Chapter VII: Act II

SCENE I.--_A room in the Papal Palace at Rome. Enter_ HILDEBRAND _as_
Pope _and_ PETER DAMIANI, _a_ fanatic.

_Hild._ Know, Peter, I am a man of single purpose,
To make all Europe bow to Peter’s knee,
To build the power of God o’er human thrones,
And humble kings to Christ by me His Legate.

_Pet._ Now, thou art Hildebrand.

_Hild._ To make the Crown subservient to the Cross
In all things; kill out simony;
And make the church sole granter of all fiefs
In bishopric or abbey; hold all kings
In spiritual feudality to my will,
To wear or doff their crowns at word of Heaven,
As represent in me, God’s vicarate.

_Pet._ There spake Peter, indeed.

_Hild._ For this same reason I carry this purpose now,
To separate humanity from the church,
And re-create a world within this world,
A kingdom in these kingdoms, alienate
From all the loves and ties that weaken men,
By rendering all the priesthood celibate,
Espouséd only unto Holy Church.

_Pet._ Wilt carry this purpose to the bitter end?

_Hild._ Yea, will I, unwive I half the world.

_Pet._ Now will God’s kingdom rise and Hell’s go down,
With man’s presumption. Now we’ll get our hands
Clutched at the throats of all these bloody princes.

_Hild._ Yea, Peter.

_Pet._ Ha, ha, thou, too, hast a hate for kings.

_Hild._ Whoever saw a monk who loved a king?
The king was ever our natural enemy.
But see in me no heaven-brooding monk,
But many men in one, a pope, a king,
A fierce ambition, like a burning flame,
To put these times and peoples ’neath my feet,
And conquer empires to my finger’s will,
So that I nod, and all kings nod with me.
This be the ruling passion of my life.
It saved me from the common daily sins.
Dost thou know, Damiani, I once loved
A woman, even as other men have loved,
Did marry her, o’ercome by human passion;
But driven by the demons of my fate,
Fled from her unto a monastery,
Where nights of prayer and fasting weaned my heart
To larger hopes and cravings. Never since
Have I set eyes upon my youthful love
Nor heard of her, though sometimes in my dreams
She comes back like a nightmare to my heart.
’Tis strange that heaven makes our being so.
But she hath gone, a phantasma upon
The fading walls of my heart’s memory.
I will not dwell upon her.

_Pet._ Gregory, thou wouldst do well to keep
A guard upon thy passions.

_Hild._ Dost know me Peter? I am Hildebrand.
The ages after they will know of me,
As one who ruled himself and all the world
With iron hand, who changed the course of nature,
And rode unmoved o’er rivers of human tears
For God’s high glory.

_Pet._ Unwive the priests! Unwive the priests! ’Tis my life’s
passion.

_Hild._ Peter, Peter, thou art over-hard on woman,
She is not all the devil thou hast thought her.

_Pet._ Yea, devil! devil! Mention not the name!
They are all devils, even thy holy Princess.

_Hild._ Peter!

_Pet._ Yea, Gregory, I will say it to thy face.
’Tis not the Pope she leans on, ’tis the man.
I tell thee Hildebrand, Beatrice loveth thee,
And thou art Pope. O Woman, Woman, Woman!
Thou Satan’s agent for to damn this world!

_Hild._ Ah, Peter, thou much mistakest Beatrice!
If ever a daughter of the Mother of God
Did move with saintly footsteps o’er this earth,
’Twas Beatrice. All Holy homes of God
Within her happy Duchy rise to bless her.
The grateful poor who dwell in her own cities
Would do her reverence. Peter, thou art mad
On this one subject. Now to another matter.
Here is the map of Europe, all mine own.
The red Wolf of the Normans he may growl,
The Tigers of the south may snarl and whine,
But all are mine, are mine. I hold all sheep,
The many flocks who go to make my fold.

_Pet._ Yea, thou wilt shear them, Hildebrand.
But what of Henry?

_Hild._ That name! that name! I would that this same Henry
Were shut in hell! Of Europe’s many kings,
This Henry is the one I fear the most.
These dogs of Italy, hounds I hold in leash
To tear each other when they’d throttle me.
The Norman William hath his own affairs.
He is a heathen hound whom I would use
To keep my Christian sheep in quiet fold,
France hath her ills whereof I know full well,
But Henry! Henry is the name I hate!
His is the other name that stands for Rome.
My hope is this, if I can only put
This arrogant emperor underneath my foot,
As this same parchment, (hear it crunch and crack!)
So I’d crush him and make me emperor,
Then mine would be the single will of Europe.
This is my aim.

_Pet._ Why dost thou pander then? He laughs at thee
And all thy legates, moves his licensed way
As though no Mother Church held holy sway
In his dominions, selleth bishoprics
And abbeys, and making mock allegiance
Laughs in his sleeve at thee, the Pope of Rome.

