Miscellaneous Plays/Constantine Paleologus Act 2

by Joanna Baillie

ACT II.

SCENE I. An open Street before the imperial palace. A crowd of men, women, and children discovered, bearing in their hands torches, with clubs, sticks, &c. and the stage entirely lighted by the red glare of their torches cast up against the walls of the building. The confused noise and clamour of a great crowd is heard as the curtain draws up.

FIRST CROWD.

Holla! let them come forth who trouble us,

And love they blood and beating they shall have it.

SECOND CROWD.

Surrender! bread and wine, and peaceful days!

Surrender, devils, or ye shall pay the cost.

(All the Crowd call out clamourously, and brandish their torches, &c. in a threatening manner against the palace.)

THIRD CROWD.

Must we, men well instructed, rear'd, and cherish'd,

The chiefest of all townsmen of the earth;
We, whom all nations know and look upon

With envious worship—must we from our meals
And quiet couches, like your rude barbarians,
Be fear'd and roused still with horrid bellowing
Of curst artillery? it is a shame!

FIRST CROWD.

It is a crying, an insulting shame.

Ev'n Mahomet regards our polish'd race
And rare acquirements; but for Constantine——

SECOND CROWD.

Ay, ay! let him come forth with his base crew

Of savage strangers; and should they refuse us,
Ev'n with good teeth and nails, fail other means,
We will do vultures' work upon them all.

(All of them calling out together, and brandishing their torches, &c, as before.)

Holla! holla! we say to you again;

Emperor! Constantine! come forth to us!

(A grand door of the palace opens, from which two flights of stairs descend into the street, and Constantine with his friends appear coming out upon the landing place. The Crowd raise a great noise upon seeing him, and he stretches out his hand as if he wished to speak, but they still continue loud and clamorous.)

CONSTANTINE.

Audience, if that your sov'reign may command it,

FOURTH CROWD.

Yes, let us hear what he will say to us.

(Several together.) There is no harm in that; peace all of you!

CONSTANTINE.

Behold me at your wish, assembled citizens:

Was it the voice of children or of foes
That call'd me forth?

THIRD CROWD.

Go to with mocking words! are we thy children?

CONSTANTINE.

Ye say, indeed, too truly! children do

Support, and honour, and obey their sire:
They put their aiding hand to every burden
That presses on him: ever gather round him
When dark misfortune lowers; and, strong in them,
He lifts his honour'd head amidst the storm
Blessing and bless'd.
But I have stood in the dark pass alone,
Facing its fiercest onset. In your homes,
Ye've stretch'd your easy limbs and fann'd your brows,
Whilst I in parching toil have spent the day,
Aided by strangers. Ye too truly say
"Are we thy children?"——When my sky was clear,

Ye follow'd me with fond applauding love,
And bade God bless your sire; but when it lower'd,
Back to your homes ye shrunk, and gen'rous strangers
Are by my side where children should have stood.
(A confused murmur rises amongst them, and some call out.) He speaks good reason, neighbours.
(Others call out.) Out on it! all fair words!
(Others.) Peace, sirs! we'll hear him out.

(Others.) No! no! no! no! (Brandishing their torches violently.)

OTHORIC (breaking through them with a great club in his hands).

Peace, friends, I say! I am a strong Hungarian,

And I will hear him out. (The clamour subsides.)

CONSTANTINE.

Yes, when the tempest lower'd ye shrunk away.

But if some gen'rous shame has mov'd you now—
If, thus assembled, with repentant zeal
Ye would return, behold these open'd arms!
O there be still amongst ye men sufficient
To save your city, your domestic roofs,
Your wives, your children, all that good men love;
Were each one willing for a little term
To face but half the dangers which perforce
Not doing this, he stands exposed to;
To bear but half the toils which I bear daily,
And shall bear lovingly.

FIRST CROWD.

Go to! surrender and have done with it.

Who thanks—who calls upon thee for thy toils?

CONSTANTINE.

