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Do not deface books by marks and writing. Cornell University Library PR6015.O958C7 Constantine the Great; a tragedy, by Newma 3 1924 013 627 645 ijl Cornell University B Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013627645 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT #r THE SAME AUTHOR FOOTSTEPS OF PROSERPINE and Other Verses. Large crown 8vo, 4.1. 6d. net. "The author might rest on this achievement if he cared. It would entitle him to rank among the British poets,'' — Mr. Richard Whiteing (in the Daify News). KIARTAN THE ICELANDER : A Tragedy. Crown 8vo, 4*. 6d. net. "A poem of real genius. I can hardly imagine a play better fitted in the strength of its emotional situations and the humanity of its characters to produce (if adequately acted) what Aristotle calls 'the true tragic pleasure.'" — Professor Courthope (in The Pilot). SAVONAROLA, A City's Tragedy. Crown 8vo, 4*. 6d. net. " This is more than good modern poetry. It is that rare divine thing, the poetry of genius. In 1897 Footsteps of Proserpine revealed one who had the master's touch, and who might turn his hand to well-nigh any mode or matter. Would the new poet fulfil himself ? It was five years before the answer came in the shape of Kiartan the Icelander, a play on large lines, organic, ethical, with a music unerringly keyed to the elemental simplicity of the Saga story. At most the grudging critic might urge that, the noble theme of Kiartan once fortunately lighted on, noble poetry must, as it were, create itself. But this at least such a critic could not urge in respect to Savonarola. ... If a play is to be judged as a play, this is the greatest dramatic creation of our time— greater even than Kiartan. —Oxford Magazine. CONSTANTINE THE GREAT A TRAGEDT BY NEWMAN HOWARD LONDON J. M. DENT & COMPANY ALDINE HOUSE 1906 14 A.bb^u>A- To VERNON RENDALL Lover of Greece, her laughter and her tears, Brave land that heals the spirit's broken wings, Where long you wander, washing all your years From sordid aims with high imaginings, No token this, no lute nor magic shell To lisp of her still glowing songs and seas : One flower I pluck, one fadeless asphodel, — Her brave, her ever fresh fidelities. Bright morning isles of Beauty, still they shine, — Simois lapt in leaves, and fair Troezen, And white Colonus where the rivers twine 'Whose wave makes wet the jonquil's skirt of green. — A lone tower rocking with a jangled bell Upon the marge of tempest tortured seas, — Who will give ear to this wild tale I tell Of faiths new-born and old fidelities ? The groundlings pipe upon a scrannel reed ; They fleer at faith, they shriek old virtues down : You keep your soul, you waver not, nor heed ; Your rock shall grow its own fresh laurel crown. Come chance, come change, — time sifts and chooses well ; Still old loves lighten, still the old hopes ease ; The city spreads, but not the citadel, — The firm, the brave, the fair fidelities. This tragedy is the third, historically the first, of a Christian Trilogy, sequent in aim and treatment but not in narrative. Against a background of religious crisis each drama presents a fidelity, religion in essence, and its obverse infidelity, severally to a friend, a cause, and a past. Action, characterisation, and the stage picture are the quest, not that red herring of the poetic drama, the " purple passage." Iambic verse is used neither for rhe- torical nor lyrical ends, but as the simplest of all rhythms ; rhythm being in the pulse of art no less than of life, a condition indispensable. Prose rhythm, except of the free iambic kind used in the Gospels, moves on too large a wave, is more costly of verbiage, hardly closer to ordinary speech, far less suggestive of the desired emphasis, above all less congenial to things poignant and pregnant, and therefore less suitable for the swift and tragic art. History has, in the present play, been traversed mainly in the places and times of actions. Invention holds a large field, for though the story is true in outline, the recorded facts would fill but a dozen lines of this Preface. Drama, however, is allowed to be a work of imagination — more so even than history. scenes MINERVINA TRAGEDY. Act I. — Diana's Wood : Day. II. — Diana's Wood : Night. Several years interval. CRISPUS TRAGEDY. Act III. — Temple of Demeter : (a) Without ; (A) Within. IV. — Within the Temple. Time: circa «.d. 325. CONSTANTINE AUGUSTUS, THE GREAT. Crispus, his son — afterwards the Ceesar. Maximian, abdicated Augustus. Lactantius, s, ) , Christians. Athanasius, ) ' \ priests of Demeter. Pantolabus, ) Fabius, a rich Roman. A Slave Dealer. Bombo, Fausta's slave. Fausta Augusta, wife of Constantine. Minervina, divorced wife of Constantine. Theona, a slave girl. Euphrosyne, attendant on Fausta. Lalage, a child, daughter of Bombo. Secretaries of Constantine and Maximian ; officers and soldiers of the legions of Constantine ; conspirators hired by Maximian ; rustics ; dancing-girls ; a physician, &c. Constantine the Great ACT I Scene. — A wood on a hilltop in Provence (Gallia Pro- vincial ; on the left, a fountain with a statue of Diana. Enter Lactantius and Athanasius, dressed soberly as Christians. Athanasius. That dame in homespun once the emperor's mate ? What, and the cub his firstborn ? Lactantius. Sure as the cross ! Still comely ; but there's evening in her eyes. This was the wife he put away to wed The old emperor's daughter. Athanasius. [Scornfully] Wife ! Lactantius. True wife and lawful. The tug of empire snapped, they say, a bond Perfect in both. Athanasius. She did no sin, then ? Lactantius. None. He sold himself to Fausta for a crown. 2 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Athanasius. Let blame who will, he rules with righteous- ness. Was she of the Faith, — orthodox, pious ? Lactantius. No ; Yet strung to a lofty music : such a harp Needs but the Harper. Constantine she wor- shipped ; Nay, when the first wild grief was passed, they say She less repined than gloried that his light Left dark her hearth to illumine all the world. Athanasius. So ! They have been in hiding ? Lactantius. Many years. The boy was but a weanling when I knew her ; Yet large in destiny, — a mark for hate, Had she exposed him. Now are his perils past, — Maximian's day being done. Athanasius. Be sure she knows it, And looks to Constantine to right her wrongs. Lactantius. He may. Who knows ? The passions of the past Die not in lofty souls, but brood and dream Like Alpine lakes, deep shadowed, locked with ice. If some warm memory should loose that flood Fausta may stretch her little hands in vain. . . . See, here they come ! How pale her aspect ! — Christ ! The purple upon his robes came from her heart ! They pass on. Enter Crispus and Minervina. Crispus. Ho for the hilltop ! Here's Diana's wood ; CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 3 That is her fountain. Goddess, I salute thee ! A boar's tusk ripped that writhed oak, I wager, Centuries since ; or did their Gallic priests Gash it in slaughtering victims ? Some folk say Girls white as snow and heifers here were slain To Esus, Tiran, Wasso, — gods of power : These be religions ; and the trees dropped gore ! What say you of that, my mother ? Minervina. Son, I deem The gods hoodwink the world with Death to see What white things struggle upward from the red. Still do you spy no legions ? Crispus. None. A rabble Yonder Minervina. Ah, — slaves for sale among the tribunes. Where the Rhone takes the sun upon its breast, — What flashes there ? Crispus. Helmets ! Bravo ! They come ! Not twenty furlongs off, — signs, eagles, engines ; Ten famous legions, and in front the face That makes each legion ten . . . Mother, what ails you ? You stumble ; you are pale. Minervina. No, no ! Your arm. How tall you are ! Who'd think that yesterday You dressed as boy ? Crispus. Your gown's a slave's, I say. They'll whet their wits on you for ladies' airs ; Aye, and be thwacked for't, 4 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Minervina. No, I pray you, Crispus ! Not without purpose have I sought disguise. Ask me no reason, dear my son, I pray you. Crispus. You look a queen for all that. Minervina. [throwing off her cloak and appearing in the garment of a man-slave\ Now ? Crispus. No, Hercle ! You'll not go breeched like that ! Minervina. Indeed I would ; And gladder than an empress, seeing you Stately as Lord Augustus. You, even you One day might wear the purple. Would you like it? Fate has its whims like women. Crispus. That's a whim Our station spares us, and I thank the gods. " Ave Auguste ! " is a song you pay for With daggers in your ribs. Minervina. Yet have you said " Would I were Constantine ! " Crispus. In some wise, yes : Death is for all, and great deeds done must feel Like mighty wings to bear you to the gods. Minervina. Wings that the meanest bugler in the camp May grow ; but we, boy, never. Ah, we live Too closely. Crispus. True. For that, I'd join the legions ; But you would mope without me. Minervina. Son, your spear ! CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 5 Behold the hand that taught you. Aims the javelin at a small tree trunk and transfixes it. Crispus. Bravo, mother ! I swear no man out-throws you ! Minervina. Think you, then, I lessoned you to leap, throw, wrestle, ride, That you should lounge in baths and profligate places ? Crispus. Nay, troth, but things go hard if I must leave you. Minervina. Crispus, five masters rule the world to-day ; And all, save Constantine, are evil men, — Oh, past all deeming, evil ! Dear my son, Does not your soul wax hot to think of maids Shamed, spoiled and hunted, — helpless maddened mothers, — The world a farm to feed four tyrants' lust ? [Passionately ; clasping her hands'] Oh, there's no honour left but it must run For succour to the grave or Constantine ! Would that my bosom were a living buckler To ward from him the wounds that stab the world ! Would I not give my heart's blood ? Would not you ? Crispus. Hercle ! but life is sweet. Minervina. For my sake, Crispus. Crispus. Well, yes, for you. Minervina. I take the promise, son. To-night you meet him face to face. 6 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Crispus. Constantine ? Mother, you jest ! Minervina. And learn of things you know not. This letter, — this signet ring Crispus. [With amazement] Who gave you this ? Minervina. Take it and ask not. There's no secret 'twixt us But for your safety. Crispus. These are riddles, mother. Minervina. All doors that key unlocks. Go with it, boy, To Constantine ; I follow as your slave, Your mother dead, — pretend so : there is reason. And now she gives her son as legacy, — All that she has, — to Constantine the Good : Here it is written so. Give this to him. I shall stand near, but do you not betray me. . . . O Crispus ! Crispus ! Throws her arms round his neck. Crispus. What, weeping ? Here's no jest ! Minervina. Only a great hope and a great despair — Crispus. I'll not disgrace you, mother. . . . Look you yonder ! He pauses watching a girl who moves, clad in statuesque robes, among the trees in the rear. Diana's self, I swear ! Minervina. Come, foolish boy : Watch not I She'll see us. CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 7 Crispus. Why, the very sunlight Creeps through the leaves and makes delicious sport Touching her shoulders. Minervina. [Disdainfully'] Crispus ! Crispus. See her now, Kneeling, — her face among the flowers, her hands — Minervina. They must be bound : a slave, — dressed so for sale. Crispus. You saw her face ? . . . That such are sold like cattle ! Yes, I would be Augustus ; loose all slaves, Emancipate the crafts and curials, Make life like running water, sun-bright, free, No lovely thing in bondage to the base. Minervina. Come ; this is idle watching. Crispus. Hush, she sings ! Theona. [Singing ; hidden in the rear] Deep in the folds of the far Aeolian mountains Gleamed there a city : ah, Crocus of the morn ! Glad were the folk there, laughing by the fountains, Bare arms flashing in the ripe brown corn. Stay with me, pray with me, Visions of my childhood, White rose chaplets all shattered but the thorn ! She comes forward singing and pauses to smell flowers on the bushes. Crispus^ Gods ! Those fetters ! Pray your pardon, maiden, — 8 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Wait : I will reach it for you. Theona. Do not, Sir ; I doubt me, — for those yellow flowers are fair, Delicate, shaped like little cups of wine, — You Romans, you — such things you could not touch But you would fill them full of blood. Crispus. My own, If that would please you. Theona. No, Sir, do not pluck ; Your face is honest. Go ; I wish to hate All Romans. Crispus. [Gathers the woodbine and is about to place it in her hair] Hate ; natheless I will pluck. Theona. I thank you ; but I will not wear your plucking. Crispus. Think me no Roman. Troth, the song un- Romed me. More of the mountain city ; prithee, more. Theona. There is no more ; 'tis ended. Crispus. What, the song ? Theona. The city. Crispus. Builded in the clouds, belike, And vanished when a goddess fell to earth. Theona. No, but of stone. The stones are scattered, — some Deep in my heart, — kept there to stone all Romans. Crispus. Then must I spoil your pretty wrath, and say I am not Roman. Britain gave me birth. Theona. Still are you Roman. All earth's arteries, Her nerves, her veins, run poison brewed at Rome. So ! Would you hear me sing ? Then will I ! CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 9 Sings fiercely : Death to thee, thou hell-bird, blacker than the raven, Ravisher and despot, doomster of despair ! Death to ye, his Romans, sycophants and craven, Worms