Chapter IX: Act IV

SCENE I.--(_A fortress near Milan, where_ GREGORY _is in exile. Enter_
MARGARET, _crazed, with her dead babe in her arms_.)

_Marg._ They would have stopped me, but my love’s good cunning
Did cheat them all. O, my sweet, waxen Babe,
The Holy Father, he will tell me true,
An’ make thee smile agen, thou art not dead,
They lie who say thou’rt dead. Here cometh one

_Enter_ HILD. _much older looking, accompanied by_ PETER.

Who hath a holy face, he’ll speak for me
Unto the Pope to make thee smile agen.

_Hild._ Nay, Peter, they may rail and rail at me,
Strip all my wealth and make them fifty Popes,
They will not shake me.

_Pet._ Gregory, Gregory, ponder well thine answer,
Remember, if thou art the real Pope,
Thou art not in Rome.

_Hild._ Wherever I am, Rome is! They may drive
Me into farthest banishment, they but put
God’s holiness from out their precincts. I am Rome!

_Marg._ Good Father.

_Pet._ Woman, what wantest thou here?

_Hild._ Drive her not out, Peter, see, her reason
Like me from my high Papacy, is exiled
From her poor body. I would speak with her.
Sorrow and defeat make men more kindly.
(_To_ MARGARET.) Daughter, wouldst thou speak a word
with me?

_Marg._ Sir, I would see the Pope, but his attendants
Would drive me out, an’ my sweet baby here.
They say he’s dead an’ he will smile no more,
’Tis but because that terrible Pope had laid
His curse on us my babe will never smile.

_Hild._ Poor Girl, thy child is dead.

_Marg._ Nay, nay, ’tis only this dread awful curse.
You are a kind old man, you’ll go with me,
And plead with me unto that terrible Pope,
And make him take this curse from off our lives,
An’ make my baby smile.

_Hild._ What curse, my daughter?

_Marg._ Take me but to him, I will tell it all,
But here my mind forsakes me, someone said
I was his daughter, but they must have lied.
God would not make a father so unkind
To curse his only daughter, kill her joy,
And make her baby like my baby here.

_Hild._ O God, O God, it cannot, cannot be!
A mist seems growing up before mine eyes!
Peter, Peter, this is mine own daughter.

_Pet._ Yea, she is distract. These women ever
Do come betwixt us and our sight of heaven.

_Hild._ My Daughter, know thy father. I am the Pope.

_Marg._ Nay, nay, but thou art kindly, hast no heart
To lay a winter like is laid on me?

_Hild._ Nay, Daughter, I am he, that awful man,
I am Pope Gregory.

_Marg._ Then if you be, take off this hideous curse,
Make my babe laugh and crow and stuff his hands
In rosy mouth, and speak his father’s name,
And he will come. They say thou hast God’s ear,
And He will do it.

_Hild._ O Peter, Peter, this would break my heart
Were I but human.

_Pet._ Send her away. Thou canst do her no good,
The child is dead, and she hath lost her reason.
Much must be suffered here that good may come.
Send her away.

_Hild._ Nay, Peter, I have worked full o’er enough
For Holy Church, this much God asked of me,
He did not make me butcher to my child.
Hildebrand in sorrow finds a heart.
Out, out thou cruel man, for one short hour
Let me forget the Pope and be a father. [_Exit_ PETER.

_Marg._ Holy Father, make my baby smile,
And God will thank thee by a mother’s heart.

_Hild._ Daughter, God will make thy baby smile,
When thou and I and others like us smile,
And we have put aside this earthly dross
That weights our spirits down, in His Great Judgment.

_Marg._ O, Father, thou art kind, and thou wilt do it,
Thou hast all power, all heaven-given strength,
To bless, to ban, to slay, to make alive:
O bring my baby back to me again.

_Hild._ Daughter, I am but a weak, despised old man,
One poor enough in even this life’s powers
To make him jealous o’ yon sweet, sleeping babe
Whom the angel of death makes waxen in thine arms.

_Marg._ O Father, tell me not that he is dead.

_Hild._ Margaret, Margaret, this is not thy babe,
But some sweet marbled mould of what he was.
I know a bank where we will plant this blossom,
And water it anew with our poor tears.
Could I as easy bury my black griefs,
And all the storm cloud passions of this life,
God knows, I’d make me sexton to them all.
Come, let us out. [_Exit both._

_Enter_ PETER _and a_ Bishop.

_Pet._ He hath gone out with some mad woman but now,
He gets more in his dotage day by day.
I cannot move him, thou canst try thy power.

_Bish._ If he would only come to terms with Henry,
And patch this foolish quarrel, the Church is safe,
And if not then--

_Pet._ Then what?

_Bish._ He must be brought to make his deposition.

_Pet._ He’d die first ere he would do either,
Here he comes.

_Enter_ HILDEBRAND _bearing the dead body of_ MARGARET.

’Tis the mad woman.