_Hild._ Let him laugh, his scorn will eat him yet.
The day will come when he will cease to laugh,
For I am Hildebrand, I bide my time.
I hold a physic that will purge his pride
Of all its riches.

_Pet._ Give him that physic quickly, Hildebrand.
Thou art not fierce enough. Use, use thy power,
Ere it deserts thee. What be this power?

_Hild._ The Papal curse.

_Pet._ Yea, use it Gregory, use it even now.

_Hild._ Wait, Peter, thou wilt see a picture yet,
Wilt hear a music that will like thine ears,
Thou wilt see Henry, Monarch of half Europe,
The man who scoffs at monks, and uses men
As players, would poor chessmen for his use
To play with, thou wilt see this man
Shorn of his greatness, blasted like some trunk
Out in a wasteland, suing with suppliant knee,
And begging his royalty from the carpenter’s son.

_Enter a_ Page, _who kneels_.

_Page._ Your Holiness, Ambassadors wait without with letters
from Normandy. (_Presents letters._)

_Hild._ (_Reads._) To his Holiness, the Lord Pope of Rome,
William of Normandy sendeth greeting; Holy Father thine
obedient son and ally, William, Prince of the Normans, who
is about invading England for the purpose of putting the
outlawed Saxon under the power of Holy Church, would humbly
beseech thy immediate public blessing on his undertaking.
This land be sworn by Harold in fief to William, on the bones
of holy saints.
[Signed] WILLIAM.

_Hild._ Ha, Insolent!

_Pet._ Writeth he thus to the successor of Peter?

_Hild._ Insolent! Ally, ally to me, Gregory.
Immediate, poor suppliant truly this.
Ah, Europe, Europe, thou art hard to grind.
This rude wolf would make a bargain, aye,
’Tis little he doth care for Holy Church.
He’ll filch my England’s abbeys, waste her towns,
To fill his Norman lusts. Yet he is strong.
I’ll use this wolf to bow the Saxon neck.

_Pet._ Send him thy curse.

_Hild._ Nay, Peter, he would laugh and throat it down
In Rhenish flagon. What cares he for Popes
But for his uses? I will send my curse
Some other day, to-day will go my blessing.
My curses I have need of for this Henry.
(_To_ Page.) Show them in.

_Enter_ Ambassadors.

_Hild._ You come from Normandy.

_1st Am._ Yea, my lord, we would pray your holiness’ blessing.

_Hild._ Then you have it.
My heart is ever with my Norman children.
Would that they loved war less and peace the more.
O Angel of Peace, when wilt thou compass Europe?
Tell William he is my well-beloved son,
High in my favor, take my blessing to him,
God’s mercy goes to England when he goes,
And Holy Church’s curse on all his foes.

_Pet._ Amen.

_Ambs._ My lord, our thanks. We are blest indeed.

_Hild._ (_To_ Page.) Bring hither our most costly banner.
(Page _brings banner_.) (HILDEBRAND _takes banner_.)
May all who fight beneath thee ever conquer,
And heaven strike the foe that meeteth thee.
(_Gives the banner._) Take this banner to our well-beloved
William of Normandy, and say thus to him,--
That sending him this we make him, William of England.

_Amb._ We will, Your Holiness.

_Hild._ My blessing with you. By him who maketh kings,
Go you propitious.

_Exit_ Ambassadors.

_Hild._ They came in proud, they went out meek enough.
Give me but time and I will tame all wolves
From Alps to Appenines.

_Enter_ Page.

_Page._ More ambassadors await without, your Holiness.

_Hild._ From whence?

_Page._ Germany, your Holiness.

_Hild._ Ha, ha, now, we meet another matter.

_Pet._ Now thou growest iron.

_Hild._ Yea, then I gave with smiles what I owned not
Now here with sternness I would hold mine own.
There is no Pope while there’s an Emperor,
’Tis my chief creed. Give me the letter.
(_Reads_) Ha, what be this? Refuses to retire
The German abbot he made without my leave,
Tells me that being king he holds in fief
All power of benefice. The hound! the hound!
I’ll make him stoop. I’ll crush his pride out yet.
Yea, more, he says he’s coming soon to Rome
To take his crown of Empery at my hands,
Then craves my blessing, sent him with all speed,
“Your filial son.” A filial son, indeed,
A son of Hell, was fitter sonship. Peter,
This king makes me a devil.

_Pet._ Send him thy curse, thy ban, ’twere fitting answer
To such a message.

_Hild._ Nay, I will try him yet, not that last move,
Till lesser fails. Call in the Cardinals.

Cardinals _file in_. Ambassadors _are brought in_.

_Hild._ You come from His Majesty, Henry of Germany.

_Amb._ We do, your Holiness.

_Hild._ It grieves me much that our unfilial son
Should keep from Holy Church those ancient powers
Given to her of old and handed down,
Gifts to Peter.

