University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

Scene I.

—An apartment in the Prisons.
Nicephorus
(alone).
Morn, let me meet thee face to face once more;
Thou look'st upon me with an unmoved front,
The pale cold aspect of a wearied friend.
Well, well; my race was run; 'tis but in age
That Fortune plays me false; 'tis but in age
When all that I can lose she doth but snatch
Out of the hand of Death. 'Twas in my youth,
When she was kind, her constancy bore price;
For then there was a life to make or mar.
There's many an infant Hercules is dwarfed
By lacking a first meal, and me she fed
From a full breast and held me by the hand
Till I could run alone. She quits me now,
But not till time is that I quit the world.
Kings ought not to be old. The strength of thrones
Is youth. The infirmities of age in Kings
Cripple the body politic: first fails
Life's vigour at the heart; a numbness next
Seizes the weak extremities of empire;
Then some old sore breaks out, and all at once
The nice adjustments of the strong-knit frame
Are rent like rotted ligaments asunder.
There's some one comes;—but here's such scanty light—
Who stands within the Emperor's prison doors?

Comnenus
(who has entered)
Isaac Comnenus.

Nicephorus.
Thou art welcome, Count;
More welcome to my prison than my palace.

Comnenus.
I know it. Never was I welcome there.
Had I been less obnoxious in thy sight
I had not sought thy fall. Nor seek I now
Thy further fall than what defence demands.
I would give room for thy fast shortening days
To gather in the aftermath of life
And garner for a better world what here
May yet be reaped.

Nicephorus.
My life! What life is that?
A mangled life that crawls along the base
Of the huge precipice o'er which it fell;
A life that were it whole were little worth
At threescore years and twelve, and being pierced
With many a mortal wound, may count its price
As less than little. Yet I take thy gift.

Comnenus.
Gladly I find there's aught I have to give
Worth thine acceptance. One condition yet
Demands fulfilment that the crown be safe;
For to that end provision must be made
That derogates in some sort from my grant.

Nicephorus.
Thou aim'st then at my liberty. So be it.
The loss of liberty! What loss is that?
Who hath it? Not the rich man. Not the poor.
The rich of what he owns is owned the slave;
The poor a bondsman to necessities,
Selling himself in parcels. And a prison!
To that old age arrives by Nature's doom,
Barring the wrongs of fortune; an old man
More meekly may endure it.

Comnenus.
Somewhat else
Remains for stipulation. While thou hold'st
Thy station in men's minds as being still
One of an order capable of empire,
Thy friends will breed expectancy of change.

Nicephorus.
“Friends” was thy word? in truth an empty fear!
My friends! In thousands yesterday at dawn
Like leaves in summer did they hang on me;
But ere night fell, as with a winter's blight,
They were abroad upon the several winds.
Now, by God's name, it grieves me to the heart
They were not sepultured in yonder trench.

Comnenus.
Be it thy friends are friends of him who reigns,
Thy malcontents will soon be such to us,
And every disaffection that may grow
Take the good name of loyalty to thee.

Nicephorus.
What surety wouldst thou have?

Comnenus.
Assume the tonsure.
The service of the Church, whilst it forbids
The thoughts men might attach to thee of empire,
Becomes thy latter days.

Nicephorus.
Ay doth it, Count?
Hast thou forgotten, in thy feast of power,
The tenor of the life thou'dst have me close
In mockery of myself? The tonsure, Count!
Dim though they be, these latter hours of life,
I quickly call to mind the glorious dawn
When first amidst Mount Rhodope's defiles
A Thracian soldier I took spear in hand;
And though that spear be splintered and that hand
Be nerveless now, I yet have that within
That stoops not to conditions such as thine.
A prisoner thou may'st make me,—not a puppet.

Comnenus.
I meaned no contumely. A fitter time—

Nicephorus.
No more—I see thee not again—hence-forth
All that the Emperor of his gaoler seeks
Is that his latter hours be undisturbed.

Comnenus.
Farewell: but should thy meditations bring
Another mood of mind, spare not to speak it.
Thy summons on the instant brings me back.