among the mighty, wolves among the fair ! Roam with me, home with me, Visions of my childhood, — Goad me till I slay him, bloody in his lair ! Minervina. [Aside'] A madness, Crispus : come ! Crispus. [Ignoring her\ Tell me : who wrongs you ? I wear a sword, — A scuffle is heard without. Theona. [Suddenly and with agony] My father ! Oh ! They beat him ! Flings herself on her knees before Crispus. Noble young lord ! Sweet, brave young lord ! I implore you ! Have pity ! He severs the bonds with his sword. Instantly she leaps to the rescue of her father. Crispus follows. A slave-dealer issues from the wood. He wears a long robe with a loose girdle in which is kept a whip and an old laurel branch. Slave-dealer. Ha ! The wild cat ! She's at him ! Mnechus chokes ! She wrings his breath out. Maul her not, I say ! Dog ! She is worth a thousand Mnechi ! . . . Hold ! io CONSTANTINE THE GREAT She's quiet. . . . Mnechus, ha, thou son of a thief, Thou'st spoilt the play ! Crispus re-issues from the wood ; he addresses him : Pol, lord ! The frenzy's nought ! A pretty maid to master ; Thasian wine Tames sweeter for its strength ; nay, as to that I tell thee, lord, for a certain curve o' the mouth, A marriage o' lightning eyes and little lips, There's some would give five hundred golden pieces. Minervina. Come, Crispus ! Crispus. What, and leave her to their mercies ? Slave-dealer. She'd fetch three hundred on the stone. But, Pol ! Her feet ain't whitened yet, — by Mithra, no ! Hunted on the high seas, — edict o' Lord Licinius ; No quaestor's title better ; here it is. The Emperor's warrant : Catch and kill, or sell. I bought her from the skipper with a herd, Fugitives, curials. Say two hundred. Come ! And a city rose to save her from the Prince. Crispus. Maiden, your name ? I plight me with the wine. Theona. Theona. Crispus takes from his belt a cup and wine flask, fills the cup ; swims the fountain-bowl empty in the basin ; plucks a bough of myrtle, places it on his head, then stands in front, wine cup in hand, ready to " toss the cottabos." Crispus. Theona, then, — CONSTANTINE THE GREAT n Theona fair, my love I swear, By all our Manes holy : Now on this throw hangs weal or woe In fortune proud or lowly. Come Venus with thy sacred dove And kiss the cup to aid my love ! Dip bowl for luck, spill wine for loss : Once, twice, thrice for the toss ! He tosses the wine, then runs forward to see if the bowl is sunk. The throw is clean ! The bowl has kicked the marble ! Theona, you are mine ! Minervina. You wrong her, Crispus. My child, ah heed him not : it cannot be. [To Crispus, with sudden passion] Blood on your breast ! Gods, — gods avert the omen ! Crispus. Blood ? 'Tis a splash of wine. Mere super- stition. I did but toss to prove my love was honest. As for the fears I take my fate in hand ; I care not so I see the thing is right. Minervina. Crispus, you know not : you are nobly born. Crispus. More need for doing nobly. Minervina. My last day, Crispus ! Crispus. Mother, forgive ! The hour has made me man. This ring in pledge, Theona, that I come To set you free. Unobserved by Minervina, he hands her the ring. i2 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT The price he asks I'll give. . . . Come, mother. Crispus and Minervina go out. Slave-dealer. " Mother ! " He called him mother ! Pah ! A mongrel bye-blow, and the jack a jade ! Gone for the gold ? I doubt he hath it not. I'll take the long-beard's offer. Come, my pretty, What's that he gave thee ? I'm father to my slaves ; They love, they dote upon me. Tell me now : Did not I spare the old man ? Theona. It is a ring : Will that content you ? Slave-dealer. Thou hast no right o' the ring. A ring to a slave's a fish-bone for a dog's throat. We'll make short work of this. Ho, Mnechus there ! Out with thy scorpion. He shows her a whip knotted with steel barbs. See, girl, — hooks of steel : Ten strokes might kill an ox. Theona. \With exaltation] Is death so dread ? I fear it not. Thanks friend unknown, dear friend ! Your ring shall make me free. Slave-dealer. No, no, sweet love ! Not for thy back the whip. Thy father — Theona. You, — You dare to strike him ? If he dies you answer. A cry is heard. She flings herself on her knees, holding the ring up before him. Take it ! O spare him ! CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 13 Enter, from behind, the aged ex-emperor Maximian, •with Secretary ; the dealer makes a profound bow, taking the ring at the same time, lave-dealer. Hail, great lord and master ! Wilt thou buy slaves ? Scribes, eunuchs, virgins, boys ? Such cattle never came to Gaul before. daximian. Show me that ring. lave-dealer. [Handing it to him] A rare one, lord. daximian. [Examines it carefully, looking several times from the ring to Theona, and again at the ring] The price ? lave-dealer. Now Isis strike me blind but I behold The mighty lord Maximian. daximian. [Sternly] Man, the price. lave-dealer. To thee, lord, thirty pieces. Come, now ! Twenty ! Bid me lustrate it ; it is thine. Dips the laurel branch in the fountain and sprinkles the ring. Maximian takes it. Aaximian. [Handing him money] Here, fellow ! Away ! Waives him off peremptorily. To Secretary with tremulous eagerness : His signet ! ecretary. [Examining it] Constantine's ! Maximian. Give't me ! And in a fair girl's keeping : mark ye that. A lie stands firmest leaning on the truth, Hast tablets with thee ? 1 4 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Secretary. Here. Maximian. Write, then : and so That one, not over cunning, might suppose The hand was Constantine's. Thou canst ? Secretary. Speak on. Maximian. [Dictating] Constantine unto A woman's name ? Secretary. Paulina. Maximian. " Constantine unto Paulina, greeting. Diana's wood, the Province. Prepare. I wait thee. Her we remove before the Nones, so fear not. Vale." . . . Thou'st written ? Secretary. Yes, lord. Maximian. Take the ring, Seal, and then smirch as though the script had travelled. Come. Exeunt. Enter, in a litter, Fabius, a little patrician clad in -pontifical robes ; with him Pantolabus. He alights with difficulty. Maximian and his secretary withdraw. Pantolabus. This way, reverend pontiff. Here we see them. Fabius. [Speaks in a weak, high voice] Where ? I see nothing — nothing ! Pantolabus. [Turning him round] Yonder : look ! In front a maniple rides on apace. By sundown all the legions will arrive, CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 15 Fabius. [Stumbling on to a slight mound, and peering as if with weak eyes'] Prithee, your arm, Pantolabus. — Where ? I see not. Think you the Prince will hear us speedily ? Pantolabus. Could he decline, most excellent patrician ? Do not a hundred Consuls, two score triumphs, Cry in your blood for audience ? Fabius. \_Pathetically] True, Pantolabus ; But it all has turned to gout ! Pantolabus. Nay, courage, pontiff ! Fabius. Courage, my friend ? See ! Have I not endured These two days without bath ; my pastilles spoilt, — Unguents from Egypt, Syrian nard, perfumes, — What could a Caesar more ? Pantolabus. Nay, what indeed ? Fabius. This wild Hercynean Forest Pantolabus. By your leave, A copse they call it, — a spinney. Fabius. Is it Pantolabus ? Are there not tigers, bears, Gaetulian lions ? I think there are ; I doubt not they will leap. Believe me, but I fear not ; let them come ! I shrug; I greet them: "Friends, you wish to dine?" Bear witness, I have said it. Pantolabus. Amazing valour ! Rome, — Rome shall hear of this ! Fabius. I think, Pantolabus, We know to teach them courage. . . . Ha ! What's there ? 1 6 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Pantolabus. Where ? I see nothing. Fabius [Excitedly] Look ! The leaves ! They rustle ! Pantolabus. A bird, — a hare, — a rabbit. Fabius. [Terrified] No ! No ! No ! A wolf! A wolf! I swear it ! Boy, my litter ! Enter Perdix. He wears a long beard and -philosopher 's sandals. Pantolabus. See, there, — a blackbird. . . . Here's Perdix, the magician. Perdix, well met. Perdix. [Aside] What Tiber troutling's this ? Pantolabus. Our gold-fish, man, — our Crcesus. Perdix. [Bowing to Fabius] Sir, I greet you. . . . Pantolabus, I have the very woman, — One to make Henna's flowers crane all their necks, And cry " Here's Proserpine!" — Away with Christ ! Give me some pulleys, ropes, dark nights to fix them, A secret spot, an ancient grove of Isis, — We'll fly a pretty goddess through the welkin, Set Rumour breeding in their rustic pates Of miracles and immortalities That stale their Resurrection. Pantolabus. Pontiff, you hear ? Perdix. Two hundred golden pieces, — that's the price : Worth thousands to your coffers. Pantolabus. Note that, pontiff. Fabius. Money ? From me ? No, no ! I am a pauper. Pantolabus. A wondrous pretty maiden, was it, Perdix ? You heard that, pontiff? CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 17 Fabius. Ah! Where? Where? Perdix. This way. The child Lalage runs out of the wood and picks a flower. Fabius trips across her. Fabius. [Peevishly striking the child~\ Out on thee, brat ! Bombo rushes out of the wood. He is huge and fat, clad as Silenus, with buskins, and crowned with ivy. He is followed by a troop of girls gaily dressed, and the Empress Fausta, with attendant ladies and eunuchs. Lalage runs to Bombo crying. Bombo. [Kissing her\ Ha, little Lalage, he struck thee, did he, — Thou that art worth ten thousand popinjays ? Makes a rush at Fabius, seizes and tosses him on his shoulders. Up, skinny ! — ha, ha, ha ! — the little pontiff ! Seats Fabius perilously on a tree branch : he groans with ludicrous alarm. Bow, Maenads, bow ! Behold the great patrician ! Imitating Bombo, the girls make mock curtsey. One gives him a push, and runs away screaming with laughter. He falls. Bombo lifts him. Bombo. Fabius Quinctilius Cato, heir of Time, Last blossom of the blood of Ancient Rome, 3 1 8 CONST ANTINE THE GREAT Hear doom ! Whereas he spied upon your dance, Maenads ! Maenads ! You hear ? He spied upon you. Girls. Fie ! Fie ! Fabius. I did not, please you : I only looked Bombo. He looked ! He pleads his guilt. Fabius, thou pleadest Guilty of innocence of this virtuous crime ? Fabius. Not guilty ! Bombo. Worse ! Cold to your beauties. Girls. Fie ! Bombo. This is the doom of Pentheus, King of Thebes. He leads the song: The King of Thebes, a cunning hound, Upon the Maenads spied, oh ! Dancing they came, and whirled him round ; Tossed were the clouds and cleft the ground ; His legs and arms they tied, oh ! Each to a nodding pine tree, bent, Which backward flew, and the limbs they rent, And flung them far and wide, oh ! During the song Bombo has laid him face down- wards, extended his legs and arms, and written in large letters on the white ponti- fical robes — « hic jacet philosophic epicuri." At him, ye Maenads ! Fabius. Spare me ! Bombo. Spare him not ! CONST ANTINE THE GREAT 19 Ha, ha ! thou little pinchbeck popinjay : Thou sum and scum of Rome that's dead and ditched ! O noble hands ! They clapped a Nero's crimes. Illustrious knees ! They crawled to a Commodus. Strap them, ye Maenads, to a nodding pine, Up ropes, and spw the four winds with his limbs ! Fabius gives a -piercing shriek. Fausta. Sweet Bombo, do thou stop ! I die of laughter. Poor little man ! Arise. He will not hurt you. Bombo. Up ! March ! He takes a helmet, and breast-plate from a soldier, and, dressing the little patrician in it, marches him up and down with military step ; then with a gentle kick : Go, tell thy friends at Rome that thou, Being mighty valorous, didst dare to slap A picaninny plucking flowers, and lo Bombo, the slave, who snipped a fly and said, Go buzz and teach Rome courage. Exit Fabius. Fabius goes out. Fausta. Come hither, Bombo. Girls, go look and see,- — Is my lord yet in sight ? Attendants leave her. Bombo. What think you, mistress? A sweet homunculus, an insect Rome ! Fausta. Here comes my father. He will talk, talk, talk ; Most dreadful things ! I shall go mad with fear. Bombo. Laugh, Empress, laugh ! Ha, ha ! The pinch- beck pontiff ! io CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Sings : If fiends beset thee, yowling, sighing, Evil eyes or witches prying, Dead men's laughter, groans of dying, — Sing this spell to set them flying : Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! Fausta. Bombo, we passed a young man on the hillside, A slave-thing with him : did you see them, Bombo ? Bombo. No, mistress. Once thy women gazed and whispered, And their eyes said " Lo Apollo ! " Whereupon I looked down on my stomach and was proud. Think you it was not Bombo that they meant ? Thus the gods pass us and we miss them. Fausta. Bah ! Thou canst not tell his name ? Bombo. I'll cry him, mistress, Lost or strayed, a lusty god Apollo : Who brings the same to Fausta shall receive Fausta. [Boxing his ears'] This for thy saucy tongue ! I weary of thee ! Bombo. Buzz ! buzz ! Come dance, my dainty Maenads ! Jingle your sistra ; make the lilies laugh ! They sing : Sing ha, ha, ha ! the gnarled oak Hath tossed his goblets green, oh ! The lowing ox with lightened yoke Joins in the song of jocund folk, CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 21 While Mopsus pipes serene, oh ! And the golden locks with the gold wheat bound Fly loose as they laugh "and whirl them round, And hymn the harvest queen, oh ! Enter a lictor ; Fausta and her merry-makers display consternation. Lictor. Way for Lord Augustus ! Fausta. [To Bombo~\ Fly ! They come ! Enter Constantine and guard. Constantine. Empress, well met ! Is Fausta here to greet us ? Fausta. [Embarrassed] To look out for your coming, dearest lord ; Ah, you are swift : you take our breath away. Constantine. [Severely] Surprised in merry company, for- sooth. Are