Miscellaneous Plays/Constantine Paleologus Act 4

by Joanna Baillie

ACT IV.

An out-post belonging to the Turkish camp, with a view of the city of Constantinople on the back ground, seen in the dimness of cloudy moonlight.

Enter several Turkish Soldiers by different ways, meeting one another.

 

FIRST TURK.

Ho! who are ye? our friends?

SECOND TURK.

⁠I know thy voice.

FIRST TURK.

⁠Yes, we are friends; but let us separate,

And gain our tents as quickly as we may:
For now thro' all the camp the busy stir
Of warlike preparation is begun;
And ere the morning dawn, each armed Turk
Mut be in readiness for the grand day
Of havock, blood, and spoil. Come, let us on!

THIRD TURK.

⁠Yes; but, good comrades, do once more look back,

And see, thro' the wan night, those buildings gleam
With the last christian fires that e'er shall burn
Within those circling walls.

SECOND TURK.

⁠Ay, there the Prophet has prepar'd our rest.

There soon, midst heap'd-up spoils, and the wild wailings
Of fetter'd beauty, in our new-won homes,
We'll cast our red-flesh'd scimitars aside,
And lay us down in soft and lordly sloth.
Comrades, it is an animating sight.
But quickly let us gain our tents.—Hush! hush!
What Turk comes prowling, this way, and alone?
It looks like Mahomet.

FIRST TURK.

⁠It is the sultan on his nightly rounds,

Disguis'd; let us avoid him.

THIRD TURK.

⁠I'd rather cross a tiger on my way;

For, as the humour hits, it may be fatal
To know or not to know him. At the best
We shall be deem'd but lawless stragglers here:
Let us all separate and gain our tents.
⁠(Exeunt hastily, all different ways.

Enter Mahomet disguised, followed at a distance by the Vizir.

MAHOMET (alone, after walking thoughtfully from the bottom of the stage, whilst Osmir remains on the back ground).

⁠What boots this restless wish? 'tis all blank silence

On that for which my greedy ears still watch.
There's ne'er a Turk, who, o'er his evening pipe,
Will not far rather talk of daring feats
By petty robbers done, than all the fame
And grand achievements of his sov'reign lord.
'Tis cheerless silence all! Dull, stupid race!
They arm them for to-morrow's fight, 'tis true,
With much alacrity, and talk of conquest,
Carnage, and spoils; but for their sultan's name,
The name of Mahomet, thro' all the camp
I've scarcely heard its sound. Nay, once I heard it
In accents harsh pronounc'd, but as to listen
I nearer drew, my steps the speaker fear'd,
And all was into fearful silence hush'd.
Their sultan's name!—Pest seize the stupid slaves!
O, Constantine! it is not thus thy soldiers
Do arm themselves for thee.
Ho, Osmir! art thou near me?

OSMIR (advancing).

⁠Yes, my lord.

MAHOMET.

⁠Hast thou been list'ning too?

OSMIR.

⁠Yes, sultan; and I find your Mussulmen

Their arms preparing for to-morrow's battle,
Beneath your royal standard most determin'd
To conquer or to die.
They under your approving eye will fight,
As in the sunshine of propitious heaven.

MAHOMET.

⁠Yes, I am in their minds full truly grown

A thing of gen'ral attributes compos'd—
A heaven of sunshine or of lowering storms:
But as a man and leader, in whom live
The mental and corporeal qualities
Of Mahomet——Pest seize the stupid slaves!

Enter Petronius and Marthon, muffled up in cloaks.

But who comes here? twice on my rounds already

Those men have cross'd me: am I known to them?
By the great Prophet they shall bear their secret
Where secrets are secure!—Ho! stop slaves there!

Stop, in the sultan's name! (Running upon them furiously and lifting his scimitar over the head of Petronius, who immediately discovers himself.)

PETRONIUS (discovering himself).

⁠Crush not a worm, my lord.

MAHOMET.

⁠A worm indeed! What treason brings ye here,

Sculking, thus muffled up in dark disguise?
Have I not warn'd ye both that ye do live
Beneath mine iron power in strictest faultlessness?
For that when ye are found but to transgress
The galling limits of imposed duty
Even a hair's breadth, there abideth you
A recompense more dreadful than torn slaves,
Writhing in horrid ecstasy, e'er knew.
Beware: ye have no power to serve me now,
And unsuccessful traitors are most hateful.

PETRONIUS.

⁠It is, great Mahomet, to make amends

For unsuccessful services, that here
Thou find'st us, on our way within the city
To gain for thee some useful information
Against to-morrow's push. Still in our power
Some little aid remains.

MAHOMET.

⁠If thou fay'st true, return to me again,

Leading thy beauteous daughter in thy hand,
Ere two hours pass, who shall within my tent
A pledge remain for thy suspicious faith
Until the city's ta'en.—Begone, I charge you,
And answer not again. (Exeunt Petronius and Marthon.
Are all mine orders issued for the morrow?
To each respective officer assign'd
His task and station? and my rearward troops,
Mine axe and cord-men, they are not forgotten?

