mi:^^ '^t'h mm. ifcAte- '-v;->^- ■'*^%' >■■.''•'' ■' ■ ■ wm: m' fFORN/A The Gift of Beatrix Farrand to the General Library University of Calif ornia,Berkeley crrfv ^ Cvttv n / ■ THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM A ROMANCE IN FOUR ACTS THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM A Romance in Four Acts BY REGINALD ^ARRER AUTHOR OF 'in old CEYLON,' ' MY ROCK GARDEN ' ALPINES AND BOG PLANTS, ' ETC. LONDON EDWARD ARNOLD 1908 [Aii rights reserved] PR4011 TO MY FRIEND AUBREY HERBERT ' — And still I 'Id have this far more precious yet, —A hundred times more valued than it is, — To make a worthier offering for you.' Paraphrased from Countess Philippe in Act II. 41 si im^ CHARACTERS Andronikos Komnenos, afterwards Emperor, in succession to His Sacred Majesty, Manuel I. , Komnenos, his Cousin. Count Raymond of Poitou, Prince of Antioch. His Excellency Count Anthemios, Protovestiary to the Divine Augustus, Manuel, Roman Emperor. Meleagro Calcagnini, a young Lord, suitor to Her Highness the Queen-Dowager. The Archbishop of Melipotamus, in Partihus Infidelium. The Marquis of Montevecchio. The Queen's Highness' Chancellor. The Queen's Highness' Great Chamberlain. The Lord Governor of Trebizond. A Nuncio of the Count Anthemios. A Herald of the Prince of Antioch. A Soldier of the Governor. Roger Brassard, Garin le Blond, Boris the Russ, Alfred of York, Trumpeter and Servitors about the Court. Nobles, Squires, Pages about Her Highness. The Train of His Excellency. The Train of the Prince of Antioch. Soldiers of the Governor. in the Band of Andronikos. viii THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Theodora Komnkna, Quekn-Dowaoer of Jerusalem, widowed of King Baldwin the Third, and Niece to Hia Divine Eternity, the Emperor Manuel. ^ mt Hkr Sacred and Imperial Majesty/ Augusta Theodora, Roman Empress of the East and West. The Princess-Countess, Philippe of Antioch, daughter to Count Raymond. The Governess of the Household, a formal Ancient Gentle- woman. The Lady Melisenda, ^ ^ , -, ) in waiting on Her Highness. The Lady Piordilisa, j Ladies, Gentlewomen, and Maidens in attendance on the Q^een-Dowager. Act I. In the Garden of Her Highness' Dower-Palace, near Beyrout. Morning: in the year of our Grace 1180. Act II, In the Garden as before. That same evening. Act III. Her Highness' Presence-Chamher Afternoon of the next day. Act IV. Three years later, 1183. {In sober fact, the last year in the reign of Alexios II., successor to Manuel in 1180 ; and Jour years before the fall of Jerusalem and the Latin Kingdom there.) A gorge of the Mountains above Trebizond. Towards the sunsefting. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM ACT I In the Garden. A fair pleasance, set with Jiowers. Along the back runs a low terrace, balustraded on both sides, and descending upon the scene by three broad low steps. Upon the further biilustrade are arrayed stone jars of blossom, and, over all, tree-tops and the blue sea are shown. A stately marble seat. Two Servants of the Court are sweeping away the fallen flowers; Melisenda and Fiordilisa are seated, each twining a posy of roses. Melisenda. The Queen sleeps late. Fiordilisa. Small wonder, Melisenda ; Your friend, the old Archbishop, kept her waking Till after midnight with his godly discourse Of all the woes of marriage. Melisenda. He has reason. Do you not know that if Her Highness keeps 2 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Unwed, ;i childless widow, then her dower Drops in the heritage of our Lord the Pope ? Who has given his word, if this should come about, To make a Cardinal of my wise Archbishop. FioRDiLisA. Oho! So hence his pious scorn of marriage ? Melisenda. You read him right. He works by every mean To turn our Dowager's thought from second wed- lock, That thus he may obtain his Cardinal's hat. And I, I give him all the help I can In such a prudent toil. He '11 pay me well, When once his Grace is grown an Eminence. Ah, here 's the Governess. Enter the Governess, {'^hey rise and courtesy.) Reverently good-morrow. And what's our Lady's order for to-day } Governess. This self-same Court of Love Her High- ness holds Each morning, when the lords about the Palace Make suit to her in rhyme. Then in the evening Count Raymond comes, and there '11 be banqueting And state, to give him welcome. — Softly, ladies ! THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 3 Enter the Ladies and Gentlewomen. (^They sing.) Hark, now all the world *s awake, Awake, awake ! Land and sea begin to sing, And chimes do ring From every bell of blossom in the light. But yet our Lady lies in sleep, In slumber deep. Lapped in silken silence yet. As in a net. Cast o'er her by the magic art of Night. Then come and wake her gently, all Ye -songs that fall So clear from Heaven ; ye odours rare That throng the air. Where every flower breathes out her joy in day. Myrtle, join your call to those Of each fair rose. While violets, pearled like Sorrow's eyes, Assist your sighs. Whose fragrance drives all leaden dreams away. [They are now seated, twining wreaths and posies. Suddenly there enters a rough figure, wonderfully ragged and unkempt, evidently a beggar of the lowest degree. Beggar. Now what a nest of pretty birds is here. And how they sing ! Sweethearts, what place is this 4 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Where such a fiock of lovely doves is gathered ? [A pause of consleiiiation. Governess. What ? What ? Beggar. Is this a pious nunnery That you so scare and start ? — Nay, you 're too fair For any nuns that ever took the veil ! FioRDiLisA. Oh ! fie upon the rascal. Melisenda. Call the guards. How came he in ? Creature, how came you in } Beggar. Nay then, if never you see a worser sight Than this of a man almost as God did make him, I '11 call you lucky ladies. — Well, I came By climbing yonder cliff, on which the sea Had cast me, mother-naked. Governess. Yet you are clad. Beggar. Call you this clothing? There a man lay drowned. One of my company, and I took his clothes. In my necessity. Governess. Oh shameful sight. And most unfitting such a reverend place ! Beggar. A fine precise old madam are you, surely ! Come, ope your pretty beak to a better purpose, Sweet ancestress, and tell me where I am. Governess. Ladies, avoid : here 's no fit speech for you. When naked beggars call me ancestress. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 5 Ancestress,, quotha ! Nay, but none of his. Who are you^ graceless thief, and what 's your name? Beggar. Why, a man am I ; what better can you ask ? So give me answer, or I '11 lesson you One of these days, that gold not always glitters. Governess. Sir, I mistook you. Ladies, cry him mercy. [In high scorn. Here is the Cham of Tartary himself. Oh let us all devoutly kiss his toe ! — See you, how prudently he wears it bare, That all the world may do it reverence ? Observe this high and most illustrious prince. My lord the Emperor of No-Man's-Land, King of the Kitchen, Sultan of the Saucepans, Duke of the Dusthole, Marquis of the Mire, Count of Correction-House, and Baron Barefoot, Knight of the ragged Order of the Knave, — With half a thousand other titles more, A mere poor gentlewoman dare not speak Before his great, his tattered Mightiness ! [Coiu'tesies in ynockery. Beggar. Why, what an endless preachment have you made ! [Suddenly cold and autocratic. Go tell your mistress, by mischance of shipwreck. The Caesar Andronikos honours her By being her guest a day or two. 6 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Governess. The Caesar? [^4fter a pause, all break into furious laughter. Melisenda. Oh this will be the death of nie ! Beggar (Andronikos). Sweet bud^ Were you a man it would be. [Grimly. Governess. To your knees^ Ladies. Who would have thought it .^ Here's a Caesar In all his purple pomp. Observe his gold, His jewels, his vestments broidered o'er with pearl. Hark with what silken swell of robe he moves. And how his velvet mantle sweeps behind. Andronikos. Do you still doubt } — I verily believe This ancient lady must be grandmother To doubting Thomas. Governess. Doubt no more, my ladies, Upon your lives, or else this sovereign Lord Will have us all sewn up in several sacks. And cast into the Bosphorus. Andronikos. Am I nothing. Without my gown, my laurels and my state. To mark me different from the common herd } Governess. We weary of the jest, though excellent. Here is a penny for you. Get you gone To one of the scullion-wenches. Make her mend Your tatters. Then we'll find a place for you THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 7 About the Court. Our Lady loves good fooling, And sure, a better fool could never be. — He \vears a countenance of such sober pomp, Discoursing things beyond all bound of reason ! Fie, how my sides ache now with laughing at you. I have not laughed so much in twenty years. [A Tucket. Her Highness calls us. — Ladies, we must go. And you, return ere long in fitter trim. [Exe2i7it. Andronikos (^stopping Fiordilisa). Stay, sweetheart. FioRDiLisA. Yes, my lord. Andronikos. Why say you that To a beggar ? [A pause. Fiordilisa. I do not clearly understand. — You spoke as one that needs but ask to have. Andronikos. Can that not teach you to believe my word ? Fiordilisa. Why no, for rags may cover a gentle- man : But every gentleman 's not Caesar, sir. Andronikos. Well, here you've given me a goodly lesson On garments and their value ; they 're the labels That docket each of us for peer or peasant — Caesar or Pope — Augusta, bona-roba. While, without these, we are but naked men, 8 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM As naked to tlie judgment of the world As are all the dead before the Bar of God. And 'tis these rags alone that set such variance 'Twixt robed imperial Caesar, stiff with gems, And this poor beggar-lad, whose soul is kin To purple Caesar's, and his flesh as white Under his shirt, although his body wear A vile disguise. So signify no whit Or soul or body, but the vesture's all. And here 's the difference 'tween our soul and body: For our bodies we may purfle and bedeck With cloth of tissue to delude the world Into belief that we are more than mortal. But never a tailor has devised nor cut A velvet that can prank our soul with pride, To cheat our Heavenly Judge with a false esteem, Of that frail nakedness which waits His doom, Bemired and bloody, humped and cancerous, Even as, beneath our robes, may be the body That seamster's padding and the jeweller's art Enforce our fellow-mortals to adore, For fair and faultless in its symmetry. FioRDiLisA. Will you not leave this meditation, sir ? 'Tis peevish, and your fantasy far-sought. Andronikos. Why then, it seems that I must be a beggar, [Resolving gaily to his new part. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 9 A beggar will I be ; yes, and no novice In begging, thanks to Cousin Manuel ! / '11 be a notable beggar and tell strange tales. And brag it with the proudest. FioRDiLisA. You '11 do well. Our Lady loves to give, and loves all beggars That give her chance of giving. In Baldwin's time, The Kingdom hardly held a man that worked, But all came thronging for their meat and wine, To beg it freely of His Grace's wife, Theodora the Queen Andronikos. Theodora the Queen .^ — My Cousin ? FioRDiLisA. The Queen indeed, — but cousinhood be- twixt you, I think, is an ancient kinship drawn from Adam ; Nay, cease this flouting. 'Tis dishonourable To your own credit and Her Highness, too. Andronikos. Well, well, poor cousins are not richly welcomed, I see, by Queenly kin, nor by their women ! So then, this house I 've happed upon by chance. Indeed is Theodora's Dower- Palace, King Baldwin's widow of Jerusalem, And niece to his most Resplendent Holiness, Manuel Komnenos, Emperor of the World ? Why, what a chance is this ! . . . Continue, then, 10 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Of liow Her Highness kept the Kingdom idle With lavishing of bounties. FioRDiLisA. So King Baldwin, To cure the evil, hired a cunning friar, With many ducats, to be always by. And thus, with ceaseless begging, drain away Her indiscrhninate benevolence. And so the plot worked well, and all the Kingdom Went back to toil as honest men should toil, Smce the Queen had no more bounty; and the friar Throve and grew fat, being paid of either side. But, at the last, he overgrew himself. And fled to England with his money-bags, Where long he flourished as a wealthy lord. Feigning to be the orphan of a Pope, Well left by his Holy Father. And, since the King Died, in these dower lands, where his widow rules. The soft old times are come again, and all Sit idle, while Her Highness fills their mouths. Andromkos. I am tumbled on a realm of fairyland. I take this as a favourable omen Upon my pilgrimage. Be paid, good angel. — [Kisses Fiord I LISA. And has she lovers, this crowned Charity ^ FiORDiLiSA. Why, you know little of your sex to ask. Hardly a lord in the Kingdom loves her not. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 11 But when her vassal 's achmg in his soul, She thinks it fever, asks him how he does. And brews him broth, and reads to him aloud. Until his heart be breaking. These her actions Are pure compassion. Yet those wretches think Her pity 's art, and say she lacks a soul. And is but some sweet, icy, phantom thing. With dew for blood, and gossamer for flesh. And a cold moonbeam for a living heart. Andronikos. Paint me these suitors. FioRDiLiSA. Four especially Are privileged to dwell at Court and argue Daily upon love's hallowed mystery. Andronikos. And they ? FioRDiLisA. As men, some honest and some not — An old Archbishop, that pays court to her That she may never marry, and thus the Dower Lapse to the Pope ; — a withered Chancellor W'hose dry discussions make a favoured jest ; And a noble Marquis, lineally descended Of Adam and his first wife, who preserves Tinctures and quarterings all with diligence. Up to the scutcheoned snake that Lilith brought As heiress to old Satan. This high Lord Makes love most quaintly, like a pompous herald. One more there is, Meleagro 12 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Andronikos (^walching her). And he makes love? FioRDiLisA {curlbi). Like ;i man ! Andronikos. And all these excellencies court in vain ? FioRDiLisA. She does not even understand their drifts. Nor why they come, but sits and meditates On Heavenly love, without a moment's thought. That, out of all their learned poetic discourse, Six words in seven are shot to pierce her heart. Andronikos. Does not the Crown degrade in dignity } FioRDiLisA. Why, no. The Queen is sweet as honey- comb When in full flow of philosophic talk : Yet, if one wretched man should wax too bold, Warmed by the sunshine of her pensive smile, Then grows she colder than the nether ice, And, in an instant, nips him with a word. As over-hasty blossoms by a frost. Andronikos. I '11 grapple with this Cousin merrily ! No frost yet ever lighted on this earth That could congeal the pulses of my heart ! 'Tis a fair world, lady. Yes, and a hot world too, Full of fair women. — Well, to set my scheme For pleasing Theodora in my rags, I must be very humble, very poor FioRDiLisA, Very discreetly amorous as well. Andronikos. Discreetly } THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 13 FioRDiLiSA. Yes : not harsh, nor violent. Andronikos. Ah so ? This lady loves a fairy tale ? /'// tell her one ! Oh, I will be discreet And flovi^ing out in dainty compliment ; I have a poet's tongue to use at need. FioRDiLisA. Be filled with gentle fancies, tender-hearted Towards all heretics and criminals : Prepared to kiss a leper's sores, and give Your last half-ducat to a drunken gambler. Feign all you will, and phrase in poetry, Frothing your fancy like a sugar-cate ; Then you will please Her Grace's fantasy, Which loves to dally with such dainty meats. But if you dare to offer her a dish Of bleeding human passion, hot and hot, \Vhy, such crude, strange^ abominable fare Will turn her stomach. She is fairy-flesh, And must be fed on fairy food. This life To such is coarse and horrible, but dreams Scented with roses are their natural realm. Where broken hearts are served in imagery, Skewered with sonnets, ribboned with a frill Of rhymed imaginations, and confected With coloured puff-paste, crisp and elegant Of pondered poetry, whipped into a cream Of dainty flavour.~Be Her Grace's cook 14 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Cunning to lay such dishes on the table Whereat her sainted soul sits banqueting. And you '11 find favour. [A Tucket sounds. Hark, Her Highness comes; We must be hence. I '11 bring you back anon. [Exit Andronikos with Fiordilisa. [Another Tucket. Then enters a Servant of the Cou7i, blowing iip07i a silver trumpet. Then another, hearing a banner of crimson silk, 7vhereo7i is a shield worked in gold, with a heart transjixed. The whole surmounted by a crown I'oyal. Then after others, ladies and damsels in escort, Melisenda, carrying upon a cushion a royal diadem. Then comes the Queen robed in state, her traiii 2ipborne by GentlewoincJi. After these in order, two by two, the Marquis of Montevecchio and the Arch- bishop OF Melipotamus, the Chancellor and Meleagro Calcagnini : then the Governess, and the Court. Advancing along the terrace, the proces- sion descends upon the stage, where the Queen is enthroned as President of the Assize, upon the marble seat. The Gentlewomen and Melisenda are arrayed behind her throne, while the Suitors stand on either hand. The two Servitors crouch THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 15 to right and left of the Queen's robe, guarding the crown, which is laid upon its cushion in the midst, before her feet. The Queen, a very gracious and lovely lady, is garlanded with roses, and in her hand carries another garland of the same. The attendant Geiitleivomen have set stools for the Suitors, two on either hand. The CouHiers are gathered behind and around, formally. Queen. The Herald speaks. [The Trumpeter rises to proclaim. Trumpeter. Oyez^ oyez, oyez ! The Court of Love is to repeat its session Here in this spot, beneath the presidence Of our high sovereign-liege^ the Queen of Hearts. The question for to-day is of the nature And true extent of Love. Who reads it best Him Mill the Lady honour with a garland Of roses red and yellow for his prize. The Court is open I [Sits. Queen. My Lord of Montevecchio. Marquis (rising). Madam and Sovereign Lady, I uphold That love 'twixt persons of our quality Is Heaven's own mean to keep great families In due progression of heraldic pride. Thus to distinguish them from the baser sort. 16 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Queen. Nay then, you 're partial. Does not Love invade The Labourer's cottage as the Prince's Castle .'' Marquis. Lady, it may be so — I cannot tell. I do believe my vassals sometimes marry ; Yet how to imagine that their hireling souls, For ever busied in their master's service. Are capable of Love's illustrious motion ? Nay, none but those are princely born and trained Can ever pretend to so well-bred a passion As this most exquisite love. Queen. Say that my grand sire Had married with a cookmaid, must I lose Thereby all claim to judge this cause ? Marquis. Talk not Of things impossible. We know your name And what you are. Nay, you 're the Queen of Love, And, if a suitor come that equals you In wealth and rank and dignity and birth, Why then, how certain is Love's ordinance That bids you instantly accept of him ! Such is Love's mandate. — For an instance, I Am Lord of Borgotaro, Castelbiondo, Montalto, Sichar, Emesa, Chalois, Marquis of Montevecchio, Count of Carmel, THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 17 And Gonfalonier of the Holy Places. Let none compare \vith me in pedigree, Save you alone, my Lady, that are widow To Baldwin's Highness of Jerusalem, And niece to His Most Sacred Majesty The Emperor Manuel Queen. Oh enough, enough ! We talk of love and not of herald's titles ; Your answer's nothing to the point. You have failed.— Lord Chancellor.^ Chancellor (rising). Great Sovereign, thus say I, That Nature moves on mathematic laws, Great wheels and engines irresistible ; And Love is but the poet's antic name For one strong rule that binds the world together. Decreeing that by mutual attraction Two bodies shall be drawn in sympathy Until they meet. The movement 's physical, And based on appetite of life for life. Unreasoning, unpondered, unadorned By any quaint, fantastic, fine conceits Of minds or souls — a thing predicable Of any man with any mortal maid If time and opportunity enough Be given. Nay, trust me. Love 's a natural fact, .' B 18 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Proving the stern, inevitable law WJiich says that one and one make two. Meleagro. With leave, Good master mathematics you are wrong, For by Love's addition, one and one make one ! Queen. Well hit, Meleagro ! Your addition 's best ! Re-enter Fiordilisa. Ah ! Fiordilisa ; why are you thus late, Bringing contempt on our solemnity ? Fiordilisa. Your Highness, as but now I hurried hither, I passed a piteous beggar that delayed me With asking where he best might find your Grace To crave a crumb of you in charity. Queen (in joy). He shall be welcome here ! Marquis. Your almoner Were best relieve this beggar. 