these the folk I bade my wife consort with ? Wise men and matrons ? Nay, but buffoons, wantons ; Locusts that foul each leaf and twig of Rome, And strip the great tree bare of fruits and virtues ! [To one of his guard] Praefect, we will not pass the gates to-night, But camp upon this mound. Now prithee, Empress, Wait our return ; and goodlier company Belike shall meet us when we come again. Exeunt Constantine and guard. Enter Maximian slily. He looks round to see that Fausta 's attendants are out of earshot. Fausta is tear- 22 CONST ANTINE THE GREAT ful. She beckons to a servant, and speaks with averted head to hide her tears. Fausta. Go, fellow, call the Emperor's household ; bring Old men and Christians, — Christians plent-y. Go ! The Emperor wants his Christians. The servant bows and exit. Bah ! his Christians ! Maximian. What, tearful, eh? Hast had thy fill of love, — Thy kiss, thy sweet encounter ? Fausta. Sweet, indeed! Maximian. " Goodlier company than thine," he said. Fausta. Than Bombo's, father : mirth displeases him. Oh, let me be ! I have no will to talk. Maximian. What pleases thee — eh ? does he think of that ? Fausta. Pooh, no ! He thinks of duty ; always duty. As though an empress were a kitchen slut. Maximian. Yet natheless, Fausta, he can be sweet to some. His tongue is soft and eloquent as silk. Fausta. To serve his ends, his politics, — oh, yes ! Maximian. Yet, Fausta, be thou patient. Fausta. Am I not? Here, there and everywhere he hurls himself, — Swift, hard as stone ; and I, — I must not laugh ; But mouch, mouch, mouch, with books and grey old men Blinking like owls, — oh, how I hate them all ! I wish I were not born ! Maximian, Thou didst not say so CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 23 Of old, before he trod our necks to rise. Now are we dirt beneath his chariot, we Who placed him where he sits astride the world. Fausta. How you do talk ! Maximian. He sickens of thee, girl ; So have a care. Fausta. You always make me wretched. Maximian. Fine company he'll keep to please himself : A fair, soft Christian, comely, smooth of speech, With silken hair and holy yearning eyes. He ever had an itch for Christian vermin. Fausta. Bah ! 'Tis no woman's man. You do not know him. Maximian. Belike ! belike ! We've had some traffic, child, These sixty years : we think we know a man. Fine company he'll keep, I dare say : thou, — Worms and a grave, and toads to sing thy naenia. Fausta. Oh, you are gruesome as a bishop ! Leave me : He likes not that I talk with you. Maximian. What's that ? He'd tear me from my child ? Fausta. It is your fault. You have rebelled : you know it. At least he spared Your life. Maximian. My life ! A dog's life, chained ! Let be ! Laugh while thou canst ! It may not be for long, If what they say is written here be true. Read it thyself ; I am no scholar, girl. 24 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT He holds out the letter, then draws it back. No, no, I'll not make evil blood betwixt you. Fausta. What is it ? Maximian. Nothing. Fausta. Let me see. Maximian. Thou shalt not. Fausta. Show me the seal. Maximian. Aye, aye, 'tis Constantine's : We have not fallen so low, but we have friends To spy upon his treason. Fausta. What ? You stole it ? Maximian. They took it in the mountains, — killed their man ; I cannot read ; I know not what it means. Fausta. I wish to see it. Maximian. There, then, if thou wilt. She takes the letter and reads. Fausta. Oh ! I am lost ! Maximian. What says it, child ? What ails thee ? Fausta. I shall be slain. O father, he will slay me ! Maximian. [As if deaf] Thou wilt be — eh ? Fausta. It says as much ; they'll kill me. Maximian. Eh ? Eh ? They said it sounded ill. Read, child. By Pol, I doubt it signifieth nothing. Fausta. [Suppressing sobs'] " Constantine unto Paulina, greeting." Maximian. [As tf deaf.] Who ? Fausta, Paulina. CONST ANTINE THE GREAT 25 Maximian. Ah ! Fausta. " Diana's wood, the Province." Maximian. That's here. Fausta. " Prepare ! I wait thee." . . . Breaks into sobs. Maximian. They said it held a secret : tush ! 'tis nothing. Be thou not jealous : 'tis the way of men. Makes as if to go. Fausta. Stay ! stay ! O father, save me ! Do not go ! " Her we remove before the Nones " : it says so. Father ... in two days he will kill me . . . Oh ! Carry me off ! Maximian. Giv't me. I grow too old. My eyes are weak. \_Examining the seaf\ Methinks I see a mark ; . See here : beneath the eagle. It is false. Fausta. That ? 'Tis the mark we know by. . . . Quick, — ■ they come. Maximian. What's that they tell o' the wife o' Commodus ? Fausta. Oh, do not talk, but save me Maximian. I was thinking. . . . Your Marcias, — ha ! they were cunning wenches those : Was there a dagger up the Emperor's sleeve, They caught the shine and whipt theirs out before. Dead lions do not bite ; nor lively women, Handsome to boot, go begging for a husband. Fausta. I kill him ? But I could not kill a mouse. Maximian. Thou needest not. Abed he is not armed. 26 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Just before dawn is sleep the deepest ; then Dismiss the guard on errand ; go ye out ; I'll enter ; and if he come forth alive, Then may old Charon have me ! Enter Bombo, slily and with uplifted finger . Bombo. Warily, mistress, Here cometh Virtue clad in power and purple, Awful as Juno in a cotton nightcap ! Ha' done, ha' done with cranks and quips ; King Cacus thinks them sin, oh ! He runs on ice and never slips, He lays a tombstone on thy lips And shuts the twinkles in, oh ! But when thou'rt widowed, prithee pretty Empress, Set free the twinkles, let them loose, like Cupids, A thousand of 'em, madcap little rogues Like bubbles in a cascade, — ha, ha, ha ! Else wed thee who may, I will not. Buzz, buzz, buzz ! Hops away mischievously through the wood. Maximian shuffles off in another direction. Enter the Emperor and guard on one side ; on the other a multitude of men dressed in the toga or civilian gown, among them Athanasius and Lactantius. Constantine. Hail, Empress ! Hail, my men ! You greet us victors. Loud cries. Ave ! Ave ! Constantine. We have laid bristles on the hedge of Gaul : CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 27 Back to his marsh the Franlcish boar runs pricked ; Gaul basks in peace. Loud cries. Ave ! Ave ! Constantine. And if it please the gods — A slight murmur among the Christians. Aha ! Who murmurs there ? Mark me those men — And if it please the gods, I say, some hogs We wot of otherwhere, shall taste our steel, Or quit their evil living. Loud cries. Ave ! Ave ! Constantine. It sufficeth. Not for applause we wrestle, but to please The voice within, the praise that ne'er betrays. Now to fresh business. There be those that deem We flout the gods of Rome. They lie ! They lie ! What gods are they that make the Empire one ? They are our gods, — the gods that succour Rome. Stand forth, ye Christians ! Who are these you worship ? Fetahil, Buthos, and the Demiurge, Manee, Pleroma, Ja, Jaldebaoth ? A loud murmur of dissent. Will ye deny it ? Are there not among you Jugglers with amulets, Manichees, Mandaeans, Sects that coil serpents round your holy bread, — Borborians, Coddians, Ophites, Barbelites, — That quench their lamps and fall to headlong lusts ? Lactantius. O Emperor, it is false ! Not Christians these, — We own them not ; they shame the name of Christ, 28 CONST ANTINE THE GREAT One God we worship ; he alone can make Rome one. Aye, though to thee we kneel not, thee We serve : and will ; for justly hast thou ruled. Augustus, try us ; we be faithful men. Constantine. Away with you ! Thou, Praefect, bring me hither The torture engines that I bade thee bring Against my coming. [To another officer] Thou there, write down all Who will not offer to my father's statue. We will not eat, nor sleep, nor pass our threshold Until we know the men whom we may trust. Praefect. My lord and master, the instruments are here. Speaks to slaves : instruments of torture are brought in ; also a statue of Constantius, father of Constantine. Constantine. [To Lactantius, -pointing to the statue] Fellow, thy worth is known : kneel there and rise Praefect o' the Palace ; kneel not, — by the gods, I'll twist and screw thee to an obscene gargoyle. Lactantius. And is this Constantine ? Ah, what hath turned Thee, the most noble and most just of princes ? Hare we not served thee well ? Constantine. Durst question me ? We want no rebel service. Bow or burn. Lactantius. Then burn we will. [Stretching his hands towards the heavens'] O Jesu, change his heart, CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 29 Or keep ours changeless through all agony ! Christ, help us ! Help us, Jesus ! Constantine. [To Praefeci] Heat the gridiron. We'll baste this braggart first ; the rest shall follow. Lactantius. O Constantine, a many years these fires Have been a-burning, but in vain ; the truth's Not burnt out yet. Constantine. We were too swift to kill. Ply them with water in their throats to keep The torment fiery and the body quick; Water is fetched from the well. A number of Christians are brought in. Are all these Christians ? Praefect. Ask them, Constantine. Constantine. Knees to the image, or away with ye. Lactantius. [To the other confessors'] Oh, this is swift my brothers ! Thus the devil Comes to the wrestle with a sudden rush. Natheless please God we'll show the world once more There's stuff for valour in the Christian faith. Constantine. Will no one kneel ? Down, rebels ! Gag that prater. Lactantius is seized. Constantine speaks not twice. Kneel now or never. — Athanasius, thou ? Athanasius. I am a Christian. Constantine. Thou ? And thou ? And thou ? All cry. I am a Christian. 30 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Constantine. [Abruptly, with a sudden change of manner] So ! . . . This suffices. Praefect, clear the ground. The sieve is shaken and the true are tried. Now hearken all. Whereas three hundred years That sophist of the swine, old Epicurus, Hath made our lives a Libyan whirl of dust, — No grace therein, no governance of Right, — Yea, crumbled all our virtues, made us beasts Scuttling to covert, languid, lustful, base ; And forasmuch as, like the living germ Whereby soft fruit will wax and break hard rind, A nation has been nourished in our midst, A company of fearless, faithful men, Liege-men of some good Son of Man, some God, — A soul that touched a truer fount of deeds Than thine Olympus or the Academy's, — Therefore we purpose henceforth not to vex But vindicate this people, and uplift Their Christ among our gods ! Nay, even more : Fighting the Franks, wherever these Christians went The foe gave ground. This wondering I beheld, And lo a ruddy flame lit up the sky Crosswise, a symbol like their sacred Cross ! The Christians. \_Loudly] Ave Christe ! Ave Constantine ! Athanasius. Christ save thee, Constantine ! By this thou conquerest. Constantine. Aha ! " By this we conquer," dost thou say ? Such words I uttered, scarcely knowing why. "By this we conquer " : wilt thou conquer, Christ ? CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 31 Christians. He will ! He will ! Ave ! Ave ! Auguste ! Cons tan tine. Surely some god hath led us that our sword, Our statecraft, all we do and seek prevails. We will muse more on thie. He paces up and down, then speaks again : One God, one king ; No more five Emperors and five hundred sects : One crown, one creed, the world beneath our feet. Lactantius, Athanasius, do ye think This thing might be ? Athanasius. Aye, if thou wilt, Augustus. Constantine. Behold the kingdom that your Master sought ! Lactantius. Augustus, no ; His kingdom is within. Constantine. Thou art a stubborn fellow : nay, I like thee. But not for me thy creed of many kingdoms : This man hath gotten his kingdom in a kirtle, — This in his brains, and that inside his belly. The million are but fools, the few are wise. Thou hast a trick of creed that makes for courage ; Take thou a pen and write thy credo down, Pave thou the Appian adamant of Truth, — Adown that road my sword shall drive the world. Athanasius. God guiding, we will do this thing, Augustus Lactantius. It may not be ; His kingdom is as seed ; It grows by stealth, it taketh not by storm ; Bind not this quick life with thy bonds of brass : It wells, it grows, absorbs the old and new, And turns all life to grace and loveliness. For in our Father's House are many mansions, 32 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT And walls as wide as all eternity. Constantine. Enough of prating. This at least is plain : Men that are faithful to the God they worship, Whom neither bribe nor torture will corrupt, These likewise will be faithful to their Prince. \Rising\ The sieve is shaken and the true are tried. To-night our guard shall be of Christian men. Constantine and his followers file out, Fausta betraying agitation. Perdix and Pantolabus cross the stage, followed by Theona with her father. Perdix. [Beckoning to Theona] Come ! ACT II Scene I. — The same. Dusk, changing gradually into night. A tent has been erected, occupying half the stage. At the entrance on a lofty pike is the Roman eagle, and names of legions; within the tent two chairs and a table ; at the rear a curtain concealing the sleeping apartment. Fausta issues thence, goes to the door and beckons. Enter Bombo. Fausta. Bombo ! You heard ? Bombo. I heard. Fausta. My father too ? Bombo. Somewhat. Fausta. " The sieve is shaken and the true Are tried ! " Why tried ? And why this Christian guard ? Bombo. Wouldst thou I flatter thee with pleasant tales ? Fausta. No, no ! The truth. Bombo. He knows. Beware his Christian guard. Fausta. Go, tell my father I will not assist him. Bombo. Too late ! Augustus