OSMIR.

⁠No, please your highness, nothing is forgotten.

And by the early dawn——(A mixture of confused distant sounds heard from the city.)

MAHOMET.

⁠What sounds are these?

OSMIR.

⁠Hast thou forgot we are so near the city?

It is the murm'ring night-sounds of her streets.
Which the soft breeze wafts to thine ear, thus softly
Mix'd with the chafings of the distant waves.

MAHOMET (eagerly).

⁠And let me listen too! I love the sound!

Like the last whispers of a dying enemy
It comes to my pleas'd ear. ⁠(Listening.)
Spent art thou, proud imperial queen of nations,
And thy last accents are upon the wind.
Thou hast but one voice more to utter; one
Loud, frantic, terrible, and then art thou
Amongst the nations heard no more. List! list!
I like it well! the lion hears afar
Th' approaching prey, and shakes his bridling mane,
And lashes with his tail his tawny sides,
And so hear I this city's nightly sound.

OSMIR.

⁠It is indeed a rich and noble conquest

Which heaven unto its favour'd warrior gives.

MAHOMET.

⁠Yes, Osmir; I shall wear a conqu'ror's name,

And other ages shall of Mah'met speak,
When these dumb slaves are crumbling in the dust.
But now the night wears on, and with the dawn
Must the grand work begin.
Yet one thing still remains; I must remind thee
That to my gen'ral orders this be added:—
Silent shall be the march: nor drum, nor trump,
Nor clash of arms, shall to the watchful foe
Our near approach betray: silent and soft,
As the pard's velvet foot on Libya's sands,
Slow stealing with crouch'd shoulders on her prey.

OSMIR.

⁠I have already given the strictest orders.

MAHOMET.

⁠Then all is well: go where thy duty calls.

In the mean while I will snatch an hour of rest,
And dream, perhaps, that lovely Grecian dames,
Even with a crowned beauty in their band,
Are lowly bent to kiss my purple feet.
⁠(A distant bell heard from the city.)
What deep and distant bell is this which sounds
So solemnly on the still air of night?

OSMIR.

⁠It comes from St. Sophia's lofty dome,

Where Constantine, with his small band of friends,

As I have learnt, should at this hour assemble,
To join together in religious rites
Of solemn preparation for to-morrow,
Which they regard as their last day of life,
And this as their last act of social brotherhood.

MAHOMET.

⁠Brave men! do they so meet?⁠(Pausing.)

But it must be.
Why should it move me? Heaven decrees their doom:
I act by high commission, tho' for instruments
I have but these dumb slaves,⁠ (Exeunt.

SCENE II. A pillared aisle or open space in the church of St Sophia, with other parts of the church seen in perspective. The great bell heard.

Enter Heugho, met by an inferior Priest.

PRIEST.

⁠Thou com'st before thy master and his friends;

How far are they behind?

HEUGHO.

⁠Not many paces.⁠ (Bell sounds again.)

PRIEST.

⁠Werefore didst thou start?

HEUGHO.

⁠It smote mine ear most strange and dolefully.

Is there soul in its sound which sadly says,
It is the last bell that shall Christians warn
To holy rites within these fated walls?
How many hundred years this sacred pavement
Has with the tread of Christian feet been worn!
And now——Heaven's will be done!

PRIEST.

⁠So must we say, if that our term be come.

We are a wicked and luxurious race,
And we have pull'd this ruin on our heads.

HEUGHO.

⁠But there are those who needs must fall beneath it,

Whose noble worth deserv'd a better fate.

PRIEST.

⁠Think ye the grand assault will be so soon?

HEUGHO.

⁠'Tis so believ'd: and see where now they come,

In gen'rous love and brotherhood united,
Who shall, perhaps, no more see evening's close,
Or under social roof of living men
E'er meet again.

PRIEST.

⁠Nay, do not weep, good Heugho;

For they shall in that blessed place be join'd
Where great and good men meet.—But I must haste
To give my brethren notice.⁠(Exit.

Enter Constantine, with Othus, Rodrigo, Justiniani, and others of his friends, who walk with solemn steps and bareheaded towards the front of the stage, the great bell sounding for the last time as they advance. Constantine then stops and stretching out his arm as if he wished to speak, they all gather respectfully round him.

CONSTANTINE.

⁠My friends, there greatly presses on my heart

Somewhat I've much desir'd to say to you,
If a full heart will grant me so much voice.

OTHUS.

⁠Then speak it, royal sire, we all attend

With ears of love and most profound respect.

CONSTANTINE.