That voice which, in the hour of trial, bids

The good man give his soft and sensitive frame
To death and torture, and ev'n fearful woman
Bend her fair neck unto th' uplifted stroke,
Calls upon me—yea, and I will obey it!

OTHORIC.

By the good saints he speaks like a brave man.

FIRST CROWD.

Acts he like one? will he come down to us?

(Several speaking together.) He does! he comes in truth!

(Constantine, after speaking in dumb show to his friends descends the stairs.)

SECOND CROWD.

Ay, in good faith, he comes unarmed too!

CONSTANTINE.

No, citizens, unarm'd I am not come;

For ev'ry good man here some weapon wears
For my defence.

FOURTH CROWD.

Yes, he says well; and we'll defend him too.

(Several others.) And so we will; huzza! huzza! huzza!
Long live brave Constantine, our noble Emperor!

(Many speaking at once.) No, no! peace and surrender is our call! (Raising loud cries, and brandishing their torches with violent threatening gestures.)

FOURTH CROWD.

Hear him out, fools, and he'll perhaps consent

To hon'rable surrender.

CONSTANTINE (to Fourth Crowd, and those who range themselves on his side).

No, friends; if ye stand by me in this hope,

Turn to your place again; for whilst I breathe,
With men enough in these encompass'd walls
To fire one gun, never shall Turkish banner
Upon our turrets wave. In this firm mind,
Upon those walls I am content to die,
By foe-men slain, or, if heav'n wills it so,
Here on this spot, by those I will not name.

OTHORIC.

No! we will die first, be it as it may,

Ere one hair of thy noble head shall fall!

CROWD (on Constantine's side).

Long live brave Constantine! brave Paleologus!

Huzza! huzza!

CROWD (on the opposite side).

No; bread, and peace, and Mahomet, say we!

(Both parties call out tumultuously, and threaten one another, and Rodrigo, Justiniani, and Othus rush down amongst them, leaving their other friends to guard the door of the palace.)

SECOND CROWD.

Ay, thou sea-lion! thou too needs must come

To growl upon us. (To Rodrigo.)

RODRIGO.

No, faith! I know you well: ye are at large

A set of soft, luxurious, timid slaves,
On whom a cat with muffled paws might mew,
And ye would turn from it.—But still amongst you,
I would upon it pledge my main and claws,
There are some honest souls who have ere now
Quaff'd their full bumpers to a brave man's health,
And I, in sooth, am come, with their good leave,

To shake hands with them all. (Holding out his hand invitingly to the opposite crowd.)

Come; who loves valiant worth and Paleologus,

Give me his hand.

(Many of the crowd giving him their hands.) There is one for thee.

(Second.) Ay, and there. (Third.) And there.

RODRIGO (to one who hesitates).

And thou too, for thou wear'st upon thy brow

A soldier's look: I must perforce have thee.

(Casting up his hat in the air, and joined by all the crowd on his side.)

Long live brave Constantine! huzza!

(This they continue to do till the opposite party are dispirited and beat off the stage. Rodrigo then presents his newly-acquired friends to Constantine.)

CONSTANTINE.

I thank you all, my brave and zealous friends.

Within the palace walls I'll now conduct you,
And martial there my new-gain'd strength, for which
I give heaven thanks.

(Exeunt Constantine, followed by his friends, &c. Rodrigo walking last, and just about to go off the stage, when Othoric re-enters by the opposite side, and calls after him.)

OTHORIC.

Hark ye! a word with ye, my noble captain.

RODRIGO (returning).

What would'st thou say?

OTHORIC.

Look on my face; my name is Othoric;

I'm strong, thou see'st, and have a daring soul:
Look on my face; my name is Othoric:
Think'st thou thou shalt remember me, tho' thou
Should'st ne'er again behold me?

RODRIGO.

I shall, my friend: thou hast a daring countenance.

OTHORIC.

My deeds shall not belie it. With this crowd

I came, a stranger of most desp'rate fortune,
And hir'd by treach'rous men to do fell work.
But now, unhir'd, I'll do for your brave master
A deed that shall make Turkish ears to tingle,
And Christian too, or fail it or succeed.

RODRIGO.

