University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

(An Interval of Seven Years.)

SCENE I.

—A Street in Byzantium.
The Patriarch and Priests, Theodore of Studium, and Monks.
The Patriarch.
Good sirs, how think you?
Hath not his Majesty a right to order,
If I your Patriarch have not, that the monks
Should bear no more the sacred ikons forth
Along the streets for worship, and forbid
That any in God's House should bow the knee
To statue or to picture, or to aught
Save only the invisible Spirit that dwells
Upon His altar?

Theodore.
Lord Theodotus,
The usage of the Church is stronger far
Than any word of man. The Church of Christ
Hath in all times since first she built the faith
Fired thus her worshippers, by reverence
For symbols of the Unseen.

Pat.
Idolaters
Are all who do this thing!

Theo.
Idolaters!
Not them we worship, but the Deity,
Formless itself, which fills them. Holy Father,
I pray you ask not this obedience.

Pat.
Son,
By Cæsar's will and by my holy office
I do inhibit thee from such rebellion
As thou dost meditate. Wilt thou obey
And swear allegiance, then thou art forgiven;
If thou wilt not, I have the Imperial mandate
To banish thee from Rome.

Theo.
Then will I go.
I will hold fast the faith and all it teaches,
Whatever doom awaits me.

Pat.
Guards, arrest him;
I have the Emperor's commands. Tonight
He sails for Asia.

Monks.
Nay, nay; he shall not go!
Down with the tyrant!

[Clamour from Monks; Guards press them back and arrest Theodore. Patriarch and Monks exeunt.
1st Priest.
Let him rot in exile,
I care not—gross, idolatrous knave; but think you
Cæsar is true? What think you I have heard?
He did entreat our Patriarch to be
All things to all. The pictures and the ikons
He bids him not expel, but place them high
Upon the walls, so that the ignorant
Kneel not to them, but Heaven. A fig, say I,
For such half-hearted, feeble compromise!
If it is wrong to worship them, 'tis wrong
To tempt the weakling soul. Oh, for a man
With a man's strength, to rule like that brave noble
Michael the Amorian, an iconoclast
In heart and hand alike!

2nd Pr.
Who told you this?

1st Pr.
It came from Michael's lips.

2nd Pr.
Well, he knows best.
But can you trust his word?

1st Pr.
Ay, that we can,
When it suits his purpose.

2nd Pr.
As it does, no doubt,
To pull down Cæsar's pride. Well, breathe no word,
But keep the faith, and pray its champion
Come to his own in time.

[Exeunt.
Enter Courtiers.
1st Courtier.
A plague, I say, on this Armenian upstart,
Who, stammering his bastard Greek, would bring
The Empire to disgrace. There is no judge
But goes in fear of him and of his cant
Of equal justice, threatening honest suitors
If they would show them grateful.

2nd Court.
Ay, 'tis true
We have fallen on evil times; the revenue
Which flowed so carelessly of old, he pares
With parsimonious meanness—such regard
For the complaining villein that it boots not
To be his officer.

Officer.
His faithful army
Knows a worse lot. Such pitiless discipline
He holds, the saintly bigot, not a soldier,
Whatever his rank or age, but seems to pine
Under his prying eye.

Court.
Would he were dead!
We want a Cæsar, as of old, as was
The Michael we have lost.

Officer.
Ay, that we do,
And there is one to hand, alike in name,
Michael the Amorian; strong in noble manhood,
No dreamer of thin dreams, but a strong arm
Which can sustain the right.
See, here he comes!
Welcome, my lord. Have you heard how the people
Rise in revolt, how passionate mobs beset
The Palace; how the mutinous Guards insult
The Sacred Image on the gate, or how
The Abbot, Theodore, among his monks
Carries the holy pictures down the streets
Through kneeling crowds.

Mich.
Nay, nay, too well I know
The shameful tale! Would that our Rome once more
Knew a strong ruler as of yore! But why
Thus wish in vain?

1st Court.
'Tis not in vain, my lord.
You are not alone.

Mich.
Alone, in what, I pray you?
In thought, say you, or deed?

1st Court.
Alone in neither.
You have many friends.

Mich.
Ay, that I hope indeed.
But how should friendship cure the pressing ills
Which do infest the State?

Court.
My lord, I tell you,
And I do speak for all and thousands else
Who think with us; if thou should'st speak the word,
Rome might be thine to-morrow.