⁠Thus station'd on a dark and awful verge,

In company with you, my noble friends,
I have desired, in this solemn act,
To make my peace with God. But, on my soul,

If any unforgiven wrong to man
Yet rests, how shall I lift my hands to him
Who has made all men, and who cares for all,
As children of one grand and wond'rous house,
Wherein the mightiest monarch of the earth
Holds but a little nook?
I have been one, plac'd on a giddy height
Of seeming greatness, therefore liable,
In nature's poor infirmity, to acts
Of blind and foolish pride. I have been one
In much real feebleness, upheld, defended,
By voluntary aid and gen'rous zeal
Of valiant strangers owing me no service,
And therefore liable, in the mind's weakness,
Its saddest weakness, to ungrateful thoughts
Tinctur'd with jealousy. If towards you,
My noble friends, I have contracted guilt,
I trust—I know—I beg—what shall I say?
Your gen'rous hearts to all your deeds of love
Will add a last forgiveness.

OTHUS.

⁠O no, most royal Constantine! to us

And to all men thou'st ever worthy been,
Noble and gracious; pardon at our hands
Thou needest none.

OMNES.

⁠O no, thou needest none!

As we to thee have faithful followers been,
Thou'st ever been to us a gen'rous lord.

CONSTANTINE.

⁠Your love would make it so: would that, indeed,

A voice within me seal'd its fair report!
Alas! it doth not; therefore now indulge me.
If there be one amongst you, unto whom,
With dark forbidding brow, in a stern moment,
I've given ungen'rous pain; one whose kind service
I have with foolish and capricious humours
More irksome made; one whose frank openness
Of manly love, offer'd to me as man,
In gen'rous confidence, with heartless pride
I coldly have repell'd; yea, if there be
One of you all that ever from my presence
I have with sadden'd heart unkindly sent,
I here, in meek repentance, of him crave
A brother's hand, in token of forgiveness.
And be it in true charity stretch'd forth,
As to a man of much infirmity,
Who has with many trials been beset,
Wounding oft-times in bitterness of soul
The love he should have honour'd.
What! is there none that will to me hold out
The palm of charity?
Then I'll embrace ye all, and, with eas'd heart,

Believe myself forgiven. (Embracing them all as they crowd affectionately to him, and coming last to Rodrigo.)

And thou, my bold Rodrigo, who canst brave

The tempests when they rage, and onward bear,
With the opposed strength of towering navies
Black'ning before thee, com'st thou to my breast
In soft forgiving love? I know thou dost.

RODRIGO.

⁠Ay, in that love that would forgive to thee

The sum of all thy sins, tho' multiplied
Ten thousand thousand fold.—
That would do in thy service—O cursed limit!
That there should be what to man's sinew'd strength,
In all the burning zeal of righteous boldness,
Impossible is.⁠(Clenching his hands vehemently.)

OTHUS (to Rodrigo).

⁠Cease! dost thou not respect these holy walls?

RODRIGO.

⁠I do respect them, Othus; ne'er a head,

Shorn to the scalp, doth bow itself more humbly
Before heaven's throne than mine, albeit in truth
My words unseemly are.

CONSTANTINE.

⁠Come to my heart, my friend! He reigns above

Who will forgive us both. (Embraces Rodrigo, and then observing Heugho, who has stood behind, not presuming to approach him with the rest.)

But there is one who stands from me aloof

With modest backwardness, unto whose charity
I must be debtor also. Worthy Heugho,
Since earliest youth I from thy friendly hand
Have daily kindly offices receiv'd,
Proffer'd with love, exceeding far all duty
Belonging to thy state; yet, ne'ertheless,
I once, in a most vile and fretful mood,
Vex'd with cross'd things, thine honour'd age forgot.

HEUGHO.

⁠Oh, say not so, my dear and royal master.

It breaks my heart that you should still remember.

CONSTANTINE.

⁠Well, well, be not thus mov'd, my worthy Heugho,

I know I am forgiv'n; but lay thy hand,
Thine aged hand, upon thy master's head,
And give him a last blessing. Thou art now
Like to an ancient father with us grown,
And my heart says that it will do me good.

(Bowing his head, whilst Heugho, lifting up his aged hands over him, is unable to speak, but bursts into tears, and falls upon his master's neck. The band of friends close round and conceal them: afterwards they open to make way, and Constantine comes forward with a firm enlightened countenance.)

And now, my noble friends, it pleases me

To think we all are knit in holy bands

Of fellowship; prepar'd, in virtue's strength,
Nobly to fight on earth, or meet in heaven.

OTHUS.

⁠Yes, Constantine, we to each other will

True brothers prove, and to our noble chief
Devoted followers, whate'er betide.
What say ye, valiant friends?

OMNES.

⁠All, all of us!

CONSTANTINE.

⁠I know you will, full well, I know you will.

Oh, that in earth it had been granted me
Your gen'rous love to've recompens'd! alas!
Ye can but share with me———

OMNES.

⁠No other recompense,

But sharing fates with thee, our noble chief,
Do we desire, and on thy royal hand
Here will we seal it.

CONSTANTINE (eagerly preventing them as they are about to kneel and kiss his hands).

⁠Forbear! forbear! within these sacred walls

Bend before worthless man the humble knee!
Fye, let not such shame be!
Am I your chief? then be it shewn in this,
That to the mighty Majesty of heaven

I humbly bow, more lowly than ye all,
And do, on your behalf, devoutly beg
The blessing of our Master and our Sire.