'Tis not fit That one so high should speak with one so low. Queen (rising in wrath). Nay then, 'tis you and I and all are low, Before God's blessed poor, his chosen heirs ! It is our humble privilege to serve them, And we their bounden ministers. — Oh, Love — You talk of love and are thus stony-hearted, In your small arrogance of recorded birth ! Love is no toy for gentle ladies' talk THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 19 Or a noble lord's diversion ; 'tis the heart Wherewith we cherish all the wide sad world That God has made and cherished. Dare not you To say you love, until your deep love ranges To all the laden souls in all the earth. Then let me see how each of you will deal By this dear child of Heaven that roams in rags. Until he win his sworn inheritance Of joy eternal. So shall I be judge Of what your souls do truly know of love ! Re-enter Andronikos in rags, more picturesque and less dishevelled than before. Andronikos. Oh, charity, charity, in the name of Heaven, Your Excellencies. Queen {watching her suitors). Now, what answer, sirs } Marquis (inagnijicentlii). Go to my butler for a plate of meat, Poor fellow. Archbishop. Take my priestly blessing, beggar. My Chaplains will provide you shoes and hose And honest labour, if you be no Greek But a faithful servant of our Roman Church. Chancellor {jvith his purse). Have you a bezant, sir.^ Andronikos. Not one, as I live ! 20 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Chancellor (putting up his purse again), A pity, lor I have only a piece of two^ And would have given it, had you change of one. [^Turning to the Queen. We should not be too rashly generous. Andronikos {to Meleagro). And you, my Lord, have you no mercy for me .'' Meleagro {emptying his pockets). Here's what I have — and sorrow 'tis no more, Or you should take it. Andronikos. You're a noble Duke ! Queen (rising). You have done well, Meleagro. — Mark now me. You tight-purse lawyer, you precise Archbishop, You swollen Lord, that none of you have thought Of what true love of man for man may mean. This is the way to answer poor men's prayers — As we would have the answer to our own ! [Descending to Andronikos. Oh, Prince of Heaven,, and heir of all the Earth, In token of the mighty debt we owe, Accept my cloak, my kisses, and my crown, And sit beside me on my queenly seat. [She has kissed him, rohed him in her cloak, and crowned him with her garland. Then she leads him to the throne, and seats him at her side. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 21 To judge this cause they plead that know not love. But yet would riddle him in obscure words. Why, everything of gold and jewels I have — My Royal title and Imperial name. My Hfe itself — I hold of Heaven in trust To spend in making other lives more blest. And if I grudged you anything I have, Why then were I faithless to my holy charge, My holy pleasure ! Hear the lesson, lords ; This is what true love is, that heals men's wounds. And teaches them the Charity of Heaven By true, but pale reflection. Andronikos. I am ashamed : I suit not with your splendour. Queen. Do ive suit, We lords and ladies clad in gold and tissue. With all the pain and hunger of the world } 'Tis we that are misplaced, and we ashamed — Our lives are so far higher than our desert. And our desert, so far, far less than yours. But we shall be requited in our time, And you — Ah, sir, be piteous in that day When we shall beg, hereafter ! Andronikos. For my blessing You shall not need to beg. — Now, what 's your cause. Sweet Lady, that you plead } 2i> THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Queen. The Marquis cries that love is heraldry, And yonder doctor that love is mathematics. — My lord Archbishop, 'tis your moment now. Although I know you enemy to love ; Speak all your accusation. Archbishop. What I say Is not against that love knits soul to soul In stainless maidenhood, but 'gainst that love Of earthly flesh and earthly loveliness. Which men do follow for an idle hour. Till it betray them to the snare of marriage. Then hear my meditation. Love is this. That sells a soul — and damns it, with a kiss ! Nay, what a life have common women-folk, That love and are beloved, and fade like smoke Into the void of a forgotten day ! Lo you, the feet that tread the beaten way Of love, are prisoned lastly in the tomb. Where, truly, love shall lighten not the gloom Among tlie drifting shadows. — Verily, The dance of Life is trod as merrily Upon a palace-floor as in the mud Of those foul roads that Love has stained with blood Across the world. Then let your glory blaze. And suffer Love to go his evil ways. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 23 Queen. Oh. what a springe and snare is mortal love ! But you, my Lord, have swept away the flowers The Flesh has strewn upon that deadly spot. To make it seem so fair and innocent. Meleagro. You mouthed it roundly — was't your Sunday's discourse ? Alas, that you should speak so bishoply ! Now hear you me rebut your lordship's sermon. That this our Lady be not so misled As to believe it truth. — Nay, Love is this, That buys a soul — and saves it, with a kiss ! Oh mighty Sovereign-Queen, what profits it Clad in the splendour of the stars to sit — To have the moon for footstool, and the sun For crown about thy brows, and great things done For garment of thy nothingness, if thou Thyself be strengthless as a forfeit vow, Untouched of Life and all the joys of Life, A barren stock — a Queen and not a wife ! [To the Archbishop. Ah say, what profits it to be so wise With years of labour, since the summer flies ? What profits wisdom in the end of things ? What profits it to be a King of Kings ? How lives the wise man ? — Toilfully, by rule. How dies the wise man ? Even as the fool. 24. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM And is forgotten. Love alone has power To make immortal every passing hour. Love is life's music : Love 's the sacred lyre At whose clear chord the hearts of all aspire To hopes beyond our utterance : Love 's our star. Our hope, our haven where the blessed are. Our clear-voiced nightingale, our golden rose That far across the world his fragrance throws, But dies nor fcides not. — Happy women-folk, That love and are beloved ! Kings fade like smoke. And Empires pass like hoar-frost in the sun ; But blessed they whose course of life is run Beneath the orb of Love. Ha ! Common lives 1 But which are happier, think you, Queens, or — wives } — Then hear not such as preach that Love is sin, But ope your gates and bid him enter in. Queen. Oh, I am mazed ! I cannot understand. But listen as a little foolish maid That hears wise doctors arguing a point At law, yet thinks they do but make a noise. Your answers dimly beat upon my soul, As, from a country very far away. Might waves come ri])pling on the virgin shore Of some far islet in the utmost sea ! Enough of this. I cannot answer you. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 25 Nor judge your answers. — We will play a game. Now each of you shall tell me of your love, What name, what loveliness, what form she has. And how you go about to win lier heart : And first will I, the Queen, to start the sport. Indulge you with confession of the name Wherein my dear love lurks. Meleagro (starling). You love ? Queen. How else Should I be President in this Court of Love ? Meleagro. Well, Madam, torture us with your con- fession. Queen. I know that it is necessary to love, Ere one can talk of love, so I have chosen A very glorious object for my worship. — I have never seen his face — what matter that ? Love only contemplates the soul or spirit Of what it worships. Meleagro. Yet the name, the name. Queen. My love goes rippling in sonorous silks. And all his hem is rough with crusted gems. Meleagro. Shall we not hear the name ? Marquis. Why yes, the name. Queen. His lovely name — shall I surrender it ? That name the very winds do languish for. And soften their harsh voices to a zephyr^ 26 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM When silver trumpets blare his royalty forth To waiting Empires — this is he I love, My Cousin Andronikos ! [A stupor. Andronikos. Andronikos ! Queen. Say all of you, is that no name to love ? Could any man be ugly to the view, Or mean, or boorish, or of humble look, Or treacherous mind, that bore a name like that ? The Conqueror of Men ! — Ah, there 's a name Worth fifty faces for a woman's love ! Andronikos. We are in luck ! Archbishop. Continue loving thus, Sweet holy lady ; such a love as this For what the mortal eyes have never seen Nor mortal appetites desired., is saintly. And does foretaste of Heaven. Andronikos. Here 's a fox ! Marquis. Your Grace, but Andronikos is a knave, A traitor to His Sacred Majesty. Meleagro. Yes, Madam, and an outlaw and a beggar. Low-born, low-tasted, and of low aspect. Marquis. Yes, Madam, all abhorrent to the view Is Andronikos — an unknightly dog, That brings dishonour everywhere he goes To every maid and matron in his path Without regard of shame. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 27 Andronikos (^aside). This is my portrait ! Meleagro. Yes, Madam, and with it all a lying tongue. Else how should he^ so foul, seduce the fair ? A lying tongue, a villainous disposition, An arrant lawyer and a scheming Jew ! Marquis. And, in descent, a mere barbarian Whose mother served a tavern. Andronikos. Pedigrees Run cheap to-day, when the Komnenian Line Is lightlied of these little Latin lords. Queen. You worthily defend me. Here is treason, Black treason to my name and to my choice. Marquis. But, Madam, you and he are far removed. He 's but a straggling branch of your great tree, A cankered, blighted branch of doubtful stock, Whose root's in darkness. Andronikos. Here 's fine forestry, Of stocks and roots and branches ! Marquis. Did you speak .^ — Y'es, Madam, and a loathly thief to look on. Whose face belies his birth. — A thievish face He has, and blotched with wickedness. His hair Is scant with sin. The Devil has ringed his eyes. And on his nose, so high and sharp it is. 28 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM You well mijjjht peel an apple. — Fie, my lady. To have your fancy set on such a <^room ! A low Armenian, in a gutter born. And bred on garbage in a stinking street By the slut his Mother ! Andronikos. Oh Theotokos ! Now will / take the field against these fools. Marquis. I cannot notice such an one as this. Did any speak, Madama ? I am deaf. Queen {to Andronikos). Speak on, and never heed these bitter curs. That yap against perfection. Andronikos. I 've known him well. This Andronikos. Queen. Yes, and what like is he ? Marquis. A beggar that herds with beggars ; thus 'tis proved. Queen. Tell quickly ; is he all I prophesied } Andronikos. Why, Madam, this Andronikos is a man : And yet I '11 better that ; — a dozen men Is Andronikos, weighed against the rest. So free and catholic a heart he has. So free and catholic an arm he has : He will deal love to half a score of women. And death to twice their complement of men, All in the day, and think it idleness. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 29 Could you but hear of love from Andronikos, No courtly popinjays would serve you more. His mouth is made for kisses^ not for words. Queen. He sounds^ upon your showing, rough and rude. Andronikos. Then truth is rough and blessed love is rude. Queen. You talk of hideous things made beautiful By strength, in such a way I never dreamt — Of pitiless arms and blood-bespattered hands. That, somehow — win — my — wonder. Can it be That gentleness is not life's only beauty, And lovely mildness not love's only food .'* Andronikos. No silken son of curd and cream is he. The Caesar Andronikos, thus to court, With meek obeisance and a servile tongue. But flaming cities make his marriage-torch. And the high quire of a thousand breaking hearts Gives music for his epithalamies. Queen. My courtly lovers paint more courtly loves. That dwell in sacrifice and servitude. This is another love. I like it not. Andronikos. Ah, Madam, 'tis the bitter makes the sweet. And the power of fury makes soft gentleness More valued in the heart that gives them both. 30 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM A lion's tenderness must be more prized Than that of any fangless, the wl ess mouse, That could not, if he would, be stirred to rend you. 'Tis danger conquered, played with, makes delight. By thought of what a fair comparison Lies between that your lover is to you, And that he is towards his enemies. My lady, this love of courtiers has no salt. A warrior's love is salted with men's tears ; It has a sting redoubles all its savour. And gives new relish to a heartsome dish : Your Highness, leave these puff-paste loves of yours, And eat good meat of a hearty man's providing. What ! are you widow to a warrior King, Yet find contentment in these sickly sweets Of peace and dalliance ? . . . Andronikos-CcTesar Has tasted love in every earthly peril, And every danger gives it new delight. Imprisoned, hunted, beggared, o'er the world Goes Andronikos, and his heart makes friends Where'er he goes, as fast as ever his arm Makes widows of the friends his heart has won. There is your lover, lady — a roving man. Mere man, mere lover, that plucks the rose of life From every thorn, and makes it bloom again THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 31 By cherishing upon his pulsing heart. — Out on the open road lives Love, Your Highness, And Andronikos is his very self. Queen. You make me drunken with your dreadful words ; I hate them and I fear them. Yet your voice Is not all hateful. Say a little more. So long I have lived cloistered. The air is close Around me. Andronikos. They have mewed you up in vain. You that are widowed of a King, and sprung From men more high than any kings on earth. Do you not wear Komnenos for your name, A crown more shining than the Pope's at Rome r Queen. I dream of violent things beyond my ken. Oh, who are you to set my heart a-dreaming, That long has lain in peace ? But now my sleeps Are stirred to visions of a larger life, Of men that woo with swords and not with tongues, And walk like men — like men, clanging in steel. With tongues that clang in steel too, sternly, roughly.— Sirs, I am frighted. . . . The vision conquers me ; Pray God, it never come alive ! Andronikos. How, Madam ! Would you not wish to make your vision truth ? 32 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Queen. I love to hear of visions, not to see them Made actual in our dusty mortal days. That which we hope is always so far fairer Than what we have. And that which we have lost So much more dear than anything we hold. Before and after, dreams encompass us, And beauty smiles beyond us and behind ; But where we stand is only barren rock, Ugly and grey. So I, with onward gaze. Move ever forth in happy conterajilation Of rosy phantoms becking from the mist Upon my road. But full, full well I know That if I ever caught those visions up, They would be dissipated at my touch, And I be left forlorn upon the strand Where blooms no flower of lovely fantasy. Chancellor. Madam, you talk of very foolishness As if this globe were but a fairy-bubble. In which were never rule nor mathematic. Archbishop. Devout abstraction I Marquis. Most improvident. To slight occasion for a fit alliance. Only for such a whimsical illusion. Queen (rising). You weary me : We'll not detain you longer. — Come, sweet good beggar, let me have your arm ; THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM SS We '11 dine together in my privy lodging. And you shall tell me more about my love. — Come, ladies. \^Exit the QuEENj armed by Andronikos. Her Ladies and Gentlewomen follow in order. Marquis. We are left to warm our hopes On these cold stones — a man of my degree ! Archbishop {as Meleagro, the Chancellor, and Marquis depart). Now Heaven 's confirmed her pious inclination. I '11 send a message to the Pope to-night ! END OF ACT I ACT II Enter the Queen. Queen {alone on the Terrace, looking seawards). How peaceful dreams the sea beneath the moon ! I feel as a spirit made one with tranquil Night, On whose fair breast my life is rocked asleep, As her serene, unfathomable eyes Gaze into mine and charm away the wrinkles That cares, and frets, and troubles of our days. Have written in the forehead of my soul. Meleagro enters and comes into the light. Why, who goes yonder ? Meleagro. It is I, my Lady. Queen. What, Meleagro ? Oh my good Meleagro, What ailed you leave our feast so suddenly } Meleagro. An overpowering sickness at the heart. Queen {yvith vivid interest). And so you came to walk the qualm away, Here in the moonlight } Ah, poor gentleman, Was it our food that so distempered you ? 84 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM SI Meleagro. Alas ! that neither moon, nor air, nor sea. Nor weight of waters, nor grey-bearded Time, Nor aught in life can sweep my pain away, Seeing it is the dearest part of me, And, but by death, inseparable from me. I am my torment, and my torment 's I. We live upon each other, with each other, And must go down to death in company. Queen. Oh what a fierce, inexorable plague ! But all these months you have not said a word Of this cruel cancer. Meleagro. Yet my eyes have spoken. Queen. You make me seem a hard, unfeeling rock, A very stone, an iron murderess. That have not understood your mute complaint ! Indeed you should have told me. I take it ill That you have borne your anguish thus alone. And grudged my portion in your sufferings. It was unfriendly done ! — Now tell me all. Where lies your pain .'' Meleagro. It fastens on my heart And gnaws me ever night and day. Queen. Good lack. What a fearful thing ! How came it first to you } Meleagro. The self-same hour that first I saw your Grace. 36 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Queen. Yet I go free — it cannot be contagious. Meleagro. Ah, God, I would that you might take it of me ! Queen (hurt). You are unkind to me that wish vie pain Because i/oii suffer. Meleagro. Let my rash word pass, Being spoke in spasm of torment. Queen. Ah, poor friend, That anguish thus should wring you ! What have you drunk To ease you — camomile or colocynth } They both are sovereign. Meleagro. I have stayed my pain With draughts of moonlight. Queen. ' Tis not lunacy ? Meleagro. A very dire and dreadful lunacy ! Queen. 'Tis not apparent. What says your physician ? Meleagro. There's none can heal me of my piteous pain. Queen (preparing to descend the steps). Nay then, I '11 feel your bosom if it throbs. [JF/e starts back. Yes, suffer, suffer. I '11 not be denied. What, have you fever that you warn me thus } Meleagro. My parching heart is utterly consumed. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 37 Queen (approaching him and stroking his breast). Let me come at it. . . . Ah, poor fluttering thing ! 'Las, how it throbs and throbs within your breast! 1 would that my cold hand could give it peace. . . . Peace, peace, wild heart, upon your loyalty. 'Tis I command you, I, your sovereign, peace ! Meleagro. Ah, 'tis your faithful slave in everything But that. Or else no faithful slave of yours. Queen. Glad pride have I to think it beats for me — Yet not so wildly, not with such a passion. I am sure your torment 's seated at your heart. So like a thing in anguish does it leap Beneath my touch. . . . — Oh, hot, impatient bird, God's nightingale imprisoned in the flesh. Cease, cease your straggling 'gainst the caging bars Enclose you ! — Would my touch were healing balm To ease you of these biting agonies. [Meleagro starts away. What, do I hurt you } Is the spot so tender } I touched but lightly. Meleagro (beyond coidrol). As a scourge of fire Your slender fingers smote across my grief And waled it red with madness ! — Are you blind ? Can you not see that 'tis oi you I ail ? . . . You are my sickness, you my remedy, My sweet physician and my raging plague. 