University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

Scene I.

—The Palace of the Comneni.
Isaac Comnenus and Macrinus.
Comnenus.
It will not keep, Macrinus; in such things
There is a rotten ripeness supervenes
On the first moment of maturity.

Macrinus.
I well believe, my Lord, that more such schemes
Have failed from over-wariness than rashness.

Comnenus.
Then be our last convention held to-night;
And see that all be summoned.

Macrinus.
I'll look to it.

Comnenus.
And I must to the palace.

Macrinus.
The worse errand.

Comnenus.
It is unseasonable, but not dangerous.
I know Nicephorus well; his roof is safe;
He'd rather that an accident befell me
In any place than there.

Macrinus.
I hope, my Lord,
You put not too much trust in Theodora.

Comnenus.
In her? no—little enough. I could secure her,
But having not a stomach to the means,
I fain would fancy that I do not want her.
Here comes a Lordling of her train. Good-day.

Enter Germanus.
Germanus.
My noble Lord, the Cæsarissa waits
With infinite impatience to behold you:
She bids me say so. Ah! most noble Count!
A fortunate man—the sunshine is upon you—

Comnenus.
Ay, Sir, and wonderfully warm it makes me.
Tell her I'm coming, Sir, with speed. Farewell.
[Exit Germanus.
Didst thou take heed of yon homunculus?

Macrinus.
Ay, my Lord, I marked him.

Comnenus.
We work in the dark and know not what we do;
He that begot him meant him for a man,
And yet thou seest the issue. After dusk,
As soon as may be after dusk, Macrinus,
We meet again.

Scene II.

—The Palace of the Cæsars.
Nicephorus and Theodora.
Nicephorus.
The Count not yet arrived! still more and more
He shows a purposed tardiness.

Theodora.
Not he!
'Tis not his way to measure out the time
As huxtering the minutes.

Nicephorus.
True—but still . . .
The tidings that Alexius is recalled
Cannot have reached him yet?

Theodora.
Surely they cannot.

Nicephorus.
Unless by treachery.

Theodora.
Whom suspect you now?

Nicephorus.
Nay, no one—none—but yet it may be so;
And he might thence surmise some ill intent
Was harboured here against him.

Theodora.
If he should
It were more like he came before the time
Than lingered. But you bear an evil mind
Towards him, and 'tis looking in that glass
You see distrust and thence suspect suspicion.

Nicephorus.
On both sides cause enough; but none so blind
As they that will not see.

Theodora.
And none so lost
As they that know not and that will not know
How dangerous is fear. By phantoms scared
You left the safe and sought the perilous road,
And you have found it.

Nicephorus.
Perils there may be;
But such as I shall know the end of soon.
'Tis time this tampering with an enemy
Should cease. 'Tis now a tedious half-year
That it has stumbled on to humour thee,
And thou art not content.

Theodora.
To humour me!
Yes, 'twas my humour that your head and crown
Should not be ventured in a needless strife
Nor staked for sport.

Nicephorus.
Thou answerest idly, child.
The strife will come—more desperate by delay.
Advances have been made, if seemly all,
Or less than seemly some, I spare to speak;
And not by deed, I doubt if ev'n by word,
Is aught vouchsafed that we can call a pledge.

Theodora.
Count Isaac's lightest words mean something more
Than in court-currency they pass for. You
Nor any man beside can say how far
His heart is pledged.

Nicephorus.
Why, thus much may be said;
Were it his choice to join his house to mine
And take a safe succession for thy dower,
Knowing the contract might be made at once,
Nought would be left in doubt. All the light words
Of courtesy on which thou build'st thy hopes
Do but dissimulate the other choice—
A choice resolved—to wit, to try his strength
With ours in war.

Theodora.
'Tis you drive on the trial;
He never would have sought it, so your fears
Had let him live in peace; but evermore
You feared and feared till dangerous you made him.

Nicephorus.
Have I not shown him every favour due—
Ordered the triumph for his victories,
Myself partaking the festivities?