(Kneeling and bowing his head very low to the ground, then rising afterwards with dignified solemnity.)

Now to those sacred rites of our blest faith,

In which the humble soul ennobled bows,
In mem'ry of the dearest brothership
That ever honour'd man, I lead you on,

My noble brothers. (Exeunt Constantine, &c. by another aisle, which may be supposed to lead to the altar of the church, whilst several priests are seen at a distance in their robes, as if waiting to receive them.)

SCENE III. A Hall, or Anti-room in the Imperial Palace.

Enter PETRONIUS and MARTHON disguised.

PETRONIUS.

⁠So far hath this well-counterfeited signet,

And this disguise, befriended us: here stop;
Whilst Constantine and his mad band are absent
On their religious ceremony, here
We will remain conceal'd until that Ella,
Returning (for 'tis near her wonted time,
As they have told us) from Valeria's chamber,
Shall give us fair occasion.—Rouse thee, Marthon;

Thou seem'st like one bereaved of all sense;
What is the matter with thee?

MARTHON.

⁠Nothing; but thus to pass with culprit feet

Beneath the shade of night, these well-known courts
Which I so oft have trod in front of day,
With the firm footsteps of an honest man,
Doth make me———

PETRONIUS.

⁠Fye! thou art become a fool.

Shake off such weakness: we're compell'd to this.
We shall beneath the fultan's iron sway,
Disgrac'd from the late failure of our plots,
Live like lash'd slaves, if the bewitching beauty
Of my young Ella come not to our aid
To bend his rugged nature. Strong in her,
We shall not merely safe protection find,
But highest favour and authority;
And tho' by stealth I needs must bear her hence,
Being my daughter, I, in nature's right———

MARTHON.

⁠Hush! now I hear a lightly-sounding step.

Draw back a little space. (They step aside, whilst Ella enters, and walks across the stage.)

PETRONIUS (in a half voice, stealing softly up to her.)

⁠Ella!

ELLA (starting).

⁠What voice is that which names me?

PETRONIUS.

⁠Ella!

ELLA.

⁠Oh! 'tis the sound that I most dread to hear!

PETRONIUS.

⁠Say'st thou so, Ella, of thy father's voice?

Have my misfortunes, with the world's fair favour,
Depriv'd me also of my only child?

ELLA.

⁠No, no! they have not: had misfortune only

Cast its dark shade upon thee, I had lov'd thee
And cherish'd thee in a lone desert, father.
But—but thou art———

PETRONIUS.

⁠Ha! wherefore dost thou pause?

What would'st thou say? what is there in thy mind?

ELLA.

⁠Thoughts which I will not utter.—Oh, depart!

Thou'rt not in safety. All men do condemn thee.
Thou art not come for good.—Oh, fly from hence!
Ruin, and shame, and death abide thee here:
Oh, fly, my wretched father.

PETRONIUS.

⁠Yes, I will fly, but thou shalt go with me;

If not, I will remain and meet my fate.

ELLA.

⁠Good heaven forbid! thou'lt drive me to distracton.

O misery! (Wringing her hands in great distress, whilst Marthon advances to Petronius with supplicating look.)

PETRONIUS.

⁠Away! thou art a fool: we must be firm.

⁠(To Marthon.)
Wring not thy hands thus wildly, simple maid:
Thou goest to be with me no wand'ring outlaw,
But one in splendour greater than a queen:
The favour'd mistress of the mighty sultan. (To EIla.)

(Ella gives a loud shriek, and struggles to get from him.)

Enter Rodrigo.

RODRIGO.

⁠Audacious villain! quit thy cursed hold,

Or take death for thy pains.
Ha! thou shrink'st back, and mufflest up thy face.
Say who thou art, or thro' thy villain's heart
I'll thrust this rapier.

ELLA (pulling Rodrigo back).

⁠Hold, I do beseech thee!

For pity, hold! it is my wretched father.

RODRIGO.

⁠Wretched indeed!

ELLA.

⁠Ay, therefore pity him.

Let him escape: he hath done me no harm.
He is here as a fox in his last wiles,
Who shelter seeks within the very kennel
O' the rous'd pack: Oh, have some pity on him!
He is my father.

RODRIGO.

⁠Sweet Ella, hang not thus upon mine arm:

It hath no power to strike whom thou call'st father,
Shame as he is unto that honour'd name.
But there are ties upon me, gentle maid:
The safety and the interests of Constantine
I am bound to defend: and shall a traitor———

ELLA.

⁠Oh! oh!

RODRIGO.

⁠Fear not: our royal master is return'd

From blessed rites of holiest charity
With meekly chasten'd soul: whate'er his crimes

He is in safety—safety as assured
As thine own harmless self.

Enter Constantine.

CONSTANTINE (to Rodrigo).

⁠Thou speak'st with an unwonted earnestness;

I've mark'd thy gestures; something moves thee much.