[Exit.
Nicephorus.
My life hath been such life as Kings must bear
Who would be more than pageants: it has been
A life of anxious, strenuous thought, and deeds
That sprang from such: yea and all men must say,
Howe'er I governed, it was I that governed:
No minister has played the monarch here.
I have swayed nations—less by kingly power
Than by a power within me which had swayed
The minds around me had I not been King.
My single destiny is all that now
Remains for me to govern; nor shall I
Be found unequal to this final charge.
How many times in youth a violent death
Seemed imminent, yet brought me no alarm
And now the loss of so much less of life,
And that less portion of less rateable worth,
Would surely not seem fearful, but that age
Counts with its ills tenacity of life,
The old inveterate habit of existence.
Enter Theodora.
My daughter, com'st thou to console thy sire?
Thy filial duty hath not been o'erpaid,
But such a time as this were ill employed
In aught but kindly speech.

Theodora.
Father, I come
In this most bitter hour to aid your counsels.
I have not used (and therefore has our love
Held heretofore a not unbroken course)
All words of tender import which are rife
In women's mouths; and if I had such now
What could they profit you?

Nicephorus.
What hast thou better?

Theodora.
Daggers.

Nicephorus.
Hush! hush! that is no woman's word.

Theodora.
Yea, 'tis a woman's word and woman's weapon.
But there are hands to hold them more than mine,
Though there be none more steady. Time runs out.
The menials of the palace as I came
Were busied with the pageant of to-morrow.
Grant that a woman's doom had laid in the dust
The head which they would crown.

Nicephorus.
Why were it done,
Deem'st thou the difference of a single head
Shall quell a reigning faction? Had the blow
Been struck while yet the victory was in doubt
Their leader lost had been the loss of all;
But now 'twere a miracle if they kept not
What he hath won.

Theodora.
Father, your years benumb you.
Wherefore is this? the Patriarch wears a coil
Of twenty winters more, yet his blood's hot;
And I, a woman, do not yet despond.

Nicephorus.
The Patriarch's fury blinds thee to his dotage.
I tell thee there's no hope. As easily
Recall the colour to a corpse's cheek
As give them heart again.

Theodora.
You will not hear;
The cohort which deserted yesternight,
Though paid their hire, were coldly entertained;
Wherewith but ill-content, this day they've sworn
To rise in arms upon the Patriarch's call.
All now is loose, the townsmen and the troops;
None careful but the conquered. One blow struck
Confounds them in their mirth.

Nicephorus.
This old man's dream
Which he hath told thee doth portend nought else
But that a night of blood will interlope
Ere the Comnenian dynasty begin.

Theodora.
My father, hear.

Nicephorus.
Nay, nay; I know too well
That sleepless Chief whose eye is over all,
Be feasting they that will.

Theodora.
Then at your choice
Cleave still to your despair. I go,—and soon
Here in your cell or on your throne resumed
A tale will reach you of as bold a deed
As e'er was done by our most martial sires
Upon the Thracian hills. Till then, farewell!
Father—your blessing.

Nicephorus.
Oh! my child, much grief,
Sore trouble hast thou brought me in my time;
But I forgive thee now, nor may I blame
This enterprise, all hopeless though it be.
Take thou thy father's blessing and depart.
I in the inner chamber will go seek
That rest the time invites me to. Farewell.

Scene II.

—A Street near the Palace of the Cæsars.— Isaac Comnenus and Macrinus meeting.
Macrinus.
Count Isaac, by my life! Well met, my Lord—
Nay, your Imperial Highness—pardon me
If my first meeting with my sovereign Lord
Be something overjoyful.

Comnenus.
Good Macrinus,
There's none entitled to a larger share
Of whatsoe'er of joy this hour affords.
Where is my brother?

Macrinus.
In the palace, Sire,
And with the rest awaiting you.

Comnenus.
And where
Have you disposed the soldiery?

Macrinus.
They crowd,
And with them half the city, to the square
Before the palace; all expectant wait
To hail you Monarch ere they doff their mail
And with rejoicings close the glorious day.

Comnenus.
Something too soon, Macrinus. And my guard?

Macrinus.
They are within, my Lord.

Comnenus.
So far is well.
Are those deserters looked to?

Macrinus.
Which, my Lord?
I knew not that a single friend proved false.