knows. Besides, that letter. . . I marked these Christians and they scowled on thee. 4 33 34 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Fausta. Why ? For I smile on all men. . . . Save me ! Fly ! To Rome ! My brother's there. Bombo. The guilty fly : Thou art not guilty. Fausta. No, I am not ! Bombo. Thou, The pearl of wives. . . . Show me that letter, Fausta. This ? He examines it. Bombo. Forged ! Fausta. But it cannot be. . . . The signet. . . . Bombo. Stolen ! Fausta. But, Bombo, thou art sure ? Bombo. No doubt of that. Fausta. Then am I safe ! Bombo. Thou wert ; thou art no longer. Thou hast conspired, and, as I think, he knows it. Fausta. No. He would strike ; no pause. Oh, he is ever Swift, swift to strike ! Bombo. Yet wary with his angling. Not till the net is drawn the fish are stunned. Fausta. O save me ! Bombo. I see a course. . . . Turn, turn about ! A fond thing and a subtle hast thou compassed, Fausta, thou pearl of wives, thy lord's preserver : The hoary traitor thou wilt trap and publish Red-handed, hot to murder ; he shall die. Henceforth Augustus loves thee for his life, And for his warrant in a damned act. Fausta. What, save myself and kill my father ? Never ! CONST ANTINE THE GREAT 35 Bombo. What, die thyself and kill thy father ? Never ! Fausta. Thou wouldst not, Bombo ! Thou wouldst rather die. Bombo. To laugh a little longer 'neath the sun, Gods ! I' would eat my father. Fausta. Oh, you jest ! For yours, they say, you risked a crucifixion. Bombo. " They say ! " Ha, ha ! Knowst thou not Roman law ? A slave can have no father. Therefore I Had not a father ; therefore I could not save him. Nay, nay ; we love our masters, them alone. Do we not cheat, lie, plot, and make our souls All maggots for our masters ? All for love, Not liberty nor lucre ! Give me, Fausta, Give me not gold nor freedom. Fausta. Oh, I will ! Bombo. [Suddenly changing from mockery to earnestness] Thou needst not, mistress ; thou hast ever been A mother to my bird. Fausta. Sweet Lalage ! Yes, but a thousand times I will reward you If only you will save me. Bombo. But I will. Fausta. Here comes Augustus ! . . . Quick ! What will you say ? Bombo. What for thy life's sake thou shalt not gainsay ; So shall I save thee. As for thee, Augusta, Fall thou to weeping ; 'tis the veil discreet, — 36 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT The woman's sanctuary. Fausta. From fear I shall : I am right sick with fear. Bombo signs to her to be silent. Enter Constantine. Constantine. What now, Augusta ? Tears ? [He looks severely at Bombo] Bombo. Not me ! I have not joked this half-hour. Constantine. Go, fool. Bombo makes as if to go, but looks round at the tent door, sideways, 'pointing to Fausta. Bombo. Her father. . . . Verily he must die. Constantine. What of thy father, *eh ? Bombo. [Answering for her in the same sly posture] A bad joke, lord, — a bad joke. That old man cracks the jokes that crack an empire. Verily he must die. Constantine. What now ? More plotting ? Canst thou not hold him in a collar, girl ? Fausta. O spare him, dearest lord ! He is white and old : He hath not long to live. Constantine. One day too many Will make the world a bonfire, and these hands, These that alone can quench it, ashes. Speak : Tell me the tale. Do thou thy duty, Fausta. Bombo. [Still sidelong at the tent door] She hath no voice. She cast the net. Her father She snared to save her husband ; [Coming forward with a dancing step] but, ho, ho! CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 37 Now the hoc habet sounds, she falters, fails : 'Tis very woman, lord. She'll help thee yet : 'Tis her intent to lure him to his ruin. Constantine. Fool, thou art wondrous wise in our affairs. Speak : thou hast leave ; tell us the tale ; but briefly. Bombo. [Edges up to Constantine servilely] Bombo has bees that gather secret honey, Bees that buzz sweetly round the old man's head ; Yet Bombo is but Fausta's henchman. She Shall smile him to his doom — a sweet decoy. Constantine. More plainly, fellow. Bombo. [Grinning] Will't please my lord That some vile slave that merits death shall lie In Constantine's bed to-night ? Constantine. So ! That's the play ? My guard shall see to that. Bombo. [Pulling Constantine's coat] But, if it please thee, A bloody head that might have been my lord's, — That were a pretty sight to shew thy men, And breed forgetting of the old lord's service. Constantine. A merry fellow, this. Now, by my head, Fausta, we'll lie elsewhere : and he himself, He shall be honoured with our bed to-night. Bombo. [Betraying alarm] I — I — Heaven save me . . \ [Recovering himself] If an old man came Creeping, decoyed by Fausta— (she will do it) — Creeping at dead of night, dagger in hand, And felt up, up [Imitating the action] unto the beating heart, — 38 CONST ANTINE THE GREAT The heart he thought was Constantine's, — now look y e: It were not well his hand should climb — a mountain ! Constantine. A what ? Bombo. Ye gods that sit on stomachs, lo Olympus ! [Patting his stomach~\ Prithee, master, — ha, ha, ha ! Hath not my paunch more pomp of state than thine ? Constantine. [Aside] He fears : the plot is good. I wronged you, Empress : Your fool shapes folly to the end of wisdom, And you have served us well. We are saved. . . . Unless . . . You marked our speech . . . the turn we gave ? . . . What? What? It fetched their plaudits ? Genuine, as I think. Fausta. So please my lord. Constantine. Perceive that in this business The army's loyalty is indispensable : We count upon their worship. Bombo. Aye, and have it, Even as the gods. [With mock ■pomposity] " Not for applause we labour, But praise that ne'er betrays, — the voice within." [Slily] Wilt thou not wear my mask and soccus, lord ? Constantine. Off with thee, fellow : fetch a miscreant slave. Thou shalt have place and honour for thy pains. Bombo. [Aside] So then I erred : he knew not. It is well. CONST ANTINE THE GREAT 39 Scene II. — The same. Before and after dawn. Soldiers stand sentinel at the entrance of the tent, where swings a single lantern. Fausta and Constantine are seen dimly, seated, Fausta wearing a night cloak, or pallium ; Bombo stands listening at the curtain. Bombo. [In a hushed voice] Now ! now ! He snores like Vulcan. Mistress, now ! Fausta rises, sighing, and goes to the entrance, then pauses. Fausta. I cannot ! Spare me ! It is my father. Constantine. [Sternly] Fausta ! She goes out and crosses to the back of Diana's fountain. As she leaves by the entrance, Bombo and Augustus pass out on the other side. Maximian, in full armour, appears from behind the fountain ; Fausta lifts her finger to beckon him. He drops a bag of gold in the hands of the guards and stealthily enters. When he is out of sight they grin and pocket the gold. Fausta stands watching him, then buries her face in her hands and groans. Silence for a moment ; and now Maximian re-issues. He clanks his sword in signal, and soldiers issue from the wood bearing torches. Maximian. Prompt to the signal ! Now, conspirators, 4 o CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Sound ye the trumpet ; raise the camp : the prince Is dead. Conspirators. Ave Maximiane Auguste ! The trumpet sounds. Enter a large body of soldiers. They stand opposed to the con- spirators. Swords are drawn. Maximian interposes. Maximian. Men, spare your blows and hearken. Con- stantine Who tricked us of our purple lies a corpse. [To conspirator s~\ Go drag him from his bed, and then to earth. And voice your wills ; elect a new Augustus. The Conspirators. [A feeble minority] Ave ! Ave ! Maxi- miane Auguste ! The rest of the soldiers are sullen and silent, looking perplexedly round the tent and mur- muring to one another. A Conspirator. [Holding his sword to his own neck] By Mars and by thy genius, prince, I swear To love thee more than life or wife or child, Serve thee, obey thee, follow thee, and fight Beneath thy standard, ne'er deserting it, Save, O Augustus, that I fall and perish. Other Conspirators. The like from me ! The like from me ! Maximian. [Looking to the opposed soldiers'] To each who takes the oath, " the like from me," CONST ANTINE THE GREAT 41 An hundred golden pieces. . . . You there ? You ? The soldiers are all silent. For why do ye pause ? Have ye not marched and fought Beneath Maximian's eagle, aye victorious, Before yon pullet, dead and trussed, was hatched ? Booty or plunder, women, mead or meal, — What lack ye ? Ye shall ha' it, — by Pol I swear. Was there not carnage when my eagle pounced ? And shall be. As for him, young Constantine, He bragged a score of battles, I an hundred. Conspirators. Ave ! Ave ! Maximiane Auguste ! Maximian. Truly I doffed the purple, wrought thereto ; But I will put it on again ; and let None hinder me, else look they to their necks. I made and I unmake him, — I, Maximian. Conspirators. Ave ! Ave ! Maximiane Auguste ! Maximian. For why do ye pause, — you there, — and you ? Ye think me old, — eh, eh ? Does my hand tremble ? Holding out a tremulous hand. It doth not ; yet it is not weak and still As his, — once hard and swift like crashing rock Hurled from a catapult ; a fox for cunning. Lacked I his parts ? Now witness that I stand, I, I, before you, but that fox lies dead. Conspirators. Ave ! Ave ! Maximiane Auguste ! Maximian. He tongued me for my age : 'twas time I dozed, And dug my plot like Diocles, who brags Of cabbages, not kingdoms. Now who sleepeth ? 42 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Conspirators. Ave ! Ave ! Maximiane Auguste ! Maximian. Come, come ! The oath ! . . . He called me old, I say. Re-enter conspirators, dragging the dead body in a sheet. See here he comes in swaddling clothes, that babe : He cannot totter ; nay, he hath the worm. A purge will help him : nay, ha, ha ! — there's nought In him but death ; he cannot vomit death. Will ye be ruled by corpses ? Take the oath ; Lift up your hands and vow ye to the worms. Up there, and shew him ; raise the prince aloft. Lo, what a mighty change is here ! Behold Lord Constantine ! The body is raised and suddenly unveiled. The light of many torches reveals the ludicrous figure of Fabius, the pinchbeck pontiff. A roar of laughter, fierce, exultant and pro- longed, rises from the soldiers, in the midst of which Constantine himself appears. As he advances, stern and stately, to the fore- ground, a sudden awe of silence falls ; and then a mighty shout. Soldiers. Ave Constantine ! Ave ! Ave ! Ave ! Constantine. [Lifts his hands, commanding silence, then speaks with emotion] Thanks ! Thanks ! . . . (Disarm him lest he kill himself.) Our thanks, like fruit, break down the boughs of speech. CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 43 This night reveals two shining wondrous things : An old man's hate that hath the gleam of hell, — Your love that glows like heaven. Yet mark me, soldiers, Not that you praise us living we rejoice : Such praise have tyrants. But above all crowns We wear this love no bribe nor threat seduces, True in reproach, unquenchable in death. Happy is he who, still alive, hath read His epitaph of love and loyal faith Writ clear upon ten thousand valiant hearts. Henceforth not subjects, comrades, friends, we call you, But brothers. Soldiers. [With wild enthusiasm^ Ave Constantine ! Ave ! Ave ! Ave ! Constantine. Now for this sorry deed. God doeth justly. This man, whom for his brag of birth we gave Our tent to sleep in, had grown rich by wrong : He hath his due ; God rest in peace his ashes. Of us the purposed victim — [To Maximiari\ Speak, old man. Were we not patient with ye ? Twice ye plotted, Twice did we pardon. Soldiers. Away with him ! Away with him ! Constantine. Brothers, be patient still. Hear his defence. [To Maximiari] Is it not written in the Roman journal That of thine own will, having reigned so long, Thou didst for ease resign the sceptre ? Speak ! 44 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Maximian. All's truth the victor speaks. Add this, by hell,— That by mine own will, having lived so long, I do bequeath to thee, thou damned traitor, My head, and to thy wife the curses in it. The strumpet's flown : my curse shall find her out. Ha, smirk, mince, ogle, purse thy baby lips, — They shall drink gall, their kisses shall be fire ; She shall go breed and litter little asps, Hiss off her wings in flame, — that moth, that dung- fly ! God send she blast his sons and empire ! Send her A harlot's fame without a harlot's hire ; Let her be stamped on like a loathed worm, Flung out and buried like an evil smell. This is a father's curse ; wear it ye twain : I laid on ye the purple, now instead I lay this curse, this fiery shirt of Nessus ; Shake ye like dogs, ye shall not shake it off". To hell ! I have done ! Ye get no more from me ! Constantine. Brothers, he hath spat his hate : we gave him leave. Curses from bad men, blessings from the good, — Both do we prize : we live to earn them both. For him — He pauses, looking at Maximian. Soldiers. Away with him ! To death ! To death ! Constantine. Brothers, be yours the sentence. If for death, Be not too harsh : give him his choice of exit. Exeunt soldiers, with Maximian. CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 45 Enter Fausta. She kneels imploringly. Fausta. Have mercy ! Constantine. He must die ; it is their sentence ; But he will choose his death. Fausta rises with a gesture of despair, and breaks into tears. Calmly, my wife ! We'll pay in love the choice your love has made : Wings for you henceforth ! Flutter as you will ; Gaiety is not least among the virtues. Fausta. 