Theodora.
‘Twould scarcely be acknowledged as it ought
Since that ill accident, the taster's death
Who tasted of the cup you proffered him.

Nicephorus.
Ill accidents are ever in thy mouth.

Theodora.
And since his triumph in the frontier war,
What has been wanting—what but open strife,
To bid him be prepared for self-defence?
Have you not loosed the hydra of the State—
Have you not stirred the vermin of the Church—
Made compact with the natural enemies
Of order and of empire to molest him?
And you would have him move no step to meet you?

Nicephorus.
Too many steps—too many and too long,
Too many strides Count Isaac has advanced
That ever he should stay his foot in peace
Short of the throne. An enemy he is,
And as such must be dealt with. Cease not thou,
Meantime, to show him favour. But beware
Thou lead'st to no surmise that aught impends . . .
That aught . . . I bid thee once again beware
That thou endanger not thy filial faith.
It is not fitting that I meet him now:
Wherefore, thus warned, I leave thee.

[Exit.
Theodora.
Warned, and feared.
Had I been trusted freely from the first
A better claim to my good faith were his.
Where trust is not, there treachery cannot be.
Were but the Count as quick to apprehend
My leaning to his side, as long has been
My father to suspect my falling off,
We had ere this been better understood
Each of the other. He shall know me now.
Enter Comnenus.
Enough, Count Isaac, rise; you still forget
The well-deserved exemption you enjoy
From all except the first prostration.

Comnenus.
Ah!
Great is my privilege in Byzantium!
In truth, to stand upon two legs at court
Is what is not infrequently forgotten.

Theodora.
But tell me, Count—we should have met ere this—
Where have you been then?

Comnenus.
Sleeping out the noon.

Theodora.
Asleep?

Comnenus.
Why wherefore not? Sleep, only sleep
Houses the fugitive; sleep shuts the door
Against the hour's too saucy creditors
And bids them rail unheeded and unheard;
Sleep bears the flag of truce to foreign foes;
Sleep stills intestine discord; what but sleep
Can separate the combatants within
Till Time and Death may meet and come to terms
And arbitrate the sole perpetual peace.

Theodora.
Oh, it is no time for your race to sleep,
Unless it were indeed the sleep of death;
And there were tumults in the streets to-day
Might all but wake the dead.

Comnenus.
So noisy were they?
'Tis true there was some shouting in the Forum;
It is a trick of the citizens; when it rains
And corn is mildew'd, straight we have a swarm
Of curious knaves will find us out the cause,
And having found, they noise it in the streets,
Which makes this outcry.

Theodora.
Howsoever made
It might have kept you wakeful, for your name
Bore the chief part.

Comnenus.
I verily believe it;
To-day am I the cause; to-morrow, you;
The next day, it may chance, your royal sire.
'Tis all hap-hazard.

Theodora.
Truly think you so?
Then you think wrong; there is a hidden source
Of these dissensions: but I know not yet
What thanks or whether any should be mine
For confidence unsought.

Comnenus.
Dismiss your doubts;
There are two values in a trust reposed;
The first, the knowledge from the trust derived;
The second, the goodwill of those who give it.
For so much as 'tis given in free goodwill
I value it.

Theodora.
Supposing it so given,
What then to recompense this free goodwill
Would you adventure?

Comnenus.
Oh, the infinite pain
Of hearing an interminable secret—
But not upon the instant unprepared,
For I must fast a month and pray to God.
Meantime I take my leave,—unless perchance
There's aught your Highness would command me in?

Theodora.
You came at leisure—why this haste to go?
Is the escaping from my confidence
A matter so immediate?—Thankless friend!

Comnenus.
There you misjudge me: for the warning given
You have my thanks; for what remains behind
I can surmise its import to this length,
That 'tis intelligence more dangerous
For you to give than me thus warned to want.
I am content: that I am thankful too
Time may prove or may not: 'tis true the same.
So fare you well.