38 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM By burning fever and my cooling balm To soothe it — you, the source of all my ill, And you, the only hope of my relief Queen. This is a terrible fever you have gotten ! I '11 have a calming posset made for you Of warm sweet Avine, and cloves, and cardamum : And so your sickness shall be exorcised. Meleagro. Here is a sovereign remedy for Love ! Queen. Why yes, indeed ; a cup of Spanish wine Is sure to drive these megrims from your head. I 've never known it fail ; and cardamum Is certain medicine for such keen heart-burnings. Meleagro. Is it so cordial for a burning heart ? Queen. Why then, the two are one. This love of yours, What is it but an ague of the body — A maddening maggot fostered in the brain } And where 's the use of leeches or of potions. Unless to tame such riots of the flesh ? — Nay then, a little letting of your blood, A few days' fast from hot exciting meats ; Strong drugs, with gruel and milk for dietary, Will soon reduce your spirits to their level. And cure you, ere you know that you 've been sick. I am assured on't. I have seen so often Such amorous extravagancies tamed By due repression of these youthful pulses. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 39 Meleagro. Oh, can you be so blind and deaf of heart As to believe when once a man has seen you. That he thereafter has not shaken hands With his Peace for all eternity ? You talk As you believe a man might be recovered From this disease of loving by a course Of stinted feeding ! Let me tell you this : Not fire, nor sword, nor venomous enchantment. Nor lav. 's decree, nor doctor's pharmacy, Nor preacher's word, nor ordinance of Heaven Clear- voiced by flaming angels from the clouds. Could ever divorce me from this love I bear, Crowned, throned, enshrined, and \vorshipped in my heart For ever and for ever. ... I cry you mercy Of all your possets. Cure a soul with milk. And minister with cuUises and broths To lives that ache Avith hidden agonies ! What, lay a styptic to a bleeding heart, And hope to cure a Ufetime's love with porridge ! . . . You were as well go heal a leper s sore With dainty words, or tame a raging lion With reading of a sonnet. Queen. Oh, you are frantic ! The chill night-air has gripped a hold on you. . . . 40 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Go, shift your boots and hid them warm your bed, So shall your desperate mood be charmed away. Meleagro. Well, well, sweet hearts are heartless^, that I see. And universal charity is cold To one poor unit ! Queen. Oh, but say not so. I love you truly, as I love the world — The whole dear world. Meleagro. Yet no one in the world. For, who loves all, loves none. Queen. Dear Meleagro, I love you far too well to love you more. I would not lose my good friend for a kingdom ! So go and drink a cup of Alicant, To cheer you from this bilious melancholy. . . . What, are you gone ? . . . Beyond the moonlit patch It is so dark I cannot see you more. Meleagro. Yes, lady, I am in the darkness now Henceforth for ever. [Exit. Queen. What a piteous coil ! I wonder that men suffer their riotous flesh So tyrannously overbear their spirit ; Such selfish frenzies are no kin to love, To sacred, (juiet love. . . . Some one stirs I THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 41 Andronikos (outside, shigs). Sail make ready, and sail set high, Who 's for the open sea ? W^here all the ways of the world are one, And that is the way for me ! Oh a wandering life, and the world for a wife. And the song of an angry sea, And a stirring life, and a well-hung knife. And that is the life for me ! Then loosen anchor and up with the sail. And hey for the open sea. Where all the ways of the world lead home. That is the way for me ! He enters. Queen. Your song is a cooling wind across my soul That now is fevered, bruised, and tempest-torn, By conflict with a sudden burning gale. Andronikos (to her). Here, in the moonlight, you seem fairylike. Say, have you floated on a moonbeam down. You crystal-shining thing ? Queen. Oh, speak no more ! Your words are kindred to a lover's words. And I have heard so much of love this hour, That my poor soul sits dazed and breathless yet, Its white wings scorched with fierce and burning blasts. 42 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Andronikos. Nay then, but >vho am 1 to talk of love ? — A beggar-lad of no account to any. What could my life presume to offer you For marriage portion ? — a pair of sturdy limbs. Two eyes to see you^ and two hands to hold. And half a ragged cloak to cover you When nights are frosty . . . there's my heritage; A splendid offer for your Royal Grace ! Queen. Nay, but my Royal Grace is not for sale To the richest bidder. I have wealth enough To give and not demand. My treasure- chests Permit me wed without a thought or Avord Of jewels or dowry from the man I choose. To me a beggar and a king are one. For wealth is nothing. True affection 's all, And, in exchange for such a gift as that, I 'd think my Dower-land and my revenues, My gold and silver, everything I have. But far too small a price to pay. Andronikos. You give And do not ask for anything again. Queen. It is my princely nature to bestow. And not to chaffer for a gift in change. Andronikos. Ah, you are proud. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 43 Queen. But only proud in giving. I love to give. I do not love to take. I have so much. Nay, rank and wealth are smoke. Possessing all, I yet might be a beggar In spirit, and in rags I might be rich Above a king. My wealth is in my heart. To serve who needs it, as occasion calls. Nay, little I ask beyond the pride of giving, And even Meleagro knew not that. But plagued me with wild talk of offerings That his fierce heart must needs be making mine. Andronikos. Shall one with nought propose to offer gifts To one that owns the riches of the world } Why then, let kings accept a golden fee Of beggars, and an angel fresh from Heaven Kneel to a sinful man for Heavenly gifts I Oh,, very impudent and vain conceit. That any gift he had could bless your Grace, So stored already with God's richest graces. Nay then, a man that walks the earth on legs Must needs be miry from the earth's foul ways. And lacerate the garments of his soul By all the sharp thorns of the Devil's sowing. That compass round our path. Shall such a beggar Possess a jewel to glorify 7/our life 44 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM That never has bated from its purity, Nor set its white feet in the dark world's mire ? Queen. You sadden me by paintinjr me so perfect. You make me seem as if my joy in giving Were nothing more than arrogance of heart Triumphant in imagined spotlessness. Andronikos. Now, God forbid that reading! I but plead That by entreaty rather than by offer Might one best woo you. Queen. None have tried that road. Andronikos. I 'd come to you upon my ragged knees A beggar, not a giver. I would say That I am nothing — empty, lone, and bare ; A starveling soul^ beplastered o'er with mud From life's rough journey, rowelled with the venom- ous thorns Of shame and sin, by every tempest torn That sweeps me in the whirlwind of desire Wherein my tattered rags of honesty Are all too few to shield me from the gale That flogs my nakedness. I 'd own myself A slave on whom the doors of Heaven are shut, An outlaw from the charity of men That never cast me broken meat or crust Of love to ease the hunger of my heart. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 45 The only gift I bring you in my hand Is one vile, sin-stained heart, these many times Riven and broke, yet riveted again In sort by Hope, like some poor woman's cruse Thus plastered up to carry home the water Is all her sustenance — even so my heart Is a poor pashed vessel, mended up in trust That some day one may brim it o'er with joy Outpoured from quenchless founts of Charity. But what is this cracked crockery to offer To such as you, that drink from golden cups Embossed with pearl ? Your eyes have never lit On such unseemly things — nor ever shall. I would not so abuse your noble patience. Queen. Beg on, I love this music that you render For all it is so sad. Your voice is gentle ; Your weary sorrows play upon my heart. Plucking the chords until they murmur forth That song of love is dearest to the angels. What happiness in life could be so great, — What privilege on earth could be so high, — As to be trusted with the chance to save And heal and comfort such a wayworn soul .'* 'Tis past expressing. Andronikos. I, the beggar-lad That wander homeless, humbly would draw near 46 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Your Grace, and fix my hungering eyes on you To feed full of your beauty. Would you deign Accord me such a banquet ? I could offer In payment — nothing — purity nor worth, Nor wealth of soul, nor rubies of the mind. Nor angel's blessing. You are everything. Soul, angel, blessing, purity and worth, And the rarest ruby in the crown of Heaven. How then, say, if I had them, could I offer My little share to you that are the whole ? Nay, but I lay myself beneath your feet Most utterly, and only beg of you ; For you are lovelier than all women born, And kindlier than sweet breezes in the spring. That wake the blossoms of the frozen earth As thoughts of love upspringing from her heart. Unbound at last from winter's slavery. Even so could you, by that dear tender voice Telling of love and mercy, summon up Fair flowers of hope that long have slumbered deep In dim recesses of my frozen life. Ah, then, be piteous ; grant me but a drop Of that compassion brims within your eyes For all the world's refreshing — but one drop To fall upon the iron aridness That holds my life in grips, and break the soil, THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 47 That all my blossoms be released from prison And leap to life, rejoicing in your grace. Queen. Oh, how you rend me with your piteous pleading ! It needed not so piteous. 'Tis my duty, My honour, my delight to succour you With all 1 have. Henceforward am I yours. In honest faith and service. Now I know A little of true love's significance. 'Tis a passion burns and throbs for painful pity. That yet is joy. 'Tis that which finds a pearl. Forgotten in the byways of the world. And plucks it up, and wipes away the blots That have o'erclouded its white loveliness. — Oh pearl that I have ransomed with myself, I '11 wear you ever on my thankful breast, In glorious pride of my discovery ! Enter the Grand Chamberlain and the Archbishop. Are we not private in our private pleasance } What make you here uncalled } [Exit Andronikos. Archbishop. Nay, pardon us Chamberlain. We cry your Highness mercy for our news ; My lord, the Prince of Antioch, arrives. Queen. Had I forgotten, and do I bear a brain } 48 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Or has that begi^ar charmed away my wit ? Are all things ready to receive the Prince ? God grant they be . . . 'tis by no thought of mine. For never came his name into my head From dawn to dinner. Chamberlain {the Court, meanwhile, entering). We have looked to all, Your Highness. Meleagro, the Marquis_, and all of the household arc now gathered. Queen. We must greet him royally, For he is half a king, and Manuel, My sacred uncle of the East and West, Is wedded to his eldest daughter Mary. Chamberlain. A stately escort's gone to line the gate, And honourably Count Raymond shall be welcomed. Queen {as the Conrt draws up in order). Bring lights, let all be ready . . . wine and fruit — We will receive him here to kiss our hand. A mighty Paladin was Raymond, ladies. And tilted with my Uncle Manuel In the lists at Antioch. Give him courtly welcome. Archbishop. Now piously befall this princely meeting ! Count Raymond stands upon no niceties Where women are. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 49 Queen. You fear he comes a-wooing ! Why, how I read your drifts ! Oh, I am plighted Already to a very dear devotion ! Where is my beggar ? Marquis. How he fills your mind ! Belike he was afraid to face Count Raymond In such a concourse of nobility. A kinless beggar cannot join with us In welcoming a Prince of Antioch. FioRDiLisA. Maybe he went to don a worthier habit. Queen. His heart is clad in vair and cloth of gold, I 'd have you know, and needs no worthier garb. Meleagro. He wears it, then, with the lining to the world, For his outward showing is but thin and poor. Fie, Madam, he 's bewitched you. Queen. Not a whit. Where I find merit, there I bow to it. Meleagro. You merit find in all that flatter you. Queen. W^ith you for judge, my flatterers should speak true. Meleagro. No tongue but mine should dare to praise your Grace. Queen. Then put a veil about my queenly face. Meleagro. Oh Queen, an hour has stirred your spirit up. P 50 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Queen. I have been drinking of a wondrous cup. Marquis. Your Grace grows merry. Queen. I am growing young, As the years go by [Flourish. Enter a Herald. Herald. The Prince of Antioch, Count Raymond of Poitou, the Paladin, Arrives to wait upon her Royal Grace, The Lady Theodora^ Dowager Of Jerusalem. Chamberlain. And welcome comes the Count. Go, give him princely conduct to the Presence As fits his honour. [Exit Herald, attended. Queen. Now grow old again. My heart, to greet this reverend patrician ! Marquis. Madam, your eyes are very wondrous bright. Queen. Then take it, sir, my spirit 's wondrous light. Marquis. What is it moves your Grace to jest and play ? Queen. I have richly fed a beggar-lad this day ! Archbishop. Ha, what a royal disposition 's this ! Queen. And, for reward, my soul is full of bliss. Marquis. You gave a fool the wherewithal to live .-^ Queen. I gave him all a woman has to give. [Herald, tuckets, and a mighty state. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 51 Herald. Make way, make "vvay^ for the Prince of Antioch I Queen {as Count Raymond enters, fully attended). Poor Baldwin's poorer widow makes you welcome. Great Count, and father of Her Majesty. Count Raymond (a stout greybeard, in apparent gloom). Your Grace is good. Queen. Why no ; for times are changed. Not here, in no such trifling tenement, Would I have greeted you a short while since. But now Sybilla queens it in my room, And soon ray Kingdom of Jerusalem Will fall the prey of Saladin. . . . What news Have you to tell me of this changing world ? Count Raymond. Why, all my tale is sorrow, shortly told, All sorrow everywhere. Queen. Nay then, your tale Is somewhat overbrief for wisdom's telling. — No joy, no comfort anywhere on earth ? I fear your journey has distempered you And made you weary. Wili you sup and sleep .'' Life will look fair to-morrow. Count Raymond. A long, long sleep Alone can heal me of my life's distemper. 52 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Queen. Oh how your ominous words weigh down my heart ! Shall we be private ? Count Raymond. Nay, my sorrow's public, And every varlet makes a song of it. Queen {as Countess Philippe enters, guarded). But who is this fair lady, heralded With men at arms ? Count Raymond. You see my life's distemper. There, there in the flesh you see my grief before you — The living canker of my failing heart. The black, black rottenness of Raymond's life 1 The rottenness that must be Raymond's death ! Queen. My princely guest, whom have you brought me here To tell so dire a tale of .^ Count Raymond. Look on her. Is she not fair — a goodly, perfect creature } (JFo Philippe.) Come, madam, perk me up your chin awhile ; You needs must practise to outstare the world. Be not so shamefaced. Shame and you have parted, And neither shall have use of other more ! And yet, your Grace, here stands my living shame. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 53 The very shame iacarnate^ that drags down My lagging days towards their lowly end ! — Oh, shame made flesh ; oh, flesh made foul in shame, Lift up your head to greet an honest woman. Your mirror '11 never show you such another In a century of fast-days. Queen. Prince of Antioch, I do not understand what this may be. But is it kindly, suits it with your state, To rail upon this lady in my court, With noblemen and vassals all around ? Is it worthy of Antioch ? Count Raymond. No, your Highness, no. It is not worthy of that which once I was. But very worthy that which now I am. — Dishonoured now, in my dishonoured life. Are Antioch and Poitou and all my fame ; And whatsoever vent of whirling words, Of scullionly bewailings, and wild oaths. And drablike curses I may turn me to — All, all do fit my present abjectness. And in disgrace, can bring no more disgrace, But only harmony with what I am. Then let these nobles. Lady, hear my ruin. Openly, and from me, without disguise : 54 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM They '11 only glose upon it else in secret, And my poor honour not a whit be salved. Queen. Oh, what a gloomy, sad reversal 's here ! We longed to greet you, longed to have you with us. And hoped each day might breed us fresh content- ment. But now you come, distracted all in grief. With windy words of sorrow, and tear-fraught eyes, And open crying of a secret shame ! — Fie, is not this the Prince of Antioch ? Count Raymond of Poitou, the lion-heart.^ Shall such a man turn woman ? Are you not The paladin of paladins, a king In all but name — and father to an Empress.^ Count Raymond. No, no ; all this I was ; — long — long ago. Now I am only father to a whore. [Pause. Queen. Your word offends our ears. Count Raymond. But more my heart. The pain you have in hearing is no tithe — No, not a millionth fraction of the pain, — The blazing, hot, intolerable pain / have, in uttering. Queen. And this woman, then . . .? Count Raymond. This fair and precious morsel is my daughter, THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 55 The Countess Philippe of Antioch and Poitou, Whose sister is the Empress of the East. Mark you this delicate Philippe of my breeding — How pure and meek she looks. — Why, what a bride For any king or emperor of the earth ! But which of you has a prophet's eye to see The spotted soul beneath that skin of snow ? Why, Countess Philippe of Antioch and Poitou Is cousin to the women of the streets ! Cousin ? — No, sister. She 's a scarlet drab — Sister to scarlet drabs, not purple empresses ! Queen. Good Count, I hold no court for such as these. Why do you bring me this unbidden guest? Count Raymond. Why } Why ? . . . I crave your pardon, Theodora. I very humbly crave your Grace's pardon For bringing such a disgrace within your gates. Why ? W^hy ? — Needs must. I left this precious virgin Safe kept in Cyprus in the Regent's Court, And the next new* I have — I meet her here, Here ... on the road of Jaffa, tramping it Like any gipsy trull to seek her lad ! Never a word, never a word, had I From Cyprus, of these leisure sports of hers. Till there I find her on the Jaffa road. 56 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Pursuing of her lover that had left her ! Here is fine pleasure and a goodly meeting To glad a father as he goes on progress I She 's heard her lover 's somewhere on these coasts^ So needs must toil across the sea from Cyprus To find him, and be made an honest woman ! An honest woman ! — 'Twould tax Almighty God To accomplish such a miracle ! — A Countess Of Antioch and Poitou upon the road Of Jaffa, trudging like a tinker's wife That cries old pots to mend ! . . . Old pots to mend ! Not all the mending in the world, my lacjy. Could ever mend youi' broken pots again, I *m thinking ! . . . Why, her sin is written big Across her body. See, in dust and rags. Heavy with child, a Countess of Poitou, Hunting her lovers over land and sea ! — What could I do but take the baggage up. And fetch her along, for fear she find new lovers And bring fresh blots upon my princely name ? So here she 's caged ; I pray you, let her lie To cool her heels in prison ; I '11 be bound Those feet of hers are fevered now with tramping ! The Countesses of Poitou are not wont To wear the hard roads with their silken soles ! THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 57 'Tis not in honour. Madam, I have brought her; 'Tis as a captive, and no more my daughter. . . . Queen. We hold your tale for very horrible. Our ears are blistered. All our dreams are spoiled — Sweet dreams, sweet hopes, of life and holy love All fouled with mud from this dark, dreadful way Your wretched daughter's feet are set upon ! Ah, Prince of Antioch, how I pity you ! And you, poor lady, fatally beguiled And pixy-led by lust in such a quag. Escort this hapless Countess to a chamber. . . . May meditation bring you truer sense Of all that you have sold to buy so little ! — Peace, honour, hope, and rank and reputation. To buy a little lease of brawny arms ! — You have made Love hideous — taken his name in vain, And forged his writing to a filthy deed ! Oh, my gorge rises ! Count Raymond. Who the fellow was My minx withholds. — But let my cup be full. . . . Some stalwart peasant-lad it was, belike. Or else some scented civet-cat of court In Cyprus, with a pair of pretty legs. Or graceful trick of bowing from the hip ; 58 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Wasp-waisted, with tight buckles to his belt. To give himself good shoulders. — Ah, the choice Of Countess Philippe was, no doubt, as rank As all her action ! — Some well-muscled scullion ! Philippe. I am tired of all your clamours, and this fine lady [Passionately breaking from her sullens. Is far too loud in virtue for my bearing. I cannot hold myself in patience longer. My lord, my lover is no such dirty varlet As this your peevish picture. Why, my lover Is Cousin to the Emperor of the World ! — Bite hard on that — a goodly nut to crack ! Meleagro. The Caesar Andronikos, for a bezant. Philippe. I have no bezant, or you 'd beggar me. Ah, yes, it is the Caesar Andronikos ! Queen. O God, to think I loved this Caesar once, If only in report ! Count Raymond (shows a letter). Well, here's good luck And sunlight gleaming through a bitter storm ! Mark you this letter with the Emperor's seal ? It reached me on the day I started forth Upon my progress. In it Manuel wills, I send to him by any mean I may, Alive or dead, in chains or in a coHin, The body of his cousin Andronikos, THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 59 That lately fled from Cyprus on suspicion Of treachery against the diadem ! Ah, here's my chance. Your punishment's at hand, If I can lay my hand upon your lover? Philippe. Oh, far, far off; what punishment can touch me [Fen/ gorgeous and arrogant. Being Caesar's chattel. . . . And, for Caesar's peril. . . . 