Comnenus.
Ay, but the false proved friends. Observe them well.
I mean that Mæsian cohort—they that oped
The Atrian gate to Eulas.

Macrinus.
By my faith
They were but now before the palace; yes;
A Lombard shirt of mail they wear, and sword
Much like a Frank's—I marked them there but now.

Comnenus.
March out my guard, and let them be disarmed.

Macrinus.
'Twill cause much discontent, my Lord.

Comnenus.
Why so?
They'll share the donative; so say, Macrinus.
I will reward them, but I will not trust them.

Macrinus.
It shall be done, my Lord. And will you then
Indulge the impatient multitude that longs
To shout their gratulations?

Comnenus.
Noise and pomp
Is what they long for. They will have it soon.
To-morrow comes the coronation; then
They'll have it to their hearts' content; to-day
There's something I would say to them . . . no matter.
The Count Alexius, said you, was within?

Macrinus.
He is, my Lord.

Comnenus.
A noble youth is he.

Macrinus.
Indeed he is.

Comnenus.
And a good soldier too.

Macrinus.
There's not a man on either side his peer.
He has a martial heart.

Comnenus.
And therewithal
The rapid eye, ubiquity of presence,
And quickness and collectedness of thought
Which give a natural command in war.

Macrinus.
He has, my Lord.

Comnenus.
For he was from a boy
By care taught conduct. No state-weakling he,
Born in the purple and so bred a fool.
He is, though young, well practised in affairs.

Macrinus.
Surely, my Lord.

Comnenus.
In him there is besides
The strong vivacity of youth and health,
With something of a gallantry of spirit
That wins upon the multitude.

Macrinus.
Most true.
The troops he has commanded love him well.

Comnenus.
A word with thee, Macrinus—— Hark! the throng
Are bellowing my name.

Macrinus.
My Lord, they wait
To take you home in triumph. They're nigh mad.
There never was a people so o'erjoyed,
Nor ever yet a city that so rang
With acclamations; not a troop files by
With the Comnenian standard, but the shout
“Long live the Emperor Isaac” peals on high
As from a thousand voices in one breath.
Long may he live and reign!

Comnenus.
My friend, my friend,
There's more mortality about this frame
Than known to those who tell its term of years.
The worm within may make the building weak
Ere Time has leant his weight upon the walls.
Well; let us to the palace. I had meant——
But it is needless. From the terrace walk
Above the palace gates I'll speak some words
To thee, to Count Alexius, and the people.
So let us to the palace. But disarm
The Mæsian cohort first, forget not that.

Macrinus.
I'll lose no time, my Lord. Hark! there, again!

Scene III.

—A suburb.—Theodora and an Officer of the Mæsian Cohort.
Theodora.
Who wrote it, knowest thou,—this quavering scrawl?

Officer.
It is the Patriarch's, Lady.

Theodora.
It is like.
Old age hath stricken him. I cannot read it.

Officer.
Princess, if I may be so bold to guess,
His Holiness would see you.

Theodora.
Wherefore so?

Officer.
I know not; he is muttering evermore,
But none can tell his drift. He lies at length
Upon a pallet in St. Cyril's cell.

Theodora.
This day hath overwrought his aged frame.
I will attend him. Keep thy men together,
And send me word of whatsoe'er befalls.

Scene IV.

—A Chamber in the Palace.—Eudocia standing at a casement. Anna sitting near.
Eudocia.
Look, cousin, look! for a more princely pomp
Ne'er blessed a maiden's sight.

Anna.
I'm sick of shows.
What do you see?

Eudocia.
The troops, a host in arms,
Fill up the palace square, and them beyond
As far as eye can reach, the multitude
Throng through the ways. Hail to that silken flag,
The proud Comnenian banner! Long may it float
Triumphantly above yon palace gate!

Anna.
Your heart is in the pageant; you were wont
To taunt your sex that they were all for shows.

Eudocia.
My heart! ay, every pulse of it that beats!
And call you this a show? I tell you, girl,
That were these squares and palaces black dust,
These ways more desert than the Palmyrene,
And were all silent save the mouse-bat's wing,
So that our banner waved above the waste
My triumph would be full.