Theodora.
For my sake speak you thus?
Oh, if my peace you tender,—ay, or my life,
Know whence the dangers come that threaten them.
I am an Emperor's daughter, but my heart,
Imperial if it be, is womanly:
One arrow is there and one poisoned cup
I have to dread—Oh! turn but them aside
And lightly as yourself will I defy
All else that can assail me; whilst for you
My woman's wit should weave a panoply
That nothing could transpierce:—turn them aside
And let our counsels be of one accord
And we will share the issue.

Comnenus.
That can we never.
Nature has set apart our destinies
And each must follow out the course assigned;
I mindful of this token of goodwill,
Nor you regardless of your household ties.

Theodora.
Talk you of Nature? Well, then, hear my creed.
The strongest ties have Nature's strongest sanction,
And if the ties of blood be not the strongest
Nature doth abrogate and make them void.

Comnenus.
Where these are not the strongest which are they
That are not frail?

Theodora.
Most moral Sophist! Say
That there were sin, the burden of my sins
Is on my conscience, none of it on yours;
Then whom concerns it?

Comnenus.
Happy is the man
Who, unpartaking of the evil thing,
Reaps the full harvest of another's sins.
But then what says the casuist?—

Theodora.
What he says
This is no time to tell. What profits it
Thus to make answer in didactic vein
To overtures like mine? 'Tis fit you know
They touch on life and death. This (learn from me)
Is not the time to ponder and to poise,
But with a resolute mind to choose your part.

Comnenus.
Thanks for the words of wisdom! excellent
And profitable counsel had this been
Were it not that—one melancholy night—
So long ago that I but then reposed
From my triumphal honours—on this night—
Lying awake through indigestion caught
At the Imperial board—my part was chosen.

Theodora.
Then act your part—a rash and obstinate part
And like to prove a tragical—act your part;
Your life is in my hands; a few words less
And it had there been safe—but do your will—
Rush headlong to your ruin—I should have known
That never was there a Comnenus yet
Who would take part with any but his kin
Or counsel save of pride that courts a fall
And plays at dice with Fate.

Comnenus.
If so it be,—
If it be true mine ancestry and kin
Have all so stubbornly maintained this course,
It were presumption in my humble self
To wander from their ways. But rest assured
If nature made us not for facile friends
We are not easily made enemies
Nor eager in ill-will. So peace be with you.

[Exit.
Theodora.
Great God! preserve my heart from breaking yet
And grant me strength to stagger through the world
Till I have struck a blow. But can it be?
No, he will not be stubborn to the last;
'Tis but his pride, and when his power runs low
That feeds it, he will turn to me. If not
He'll have an enemy more dangerous
Than all that now surround him. Who are you?

Enter a Domestic.
Domestic.
His sacred Majesty commanded me
To ask if yet your Highness was at leisure
And could attend him?

Theodora.
Tell him that I come.
[Exit Domestic.
That is a sleuth-hound sent to pry about
And watch my motions. Ay; the time is past
For putting trust in me.

Scene III.

—Streets of Constantinople.—A crowd of Monks, Acolytes, and Citizens of the blue faction.
1st Citizen.

Patience, fellow-citizens, I say patience. Let us all be patient; let us all be patient.

1st Monk.

I say he is an Iconoclast.

2nd Citizen.

Iconoclast! I know not what is Iconoclast! but this I know,—there's no man ever wore a green scarf but deserved hanging in it.

1st Monk.

I tell thee he is an Iconoclast if ever one of his house was. Did he not break the head of the holy St. Basil (whose name be glorified!) with the butt end of
his lance?

2nd Monk.

I say Anathema, I say Anathema, I say Anathema. Body and soul, life and limb, here and
hereafter . . .

Monks and Acolytes.

Anathema esto, Anathema.

1st Citizen.

Patience, excellent friends and fellowcitizens! I say let us debate this matter as wise men
with patience and silence.

2nd Monk.

I say,—body and soul, life and limb, here and hereafter, be he cursed.

3rd Citizen.

Then to hell with him at once.

2nd Citizen.