Who are these strangers? (Turning to Petronius and Marthon, who, uncovering their faces, stand confessed before him.)

Ha! Marthon and Petronius! What new treason

Is now on foot, that here——but judge I harshly?
Ye are, perhaps, struck with the circumstances
Of these most solemn times, repentant grown,
And if ye be, in a good hour ye come:
I am myself a wean'd and pardon'd man.
Marthon, thou once wert wont to speak the truth;
What brought ye hither?

MARTHON.

⁠Most gracious prince, with no repentant mind

We hither came; but one of us, at least,
Shall hence depart with a heart deeply smitten.

CONSTANTINE.

⁠Confess then what new treason ye devised.

ELLA.

⁠No treason; none to thee, most royal Constantine.

For me he came, arm'd with a parent's right,
To bear me to the haughty sultan's camp,
To live in queenly state. But, Oh protect me!
Let me remain and die with those I love
In decent maiden pride. Retain me here,
But pardon him: no treason brought him hither.

CONSTANTINE.

⁠Petronius, has thy daugter told me true?

Was this thine errand?

PETRONIUS (approaching Constantine).

⁠Yes, most gracious prince.

CONSTANTINE.

⁠Off then, disgrace to nature and to manhood!

Would'st thou to shameful and degrading slavery
Betray thy virtuous child? Say thou cam'st hither
To thrust i' the dark thy dagger thro' my heart,
And I will call thee sinless.

PETRONIUS.

⁠Wherefore this stern and bitter execration?

I came to place her but a few hours sooner,

Sav'd from th' approaching storm, where your high dames,

Yea, with their royal mistress at their head,

Full shortly shall be placed.

CONSTANTINE.

⁠Detested wretch! what fiend has whisper'd to thee

Such hideous thoughts? man durst not utter them.

PETRONIUS.

⁠Man might, at least, surveying the position

And aspect of these times, in his own mind
This plain and shrewd conjecture form. But not
On such loose bottom do I ground my words;
Mah'met himself hath sworn that your Valeria
Shall at the head of his most favour'd wives——

CONSTANTINE.

⁠Hold thy detested tongue! for one word more

Is instant death. Tempt me not with these hands,
Which hath the symbols touch'd of blessed peace,
To do a horrible act.

PETRONIUS.

⁠I but repeat that which the sultan hath

In public said.

CONSTANTINE.

⁠Forbear! forbear! I tell thee.

(Wrenching his sword, scabbard and all, from his side, and tossing it from him)

There! there! Rodrigo: cast it from my reach:

Let not a weapon be within my grasp,

Or I shall be accursed. (After a violent struggle of passion.)

I dare speak to him now.—Ho! guards without!

ELLA.

⁠Oh, mercy! mercy!

Enter Guards.

CONSTANTINE (to Guards).

⁠Take these two men, Petronius and his friend,

And thro' the city to our outmost post
Conduct them safely: there, in perfect liberty,
Permit them to depart wherever they list.

(To Petronius.) Now, I'm revenged upon thee: get thee hence,

And utter not a word.—Go thou, Rodrigo,

And with the gentle Ella in thy hand,
Conduct them to the palace gate. Hence quickly!

MARTHON.

⁠Nay, let Petronius go: I will remain,

And with the meanest soldier on your walls
Spend my last blood, if a true penitent——

CONSTANTINE (waving him off impatiently).

⁠Well, be it as thou wilt: but hence and leave me!

RODRIGO (to Ella, as he leads her out).

⁠Did I not tell thee he was safe, my Ella?

(Exeunt all but Constantine, who, after walking up and down for some time in a perturbed manner, starts at the sound of Valeria's voice without.)

CONSTANTINE.

⁠Ha! here she comes! alas! how shall I now

Look on her face, and hear her voice of love!
It is distraction!

Enter Valeria.

VALERIA.

⁠My Constantine, art thou so long return'd,

And yet to me no kindly summons sent,
Long as I've watch'd for it?—What is the matter?
Thy brow is dark: these are disturbed looks:
What is the matter?

CONSTANTINE.

⁠Nothing, nothing.

I am, thou know'st, with many cares perplex'd.
Follow me to thine own apartment; here
I cannot speak to thee.

VALERIA (aside, looking eagerly at him as they go out).

⁠What may this be!⁠(Exeunt.

SCENE IV. Valeria's Apartment.

Enter Constantine, followed by Valeria, who remain silent for some time, she looking anxiously with wistful expectation.

VALERIA.

⁠Now we are here, my Lord, in the still privacy

Of this my inmost bower, but thou art silent.
⁠(Pauses, and he is still silent.)

There is a look of sadness on thy face
Of disturb'd wretchedness, that never yet,
Ev'n in thy darkest hours, I've seen thee wear:
Why art thou thus?

CONSTANTINE.

⁠And dost thou ask? I've been, in deep humility,

Making a sinner's peace with God and man,
And now——and now——(His voice faultering.)