Anna.
Well; be it so;
I meant not to reprove your triumph.

Eudocia.
Ah!
I see him,—there he comes, and close beside
The princely boy Alexius. Heard you that?
A shout as of an empire drunk with joy!
Again and louder! Hear you?

Anna.
Now they're still.
How suddenly it ceased!

Eudocia.
He speaks to them.
I saw him wave his hand.

Anna.
Would we could hear!

Eudocia.
I heard him once address some mutinous troops:
'Twas with a grace so winning yet so bold
That their ferocious clamour died away
And when he ceased they cried, “Long live the Count!”

Anna.
See, from their hands he takes the diadem.
What means he now?

Eudocia.
Look! look! Alexius stoops,
And on his head he puts the Crown.

Anna.
And hark!
They shout again, and can you not discern
“Long live Alexius!” is the burthen now?

Eudocia.
He has transferred the empire! as I live
Discrowned his proper head!
(A pause.)
It is not well.
My life long have I looked to see him crowned,
And much I strove and struggled to that end,
And thousands toiled with no less zeal, from whom
Was much less owing, and have they no claim
Who ventured—much or little—all they had,
Or might have or might hope to have, for him—
Have they no rights?

Anna.
But should Alexius reign
He will be good and generous to them all.

Eudocia.
Alexius! who's to govern in his nonage?

Anna.
They ope the gates; the multitude throng in;
Some one approaches.

Eudocia.
Isaac, by his step.
I'll tell him all I think.

Anna.
Oh no, not now;
Give him a welcome now.
Enter Comnenus.
My friend, my cousin,
A thousand welcomes leaping to my lips
Would fain be uttered if they could.

Comnenus.
Enough;
More than an empire is the worth of one.
You stay too long; the tables are all spread.

Eudocia.
Where is your diadem?

Comnenus.
'Tis given away.
No more about it—there's a feast below.

Eudocia.
It is not well to balk your triumphs thus,
And cheat the friends who aided you to rise.
All was endured for you—ay, in the hope
That this which has come would come—that this hour
Of full regality would crown the ascent,
The perils of the upward path were braved.

Comnenus.
Eudocia, be content; I could not reign.

Eudocia.
Not reign! Who says not you were born to reign?

Comnenus.
I am not of that mind; of what hath been,
I can say boldly I was born to that;
More can I not,—unless it be worth while
To predicate that I was born to die.
Engraft, my sister, on a greener stock
Your love and pride, and they shall flourish long:
There wants not divination of decay
In that from which your earlier hopes drew life.
Alexius is docile; him your care
Shall train to empire, him your counsel teach,
As counsel is there none by which in straits
I half so much have profited. Now first
I need it not; for henceforth there is none
Can be of counsel with me. I transfer
That with the crown, a not unequal gift
Nor ill assorting with imperial power.

Eudocia.
I know you not; so all unroyal now
That rose to royalty so gloriously—
Now when all men are gazing at your height
As at a ruling planetary power.

Comnenus.
I never, even when a boy, desired
To be star-gazed of men. You could not think it.
What I desired has been this day fulfilled;
The living of my race are safe and free;
The dead are not dishonoured: some firm friends
And many loose adherents will be paid,
Some less, some more, the wages of their work.
This was desired; this was or will be done;
And being done, I know not that I owe
To dead or living of mankind aught more.

Eudocia.
And how wilt thou dispose thy future life
To profit more thyself?

Comnenus.
Of that hereafter.
Alexius must feast his Lords below,
And you assist him. I must give meanwhile
Some needful orders and survey the posts
Or e'er the night waste further. Fare you well.

Eudocia.
My noble brother, must you go? Farewell.
I said not aught ungentle? if I did,
You know that I have loved you from your birth.

Comnenus.
Not an ungentle word—not one—not one.
I'll seek your chamber ere we sleep and court
Some further conference.

Eudocia.
I know not why,
But I am loth to see you leave us. Well:
Till midnight I shall scarce expect you back;
But do not fail me then.

Comnenus.
About that hour.

[Exit.
Eudocia.
Oh! I forgot—but he is gone.

Anna.
What is it?