_Amb._ What be these powers, your Holiness?

_Hild._ Powers of right, powers of gift, powers of office,
Powers to loose and bind, lift and lower, bless and ban.

_Amb._ Hath she not yet those powers, my Lord?

_Hild._ Nay, nay, and never shall until she may
Enforce those powers, by other stronger powers.
Abbeys, Bishoprics, Priesthoods, whose are these?
Peter’s or Cæsar’s? Gregory’s or Henry’s?

_Amb._ The king saith not, my lord.

_Hild._ Tell Henry, our undutiful son, so soon
As he doth show his fealty to the Church,
By rendering up to her those pristine gifts
Of benefice, and giveth to her hands,
What unto her belongs, so soon will she
Grant him her blessing. Tell him, mighty Peter,
Christ’s Vicar and ambassador of God
Speaketh by me, the seventh Gregory,
Calling unto him to do my will,
Or dread my curse.

_Amb._ Yea, my Lord.

_Hild._ Tell him that He who makes and unmakes,
Lifts and lowers, thrones and dethrones,
Speaks by me.

[_Exit_ Ambassadors, Cardinals _and_ PETER.

_Page._ The Countess of Canossa awaits without, my Lord.

_Hild._ Show her within.

_Enter_ BEATRICE.

_Hild._ My gentle Countess, saintly Beatrice,
Welcome to my first royalty of Heaven.
Thou comest to me as cometh the evening star
After the heat and turmoil of the day,
Shedding the beauty of thy womanliness
On my rude cares. How fares Canossa?

_Beat._ O, Hildebrand, I come to thee no star,
But rather as a brook to some great river,
I flee me to the succor of thy presence.

_Hild._ Doth he so use thee, our one flower of women?
The brute, the beast, hath he maltreated thee?

_Beat._ Nay, not that yet, but leagues him, I much fear,
With that mad King of Germany.

_Hild._ Henry, agen!
Wait a little yet, we’ll heal that ulcer.

_Beat._ You know poor Bishop Gudrun, he is dead.

_Hild._ Nay, when died he? He was a goodly priest.
But scarce a zealous pastor. So he’s gone?

_Beat._ When I would come to thee to fill his place,
Canossa, with a loud and brutal laugh,
Says, nay, the Emperor must fill the chair
And at his prayer the licentious Prince hath sent
One of his courtiers, some rude, worldly man,
To fill the benefice. He laughs at thee,
And puts thy new reforms to open scorn.

_Hild._ Wait, sweet Beatrice, water not thy face
And weaken not my heart with thy sad tears.
Canossa knoweth not he hath an enemy
More deadly than he fears, who is a devil.
Did I but let him loose and he would sweep
Earth and Italy clear of such Canossas.
O Beatrice, this is a world of woes,
And I being many men have many woes,
I climb so many hills my feet grow weary;
Now, I’m a king and fain would rule this earth,
Now am a saint and fain would purge its ills,
Now am a priest and fain would throttle its wills,
Again the man with all a man’s desire
To feel and hate and love as other men.
O Beatrice, I would I were deep heaven
To wear so pure a star upon my breast.
When I see thee, this world with all its cares,
Its hard ambitions, hates and hellish battles,
Doth vanish past, like day at evening’s hour,
When only sweet thoughts stay. Must go so soon?

_Beat._ Yea, My Lord, but I will come again.

_Enter an_ Abbot _and several_ Monks _dragging an old man with a long
beard, who is accused of witchcraft. The_ Abbot _and_ Monks _fall on
their faces. The old man stands._

_Hild._ Stand! (_They all stand up trembling._) Who be this?

_Ab._ Most Holy Pope, Vicar of Christ, Lord of the Church,
Keeper of the Keys;--

_Hild._ Nay. Make thy speech brief!

_Ab._ Most Holy,--that is to say, we are accursed.

_Hild._ Even so. Ye look it. Proceed!

_Monks._ Yea! yea! um! um!

_Ab._ Yea, Most Holy, we be much accursed by reason of yon
cursed--(_The old man takes out some tablets and seating
himself on the floor proceeds to calculate._)

_Ab._ Yon, yon--

_Hild._ Say on, Sirrah! Accursed? hast lost thy tongue? (Abbot
_and_ Monks _all groan_.) Speak on or means shall be found to
make thee!

_Ab._ Nay, nay, Most Holy! He be cursing us now wi’ his
deviltries. I may not mention his name because of the blight.
Wilt thou not bless me so that I may proceed unharmed?

_Hild._ (_Makes the sign of the cross._) Yea, ’tis done.
Proceed!

_Ab._ (_Growing bolder._) Yon cursed dog of a sorcerer hath
bewitched us all.

_Monks._ Yea, yea, Most Holy.

_Hild._ He hath then but little to do.

_Ab._ Nay, Most Holy, he hath done much.

