University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

—Leo's Palace, Byzantium.
Leo.
One little week has passed since the great fight
Which wrecked the power of Rome, the fight which found me
An honourable soldier, but has left me
Dishonoured and a murderer at heart,
But Emperor of Rome! How small appears
The Imperial Crown, Earth's highest dignity
To him who by deceit has climbed to it!
This is the way the tempter knows to take
The struggling souls of men,—holds forth to the eye
Some glittering bauble, which secured by blood,
Turns straight to dross, leaving the longing wretch
Without the gain he sinned for, and his soul
Stained ineffaceably. I swear by the saints
I never nursed a wish for this sad gift
Of power which weighs me down, I knew too well
Envy's sharp tooth, the deep anxieties
Which round the ruler's head set piercing thorns,
As sharp as Calvary's. I do affirm
I never aimed at power, yet did consent
To do what led me to it, since I knew
That Aplaces enthroned would ruin Rome!
I am innocent of that, but am I guiltless
Of blood? Nay, that I am not! Oh, my God!
When the loud anthems echoed through the dome
Of St. Sophia's, through the throng of priests
The rolling perfumed clouds, the kneeling people,
I saw my dream, which was a dream no more,
But mournful truth. My comrade Aplaces
Betrayed through me! I heard a ghastly voice
Out-ringing all the music, crying, “Treason!”
And who then was the traitor? Was it I?
Nay, nay, I never willed it. Was it Michael?
My friend from boyhood? Nay, what has he gained?
Nothing! While I have reaped a crown, am Cæsar,
And rule the fate of Rome. Gain, did I say?
Oh, would that I might sleep unbroken sleep,
As then I did, ere this sad load of sin
Lay heavy on my soul, making life anxious
And full of boding fears. One little week
Has passed, no more, the fierce Bulgarian still
Is at our gates, flushed with the mis-won triumph
Which treachery has gained him. How shall I,
I, a poor wretch, whose conscience makes him coward,
Lead Rome against the foe? I cannot do it.
The ghosts of Aplaces and his dead soldiers,
Slain by no fault but mine, forbid it. Michael
May know some politic art to save the city;
I'll summon him. Without, there! Summon hither
Michael the Amorian.
Though his enemies
Denounce his crafty temper, yet I know him,
A friend of ancient times, and though he shares
With me the guilt of murdered Aplaces,
I do believe it was his noble hate
Of priestcraft and corrupt idolatries
Which did mislead him. Who am I to accuse
His treason?—I, who profit by his sin,
Who have gained all he might?
Enter Michael, with low obeisance.
Nay, Michael, kneel not,
We are old comrades.

Mich.
Nay, most puissant Cæsar,
I am a soldier only, and do kneel
Where fealty is due.

Leo.
Rise! I ennoble thee,
Patrician of Rome!

Mich.
Cæsar, I thank thee
For this unhoped-for honour, and I swear
To be thy servant, always.

Leo.
Nay, good Michael,
I would not have thee servant, only friend,
As of old time.

Mich.
Leo, my inmost soul
Is touched with gratitude to thee and thine.
Command me to what service thou desirest,
To the cost of life I'll do it.

Leo.
I know well
How fertile in resource thou art, how grave
Our present peril looms. The fierce Bulgarian,
Thanks to our grievous error, presses hard
Upon our city itself.

Mich.
Leo, 'tis true
The enemy press on us, thousands strong,
From the Blachernian to the Golden Gate,
And like the Goth and Hun of older Rome,
Are thundering at our doors.

Leo.
And can we meet them
And drive them hence?

Mich.
Nay, that indeed we cannot,
The spirit of our men is for the present
So crushed by sharp defeat; a score Bulgarians
Would rout the arms of Rome.

Leo.
Then are we ruined
And sunk beyond recall.

Mich.
I said not so.
There are other means than arms to drive them hence.
They dare not press us further, their rough warriors
Are anxious for their homes—there comes some sickness,
Which on their ill-fed levies falling, widens
The gaps which war has made. I do believe
That they would rise to any painted lure
That Rome might set before them.

Leo.
Any lure!
Would'st have us break our word?

Mich.
Nay, we would meet them
And settle terms of peace.

Leo.
Ay, that were well,
The Empire must have peace to recreate
Its wasted strength, which never had been broken
But for our act.

Mich.
Nay, nay, my gracious lord.
It was foredoomed to fall and rise again
To nobler heights.

Leo.
Michael, I would that this
Were as thou sayest; but what terms of peace
Would these Bulgarian rebels, flushed with triumph,
Accept of weakling Rome?

Mich.
It matters little.
All would be well. Be sure the Conference
Would fix good terms for Rome.

Leo.
The Conference?
How mean you?

Mich.
That an embassy go hence
To the Bulgarian camp, and do propose
An armistice. Upon the Roman side
The Emperor and half a score of magnates,
While the Bulgarian King and nobles meet us
With like equipment, in some neutral place
And settle terms.

Leo.
But will they give us terms?

Mich.
I do not know indeed; but if they do not
We have no force to make them.

Leo.
If they will not?

