoria, say,
What shall we do now with these awful names
You pierced me with?
I would far rather keep them
Than see you branded with their infamy.
Speak, did you send your messenger with gold?
(Honoria nods)
Then we are fellow-sinners.
Honoria
Not at all.
I simply sent to him the golden ring
85
Speak to me as the bride of Attila,
And do not touch my hands.
Pulcheria
You doom the world
To fire and sword, if Attila should claim you—
Honoria
But I am ready to start forth to-day;
I have no fear of him. Give me some horses,
And, with a single servant, Satyrus,
I will go forth and meet my fate.
Pulcheria
(In a stifled voice)
Ravenna
Must be your doom—
(Honoria cowers an instant)
or if . . . Child, I can pardon,
If you would love me . . .
Honoria
(Drawing herself up to her full height)
Every element
That can bring ruin fall upon the land,
On East and West alike. Imprison me,
Ah, even at Ravenna, if you will,
I have the empire in my grasp and doom it
Most freely to perdition. Fire and sword,
Famine and sickness, let them break on you!
I have his hand who is the scourge of God.
Traitor and hypocrite!
Pulcheria
(Faintly)
I cannot sentence.
(To attendants)
Call in the Emperor. As for that false slave,
Bear him to execution.
86
Satyrus?
You shall not do it! On my knees, I pray—
(Re-enter Theodosius, Athenais, Arcadia, Marina, with the Ambassadors and Courtiers).
But here is Theodosius.
Pulcheria
White with rage;
Do not appeal to him.
Theodosius
These envoys swear
That they have seen your eunuch in the tent.
Ambassadors
We swear.
Honoria
And you swear truth. But, Theodosius,
You said when I brought love into your life
I brought so great a boon that anything
I ever chose to ask for should be mine.
I ask the life of Satyrus. Unbind him!
Theodosius
Put him to instant torture.
Honoria
Athenais,
Plead for him!
Athenais
But I cannot plead; the man
Is taken in high treason.
Honoria
(Desperately clutching Pulcheria's hand)
If you love me—
(A pause. Pulcheria remains speechless)
Theodosius
Behead him quickly. I am ruler now,
Pulcheria, and dismiss your favourite
For ever from my court.
(Separating them)
Unlock her hand,
It sold me to the devil!
87
(Fixing her eyes on Satyrus, who is being led away, and lifting her hands as if to draw a curse down on them all)
Attila,
My Attila, come to me and avenge!
| Attila, My Attila! | |