_Hild._ (_To_ WIZ.) Stand up! (_The wizard remains sitting,
gazes at_ HILD., _then at_ Monks, _then returns to his
calculations_.)

_Hild._ Wilt thou stand up? (_To_ Monks) Make him!

_Ab. and Monks._ Nay, nay, he be making devils wheels at us
now, even now we be dead men.

(_The old man finishes his calculation, then rises slowly and
approaches_ HILD.) Hast thou sent for me?

_Hild._ Who art thou?

_Wiz._ I am the centre, Macro, acro, Magister, ha! ha! ha!

_Hild._ (_To_ AB.) What hath he done?

_Ab._ Oh, Oh, Most Holy, everything.

_Hild._ Name his offence.

_Ab._ He hath lamed Brother Benedict, rheumed Brother Isaac,
physiced Brother Petrice, hath slain Brothers Wildert, Gebert
an’ Andrice, hath tied us all up by the heels to the devil,
an’ hath bewitched the whole convent.

_Hild._ (_To_ WIZ.) Hast done this?

_Wiz._ Hast done what? mensa, mensae, mensae, ha! ha! ha!
(_Sits down and proceeds to make angles and circles._)

_Ab._ He be ever like this, Most Holy, as thou seest.

_Hild._ Will he not understand? I would know his manner of
thought.

_Ab._ It is by reason of his magic and his great age, Most
Holy.

_Hild._ How old be he?

_Ab._ Some say one thousand, some five hundred, but the most
three hundred and fifty years, Most Holy.

_Hild._ Nay! How do you converse with him?

_Ab._ We hang him by the thumbs till he answer that be one way.

_Wiz._ (_Shakes his fist at_ AB.) Macro, acro, sacro, ha, ha,
ha.

_Hild._ This man be mad.

_Wiz._ Yea, all mad, mad, prayers, fasts, prayers, saints,
tinkle, tinkle, all mad, yea, they are all mad, acro, macro,
I am the centre, hear me.

_Hild._ Didst thou bewitch these? (_Pointing at_ Abbot _and_
Monks.)

_Wiz._ Ha! ha! All swine, all swine.

_Hild._ Dost thou hear me?

_Wiz._ Ha, ha, three fat, three lean, one ascragged, antimonium
a portion, nutgalls two portions, soak till midnight and go
to couch with much fasting. Wouldst thou more?

_Ab._ Thou seest, Most Holy, he hath a devil. This same did
slay three of our brothers with his devil’s antimonium or
some such potion.

_Wiz._ They did desire to be fat. I did but potion them. ’Twere
not my fault that they died of over-feeding.

_Hild._ Antimonium? Where didst thou get thy use for such a
potion?

_Wiz._ By watching of the swine at their feeding. Some of this
did by chance get mixed with their provender, and those that
did eat of it grew quickly corpulent, and I,--thought me--

_Hild._ ’Twould suit the monks?

_Wiz._ Yea, but they overfed--

_Hild._ And died?

_Wiz._ Yea.

_Hild._ But these others--they accuse thee of their disorders.

_Wiz._ (_To_ Monks.) Feed less, drink less, toil more, sleep
less. Go not with the women, an your curse will leave you,
ha, ha.

_Ab._ Nay, he hath a devil. We be church’s men.

_Hild._ Ye look it, what else doth he?

_Ab._ He maketh magic. He hath a devil’s wheel and he hath
blasphemed saying he knoweth how many times the spoke of
a wheel goeth to make the rim, thus meddling with matters
abhorred. More, he saith the world be a ball, an floateth
on nothing, the which we know to be a foul lie, seeing
the Fathers have taught it be flat and standing on the
foundations with Hell beneath.

_Hild._ (_To_ WIZ.) Be this true?

_Wiz._ Yea, I am Magister, know all, cure all.

_Hild._ Canst thou cure disease?

_Wiz._ What wouldst thou have? Hast thou a flux, a frenzy,
an evil eye, a gnawing of the tooth, a rheum, a discord, a
gravel, a dysentry, a dropsy, a nightmare, an I can cure
thee? The heart of a hen, the eye of a dragon, the tooth of
a snake, the nose of a beetle caught twixt dusk and sunrise,
all be a preventative agenst mala, medicanta. Yea, for all
frenzies, camel’s brain an gall, rennet of seal, spittle of
crocodile, an blood of turtle, taken with much prayer be
certain remedies.

_Hild._ Indeed, of a verity, man thou art much accursed with
knowledge.

_Wiz._ Ha, ha. Wouldst try me?

_Hild._ Nay, I be well, and thou sayest this earth be a sphere?

_Wiz._ Yea, ’tis truth. See here.

_Hild._ And it floateth on nothing?

_Wiz._ Yea, yea, wouldst thou not learn? Wouldst thou not
listen?

_Hild._ Ha.

_Ab._ Thou seest he hath a devil. He honoureth not even thee,
Most Holy.