'Twould need a baker's dozen of Emperor Manuels And threescore Counts of Antioch to kill My Caesar — yes, and their numbers must be doubled Or ever they 'd hope to hold him prisoner. Oh, I am glorious ! Count Raymond. Rotten, rotten, rotten ! Philippe. I am the Caesar's love ! Count Raymond. You stood too high To be an Emperor's mistress. — Ah, your shame Is black ! Philippe. No — purple and gold ! My shame is shameless. [In high passion. Yes, shameless ! You have stoned me publicly ; Then here I cry to all these gaping lords, I have no shame in «m/thing I 've done ! I am honoured, honoured, in being Caesar's choice. And the child I bear I hold my chiefest jewel. 60 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM My pritle, my glory, and my queenly crown ! Since Ciesar got him. — Yes, and these dusty rags. More rich than vestments of Imperial dye, Since they do cover that which a king of men Has made his own. . . . Oh, beautiful body of mine. And heart of mine, and maiden honour lost And reputation cast into the dirt, And father's ruin, and noble blood's defilement, All, all are precious treasures for me now To cast beneath my golden Caesar's feet — Made doubly precious in being trampled thus By him, and yet I 'd have them still more precious, A hundred times more valued than they are. To make a worthier sacrifice for him ! / would not grudge them. — Am I shameless now. Or mounted up on shame to pride's high point ? I would not change with any Queen on earth — No, not with Mary my sister, crowned and throned Augusta, being the blessed thing I am — The relic-shrine of my dear Caesar's trust, The sacred pyx in which his love is stored. The cup from which he drinks the wine of life ! Queen. I think that all the world runs mad to- night ! THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 6l First Meleagro, and now this wretched Countess ! How shall we heal her ? Count Raymond. Out^ you termagant ! Mouthing disaster like a triumph-song. This love is a most deadly plague of honour ! Queen. Not so, for honour is love's very soul. This is not love, but devilish enchantment. By which the powers of darkness do delude us And cause our souls to fail of what they seek, By substituting appetite for love — The shadow for the substance of delight. Philippe. Here's a fine preachment ! Have you never met him, This Love you talk of in so high a strain } For you tell of him as lying travellers Do use to talk of what they 've never seen, — Of catamounts and hippogryphs and dragons — Making imagination serve the turn Of knowledge. Queen. We loved Andronikos once, So Love 's no stranger for us to misread. Though now, in an instant, is our love divorced Eternally from such a villain-soul With hearing of your tale. Philippe. And say you so } Yet let him part from you so easily ! 62 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Lord help us women, if we loved like that ! And ceased to love because the man we loved Had kissed another in an idle hour ! Queen. Now never, pray Mary on high, may we be holden In such a net of horrible deceit As this that you call love ! Count Raymond. Your Royal Grace Too long chops logic with this shame of mine. I pray you, let your prison bury it A little while. Queen. Convey this lady hence. And, in the morning, we will talk with her. — No more. Our queenly patience has a term, And you have found it. May you find redemption And penitence with far more easiness ! \_They convey away Countess Philippe. Let us go rest, and hope the morrow's light Will wipe away our memories of this night. Count Raymond. I could crave pardon yet a hundred times, For this my coming, yet not beg enough. Queen. You beg too oft in begging once, my lord. Your age and sorrow are your advocates. Nor I, no stony judge where sorrow pleads. Kind guest, your arm — and, gentles all, good-night. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 63 Let this poor lady be your timely warning. And learn by her, when you go seek for bliss, 'Tis soul, not body, gives the wedding kiss ! [After Count Raymond a7id the Queen all depart in order. END OF ACT II ACT III In the Queen's Preseiice - Chamber, a spacious piece. Doors lead to right and left, while towards the right stands the Queen's throne of state. At the hack stretches an arcade of rounded windows, through which one mai/ pass, up three broad steps in the middle, to a vast Pergola, or Italia?i arbour, that is seen beyond, following the ?vhole length of the palace. To the left reaches backwards a wing of the palace, at a right angle, along which the Pergola also follows, and, at its ending, descends to the rigid, through a little locked gate of twisted iron, upon a flight of stairs that leads dofvn to the garden hcloiv. The arbour is embowered with many pleasant climbing plants, and beyond all, over the frees of the pleasance, arc seen fair purple hills and the sea. The Queen sits crowned upon her throne ; Countess Philippe upon a stool before her ; the Ladies and Gentlewomen are on the Pergola. 64 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 65 Queen. Then is it in form or feature he excels ? Philippe. No : Caesar Andronikos has scant beauty — Burly and broad^ and very much a man. That is his picture — very much a man ! Ah, there 's the inward beauty that transpires^ And turns the homeliest features to a God's ! Queen. Not graceful, lovely, delicately knit ? Philippe. No, big and square, and like a gale of wind. That yet can sometimes make his voice a zephyr. Oh, in that body of his there dwells a spirit Would conquer any woman in the world. And lure the very angels out of Heaven ! — Why did you send to question me of him ? You have ceased to love him ! Queen. Judge not any man Says Holy Writ. Then how much less a woman ! Oh, Countess Philippe, I abhorred your fall — I still abhor it from my very heart. And yet, not you that fell. I know you noble, And see you fair. And therefore did I wish To probe into the reasons of your ruin ; What tempted you, and how, and what excuse Your soul makes to itself for what has passed. And if you feel in sober earnestness The bitter price you bought your pleasure at Was a fair bargain ; and, if so, what gold 66 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM You found to wei^h down all the goodly gold Of rank and reputation you have bartered. Philippe. Then has my story made you understand What wayward engine is a woman's heart ? Queen. No — no, I cannot understand your heart : And yet I wonder ... In this man of yours Strange qualities lie lurking, thus to chain you In such an iron bondage. . . . Yesterday I should have said that no such man could be ; That men were all upon one pattern — fools ; Meek, mincing, mild— or formal, circumspect, Or windblown with a happy self-conceit. Or very children to be soothed and scolded — Sick babies to be doctored with a smile. . . . Oh, never could I live that life again, The life of words that yesterday I loved. It seems as if a sudden thunder-stroke Had sent its levin hurtling through the dark Of that dim palace where my spirit slept. . . . But yesterday there came a beggar-lad To Court, that si)oke rough marvels in mine ear ; And, at his word, my sealed and guarded heart Made but one leap from forth my jewelled breast, And now is safely harboured up in his ! So I, the lily that could make response To none of all those silly, tedious bees THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 67 That buzzed their love about me^ now am rifled In one swift hour^ of my whole fragrant store, By a robber butterfly ! — And thus, poor lady^ I cannot judge, nor utterly condemn This fault of yours, with any certainty. I am entered on an undiscovered land. And hoped, in part, that you might be my guide Among its flowery meadows. Philippe. None can guide, Save only One, in that rich Paradise ; For every soul, into the Land of Love Goes lonely, save for Him that walks beside. There is none other that can make a third Where Love is ! Queen. Such a lovely word as that Would fit my Court of Love. — And yet, what are you } Into what dreadful places has your guide Betrayed you ! Philippe. Only dreadful to those fools Live by the silly censures of the world I Ah, dreadful ! Who that rightly understands Would say Amen to that } Shall I, the maiden That am no more a maiden, read to you. The widowed wife, what blessings lie in love } — The violent glory of a strong man's anus. And all the golden thing that marriage is } 68 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Queen. Ah, peace of the grave He close upon my marriage ! They wedded me^ a child, unto a warrior. Alas, the horrible bridal ! — Now in quiet I gather up my broken soul again And seek for love, true love, true holy love. Philippe. Not yet, then — no, for all your beggar-lads, Have you encountered Love. But wait awhile. Queen. I do not like your talk. Come, tell me more Of Andronikos, whom I thought I loved In fancy, half a hundred years ago. Philippe. A roving life he bears, my Andronikos. . . . The Emperor loved him in Constantinople, Until he plotted for the Emperor's throne, And openly dishonoured up and down The Emperor's niece, Eudoxia. Queen. And this villain You still can love ? — Ah, you and I are strangers ! Philippe. 'Tis Love and you are strangers! — Manuel, On strong persuasion, laid his cousin by In prison, where the lady Theodora . . . Broke in, and took him comfort. Queen. Another lady ? His wives are equal to a Saracen's ! — His women, I should say. Philippe. The Emperor THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 69 Next took him back to grace, but in a little He played again with treason, and escaped North to the Huns— not half an hour too soon, For the Emperor's guardsmen followed after him Hot foot, and caught him, on the very verge Of the Empire. So they laid him fast in bonds And haled him prisoner back to Manuel Through the dreary Northern forest.— But one day He feigns him sick, and wins his captors' leave To step aside a little in the wood. They keep a careful eye on him, and note Where his purple bonnet gleams athwart the bush. And so they watch him, innocent poor gulls ! For he has doffed his bonnet and rigged it up Upon a sapling tree, and thrown his cloak About it, to delude them. Then in silence Upon his belly creeps he cautiously Away among the grasses. But his guards Sit studying the bonnet in the bush And wonder what a plague the prisoner 's at To keep them so long waiting. And meantime My lord has won away into the tangle Beyond their knowing, i'ar in the pathless forest ; And when they go, at lasl, to rouse him up. They find the bonnet and the cloak indeed, But never a head or a body to put them on ! 70 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM And so they needs must get them empty home^ Without their prisoner, to the Emperor, Who, for their folly, takes good toll of them. So leave we Sacred Manuel in a fume With his Varangians hanging all arovv Before the palace windows. — Andronikos Next flies to Kiew, of Russia, where he tames The great barbarian duke into his friendship, And so, across the sea at last to Cyprus, In search of more adventures. — Shall I tell you Of all he did in Cyprus ? How he ruled Each heart he dealt with, from the Governor down .'* So brave and masterful and sweet and strong He is, to conquer men and women too. Queen. Well, what a subtle fiend ! And you were there ? Philippe. The highest lady in the princely Court ; And yet he lightly made a prey of me, And I was proud to be so preyed upon ! For better, better, half an hour of Heaven And then eternal Hell for evermore. Than to go trailing on immortally A life of stale and gilded emptiness. So then my lover left me, and made off On plea of journey to Jerusalem, THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 71 Till I, the maiden widow, spurned of all, That envied me ray blossom and his fruit — I could no longer bear my desolate life. But fled alone from Cyprus to these coasts, In utter need to find my love, and beg him That he will let me be about his path Even as a dog or varlet ! There 's my tale. Enter Andronikos. Now do you understand what love is, Lady ? And on my word, look where my lover comes ! Madam, you never told me he was here I Queen. He ? Who ? . . . This is the beggar-lad I spoke of. Philippe. Why then, less like a beggar than a thief Of hearts ; for here is Andronikos-Caesar. Queen. Is this thing true } Andronikos. Shall beggars contradict A Princess of Poitou and Antioch ? Queen. You mock us. Quickly I Are you Androni- kos ? Andronikos. If I must speak the truth, why then I must — Yes, I am Andronikos-Caesar, Cousin. Queen. Cousin } Andronikos. Yes, Cousin. 72 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Queen. T will own no kinship With this sad lady's traitor. Andronikos {smiling). Dear good soul ! Is she not happy to be so betrayed .'' Queen. Oh, shall I ever thus be mocked and frumped at? Are you so brazen ? Andronikos. I must needs put on What mail I have, be it of brass or iron, Against the darts of your assaulting tongue. Queen. He plays with us ! Philippe. But are you then the beggar That courted this poor Queen and stole her love ? Queen. And can you be the ruffler that betrayed This wretched Countess, having won her honour } Philippe. O God ! and I thought my loyal heart was steel Against your faithlessness. But now it bleeds ! Queen. Such dreadful things are not to be believed ! Philippe. He swore, he swore he loved me once ! Queen. Why then, He swore the same to me, yes, and belike He swore as much to half a hundred more ! Why, to my very waiting gentlewomen I dare be bound he has offered up the heart THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 73 That he had pledged in pawn an hour before To you or me, or whoso else might hap ! Andronikos. So. This is the way of women ! Do but give 'em A happy day or so of love-making, They '11 turn and rend you, after. What a world ! Here is fine gratitude. Were you not happy In Cyprus ? — and you, Madam, here, last night } And who was father to that happiness .^ Who, who but I } Then nourish gratitude ! Queen. Now, Heaven above, look down upon this rogue And show him wisdom ! Andronikos. What wrong have you, then ? [Pause. Queen. What wrong ? — I } — None, although you out- raged me With telling me a cheating tale of love. I heed it not. Ah ! no ; my quality Is far too high to be aware of you. . . . 'Tis this poor lady that has bitter wrong! Alas, and I am angry at my heart, When I remember how you 've dealt with her I This sweet proud maiden, tumbled in the dirt ! 'Tis this, and this alone I scorn you for ! Andronikos {to her). So / go free from any wrath of yours } 74 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Queen. Do not so far presume upon the name You falsely bear^ as think it possible That /, the Queen, could suffer wrong oi you ! Andronikos. 'Tis you^ fair Philippe;, then, that quarrels me ? Philippe. Nay then, not 1 ; nor on no grief of mine ! I '11 bear the burden of my own mischance. My quarrel 's only for this gracious Queen Whom you have cheated with your thievish lies ! Why^ what a fall is hers, dragged low, dragged low, And evened with poor Philippe of Poitou ! — Your Highness, let me curse this cozener That thus has made a mock of your fair honour. Queen. Oh, pray be calm upon my queenly count ; / stand beyond his reach. But you, dear soul, Ah, how my heart torments me for your case ! Philippe. Nay then, kind friend, your heart may lie in peace. My only grief is for the grief j/om have. Queen. Grief have / none, save your grief that I share. Philippe. Nor grief have I, but yours I '11 help you bear. [Anger gleaming through these courtesies. Queen. Have no such care for me. Philippe. Nor you for me ! Queen. I am all joy ! THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 75 Philippe. And I, all ecstasy I Andronikos. Why, bless my soul, you both are happy, then. And nowhere any grief or pain at all ! But this is very pleasant ! Queen. Oh, hram soul ! She plays a part, to hide her bleeding wound By duteous show of thoughtfulness for me. Philippe. And this dear Queen is wearing of a mask, To cloke her suffering with a fair ostent Of piteousness for mine, that pain have none Save in beholding hers. Queen. Oh generous lie ! Oh noble modesty of maidenhood ! Philippe. Oh queenly pride that will not show a hurt ! Hearken you how, with bitter, bleeding lips, She lies to cheat her sorrow. Queen {breaking into 7vrath). Pray be silent ! Your tedious glosses are not needed here. Nor I no open book for your expounding ! Philippe. A cunning volume, doubtless, and therein You lured my lord to read. ... Oh well I note The subtle wiles of your smooth innocence ! Queen. Madam, your words do better fit the state Into the which your folly 's brought yourself, 76 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Than this my queenly presence where you stand Only by grace of Me. Philippe. Ho ! Andronikos, 'Twas httle fault of yours to while away An hour or so with this delusive Queen ! I mark how many changes has her mood, And make no doubt she has to her commands Wordsj works, and ways to capture any man. Queen. An hour or so ! . . . Good beggar-friend of mine, I cannot hold you half as much to blame As once I did, for this lost creature's fall ; Such forward, rash, indomitable minxes Drag down a heedless man against his will. I know their sort, and, now I know this lady, I guess you blameless in her wickedness. Philippe {to Andronikos). I see this Queen did woo you to her will ! Well, men are weak where women shameless are. [She takes his left hand. All 's said, all 's done. So you and I are friends. Queen. Oh how, like a clapper in a brazen bell. This woman's tongue still peals her ruin forth ! Why, if such common creatures cast themselves Into a man's arms, how is he to blame } So all's forgiven, my beggar. [Takes his other hand. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 77 Andronikos. Precious ladies. Both friends of mine, and by no word of mine ! Queen. Nay, but through clear perception of the truth That you are not so deep in fault as she. Philippe. Nay, but because mine eyes and ears con- vince me This wantonness is not your sin but hers. Andronikos. Why so, when thieves fall out, the honest man Comes by his own again ! Queen. You speak a riddle. No thief is here but she that stole your honour. Philippe. Madam speaks truth, although against her- self: No thief is here but she that stole your honour. Queen {to him). Shall I, in such a creature, own a foe ? Philippe {to him). Shall we permit this queen to mock us so ? Queen {to him). To be thus vile and shameless, piteous lot ! Philippe {to him). The toil-worn widow 's tedious, is she not } Queen {to him). Dear loyal heart, I '11 hold you for my own. Philippe {to him). My Caesar, I '11 not lose you for a throne I 78 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Queen (Io Jim). Sweet lord^ you crowned me Empress wlien you smiled. Philippe (/o him). At least 'tis I, sweet Emperor, bear your child! [The Queen staiis awai/, stung. Queen. Shall we be ever baited of this wench ? Go, go within, and get you to your prayers ; You need them ; I have been too patient, I. Philippe. You fear me now ! Queen. And you should fear — to die. 