What wilt thou do?

OTHORIC.

What one arm does, one breast alone needs know.

RODRIGO.

Heaven aid and prosper then thy secret thought,

If it be good and honest! Fare thee well!
(Exeunt severally.

SCENE II. A small narrow Street, before a private sombre-looking house.

Enter Othus and Rodrigo.

 

OTHUS.

Move slowly here, for now we pass the fane

In which the mystic vision-seeing sage
To ears of faith speaks his wild oracles.

RODRIGO.

What, he of whom we've heard such marvellous things?

OTHUS.

Yes; such perturbed times his harvest prove,

When anxious minds, in dread of coming ill,
Would draw aside, impatiently, the veil
Of dark futurity.—Softly, I pray:
A female form now issues from the door:
It moves, methinks, like Ella.

Enter Ella from the house with a female Attendant.

RODRIGO (eagerly).

It is herself, and I will speak to her.

Fair maid, as well I guess by that light trip,
Thy lover's fate hangs on a lucky thread;
Tough, and well whiten'd in a kindly sun.

ELLA.

Well hast thou guess'd: fortune is passing kind;

She leads thee, fights for thee, and guards thy head
From ev'ry foe-man's stroke.

RODRIGO.

Ay, but thy lover, Ella; was it not

Of him we spoke?

ELLA.

Fye, do not mock me thus!

OTHUS.

In truth he mocks thee, Ella, and no faith

To fates foretold or mystic sages gives.

RODRIGO.

Believe him not, sweet maid. We seamen, truly,

Small dealings have with learn'd sorcery;
Nor bead, nor book, nor ring, nor mutter'd rhymes,
Are for our turn: but on the sea-rock's point,
In shape of hern, or gull, or carrion bird,
Our unfeed wizards sit, and, with stretch'd throats,
Speak strange mysterious things to wave-toss'd men,
With many perils compass'd. Nay, oftimes
The mermaid, seated on her coral stool,
Spreading her yellow hair to the sunn'd breeze,
Will sing a song of future fortunes fair
To him who has the luck to meet with her:
And ev'n the nightly winds will thro' our shrouds

Distinctive voices utter unto those,
Who in their storm-rock'd cradles lie and think
Ol their far-distant homes.—I do believe
That all good fortune shall betide thy love,
Being thy love; for that doth far outdo
All other fortune; and besides, no doubt,
A fair and courtly youth.

ELLA.

Go to! go to! thou mockest me again!

I love a brave man——

RODRIGO.

And not passing fair,

Nor very courtly?

OTHUS.

No, nor wearing now

His youth's best bloom; but somewhat weather-beaten.
And sunn'd on sultry shores?

ELLA.

Fie on you both, you hold me in derision!

I'm young, and all unlearn'd, and well I know
Not passing sage; but do I merit this?
(Turns to go away from them in tears.)

RODRIGO.

By heavens thou shalt not go! (Catching hold of her hand to prevent her.)

Thou sweetest thing
That e'er did fix its lightly-fibred sprays
To the rude rock, ah! would'st thou cling to me?
Rough and storm-worn I am: but if thou lov'st me,—
Thou truly dost, I will love thee again
With true and honest heart, tho' all unmeet
To be the mate of such sweet gentleness.

OTHUS.

I hear a noise of footsteps: we'll retire;

Let us pursue our way. (Looking behind as they go off.
'Tis one belonging to Valeria's train,
Who hither comes with quick and eager gait.
(Exeunt.

SCENE III. A large sombre room, with mystical figures and strange characters painted upon the walls, and lighted only by one lamp, burning upon a table near the front of the stage.

Enter a Conjuror in a long loose robe, and Petronius, meeting him, by opposite sides.

PETRONIUS.

Well, my good sage, how thrives thy mystic trade?

Go all things prosperously?

CONJUROR.

As thou couldst wish: to many a citizen

I have the fix'd decree of fate foretold,
Which to the sultan gives this mighty city,
Making all opposition and defence
Vain; and their superstition works for us
Most powerfully.

PETRONIUS.