_Wiz._ (_To_ HILD.) Wilt thou not listen? Art thou also as
these fools? An age of fools! An age of fools! Macro, macro,
I am the centre. (_Falls to calculating anew._)

_Hild._ Peace, peace, Sirrah, I would hear thee agen on this
strange matter. Thou wilt stay here. (_To the_ AB. _and_
Monks.) And ye back to your monastery, and do as he saith,
feed less, drink less, toil more, sleep less, and go not with
the women, and I will remove your curse. Now begone!

_Ab. and Monks._ (_Bowing out._) O holy father, we be much
accursed!

_Wiz._ (_Shakes his fist at them._) Acro, macro. (_They flee in
great terror._)

_Enter_ PETER.

_Pet._ More woes, more woes, more woes, another woman!

(_Enter_ Page.) A strange woman would see your Holiness.

(_Enter_ CATHERINE _wrapt in a cloak. She advances and throws the
cloak off_.)

_Hild._ Catherine!

_Cath._ Hildebrand!

_Hild._ ’Tis thou!

_Cath._ Yea, my Lord. Thy wife! (_Kneeling at his feet._)
O, holy Father, by all the love that once
United our two hearts, I plead with thee,
Have mercy on the daughter of thy love.

_Hild._ My daughter! nay, Woman, not so, not so!

_Cath._ Yea, I have sought thee out these many years,
Did track thee to thy monastery then here.
O save thy daughter, mighty Hildebrand.

_Hild._ (_Turns and covers himself with his cloak._)
O Woman, Woman, I know thee not. Away!
I know not wife save only Holy Church.

_Pet._ Away! away! cursed Woman, away!
Presume not on Christ’s Vicar, the great Pope,
The father of his people and the world.

_Cath._ O me! accursed me! I come not here
To curse thee, nor to bless, nor yet presume
To dare pollute thy state by name of husband.
’Tis only but a common, human word
Belonging to the poor ones of this world:--
But to beseech the Holy Pope of Rome
To cover with corner of his mercy’s mantle
The daughter of his loins.

_Hild._ O, Peter, Peter, take this woman away.

_Pet._ Begone Woman. Thou art sacrilegious.

_Cath._ Nay, spurn me not, she is my only daughter,
I pray thee help her, ’tis a little thing,
For thee who hath so much of worldly power,
To lift thy hand and by a single word
Restore her happiness.

_Hild._ O Woman, what would’st thou ask?

_Cath._ She is our daughter, awful Hildebrand,
Married short time unto that goodly priest
Gerbhert, of St. Amercia, at Milan.

_Hild._ O, God! O, God!

_Cath._ He is a holy clerk, well bred in orders,
Of good repute among his loving people,
Who look up to him as their Father in God,
Dwelling among them as the beckoning hand
Leading to heaven.

_Hild._ O, God! O, merciful God!

_Cath._ They have a little babe, a sweet, wee mite
Just come from Heaven.

_Pet._ Hence, Scorpion, know ye not this is the Holy Father?

_Cath._ Remove this curse, those terrible monks have placed
Upon his priesthood.

_Hild._ O Woman, I cannot, I cannot.

_Cath._ By all our former love! They cannot part!
He holds her as the apple of his eye,
She sees in him the man that God hath given.
Remove this awful curse.

_Hild._ Woman, thou speakest to a columned stone,
I am a marble. If I have a heart,
Thou’lt hear it beating, rock within this rock,
Thou art a sea that beatest my sides in vain.

_Cath._ Do I hear thee aright? Thou art adamant
Unto this piteous pleading of my heart,
Thou sendest thine only daughter, our sweet child,
Out into defenceless misery, breakest her heart.
Unnatural, unnatural, unnatural!
It seems but yesternight they said good-bye,
And now she sits and rocks her child and saith
Over and over agen its father’s name.

_Pet._ Go, Woman, he is dead to thee and thine.
Hast thou no pity? Hast thou not one sigh
For this thy work?

(HILDEBRAND _stands silently with his back to her, his cloak wrapt
about his face_.)

_Cath._ Hast thou no pity? By all our past, one word,
One parting word.

_Pet._ Thou speakest to a stone. Go!

_Cath._ (_Goes out wringing her hands._)
O, Agony, O Misery, Blackness, Hell,
There’s no hope now.

SCENE II.--_The German Court, a Room in the Castle._

_Enter the_ QUEEN _and an_ Attendant.

_Att._ This way, Your Majesty.

_Queen._ You speak me, majesty. I am no Queen,
The lowest woman in this mighty realm,
Reigning in some humble herdsman’s heart,
Might top my queenship. O Henry, Henry,
What is there in my face, my form, my spirit,
That you should scorn me? Hath my essence changed,
Since by the holy altar facing Heaven
We plighted wedding troth; to less and less,
That you should hate me?