'Tis very well ! Your heel is on my father ; Now you are glad ; you give me leave to laugh. Constantine. What ? Does the rat-trap blame the knife ? Fausta. My God ! But must he die ? Constantine. What else ? Fausta. I hate myself ! Enter soldier with letter. He examines the seal, breaks it, and reads ; then paces the tent, betraying agitation. Constantine. [To Fausta] By your leave. Exit Fausta in tears. We'll see him. Crispus is ushered in. Minervina in disguise waits at the door of the tent. These from your mother ? Crispus. Aye, sir. Constantine. She is dead ? 46 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Crispus. Alas ! Constantine. You know these contents ? She leaves you as her legacy to us. Crispus. My lord, she bade me serve you, and she said The seal would be my passport. Constantine. [Cunningly] Where's thy father ? He must consent to this. Crispus. [Hesitating] He died ... I think so . . . That is, I did not know him. Constantine. Not his name ? Crispus. It is a strangeness, but I know not. Constantine. What ? No name ? No image ? Boy, you jest with us ! Crispus. No, sir. Constantine. A trick then. Next you'll brag of god-birth. Your father was some roving Zeus, and you A puppy Perseus, born in showers of gold. Crispus. Little of that, my lord ! Constantine. A gypsy, then, — A knave too low for naming. Crispus. [Indignantly] Sir ? Constantine. Explain ! No bridling here. We are to deem this Sphinx, This riddle of your birth, sat, mocked and hooted Owl-like on every gate ; and yet, forsooth, You shot no shaft to bring it down. Explain ! Crispus. So please you, hath not every house its doors Flung wide and filled with voices, — one alone Kept shut and passed in silence ? CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 47 Constantine. That, or shame. Crispus. [With increased indignation] My lord, she taught me to revere Augustus. Constantine. So ! And you dare to shew him anger, eh ? Crispus. Yes, if he speak her ill. Minervina makes a gesture to calm Crispus. It catches the eye of Constantine. Constantine. Oho ! What's there ? Crispus. A slave, my lord : he bears my arms and gear. Constantine. A sword, a shield, some javelins ; therewithal To war with twenty legions. Crispus. No, Augustus. Constantine. It needs they shall, unless betimes you learn The grovels of the court, and gulp your anger. Crispus. Pardon ! But, Sir, I thought you shamed my mother. Constantine. And if I did, dare you defy me, youngster ? Crispus. Hercle, my lord, and were you God Himself I would not suffer evil speech of her. Constantine. What gods and emperors send you'll suffer, and The more the worse you take it : think on that ; Next time you'll count the peril. Crispus. I'm thinking, Sir, There be some things for which we count no peril. Constantine. Prithee ! In reason ! Your mother is no more : We gibe at ghosts : what matter ? Fool, they care not. 48 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Yet, at a word, your spleen is up and angry : — You'd dash your living soul out for the dead : Is't reason ? Crispus. That I know not. Blood will boil ; Likely by causes deeper than their Reason. Conslantine. Tut ! Honour, faith, religion : worn-out tackle. Hug life ; you'll get no other. True, since Rome Lost faith in ghosts and live ancestral spirits, Took Reason for her guide, and learned that men, Being dead, are dead as rats, each rat of them We emperors have made japes of. Thus : " Ho, Lucius, Your mother was a harlot ! " Then says Lucius : " If t please you, Augustus, she was so. Indeed, Now, as I mind me, she was a very bitch : Your grace is good to say she was a harlot." These be court manners. You shall learn them soon. " Give thanks for cuffs, or else you'll suffer cudgels : " That is their proverb. . . . Pray what office seek you? Pantler or butler, asiarch or clown ? Crispus. So please you, Sir, I would be of your guard. Constantine. A post of peril, youngster. This same night, But for the care of the Empress — Minervina starts and makes a gesture of despair. Strike that slave. He fools us with his antics. — Sirrah, I say, Last night we had been butchered in our sleep, CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 49 But for the Empress. 'Tis a post of peril. Your mother wished it ? Crispus. Aye, Sir, for she said, " Would that her bosom were a living buckler To save from peril him who saves the world ; " And made me vow that I would do the like. Constantine. She said it ? She ? Of us ? \With suppressed emotion] Go leave us ! Crispus quits the tent: Constantine withdraws behind the curtain. Crispus. Have I well spoken ? Minervina. O, my son ! Crispus. I loathe him : Such things he says, I burn with anger ! — Yet When like a great sun rising on the world He gazes on you — [Suddenly] Mother ! Are you ill ? Minervina. Faint, — just a little. It passes. Crispus. I'll not leave you. Minervina. Go, foolish boy ; he comes. All's well with me. Crispus. It is not. You are ill. I will not leave you. Minervina. Obey me, boy. Your life is yet to live. Crispus. Yes, and for you. Minervina. No, Crispus : but for men. I were a clinging shadow on your path. Go, and be great. You bear my life in yours ; In you I act ; I shall not grieve, — ah, no ! 5 SO CONSTANTINE THE GREAT One word ! Still trust him. Keep your faiths. God sends them. We'll go out steadfast, dreaming as we came. Crispus. The tears are in your eyes ; I cannot leave-you ! Minervina. Go ! Crispus. Why solve their tangles, we whose skein is clear ? Minervina. Too late, my son : our flax is on their wheel. Behold ! Re-enter Constantine. He beckons Crispus into the tent. Constantine. I have inquired within, and learned Somewhat about your mother, and — your father. Heigh-ho, young Sir ! Snaffle your wrath ! I swear Your father was a scoundrel. Crispus. Say not that ! You are Augustus, but Constantine. Rebel, what now ? I say he was a scoundrel, and your mother- Crispus. Hercle ! No word against my mother ! Handles his sword. Minervina flings herself between them. Constantine thrusts her aside contemptuously. She falls. Constantine. Guards, there ! Enter guards instantly. Disarm, but hurt no hair of him. One moment ! Crispus is seized and surrounded and stripped of his arms. Constantine meanwhile has with- drawn behind the curtain. Song without. CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 51 Enter soldiers, singing: Soldiers. Yo ! yo ! H61abolo Across the world we swagger, And grip the throat Of Goth, and gloat To see the Scythian stagger. 1 st Soldier. Thor ! did ye see him ? 2nd Soldier. Yea, by Pol ! The pigeon Would barely bulge a codpiece. ■$rd Soldier. S'elp me, gods ! I've seen 'em sprawl their inwards, spiked their gills, Scooped out the porridge from their lousy pates, Drunk toss-pots from their brain-pans, but by Consus ! This beggars wars and tumults. Song. Yo! yo! H61abol6! From dyke and bog and seasand Stark red and rank We plucked the Frank, And jagged him in the weasand. 2nd Soldier. Muzzle thy jaw ! Yoho ! The Emperor's tent. 1 st Soldier. A tent ? A rat-trap : The Emperor's skinned his rat, and gone away. yrd Soldier. No, s'elp me gods, the guard's within. 1st Soldier. What there ? More vermin, eh ? 52 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT ind Soldier. Yoho ! Lay hold o' his lugs : We'll baste him soundly. Re-enter Augustus, bearing a cloak, edged with purple, and a sword. Constantine. [To the drunken soldiers'] Away ! [They go out. Release him. Go ! [To Crispus] You, Sir, remain. Crispus, released, remains alone with Constantine. Minervina lies between them. Crispus kneels beside her. Constantine seats himself and writes. Crispus. [With agitation] Where are you hurt ? Oh speak ! He rushes for water from the well, kneels and sprinkles her face. Constantine rises, hold- ing a script. Constantine. A swoon, — no more. Rise, boy. . . . [Calling to the guard] A surgeon there ! [To Crispus] We did but try you, — Plied the rough strigil, — found your fibres stout : Henceforth we trust you. Crispus. [Ignoring him, raises Minervina, so that her face is to the breeze without the tent; he fans her eagerly] So ! Ah, speak one word ! I will not leave you, — I will not ! Never ! Never ! CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 53 Constantine. My surgeon will attend him. Crispus. [With agony] Look not so ! Constantine. Up, boy ! Our time is short : your slave can wait. Crispus. [Looks up and reiterates the word mechanically] "Wait?" [Passionately] Oh, those eyes ! Those glazed and vacant windows ! All, all the comfort is gone out of them. Constantine. [Laying the coat on his shoulders] Come, wear this cloak and sword. You are ennobled. Here is your patent of nobility : Henceforth Augustus is your friend. Crispus. [Still ignoring him] My God ! Not death ! It cannot be ! Constantine. [With irritation] A swoon, I say : He came between us, and we thrust him down. Have I not said my surgeon shall attend him ? But you, — you may be Cassar one day. Crispus. Hush ! A heart may beat no louder than a bird's, Yet there is life. Constantine. You hear us, boy ? Crispus. [With agony] No breath ! Constantine. I say — you may be Caesar Crispus. [Leaping to his feet and facing Constantine fiercely] Give her life : You took it from her. Give it back, I say ! Constantine. You set great store by this your underling. 54 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Crispus. [Flinging the coat at Constantine s feet] My curses on you ! What is this coat to me ? She is dead ! Constantine. Young man, you know not whom you curse. Crispus. A king o' the world ; what care I for a king ? The world itself is broken at my feet ! Mother ! O mother ! Constantine. [In a changed tone] What is this ? Constantine looks on the face of Minervina, and recognises her. Enter a Physician. Physician. My lord ? Constantine. Restore that woman : I command you ! The Physician kneels and examines her. Physician. [Rising] Most high and mighty Emperor, she is dead. Will you that I remove her ? Constantine. Go ! Exit Physician. A pause. My son ! Crispus. I would as lief call vou my father as — hell ! O Furies ! Constantine. On me the Furies ! Boy, 1 am your father. Crispus. [Amazed] You ? Struck with a wild and sudden thought, he seizes Constantine, and drags him to Minervina's body. Kneel ! Touch her ! Lay Your hands upon her. . So ! . . Even as a god CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 55 She worshipped you : still, still your touch may save her. Constantine. The victim is divine, the god is dust. I wear no wreath that I should touch this altar. Crispus. Kneel ! Kneel, I say ! Constantine. [Kneels, takes her face between his hands and kisses her on the brow. He rises, throws his hands out and speaks with emotion as if to himself\ She moves not. It is vain. These hands grasp earth and empire, but her spirit Never ! A voice, a song, a vision, so It flies, it vanishes, and leaves alone A wonder in the air, a sacred silence. Now, O my son, now all the realms these hands Clutched when they wrung her life out, — they are nought ! Dank heavy sod to toss upon her bier ! Crispus. Surely her lips moved ! Surely then her eyes — Oh God! Constantine. They move not ! She is dead. Now close them. They would but see a face that's shaped for fame, Stone that was once a statue in her sight. My power is bankrupt. If I lay on her This purple [Indicating his own imperial robes] lo, the cere-cloth mocks the saint. Or if to atone, — command me, O my son ! — I publish her with pompous obsequies, Her dirge denounces him she honoured most. 56 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT She has come home to show me my past life, True glory and the false, — her trust, my treason. Fate runs me to my goal : in every eye That scorned her loneliness, I, absent, smote her. Now have these blind hands struck her to the ground, Nor even in death my power can lift her up. [Calling] Lactantius there ! What think you, O my son ! How shall we bury her ? Command me, boy. ■Crispus. With me ! With me ! O let me die with her ! Constantine. No ; but to you we compensate her wrong. Secret she lived and silently she died : Here will we bury her, and fold our tents ; Leave her companioned with the oaks and pines ; Then secretly and silently night falls, And stars shine out, and gaze upon her grave, And windflowers blow, and dream and wave and wonder, White as the vision of her soul in ours. Enter Lactantius. Behold, Lactantius, Minervina's son* He is your charge : teach him your Christian faith ; We own him, but as yet to you alone : Utter it not unbid ; — nor you my son : Rank without power is peril. Say, Lactantius : How many favourites have our favours slain, We emperors ? Say, Lactantius. Lactantius. O Augustus, Give me to fill my pen a lake of blood, CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 57 Therewith I'll write three hundred years of Rome. Constantine. Moreover, we owe the Empress gratitude ; Maxentius lives, — her brother : he has power. Hardly this moment when she saves our life Shall we upraise a rival to her child. Yet fear not : we are just ; we live for justice. {Laying his hand on Crispus' shoulder] In you we would atone all wrongs to her. Boy, we are proud. A small thing and a merry When last we looked upon you, — good times, those ! — Now are you great of limb : be great in action. Come not anigh the Empress or her kin, Lest they should plot your death ; but from this day Keep counsel with your soul, and dwell in camps ; Deliberately swift and sternly mild, Outmarch the winds and sweep the continents With scythe and sickle of relentless war ; Faithful to those who keep their faith with you, Your friends shall be your fortress ; until then Two friends are yours : a brave heart and Augustus. Here is our hand. He offers it ; but Crispus stands with arms drooped and averted head. Constantine. What, no ? Crispus. It slew my mother ! Constantine. Unwitting, urged by Fate. But for her guise This had not been. Crispus. You drove her to disguise. 