_Hild._ Come help me to lay her here. She was my daughter.

_Bish._ Is his Holiness mad, that he uttereth thus,
Such scandal ’gainst the Church’s dignity?

_Hild._ Nay, rather found his reason for an hour,
Like other men through earth’s humanities.
Mine arrogance did dream I was above
Men’s humble sorrows. See my soul rebuked.
She bore it Peter till the first clod fell
Upon yon little blossom, then she shook,
And when it passed from sight her soul passed too.
I fear me much we blunder out God’s truths,
And mar His angels with our brutal laws,
And change His temple to a prison house.
She was a blossom, Peter, so like her mother,
I’ll bury her out there beside her babe,
And when the winds shake and the roses blow,
They’ll know each other as their angels know
Each other in Heaven. Would I were sleeping too!
Dost know mine age, Peter? I am over sixty.

_Pet._ Your holiness forgets. The bishop would speak with you.

_Hild._ Forgive me bishop, aye, ’tis thou Brunelli,
What is thy business?

_Brunelli._ Your Holiness must pardon my intrusion
On this o’er sad occasion, important matters
Must be their own excuse. I will speak plainly;--
One by one your party leaves you, soon
You will be desolate. Our only chance is now.

_Hild._ Ha! now? And now!

_Brunelli._ You must meet Henry.

_Hild._ Never!

_Brunelli._ Then Peter, tell him for I cannot.

_Pet._ The matter, Gregory, is in short thou must
Plant empery upon bold Henry’s head
Or lose thy tiara.

_Hild._ Never, as I am Pope, I will do neither!
Though I am wasted, agéd, worn and weak,
Deserted by false friends and hireling hounds,
I still am Gregory. Never hand but mine
Can dare uncrown me. Let him dread my curse
Who’d force me to it. Yea, that hand will shrivel
Ere it uncrowns me. People the world with Popes,
There’s but one Peter. Look on this my sorrow
Embittering with its pangs mine olden age,
And know what I have done for Holy Church.
By that sweet face that lieth there in death,
A martyr, if ever was one, to God’s great cause,
I bid you go and tell proud Henry, yea,
And all those false, foul prelates of the church,
That Hildebrand who crushed out his own heart,
To keep the right will die as he hath lived.

[_Curtain._

SCENE II.--(_A chapel close near the castle. The grave of Margaret
and her child marked by a cross._) _Enter_ HILDEBRAND _leaning on the
arm of_ PETER.

_Hild._ Little did I dream that it was I
Would be the first to go. O, Peter, Peter,
This world--ambition hath eaten up my heart,
And my life with it. Better to be there
Where she doth lie than to be God’s Vicar.

_Pet._ Gregory if you would only compromise,
And meet the wishes of the Cardinals,
And temper Henry, you might die in Rome.

_Hild._ Never, never, better end me here,
Than give my life the lie. Do they their worst,
What I have lived for, I will die for too.
Better the Church go crumble all to ruins
And Europe be a field of ravening wolves,
Than compromise be purchased at such price,
And sell the Church’s right to impious hounds,
And make the temple of God a den of thieves.
Go, Peter, go, your heart is like the rest.
Go, leave me, I am but a poor old man,
Weak, palsied, leaning slowly to my tomb,
I need no friend, God will be merciful,
Though cold and rude earth’s loves, I can but die.

_Pet._ Thou knowest, Gregory, I will never leave thee.

_Hild._ ’Twill not be long, and then they’ll have their will,
O, Europe! Europe! Peter, wilt thou see
That this place is kept sacred. Yon rose tree
Kept watered, and yon twin-mound holy,
Till thou dost die?

_Pet._ I will.

_Hild._ She was my daughter, Peter, and like her mother,
And the poor babe it looked so sweet in death,
Mine age went to it. O, Damiani,
These women and children twine about our hearts.

_Pet._ Wilt you go within?

_Hild._ Methought I heard one hum an old-time tune.

_Pet._ Nay, Gregory, thou meanest a chant or hymn.

_Hild._ Nay, Peter, but a simple ballad tune,
That I loved long ago. Know thee, Peter,
All music is of God, and it be holy.

_Pet._ What be that noise? (_Rising._) Who be those coming here?

_Hild._ Peter, thou wilt keep this place?

_Pet._ Hildebrand! Hildebrand! Gregory! dost thou hear?
Many cardinals and bishops come this way.

_Enter_ Cardinals, Bishops _and_ Lords.

_Card. Brunelli._ Your Holiness!

_Hild._ (_Rising suddenly and waving his hand imperiously._)
Back! back! This ground be holy!

_Brunelli._ We be come, my Lord,--

_Hild._ Back! back! or fear my curse. Sully not
These silent, dreamless ears with impious words
Of earth’s ambitions, Church’s greed and curse.
Desecrate not this peace with life’s mad riot.
’Tis dedicate to memories alone
Of youth and innocence.

[_They fall back, he goes forward._

_Hild._ What be your will?