(_Enter Bishop of Bamburg._) My Lord Bishop! (_Kneels._)

_Bam._ (_Lifting her._) Nay, humble not thy lonely majesty,
Thy stately womanliness, most noble Margaret,
By such poor acts.

_Queen._ O, Bamburg, be my angel, my good guide,
Leading me by roads to Henry’s favour.
Bring back his heart to its one-time allegiance,
And make earth’s springtime laugh for me once more.

_Bam._ Nought in all my bishopric hath grieved me
Like this strange act of Henry’s. I have spoke him
Happily in all save only this.
Patience, my Lady, patience, look to Heaven.
Perchance some day he’ll know thy noble heart.

_Queen._ O, Bamburg, as the queen of this great realm,
More sacred, as the mother of his child,
I beg you get me audience. Did I plead,
His heart might soften.

_Bam._ Madam, thy wishes are to me commands,
I fear me much the issue in his mood,
But be my head the penalty, I will bring
You to him. [_Exit both._

[_Curtain._

SCENE III.--_An Audience Room in the Castle. Enter_ Attendant. _Enter_
HENRY _in haste, with_ GILBERT _a_ Lord.

_Hen._ Now by my crown, I’ll harry those villains out.
(_To the Page._) Quick, wine! (_To Gilbert.]_) You say this news be
true.
This Saxon Rodulph, would pluck Henry down,
And wear his Empery. Ha, this likes me well!

_Gil._ ’Tis said, Your Majesty, the Saxon towns
Have all revolted.

_Hen._ And Rudolph leads them!

_Enter_ BAMBURG.

Well, Bamburg, have you heard the latest news?
The North’s revolted. Rodulph heads the Saxons
To conquer Germany and take my crown,
And on it all, this bold, insulting letter,
Reads me a lesson from His Holiness,
Yon arrogant priest, the scheming Pope of Rome.

_Bam._ Henry, as your father’s oldest friend,
As your most faithful subject I would plead,
Be not o’er hasty in this sudden business.

_Hen._ Bamburg, I am sick of being a child,
You drive me mad by your pacific measures.
While you are dallying, they will ride me down
With squadrons and with curses. Nay, no more!
I’ll ride me north and show mine enemies
I’ll bring yon Rodulph’s head upon a pike-pole.

_Bam._ What of this Roman message?

_Hen._ Call in the messengers. (_Enter a_ Cardinal _and a_ Roman
bishop.)
(_To Ambs._) Go you to Rome?

_Card._ Yea, Your Majesty.

_Hen._ Go, tell your master, if he be the Pope
That I am Emperor, who can lift him down.
Tell him, in spiritual matters, Henry bows
To his opinion, in matters temporal, never!
This is my answer, safe speed you Romewards.

[_Exit_ Ambassadors.

_Bam._ Your Majesty, before you go will see
But one more suppliant.

_Hen._ Nay, Bamburg, nay not now, I’m hurried.

_Bam._ By my love, I beseech you!

_Hen._ Is it so urgent? Well, be hasty Bamburg.
My troops await me, and my sword-arm aches
To hack yon Rodulph.
(_Enter_ Queen _veiled_.) Who be this?

_Bam._ One who deserves your patience and your love,
If you love aught on earth, proud Henry.
Go you not forth to battle with your foes
Till you have made your spirit’s peace with her,
Your realm’s Queen, the mother of your child.

_Hen._ Bamburg, Bamburg, you trifle with my kindness.
This goes too far, know you that I am King!
One word and I will hale you to a dungeon
For this insult.

_Queen._ Henry, my Lord, one word before you go.
What have I done to gather all this hate?

_Bam._ Your Majesty may sever my poor body,
Mend you your love. Kill me, Henry, but
Murder not by scorn, the noblest love
That soul hath nourished. By these wintry hairs,
Though thou dost slay me, I will tell thee true
By this one act thou dost unking thyself.

_Hen._ No more, by heaven, no more, I know her not.
When will my subjects treat me less the child?
I am no ward now, and I ever hated
This foolish, enforced marriage. Let her Majesty
Get to some retirement. She demeans
Herself by these forced meetings. [_Exit._

_Queen._ O Bamburg, I have lowered my queenliness
And cheapened my womanhood. I will no more.
Take me away.

[_Curtain._

SCENE IV.--_A monastery near Milan. Night. Enter two monks_, BRUN, _a
fat little monk, and_ WAST, _a tall, lean one, with an extremely
ugly face_.

_Brun._ How he doth take on, this new Friar Gerbhert. I had not
thought a man would lose his appetite for any woman.

_Wast._ Ah, Brun, you gluttonous men know not of love.
Such dangerous passions are beyond thy ken, lacking the
attractive, the magnetic, you descend to lower pleasures. Now
look on me a victim to woman’s fancy. Within those walls I
find a haven from woman’s importunities.

_Brun._ Verily, Brother, thou must have slain hearts.

