University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

—A Room in the Palace.
The Empress; afterwards Michael.
Emp.
How slowly comes the dawn to watching eyes!
How goes the fight? Last night as midnight struck
My husband and his army issued forth,
From out the western gates, hoping to take
The foemen unawares, and now the morning
Has come and brought no news, only a glare
Of fire upon the sky and shouts and cries
Of victory and pain, but nothing certain
Has reached the city. Oh that I might see
My love again unharmed. But as I hope,
Whether untouched he come or wounded sore,
He will have cast from him the weary load
Which weighed upon his soul. To have him thus
Were happiness enough.

Enter Servant.
Ser.
My gracious liege,
There comes a Captain from the field who brings
Good news.

Emp.
Let him appear.

Enter Captain.
Cap.
My liege, I bring
Good tidings. The Bulgarian force has fled
Before the Emperor, in shameful rout
With dreadful slaughter. Our victorious forces
Chase them in hot pursuit. The Emperor
Returns ere long, letting his Generals
Deal with the wretches, and will soon give thanks
At St. Sophia's.

Emp.
God be praised for this.
Heaven has forgiven his sin.

Enter Michael.
Mich.
Good news, dear lady,
For Rome and for thyself. The Emperor
Is safe and cometh soon. Ah, happy man
Whom a fond wife and gracious children wait
To smooth his careworn brow. Such precious fate
Might have been mine long since, but adverse fortune
Blighted my hope.

Emp.
My lord, I well remember
Thy fealty and do thank thee, but young love
Is tyrannous and drives out all besides;
Let us be friends.

Mich.
Nay, never, lady! Never!
Or less or more.

Emp.
You do forget yourself,
And what a loyal friend and subject owes
His Sovereign and his friend.

Mich.
Ah, friend no more,
But loyal subject still.

Emp.
Why not his friend?
Tho' I remember well on that sad day
Of our defeat he spoke impatient words
Of thee and thy design.

Mich.
Me?—My design?
Art jesting, lady?

Emp.
Sir, 'tis solemn truth.

Mich.
He had no cause
But I have much. I could record a tale
Of treachery which would make thy cheek grow pale,
Dared I to give thee pain.

Emp.
Whose treachery;
My husband's?

Mich.
Ay, good lady, and no other's.

Emp.
I do disdain to hear. Nay, sir, say on
What have your lips to say against a man
The noblest I have known?

Mich.
You know his trouble;
You know his careworn visage—his confession
Of sin, his sleepless nights—his load of sorrow.

Emp.
Nay, Heaven! 'tis true
He did confess it, though I grasped it not.
Something hath been of which it doth repent him,
And I have marked his pain; but know he was
The tempted, not the tempter. Is't not so,
Michael? I do conjure thee by the love
You bore me once, tell me by all the saints
What is it that has been?

Mich.
I can but answer.
Such words are a command. What would you know?

Emp.
The cause of his unrest.

Mich.
Oh, awful power
Of conscience which doth rack the sinful head
Beneath the Imperial Crown! I cannot do it.
Have me excused.

Emp.
Nay, sir, I am your Sovereign.

Mich.
Have I your word to keep all undivulged?

Emp.
The Empress breaks not faith.

Mich.
Madam, your husband
Betrayed his comrade Aplaces to death
With all his men, at the great fight, and wherefore?
That he might reign, and you. When at the gates
The fierce Bulgarian raged, and all his sin
Seemed fruitless, he devised a crafty plot
By which our men should at a given signal
Fall on the King and all his train. I prayed him
By all our ancient friendship, by the love
I bore you while I might, to keep his soul
Unstained, by such gross sin. Better defeat,
Disgrace, a ruined Empire, prison, exile,
Nay death, than such dishonour. But he listened
As one who hears not—went his way, and failed,
As he deserved.

Emp.
Oh, it is true! all true!
And is this treacherous wretch my love, my dear,
My spotless martyr?

Mich.
Spotless martyr, say you?
Nay, murderer in act and thought, imbued
With floods of innocent blood!

Emp.
Ah, Heaven! his sorrow!
Must I believe this thing?

Mich.
Nay, heed not, lady.
He comes to lay his prize of victory
Upon the altar, and there is no voice
To say a conqueror nay.

Emp.
But I will say it.
I will not live a day with such a traitor.
Good Michael! Well I know thou lov'st me well.
Advise me! I am wretched, and my head
Abhors this bloodstained crown. Nay, I will fly
Before he cometh.

Mich.
Thou should'st fly with me
But that thy delicate faith and troth forbid thee,
But bear awhile to know his villainy;
Speaking no word, it may be Providence
Will pity thee and send thee swift relief.
Heaven pity thee, my love!

Emp.
Nay, sir, remember,
Such words dishonour me.

Mich.
Farewell! Farewell!

SCENE II.

—A Street in Byzantium.
Citizens.
1st Citizen.

Well, I never thought
to feel happy again after that miserable
winter with the Bulgarians clamouring
at our gates and the whole suburb of
St. Mamas' in flames. Do you remember
that dreadful night, when the
Emperor and his retinue only just
escaped from the Conference by riding

hard, and just as they gained the Golden
Gate and safety, the enemy's horse were
upon their rear?