58 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Constantine. True ! True ! She could not beg of Con- stantine . . . Nor he of Crispus. Mark you, boy, I say, Nor he of Crispus. Choose, then. Are we foes ? Here by her graveside ? Crispus. [As if with a struggle] No ! Constantine. Your hand. [Offering his. Crispus takes it, but with averted head. Guards ! Guards enter the tent. Carry her within. [To Crispus] And if in days to come Her name is spoken, we robe our souls in white As to the gods who shine above us changeless. Crispus passes behind the curtain with the body of Minervina. Lactantius remains. Lactantius, as I think, your god is right, The kingdom that's within, — that is the best : No double life, no trampling on the true. We will compel all peoples to believe ; Snatch down the temples of the gods of Rome, And use their coffers for the Cross of Christ, Our sign, our trophy ! Lactantius. Hardly, Constantine, — Hardly you rear Christ's kingdom on that grave, Or conjure heaven with brandishing of swords. Constantine. What ? What ? We bring your party into power. As for that grave, to him we make amends ; It were not politic to publish her. CONST ANTINE THE GREAT 59 Besides, we would consider this at leisure. What more, — eh, fellow ? Lactantius. It is much, my lord. Constantine. One moment ! Watch that lad. You marked his manner ? The drooping head, the hand that clutched that rail, Eyes that he gave not unto mine ? Lactantius. Ah, true ! Constantine. I asked him to command me, and confessed The wrong I did his mother ; yet withal He gave his hand, his heart he hath not given. Lactantius. His heart was very heavy, O Augustus ! Constantine. Belike ! Belike ! Yet must we have him watched : There is the seed of vengeance in these doings. Go and do well by him, as we do justly, And in all love, yet heedful. Lactantius. Good, my lord. €o CONSTANTINE THE GREAT CHORUS Heard between the Acts. Ai ! Ai ! Anguish eterne ! Cometh and goeth Queen Proserpine ! Poppies and pomegranates blowing shall cling to her ; Zephyrs shall sigh to her, nightingales sing to her : Us in the underworld never a ray Lights, nor the fluting of birds ; but the day Thou comest, thou Core, thou Queen Proserpine, There floats in the gloom of our sunless recesses A fragrance of flowers, and thy chapleted tresses Rain light, and we reach in the ebb of the stream Lean hands and wan faces, and lapt in a dream O loves of our days on the earth, ye return ! Ai ! Ai ! Anguish eterne ! Unmated, unsated, We reach and we yearn For the light and thg love, the roses and wine, And the Wonder and Music of Earth, O divine, O child of Demeter, O Queen Proserpine ! The song passes into a wail, during which the curtain rises. ACT III Scene I. — The grove of a temple of Cybele and Demeter on a cliff by the Aegean Sea. Enter Rustics, ist Rustic. What sound is that ? 2nd Rustic. It came from yonder temple. Strange things and awesome bide within that fane ; Lo through a crystal, Pluto throned, and Styx And Persephatta — shadows of the dead, And demons dancing, but no clogs a-clatter. 'Twas there the goddess rose up from the earth. yd Rustic. Afore she rose they heard the likes of this ; And thunder, and grinding rocks, and gurgling water, 2nd Rustic. Awhile ago a great lady passed the town. She's gone up to the villa with her rotinue. \st Rustic. What's " rot-in-you " ? 2nd Rustic. Baggage o' great folk, ye fool. Never ye saw such pomp ; and men-at-arms An hundred. ist Rustic. That'll be a great show, fellow. 62 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 2nd Rustic. Aye : we'll have emperors meeting here, they say. $rd Rustic. Likewise there's doings yonder by the strait : Out by the foreland, fisher-lads at dawn Saw corpses floating ; and a mighty flock Of carrion fowl sailed up against the blast, Shrieking. 2nd Rustic. And down the Great Road yestereve A troop of horse ran riderless. Some fell, Some drew up panting, sniffed the gale, crashed on, And vanished in the night. yrd Rustic. Great battles, likely. . . . There it go again. I'm off" to fetch the townsfolk. Likely the goddess rises from the ground. Exeunt. Enter the Empress Fausta and Crispus. They seat themselves on a rock facing the sea. Crispus is several years older than in the last act, and dressed as a prafect or captain of the fleet. Crispus. Then, madam, 'twas as though the sky took thought And knew the world's fate hung upon a breeze : Like wraiths of ruined gods the fog stole off" ; And lo their fleet, a city on the waves, High towered and paved with streets of shining oars. God in the gale said, " Conquer ! " and His light Let flash a challenge in their blinded front. Our keels 'gan singing ; sudden a thousand throats CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 63 Roared with the lust of battle, and our force Bore slowly down upon them. Hidden rams Ripped them, hooks grappled, engines swept their decks. Sheep of the waves and huddled without pen, Fireships we drave among them ; panic spread, Flesh writhed and weltered ; night alone had mercy. Steel-eyed and soaked in blood and brine and hatred, Our men ceased slaughter counting of their keels Three hundred sunk or captured with their crews. Fausta. Three hundred, and your fleet was less than two ! Crisfus. God's nostrils blew a flame in every soul, And from the heavens a wind to fill our sails. They say that on the foremost ship Fausta. Ah, whose ? Crisfus. The Admiral's, madam. Fausta. The Caesar Crispus' ? Crisfus. They say Christ stood upon the poop, his hand Beckoning, a halo round him Fausta. O, you thrill me ! Did they not take the Cassar for the Christ ? Crisfus. I know not. This I know ; Licinius Is crushed. Five emperors ruled the world ; but now From Nile to Severn, Calpe to Caucasus, Constantine rules alone. The world is Christ's. Fausta. True ; and the Cassar did it. Crisfus. No, not he. Constantine, if you will : yet no ; a dream Dreamt by a Peasant. 64 CONSTANTINE THE .GREAT Fausta. A peasant ? Crispus. . . . Then the deep Shook with the thunder of a mighty psalm : " The Lord is a great God, a King above All gods. The sea is His ; He made it, and The land. Come, let us worship and bow down ! " Fausta. The sea, yes, it is His ! I love the sea ! Is not its voice a battle-song, its breeze A strong man's arms flung round in wild caress ? Nay, think you not this victory by sea Was more than Constantine's ? Crispus. Hercle ! Why, no ! Constantine's, madam, was ten times as great. Fausta. Oh, do you think so ? [Aside] And what if this were he ? . . Captain, but do you know the word they say ? Crispus. What, of the Caesar ? Fausta. " Saul hath slain his thousands, David his tens of thousands." Crispus. They lie, then, madam. Fausta. My lord is very angry. Crispus. Well he may be. Fausta. And jealous, Captain, — -jealous of the Cassar. Sure for they say your Crispus conquers all, — Rough hearts, rough winds, rough waters. Crispus. He does his best. Fausta. You are too cold. I shall be thinking . . You, You are his chiefest captain, did you say ? Crispus. Yes, madam. CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 65 Fausta. [Aside] It is Caesar's self : I swear it. [To Crispus] You are too cold ; you sting me to defend him. yes, we all know Constantine is great, But at your Caesar's age he did no deed like this. Crispus. You say so, — you ? Fausta. Indeed, why should I not ? When will you men conceive us ? Think you, sir, We may be scanned by rules like little verses ? 1 have not seen your Crispus. They were fearful Lest having babes myself, — the silly hen, — I should go peck him ! Pooh ! Crispus. But so it might be. Fausta. More likely they. You know not how they talk. Crispus. Who, madam ? Fausta. Athanasius and his party. Crispus. Augustus harks to them ? Fausta. Yes, and grows pale, And very silent. What he thinks I know not. Pray, sir, and are you homoousian ? Crispus. Empress, a soldier recks not of those quibbles. Fausta. Quibbles ? Oh me ! What would they say to hear you ? You were not at Nicasa ? Crispus. No, not I. Fausta. They talked, they wrangled, till they made a creed ; Strutted a lane of spears like little gods, Then sat and dined, and said it was Christ's kingdom. Wailing without. 6 66 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Hark ! What is that ? The oaphs are in the grove ! There's some one dead ! I shudder ! Crispus. Fear not, madam. Fausta. [After a pause] All's still ! . . . The sun, — the silken sea ! I love it ! Leagues, leagues of laughing blue ! I'll wear a dress Woven of silk like that, — all flashing silver : Wear it to meet lord Crispus : do you hear me ? Blue like the waves he conquered. Then he'll know Fausta is not the envious hag they paint her. Crispus. That, madam, I can tell him. Fausta. Would you, Captain ? Look on me ! Say ! Have we not met before ? Crispus. [After a pause] I think so . . . yes . . . Diana's wood. Fausta. But then You did not know me. Crispus. True. Fausta. Four years ago. There was a grave ; you were half crazed ; you tore The turf up with your hands, You frightened me : I watched you through the trees; you looked so sad. Then I took courage. . . . Captain, you remember ? Crispus. I had lost a mother, Empress. Fausta. And I a father. My husband caused his death. Also from him My husband had the empire. I wonder, Captain, How did your mother die that she was buried So strangely in that wood ? CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 67 Crispus. I would forget. Fausta. The song again : hark ! hark ! Choir from beneath : O Goddess, thy wheat and thy calamint we, Blown out upon rocks by a foam-lashed sea : No ray, no rain on the bronzed husk, No tears dropped down from the stars in the dusk ; Nor know we the bliss of the rose and her bees, Of Iris that suns great wings in the breeze, Or fronds of the ferns far stretched from a cave, Or Lotus asleep on the lap of the wave ; Ah, fain to unfurl We shrink and we curl ; Forced back to the sod in sorrow we burn : Ai ! Ai ! Anguish eterne ! From prison unrisen We reach and we yearn For the light and the shadow, the dew and the shine And the Wonder and Music of Earth, O divine, O bliss of the dead, O Queen Proserpine ! Fausta. Oh, did you hear ? A song of spirits yearning in the dark, — Of lives unrealised ; my life, it seemed ! Captain, have you felt that ? Crispus. All feel it, Hercle ! None gains his dreams. As soon swim galaxies, 68 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Drop anchor in the blue, and board the stars. Fausta. Oh, but that wonder and music of the earth, — Have you not felt it, — longed to feel again ? Crispus. Perhaps. Fausta. Once more than ever ? Crispus. Maybe, — yes. Fausta. [Tenderly'] Diana's wood ? Crispus. I pray you, Empress, pardon. So then you say that Constantine is due Here at the kalends, three days hence. Meanwhile We disembark our force to join with his. Exit. Fausta. Stay ! . . . \Alone\ He is gone ! A very god ! They said, — • Now let me think, — tall, and that scar, — abrupt, — At times when moved strange music fills his voice. Yes, it is he ! Enter Perdix and Pantolabus. They are dressed in white, as priests, and tonsured. From the opposite side enter Fausta 's attendants. Perdix. [2? owing] Most fair and noble lady, A humble priest, poor slave of Dindymene : May it please you, but these songs are strange. We heard them at this season two years gone ; Much moanings also ; and a maiden pure Gazed in a crystal, where the altar stands, Clean through to Hades : gods ! an awful sight ! Earth yawned, smoke issued, and a shape arose : Isis we think, or likelier Proserpine, CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 69 Called by Demeter at the first of Spring : May Jove forbid, no treason to the empire ! Core is queen of heaven and hell, Christ's mother ; And Christ a god among us. Popa, say : Is not the Christ a god ? Pantolabus. For sure he is. Perdix. Also we slew a sow to Proserpine, And from the snout a little devil leapt Squeaking " Aigh ! Aigh ! Don't whip me, Con- stantine ! Thus were the Thracian victories foretold. Will it please your honours to attend to-night Our sacred mysteries ? Fausta. What say you, girls ? Should my lord hear, — but no, he'll not arrive For three days yet. . . . Maybe, — yes, — we will come. Perdix. Great Goddess, be propitious ! — Fare you well. Exeunt Perdix and Pantolabus. Fausta. Euphrosyne, dear, you saw the captain pass ? Euphrosyne. Yes, madam. Fausta. Tell me : How did he look ? Not angered ? Euphrosyne. Why, surely no ! Was not Augusta gracious ? Fausta. Ah, so, so ! . . . Nor moved a little ? . . . Euphrosyne. Twice he paused ; Turned, walked a space, then paused again as one Who pondered deeply. Fausta, Looking back at me ? 