'Tis that you '11 come to ; such a sin as yours Finds little shrift in honourable homes ! Well, when ? You linger. Shall I call my guards To put you forth and purify my presence } Philippe. You 'U pay me for that taunt, and bitterly ; I 've stabbed you now, so I '11 go quietly ! [Exit. Queen. I was never so baited in my life before ! — Oh, beggar, I am angered still at you, To think how easily you caught my heart With begging ! What a cheap small thing it was You begged — a woman, nothing more nor less ! And yet of women you had store enough Already ! I am bitter still in spirit, To think how many women you have won With begging. Oh, what need had you of me. . . . I marvel how it is I 'm not more angry ! Remembering all the evil of your life. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 79 For evil it was. I thought I set more store By purity. I cannot understand How I may suit it with my queenly pride, Nay, with my very widow's modesty, Thus to be made a cipher in your list Of women won — a mere, poor cipher, I, Komnena Theodora, Dowager Of Jerusalem. — Say, am I ninth or tenth Or twentieth, or two-hundredth, in that heart. That catholic heart of yours ? Andronikos. Your pretty anger Is only sportive. Queen. Why, a miracle It is that I should be contented so. And yet I am. Better a little share Of my own beggar, than monopoly Of any other man. Andronikos. You are learning love. Queen. And 'tis through pity you have taught me love And added one more woman to your train Andronikos. 'Twas not a woman I begged — it was the woman, The only woman that mine eyes can see ! Queen. And yet your eyes have seen a many women And said tlie same to every one of them As now your burning glances say to me ! 80 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Andronikos. Alas, 'tis true ! Queen. Ah, so you mock me, then ? Andronikos. No. All those other women passed away As soon as ever I heard your Highness speak. I see no other, hear no other now, But only you. Those others, when I won them. In turn seemed, each, a Goddess, yet, being won, Were found but only tedious woman-flesh. . . . Afar off, gold ; and, in the hand, but brass. So man goes ever hunting fair perfection. And each new pretty thing he sees, forthwith He takes for that perfection he ensues. Yet one by one, each toy he finds is dropped. For soon he knows that no perfection 's there. From woman on to woman still he goes In infinite search of what his heart desires ; And Tuesday's love is Saturday's dislike. For close acquaintance strips the gilt away. And shows that not yet has the seeker found The fine pure gold he craved. So wonder not If men be fools with women, sinking deep In what your holy innocence calls sin. — We are divers, ever bound to plunge in quest To find the Pearl of Hope in those far depths THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 81 Where lies our search. ... I warned you, yester- night. That I was muddied w ith the mire of life ; But never yet till now have I beheld Pure gold, or gazed upon that Pearl of Hope. Queen. You sing a pleasant song. And in mine ears It runs as if a hundred more had heard it ! Sure 't has been practised. — To how many women Already, have you told this pious tale ? Andronikos. To many — yes, to many, in my dreams : For all those others only lived in dreams. They were but shadows. You 're reality. Queen. But you may meet a new reality To-morrow or the next day ; and then, pray you. Shall / be fairy-gold, transformed to brass .'' Must / go join that army of poor women You worshipped once, and now disband for me ? Andronikos. Your words blaspheme against your own dear Saintship. Queen. How shall I know, then, if I be your saint .-^ Andronikos. My heart has been ordained into your service. Queen. Yet will that catholic heart keep orthodox ? Andronikos. You are the creed on which my faith is grounded. Queen. But how, if schisms and heresies arise ? F 82 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Andronikos. My heart has taken final vows to you. Queen. On which day of the week is 't stands my feast ? Andronikos. From Sunday unto Sunday through the year. Queen. Are there no fast-days in your Rubric, then .'' Andronikos. Your worship is an endless festival. Queen. But if ray priest go tend another altar ? Andronikos. He is an atheist to all cults but yours. Queen. I fear me, Sunday's vows are Monday's mock ! Andronikos. Nay^ every day is Sunday in my faith. Queen. What flower, what incense will you offer me ^ Andronikos. You are my flower, and you my precious balm. Queen. Also, belike, am I the sacrifice ! Andronikos. No, I, your priest, for ever offered up. Queen. You chop me neatly in at every point ; You are much changed since yesternight, my beggar ! A craving greyhound then, and now, to-day, A singing bird of dapper melodies ! Andronikos. W^hy, one man in himself is many beasts, Nor need you marvel. Many different shapes By turn he wears, and God is over all. Each hour may bring him change — he '11 be a lion Perhaps, in battle, then a savage tiger THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 83 When Jealousy has roused him, or again As angel-throated as a nesting thrush To please a woman or betray a man. So ranges he through every animal — A slothful, delicate, silken-footed cat, A silly rabbit, or a lustful dog ; And then, again, within a short hour's turn, A royal eagle soaring to the sun ! Queen. I think the royal eagle cannot wear A cat's shape, nor a dog's, nor yet a rabbit's ! Andronikos. Why, Madam, there's your ignorance again. None is all eagle, nor all rabbit neither, But each event of life draws out of us A different beast. Peril and rivalry Make each brave man a lion. Then God calls, And up the soaring eagle of the soul Flies high to Heaven. . . . Yet another while And hunger turns the eagle to a swine. And so, being fed, a lustful dog, and then The dainty cat of him lies long and soft On silken cushions. So comes change on change Through manhood, youth, and age. Your lion-heart That has faced the anger of the world, at last Shrivels and shrinks into so small a compass 'Tis only now a hen's heart. Or, perhaps, 84 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Some shrewish "vvife with sharp and shrilling tongue Charms all these beasts away and witches him, This eagle-lion-dog-cat-man of ours. Into the semblance of a cowardly rabbit. — So have you all this leash of animals Mewed up within our little breast of man, And, Madam, they cruelly fight in this their prison, Where dog rends cat, and eagle gripes with lion. Till such a devil's battle rages here That one might well make prayer to be at rest. And nourish but one beast within one's breast. . . . Eagle or lion, little matters it. So that our harried soul in peace might sit. Queen. Shall I then turn ray lion to a rabbit ? Andronikos. Rabbit 's a mood, but lion is a habit ! Queen. I '11 be a lion-tamer, then, sweetheart ! Andronikos. You'll rule my eagle- as my lion-part. Queen. Now listen — to your dog-soul 'tis I speak. Andronikos. Then swinge him soundly. Madam, and make him squeak ! Queen. Be silent, mocking parrot. Listen, dog ; And eagle, you may also lend an ear. You all, the very Noah's ark of you. Have sworn your faith to me. Now, soberly : You have sworn your faith to many more ere this. How shall 1 know that I alone possess THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 85 Your true allegiance ? How shall I be certain I am the very woman you have sought These many years in other women's bodies ? Make me assured of this thing if you can. And speak it weightily, with due reflection ; My life hangs on it. Andronikos. Listen, Theodora. I '11 make no long tale, as I use to others : You are the one thing living in my world, The only thing I see and pray to ; love. Worship, adore, and utterly desire ; Live in, and through, and by, and with, and for. — I know this, and I know it, and I know it. . . . My very bones ache with my knowledge of it. My body cries aloud my knowledge of it. And my soul shouts agreement with my body. For now alone I know the holy truth. Queen. Ah, where shall I find truth in all the world ? Andronikos. Here, in my heart, that's only filled with you. For you are very diamond of truth ! Queen. How shall I know Truth, if I ever find her .^ Andronikos. Look in my heart, and see her worshipped there ; For there enshrined are you, and you alone. 86 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Queen. In simple pleasure do I dally thus With ray delight. — I will believe you^ then. A woman finds it easiest to believe ! And now to bring our dear desire's fulfilment. — You are out of favour with the Emperor, And I^ the widow of Jerusalem, Must needs go circumspectly on my way, For Queen Sybilla hates and watches me ; My very chaplains are her spies, I fear, To tell her anything that I may do Amiss. ... I have it, Andronikos — The old Archbishop of Melipotamus ! Yet he '11 mislike our marrying ! . . . He must do it : I '11 have no megrims. He shall marry us Ere this day week, in private. Will that suit } Why, what 's ado ? Why look you thus awry ? Does thought of marriage turn you to a rabbit ? Andronikos. There 's always trouble in a mortal's path : You go too fast for me. Queen. Too fast ; how so ? Where should I go but to my bridal bed. And would you have me lag upon the way ? Andronikos. I have no quarrel with that road, sweet Highness, Your other word it was that troubled me. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 87 Queen. You dread the bondage ? I '11 be no stern wife, To hold you tight in leash. So have no fear. Andronikos. The damned mischief of the matter 's this, I have a wife already. . . . Queen. You have a ivife "^ Andronikos. Yes. And the Church will not allow me two. No, not if I were Emperor of the East ! And yet my conscience will not let me turn Mahommedan. — So what a coil is here If nothing short of marriage serves your turn ! Queen. A wife } Andronikos. A godly, pious woman — well-a-day ! Bore me a son in prison, I remember. My poor Theodora I Queen. Theodora, too I My name — she bears my name, my very name ! Andronikos. 'Tis many years since last I heard of her: She may be dead. Yet there 's no news of it. And so we dare not take our hope on trust. Queen. Then what was this you wooed me to ? Andronikos. To love. — Are you so fettered in a vain invention As to imagine Love, his sanctity, His glory, and his majesty depend 88 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM On prayers and psalms and litanies and forms, And far-fet words of half-forgot import Raked out of ancient scriptures ? Heaven on high Looks down on Love and seals his sacrament : Love's altar is the body, and love's psalm The happy sighings of contented mouths. Love's antiphons are pulsed by faithful hearts That beat against each other. And for priest Love needs no Bishop in no velvet gown. But Holy Night, in full pontifical Of stars, it is that joins the bridal pledge, And all things else are meaningless devices Made to set pomp of outward show and state On the secret, sacred wedlock of two hearts i — That, that alone is holy, all the rest Is only an idle vanity of form Which priests invent that it may fatten up Their bellying purse with fees Queen. Oh, peace, peace, peace ! Your secret, sacred wedlock is no wedlock Till God have blessed it. There 's what marriage is : No idle fantasy of vain design, But God's own dear approval, manifest Upon our loves, without which hallowing They are but lawless couplings of the flesh, That knows no future but an hour's desire. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 89 Oh, what care I for psalms and sacraments ? They, in themselves, are nothing, yet in them God speaks to us — and so they 're everything ! Being made the mouthpiece of Almighty God To us poor wanderers. And without their mean We cannot rightly live nor rightly die. Nor yet be born, nor bound in matrimony. But only as the beasts are born and wed. With hunger for their bridal minister And wantonness for bridemaid, and, for sponsor, A soulless, brief, unreverend appetite, Soon come, soon sated. — Oh, but I run too far In teaching you that have no ears to learn What marriage is Andronikos, Be not so bitter, lady. Queen. Were I as bitter as your words were bitter. But now, to me, not all the condiments. Nor silken spices of the utmost East, Could ever smoothen out your tongue again ! Ah, you have given me rennet, and my heart Is shrivelled to a curd, my natural milk Turned acid in this witch's thunderstorm ! You have put an insult on my crowned head Not any honest soul that wears a coif Could carry in patience ! Out, avoid my presence ! You poison all the air around me ! Go ! 90 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Andronikos. Will you not hear me ? Queen. Not another word. Go qiiickly_, or I '11 hand you over bound To the Emperor Manuel. Andronikos. Will you so, indeed ? Queen. Indeed, so will I. You have lived too long, That thus do stain the earth with wickedness ! Andronikos. Then have your will. Yes, I have lived too long ; For where a sweet rose was is now a thorn. Queen. 'Tis you have stripped the rose-leaves all away And made my heart a bare and bitter thorn. . . . Then leave me, leave me quickly. Go, I say ; You shamefully defile me with your presence. Here etiters Countess Philippe. Philippe (in disorder). Oh, Madam, I have very greatly sinned ! Escape, escape, ray lord, while yet is time ! Queen. What have you done ? Philippe. Your Grace so angered me With taunts, that straight I went and told my father How you were harbouring Andronikos here ! Andronikos. What, you betrayed me ? THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 91 Philippe. Oh, I never thought Of you at all. I utterly forgot How deep you stood in the matter. My sole aim Was to avenge me of this jealous Queen Who taunted me. . . . Ah, this is what it is To be too rash in anger ; not to look Before and after when one has a spite Against another ! Fie, the hard world it is ! Andronikos. Well, now your wish is on its way, your Highness ! I am a prisoner now, condemned to death ; Are you not happy ? [Pause, Queen. You are still my guest. I cannot have you taken in my house To be sent before your God with all these sins Thus foul and black upon you. It may be You have in you some little spot of light That might redeem this darkness. Pray 't be so : I cannot tell, but God must judge of it. In that high court where every heart is known. Philippe. Oh, quickly go. My father 's on his way ! Queen. To save the reputation of my palace. And for no thought of you, I '11 ward him off. [Exit the Queen. Andronikos (the Queen having departed). Do you so hate me, you that have betrayed me ? 92 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Philippe. You must not look thus slightingly on nie_, I love you so, and ah, so miserably ! Andronikos. Yet as the Queen went out you smiled Jn joy. Philippe. My frail poor heart of woman could not help But feel a sort of jealous happiness To see that there was still a woman left On earth whom you could never charm to love you. Andronikos. How, never? — Philippe, what 's the bet- ting on it ? Philippe. Ah, my whole happiness is at stake on that ! Andronikos. I '11 take your wager for a punishment, And win your happiness, and Theodora, And everything at once ! Philippe. Well, here's a boast Too great for even you. What, thus in rags To win the Dowager of Jerusalem To tramp the highways with you ? I 've no fear In this. To give up all her comforts for you — Why, even women are not such fools as that ! Andronikos. Yet Countess Philippe gave up all her comforts For me. PniLLiPE. But 1 am different. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 93 Andronikos. So is she. So is every woman, different utterly From any rule of sense. I take your bet ; I '11 have her Highness on the roads to-night. And all your earthly happiness in pawn. Enter Queen. Queen. My words weigh nothing in my very house ! The Emperor's letter overrules my voice ! The Emperor's order takes the wall of mine. Fly, fly — here comes the Count. Oh, what 's to do } How yet can we preserve you .'' Ah, we 're caught ! Count Raymond here enters in gi'eat martial force, with all the Court. Count Raymond. I am come to seize a traitor. . . . And I see him. You are my prisoner, Andronikos-Csesar ! Queen. Count Raymond, we must own Ourself affronted \Throned and very stately . That in Our house you should demean you thus. To insult a fellow-guest before Our eyes. Count Raymond. Not I insult your eyes as he the Emperor's Being yet alive. Queen. Then is the Count of Antioch 94 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Become the henchman of my Sacred Uncle, To do his small vile hests, and be his gaoler ? Count Raymond. All honest men are by their natures made The gaolers of all thieves. Queen. Good lack, Count Raymond, What a flourishing logic have we here in Court ! And why this pompous, mighty force of steel. And calling out of Counts of Antioch To take this one poor beggar ? Count Raymond. Why, you heard : This beggar is the Caesar Andronikos. Queen. We heard you say so, but we put it by, Being bred of such a palpable distraction. This Caesar Andronikos fills your mind Until you think of nothing else but he, And see him everywhere. Fie, this is folly ; But pardonable, for sure, and pitiful : He runs so in your head. Go in and rest Till your brain clears. We pity you, not blame, Whose weakness thus your sorrow brings to shame. Count Raymond. Great God ! but. Madam, is this beggar then Not Andronikos ? Queen. How should it be he .'' Indeed the Dowager of Jerusalem THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 95 Lies fallen very low in your esteem If you can dare to deem it possible That I, an honest woman, and a Queen, Should soil my house with such an evil guest ! Count Raymond. My daughter swore this beggar was her lover, The Caesar Andronikos. Queen. Poor, poor soul ! Her jointless ravings rend my piteous heart. Her grief has utterly distracted her. Just now she furiously ran out at 7ne — Cursed me for horned Beelzebub, and called The moon her mother. Thus her sick brain rages. What wonder then, that she, being so enfevered And burdened down of Caesar \ndronikos. Should keep him ever on her tameless tongue Without respect of any verity ? Count Raymond. God bless me, do you call my daughter mad ? Queen. Alas, alas, here is sweet Countess Philippe. — Speak, dear poor lady ; let your father hear What like your words are. Philippe (feigning several distractions). Devil damn the world ! I think he made it for his porringer ! 96 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM But what a salad does the groundsel make ! Fie, feed my soul upon it, and I '11 grow fat ; Yet dish it dainty. Count Raymond. When she brought this news Of Andronikos' presence in the Court, Angry she was, indeed, but reasonable. Queen. These hot fits, after, settle to a calm That wears the guise of reason. Countess Philippe, Pray tell me who is this ? — Now mark her, sir. [Philippe casts herself into the arms of the Arch- bishop, to whom the Queen has pohitcd her. Philippe (embraces him). Oh, Caesar Andronikos, heart of mine, Come here and let me buss you ! Archbishop. Hold, for shame ! Queen. This is mere innocence. You see how frail A prison can you build for this my beggar Upon your daughter's showing. . . . Who is this } Philippe {adores the Chamberlain). Another fat old Caesar Andronikos ! The world is full of them I Alack the day ! Queen (points her to Andronikos). And this, who is it? Philippe. Nay, I '11 not be caught. This is no Andronikos. — What a knave ! THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 97 His face is like a pumpkin ! — Call my coach. And I 'II go wash his memory from my heart In Jordan river. Queen. You have heard her^ sir. And now you are convinced, I make no doubt. Of your ridiculous and strange mistake .'* Count Raymond. I 'm turned a fool, it seems, a doting fool! Madam, I see I 've blundered, through my daughter. I ask you pardon. Queen. Very heartily We grant it. Count Raymond. Is there none though, here in Presence, That knows the Ca?sar, and can satisfy me Of my last doubts ? Queen. Hold there. Your pardon 's granted : Do not renew your fault, nor in my house Call witnesses to bear up what I say. I have spoken, I, the Queen. What need you raore.