2nd Cit.

What were the rights of
that matter, Citizen? I suppose those
rascally Barbarians thought to catch
Cæsar in one of their detestable ambuscades,
and were not quick enough.
What a treacherous hateful crew! It
is useless to keep faith with such
cowards.

1st Cit.

Oh, quite out of the question,
in fact, false villains.

3rd Cit.

No doubt; but are you
quite sure of your facts? I know a
soldier of the Guard, and he told me,
under strict promise of secrecy, that it
was the Emperor who set the ambuscade
for the Bulgarians; not they for him.

2nd Cit.

I don't believe it; that
conscientious creature, that mass of
principle and scruples, that half priest
half soldier, do such a thing, not
he!

3rd Cit.

Don't believe it, indeed!
Why, what is the great harm of ridding
yourself of a perfidious enemy by paying
him back in his own coin? Not the
least, say I, and you have only to
succeed to be right.

1st Cit.

Well then, the Emperor is
in the right now. He did not manage
to kill the King of Bulgaria in ambush,
but just as he was sitting down before
Constantinople he dies, as good fortune
would have it, and then the rest was
easy. The Emperor made a sally last
night; the enemy, already sick, were
surprised and routed, and now there is
not a Bulgarian within fifty miles, and
their country is ravaged, half their army
lies buried on the spot under the Mount
of Leo, there is a truce for thirty years,
and there will be a fine thanksgiving
to-day at St. Sophia's.

2nd Cit.

Well, all's well that ends
well. But I think there must have
been something in the soldier's story
too—for from that time to this, Leo
has been desponding, and praying in
his private chapel far into the night and
before daybreak. Why, the chapel
choir have been summoned to sing
Kyrie Eleison so often that the first
tenor's voice is worn as thin as a reed.

3rd Cit.

Well, if it fails the Emperor
can replace him. I am told he has the
most powerful baritone in all Constantinople,
and he has no greater pleasure
than singing the chants.

1st Cit.

Then, depend upon it, the
story is true. He has something to
repent of, no doubt, and it cannot be
any common-place sin, because he is
as sober as an anchorite and a good
deal chaster than a hermit.

2nd Cit.

But how did he come to
consent to the strong measures against
the Bulgarians, if your story be true.

3rd Cit.

Well, I will tell you. I
believe it was the Patrician Michael,
the Amorian, who persuaded him for
his own purpose. I believe he knows
too much, and Leo has to obey him
willy-nilly. They have been comrades,
remember. What was it led to the
defeat and death of John Aplaces? I
have no doubt Michael could tell you
an he would. Who ennobled him?
There is not a greater scoundrel among
the Patricians, and that is saying a good
deal.

1st Cit.

I dare say you are right,
Citizen. All the more reason for rejoicing
that the Emperor is himself
again. Life would not be worth having

under Michael the Amorian, and if I
were the Emperor I would make him
impossible without loss of time.

3rd Cit.

Oh fie, Citizen. I am afraid
a barbarian might, if he heard you,
think our people less scrupulous than,
thanks to the saints! they are.

1st Cit.

Well, it is certain he never
goes to the palace, and the old friendship
is broken off. He is a dangerous
enemy, with no sense of gratitude, and
owes Leo a grudge for supplanting him
with his old love the Empress. He
will begin plotting presently, you will
see. Well, sufficient for the day, etc.
At last, after so many years, our
empire is secure, peace is ensured, and
if it were not for the rascally Priests
and the equally rascally Iconoclasts,
honest men like you and I might have
nothing to do but enjoy ourselves and
make love to our wives.

3rd Cit.

Or to other peoples'? Well,
it is about time for the procession to
St. Sophia's. I hear the music in the
distance.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

—Before St. Sophia's.
Leo.
Surely my soul is shriven of its guilt,
Since Heaven smiles on me now, I am again
Victorious as of old, ere my great sin
A few short months ago blighted my life.
Oh, Aplaces, my comrade Aplaces!
Would thou wert with us now to bear the crown
Which I would gladly yield thee; for indeed
It was not power I longed for, but to keep
Unstained the faith of Christ. For the deceit
Which would have ta'en the foemen in the toils,
I know 'twas wicked now, but pitying Heaven,
Knowing I sinned for others, not myself,
Soiled not my soul with act. I rule indeed
In plenitude of power, and on the altar
I lay my purified and grateful heart
An offering, and will swear an oath to rule
With justice to each humblest citizen.
And knowing war too well will cherish Peace,
And keep the simple faith of Christ unstained
By gross idolatries. I sit in the seat
Of Antonine and Constantine, and strive
To make my people happy.
But I see not
The Empress and my children. Where are they?

Servant.
Her Majesty is well,
But humbly prays you
Have her excused, who when the thanksgiving
Is done will wait on you.

Enter Archbishop, and Priests with Acolytes in procession.
Leo.
Then must I go
Alone, as is my fate.
Lead on, my lords,
I would give thanks to God.

[Procession disappears within the church to chanting music. Empress bursting in.
Emp.
Will God forgive
The hypocrite who lays a bloodstained hand
Upon His sacred altar?