Most assuredly, holy father, he shall go to hell.

1st Citizen.

Patience, sweet friends; silence, gentle countrymen; patience and silence, I say. I am about
to explain this matter to you.

2nd Citizen.

Why all this clamour? Silence, and hear the worthy Hypatius.

3rd Citizen.

Silence! Why roar and growl ye thus like the bears in the Hippodrome?

1st Citizen.

Hem!—We are all agreed in one thing,— that Count Comnenus is to be made an end of.

2nd Citizen.

All, all.

3rd Citizen.

Agreed, agreed.

1st Citizen.

Then having come to the conclusion, which is with us as it were the ground and beginning of
the argument, it behoves us to look to the reasons, which are, as I may say, the ways and means of coming to the conclusion. For if you fall to without knowing the reasons, you'll be held for no better than brute beasts; since all your wise men, look ye, when they are resolved upon a thing, have ever sought out the reasons before they began. Now you all know that last year's harvest in Cappadocia was scarce worth the ingathering, and that corn here in Constantinople cannot be had for money. And who is the cause of this, think ye?

All.

Comnenus, Comnenus.

1st Citizen.

And that the Huns and Bulgarians and other such long-haired savages carried fire and sword and bows and arrows and long spear and short spear through the heart, and, as I may say, to the very neck and heels of the Chersonese, and looked a very terrible look at us over the long wall.—And who brought all this
about, think ye?

All.

Comnenus, Comnenus.

1st Citizen.

But how did Comnenus bring it about, answer me that?—You're dumb,—you know not. Now
hear me. You all know that some years by-gone this Comnenus was out in the Persian war, fighting in as Christian-like a manner as I myself or any of you. Now mark;—after he was taken prisoner, there comes to him in his tent one evening an old man, wrapped in a flowing
mantle, and holding, look ye, a cup in one hand and a mighty volume in the other. He was as wicked a Magian as you shall see in all Persia; and he said to him, look ye, he said . . . by the sweat of St. Isidore I have forgotten what he said. But ever since, this Comnenus has been one of your bloody schismatics and heretical murdering villains.

All.

We know it. We know it.

1st Citizen.

Ay, and you know too the holy image of the blessed St. Basil, in the niche over the monks of
St. Conon's gate. Now this Comnenus, no farther back than one night I know not when, riding past like a

madman with two or three more such heathen pagan
knights from over-sea, puts me his lance in the rest with
the butt end to the onset, and drives it two inches and a
half into St. Basil's eye.

2nd Monk.

Anathema esto!

All.

Anathema!

1st Citizen.

Softly! you all know that St. Basil is the Patron Saint of this city; now the case stands here;— will he ever look evenly on this city again?

All.

Never, never.

1st Citizen.

Never while Comnenus is in it.

Citizens.

We'll drag him out of it, we'll burn him alive.

1st Citizen.

But they'll tell you, they of the green faction, that he's a very Socrates, a second Cæsar, and holds your clubs are no better than oaten straws and
will not frighten the flies from lighting on your noses.
But mark you this—Did Cæsar ever consort with the
Magians? Did Cæsar ever hit St. Basil in the eye?

Citizens.

No, no.

1st Citizen.

And though I think he be neither a saint nor a martyr, yet I'll be bound for him he was no
blood-thirsty heretic. Why then, if Cæsar was no heretic, a
heretic can be no Cæsar. And look ye,—what I say is
this,—shall all Constantinople be starved to death
because of one man?

All.

Never, never. Burn his house. Cut his throat.

1st Citizen.

Then look ye, what I say is this,—if he be not already fled forth the city gates—

Citizens.

Stop him, seize him, secure the gates.

2nd Monk.

Smite him hip and thigh, hew him in pieces before the Lord.

Enter a Eunuch of the Palace.
Eunuch.

Why do ye flourish your staves in the air, good friends? Worthy father, why dost thou ventilate thy
garment in the east wind? Whom seek ye?

All.

Comnenus, Comnenus.

Eunuch.