So far 'tis well; but be thou on thy guard;

I am expressly come to caution thee.
Should any visit thee, whom thou suspectest
To be connected with th' imperial friends,
Be sure thy visions speak to them of things
Pleasant to loyal ears.

CONJUROR.

Fear not; I have already been forewarn'd,

And have such caution follow'd.

PETRONIUS.

Thou hast done wisely: still keep on thy guard,

And be not ev'n surpris'd if thou, ere long,
Should'st have a royal visitor. My agents,
Who in th'imperial palace are on watch,
Have giv'n me notice that Valeria's mind
Is this way bent. If so, let thy delusions
Still tempt her in the city to remain,
For herein is the sultan much concern'd.
Hush! we are interrupted.

Enter a Servant.

SERVANT (to Conjuror).

A noble matron craves to speak with thee.

CONJUROR.

Dost thou not know her?

SERVANT.

No; in a black stole

She's closely veil'd; yet noble is her gait;
And her attendant underneath his cloak,
But ill conceal'd, wears an imperial crest.

PETRONIUS and CONJUROR (both together).

Can it indeed be she? (Pausing to consider.)

CONJUROR.

I'll venture it. (to Servant.) Go and conduct her hither. (Exit Servant.

It must be she: I'll boldly venture it.

PETRONIUS.

Thou may'st with little risk: meantime, remember

The caution I have given thee.

CONJUROR.

Trust to my skill, and be a while withdrawn,

My noble patron. (Exit Petronius.

Enter Valeria, concealed under a long black stole, followed by Lucia and two female Attendants, who remain at the bottom of the stage whilst she comes forward.

CONJUROR.

Approach, great dame.

VALERIA.

Yes, in misfortunes so;

That is my eminence: and unto thee
I come, an anxious suitor, if that truly
Th' unseen mysterious powers with whom thou deal'st,
To human weal and woe alliance bear,
And may unto the care-rack'd mind foreshew
The path of awful fate that lies before it.
I do beseech thee!——

CONJUROR.

Say thou dost command;

For thro' that sable stole, were it as thick
As midnight's curtain, still I could behold
Thy keenly-glancing eye, and the dark arch
Of royal brows accustom'd to command.

VALERIA.

Ha! dost thou see me?

CONJUROR.

Yea; and who is he,

Whose shadowy unreal form behind thee towers,
As link'd with thine tho' absent? O'er his head
Th' imperial eagle soars, and in his hand
He grasps the emblem of supreme command.

VALERIA (throwing back the stole with astonishment mixed with fear).

O, most mysterious and wonderful!

Nothing is hid from thee: thou see'st afar
The distant death's day of the swathed babe,
Falling in hoary age, and the life's morn
Of those who are not.—Here then all confess'd,
A wretched empress and a trembling wife,
I stand before thee. O let thy keen eye
Thro' the dark mist that limits nature's sight,
Follow that phantom o'er whose head doth soar
Th' imperial bird! for, be it good or ill,
His fate is mine, and in his fate alone
I seek to know it.

CONJUROR.

And hast thou strength to bear it? art thou firm?

For that which smites mine eye must smite thine ear.

VALERIA (alarmed).

Thou reck'nest then to look on dreadful things?

CONJUROR.

I may or may not; but with mind not brac'd

In its full strength, seek not thy fate to know.

VALERIA (after a hesitating pause of great agitation).

I can bear all things but the dread uncertainty

Of what I am to bear.

CONJUROR.

Then shall it be unto thee as thou wilt.

(After some mysterious motions and muttering to himself he turns his face towards the bottom of the stage, as if he had his eye steadfastly fixed upon some distant point; and continues so for some time without moving, whilst she stands watching his countenance eagerly, with her face turned to the front of the stage.)

VALERIA (impatiently, after a pause).

O! what dost thou behold?

CONJUROR.

Nay, nothing yet but the dark formless void.