Mich.
Ah, friends, good friends!
Breathe not such thoughts, I pray; the Emperor
Has been my life-long comrade; to his bounty
I owe my noble rank, and if sometimes
I have deplored the errors which have led him
To acted crime, yet have I thought them sprung
From the head, not from the heart. Yet crimes they are,
Unworthy Cæsar—treasons, stratagems,
Murders most foul.

Court.
Nay, my lord, speak more plainly.
We did know much, but these—

Mich.
Ask not of them.
My lips are sealed.

Court.
Nay, but your duty bids you
What friendship would forbid.

Mich.
Ay, is it so?
Then must I speak. Oh Heaven, the Emperor
Betrayed to death the stainless Aplaces
And thousands with him, that he might ascend
His bloodstained throne. When he was seated on it
He sought to slay the fierce Bulgarian King
In treacherous ambush at the Conference
And all his train, and since unmerited Fortune
Has given him victory, he seeks to harass
All precious things alike; religion, justice,
The honour of our armies. It is time
To end this tragedy, and if you will,
I pledge to you my life.

Court.
My lord, we all
Will stand by you; we will be free once more.
Give but the word, and all who hear you now
Will die for you at need.

Mich.
Good friends, I thank you,
If it must be, it must. Let it be soon.
Approach the soldiers! Raise the Citizens!
Spread on all sides what you have learned to-day,
And before long, grant Heaven, this tyranny
Lies shattered on the ground, and you shall choose
Some worthier ruler, not myself, who am
Too weak for higher duty than to live
The servant of our Rome.

Court.
Nay, thou alone
Canst save us, Michael.

Mich.
Citizens, I pray you
Breathe not a word, but let us meet together
In secret, this day se'nnight—having fixed
How best to gain success. Now let us go,
This concourse may betray us.

Court.
Noble Michael,
We are all thine.

[Exeunt.
Mich.
Fools, knaves, and dullards all!
Too easy conquest; tho' it suits my purpose
To cozen you, i' faith 'tis weary work.
There is not one among you fit to tie
The Emperor's latchet. Knaves! when my turn comes
I'll deal with you.

SCENE II.

—A Room in the Palace.
The Empress and her Lady.
Empress.
Good Helena, I am weary, yet I know
Sleep will not come to me, if I should seek it.
These rumours of dark plots, and stratagems
Forbid me rest. The Emperor, my husband,
Comes not, so heavy lies the load of care
Upon the Imperial brow.

Helena.
Your Majesty,
Would you that I should sing to you and lull
Your sleepless care to rest?

Emp.
Nay, Helena,
Music speaks comfort to harmonious souls,
But not to those racked with discordant cares,
As mine is now. But come! I know thy skill.
Sing me some sweet, sad song.

[Helena. sings.

[Emp.]
I thank thee, dear,
'Tis a sweet, sad song.

Hel.
Nay, wherefore, gracious mistress,
Are you thus anxious, since your enemies
Are fallen into the toils; the Amorian pines,
Loaded with chains, in prison, and with him all
The vile conspiring crew.

Emp.
Oh, Helena!
Can I rejoice because these hapless men
Are taken, and go forth to die with tortures
Because they did conspire?

Hel.
The Emperor
Were else undone and you—sure it is justice that dooms them.

Emp.
Nay, good Helena, a throne
Gained by unworthy means, treachery, bloodshed,
Breeds like offence in others.

Hel.
Gracious lady!
When did the Emperor shed blood of any?
That saintly man!

Emp.
Nay, Helena, forget
My hasty words—I am unhinged to-night
And miserable, and know not what I say;
This loneliness and brooding thought o'erset
My feeble spirit.

Hel.
I would the Emperor
Might come to comfort you.

Emp.
Nay, nay, indeed
I would not, for I shrink from sight of him.
Long years we live apart from bed and board;
'Tis long since I have seen him, for there comes
A bar between our souls.

Hel.
My gracious mistress,
Surely this is but phantasy; your spouse
Is faithful to your bed, husband and father
Without a spot of blame. For policy
He is the soul of justice, not a subject
But knows it well.

Emp.
Ay! But were this the cloak
Of vile hypocrisy? What then? What say'st thou
If it were proved that every step he trod
To his throne was through deceit; if every jewel
In the proud crown he wears was bought with blood
And treachery; if now he purchases
His safety with the freedom and the lives
Of those who would have saved him from the crimes
Which, unrepented, damn him?
Helena!
I cannot doubt this horror. Michael,
A pure and noble soul, with much reluctance
Discovered all, and since that day I know not
Comfort, or sleep, or peace.

