University of Virginia Library

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.