^ I must forbid you further questionings. Nor is the palace, give me leave to say, Of a hostess and a Queen, fit place for you To hold a court of law and, while a guest. Make violent perquisition after thieves Beneath so doubly reverend a roof. 98 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Count Raymond. Again I beg for pardon. Queen. And again 'Tis gladly granted. — Who is this that comes ? Nuncio (who has entered, attended). Great Count AnthemioSj Protovestiary [7b tnimpets. To His Most Sacred Majesty the Emperor, Would kiss your Grace's hand upon an errand ! Count Raymond. Why look you pale ? [7'Ae Queen is in confusion. Queen. A little sudden qualm — Some grapes I ate agree not with my humour. Chamberlain. Your Highness grants an audience } Queen (rises). Out, alas, I find myself so very grievous sick, That I must take my chamber. — Governess, Convey me hence. — My beggar, come with me. Give sad apology to Count Anthemios. Chamberlain. See where he comes, presuming on his audience ! Governess. Now too uncourtly 's this intrusion. A nob/e state. Enter Count Anthemios, attended. Andronikos, hemmed in of the Court j cannot away. Count Anthemios (in due ceremony). Madam, His Glorious and Eternal Holiness, THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 99 The Emperor Manuel of the East and West, Kisses, by my mean mouth, this queenly hand, And sends you greetings of a kindly Uncle. In haste I come, by His divine decree. Being now on progress to Jerusalem To visit Queen Sybilla. Pardon me. Your Highness, then, if I thus come unbidden : His Sacrosanctity's command must plead My fair excuse. Queen {ivith formal niceness). Nay, we are over- joyed To greet, in you, our Uncle's Majesty. We pray, devoutly. His Most Sacred Health Continues good ? Anthemios. Augustly excellent. And will be bettered when I bear Him news His queenly niece thus blossoms as the rose. Queen {her speech designed to shift Ayi-DROfiiKos from the Presence). You flatter us untimely. We are sick And stifled by this press — avoid us, pray. — [To the Court. Great Count, Me should have found a rich delight In bringing to your honoured notice all Our friends. Yet now you may not stay, I fear, And, for this moment, we must bid them hence. Thus life goes contrary. — Let none be near us, 100 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Lord Chamberlain, save those of princely rank And style. — More air, more air. . . . Anthemios (e« the movement suddenlij discovers Andronikos). Why, what is this ? Finding a rose, I find a canker too ! — Madam, what makes this vile weed in your presence } How comes the Caesar Andronikos here ? Queen. Oh — surely you mistake ? This is not he. Anthemios. Not he } Shall I mistake my foster- brother } Although, thank God, no twin of mine in soul. Count Raymond. Is this, indeed, then, Andronikos- Caesar } Anthemios. Ha, fair Count Raymond ! — Little did I think To find you here, or the Augusta Mary Had weighed me down with messages for you. — Yes, this is Andronikos. . . . So, great Queen, Forgive me if we do our duty now Even before your eyes. ... Be comforted ; No disrespect is brought upon your Highness. [The guards of his Excellency have made prey o/" Andronikos. Queen. I see a widowed Queen is nought indeed. Count Raymond. Nay, naught in very deed I fear she is. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 101 More queen than widow, and more wife than either ! Now Heaven be praised, I 'm not the fool I thought ! These lying ladies, Count Anthemios, made me Doubt my own sense, and think my daughter mad That in a careless moment spoke the truth. Philippe {feigning a distraction). What song the swallows sing to Andronikos Among the scarlet tulips of Jezreel I know not ; but, alas, he is not here. Count Raymond. Your madness is played out, my girl ; it serves No longer. — This is Countess Philippe, sir, My daughter, that with Madam Dowager Led me but now so wild a jig of lies, My brain still hums. Andronikos. Oh, wondrous opportune Were you, Anthemios. In another hour I should have been a dozen miles away. So had this silly old Count been jostled off With soft inventions. Count Raymond. Hear the brazen asp ! Anthemios. An asp indeed, that stings the Emperor's peace ! Queen. Oh, if I wore a sword, I 'd make my house Respected in its hospitality ! If only I wore a sword ! 102 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Anthemios. Your queenly Grace, By vile deception did tins mountebank Win access to your presence. Thus your house And hospitality receive no taint, Being won by false pretences on his part. [Andronikos is removed. Yet now I see our company 's displeasant, For this displeasant mission we have found All unawares. — Count Raymond, will you come ? I see the Queen is weary. Count Raymond. Courtly eyes Have you to see it. / would weary her With some short telling of the wholesome truth, If I could have my way. Anthemios. Be temperate, Respect her Grace's presence and her name. — Madam, we '11 take our leave a little while. Count Raymond {to Philippe). Now, ' poor mad lady,' come you along with us. [The two Counts pass out, attended by their train, with Countess Philippe. Governess. Well, what a pack of churlish knaves is here Call themselves Counts and Princes ! Queen {oppressed, 7ipon her throne). I^et me be. Oh I am l)urdened down with all this shame, THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 103 And terror of disastrous death is dark About mine eyes. How very long ago Since I was happy yesterday ! Ah, Governess, A storm of blood is sweeping o'er my world, And all our lives are overwhelmed therein. And naught of happy yesterday remains. . . . Governess. Your sweet kind Highness far too heavily Takes this deserved arrest of wicked Caesar. Queen. A scoundrel ! Governess. Will they kill him } Queen. Yes, they will. Governess. Not here, your Highness ? Queen. No, not here. Governess. Your Highness Would grieve to have him killed within her house ? Queen. Are you a paraquito, or a priest Trying to trap a prisoner in confession. That you thus badger me with repetitions ? Highness, and Highness ! I am low enough If now no guest is safe within my walls ! Governess. Dear Madam Queen. Governess, the little postern By yonder stair, that leads into the garden. Is it still locked ? Governess. And here have I the key. 'Tis custom that that gate be locked of old. :04 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM The maids of honour gracelessly did use it Going down to meet their lovers in the pleasance By cock-shut time — fie that such things should be ! So now 'tis locked. Queen. And thus, if I, the Queen, Desired to take the air without attendance, I needs must wait for Governess and key .'* This is not fitting. Give me here the key ; I '11 carry it henceforth, and keep the gate. Governess. Your Highness, there 's no rule Queen. No rule ? no rule } My Highness alone makes rules to rule my Highness ! Are you a spy in Queen Sybilla's pay That you thus counter me ? The key, the key ! Governess (gives it). Your queenly Grace is over- wrought with care And needs diversion. Queen. I will take it, too. Let all these ugly happenings be forgot. And hold my Court of Love as heretofore. As if no strange events had broken in, Thus bloodily, on our serenity. — Draw round, my pleaders ; all the rest, avoid. [All, save the Lovers, arc gone. The ladies on the Perrrola. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 105 Set out in order for the Court of Love, Archbishop, Marquis, Meleagro — what ! Our Chancellor 's away ? Good luck go with him. We have small miss of such philosophies. ChairSj chairs. — Sit round, and let us play our game In earnestness, to cheer our heavy hearts From all remembrance of untoward things. Archbishop. What point of love will now your Grace propone ? Queen. I have it here. Suppose his heart's dear lady Should love another man, and that same other Be brought in deadly peril of his life, What must a lover do ? Of either hand Are dreadful dangers ; either he must suffer His lady to be dismally oppressed With grief in losing of the man she loves, Or else, in saving of his rival's life, He needs must lose his lady. Archbishop. Well, indeed. The case is quaint and artificial. Madam ! Queen. Is 't not .'' These intricate inventions please me. W^ell, show us now the rede of knightly love. What shall the lover do } Archbishop. Pray and give thanks To Heaven that has solved his riddle so. 106 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Then let him have a score of masses said For his dead rival's soul, before he go To woo the widow back to him again. Queen. Heaven bless me from your counsel. Lord Archbishop, 'Tis base and earthly. — Now, sir, what say you .-^ Marquis. My rivals are not wont to take their death From any hand but mine. So I 'd prevent The murderer's stroke or executioner's. Kill me my enemy there in open fight, And then possess his lady. God be with us ! If she were apt in terms of chivalry, She 'd make no long moan for a lover dead, But gladly take a stronger in his room. Queen. You hold my sex a toy. — Well, Meleagro .'' Meleagro. I have no words, for Hell lies either way, And which Hell he should choose I cannot tell : To maim his lady or to maim himself By saving or destroying her desire. [Pause. Queen. Since yesterday my game has lost all savour. I have no zest in empty talk of love. It wearies me. The Court of Love is closed For ever. I am finished with such toys. We give you leave ! [Theij scalier. The Archbishop rclires to Melisenda 07/ the Pergola. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 107 Meleagro, stay awhile. What doubtful word was that you uttered now ? Repeat it;, pray you. Meleagro. Oh;, your queenly Highness^, Deal openly with me ! Queen. In what, my lord ? Meleagro. I guess a hidden drift behind your words. Queen. Am I then so open for all eyes to read ? Meleagro. Nay^, love has made my eyes too deadly keen. Madam, where you are^, for my happiness. Ah, lady, do not further torture me By vain concealment of your clear desires. Let trust, at least, be my poor love's reward. Queen. Shall I then trust you? Lovers' tongues are liars. — Oh, are all men liars everywhere on earth ? Meleagro. A lover 's not on earth. He dwells by turn In Heaven or Hell, but never on the earth. Queen. Listen, dear heart. I do believe you honest. And I will trust you. Well then, thus it is : The Caesar Andronikos must be saved. And got away in safety from my house ! There, that is all my hidden drift. 108 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Meleagro. Not all : You love this Cansar. Oh, I understaml You and your riddles and your Court of Love, And your tongue's design ! I see what I 've to do. I am to save your lover for you — yes, To hold the candle for your marriage, Madam. Queen. Why, dear Meleagro, you misread me so, 'Tis past expressing ! No such love have L This Caesar is an infamy of men. And I have no concern to save his life. But only how to rid my house of him, That never such disgrace be said of me As that my house gave no sure harborough To guests within it. There 's my only thought. Meleagro. Oh, queenly Highness, do not trifle now ; You have crushed red grapes of sorrow in my cup And fed my hunger with a bitter stone For bread. 'Tis but one bitterness the more To learn you love this man, but far more bitter, Beyond all words an agony of gall. If now you gull me with a false ostent. Feigning discretion and dissembling love. Queen. Poor fevered heart, I make appeal to you To help my credit in this evil world ! Save me this villain that has come to me For sanctuary, and therefore must not die, THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 109 Nor yet be taken underneath my roof. Believe rae, dear, as my own soul believes, That never yet did lie to any man, I do abhor and utterly detest This wretch that yet my honour bids me save. Get him away from here, and you may kill him When, where, and how you please, for any prayer That I, the Queen, will offer up for him. Oh, why should I paint out in passionate speeches This horror that I have in Andronikos ? 'Tis woven in my veiy web of life. Blood of my heart, and pulses of my breast, And hunger of my soul, I hate him so ! 'Tis only in my house he must not die. But, spilled elsewhere, his blood would glad my eyes As a warm rain delights the thirsty land. Meleagro. Oh, Madam, can it be your Grace that speaks } Your soft sweet grace, now turned so hard and sour? Queen. Not mine the fault, but his that made me so. Meleagro. I cannot think your vehemence will hold. Soon it must pass ; 'tis but a thunderstorm. Queen. I know not. But my heart is very hot For pondering of the wrongs that man has done ; no THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM He has filled me with strange, cloudy thoughts of pain^ And my whole being is usurped by him. Ah, 'tis a new soul in me he 's engendered, And all my thoughts are horrible enough To call him father. — But pray you, do my will, And quickly. . . . Make some circumspect device — They'll not suspect you — to draw near the Ceesar; Then loose him from his bonds and bring him here, That I may speed him from the postern gate. Meleagro. Your righteous anger kindles me to joy, On winged feet go I to release your prisoner. Queen (goes with h'wi). Wait, I '11 come with you to the stairway-head. That none may dare to stay you on your journey. Seeing the Queen in person. V^^^^y depart. The Archbishop covics back from the Pergola ivilh Melisenda. Melisenda. Hush, speak low. I have cunningly watched her Highness all the day ; There are strange movements working in her heart. I see her colour change, her fingers fret Upon each other. Caesar 's in her mind. Though she may know it not. Archbishop. Belike, belike. Women speak least of that their hearts are fullest. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 111 Melisenda. a little while and he might be her lover, Or I 'ra no woman. Here 's occasion, then, For you to seize her dowry for the Pope, Foreclosing on the Queen's incontinence. Archbishop. What angel thus has winged your mind with cunning ? [Embraces her. Heaven speaks in you with no uncertain voice ! Melisenda. If she should quail to shame her princely state, I '11 work her to it, every way I can ; And if her pious scruples come to you For ghostly counsel, you will know your cue. Archbishop. I '11 see she hesitate not ! Oh, a priest Has always hallowed mean to make foul fair ! Or else what profit has theology } Enter Queen. Melisenda. Ah, here's the Queen ; I '11 leave you. [Exit. Queen. Lord Archbishop, You are well met. I am troubled in a question Of marriage and true holiness. Resolve me Which is a man's wife in the sight of Heaven, She that he loves, or she that he has married } Archbishop. Why, Madam, Heaven looks doM-n with no dull eye 12 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Into man's secret heart. And matrimony, That holy state, can only holy be When hearts are wed by love and not by forms. In spirit, not in letter, lies the force Of marriage. If there be no love in it. Nor true affection, then the ceremony Is null — the groom a bachelor, the bride A spinster yet. And both do thus profane Their chastity in such unhallowed wedlock, That welds their bodies, though their hearts be twain. Why, marriage is a damned adultery 'Twixt them that love not — fornication made Far worse by horrible blasphemy in taking God's awful name to witness such a sin. But where true love is. Madam, thus I say. Such lovers have small need of outward marriage. Of rites and forms and holy liturgies ; For these have only value as the sign Set from without, upon the grace within. Tis God alone can celebrate true marriage In His own secret knowledge ; no more priest Than God Himself is needed for a bridal, And often they whom never banns have joined Are far more closely wed than any pairs Are knit by Bishops to a goodly music Before the altar rails. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM lis Queen. I think you foe To every marriage. Archbishop. Save that of the soul. Queen. You could absolve, then, some unhappy husband. Who took a second woman to his heart For lack of any comfort in his wife ? Archbishop. Why, she that gives no comfort is no wife. No, 'tis the other who is truly wedded The woman that his soul has sworn him to. Queen. You render me a courtly gloss indeed Upon a question so unorthodox ! So then, the mistress of a married man Might be more wife of his in angels' eyes Than she whom he has wedded in a church ? Archbishop. No doubt, no doubt. These are hio-h mysteries. Nor must we scan the letter of the law Too closely. Letter killeth, spirit saveth. True matrimony 's hallowed in the heart Alone. Queen. We thank you, sir, and give you leave : We would be private. Archbishop. Always at your service. To offer comfort and instruction. Madam. And so, farewell. r^^-^ 114 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Queen. A very lax discourse ! I like it not, and dai-e not trust to it. Andronikos has entered. Not for the world. — Ah, you are free again ! Take then this key and go by yonder gate, And so into the garden and away. — Make no long tarrying, or they '11 capture you. Andronikos. Would your Grace have me go ? Queen {high, cold and regal). We have no care ; No care at all, save for our house's name. For that alone it is we have set you free. So now depart. Andronikos. Shall this be last farewell ? Queen. We have given you leave to go. Andronikos. We take it not. Queen. Why, then, they '11 make you captive ; yes, and kill you. Andronikos. So let them. Life has lost all joy for me. Seeing your Grace has lost all care for me. Queen. I am in no mood now for a fool's vain chatter. For my own honour I have won you freedom ; So take your chance and go, with no more words. Andronikos. I am not going. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 115 Queen. Why, what is this you say ? Do you so scorn life ? Andronikos. Without your Highness, yes. Queen. I may have spoken harshly. Pardon me ; 'Twas justly I was angered. Stay no more then ; I beg you go ; accept your liberty. Andronikos. I will not. Queen. Oh, good God, he means it ! Andronikos. Yes, I am weary of all this turmoil. Let me stay ; I would as lief be dead and laid to rest. Queen. Oh, how can I persuade you to be saved ? — Oh, Caesar, go ! Andronikos. What, have you so7ne care then Whether I live or die ? — Oh, damn your house ! And damn your house's reputation too ! Answer me only for myself, your Highness — Is it that you would have me live or no ? Queen. Why, yes, in spite of all your wickedness, I find I would not have you slain. — Ah, go ! At any moment they may come to take you. Andronikos. Why, then you do set store upon my life? Queen. Oh, for the pity of Mary, get you gone ! Andronikos. You 'd have me live, then ? Queen. Ah, the cruelty of you ! llf) THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM You torture me. — Your life is as ?;/?/ life ; Your life is mine. Your death will be my death. There, I have spoken all the naked truth, Suddenly flashed upon me. Andronikos, Then I stay. Queen. Oh, no, no, no ! Andronikos. Unless Queen. Ah, what ? Speak, speak, and you shall have it. Only, quickly ! Andronikos. Unless you will go with me. Queen. I ? Andronikos. Theodora ! Queen. Is it your wife or me you cry on, sir } Andronikos. My wedded wife before the eyes of Heaven ! Queen. You 'd have me put myself to open shame Before the world ! Andronikos. Well, that is easy cured. I '11 stay, and then they '11 take me prisoner. And hale me back to die at Manuel's feet ! Queen. Oh, why do I not cry glad Amen to that ? I would to God I could be free of you ! Is there no way but this .^ Andronikos. By love or death THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 117 Alone can you be freed of me, Theodora. Come, make no long deliberation — choose : Shall it be love or death ? Queen. I am afraid. Andronikos. Afraid to live — then I am not afraid, — To die. Queen. No, no ; it must not be that way ! Andronikos. Then it must be the way of love. — Your hand ; — [Seizes her, not resisting. So here we are wedded, never more to part ! — Come with me, out upon the way of love. Queen. Now God on high look down, and bear me witness, [X^^'y solemnly lays by her crown. I here surrender, utterly give up All that I am or ever hope to be. To gain — I know not what ! Andronikos. Why, happiness. For you and me that are but one henceforth. Queen. Pray Heaven it prove so ! Andronikos. Are you looking back } Queen. I am launching out upon a dark, dark sea. Andronikos. If you wait longer, 'twill be death to me. Queen. Come, then, I am yours. To deal with as you will. [They dejjart by the postern from the Pergola. ■i 118 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Meleagro enters, watching. Meleagro. So, after all, she's gone. Good luck go with her ; So innocent a soul was never yet. Enter Count Antmemios attended, and by degrees, all the Court. Anthemios. Where is the Queen } I come to take my leave. Meleagro. Indeed, your Excellence, I cannot tell. I think she went to chapel. Chamberlain. Here 's confusion, The Queen a-missing, and this lord not tell ! Governess. For sure her Highness is not in the bower. 'Tis thence I come, and nothing seen of her. Marquis. Maybe she has walked abroad to take the air. Governess. What, unattended ? So unfit a thing, Lord Marquis, never did her Highness yet. She is pure decorum. Elder Count Raymond and Philippe. Count Raymond. Ha, your Excellence, The prisoner 's fled. Enter Melisenda. Melisenda. And the Queen fled with him, too : I watched them from my chamber in the tower. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 119 Philippe (« general buzz and amazement). So all my happiness I staked is lost ! Marquis. This lady being departed on her pleasures, I '11 have her dower-land to increase my fief. Count Raymond. Nay, sir, in compensation to my daughter, I claim these territories for Countess Philippe. Anthemios. Why, sir, most strangely you forget your duty : They all revert to her Most Sacred Uncle ; And here I seize them for the Emperor ! Archbishop (grievouslij). Oh, gentlemen, too rashly you dispute This poor lost lady's property. The Church Stands lawful guardian to a sinner's goods ; I hold these counties for our Lord the Pope ! END OF ACT III ACT IV In a gorge of the mountains above Trehizond, looking outward to the sea. At the hack stands up a high cliff from whicJi slants a dead, naked tree. To the light, several great boulders, and a small tenement made 7vith boughs. Above, a grim rock : to the left an open way descends under the cliffs. In the clear space in the midst sit Roger Brassard^ Garin le Blond, Boris the Russ^ and Alfred OF York, their arms laid by them, a-drinking of 7vine. Alfred. A plague of all these silly, bloodless drinks ! I 'Id sell my soul now for a pot of beer. Roger. Why, Alfred 's right. These wines of Asia Are treacherous and feeble as the Greeks. Greek wine and Greekish kisses are as one : So sweet and smiling to a stranger's taste, But soon they '11 sour upon your stomach after. Nay, give me cider, there 's an Emperor's drink ! Garin. Talk you of Emperors, Roger } There be wines 120 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 121 Of Syria, hang upon my memory yet — Oh, purple velvet wines as smooth and rich As ever velvet made an Emperor's cloak. Alfred. I wonder if these men of Trebizond Have any comfortable wines to drink ? Roger. We'll know that soon, when Andronikos comes. Garin. The Caesar 's late returning from the foray : I pray disaster have not met with him. Roger. Why, Garin, all the Caesar's days Disaster Has gone about to meet with him. And never Have they set eyes upon each other yet : Caesar 'Id not know Disaster if he met her. Alfred. I would he had not left us here to guard The Queen while he went sacking Trebizond. This is no life for men, no good day's work To sit a-watching of a woman thus. Roger. Well, she '11 be never far from him, the Queen ; Or else she might have stayed at ease behind. With her children in Kolonia, where the Sultan Has given our Captain such a goodly house. But no ; she '11 never leave him — she 's as good As any dog to Andronikos-Caesar ; And a merry three years' honeymoon she 's had, Since first she cut her moorings and cast loose ! 122 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Alfred. And a strange, mighty man our Caesar is That Queens turn beggars for his sake, and bear him Babes on the highway-side. Boris. Three years, three years ; I wonder what foreknowledge filled her heart Of all these robber wanderings, when she left Her house that day in such a secret haste ! Garin. Blue skies and warm winds make you mystical, Boris, you son of the fogs. Yet I '11 be bound Our Queen had never a thought but Andronikos, And gladly sold her palace and her crown To buy his company across the earth. Roger. These men and women of the Komnenian Line Have all some spice of devilment in them : Angels, by turn, and fiends. Garin. Then Emperor Manuel Has quite left out the angel part of him : I grant you the rest ; I think the Emperor Has got the Devil's claws, they reach so far ! A dozen times he's missed us by an inch. He 'id give his crown to salt our Ca?sar's tail. So much he hates him. Roger. And if he capture him, Why, then, short shrift for every one of us. And all our little band of wayfarers ! — Here comes the Queen. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 123 The Queen comes forth from the hut. Queen. ^^ay, do not stir your seats For a poor gipsy woman. I have brought The Captain's shirt to sit awhile and darn In the pleasant evening air. — Fie, how 'tis torn ! Sit, sit, and I '11 to work. Who 'Id be a woman, To mend up all the damage of a man ! What talked you lately of.-* Let me be partner In your discussion. I was somewhat lonely ; And time hangs heavy till my lord returns. . . . You do not think that any hurt delays him, Or force of enemies } Garin. Why, then, your Grace, 'Twould take more force than any lives on earth To keep our Caesar from his Lady's side. Such might has he ; such queenly might have you To rule a Prince that no man else can rule. Queen. You treat me royally. No more Queen am I In state or style, but only Queen in love. Well may one know that sunny Southern lands Did breed you ; such a summer tongue you have ! But Roger s breath is salt sea-foam, and Boris Talks only winter, and our Alfred, beef. Ii24 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Garin. And all these tongues are bonded in your service ; The Northman, Roger, will be an angry sea Towards your foes, and Boris an arctic winter. And Alfred, very ox of rushing wrath Upon their ranks. Queen. Ah yes^ you make good friends. You alien men from strange, outlandish realms. Whose very names my lip finds hard to frame. Garin. You 'Id find a friend in any Laplander, Or brutish savage from the farthest North. Queen. At last, in utter beggary and rags. At last, at last in outlawry and exile, I 've found the happiness so long I sought So vainly in my pillared palace-halls, Among my lovers, clothed in silk and vair. Rough husk, sweet kernel — there's true joy, I find, And hearts unskilled in words are yet most kind ! Alfred. We 'Id do our best to serve you. Queen. Say you so ? Thus churlishly, and with so dull a face ? And yet I know that those reluctant words Mean life and death and honour at my service ! — I mind me how that tenth most blessed Muse, The Princess Anne Komnena, of my Line, THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 125 My grandsire's sister^ told me of your race. How slow it is of barkings and how f;\st In the bite. Garin. NoWj by your leave, a churlish tongue Is not the one sound argument of faith. The world is ever thus ; thinks honesty Can only Hve in stern, uncivil words. . . . Believe me, 'tis not so^ a pleasant tongue May pledge an oath as surely as a grunt. — Mistake not readiness of speech for falsehood. Nor oafishness for very honesty. Queen. Well, what a coil is here ! Do not misread me. To all men I give honour in their kind. In speeches one excels, in silence one. And yet in faithfulness can none excel. For all are equal, each in his own way. . . . Why, sword is good, and so is buckler, too, And lance and helm and arbalest and mail : Yet each has his own province : arbalest Can never serve the use of helm ; nor lance, The office of a buckler. All of them Are equal, though, in loyalty and service. Remember, then, that every man of you Is lance or mail or arbalest or sword For my poor happiness, of which the world Would else make eager quarry : and my safety 126 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Rests ever on the harmony between you. For say that sword should have a sudden grudge 'Gainst arbalest, or lance fall out with helm, Then in the quarrel is their work undone, And lost the body they were set to guard. — Now let us play a game to cheat slow time Until my lord returns — take ' happiness,' A word of myriad meanings. Each in turn Shall tell me what he means by happiness. — Speak, Roger. Roger. Happiness ? — I never thought To parcel out my happiness in words. I do each thing that life would have me do, As well as well I may — but happiness ? Can such a daily toil be happiness ? Queen. But what, in all your doings, like you best ? For that gives happiness. Roger. Then set me on A long stout ship, with a flying cloud of spume About my head, and straining planks beneath me. And all the devils of the air let loose. Those are the moments when the heart goes lightest, — Where a strong man's shout becomes u voiceless whisper. Athwart the bellowing thunders of the sea ! THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 127 Queen. Your Norman passion 's made you poet^ sir. — Garin^ your turn. Garin. Now, Holy Mary bless us From such a tossing happiness as his ! Nay, solid earth for me, and summer skies, And violet, and the scent of rosemary On the hot cliffs, and a blue sea below. Glancing to green on blood-red porphyry ; Then add me but a citern and a lady, And all my world is rounded off in joy. Queen. You have a happy, kindly pleasure. — Boris ? Boris. Oh, very far away Hes happiness For me, where quiet skies have no such glare As this your tedious blue, that never changes. My happiness sits prisoner in a cottage, Where doors and wooden casements are made fast Against the snow, yet through the rifts it creeps. But no man cares. For now the stove is hot. And the goodman sweats in very heart's content- ment, And round the table red-faced children crowd. And in the caldron steams the cabbage-soup. Queen. Your pleasure savours rank. Garin. A stinking pleasure ! Queen. Now Alfred's happiness.^ — For sure, 'tis beef. Alfred. Nay, then, beef is a sweet and goodly thing. 128 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM And God forbid that I say otherwise. But put me for an hour upon a height Whence I might see the golden vale of York, Or Yorkshire fells, tumbling across the world, Like mastiff-pups at play. Why, then, and gladly I 'Id sell my hopes of beef eternally For that one hour. Queen. The thought of your lost home Has kindled you. Garin. Now comes your Grace's turn : What 's happiness to you ? Queen. Ah, happiness ! And how shall / sura up diij happiness ? Or clothe the splendid form of it in words ? My happiness is such a giant grown, I do not know how I can tell of him With any fitness. — Ha, my toil is saved ! For here my very happiness returns. Enter Andronikos ^rom the back, with soldiers, ajid others that carry spoils. Andronikos. Well, lads, and have you kept a faithful guard On this rare gem, that, riven once away, Not all the spoils of Asia could replace .'' — Sweetheart, I bring you Trebizond in fee. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 129 Queen. Such wealth have I already in my love, I cannot count a city's treasure gain. — Wearily has the day dragged on for me, Till your return. And these kind, faithful friends Are weary too of unaccustomed toil ; For playing sentinels about a woman Is no man's work that should be up and doing. Alfred. If they had but attacked us ! Andronikos. If they should, My lad, you '11 have your bellyful of fighting ; There are sturdy knaves down there in Trebizond, And a stout old governor to lead them too. We have not won lightly through. Alfred. All day we've waited. In hopes they 'Id send a force to take the Queen, But no such luck ! Andronikos. Your watch is ended now. Another time, and it shall be your turn To fight with me. Hermokrates and Guy And Basil shall be set about the Queen. — Go, join the others, and divide the spoil : Fair lot to each, to watchers as to fighters. — [They go, all to the back, and so off. Why, Theodora, how you shine to-day. Like a fair rose beside a dusty road ! 130 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM This wild life suits you, in the windy ways, Living from hand to mouth. Queen. Oh, glorious This wide, free life of wandering at your side. With stately forms and trappings all put by ! Ah me, the weariness that I remember ! The vacant days, the trailing ceremonies, The clogging weight of velvet, and the feasts Whose one remove would furnish out our army A week or so. And oh, the cloud of words, Encompassing me round like buzzing flies — Your Highness, and your Highness, and your High- ness, Until the very soul was sick within me To think of such a thousand yesterdays And such another thousand of to-morrows ! Andronikos. Do you thus gladly part in memory From all the former splendours of your life, Being now a robber's woman on the roads. Ill-fed, ill-kept, and with no roof to shield you ? Queen. No roof ? Nay, God's own Heaven is my roof, And God's wide world my presence-chamber now. Give me a night of stars and hyacinth To make my bed, and never a Queen on earth Has sweeter couch nor queenlier canopy. Andronikos. No sorrow gnaws you for a silken robe ? THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 131 For cloth of tissue, nor a rubied crown ? Your appetite has no more hankering For larded meats served up in ceremony ? For banquets held to loud consort of trumpets, High on your dais, with baldachin of State Above you, while the pages stand arow ? Why, sweetheart, tastes the water of the spring. Drunk in the hollow of the hand, as rich As Syrian vintage cooled with summer snow Of Libanos, from a goblet starred with gems Of gold and pearl, and crusted emerald? Queen. But dawn is gold, and leaves are emerald, And pearling dewdrops on the grass are jewels. What need I more ? The former state you tell of Was nothing — gilding of an empty cupboard ! For then my life was void — externally Made splendid to conceal its emptiness. Now that my soul is so, so richly stored, I wear no gilding to the cupboard's door. But by an outward show of barrenness I cheat the envy of the world, that else Would plunder all my riches. Andronikos. These three years Have taught you much. Queen. And given me more indeed. I am a slave let loose, a dreamer waked, 132 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM A rebel tamed, a heretic converted. And a Boeotian turned philosopher. 'Tis you, 'tis Love have waked me, taught me, tamed me. Converted from my foolish heresies That had no ground in Love's Apokalypse. 'Tis you have grafted sound philosophy Upon my ignorant, poor, wayward heart. And I, that once was proud in being a Queen, Now, learning wisdom, find a better pride, A higher, happier pride, in being mere woman — In being mere slave of you that set me free. Andronikos. What has the pupil taught her teacher then.? Have I no debt towards you, Theodora } The joy you give An alarum. Enter Roger aiid Alfred. Roger. The enemy attacks Below the spring, and Guy is sore bestead ! Andronikos. Now God be praised I put no armour off. [Going. Queen. What, will you go ? Oh stay and keep me safe ! Let the men fight. Andronikos. Where they fight, there fight L THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 133 Queen. May I not hold you ? Andronikos. Peace ! — your time 's gone by. Here are men's matters, where no woman meddles. Stand you aside then. Queen. Go, and come again In triumph. Andronikos. I will leave a guard for you. Alfred. Captain, your promise was that I should fight This time. Queen. Oh, take them all, dear Caesar; You need them, and not I. I shall be safe This little while in so secure a hold. [Alfred and Roger depart. Andronikos. And heaven be thanked for a queenly heart in you ! — On to the fight, lads. Soon will we be back. Keep happy cheer, sweet rose. [^All, save the Queen, are now gone off to the battle at the back, A clamourmg. Queen. Ah, restless day. Men ever fight, women at home must stay. [Very stealthily creeps round the boulders on the right, a knot of soldiers, coming by the rocky pass. The Governor of Trebizond is at their head, and fvith him Count Raymond of Antioch. They fall upon the Queen unawares and seize lier. 134 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Queen. Why, what is this ? Governor. We 've got the turtle netted ! And now we'll take her mate when he returns. Was't not a cunning feint to lure away The robber Captain ? Queen. Prince of Antioch, You know mcj and what name is it I bear. Inform this churl, and bid him cast me loose. Count Raymond. Alas^ that you^ who flouted on my daughter, Should thus be taken in a kindred sin ! Now fie^ your shame is too apparent, Madam — It cries to Heaven, and makes a pestilence. In the noonday, of your great Komnenian name ! — I spare you more. Queen. Are you against me, then .'' Oh, I am lost ! — Well, what is to be my fate } Governor. Some island convent, and strait discipline In darkness, till you die, that's j/owr fate. Madam. Queen. Are these my Uncle's orders for his niece ? Governor. His Sacred Majesty disowns that niece ; You are no more Komnena. You have cast Your name away. Queen. Raymond of Antioch THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 135 Though I be so far fallen, 1 am no meat For such foul tongues. Count Raymond. No words are foul enough For you that have made a barter of your crown, Your pride, your honour, your Imperial name. For such a filthy way of living. Queen. Ha, I railed on Countess Philippe ! I am paid ! — Have me away, I '11 make no longer moan. Governor. Too fast, too fast. We '11 wait till Caesar comes All unawares, back to his turtle-dove, And thus we'll net him also. Queen. And will you so } A thousand of you might. Governor. We are ten to one. So, Madam, hold that ready tongue of yours. When Caesar comes, nor open not your lips To cry him warning, or this blade of mine Shall hush your song for ever. Queen. Would you kill me ? Governor. Yes, if you move to give your lover sign That any foe is here. Queen. You will do this. And do not fear my breast will blunt your sword. Being mailed in golden royalty divine ? 136 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Governor. Queens are but too much women ; you have shown it ; And swords, no less than lovers, may break through Into their hearts : we '11 make experiment. [A Soldier enters at the hack. Soldier. The Caesar gaily comes this way again, Having put, he thinks, our men to rout. Governor, Now, woman. One word, one whispered word, and you are dead. Queen (cries out). There 's treachery, Andronikos, treachery, Away, away ! [The Governor nms to kill her. Count Raymond puts by his blade. Governor. Ha! Count Raymond. Hokl. Bethink you what you do. This shame of women 's yet the Emperor's niece. Belike, although he 'd have her prisoner. He would not have her slain. Remember, too. Your orders from his Majesty are stale ; 'Tis a full month since letters came from him. Perhaps his heart is softer now towards her. Governor. You have balked my stroke, and she has balked my game. Count Raymond. I 'Id reason with you Governor. Reason with your vassals ! [Andronikos appears on the rock behind. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 137 I 'm none of them ! — Ah, there 's my villain come ! — Now, Raymond, meddle with me on your danger ! I am vice-regent of His Holiness In Trebizond. ... 1 Id have you ware of that. Remember it. . . . Well met. Lord Andronikos ! Your harlot sends to take last leave of you. Andronikos. Last leave ? Governor. If you surrender not yourself. Hold me the prisoner firmly — lead her forward : This woman hangs, my lord, on yonder tree, At once. — Get me a rope. . . . Yes, hangs, were she Five hundred times an Emperor's granddaughter. Ho ! do not try to parley. I am master. Your little host is swamped in mine. Submit, Or watch this woman die. — Aha ! the rope. — Now put it neatly 'bout her princely neck. I '11 warrant, Madam, never in your life Have you worn such a necklace ! Andronikos. Theodora ! Queen. Nay, have no care for me, dear heart. Good- bye, Since this is fixed. I '11 end as gladly so. As agonising on a bed of state With priests and women round me. Death is one : What matter then the guise in which he comes } 138 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM A hempen death is death, no morej no less Than fever or old age, or courtly poison. I am content. Then have no thought for me, But say Good-bye, and make your safety sure. Andronikos. Good-bye ! [He disappears. Governor. Why, he escapes. . . . Well, curse the coward ! CoUx\T Raymond. This wanton has an Emperor's cour- age still ; Her soul has not been tainted of her shame. Queen. He 's gone ! I am alone. All 's ended now. Make quick conclusion, pray you ; I am ready. And yonder bough and I will be good friends. — Oh ! . . . Andronikos. Andronikos enters, and surrenders. Andronikos. I am at your pleasure. You have played a cunning game. Make fast, make fast! This is a knot an infant could undo ! [They hind him. Queen. Oh love, what have you done ! Andronikos. The best I could Where all was ill. Would you have had me go And leave you to your death ? Why, what a tale! THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 139 Queen. I would to God you had . . . and yet I love you A hundred times the more that you refused. Andronikos. Well now, release the Queen. I 've ran- somed her : She 's free. ' Governor. Ah^ no, this speckled Majesty Must to a convent, there to be pent up In discipline. Andronikos. So you have fooled me then.'' I recognise the Emperor Manuel In such a trick. — Well, what 's to do with me ? Governor. We '11 hang you in her place, to make an end Of all your shifts. Andronikos. A thorough workman, you ! (To the others.) My cousin has an active servant here ! Count Raymond. Is this best ? Governor. Will you counter me again .