Be patient and attend.——I see him now:
On the tower'd wall he stands: the dreadful battle
Roars round him. Thro' dark smoke, and sheeted flames,
And showers of hurling darts, and hissing balls,
He strides: beneath his sword falls many a foe:
His dauntless breast to the full tide of battle
He nobly gives.—Still on thro' the dark storm
Mine eye pursues him to his fate's high cope—

VALERIA.

His fate's high cope! merciful, awful heaven!

(After a pause.)
O, wherefore dost thou pause? thine eyes roll terribly:

What dost thou see? thou look'st on things most dreadful!
O look not thus, but say what thou dost see!

CONJUROR.

I see a frowning chief, the crescent's champion,

In bold defiance meet thy valiant lord.
The fight is fierce and bloody.——

VALERIA.

Again thou pausest yet more terribly.—

Had thou no utterance for what thou see'st?
O God! O God! thou look'st upon his death!
(Clasping her hands violently.)
Dost thou not speak? wilt thou not answer me?
Thou look'st upon his death!

CONJUROR.

I look on nothing, for thy frantic terrors

Have broke the fabric of my air-shap'd vision,
And all is blank.

VALERIA.

And will it not return to thee again?

O fix thine eyes, and to it bend thy soul
Intently, if it still may rise before thee,
For thou had made me frantic!

CONJUROR. (after a pause, and fixing his eyes as before).

The forms again return,—

The champions meet: the fight is fierce and terrible:
The fateful stroke is given; and Constantine—

VALERIA.

Merciful heaven!

CONJUROR.

And Constantine lays the proud crescent low.

VALERIA (pausing for a moment as if to he assured that she has heard right, and then holding up her hands in extasy).

It is! it is! O words of bliss!—Thou see'st it!

My Constantine lays the proud crescent low!
Thou look'd upon it truly; and their forms
Before thee move, ev'n as the very forms
Of living men?

CONJUROR.

Even so.

VALERIA.

O blessed sight!

It is not witch'ry's spell, but holy spirits
Sent from a gracious heav'n that shapes such forms;
And be it lawless or unhallow'd deem'd,
Here will I kneel in humble gratitude.

CONJUROR (preventing her from kneeling).

No, no, this must not be: attend again:

There's more behind.

VALERIA.

Ha! say'st thou more behind?—Or good or evil?

CONJUROR.

Mixed I ween: 'tis still in darkness lapp'd.

VALERIA.

In darkness let it rest: I've heard enough.

I would not look upon thine eyes again,
And in my fancy shape thy unseen sights,
For all that e'er——Is that which lies behind
A far-extended vision? (Pausing anxiously.)
Thou wilt not answer me—well, rest it so.
But yet, O forward look for one short year,
And say who then shall be this city's lord.

CONJUROR.

Thy husband and thy lord, most mighty dame,

Shall at that period be this city's lord.

VALERIA.

Then I am satisfied. Thou hast my thanks,

My very grateful thanks. There is thy recompense,

And this too added. (Giving him a purse, and then a ring from her hand.)

We shall meet again

In happier days, when the proud crescent's low,
And thou shalt have a princely recompense.
(Turning to her Attendants as she goes away)
Come, Lucia; come, my friends; the storm will pass,

And we shall smile in the fair light of heaven
In happier days. (Exit, followed by her Attendants.

CONJUROR (looking at his reward).

Good sooth, this almost smites against my heart;

But goes she not far happier than she came?
Have I not earn'd it well?

Re-enter Petronius.

PETRONIUS.

Thou had well earn'd it.

What! harbour such poor scruples in a breast
So exercised in a trade like this?
Fye on't! But if thy conscience is so nice,
Know that thou had in all good likelihood
Predicted truly; and her lord and husband
Shall be still, as thou say'st, this city's lord.

CONJUROR.

How so?

PETRONIUS.

Hast thou not skill enough to guess?

Much has the sultan of Valeria heard;
And, with the future beauties of his palace,
His fancy, in the most distinguish'd rank,
Already places her. Thou wilt ere long,
I can foretel by certain fleeting shapes
Which at this moment dance before mine eyes,
A favour'd, famous, courtly prophet be.