7o CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Euphrosyne. Yes, once. Fausta. Euphrosyne ! Euphrosyne. Yes, madam ? Fausta. Say, Do I look aged ? Euphrosyne. As young as Hebe, madam. Fausta. Bah ! Who would be an Empress ? Not to trust A word, nor even an eye that flatters you. I would give empire only once to know One creature loved and would risk life for me. Scene II. — Interior of the Temple of Cybele and Demeter. Moonlight. A high altar festooned with wheat and myrtle at the rear ; a fire thereon ; behind it a statue of the goddess ; flat baskets containing offerings on the steps leading up to the door of the adytum or sanctuary behind the statue. A low marble couch with clawed feet, and beside it on a small pillar a crystal with a lamp behind burning dimly. This lamp supplies the only light beside that of the moon. Perdix as priest, and Pantolabus as popa, or priest's minister, robed in white, stand beside the altar. Fausta is seated ob- serving the ceremony ; with her Euphrosyne, the child Lalage and other attendants. The faces of all the spectators are veiled. Lalage. \Whispering to Fausta~] Please may I bear the basket ? CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 71 Perdix. [Drawing on the ground a circle] Let her bear it. Pantolabus. [Loudly. ,] Hush every tongue. Let none pare nails nor spit, Nor pull his locks. All infidels be absent, Absent all mockers of these mysteries, Jews, Epicures and foes of great Augustus. He retires and returns bearing offerings. Perdix. [^raking the offerings severally from Pantolabus and Lalage, and intoning the prayer.] Mother Demeter, unto thee this sow, Bruised herbs and halms of rye and honey cakes, This thievish vixen fox, — the offering due. Grant, for thou canst, peace after wars and tumults, The youngling corn untrampled, green with showers, Capella's gift and thine, — in all Earth's womb Seeds trembling into life, love's nourishers. Grant furthermore, great Goddess, to this lady, Nigh to thine altar now, though not initiate, Some sign, some wonder ! By thy torch and basket ! Pantolabus. By Cronos and Iasius ! Perdix. By thy child Persephone ! Pantolabus. By all thy griefs and travels ! Perdix. And by all names whereby all peoples know thee ! Pantolabus. Cybele, Isis, Rhea, Dindymene ! Perdix. Hecate, Bendis, Paphian Aphrodite, Thou who art all that hath been, all that is, Whose veil no mortal lifteth : grant, we pray thee, — Grant her some sign, some wonder, that the world 72 CONST ANTINE THE GREAT May know thou livest, and the beauteous gods, Strong to bestow on all who worship thee Life everlasting ! Perdix moves toward the crystal ana watches it intently in silence ; suddenly the lamp grows brighter and the crystal is seen to sparkle. Perdix. [With excitement] Great Demeter, hail ! A sign ! An omen ! The crystal calls and flashes. Is there a maiden in your midst, pure, simple, Meet for the Goddess who bestows all gifts ? She shall see visions, and be clothed with charms. The Empress makes a sign to Euphrosyne ; she gesticulates reluctance. Pantolabus. [Loudly] Come forth, O virgin ! Euphrosyne is led bashfully to the couch. Perdix. Lie thou here ! Gaze, dear one, — Dear to the gods, — with all thy maiden might ; Peer in the crystal ; banish thought ; gaze deep. Euphrosyne. [Shyly] So ? Perdix. Even so. What seest thou ? Euphrosyne. Nothing. Perdix. [Making passes with his hands] Now ? Euphrosyne. Still nothing . . . Oh, the light ! I fall aweary ! She closes her eyes ; he draws back the eyelids. Perdix. What now ? Euphrosyne. The crystal flows, CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 73 Perdix. Milk of the gods ! . . . Let all be silent till the maiden speak. A pause. Then in a terrible voice : Come, Mormo, Gorgo, Lamia, Saint of Streets, Hecate, thou who wanderest in the gloom, In blood delighting, and the baying hounds, And bones and barrows of the dead Euphrosyne. [Shrieking] Oh ! oh ! Perdix. [Starts back suddenly raising his hands'] Hell's gates are open ! Speak ! What seest thou now? Euphrosyne. Shadow, and crashing rocks and dancing flame. Perdix. Pass through the walls and enter. Euphrosyne. [Piteously] How can I ? Look ! The hag ! The whip ! The blood ! [He looks at her sternly, she shrinks back submissive] I will go through. Perdix. Spare her, Tisiphone ! She is not thine. Lash thou thy dead that gape on heaven in vain, — A callow brood whose nest is thatched with fire. Euphrosyne. [Laughing hysterically] Ha, little devils, don't gape so ! Chuck, chuck, chuck, besom ! Perdix. Besom ? What, a broomstick ? Euphrosyne. [Wildly] To sweep all hell with ! Hul-lul-lul-lul ! Carna ! Bronte ! Bruches ! Fausla. She has gone mad ! Euphrosyne, my dear, What are you saying ? 74 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Euphrosyne looks at Fausta wildly^ like a frightened animal, then submissively at Perdix as if waiting his command. Perdix. Hold, Beelzebub ! Thunder. Fausta gives a cry of terror. Jove speaks ; but fear not. Nought can pass this circle ; Not Dis himself. . . . Enough ! The truth is clear ; Hell is perturbed ; Spring even there is busy ; Sad sunless halls unwashed by any breeze, They know the change ; the Phantoms, roused from sleep, Rise in great hosts, swept onward, by the car Of Proserpine. She, circled with a choir, Ghostly but fair, cries " Vale ! " to her spouse, And earthward lifts her head. Euphrosyne, who has sat shaken with sobs during this recital, brightens as his voice changes, and becomes eager and cheerful. Now tell thy vision : Looms the glad choir, the rose-crowned car, in sight ? Dear to the gods, what seest thou ? Euphrosyne. Myriad shapes, Bound with white fillets, bearing silver lyres. Their lips are parted as in song, but mute ; One crowned with roses, fairer than the rest, Seems borne up in their midst. Perdix. [Excitedly] Hail, Proserpine ! Breathe, Berecynthian flute, thine advent song ! CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 75 Song from beneath ; during which Pantolabus leads Euphrosyne back. She walks unsteadily as if in a trance. Perdix meanwhile stands tragically, hand to ear, as if to catch every syllable : Hark ! Rise ! Queen of Aidoneus ! Lit are thy corridors, Shaken with melody ; Shot-through with shuttles, bird-like, angelical, Breathers of life in the dark and chimerical Dungeons of death. Swift weavers, they sing, Clothing the plasm, — enwrap and enring Thee soaring, thee deathless, O Queen Proserpine ! Tranced they sing in choric antiphone, Star-like they hover, a Magian epiphany, Shine for a sign of new blossoms, new fashions Of life, and the strife of great sinews and passions : Dark save thou hark to us, queen of Aidoneus, Hark ! Rise ! List to our litany ; Vagrant and fragrant Fumes of fresh dittany Bring we, and cling to thy robes as they shine With the Wonder and Music of Earth, O divine ! O child of Demeter, O Queen Proserpine ! Perdix. [With benedictory arms outstretched] Blest beyond mortals, thou shalt see the goddess ! 76 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT A pause. The temple is suddenly filled with strong incense. Scenting this, rapturously : Fragrance how sweet, as of a thousand fields, — Myrtle and hyacinth, amaranth, melilot ! I feel, I breathe the goddess ! All keep silence. Thunder is again heard. Earth cracks, Jove thunders ! Proserpine, arise ! Song: during which Theona as Proserpine is seen slowly rising from the ground dressed in a saffron robe. A rosy haze surrounds her ; on her head sits a star ; she is gar- landed with roses : petals of poppies and pomegranates fall from her robe ; she soars through the air, and with the closing of the song passes above the temple. There is no death, though in silence he slumbers, The strong man, the brave ; but in rhythm life's numbers Still beat, and her feet through eternity range, And the fingers of God touch all things to change. — O wings as of thistles ! O purple not shed Save for sleep, though thou weep and sob down to thy bed, Unfurled in fresh worlds thy scroll shall unroll : Death reaps but the deep is a well-spring of soul, Exhaustless ! So thou Sleep freshened, thy brow New wreathed with roses, O queen of Aidoneus ! CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 77 Mount ! Rise ! Loose, Erichthonius, Thy gale-gotten coursers, Thy Zephyrs harmonious ! Now soar thee, O Core, a wonder and sign Of the destiny deathless, the glory divine, Of us thy beloved, O Queen Proserpine. As the apparition passes above the architraves of the temple, a murmur of amazement is heard from without. It grows gradually louder and then dies away. Perdix [Seizing the lamp and a scroll and pen, and offering it to Faustd] Quick ! In the wake of the goddess, while the smoke Ascends to heaven, write down thy dearest wish, Thy bosom's love, the secret of thy heart, Unuttered yet to husband, friend, or child : That love, that wish, the goddess may fulfil. Write, but in water, so that none may read, — None save the goddess. Fausta. [Takes the pen and is about to write] So ? [Hesitating'] It is not safe. Perdix. What, water ? See, I'll write. Now who can read this ? He writes and shows it to her, then turns the scroll. Nay, you may wipe it with this cloth ; but first Show it to the goddess ; hold it up before her ; Then come to-morrow to the temple : if 78 CONST ANTINE THE GREAT She deigns reply her message will be found Sealed on her lap and you alone may read. Fausta. \Writing\ What, so ? Perdix. Yes. Plainly. Lay it on her lap, — One minute only. . . . Good ! Here is the napkin. Fausta dabs the writing over. The scroll is sacred ; leave it with the goddess. Fausta obeys. Return, and may the goddess prosper thee. Exeunt Fausta and attendants. Perdix and Panto- labus remain. Perdix. Go lock the door. Pantolabus. 'Tis done. Perdix. No one peers in ? Pantolabus. No one. Perdix. [Holding the scroll to the fire~\ The acid bites ; the writing comes out clear. \He reads slowly and with amazement] "Dear Goddess, — I love the Caesar Crispus. Give me one hour with him alone and I will worship thee for ever.— Fausta Augusta." Pantolabus. Empress of Earth, and we have stripped her bare ! The very tunic of her soul is off. Perdix. Naked to the incestuous bosom ! Nay, by Pol, We sit inside her heart ! We have a whisper That, breathed, would shudder to the Scythian marge. CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 79 Pantolabus. It is a secret worth ten thousand talents. Loud knocking without. Pantolabus drops the scroll close by the altar. Infernal powers ! The Christian dogs are at us. Perdix goes to the door and peers through an eyehole. Perdix. A knight, — he that was with her in the grove. We must admit him. Seal the trap-door first. Pantolabus obeys. Perdix then unlocks the door. Enter Crispus with an officer armed. Crispus. Who engineers this pageant ? Perdix. [Thrusting out his arms tragically] Infidels, avaunt ! Officer. Caesar, shall I strike him ? Crispus waives his hand in deprecation. Perdix. [Falling on his knees and acting the role of a rustic priest] Great Demeter ! That he should deign ! The goddess and the Caesar, Both in one day ! Crispus. The goddess. Ah ! Perdix. [Feigning breathlessness] And didnot . . . Caesar behold her ? Wonderful ! Just so . . . It happened . . . two years past ... I cannot speak : It takes my breath away. Crispus. No need, my man, We'll have your ropes, not reasons. Perdix. [Looking blankly at Pantolabus] Ropes ? Our ropes ? 80 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Ah, popa, them we drew the sow with. Pray you, His honour wants the sow ropes. Officer. Fool ! Not that, — Cranks, pulleys — where are they fixed ? Perdix. Come, see ! Here are no ropes. I know not what you mean ? Crispus. The cliff", — I will be sworn she vanished there. Perdix, The goddess ? Did she ? No : for we saw a light, — The wondrous star that sat upon her brow ; It went up to the heavens. Crispus. [To officer"] No yokel cunning ; They play it well. ... It was a fire balloon Loosed in mid-air ; what think you ? Officer. That would do it. Perdix. Eh, eh, your worship ? We do not understand. Poor priests are we, — poor slaves of Dindymene. Crispus. [To officer] Hercle, these Greeklings, so like truth they lie, The shift makes truth ashamed, doubting itself. This is the man, be sure. There's craft in his eye. Officer. I think so, Sir. Crispus. Come ! Call your goddess back. Let me have speech with her. If she acquits you The rest is pardoned. Perdix. Holy Proserpine ! What trouble hast thou brought us ! Crispus. " Proserpine ? " So that's the tale. CONST ANTINE THE GREAT 81 Perdix. Yes, if it please you, Caesar. These three years she hath risen, — just so, — from Hades. We make no doubt it is the queen of Hades. We were at worship, seeking for a sign, — The gracious lady, — she was here ; she'll tell you, — We were at worship and the goddess rose, — Did she not, popa ? Pantolabus. All the priest says is true. Crispus. Goddess or no, go call her. Perdix. Pardon, lord ; What Caesar cannot do, shall then this slave ? Crispus. Truly he cannot call the gods from heaven, But send the rogues to hell he can, and will. Perdix. What shall I say ? O goddess, save us ! Sir, We'll offer prayer ; by day and night we'll pray ; Maybe she'll come again ; then you shall see We are true men, poor slaves of Dindymene. But look you, — and if she will not, — oh ! oh ! oh ! It may not please her to come back again ! Crispus. Ah, so ! She may not know me. She may fear. Tell her one word : — "Diana's wood." She'll know. Perdix. \_Aside~\ " Diana's wood " : I see it ! So she flouts me. I know a thing about Diana's wood. He shall not have her ; no, by Zeus he shall not ! [To Crispus~\ I'm thinking. . . . "Diana's wood." . . . It cannot be Cassar has met the goddess ; yet is he 7 82 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Noble beyond man. With such the gods have talked. Crispus. Cease prating. Call her. Perdix. Might it be she plucked Flowers ? For they say the goddess goes a-gathering Whenever she walks the earth. Crispus. Flowers, — that is true. And was it after all no slave ? Perdix. Great Mother ! Hearken ! He says a slave ! It was thy Daughter ! Apollo, Hercules, nay thou thyself, Demeter, — and did ye not mask as slaves ? Crispus. Impossible ! And yet she seemed no mortal. Have I then dreamt, and doted on my dream ? Perdix. Great fortune falls on those the gods have favoured. Crispus. [To himself] So ! It was so ! She was more fair than mortals. . . Come, we will know the truth. Praefect, these priests, — Seize, strip them, have them flogged. Perdix. Spare, O