Mich.
Then Rome is ruined. What then shall we do?
There is no course but one, and that I know not
If thou wilt take; but were I in thy stead,
Master of Rome, it were not long in doubt.

Leo.
What would you have?

Mich.
I hold all means are lawful
Against these robbers who invade our peace,
Whom now an undeserved good fortune makes
Masters of Rome. Think, Leo, think, I pray you!
What bloody insults, and unmeasured rapine
Your peaceful people, all unused to war,
Are suffering at your doors, what if they force
Our gates and carry death and cruel outrage
To our uncounted myriads, and Rome sinks
In a pit of blood and fire, and thou should'st die,
Last of the Cæsars!

Leo.
Nay, it must not be.
'Tis from our fault it comes. It must not be.
Nay, nay, it must not be.

Mich.
Then have thou courage.
There is one way alone. When these Bulgarians.
Meet us, as I have said, their King and nobles.
Amongst them, thou knowest well in that rude people
The King and Chiefs are, brain and sinew and arm,
Without which they are nought.

Leo.
Thou speak'st in riddles;
What would'st thou?

Mich.
This! The King and chiefs are all;
The people without these are scattered sheep.
Take measures then, when this convention ends,
Let their strength end with it.

Leo.
Michael, I know not
Even now what thou would'st do.

Mich.
I would set upon them
And kill them to a man!

Leo
(drawing his sword).
Thou most deceitful
And traitorous of men! Would'st have me stain
My honour thus. Quick, draw, defend thyself,
Ere my sword pierce thee through.

Mich.
Nay, kill me, Cæsar,
So I save Rome.

Leo.
Treachery! Treason! Murder!
What warps thy nature thus?

Mich.
What do I gain
If I am traitor? 'Tis for Rome alone,
Not for myself. Can others say the same
Who have gained all—I nought?

Leo.
That we have erred
I know, but never did I dream our error
Would thus imperil Rome. I trusted thee
When thou saidst Aplaces was the Priests' creature.
I compassed not his death, but his disgrace;
But now I know how great a sin it is
To swerve from duty.

Mich.
Then 'tis pity truly
Thou didst not sift my tale, for this is sure,
I was misled in thinking Aplaces
Was the Priests' creature.

Leo.
Oh, perfidious wretch,
Is my soul stained for this?

Mich.
Howe'er it be,
At least 'tis by our fault Rome lies in peril,
And ours it is to save her. Would'st redress
Thy wrong? The way lies open.

Leo.
Leave my presence.
Thy words dishonour me.

Mich.
Ay, but remember
One way there is to save Rome, that I show thee.
There is no other.
If the fate of Rome
Move thee not, nor thy own, I pray you ponder
What fate awaits our innocent citizens.
What thy loved wife and children, if the fierce
Bulgarians sack thy palace, or some soldier,
Less full of brain-sick scruples, seize thy crown
And beat the foeman back. Thou knowest our manners.
Would'st have thy boys unmanned and thy young daughters
Cribbed in a life-long cloister, and their mother
A household drudge, or pining, poor and exiled?
Wilt thou not save thy loved ones and thy country?

Leo
(hiding his face).
There is no other way!
Help me, oh God!

SCENE II.

—The Empress. A Room in the Palace.
Empress.
I would I were a soldier's wife again,
Far from these palace-splendours and the pomp
Of heralds and the load of ceremony
That weighs down Cæsar's wife, for when we lived
In modest state, my husband, with each night
Slept dreamless sleep, but now, good though he is
And full of care for others, the long hours
Creep slowly to the dawn, and I can hear
His wakeful sighs, and see his face with day
More haggard than before. I think he is
Too noble for a throne, too touched with ruth
For this sad world's sad burden, too much filled
With thoughts of heaven for earthly happiness.
A saint, a martyr, yet even this, methinks,
Fails to explain his secret, or the weight
Of deep despondency which presses down
His spotless soul, nor yet our perilous case
Fronting the foe, who thunder at our gates
Since the brave Aplaces fell. To-day there goes
An embassy to meet the arrogant foe,
And yet he throws not off his load. Heaven send,
'Twas no foreboding fear of treachery
From these barbarian levies, that oppressed
His spotless soul. I weary for his coming;
He is too good for men, and yet I know
I could not love him, were his soul less free
From earthly taint. But here I see there comes
A kindred soul to his; a faithful comrade,
Michael the Amorian, whom he hath ennobled.
(How short a time it seems—they were my suitors,
And Leo won.) I will inquire of him
How goes the embassy.
Enter Michael.
My Lord Patrician,
I give you welcome. It is long years since we met

Mich.
Illustrious lady, at your feet
I kneel as I knelt once when we were young.
I am your servant still.

Emp.
Rise, sir, I pray you,
For you are, by the Emperor's grace, remember,
Ennobled now.

Mich.
Nay, Madam, to the woman
I kneel, and not the Empress, and should kneel
Were I the Emperor's self.

Emp.
My lord, a truce
To courtesies. I know you love my husband;
Have you good news of him? He went to-day
To the Bulgarian camp with all his Court
To settle terms of peace. Will he succeed?
Will he save Rome? These foemen press so near
Our close beleaguered city, that I know not
If aught but failure waits him. For a wife
The safety of the State is much indeed,
But her lord's safety more. I do not know
But sometimes I have thought some secret load
Weighs on him, which not all the cares of State
Could lay on him or take from him. Dost know
What fortune has in store?