Then your search is not like to be long, for I came before him but half the street's length.

1st Citizen.

Count Comnenus, saidst thou! How attended?

Eunuch.

There is a young officer from the eastern army with him.

2nd Citizen.

Armed, armed, saidst thou?

Eunuch.

Ay, short sword and shirt of mail.

1st Citizen.

Fall on him, down with them both! I'll run and make sure of the east gate, lest he make his
escape.

2nd Citizen.

And I the north.

3rd Citizen.

And I the south.

[Exeunt all but Fourth and Fifth Citizens.
4th Citizen.

Lo you! how they run! to my thinking they are no better than arrant cowards.

5th Citizen.

Assuredly they have the gift of running. But if we stay here alone we're dead men.

4th Citizen.

No question of it,—dead.

5th Citizen.

Come along; they say this Comnenus is sworn friend and minister to the Devil. I tell thee
Satan took his Bible-oath to back him out in aught he
put his hand to.

4th Citizen.

I would go, but that it looks so villanous dastardly.

5th Citizen.

Do as thou wilt. Fare thee well!

[Exit.
Enter Comnenus and an Officer of the Eastern Army.
Comnenus.
One whom my brother . . .
. . . What dost stand i' the way for, friend?

4th Citizen.

Nothing, worthy Sir—good day, noble Count.

[Exit.
Comnenus.
One whom my brother holds in trust, to me
Is as a brother welcome. More than once
I wrote to beg him, should he come at all,
To come with what celerity he might;
But he outstrips my expectation. Speed,
'Tis true, is needful; you yourself may see
The state in which I stand; no day goes by
But fills the streets with tumult; even now
Methought I saw a flying rack of the storm
Scud by to leeward. Say, what think you, Sir?

Officer.
My Lord, for those that I have seen, they seem
The very scum of the city and dregs of the Church.

Comnenus.
Why so they are—yet these things have their source.
You are a soldier, Sir,—ay, and a young one;
You would instruct me—for a soldier's dawn
Is rich in lights and guidance—you would call
These gatherings here and there that rise and break
And vanish, worthier of the city watch
With whip in hand, than of a soldier's sword.
Sir, if these slight imposthumes which you see
Were the disease, not, as they are, the symptoms,
Think you I'd send so far to have them lanced?
This multitude, this monster idiot-born,
Moves you not one of its Briarean hands
By its own brainless head; but let some chief,
Though he be ne'er so base, but whoop them on
And they shall follow till the noblest fall.
Your master must be nearer ere I move.
You left him at Ancyra?

Officer.
There, my Lord,
He waits your further tidings, or will move
His somewhat jaded force more gently on.

Comnenus.
'Twere good he came no further or came fast.
I wrote with some caution, Sir; I'll speak with less;
Well knowing whom my brother trusts trustworthy.
Tell him that in my mind the time of choice
Has slidden from our grasp; tell him that now
Our only armour is the crown and purple.
Here stands the throne, and there the block—I say
To one of these must the Comneni come:
Suspicion thus draws down the thing it fears
And emperors leave no refuge save in empire.
This thou shalt tell my brother is my mind.
Say further thus:
If having duly weighed the double venture
He hold forbearance for the lighter risk,
Let him lead back his forces (for myself
I'd put the issue on a throw of the dice
As lief as on aught else); but so he view
These matters as I view them, let him on
With all the speed his lightest horse can make
To the Propontis on the hither shore,
And, barring accidents, I'll meet him there;
And you, Sir, too, I hope.

Officer.
I'll use all speed.

Comnenus.
When past the city gates;
Till then go leisurely and unobserved.
I've noted when I send young gallants forth
In things of trust and moment, straight they'll lash
Their horses in a gallop through the street,
That Mother Gape may ope her casement wide
And Father Quidnunc stare. Take heed of this.
Use all despatch, not as to boast great things
Are staked upon thy speed, but so to join
Despatch with privacy as the stake's on both.
Deem that this trust is for the empire's weal
And not to do thee credit. Fare thee well.
[Exit Officer.
He's a young envoy in a cause like this.
Alexius has the gifts that quicken zeal
In them that serve him, but he hardly knows
What harness it should wear or whither speed.