My little Ella too, taught by my art,
May play, perhaps her part; and so together
We'll amicably work,—May it not be?
Put up thy gold and say it is well earn'd.

CONJUROR.

It must be had, and therefore must be earn'd,

Falsely or honestly.—Does Constantine,
As speaks this morning's rumour, send again
Another embassy to Mahomet
With terms of peace?

PETRONIUS.

He does, my friend: already in the palace

He, and his band of self devoted fools,
Deliberate on it. Thou, at no great risk,
May'st prophesy the issue of their counsels.

CONJUROR.

I have adventured upon bolder guessing.

PETRONIUS.

Excepting that slight aid from Genoa,

Which by the master of a coasting vessel,
Kept secretly on watch, I am inform'd
Is now almost within sight of the coast,
No hope remains to Constantine. And this
Shall not deceive him long; for I've dispatch'd,
In a swift sailing skiff, a trusty agent,
Who shall with costly bribes and false reports
Deter their boldness from all desp'rate efforts

To force a passage to the block'd-up port:
A thing, Rodrigo's bold success alone
Hath taught us to believe e'en possible.

CONJUROR.

Thanks for your information, my good lord:

I'll profit by it.

PETRONIUS.

But use it prudently. And so good day.

Well thrive thy trade, and all good luck attend us.
(Exeunt severally.

SCENE IV. An apartment in the imperial palace, with a view through a grand arched door of another apartment, in which are discovered Constantine, Othus, Justiniani, Rodrigo, and others, arising from a council table. They enter and come forward.

CONSTANTINE.

Well, my brave friends, I to your care intrust

This last attempt by honourable treaty
To gain peace from the foe. Heav'n bless your efforts.

JUSTINIANI.

All that strict honour will permit to us

Shall be most truly done, imperial lord,
And one step farther on we cannot go.

CONSTANTINE.

Had I wish'd more than this, Justiniani,

I had sent other ministers.——
Heav'n bless your efforts, brave ambassadors,
And make you wise as brave!
If we succeed not,
As much I fear, it is my earnest wish,
Ere the grand push that shall our fate decide,
To meet you all in blessed charity,
And join with you, perhaps, in the last rites
Of christian worship that within our walls
Shall e'er be celebrated.

OTHUS.

Your wish shall be fulfill'd: we all desire it.

CONSTANTINE.

I thank you. In an hour hence be prepar'd

To set out for the sultan's camp. So, brothers,
Good day, and all good favour.
(Exeunt all but Constantine and Othus,

CONSTANTINE (to Othus as he is about to go after the others).

Wilt thou go also, Othus?

OTHUS.

Not if your highness does command my stay.

CONSTANTINE.

Ah, gentle friend! I do no more command!

But this distresses thee. Well, gen'rous man,

Thou art commanded. (Pointing to a seat, and they both sit.)

Here, by thy friendly side,

I'll give my heart a little breathing space;
For oh! the gen'rous love of these brave men,
Holding thus nobly to my sinking fate,
Presses it sorely.
From thee nor from myself can I conceal
The hopeless state in which I am beset.
No foreign prince a brother's hand extends
In this mine hour of need; no christian state
Sends forth its zealous armies to defend
This our begirded cross: within our walls,
Tho' with th' addition of our later friends,
I cannot number soldiers ev'n sufficient
To hold a petty town 'gainst such vast odds.
I needs must smile and wear a brow of hope,
But with thee, gentle Othus, I put off
All form and seeming; I am what I am,
A weak and heart-rent man.—Wilt thou forgive me?
For I in truth must weep.

OTHUS.

Yes, unrestrained weep, thou valiant soul

With many a wave o’er-ridden! Thou striv'st nobly

Where hearts of sterner stuff perhaps had sunk:
And o'er thy fall, if it be so decreed,
Good men will mourn, and brave men will shed tears,
Kindred to those which now thou shed'st. Thy name
Shall in succeeding ages be remember'd
When those of mighty monarchs are forgot.

CONSTANTINE.

Deceive me not; thy love deceiveth thee.