_Brunelli._ May it please your Holiness, we come from Rome.

_Hild._ I am Rome! And when these old walls crumble,
Rome hath fallen, till another be built.
’Twill not be long.

_Pet._ Know lord Cardinals that the Holy Father
Is indisposed. Complete your business.

_Hild._ Nay, not ill, but rather worn of life
And its vexatious evils, foolish toils.
Aye, lord Cardinals, weigh you my curse so heavy?
That ye have came so far to crave my blessing?

_Brunelli._ We come, my Lord, to heal this cruel schism
That rendeth Holy Church and maketh mock
Of Peter’s chair, throughout all Christendom.
Henry of Germany--

_Hild._ Silence! or I’ll forget the Church’s good,
And curse her Cardinal. Name me not that monster,
Save in anathema. Look on me Brunelli,
And these poor hands wherein life’s blood runs cold,
So that they scarce can lift in Church’s blessing;
Look on my face and see Death written there,
In plainest charactry. Yet know proud Cardinals,
I still am Peter till my latest breath.

(_He staggers._ PETER _catches him in his arms_.)

_Pet._ Great God, he dies. Help! help! lord Cardinals, help!
The greatest soul in Europe passeth now.

_Hild._ (_Staggers to his feet._) I am going Damiani, heard you
sounds
Of rustling pinions? Did you know a presence
That darkened all the horizon with its wings?
Nay, I can stand alone. Unhand me, Peter!
Lord Cardinals and Prelates to your knees!
Take you my blessing, ’tis my latest hour! [_All kneel._
All ye who have been true to Holy Church.
Take my last blessing. All who have been false,
Take ye my--Catherine! Catherine! O my God! (_Dies._)

[_Curtain._

Transcriber’s Notes

“But in my +lonlier+ moments” changed to “But in my +lonelier+
moments” on page 3.

Removed hyphen from “+To-Happy+-go-luck-to-morrow” to give “+To
Happy+-go-luck-to-morrow” on page 16 to agree with earlier usage.

“but +withold+ thy pity” changed to “but +withhold+ thy pity” on page
33.

“thou +forgetest+ the tourney” changed to “thou +forgettest+ the
tourney” on page 42.

“clown, +’Tis+ the mode” changed to “clown, +’tis+ the mode” on page
43.

“I tell thee I +wont+” changed to “I tell thee I +won’t+” on page 61.

“+siezes+ her wrist” changed to “+Seizes+ her wrist” on page 71.

“+Tis+ treason, damnable treason” changed to “+’Tis+ treason,
damnable treason” on page 73.

“but +tis+ plain” changed to “but +’tis+ plain” on page 73.

“+Tis+ just King” changed to “+’Tis+ just King” on page 73.

“I slew thee +not,+” changed to “I slew thee +not.+” on page 76.

“Oh! +tis+ thou!” changed to “Oh! +’tis+ thou!” on page 76.

“+tis+ thou sweet Unid” changed to “+’tis+ thou sweet Unid” on page
76.

“drunken rabble ye +poluted+” changed to “drunken rabble ye
+polluted+” on page 81.

“+we+ be much affrighted” changed to “+We+ be much affrighted” on
page 82.

“+Tis+ true, King” changed to “+’Tis+ true, King” on page 83.

“pay his +brother’s+ spirits” changed to “pay his +brothers’+
spirits” on page 87.

“my +brother’s+ spirits call” changed to “my +brothers’+ spirits
call” on page 89.

“I leave thee +fillial+ keeper” changed to “I leave thee +filial+
keeper” on page 89.

“in the outward +mein+” changed to “in the outward +mien+” on page 90.

“Gwaine’s +vengence+ waits him” changed to “Gwaine’s +vengeance+
waits him” on page 99.

“That +prophecies+ our end” changed to “That +prophesies+ our end” on
page 104.

“This +week+ unseemliness” changed to “This +weak+ unseemliness” on
page 116.

“Enter +Margarat+ eagerly” changed to “Enter +Margaret+ eagerly” on
page 120.

“unto a +monastry+” changed to “unto a +monastery+” on page 124.

“Powers to +lose+ and bind” changed to “Powers to +loose+ and bind”
on page 129.

“Of +benifice+, and giveth” changed to “Of +benefice+, and giveth” on
page 129.

“ye back to your +monastry+” changed to “ye back to your +monastery+”
on page 135.

“track thee to thy +monastry+” changed to “track thee to thy
+monastery+” on page 136.

“dare +polute+ thy state” changed to “dare +pollute+ thy state” on
page 136.

“I’ll harry those +villians+ out” changed to “I’ll harry those
+villains+ out” on page 139.

“Who strikes at that +Strikes+ me” changed to “Who strikes at that
+strikes+ me” on page 146.

Acute and grave accents used inconsistently, such as “this +damnéd+
court” and “this +damnèd+ business”, have not been changed.

End of Project Gutenberg's Mordred and Hildebrand, by William Wilfred Campbell