Scene IV.

—An Apartment in a Convent near St. Conon's Shrine.
Eudocia and Anna Comnena.
Eudocia.
I never knew but all of us were brave.
In tears! I'll not believe you of our race.

Anna.
Oh! were I not I were not weeping now.
Heaven knows it is not for myself.

Eudocia.
Why there!
That were the least unreasonable cause.
Is it my brother that you weep for? He
Is nothing new to dangers nor to life.
His thirty years on him have nigh told double,
Being doubly laden with the unlightsome stuff
That life is made of. I have often thought
How Nature cheats this world in keeping count:
Some men shall pass for old who never lived;
These monks, to wit; they count the time, not spend it;
They reckon moments by the tick of beads
And ring the hours with psalmody—clocks, clocks;
If one of these had gone a century
I would not say he'd lived. My brother's age
Hath spanned the matter of too many lives;
He's full of years, though young: ne'er weep for him.

Anna.
He looks not tired of life.

Eudocia.
Not when with you.
There is a sort of youth comes back on men
By sight of childhood. It is so with him;
At least by sight of you.

Anna.
But others, too,
Call him a cheerful man.

Eudocia.
They know him not.
You knew him not in earlier youth; and I
Can scarce believe that it was he I knew.
The false vivacity of fevered blood
Under the press and spur of times like these
Deceives not me; nor yet the power he hath
Of holding off the burthen of his mind
Till the time come that leaves him to himself.
Disquieting thought hath wasted him within.
Weep for Alexius, if weep you must;
His seems a life worth saving; he is now
Much what some ten years past his brother was,
Yet may be what he is. Let Fate alone;
There's many a man is best cut off betimes.
Date not their destinies.

Anna.
You love them not,
Though you're their sister, as their cousin loves them.

Eudocia.
I would not have them walk in the dusk like thieves,
Nor crouch like chidden slaves, nor dig them holes
And hide like Troglodytes. I'd have them live
Even as their sires of old, linked each with each;
Careless of kingdoms so they might live free;
If not, I'd have them Kings.

Anna.
Alas! and I
Would count it no mischance that sent us back
To our Propontic island, where we all
Were born and bred in peace, who now are strewn
Like a wrecked convoy on a savage coast.

Eudocia.
Hush! Prophetess of woe; the ships sail well,
Though they be deep in the water.
Enter Comnenus.
Here are we,
Obedient to your summons; both in doubt,
And one in dread, of what may be the cause.
Why have you sent us hither?

Comnenus.
Need I say,
Eudocia, that it never was my wont
To clip and pare ill tidings for your ear.
The city is no longer safe for you:
Therefore I sent you hither.

Anna.
And yourself?

Comnenus.
My safety will be cared for in due course.

Anna.
And stay you with us, then?

Eudocia.
No! by my faith;
That question I can answer. We seek here,
If I misjudge not, the good neighbourhood
Of Mother Church's sanctuary.

Anna.
And he?

Eudocia.
Think you the sanctuary's a place for him?

Comnenus.
I have a safer refuge. Mother Church
Hath no such holy precinct that my blood
Would not redeem all sin and sacrilege
Of slaughter therewithin. But there's a spot
Within the circle my good sword describes
Which by God's grace is sanctified for me.

Eudocia.
Yet do not be so rash to walk the streets
Without a guard.

Anna.
Are not the riots quelled?

Comnenus.
They are not: they increase and will increase
Until the cause be quelled.

Anna.
What is the cause?

Comnenus.
There are, if truth were known, some three or four;
But one is named.

Eudocia.
And what may be its name?

Comnenus.
Truly they call it by my name, Comnenus.

Eudocia.
Then they miscall it.