VALERIA.

⁠What would you say, my lord?

CONSTANTINE.

⁠And now I am with thee.

VALERIA.

⁠And art thou sad for this? hast thou not still,

Loose from all shackles of imposed state,
Been with me in thine hours of joy or grief,
Like a way faring man, who sitting down
On the green bank, his cumb'rous vestment open,
To the soft breeze?

CONSTANTINE.

⁠Yes, my Valeria; I have been with thee

As with a true yoke heart, so strong in love
That ev'n the thought which scudded o'er my mind
With culprit's speed from shameful consciousness,
Was not from thee conceal'd.

But now the hour is come, when ev'n with thee
I must perform a task—a task of pain.

VALERIA.

⁠Speak; what mean'st thou?

CONSTANTINE.

⁠All have, ev'n in the dearest intercourse

Of heart with heart, in some untoward moment
Transgressors been, and prov'd the cause of pain
Where most they should have banish'd it: and all,
In quitting earthly ties, do anxiously
Desire, in the true blessing of forgiveness,
To part with those whom they have held most dear.

Now dost thou underhand me? (Holding out both his hands to her.)

VALERIA.

⁠I do! I do! thou hast my dearest blessing,

The dearest thoughts and worship of my heart.

But oh! what dost thou say?—part!—how, my Constantine!

Where dost thou go? thou dost not leave the city?

CONSTANTINE.

⁠No, love, but on its wall I go ere long,—

For in a little hour the day will break
Which must its fate decide,—that part to act,
Which, before God and man, in honest pride,
I'm call'd on to perform.

VALERIA.

⁠But from those walls victorious thou'lt return

⁠(Constantine smiles sorrowfully.)
Nay, but thou shalt return: high heav'n decrees it;
Virtue, and every good and blessed thing
Have made it sure. Ev'n, in faith as strong
As at this moment I do hold to this,
Methinks, upon the chaf'd and tossing waves
Of the wild deep I could thus firmly tread,

Nor wet my sandal's thong. (Walking across the stage with firm steps of stately confidence, and then going up to him with an encouraging smile.)

⁠Be thou assur'd!

I know it shall be so. A mystic sage,
Whom I, unknown to thee, have visited—
Pardon this weakness of thine anxious wife—
Darting his eye on forms of woven air,
Saw thee in combat with a Turkish champion,
And saw the crescent fall.

CONSTANTINE.

⁠And may'st thou not believe, that ere they close

Their mortal warfare, many a boastful Turk
Beneath these arms shall fall?

VALERIA.

⁠Ay, but on surer words I rest my faith!

For I did bid him onward cast his eye
Into time's reach, and say, who of this city,

After the course of twelve revolving moons,
Should be the sov'reign lord; and he replied,
In plain and simple words, thy lord and husband.

CONSTANTINE.

⁠And nam'd he Constantine?

VALERIA.

⁠What other name but that of Constantine

Could to these appellations be conjoin'd?
Thou turnest from me with perturbed looks:
Thou shalt not turn away: tell me! O, tell me!
What sudden thought is this that troubles thee?

(Catching hold of him eagerly as he turns from her.)

CONSTANTINE.

⁠Ask not; Oh, do not ask! 'tis pass'd already,

As shoots a glaring meteor 'thwart the night,
Frightful but hasty.

VALERIA.

⁠Thou must tell it me.

CONSTANTINE.

⁠Distract me not.

VALERIA.

⁠Nay, nay, but thou must tell me.

What other name but that of Constantine
Could to my lord and husband joined be?

CONSTANTINE (sinking down upon a chair quite overcome, and covering his face with his hands as he speaks with a quick perturbed voice).

⁠Mahomet! Mahomet!

(Valeria steps back from him, holding up her hands in amazement; then he, after a pause, looking up to her with a self-upbraiding eye.)

I have offended in this very hour

When my press'd soul sigh'd for that loving peace
Which in its earthly close the soul desires.
I have offended,

VALERIA.

⁠Yes, thou hast offended.

All the offences thou had ever done me
Are in this fell and cruel stroke compris'd;
And any other stroke, compar'd to this,
Had fallen upon me lightly.

CONSTANTINE.

⁠It was a thought that hasted fast away,

And came unbidden, (Going up to her penitently.)

VALERIA (turning away in anger).

⁠There is no thought doth ever cross the mind

Till some preceding kindred sentiment
Hath made a path-way for it.

CONSTANTINE.

⁠Yes, my Valeria, thou indeed say'st true;

But turn not from me angrily. My mind,
Ere now, consider'd has the character,
The faith, the power of Mahomet.— Frown not.—
Valeria thou art fair.—Nay, do not frown!

VALERIA.

⁠What dost thou say? hast thou until this moment

Reserv'd for me this base degrading——No:
Torn and defaced by every hated form
Of outward grace! it is our curse, our shame!
⁠(Tearing her hair violently.)

CONSTANTINE.

⁠O be not thus!—forgive a hasty thought!