Mich.
Illustrious lady,
I cannot doubt his triumph, he has taken
Such means to capture fortune, that she lies
A prisoner in his toils.

Emp.
But comes there not
Some doubt to give you pause?

Mich.
Nay, how to doubt?
We are too subtle for these blustering braggarts,
And subtlety is power.

Emp.
My lord, you err.
My husband is as ever, brave and true,
But simple as a child.

Mich.
Ay, so he was,
But statecraft grows with need, till the rude soldier
Grows cunning as a Priest.

Emp.
My husband cunning!
There breathes no purer spirit.

Mich.
Ay, dear lady,
There thou art right,
But not the less his statecraft,
For I have known his purpose, will commend
His wisdom when 'tis known. I do approve
His daring project. I would keep no faith
With the enemies of Rome.

Emp.
Leo break faith?
What mean your words, sir?

Mich.
Nay, there is no faith
Where is not freedom. These Bulgarian robbers
Invade our borders, sack our cities, lead
Our citizens the citizens of Rome—
To slavery. By some mad stroke of fortune,
They rout our bravest General and press
Close on our homes. What honourable peace
Can come from such? The Emperor goes forth
To treat,
Taking his life as in his hands.
Were it not well to trim the balance thus
That if they will not do the right they should,
Rome should be safe?

Emp.
I do not grasp your thought.

Mich.
Nay, it is this. If the Bulgarian hosts
Retire within their borders it is well,
But if they will not, then the Emperor
Has taken measures that the King and Chiefs
Shall trouble us no more.

Emp.
What, in fair fight?

Mich.
Yes, fair, since any fight is fair which meets
Such villainy as theirs. May be indeed
It is a new device, and, truth to tell,
My clumsy soldier-wit had ne'er devised it,
Or, if it had, had shrunk from it. But now
'Tis too late to turn back. Ask me no more.
The Emperor is doubtless safe and Rome,
And all our foemen scattered. 'Tis enough;
He will be back to-morrow.

[Exit Michael.
Emp.
I would rather
Beg bread from door to door, see my loved children
In rags, than that my love should soil his honour
Even for Imperial Rome!

Enter Leo in confusion and haste.
Emp.
My love, what ails thee?

Leo.
Defeat—disgrace,
Dishonour. Touch me not, I am not fit
To look upon thy face. They did persuade me
To that I knew was wrong, and now I come
With hands unstained indeed, but a stained heart.
Keep from me, wife.

Emp.
What is it that has been?
Hast thou then broken faith?

Leo.
Ay, that I have.
And nothing but the accident of fortune
Saved the Bulgarian King and all his Court.

Emp.
From massacre? My love, I cannot bear it
To think thee false. What is it that has been?

Leo.
Wife, it is this. Some one—I say not who—
False friend, far worse than enemy, o'erbore
My will and did persuade me by an ambush
To take the enemy. A sudden onset
Broke on our conference. The King and Court
Took horse and fled, and then, returning, chased me
Even to the walls, and now they sack and burn
The palaces without and all the churches.
St. Mamas' reeks with blood—the citizens
Are taken in slavery, and we are helpless,
And presently the fierce Bulgarian levies
Will sit down at our gates and we shall starve
Like rats in a cage. Wife, I have sinned in vain,
My soul and Rome are lost.

Emp.
I know not yet
Thy meaning as I would, but oh, my love,
If thou hast sinned indeed, full well I know
It was not for thyself.

Leo.
Ay, that it was not.
But not the less I sinned. The blood I shed not
But would have shed by treachery, cries out
Not less aloud to Heaven.

Emp.
If thou hast erred
Thou hast not erred alone—thy comrade Michael
Approves thy fault.

Leo.
What, did he speak of it,
The villain?

Emp.
Ay, he did indeed, and dared
Defend thy honour—for the secret plan
He praised but might not tell me. But my love,
Rejoice that thou hast failed. Surely 'twas Heaven
Hindered thy sin's fulfilment and would keep thee
Guiltless of blood. Repent, my soul! Bethink thee,
Dishonour is not statecraft, victory
Can wound more deep than failure if it come
Divorced from right! 'Tis wrong to do for others
That which for self dishonours. But remember,
I love thee still, and know thee as thou art,
Whate'er the world may deem.

Leo.
Thou perfect woman,
I kneel before thy truth.

Emp.
Nay, dearest, rather
Brace high thy heart and soul—meet in fair fight
These barbarous foemen, and, if Heaven will have it,
Conquer, and save thy Empire, and forget
Thy sin, which was not done, as Heaven forgets it.
Rouse thyself! Be a Cæsar as thou wert,
And save our Rome again!

Leo.
Dear wife, thy word
Breathes life. I will obey. The Emperor
Forgets his sin, and will go forth undaunted
To battle for his people. The fond husband
Loves deeper than before. The stainéd soul
With penance and with vigils, will lay bare
Its mortal sin to Heaven.

Emp.
My heart! My love!