Eudocia.
I wished to tell him he should take his guard;
The city is disorderly—no matter;
We'll send Macrinus.—Are you ready?—Come.

Scene V.

—A Cell in the ruins of a Convent.—The Patriarch lying on a pallet.
Enter Theodora.
Theodora.
All goes as we would have it, holy father;
The Mæsian men stand firm and nought transpires.

Patriarch.
Who is it—Ha? Who's there?

Theodora.
Most reverend Lord,
Arouse you and look up. Our purpose thrives.

Patriarch.
I say again who is it? Speak, who is it?

Theodora.
The Princess Theodora.

Patriarch.
Theodora!
What, hast thou stricken him? reach me thy palm.
Lo! there's no blood—all over ashy white.
The Princess Theodora—why then speak—
Say—hast thou dealt the blow?

Theodora.
Father, not yet;
The hour has not yet come.

Patriarch.
Not yet, not yet?
That ever was the cry—when I said, “Strike,”
Some coward came between and said, “Not yet.”

Theodora.
Compose thy mind; the season is at hand,
And duly as the day and night go round
The work shall be fulfilled; for deeper vows
Than ever pilgrim pledged his soul withal
Devote me to this deed.—He hears me not.

Patriarch.
Bring holy water that my hands be cleansed.
The Father of the Church this day hath slain
Seven men in battle—be his sins absolved.

Theodora.
Christ! that his senses should forsake him now,
At once, and in this need! Arouse thy mind;
Father, Comnenus reigns; this very hour
He will be crowned; bethink thee of the hour.

Patriarch.
Think'st thou I hear thee not—beshrew thy shouting—
I bade thee smite him and thou brought'st me back
A pair of lily palms and saidst, “Not yet.”
But hark! his soul is cared for: 'twas my charge
And I have tended it: die when he may
There is a weight on that—help! I am slain—
What traitor drave that spear?—Soft, let me lie.

Theodora.
Great God! is this his death-stroke?

Patriarch.
Let me lie—
Let me lie down.

Theodora.
What hinders you, my Lord;
Pray you lie down. His back's as stark as steel.
He is convulsed.—Help, friends, help! help, without!

Enter a Mæsian Officer.
Officer.
I greet your Highness with but evil news—

Theodora.
Peace with thy news—seest not the Patriarch ta'en
With the death-struggle? help to lay him down.
Soft! he's more placid now. Go, call the priests.
[Exit the Officer.
Lo! his eyes open wide:—how now?

Patriarch.
Methought
That there was some one dying in this house.
Who may it be?

Theodora.
Nay, turn thy thoughts elsewhere;
Call on Lord Jesus and His holy mother;
Think thou wert ever steadfast in the faith
And may'st have hope of grace. Here come the priests.
Ill may I do their office.

Enter Priests.
1st Priest.
Much I fear
The life hath left him. Open thou his vest.
The pulse is gone—gone utterly—alas!
The soul's departed.

Theodora.
'Twas an awful strife.
Take forth the body.

2nd Priest.
Lo, beneath his vest
Here is a wound still bloody, and received
Doubtless in this day's fight.

1st Priest.
And here are scars
Of wounds received long since. Men wont to say
He was not in his youth the sinless saint
We knew him, but a man of lawless life
And militant in other wars than ours.
Some blood was spilt in stifling of that tale,
And like enough he spared the surgeon's aid
Rather than show these scars. So—bear him out.

[Exeunt Priests with the body.
Theodora.
This is a fearful hour. A terrible end
Was that old man's, and if all tales be true
Many a dark deed his soul is charged with. Ay,
A fearful hour to usher in an act
That may lie heavy on the soul hereafter.

Re-enter the Officer.
Officer.
By the Count's command
The Mæsians have been suddenly disarmed.

Theodora.
Disarmed! and they resisted not?

Officer.
Their Chief
Had been entrapped before, and when assured
That all should have an equal share of spoil
They gave their arms.

Theodora.
My father's word fulfilled!

Officer.
A few were headstrong, and amongst them I,
In cover of a tumult that ensued,
Took sword in hand and brake away to you.

Theodora.
Enough, Sir; I discharge you from all dues
Of future service.

Officer.
I shall ever hold
My service at your Highness's command.