Comnenus.
No, not altogether.
When things of evil aspect are to do
The first cause is not named, but commonly
Some slight, remote, co-operative cause,
Whereto the people knit them soul and body
Unknowing that which stirs them up to act,
Which is the mover's cause, not multitude's.
The mover finds them reasons, they him hands.

Eudocia.
Whence hath he then these reasons?

Comnenus.
Oh! they grow wild.
He is an arrant bungler in his work,
Whate'er it be, who is not stored with reasons.
Reasons! there's nought in life so plentiful!
They are the most besetting snares of men
Who ought to act by instinct, did they but know
How far their nature, when not tampered with,
Their prostituted reason would transcend.

Eudocia.
But how are you the cause?

Comnenus.
The multitude
Were ready for a cause—and there was I.
There's much sedition in the gastric juice
Gnawing the empty coats of poor men's stomachs.

Eudocia.
This tells me nothing: prithee to the point.

Comnenus.
What would you have?

Eudocia.
I'd have you signify
What is our hope, what ought to be our aim,
What's to be feared, what to be done . . . .

Comnenus.
Ay—true;
I never knew a woman placed in peril
But must be doing; if not dead despair,
Then fever'd action:—Muse, Eudocia,
Muse, meditate, and moralize like me.
That which I crave of you is quietness.
You would intrust me with your safety, Anna?

Anna.
Truly I would not trust you with your own,
So I could find you a more careful guard;
But as for mine I'd trust it with a foe.

Comnenus.
Where would you find one?

Anna.
Oh! it were easy, that;
Foes are as plentiful as lukewarm friends.

Eudocia.
Why, Anna, can your tongue too play the censor!

Comnenus.
My cousin, may you ne'er have cause to prove
The fervour of your friends.—Hark! there's the bell:
Is it for vespers?

Anna.
It is evensong.

Comnenus.
And you attend it?—tell the Abbess then
That I detain my sister—has she leave?

Eudocia.
Ay, say so, cousin.

[Exit Anna.
Comnenus.
My time is short; but something must be told
Which 'twere as well she heard not. Why it is
I know not (for the thing must come to her
As to all else in time), but I would not
Disclose to her—no, not a thousandth part—
The knowledge which to me, though loth to learn,
My dealings with this treacherous world have taught.

Eudocia.
And what has happened now?

Comnenus.
A summons came
From Theodora: I attended her,
And found her ready to betray her father.

Eudocia.
She is more passionate than politic,
Yet lacks not cunning: she has then despaired
Of winning you by fairer means?

Comnenus.
And these
Have failed her likewise: I refused her suit.

Eudocia.
But not her tidings?

Comnenus.
I refused them too.
It went against my nature to accept them.
I am prepared for whatsoe'er befalls,
Or shall be on the morn. Provision's made
Where it may be adventured here within.
To-morrow night, so that his purpose hold,
Alexius may be looked for. You, from hence,
Can, at a word of warning, reach the shrine;
There wait in safety the result: if ill,
To you, Eudocia, I need not say
How ruin should be met.

Eudocia.
If it be well,
Then no instructor will my brother need
How he should wear the diadem.

Comnenus.
Enough.
That's as it may fall out. My brows, in sooth,
Would rather bare them to the breath of heaven
Than be so gold-encircled: yet 'tis true,
I shall need no instructor. It grows late.
I think I have said all. Farewell, farewell.
Should it be long ere we two meet again,
Yet is it not for us to chide the Fates,
Or make long partings.

Eudocia.
One word more, but one;—
Last night I heard strange stories of a feast
To which you bade your friends: it is not true?

Comnenus.
It makes for me that it should pass for true.
'Twas a Damoclean feast and we sat down
In flowing robes with corslets underneath;
And I may say I ne'er saw graver guests
Met to carouse, save at the royal board,
Where memory evocates imperial deeds
Such as betrayed Britannicus of old.
Another such has waited me too long.
Be strong of heart—be like yourself.—Farewell.

[Exit.
Eudocia.
And I could say to you “Be strong of heart,”
But that were needless; and “Be like yourself”
Were an injunction I would qualify.