Hel.
Dost know him well?

Emp.
Ay, for I loved him once,
And he—he loves me still.

Hel.
Dared he declare
His lawless love?

Emp.
'Twas his great passion broke,
Despite him, into utterance, and I pitied
His loveless life; I whom kind Heaven had blest
With love requited, till I forced from him
The tale of Leo's guilt. Nay, Helena,
His is a stainless soul.

Hel.
By Heaven, it is not,
But a deceiver's and a villain's—traitor
And murderer at heart!

Emp.
What proof have you
Of these wild whirling words, for without proof
I will not hold him false?

Hel.
Oh, how to free
A woman self-enchained! Listen, dear Mistress,
There is no other way. I needs must speak,
Though the words blight my life.
Dear lady, heed not
His glozing words. I too have loved this man,
And he betrayed me. See, he is a villain!
There is no lie too vile for him, no action
Too treacherous, no stain of blood so deep
But he would soil his soul with it to gain
The pettiest end.

Emp.
Nay, Helena, I loved him,
'Tis long ago, yet cannot hear such things
Even now unmoved.

Hel.
Hast thou not spoken of it
To the Emperor?

Emp.
Nay, I could not.

Hel.
Ah, dear lady,
Love mates not with unfaith.
Oh, tell him all.
I hear without the trumpets which announce
His coming. Tell him all that Michael told thee,
And trust thy love again.

[Exit.
Enter Leo.
Leo.
Wife, is it well with thee? 'Tis long, meseems,
Since thou and I have been as we were once,
One heart, one soul, some secret chilling doubt
Comes 'twixt our lives, not mine, for I am still
Thy lover as of old; but thou hast ta'en
Some deep distrust, 'twould seem.
What is't, my heart?

Emp.
Nay, nay, my lord, nothing but what thyself
Knows best.

Leo.
Nay, that indeed I do not. Tell me.
Thou art not jealous?

Emp.
Nay, indeed, my lord,
My grief is more than that; of that unfaith
I never did suspect thee.

Leo.
Ay, I thought not.
What is it, then? Let us not live asunder.
It may be in a time of treacheries,
And plots, and murders,—it may be our fate
To die together.

Emp.
Treacheries! murders! say you
Thus glibly off the tongue? Hast thou no fear
To use them?

Leo.
Nay, that have I not, nor fear
To punish them when found.

Emp.
Even in thyself?
Deep hidden within thy soul?

Leo.
Not in myself!
I mete no other measure to myself
Than that I give to others.

Emp.
Oh! my husband,
Be not deceivèd thus!

Leo.
Nay, wife, what is it?

Emp.
Is thy soul free from stain for Aplaces?

Leo.
Alas, 'tis not indeed, my days, my nights
Are full of him, and every trivial hour
Has threescore tongues which whisper, “Aplaces,”
Nought else, and shall till death.

Emp.
Then art thou guilty!
It was as they have told me, and 'tis true
Thou did'st betray thy comrade—that thyself
Might grasp the crown.

Leo.
Nay, nay, I did it fearing
He should betray the faith of Christ, no more.
Heaven be my witness.

Emp.
But thou did'st betray him,
And Rome with him?

Leo.
Nay, nay! Not willingly.
I strove to give my life for him, but found
It was too late, our Roman legions routed,
And my dear comrade slain, and for a lie
Forged by a villain.

Emp.
Dear, I do rejoice
That 'twas not as I feared. But that sad plot
Against the hostile King?

Leo.
Heaven has forgiven
The sin I did not. The same serpent-voice
That tempted to betray my comrade, urging
That I should keep the Faith unblemished, bade me
For thee and for our children's honour, freedom,
Nay, life itself, accept the crafty scheme
Which, I praise Heaven, failed.

Emp.
For me and mine!
Was it for us thou sinned'st!
My love! My life!
My martyr once again! My paragon!
Stainless no longer, but more lovable
Even for thy fault—forgive me that I doubted
Thy precious truth. Before thee I would kneel
As to my lord.

Leo.
Nay, wife, thou art forgiven.
'Tis a sad world. But who was it betrayed
My fault to thee?

Emp.
Thy friend, whom once I loved,
Michael the Amorian.

Leo.
God! how base is man!
'Twas he who did persuade me to offend
By subtle argument, which, reinforced
By my great love, misled me.