_Wast._ It was my daily sorrow, so many beauties sought me.
I could not walk the streets, but I were pestered. It did
sorrow me much, I could not pity all the passions I awoke, so
fled me here, sacrificing my prospects, my youth, my person,
rather than light fires I could not quench. (_Eyeing himself
in a metal hand-mirror._) Alas, alas, Brun, my beauty falleth
off sadly of late.

_Brun._ Yea, thou hast a haggard cast to thy looks. It wonders
me much where all thy provender goeth, it doth thee so little
service.

_Wast._ Ah, Brun, Brun, so many broken hearts, so many tender
reminiscences. But thou canst not touch my feelings. Yea,
Brun, didst thou but know the former dignity, the port, the
carriage of my person; the flash, the majesty of my eye; the
symmetry, the moulding of my form; thou wouldst but marvel at
this ruin I am.

_Brun._ I doubt it not old Sucker, but let not thy former
beauty fret thy present comliness out o’ countenance.

_Wast._ Nay Brother, I will so endeavor, but I am ever on the
tremble lest some one of those former victims, in cruel
desperation maddened, may find me here and seize my person.
Brun, wilt thou protect me in such extremity, wilt thou,
Brother?

_Brun._ Yea, that I will, thou Wreck of former perfection. If
any misguided person of that unfortunate sex be so seized by
distraction as to make formidable attack upon thy classic
person, she doth so on her peril, I promise thee, old
much-afflicted, my hand upon it. Be the bottle finished? (_A
knocking is heard without._)

_Wast._ What be that sound? ’Tis she, ’tis she, at last! O me,
O me, what will I do? (_Gets behind_ BRUN.) Brun! Brother!
wilt thou protect me?

_Brun._ Confusion take thee, Wast, now be a man.

_Wast._ Yea, yea, I be a man, that be my sorrow, ah, oh, what
sh--all I do? (_Tries to hide himself in his cowl._)

_Enter other monks in great confusion._

_All._ What be that noise? what be th--at no--ise?

_One M._ (_Peers through the wicket and starts back in
horror._) ’Tis a--oh blessed Peter, ’tis a woman!

_All._ What shall we do? O blessed Peter! what shall we do?

_Wast._ I am undone, undone, my fatal beauty assails me even
here.

_Brun._ Wast, quit thy folly, go close to the gate and question
her wants.

_Wast._ Not me, not me, not for all heaven’s riches.

_All M’s._ Nay, nay, let her not in. (_Knocking continues._)
Let us pray, Brothers, let us pray. (_All huddle together._)

_Brun._ Then if ye will not, then I must ere the Abbot comes.

_Monks fleeing._ Nay, nay, let her not in, a woman, a woman, a
woman! [_Enter Abbot._

_Abb._ Stop, Fools! (_All stop._) Be it the Devil at your
heels, ye flee so quickly?

_All M’s._ A woman, a woman! (_Exit monks._)

_Abb._ (_To_ BRUN.) Open the gate. (BRUN _opens gate_.--_Enter_
MARGARET, _worn by illness and starvation_.)

_Abb._ Woman, what want you here?

_Marg._ I want my husband. (_At the back of the stage, in
a dimly-lit cell, behind a grating_, GERBHERT _is seen
kneeling. He rises, at sound of_ MARGARET’S _voice, a_ Monk
_holds a crucifix before him and he sinks back_.)

_Abb._ Whom do you call by so profane a title within these holy
walls?

_Marg._ My husband, Gerbhert, vicar at Milan. O let me see him,
our little one is dying. Where doth he linger aliened from
his home? (GERBHERT _comes forward again, the_ Monk _lifts
the crucifix and he goes back wringing his hands_.)

_Abb._ This is his home, he knows no wife nor children,
You must go hence.

_Marg._ If I called out unto these barren walls
And had they but a heart to hear my prayer,
Beneath their stony hardness they would open
To let me see him.

_Abb._ You must go forth, you blaspheme these pure precincts.
Woman, go.

_Marg._ Nay, drive me not forth, O holy Abbot,
By all you love, revere and hope on earth,
Drive me not forth, tear down this hideous wall
That hides me from my husband, let him know,
’Tis only for a little, little while,
Did he but know our little one was ill,
He’d hasten in the first impulse of sorrow,
At its slight cry, he’d be all shook with pity,
And now its dying. Gerbhert! Gerbhert! come!
Where are you Gerbhert?

_Abb._ You must go hence, or I will force you hence.

_Marg._ I have no soul to curse you, your own soul
Be its own Hell for this unnaturalness. [_Goes out._
I come, my fatherless one, to die with thee.
To die with thee.

(GERBHERT _bounds forth_.)

_Gerb._ Margaret! (_Shakes the grating._) Margaret! (_The_ Monk
_raises the crucifix, and_ GERBHERT _follows it slowly out_.)