Think how a doating husband is distracted,
Who knows too well a lawless victor's power.

VALERIA.

⁠What is his power? it naught regardeth me.

CONSTANTINE.

⁠Alas! the frowns of a detesting bride

Deter him not!

VALERIA (smiling contemptuously).

⁠But will he wed the dead?

CONSTANTINE (starting).

⁠What say'st thou? Oh, what meaning is there here!

Yes, yes! I know it all! but it is dreadful:
It makes the cold chill o'er my limbs to creep:
It is not well: it is not holy. No!
O no, my noble love, mine honour'd love!
Give to thy fallen lord all that the soul
To widow'd love may give, but oh stop there!
Heav'n will protect thee in the hour of need;
And for the rest, erase it from thy thoughts,
Give it no being there.

VALERIA.

⁠It hath no being there. Heav'n will protect me:

And he who thinks me helpless thinks me mean.

CONSTANTINE.

⁠I think thee all that e'er was tenanted

Of noblest worth in loveliest female form:
By nature excellent, defective only
In this, that fortune has thy virtues link'd
To the vex'd spirit of a ruin'd man,
Who in his hours of anguish has not priz'd them
As did become their worth.

VALERIA (rushing into his arms).

⁠No, thou hast priz'd them,

In thy blind love, far, far beyond their worth.

My uncurb'd passions have, alas! too oft
Vexation added to that burden'd heart
I should have cheer'd and lighten'd: on my head
Rests all the blame that e'er between us pass'd,
And I alone have need to be forgiven.

(They weep on one another's necks without speaking, when an alarm bell is heard at a distance, and Constantine breaks suddenly from her.)

CONSTANTINE.

⁠It is the 'larum of my farther watch.

VALERIA.

⁠I scarcely heard it: art thou sure of it?

⁠(A second alarm bell heard nearer.)

CONSTANTINE.

⁠And hark! a nearer tower repeats the sound.

The enemy's in motion.—I must arm,
And instantly.

VALERIA.

⁠Then let me be with thee till the last moment.

I have a holy relick of great power;
It is, I trust, worth all thine arms beside;
And from this hand of love thou shalt receive it.

CONSTANTINE (smiling sorrowfully).

⁠Thanks, sweet Valeria! from thy hand of love

I will with love receive whate'er thou wilt.

(A third alarm bell is heard still louder, and enter Attendants in haste.)

Yes, yes, I heard it; go, prepare mine arms.

⁠(To Attendants, and exeunt.

SCENE V. A spacious Hall in the Palace.

Enter Rodrigo, with Ella hanging fondly upon him, and continue their way as if intending to pass through it, when a trumpet sounds without, and they stop short.

RODRIGO.

⁠It is the sound that summons us to meet:

There is no farther grace: therefore, sweet Ella,
My pretty Ella, my good loving Ella,
My gentle little one that hang'st upon me
With such fond hold, in good sooth we must part.
Here bid heav'n bless me, and no farther go.

ELLA.

⁠Must it be so? I will bid heaven bless thee,

And all good saints watch o'er thy precious life;
And they will bless and guard thee in the hour
Of fearful death. In this I have true faith;
Yet, on the very brink, to hold thee thus
Clasp'd in my grasp, and think how soon—Alas!
From many points will fly the whizzing balls,
And showering darts, and jav'lins sent afar,
Aim'd by fell strength; wilt thou escape all this?

RODRIGO.

⁠Fear not, sweet Ella! whizzing balls there be

That, in midway, are from their course declin'd
By the poor orphan's little lisped prayer;
And there be arrows that are turn'd aside,
In their swift flight, by the soft sighs of love,
Unheard of earthly ears. This is a creed,
In the good faith of which poor seamen climb
Their rocking masts, in the full roar of battle,
And we'll believe it.

ELLA.

⁠It is a blessed one: I would believe it.

RODRIGO.

⁠Yes, we'll believe it. Whilst our battle roars,

Thou'lt think of me in thy lone distant tower,
And be to me a gallant armed mate,
With prayers and wishes striving powerfully.
Give me thy hand: we will not weep and wail:
We will part cheerfully.—God bless thee, Ella!
Nay, hang not on me thus!
Thou lov'st a brave man: be thou valiant then,
As suits a brave man's love.

ELLA.

⁠O no! I've fondly fix'd myself upon thee,

Most worthless and unsuited to thy worth.
Like a poor weed on some proud turret's brow,
I wave, and nod, and kiss the air around thee,
But cannot be like thee.

RODRIGO.

⁠Heav'n bless thee, little flower! I prize thee more

Than all the pride of female stateliness.

ELLA.

⁠Dost thou? then I am happy: I am proud:

I will not wish me other than I am.

RODRIGO.

⁠Ah, if we part not instantly, my Ella,

I feel in faith, rude as my nature is,
I soon shall be like thee!—My friends approach:
Let us not meet their gaze—It must be so—
Sweet one, farewel!—Wilt thou still cling to me?

ELLA.