Emp.
The base wretch!
That I should once have loved so black a soul!
He should be punished.

Leo.
Nay, his punishment
Should rest with Heaven, but now his treacheries
And murderous intrigues, being discovered,
He lies in prison, and to-day the judges
Have sentenced him to die. Poor wretch, I would
That I might spare his life and banish him,
For we were boys together.

Emp.
Good, my lord,
What is his sentence?

Leo.
'Tis to die to-morrow
In boiling oil. 'Tis the law speaks, remember,
Not I.

Emp.
And is't to-morrow? Dost thou mind
What day it is? The birthday of our Lord.
The brightest day in the revolving year,
Vowed to high revelry and innocent mirth,
Because the world is saved.

Leo.
Ay, so it is.
But the law dooms him, and I dare not set
My will above it.

Emp.
Leo, thou art Cæsar.
Thy will is law. I pray you think a moment
What thing thou dost. If thy great clemency
Pardon him not; yet, oh, I prithee, stain not
This holy day with blood.

Leo.
Thou dost not know,
As I, how grave his plot, how great a danger,
I speak not of ourselves, but for the State,
Comes from delay. Nay, nay, I dare not do it.
Let the law take its course.

Emp.
Leo, I pray you
Listen to me this once. To-morrow's dawn
Will see thee in the church, bearing your part
In chanted hymns,—to-morrow thou wilt take
The solemn Eucharist, while in his cell
The comrade of thy boyhood writhes in torture
And his cries shock thy ears. 'Twere mortal sin
To do this thing!

Leo.
Good wife, thou can'st not know
The peril, but because thou takest care
For my soul's welfare only—let it be
Even as thou wilt. I will bid the officer
Bring to me ere I sleep the master-key
Of Michael's fetters. For thy tender heart,
I pray it bring not swift calamity
On thee, and on our children.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

—Michael's Dungeon.
Michael in chains, and Gaoler; afterwards Leo.
Mich.
Good sir, I pray you pity me, and ease
These galling chains a little. It is late,
And I shall die with morning. Of your kindness—
And I have much to thank you for—I pray you
Let me rest now. It is the last request
That I shall make on earth.

Gao.
My lord, my duty
Compels me that I guard thee, but indeed
I grieve to see thee here in this sad cell
Which opens on the grave.

Mich.
They call me traitor.
But I was never traitor to my country,
Nor sold her, as did some.

Gao.
Nay, that, my lord,
I am sure thou didst not. Noble Aplaces
Was long my leader, and who was it sold him
And all his men to death? Not thou, I know.

Mich.
Sir, thou art right indeed. I loved my comrade
With more than woman's love. The power that pens me
Within this dungeon's walls, did to his death
Drive on that precious life. Who is the traitor?
Nay, nay, not I, but Leo.

Gao.
My good lord,
I pity your sad case—and here are many
Who do espouse your fortunes.

Mich.
Give to them
An innocent man's blessing. If your pity
Is real, as I think it, let me pass
The few hours left me in unfettered rest.

Gao.
Nay, that I cannot, for the Emperor
Carries with him the keys; but on my bed,
Softer than is your own, I pray you stretch
Your weary limbs, until the signal comes
Which bids you wake to die. Good night, my lord,
Sleep well till, waking, you shall bid good morning
In the new dawn of heaven.

Mich.
Canst thou condemn
An innocent man? My friends, without the walls,
Are planning my release. Thou wilt have gold
And rank if they succeed.

Gao.
My lord, I dare not;
I care not for my life, but dread to leave
My children fatherless.
Pray you take rest
It may be Heaven will touch the tyrant's heart
With clemency.

Mich.
Sir, it is wasting time
To trifle with you. Let me sleep, I pray you.
I am dead tired.

[Throws himself on Gaoler's bed and falls asleep.
Enter Leo.
Leo.
I cannot sleep. My heart is sore, I dread
The morning. 'Tis the mystic eve when all
The kine, they say, kneel in their stalls, and sounds
Of angel-music fill the starry pole.
To-night of all nights in the year shall I
Sleep while my comrade spends the waning hours
That lie 'twixt him and death? What can I do
To spare his life?
Gaoler, how fares your prisoner?
What! Sleeping on your bed? Hadst thou not charge
That he within the straitest cell of doom
Should wait the morning?

Gao.
Good, my lord, forgive me
If I have erred in this, for I will answer
With my own life for his.