[_Curtain._

SCENE V.--(_Audience room in the Papal palace. Enter_ HILDEBRAND
_wearing his purple robe of state and with him_ PETER DAMIANI.
_Enter a page._)

_Page._ An Ambassador waits without, your Holiness.

_Hild._ From whence? Germany?

_Page._ Yea, my Lord.

_Hild._ Ha, now, the tide went out, the tide comes in. ’Tis but
the spray to mine own thunders. Now, we’ll hear his answer to
the Papal Curse.

_Pet._ Wilt thou receive a message from one accursed? He is no
king, no ruler any more. This is no embassy.

_Hild._ Perchance, it may be prayer for pardon. Henry knoweth
by this the power of Hildebrand.

_Page._ My Lord, it be but a rude petitioner hath come.
He tells no beads, nor maketh any prayers,
But rather stamps an’ mutters, raves an’ swears,
And sendeth Rome an’ all her cardinals
To Hell twice every minute.

_Pet._ Hale him to prison, the loud, blaspheming hound,
The damp of some rock cell would bring him round
To proper reverence for thy holy office,
He may intend a murder on thy person,
Let him not in.

_Hild._ Nay, but I will. Like master, like his dog,
I fain would see the issue of this cursing.
Yea, I would see this German foam at mouth,
Fear not, I’ll match him, call the Cardinals in.

(_Exit_ Page. _Enter_ Cardinals, _who stand behind the Pope_.)

(_Enter the page, followed by the German Ambassador, who
remains standing._)

_Hild._ (_To_ Cardinals.) On your lives keep peace whatever he
doth do. Leave him to me. (_To the_ Ambassador.) Kneel!

_Amb._ Nay, I’ll not kneel to thee or other man
Till I have said my message.

_A Card._ Kneel, impious Man, ’tis the Lord Pope.

_Pet._ Hale him out, German Dog, Blasphemer,
He hath insulted the Holy Father.

_Amb._ (_Draws._) Come on ye cowardly Monks, I scorn ye all,
Were he a king I’d bow my knee to him,
An Emperor, an’ I might buss his hand,
But only Pope, why popes have bribed me vain
To slay your betters.

_Hild._ Silence: am I Pope indeed, why blame this man,
When ye, obedient, insult me with your clamors.

(_To the_ Amb.) Hail you from Germany?

_Amb._ I do, proud Priest, my name is Wolf of Bamburg,
Cradled in a nest that ne’er knew fear,
Bred of a breed that hath a joy of killing.
’Tis not a monk would make me tremble here.
My time is short, I would repeat my message.

_Hild._ What be thy message?

_Amb._ ’Tis to thee, proud Priest, an’ it doth come from Henry.

_Hild._ Speak!

_Amb._ Henry of Germany, whom in thine insolence,
Thou cursedst with thy foulest blasphemies,
Sendeth me, Wolf of Bamburg, unto thee,
To hurl thine arrogant curses in thy face,
And tell thee thou art no pope but a damned priest,
Who stolest thy popedom.

_Pet._ Hale him out, tear him to pieces. (_A great clamor
rises. The_ Cardinals _would attack him_.)

_Hild._ Silence! on your lives! This man is mine! (_To_ Wolf.)
Speak on!

_Amb._ He further saith to thee, thou bastard Pope,
As Emperor of Rome, come down, come down!
And leave that chair thou foully hast usurped,
And I his servant, say to thee, come down!

_All Cards._ Devil! German Dog! Tear him to pieces! (_All rush
forward._)

_Hild._ (_Tears off his robe and throws it over the_
Ambassador.) Back! or fear my curse! Who strikes at that
strikes me!

_All._ Nay, this is a devil.

_Hild._ Were he Satan himself, beneath that robe he were As
sacred as God’s holiest angel!

(_To_ Amb.) Go Man and tell thy master, who is no king,
That Gregory hath one single word for him,
And that is pity. Let him ask his God
To pardon him as I do pardon him.
I lay no curse upon the innocent.
When he comes penitent to me in tears
I will receive him. Go! (_Exit_ Amb.)
(_To_ Cardinals.) Have ye no reverence for Gregory that,
Ye should revile revilings in this house?
God’s ministers should ever be men of peace,
And not a maddened rabble. As our Lord,
In that last season of his great martyrdom,
Bade holy Peter sheathe the angry sword,
So I rebuke ye. Had he slain me here,
You’d not have touched him! [_Exit_ Cardinals.

_Pet._ Hildebrand, sometimes it thinketh me
Thou hast a magic, thou art the strangest Pope
Yet seen in Rome. That man, who came blaspheming,
Went out your slave.

_Hild._ Ah, Peter, know, we must meet fools with guile.
’Tis better to be subtle than be strong.
I sometimes dream the greatest innocence
Is but the mantle to the deepest guile,
And men but stab the deeper when they smile.

[_Curtain._