Men's actions to futurity appear
But as th' events to which they are conjoin'd
To give them consequence. A fallen state,
In age and weakness fall'n, no hero hath;
For none remain behind unto whose pride
The cherish'd mem'ry of his acts pertains.
O no, good Othus, fame I look not for.
But to sustain in heaven's all seeing eye,
Before my fellow men, in mine own sight,
With graceful virtue and becoming pride,
The dignity and honour of a man,
Thus station'd as I am, I will do all
That man may do, and I will suffer all—
My heart within me cries, that man can suffer.

(Starting up with vehemence, and holding up both hands firmly clenched.)

Shall low-born men on scaffolds firmly tread,

For that their humble townsmen should not blush,
And shall I shrink? No, by the living God!
I will not shrink, albeit I shed these tears.

OTHUS.

To be in toils and perils, nay in sufferings,

With th' applauding sympathy of men
Upon his side, is to the noble mind
A state of happiness beyond the bliss
Of calm inglorious ease.

CONSTANTINE.

O no, good Othus! thou misjudgest of me.

I would, God knows, in a poor woodman's hut
Have spent my peaceful days, and shar'd my crust
With her who would have cheer'd me, rather far
Than on this throne; but, being what I am,
I'll be it nobly.

OTHUS.

Yes, thou wilt be it nobly, spirit as brave

As e'er wore Cæsar's name!

CONSTANTINE (smiling sorrowfully).

Yes, there is cause for me; there is good cause.

But for those valiant men, link'd in my fate,
Who have in other lands their peaceful homes
And dear domestic ties, on whom no claim
Lays its strong hold—alas! what cause have they?
What is their recompense? Fame is not mine;
And unto them——O this doth press my heart!
A heart surcharg'd with many cares, and press'd
With that besides, which more than all—with that
Which I have wrestled with—which I have strove—

With that which comes between me and myself—
The self that as a christian and a man
I strongly strove to be——

OTHUS.

You have before some secret cause of trouble

Hinted in broken words: will not your highness
Unto a faithful friend——

CONSTANTINE (turning away from him).

No, no, good Othus!

Sometimes I dream like a distracted man
And nurse dark fancies. Power and lawless will—
Defenceless beauty—Mahomet—Valeria—
Shape out of these wild words whatever thou wilt,
For I can say no more.

OTHUS.

Alas, I know it all!

CONSTANTINE.

And yet why should it thus disturb my mind?

A thought, perhaps, that in no other breast
Hath any shelter found.—It is my weakness:
I am ashamed of it.—I can look
On my short-fated span and its dark bound:
I can, God strength'ning me, my earthly task
Close as becomes a king; and, being clos'd,
To that which in this world's tumultuous stage
Shall happen after it, I am as nothing.

OTHUS.

Alas! my royal master, do not thus

To racking thoughts give way! is there not means
To free you from this pain, if you to use them
Have courage? Let the empress be convey'd
Far from these walls. It is a cruel remedy,
But it will give you peace.

CONSTANTINE.

I did attempt it, but she has so closely

Entwin'd herself upon me—O, my friend,
It needs must pass! I in th' unconscious grave
Shall be at rest.

OTHUS.

But does she know the nature of your fears?

CONSTANTINE.

O no! she does not! from that hateful subject,

As from a hideous serpent, still with her
I've kept aloof.—Alas! what can I do?
I could as well into her noble heart
Thrust the barb'd dart as tell her what I fear.

OTHUS.

Perhaps she still, as from the common horrors

Of a sack'd town, may be conjur'd to flee.
And here she comes: be it at least attempted.

Enter Valeria, Lucia, and attendant Ladies.

VALERIA (to Constantine).

I come to claim thy promise: one short hour,

A hasty sunbeam thro' the cloud's dark skirt,
Thou giv'st to me, and I must claim my right.
Thy friends too, ere they go, shall be my guests:
I have brought powerful suitors to assist me.
(Pointing to her ladies.)
Ha! what disturbs thee? how is this, my love?
Thy face is chang'd and troubl'd—What new cause——

CONSTANTINE.