Leo.
Withdraw awhile,
Leave us alone.

[Exit Gaoler.
Leo.
(regarding Michael asleep).
He sleeps the dreamless sleep
Of an untroubled soul. Great God! how strange
Thy judgments show—for know I not Thy Word,
“For so He giveth His beloved sleep.”
Dost Thou then love the traitor, who for self
Would tread the paths of bloodshed and betray
Love, friend, or country? Is not innocence
Dearer than guilt to the All-seeing Eye
Too pure to look on foulness? Does Thy mercy
Open so wide a door, that to the cry
Of the repentant heart Thou dost unseal
The treasures of Thy grace? And if Thy hand
Is pitiful, shall I, who am a wretch,
Needing Thy pardon sorely for ill-deeds
Acted or thought, forgive not? Michael! Michael!
Guilty thou art indeed, but it may be
Thou hast found peace. Here is the master-key
Of all thy gyves—what should the Emperor
Unlock them now, so that thou wake with dawn
To freedom, and a word, a sign might open
Thy prison doors for thee? Nay, nay, I may not!
Would not this plotter, who it seems has gained
That simple gaoler to him, and his friends
The idolatrous crew, the vile, corrupt oppressors,
The needy courtiers and the dregs of the city
Flood Rome with blood? Nay, though he shall not die,
To-morrow, I will send him, guarded well,
To exile.
[Chanting of carols heard without.
Ah, the sacred music passes.
'Tis Christmas morn, once more. I am rejoiced
To hear them once again. I cannot mar
This sacred day with blood; peril there is,
Great peril, in delay; but I will spend
(It may be that I have not long to live)
One happy day at least. With early dawn
I must to the chapel with the choir and sing
My hymns of praise to Heaven.
Enter Gaoler.
Gaoler, keep safe
Your prisoner. It is Christmas-day. God keep you.
He came to-day to save.

[Exit Leo.
Gao.
Ah, who would think
A tyrant could thus speak!

[Michael wakes.
Mich.
What a strange dream!
I dreamt the Emperor looked on me as I slept.

Gao.
Nay, my lord, truly
It was no dream.

Mich.
What! did he come and see me
At rest upon your bed?

Gao.
Ay, that he did.

Mich.
Seemed he surprised?

Gao.
He gave me charge to keep
My prisoner safe—no more, and then I heard him
Say in low tones, these words, “Peril there is,
Great peril, in delay.”

Mich.
Said he no more?

Gao.
Ay, this, “With early dawn
I must to the chapel with the choir.”
Then went
Stealthily as he came.

Mich.
Then am I nigh
Death's gate as ever luckless mortal was,
Who yet did breathe and live. I do beseech you
Succour a dying man. Fetch a confessor.
I cannot die unshriven.

Gao.
My lord, I go to send him.
[Exit Gaoler.

Mich.
Quick! Now with these fettered hands
To write to Theodore and the vile crew
Who did conspire with me. “Michael, the Amorian,
Dies with the dawn. Therefore lose not a moment.
The Emperor in the chapel with the day
Singeth the Christmas chants. Take trusty men,
Disguised as choristers, and beneath their robes
Let them bear arms. If any doubt their man,
Let them await until his pealing voice
Mounts loftier than the rest. Then let the singer
Fall 'neath sure strokes. Remember, if you do not,
Michael, at daybreak, purchases his freedom
With all your heads!”

Enter Priest.
Priest.
My poor unhappy son,
Wouldst make confession?

Mich.
Welcome, holy father,
I would make my peace with God and with the Church,
Whose loving son I am. I have borne no part
With those idolatrous dogs, whose vile devices
Defile the sanctuary, and therefore only
It is I come to die.

Priest.
My son, the Church
Is grateful for thy service, and would give thee,
Through my poor hands, her blessing. Therefore, kneel
And make confession first.

Mich.
That will I, father.
Yet pardon me if I should dare to make
One last request. There are whom once I fear
I did offend—the Abbot Theodore
And other worthy souls. I fain would die
At peace with all the world. Would'st thou, good father,
For I am prisoned, bear the message to them
Which here is written, and to the holy man
Give it in his own hands?

Priest.
My son, I will.

Mich.
I thank thee, father, and will count the minutes
Until thou comest to shrive me.
[Exit Priest.
Nay, my hour
Is not yet come. I shall not die, but live
To wear the Imperial Crown!