^ Why, yes, for my commission has no bounds ; And His Holiness will taste a sounder sleep When once the Empire's ridded of His foe. Andronikos. Well, hang me high, then, like an Emperor's cousin. Above the world, with the sunset in my eyes ! 140 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Governor. Step you out briskly^ make a pleasure trip Of this your last adventure. Andronikos. Urge me not. /'ll do your ceremony credit, sir. Queen. No word for me ? Andronikos. No. I am iron now, And must not be turned water with your tears. Queen. I will not weep. Ah no, I will not weep To see you end in such an Emperor's spirit. You are all Caesar, and I am Caesar too, In birth and name, and m your comradeship. There 's no more woman in me. Go, my lord. Short love is royal love — and so, farewell. Governor. You make his funeral feast a festival ! Andronikos. Shall sundown see me yet a living man ? Fie, you're a laggard ! I shall take a rheum With tarrying in this chilly evening air. What man are you to let the sun go down Upon your foe ? This is not scriptural. Count Raymond. Bethink you, dying villain, of your prayers, And not of such vain floutings. Andronikos. Well-a-day, The fat old Count must now put in his word ! THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 141 Governor. This is my prisoner. You '11 be ever meddling ! \Biiierly, to Count Raymond. Here 's Trebizond^ not Antioch. — Let him be. I grudge no man a gallant gallows-jest. The Emperor will be doubly glad of this To hear His cousin 's dead, and dead so princely ! — And look, where Count Anthemios, on my word. Comes hasting hither with Imperial letters. Count Anthemios altendcd, with Nuncio wJw bears a gold ivmid, hound ivith black. Why, this is fortunate indeed ! — Step on ! Let Count Anthemios see a goodly state. — Your Excellency, here is rich fulfilment Of all His Sacred Majesty's desires ; Here 's Andronikos caught, and led to die ! Anthemios {does very low obeisance to Andronikos.) At last I find Your Sacrosanctity ! Oh Holiness, these many kingdoms through We have vainly sought Your lost Resplendency ! And now to me the crowning grace is given. To find Your Celsitude alive and in health. \_A stupor. Governor. What 's here of Celsitudes and Sanctities ? You only see an outlaw bound for death. U2 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Anthemios. How, liow ? Have you heard nothing of our news ? Governor. What news, then ? [Count Anthemios makes sign to the Nuncio. Nuncio (?vho speaks, fonnally). It has pleased Almighty God To take into His Catholic Mercy's charge The soul of late our Sovereign, Sacrosanct, Eternal Lord the Emperor Manuel. [Breaks the staff and casts at the feet o/'Andronikos. All are amazed. Governor. God rest His Holiness ! Andronikos. God damn him then That hunted me ! But Manuel leaves a son ? Anthemios. Yes, young Alexios, Whose mother, Manuel's widow, rules for him ; But the Empress Mary — I grieve to tell you this — {To Count Raymond.) Your daughter, sir, — has quite forgot her rank, And made black shipwreck of her dead Lord's honour. Base groomboys now, and nameless Genoese, Are made partakers of her regency, Till all cry scorn on the Komnenian Line, And vow Alexios, being his mother's child. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 143 Is none of Manuel's. — Now one word alone Can heal our wounds, and make the sick world sound. — That one word, Andronikos — all men cry it, In prayers and vows and oaths and sacraments ; You are, by now, trumpeted Emperor, In Thessalonika and Constantinople, In Athens, Chersonese, and Trebizond, In Rhodes and Cyprus, and throughout the East. Governor. Your Sanctity^ Andronikos the Emperor. Come, cut these ropes away. They chafe my silken Sanctity. Devoutly ! Do it devoutly ; this was once a thief. Henceforth it is a God made visible ! Governor. Your Celsitude Emperor. Now, take me this brisk Governor, And hang him from the Gate of Trebizond ; I '11 have another Governor in his room. — Good Roger Brassard, Trebizond is yours. Governor. Your Gloriousness Emperor. Was very near snuffed out By means of you, sir. Governor. Oh, Your Holiness Emperor (in rneasure, mockingly). And hang him from the Gate of Trebizond ! 144 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM There is a poem for you^ sir. You're honoured When an Emperor sings your death-song. — Have him away ! — [^^^^// Teinove him. Oil, Manuel, Manuel, you that hunted me, Like a mad wolf, and so you 're dead and damned ! My nightmare ends, and now I wake to life ! Oh, Manuel, never shall I fear you more ; Fast, fast you lie beneath a seven-fold dome, To rise up never till the Judgment Day ! What, voice that thundered death, are you now dead. And hand that signed my warrant fallen slack ? And eyes that looked so angrily on me Made dark for ever } Manuel, look up From where you are, and see me in your place ! God grant there be a life beyond the grave. That you, in Hell, may have a sight of me, Your outlaw, throned in glory. Are you deaf ? Hear, I defy you ; what, no answer still ? Is Manuel, the lion of the earth. Turned craven, and thus patient of affronts ? — Alas, great Manuel lies imprisoned now Beneath a weight of marble. . . . Manuel 's dead, And I, I sit on the golden seat of the world ! — Now, God do so to me, and worse than worst. If I lay not your memory in the dust, THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 145 Pluck down your palace, Manuel, stone by stone. Leave not a relic standing of your name, And make an utter wreckage of your grave, Your kindred and your friends, and all that loved you ! Fear, fear, all ye that bowed to Manuel ; I come, I come, to my Empire in the West — I come, the beggar turned a master now ! I come with terror and fire for akolytes. With hatred for my sword, and a long hunger To satisfy on life's untasted joys. Oh, I 've an old, old anger at the world, That thus has been the Emperor Manuel's hound To hunt me ever on in beggary These years on years, while still my hunger grew ! Now will I sate it very perfectly : On delicate white honour will I feed Of maidens, and the wine within my cup Shall be the salt tears of mine enemies ; I will be gorged with ruin, and drunk with shame ; I will be crowned with curses ; broken hearts Shall be the broidery of my purple robe ; The scarlet of my buskins shall be blood. Wherein I '11 wade, deep, deep unto my knee ; And dead men's bodies shall be roses strewn On the imperial progress of my life ! 146 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Count Raymond. Why, Madam, this is a devil you have loved ; Know him at last, and get you from his side ! Anthemios. His Sacred and Eternal Majesty Speaks now a little frothing bitterness. 'Tis natural ; so in words the storm will pass, And His high Magnanimity again Shine forth unclouded. Emperor. Piously you read me, We '11 take it so ; and you, Raymond of Antioch, Who muttered something, though I heard not what, [ Walking terrific towards Jmn. We 'Id counsel you to have a little care. You have not noted what a change is here : This is not Andronikos, but Augustus — Godhead on earth ; be careful what you say, Lest God, then, girdled round with blood and fire, Come down in state to visit Antioch ! — Now, Count Anthemios, let's be setting onward. Our Holiness will follow as you lead. Queen. And what of me, sweetheart — am I forgot ? And does the Emperor have no further care Of what the beggar won and loved ? Emperor. Oh — you ! You '11 come along with us. — We clean forgot We had the woman with us ! — By the way, Anthemios, can you tell us anything THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 147 Of a lady that we married once ? Is she Alive or dead now? — If she's dead^ why then You shall be Empress. . . . Well ? Anthemios. Her Holiness The Divine Augusta 's waiting on the shore Until Your Sacrosanctity arrive. Emperor. Well here's a spiteful, froward chance indeed ! I think a woman has as many lives As a cat. She might so easily have died In all the years that we have been parted from her. Queen. What end is there for me .'' A great, great gulf Now sunders me from Caesar's Majesty. Shall neither cross it ? I am lost in fear, And sudden darkness is about my path, Made blacker night by this refulgency Of yours, this glare of glory round your brow. I dazzle, I dazzle, and I am sick at heart To guess the close of all our happiness ! Emperor. Why, no. The Emperor in Constantinople, I think, can be as happy with his love As ever a tramping beggar on the road. So pluck up better heart, and let 's along. We 've only changed our name, and not our nature. Queen. The change of name is change of nature too. Emperor. Our greatness overcomes her ! Pretty soul ! Your Caesar 's very Csesar still of yours ! Go on, go on, and make a vessel ready 148 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM For our embarking. We will follow soon, When once this widowed Queen is brought to reason. Anthemios (goiwir). Is it here^ or by the ship, Your Holiness, That you would have the Augusta give you welcome ? Emperor. Why, let her bring her greeting here in person : We shall receive her gladly, faithful soul. [Then looking grimly after departing Anthemios. You owe me a debt, Anthemios ; you shall pay it As soon as ever I am safely throned. — \The rest are gone. The Emperor is now alone with the Queen. Heart, heart, look not so peevishly on me, Is all our joy extinguished and made nought, Because my destiny is thus fulfilled ? Queen. I have a clearer sight than you, my lord. Our ways end here. We cannot go together Another day. Your road conveys you up To the gilded height of majesty, and mine Leads down I know not whither. Emperor. What is this } I am befogged, I cannot understand. You have been an outlaw's love, and can you not Be now an Emperor's .^ THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 149 Queen. Oh, farewell, farewell ! A thousand leagues of strangeness now divide us. Each word you say removes you farther from me. You have a wife. Emperor. Why, so I had before. And you made no such moan nor preachment — no, But gladly occupied her place with me. Queen. You had a wife, yes ; but an Empress now. Emperor. Shall Emperors, then, not have their private pleasures As well as any outlaw on the roads ? Tis only changing dusty rags for velvet. And all the filth of beggary for gold. Queen. A wife, a wife Emperor. A ceremonial wife ! How can she count betwixt us ? Come, your hand. Queen. O God ! we are strangers utterly, and talk In tongues uncomprehended of each other ! Do you not see ? — What, are you still so blind ? 'Twas easy, yes, and honourable for me To give up honour and my woman's pride For the sake of a poor beggar that had nothing. But now, but now, to be the Emperor's mistress. Lapped up in silks and hung about with jewels, — There is no honour, but a vile disgrace ; I were no better than a harlot so ! laO THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM For now you are rich in everything, and Lord Of the whole earth. But^ when I came to you I was the only joy and charity The world had yielded you till then. You won me With piteous begging. — You would buy me now ; For wealth must buy where poverty may beg. Emperor. Is this your latest word, then, Theodora ? How like a woman is this windy speech ! Where it is reckless folly to take a lover, You '11 pick him gladly. But where fortune offers An Emperor's favour, you will none of it ! When I was nothing, then you loved me well ; Now I am everything, I am turned to nothing In your esteem. Queen. When you were nothing, Caesar^ I gave you all ; now you are everything, So I have nothing more to give, and that You had of me henceforward would be bought By bargain struck between us. . . . Was it not The Emperor Konstantine Monomachos Who kept his mistress and his wife together In the one palace, and went in state between them, And styled them both Augusta.'* Such a place Is not for me, your Cousin, and a Queen. Emperor. Can I tlo nothing.'* THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 151 Queen {after a pause). Yes, if love held true, You would refuse this cursed diadem. Emperor. Refuse the Empire ?— Well, if you are there, [He laughs. I cannot follow, and I '11 plead no longer ! Queen. Ah, now I see, what three years since I saw In my secret fear. — No woman counts to you One whit the more than any other woman. Flesh, flesh are we all, to serve your purposes. But never countenance nor soul have we To tell us from our sister woman-bodies ! Oh, give me but this little pledge of love. To show you hold me different from that crowd. Emperou. Will you pretend that love is worth a crown? Queen. A crown ? It is a crown — the crown of life. Emperor. Such pompous, high-blown notions are too strange For me to cope with. — Women are sweet things. And yet I 'd dam the Bosphorus with them all To win myself an hour of sovereignty ! Queen. A short while since you gave your life for me. Yet will not now give up a crown for me. Emperor. Why, life — a trifling easy toy is that To take or give. But crowns and sovereignties — These are the great things, and the man 's a fool Who sells not honour, love, life, everything. 1.52 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM To be Emperor for a shining day of glory, Though darkness follow presently. Queen. Our words Are foes, and soon will make us enemies. Emperor. So we part here. Queen. We part. You to your crown, And I — to my atonement. Emperor {easily). Heart of mine, Ask any boon, then, that your fancy craves, And I will give it for a parting gift. Queen. You still would put my honour up to auction, With proffering gifts of your magnificence .'' Emperor. Here is no bid. Only a kind farewell. Queen. I shall make your splendour bankrupt with my prayer. [/w obscure passion. Emperor. Remember I am master of the East, And let your boon be rich enough to balance The Emperor's life you saved an hour ago. A rich prize, surely. Speak it roundly now — Ask for a life, a county, or an island, And you shall have it. Queen. Will you swear me that .'* Emperor. I swear it on my oath Imperial, So stands my promise. Queen. 'Tis not life 1 ask But death. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 153 Emperor. How say you^ death ? Queen Qyiolently). Ah, did you think That I would live in widowhood of you ? . . . But / am not so fickle as a man ! In my heart only dwells one simple thought : My thought, my love, my life make trinity. And you are all. — Yet now our courses part. And I must go alone. Why, then, my end Is here and now ; my being's touched its term. Seeing we twain are sundered ; for my being W^as only you. I am a vacant husk, A dead thing that your love alone made live. And now that heartening spirit passes out. At once I die. There's no more life in me — A ghost, a shadow Emperor. You ask a thing of me Queen. You swore to give, on your Imperial oath. Shall I that have been glorified in you Now fall a prey to lesser, meaner men 1: For do not think there 's any fate for me But to continue downwards ; I am fallen. And all God's angels cannot raise me now. Yet easily, yes, and without escape I must fall farther down this dreadful slope On which my feet are set. There lies my doom : 'Tis you have battered in and made a breach l.")4 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Through the fair wall of my honour — leave rae living. And any knave that wills may enter in To this defenceless citadel of me — For all my barriers are destroyed, and I, That fortress once walled round by fourfold granite Of virtue, honour, sovereignty and birth. Am now but an open ruin ; none who comes Can I deny. . . . This is the fate of us Poor loving women — we are fools for one, Then harlots ever after for the rest. So inclination opens first the door, And hard necessity comes in and drives. We cannot climb again, so needs must fall. And one dear weakness makes a Hell of all ! What rest or hope have I when you are gone. What trust that men will let me live alone ? Ha ! will you have another in ^OMr place. Have others praising of this hireling face ? Have all that choose sip pleasure from your cup ? All that come after pick your leavings up ? What, will you bear that thought ? — then let me go Where none can make their profit of my woe. Emperor. You have a manly, strange, distorted spirit There 's no such evil case for you indeed ; I 'Id see you surely, honourably bestowed, In a convent, or some sober country villa. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 155 Queen. Now Heaven reward your magnanimity ! Wliat_, pension off your lady ? — Stow her safe. And let her rot the lagging years away In honourable dishonour ? — Or a convent ? What peace should such a widow as am I Find in a convent ? Or a house, maybe. Of well-born Convertites you 'Id send me to. Such as the great Augusta of ray name Established for her sisterhood long since. Oh, this is mockery I Emperor. What have I to say ? You so cut off yourself from every hope. And this thing that you ask — 'tis horrible ! Go back, go back, to Queenship and repose. Life holds a hundred pleasures for you yet. Queen. ' Go back. ... Go back.' There is a bitter word ! Who is there in the world that ca?i go back ? One step succeeds the other forward, forward. Upward or downward — so the journey goes ; But never backward : on our heel pursues A wave of darkness swallows up our track, And wipes out everything that lies behind. . . . There 's no going back for any one of us. Never again can I be honourable. Never again can I be held in love ir>6 I'HE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Of honest, kindly creatures. I am clown In tlie mud now, never more to rise again. There is no longer Queen nor widow in me; I am only Theodora now, the wanton; And all the world henceforth spits out at me, Whether I sit in convent or in brothel. . . . There's my whole future — will you leave me to it ? Or, having led me into these low depths, Will you do me now what charity you may. And save me from going lower ? Emperor. I am to kill you ? Queen. You have given me life, you have given me love, my lord ; Now give me death, last boon and best of all ! Emperor. Your heart is royal ! Queen. So let my death be royal, An Emperor's gift — a death imperial, Fit end to this my flaming royalty Of love ! Oh, I have been a Queen indeed, And borne fair children to a King of men ! So let my blaze flare up at once and die. Nor trail a sinking fire through lengthening years Of dimness, deepening ever to extinction In the starless night of shame. Here let me end ! — See where my sun goes kingly to his setting : Let me go queenly to my setting too. THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 157 Let me lie lapped in scarlet as a Queen, In scarlet of my own embroidery. None other dye than this of mine own veins May fitly stain the shroud of Theodora, That had the Emperor John the Beautiful To grandsire, and a leash of Emperors For kindred, and, for love, an Emperor ! Emperor. Do you ask this truly } Queen. Grant my latest prayer. Emperor. I cannot Queen. Can the Emperor falsely swear ? Emperor. Take back my oath. Queen. Oh, keep me not in pain ! Emperor. Will you not change ? Queen. Must I still beg in vain ? Emperor (^showing his stvord). Does not this fright you .-^ Queen. 'Tis my chiefest friend ! Emperor. But sharp and stern. Queen. And swift to make an end I Nuncio enters at the back. Nuncio. Her Holiness the Empress is at hand I [Exit. Queen. Now, on your oath — your oath Imperial ! Quick, quick, despatch, and I will bless you for it ! 1,58 THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM Emperor. Is your soul ripe to bid the world good- night ? [Lofv and hurried, these speeches. Queen. My soul's wings now are fluttering to their flight. Emperor. Pray, pray. Queen. That timely strength to you be given ! Emperor. Confess. I dare not loose a soul unshriven. Queen. My only sin is loving overmuch. Emperor. And Heaven, we know, is merciful to such ! Then soar upon your way ! [The Emperor stabs the Queen : she proudly takes his blow in an exaltation, and so in an instant falls silently dead. What, are you gone So suddenly, without a cry or a moan } I 've paid you heavily the debt I owed, Fair fallen rose upon my dusty road ! The Nuncio enters from the back, ajinouncing. Nuncio. Her Holiness, the Augusta's Majesty ! [Exit. Enter the Empress Theodora, gladly advancing towards the Emperor. Empress. Oh, Andronikos, after many years ! . . . But who is this dead woman lies between us ? THE DOWAGER OF JERUSALEM 159 Emperor (as he passes the body by and draws near the Empress). No longer now between us. Let her rest. This was a noble lady, and loved me nobly. — Farewell, Theodora. . . . Theodora, hail ! \^Having made his adieu to the Queen, he runs into the arms of the Empress, and so is left, in her embrace, as the curtain falls. THE END Printed by T. and A. 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