⁠O no, I go: they shall not see thee weep,

Tho' I do bless thee for it.

RODRIGO (leading her hastily back to the door by which they entered).

⁠Well then, brave lass, upon thy lovely head

Heaven's favour rest!—Nay, do not speak to me.

(Preventing her as she is endeavouring to speak.)

Farewel! farewel! (Exit Ella, and he returns to the front of the stage, where he stands musing sorrowfully; when enters to him Justiniani, and, going up to him, touches his shoulder.)

What dost thou want?⁠(Turning angrily.)

JUSTINIANI.

⁠Thou'rt thoughtful.

RODRIGO.

⁠No, I think as others do

With such day's work before them, in good truth,
Not passing merrily.

JUSTINIANI.

⁠From the high tower I've seen th' approaching foe:

It seems a dark and strangely-mixed mass
Of life, wide moving in the misty light
Of early dawn.—I've fought in many a field,
As valiant men and armed warrior's fight,
But such a strange assemblage of new modes
Of mingled war as we this day must face,
I never yet encounter'd.

RODRIGO.

⁠Well, we shall know the scent and flavour of it

When we have tasted it.

JUSTINIANI.

⁠We shall be smother'd up with the mean press

Of worthless matter, as a noble steed,
Beneath the falling rafters of his shed
Ignobly perishes.

RODRIGO.

⁠Fear not, proud soul; we shall have men to fight,

And room enough in some nook of the breach
To grapple with them too.

JUSTINIANI.

⁠Good fortune ever shone on thee, Rodrigo:

Thou still hast been a bold careering bark,
Outriding ev'ry storm. If thou should'st e'er
Again return to our dear native land,
Tell to my countrymen whatever thou know'st
Pertaining to my fate this fateful day:
Let me not be forgotten.

RODRIGO.

⁠I will, my friend: but better fate than thine

I look not for, tho' still I bear myself
As one assur'd of good.—Thou'rt dark and gloomy—
Does aught rest on thy mind?

JUSTINIANI (striding away from him gloomily).

⁠No, nothing, nothing!⁠ (A trumpet sounds without.)

RODRIGO.

⁠Ay, hark, another of our gallant band

Has join'd us with his followers.
⁠(Another trumpet sounds.)
And now another: are they all assembled?

Enter Othus, and several of the imperial Friends.

OTHUS.

⁠On their high wooden turrets, and huge beams

Of warlike engines, rais'd aloft in air,
Gleams the first light of this high-fated day;
And wide expanded, thro' the farther mists
Moves the dark Turkish host.
Thou'rt a tried soul, Rodrigo, I but new
To such tremendous, strange expectancy:
Now is the hour when the soul knows itself.
⁠(Rising on tiptoe with a conscious smile.)

RODRIGO.

⁠Ay, Othus, thou dost wear the countenance

Of a true man: give me thine honest hand.
Are all our friends assembled? ⁠(Trumpet sounds.)

OTHUS.

⁠This says they are: and here comes, last of all,

Our northern friends.

Enter more of the Friends.

Now we are all assembled. Constantine,

He also comes; and sadly by his side,
In mournful dignity, moves his high dame,
Proudly contending with her woman's heart.

Enter Constantine and Valeria, attended.

CONSTANTINE (returning the general salute of the chiefs).

⁠Good morrow, noble brothers and brave leaders:

Are we all here conven'd?

OTHUS.

⁠Yes, our great chief and brother: of your friends

There lacks not one.

CONSTANTINE.

⁠Then to their love, so help me, Mighty Power,

Who hold'st within thy grasp the souls of men!
Neither shall we be lacking.——Now, Valeria.

(Drawing himself up with a proud but tender smile, as if to encourage her to behave nobly.)

VALERIA.

⁠I understand that smile.

Here with thy gen'rous friends, whose love to thee
Most dearly celled in my heart I wear,
And unto whom I have desired much,
Before we part, these grateful thanks to pay—
⁠(Making grateful obeisance to the chiefs.)
Here to those noble friends, and to God's keeping,
I leave thee.——Yet, be it permitted me—
For that thy noble head and lib'ral brow
Have ever cheer'd me as my star of day,
Blessings and blessings let me pour upon them!

(Putting her hand upon his head fervently, and kissing his forehead.)

For that thy gen'rous breast has been the hold

Of all my treasur'd wishes and dear thoughts,
This fond embrace.⁠(Embracing him.)
⁠Yea, and for that thou art

My sire, and sov'reign, and most honour'd lord,
This humble homage of my heart receive.
⁠(Kneeling and kissing his hand.)

CONSTANTINE (raising and embracing her with great emotion).

⁠No more, my dearest and most noble love!

Spare me, O spare me! Heaven be thy protection!
Farewel!

VALERIA.

⁠Farewel! (Valeria is led off by her Attendants, whilst Constantine continues looking sadly after her for some time, then turning to his friends, who gather about him, without saying a word, they go all off the stage together in profound silence.)

END OF THE FOURTH ACT.