O, no new cause! one that has much disturb'd me.

VALERIA.

And one to me unknown?

CONSTANTINE.

Speak to her, Othus!

OTHUS.

By many various ills and cares oppress'd,

Your royal lord is still most closely touch'd
With that which does your weal regard. What fate
May, in a storm-ta'en city, of dire sights
And horrid cruelties, have in reserve,

If such the city's doom, who can foresee?
O, let him then his painful station hold,
Gen'rous Valeria! from one care reliev'd,
His heaviest care, the thought of leaving thee
The involv'd witness of such horrid things!

VALERIA.

What would'st thou say in this? Think'st thou the ruin

In which he perishes will have for me
Or form or circumstances? It will be
Th' upbreaking crash of all existing things,
That undistinguish'd is, and felt but once.
Othus, thou talk'd like an unskilful sage:
It was not thus thy master bade thee speak.

CONSTANTINE.

Valeria, hard necessity compels us.

I have already safe asylum sought
For the last tender remnant of our race,
That something might from this dire wreck be sav'd,
And shall I not for thee———

VALERIA.

No; I am nothing

But what I am for thee! When that is finish'd—

CONSTANTINE.

Ah, my Valeria, but that will not finish!

Thou still may'st be for me—thou still may'st bear

Honour'd memorial amongst living men
Of him who was thy lord.—Good Lucia, aid me,
And gentle Servia too, and all of you!
(To the Ladies).
Cling round your mistress with your soothing love,
And say that in a foreign land you'll be
The faithful friends and soothers of her woe,
Where ev'ry virtuous heart will bear to her
The kindred ties of holiest sympathy.
Say ye will be with her in kindliest zeal:
Ye will not leave her?

LUCIA and the other Ladies.

No, we'll never leave her!

(Gathering round her affectionately.)
Most dear and royal mistress, whilst life holds,
In whate'er land, in whate'er state you are,
We'll never leave you.

VALERIA.

I know it well: thanks to your gen'rous love!

But yet forbear, nor thus beset me round.

(Putting them gently from her, and fixing her eyes upon Constantine.)

O, Paleologus! had thou for me

In fancy shap'd a world and an existence

Where thou art not? (Running to him and falling on his neck.)

Here is my world, my life, my land of refuge,

And to no other will I ever flee.
Here still is light and hope; turning from this,
All else is round me as a yawning tomb.

CONSTANTINE.

My dearest love! my gen'rous honour'd love!

My sweet Valeria! thou distractest me;
But have thy way, for I can urge no more.
Let dark fate come: I will abide its worst.

VALERIA.

Nay, say not dark; there is a hope within me;

'Tis sure, 'tis strong, it cannot be deceitful.
(A signal heard from without.)
Hark! hark! a signal!

(Voices are heard calling without.) Ships are in sight! supplies and warlike aid!

VALERIA (holding up her hands).

O blessed sound! there is salvation in it.

Heaven sends us aid! (Voices again call out as before, and the signal is repeated.)

Again the blessed found!

And here Rodrigo comes, wearing a face
Of welcome tidings.

Enter Rodrigo.

Succours, brave Rodrigo?

RODRIGO.

Yes, ships from Genoa are now in sight,

Bearing, no doubt, brave aid, if to the port
They can make good their entrance.
(All except Constantine.) Good heaven be bless'd!

CONSTANTINE.

And says Rodrigo "if "? (Shaking his head.)

VALERIA.

Nay, fear not, they will enter; with them comes

Another brave Rodrigo; thro' barr'd adamant,
Did it oppose them, they will force their way.

RODRIGO.

If they but have one jot of manhood in them,

They'll do all possible things.

VALERIA.

Ay, and all things are possible!

CONSTANTINE.

In truth, thou talk'll with such exulting confidence,

Thou almost temptest me to grasp at hope.

(Voices call out as before., and a signal from the towers.)

VALERIA.

The animating sound! Come, come! O, come!

And o'er the blue waves hail the blessed sight.

(Runs out exultingly, every one following her with animated alacrity.

END OF THE SECOND ACT.