Theodora.
I thank you; for I did not look to find
In such extremity a heart so true.
My last memorial for service done
Is this. Accept it from a fallen friend.
[Giving a ring.
Now, Sir, farewell; our common cause expires;
What may remain is Theodora's; she
Will execute henceforth her own behests.

[Exit the Mæsian Officer.
Enter a Messenger.
Messenger.
Alas! your Highness, there is grievous news;
My Lord, your royal father—

Theodora.
What of him?

Messenger.
By his own hand hath died.

Theodora.
My father dead?

Messenger.
The warder found him almost cold and stiff;
He had been dead an hour.

Theodora.
No marvel this.
To him the bitterness of death was past;
He has done well and wisely; in the world
He had no more to do; there yet remains
A task of mine unfinished. Now, to work.

Scene VI.

—A large Hall leading to the Banqueting Chamber in the Palace, from which guests are passing out at intervals. In front is the Steward of the Household, with Musicians and other Attendants.
Steward.

The healths come faster now. Aye, aye, they're breaking up and not a second too soon. Hark!
that is our young Emperor's health they're drinking, and
his is the last. Now, my masters of sing-song, give him
your good e'en.

Music.
Thou that many a night hast found
Soldier's bed on guarded ground,
There to sleep and thence to leap
Lightly at the trumpet's sound,
Softer bed be thine to-night;
Other summons than to fight
Wake thee with the morning light;
Rise to-morrow and be crowned.

[Whilst this is sung, Theodora has entered, as a suitor, in a mourning dress with her face veiled.
Steward.
Stand all aside, the guests are coming out.
What wait'st thou for? Make way there! Ho! make way.

Theodora.
I wait for Count Comnenus.

Steward.
He's not here.

Theodora.
He's coming here?

Steward.
I cannot tell. Stand close.
Count Cataculo coming out—make room—
That brave commander—noble Cataculo.

Theodora.
Is he not coming here?

Steward.
I cannot tell;
He ne'er was well affected to a feast,
And speaks irreverently—friends, stand back—
Of wine that's older than himself—room ho!—
The only sin that I can charge him with,
God save his soul in heaven!

Theodora.
Amen, amen.

Steward.
Paleologus coming out—St. George!
That bark's deep laden; Scian wine's aboard;
Yon was a heavy lurch.

Paleologus.
Good friends, good night.
Your servant. Let me hold you by the arm;
For, pardon me, you seem to walk but so-so;
Nay, never mind, I'll steady you; I'm sound;
No milksop neither; but I hold it good
That alway one keep sound to help the rest.
So,—steadily—on this side of that lady—
This side the lady in the grave-clothes—Ha!
This side the apparition—cleared, by Jove!
And so a fair good-night to ghosts in black.
[Going, returns.
And tell Count Isaac, I forgive Count Isaac
For being thrifty of his bounteous presence;
For I've a guess, a shrewd one, mark you me,
A shrewd conjecture of the why and wherefore,—
And to be wise and say no more about it,
I think it may be he's too drunk to come.

[Exit.
Theodora.
Hark you; the matter that I bring the Count
Concerns his life.

Steward.
How mean'st thou?

Theodora.
Yea, it doth.
The scurvy citizens are not content,
And ever and anon some knave cries out
His house is plundered and Count Isaac's men
Have stolen his supper and debauched his wife.
Then lays the rogue his hand upon his hilt
And turns the matter in his beggarly mind,
Feeling dissatisfied: so walks he forth,
And no one's eye is on him.

Steward.
In good truth,
Thou hast described a dangerous man; i' faith,
They're very dangerous, your hungry men;
They have no charity for us that eat;
I ever said, put hungry men in prison,
Else you shall surely have them discontent.

Theodora.
Yet for the time, seeing there's no offence,
They go at large unheeded.

Steward.
No offence?
What call you then the lack of charity?
The lack of Christian charity? What, none?
By my salvation, 'tis a foul offence,
An infamous transgression, which begets
Much peril to us powers that be.

Theodora.
I say
There is a danger nearer to the Count
Than any you surmise: where is he?

Steward.
Well,
He will be here anon and thou shalt see him.
Away. The guests are rising all. Away.

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.

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.