Cassar ! Charms have I, — potent spells ; they'll call the stars down, — Why not the very gods ? Owls' feathers, moon-foam, Cypress, wild figs, eggs smeared with blood of toads, Bones plucked at dead of night from bad men's tombs. All, I will use them all, — I vow it ! Spare us ! Give us till dawn ; the spell will work no sooner : And if we fail, destroy us. CONST ANTINE THE GREAT 83 Crisp us. So ! Till dawn. And if a hair of her is harmed, you pay. Exeunt Crispus and officer. Perdix. To hell with him ! I'll never let her go. The fruit is ripe : it drops into my hands ; And now this damned Caesar strips the branch. He shall not, by the gods ! To hell with him ! Give me another scroll. . . . Now to the adyt, And fetch me her robe : the old one. Pantolabus. Let her go. This passion will undo us. Keep thy winnings. The game is played ; the Christ has conquered, Perdix. Turn Christian, burn thy resurrection tackle ; Be wise and thou shalt be a bishop yet. Perdix. Bring me the robe, I say. Pantolabus. He'll fall to kiss it ! He is bewitched ! Perdix [writes, speaking aloud~\ Demeter unto Fausta, Empress : Thy prayer is heard. Put on this robe. Then kneel at cockcrow in my temple, veiled as before me. Vale. Re-enter Pantolabus with robe. Perdix lays it on the knees of Demeter, with the scroll. Go seek the Cassar ; say at cockcrow he Shall find the thing he seeks, — here in the temple. Pantolabus. Most prudent ! So we yield ! Perdix. Yes : for his neck The rope he asked. So Perdix pays the Caesar. ACT IV Scene. — The same. Before dawn : the temple is in almost total darkness. Fausta, clad in a saffron robe, like that worn by Theona, closely veiled, kneels at the altar. Enter Crispus. She starts ; rises and stands breathless, awaiting him on the steps from the adytum. Crispus. Theona, do you know me ? Fausta. [Softly and tenderly\ Crispus ! Crispus. I have found you ! Chased, like a lost delicious thought, so long, Found fair beyond all dreaming. Fausta. Am I, Crispus ? Crispus. The spirit incarnate of the woods and waves. Why should great beauty make us tremble ? So When the harp calls the crystal goblet quivers. Last night your loveliness swept through me, like Sweet gales among the alders. God, I think, Lay brooding on the deeps of Time, and sang His soul into your face. ... I ask no questions : The pageant is atoned : it gives me you. H CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 85 Fausta. [Very softly] It passed the time : I thought to see you there. Crispus. Then you are mine ! I seize, I clasp, I hoard you. Nay, but not yet ; not till my story's told ; All you have been to me, — the memory merely, My sacred ilex scattering dews and dreams. As April falls full-freighted on the trees The tale of winter told, so to my arms : But not till then, beloved ! Fausta. [Still very softly] Ah, speak on ! Crispus. Diana's wood, — all's not forgotten ? Fausta. Nothing ! Crispus. 'Twas there God took me up, tore out my heart, Gave me a new one, laid my hand upon The sword-hilt of the empire, — showed me you, The fairest thing on earth, bound neck and feet Unto the foulest — Fausta. How I loathe him, yes ! Talk on ! It seems like music in the darkness ! Crispus. Your face was music, snatching from the heavens God's secret. I have travelled on that song ; Made prince for this : to make that music life ; Of that indignant pity shape my laws ; Shatter the bonds that bind fair things to foul, Change all to freedom save where mine hurts thine, — Paving all cities with the golden rule. Dreams you will say, and futile ? No, my girl ; Dreaming's not futile ; states are built of dreams ; They are the sculpture, but the dream's the God. 86 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Stoutly we'll carve the stubborn marble, trust me. Somewhat is done even now. The ground is clear : Your tyrant Fausta. What ! You have not Crispus. See ! I stand, — Pause on the brink of love, the deep cool flood : One breath, — I take the wave ! How often so, In the soul's darkness, we have met, — your shape Stepping down veiled from out the holy place. But with the vision came the cry : your wrongs Rang in my blood. So now the tyrant's crushed. Fausta. \JVith amazement] Not yet ! Crispus. He is in our power. Fausta. Impossible ! Crispus. I come in time. You hear it from my lips. How like a tale our lives are ! Fausta. Yes ! Oh, yes. Ah, but it cannot be ? You did it, you ? Crispus. Two blows ; I struck the first. Theona, — now ! They embrace. Fausta. Oh, hero ! Sweet avenger ! How I loathed him ! I could spit upon his corpse ! Crispus. It is. . . . Ah, yes, The old fierceness. . . . But the voice. . . . This way : Out of the shadow ! She moves a step, then pauses, listening to sounds as of hushed voices without. CONST ANTINE THE GREAT 87 Those rascal priests : They'll hang about, be sure. Fausta. No ! Were they there ? The letter said at cockcrow I must pray, Kneeling before the altar of the goddess, Then you would come. Is it not wonderful, — The things they do ? Crispus. Knaves, — felons ! Fausta. Hark again ! The place is full of whispers ! Crispus. Leaves, — bats, — fancies. Night, the old conjuror, king of the Chaldees, — He plays us tricks a thousand ; have no fear : The dusk is passing ; come, we'll go outside. He tries the door. God ! It is locked ! She screams, and stands pointing from behind a column. Fausta. There ! There ! Two eyes ! They glared upon us ! Crispus, we are watched ! O let me hide ! I wish I had not come ! Crispus. Not to meet me ? Fie, little craven ! He goes through the adytum door and returns. Hercle ! No way out there ! Now Pluto take the rascals ! They think me a Decius playing Anubis ; They'd humour me, the scoundrels ! Well, no haste ; Here's light enough for love. 88 CONST ANTINE THE GREAT Fausta. [Crouching in the corner] I am afraid. Crispus. Why should you fear ? You do not understand ■ Theona, they have not told you : I am the Caesar. Ah, little goddess, Caesar will keep you safe. Fausta. I'll be a fool no longer. ... Oh sweet name ! " God's dream " — " Theononar " — call me always so. Crispus. And is it not your name ? Fausta. Mine ? Crispus. Yes, you told me so. Fausta. I ? Crispus. At Diana's wood. Fausta. O yes, — perhaps. How foolish that I fear, — my noble Crispus ! Are you not strong as Constantine ? Nay, Rome Detests him, for he builds another Rome Here, at Byzantium, — not wisely as I think. At Rome my brother is remembered ; there We are safe ; — safe anywhere : you say he is crushed : O, could I think it ! . . . Let them talk. He slew My father and your mother : he deserves it. Has he not flung me to your arms, my Crispus ? I have no shame Crispus. What's this ? [Sternly] Come to the light! Fausta. O what a voice ! Crispus. [Beckoning authoritatively] Come to the light, I say ! Fausta. [Breathlessly, but with a show of pride] I do not choose. They'll see me. CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 89 Crispus. [Fiercely'] To the light ! Woman, who are you ? . . . Fool that I am ! Why ask ? " He slew my father." Hercle, that's light enough. You are the Empress : own it ! Fausta. Have I denied ? Crispus. Not shame enough : your treason's mighty frank. Fausta. Indeed you are no man to turn upon me. You said yourself that he should die. Crispus. [Coldly'] Who die ? Fausta. I will not say. You know. Crispus. " The tyrant ; " ha ! And so you thought I meant your husband. Fausta. [Tearfully] Yes ! And he is,— he is a tyrant ! Crispus. He is none. Fausta. You will find out. Crispus. I said — Licinius. Fausta. [Amazed] What ? . . . [Peevishly] O, I know not what you mean. I am trapped ! You brought me here. It was your trick, that letter. The priests are in the plot. You seek my ruin. 'Twill serve you well, — yes, help you to the throne. A confused murmur of voices is heard without. Oh ! The noise grows ! There's clamour all about us ; Eyes in the wall ! Can I not hide ? Anywhere ! Behind the goddess. Heavens ! There's no escape. 90 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Crispus. None, Empress, none. You hide not behind the gods. The clamour without grows gradually louder during the following, and the light of dawn steals in. Fausta. O Crispus, I am wrong ; a weak, bad woman. No, not all bad, but bound to one I love not. I do not think you did this. You are noble. You lost your mother ; ah, you know the loss. He slew my father. Crispus. [In a hard voice'] That is true. Fausta. And my brother. Yes, and he rose by us. Then Crispus, listen : I saw you, and, — I'll not excuse myself, — I loved you : it was wicked, but I loved you. And now you will kill me for it. Crispus. I shall not kill you. Fausta. You'll tell him, — it is the same. He'll not forgive. [Baring her bosom] Stab me instead ! Stab me, I say ! It is More man to kill with swords than with a tongue. Loud cries without. " Ave Auguste ! " Crispus. Do you hear ? Fausta. No, what ? Crispus. " Ave Auguste ! " Fausta. He is come. In a wild agony of terror she runs hither and thither ; then like a wild animal scrambles for footing to climb the wall to the adytum. CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 91 Help me ! Crispus. You cannot. And there's rock behind. Fausta. [Sinking down on the step, — in a broken voice] His heart ! He'll have no mercy. Stretching out her painfully clasped hands to him. You have ! . . . Oh ! My babes ! They too will die ; [Bitterly] That's well for you. They are your rivals ; do not fear them now. This is your ladder to the throne. The world Is full of ladders, and the rungs are men ; Dead men, — my father and my brother, — he Trod both their corpses ; you will tread on mine. O Crispus, and I loved you ! Crispus. That is true. Fausta. Is love so wicked ? But I could not help it ! Crispus. Woman, you should. Your love can kill a man. Fausta. Oh ! Oh ! Throws herself at his feet sobbing and kissing them. Crispus. Rise and be calm ; there's nought to fear from me. Cries without. Break in the door. He paces the floor ; pauses and picks up a letter ; reads it to himself ; then paces again, and suddenly stopping looks down upon her : Crispus. We may escape alive. ... I cannot say. . . . One of us may. . . . Now listen ! If I could save you,— 92 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT What of my father ? My mother was a saint. She laid a charge on me : she made me vow To ward from him the wounds that stab the world : I vowed it ; then she died. True women worship, — Monstrous their power of worship ! She was right : He is a king of men ! He loves me not, — No matter : he is great ; he props the empire. Well, — to lose me — he'll not feel that so much. Have you a soul ? They say you have. Then think! Can you forgive the wrong he did your race ? Cease playing traitor, play the wife, the mother ? Fausta. Yes ! Yes ! For you : I will do all for you. Crispus. Light women promise lightly. Think again. Fausta. [Despairingly] No, let me die. I am weak. It is better so. {Passionately] I cannot. . . . Yes, I will. . . . You are so great. Crispus. Here's promise of a change. Look ; here's your letter. Fausta utters a cry of horror and astonishment. Crispus. How came you to write that ? Fausta. I did not, — never ! Crispus. [Sternly] Woman, do you deny this ? Fausta. Oh ! ... No ! No ! Only in water, and I rubbed it out. They said . . . the gods could read . . . they only. Crispus. So ! And they have. Full many things, O Empress, CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 93 Written in water on our hearts they bring to light. ... Going to the altar and lifting his hands as if in prayer : Mother, then this to you, — Casting the letter on the fire. This is your altar, — This fire burns upward from the heart of God. After a pause : Empress, take comfort ; I vow to save your honour. The doors of the temple are flung open. Fausta falls in a swoon. Enter Constantine with guard, and Bombo. He pauses at the entrance, while Perdix addresses him, still playing the rustic priest with gestures of servility. During the dialogue Crispus, attending to Fausta, is partly concealed from view by a column of the temple. Perdix. And then, O Ineffable, he comes to me, — Me and my popa here, — he'll tell thee, lord, — And asks admittance ; which for our good report We did refuse ; for that this lady came To offer private prayer for your safe coming, And bade no man intrude. But though we spake Civil, he natheless, hot and angry, jerks out " Dog, let me in, or swallow this ! " says he, Drawing his sword ; whereat, — O pardon, lord ! For that he seemed an officer of rank, 94 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT And hath, they say, command of mighty forces, We could but yield ; and thought no harm ; but natheless Listened and heard ; and what we heard not liking, Ran in all haste for succour ; and meseems God watches over majesty ; for lo, There was a thunder of much horses' feet, And o'er the hill you rode, and deigned to hear us. But what he said we pray you will not ask. Constantine. Tell on ! Perdix. I pray you ! I pray you ! Bombo. Buzz ! buzz ! buzz ! Captain, be midwife to this ducking knave ; For the love of God deliver him with thy sword. Perdix. Poor priests are we, — poor slaves of Dindymene, And loyal to your majesty. We pray you Spare us your wrath : we could not help our ears. Bombo. Pol ! They are long ; but shorter than thy tongue. Constantine. Speak on. Perdix. " Am I not strong as Constantine ? " Those were his words : " Half Italy detests him. He scorns them and is scorned." Constantine. [Looking round the temple] Where is the upstart ? Perdix. Says he : " At Rome your brother is remembered, Him and your father did Augustus murder ; Also my mother ; and his blood shall pay." Constantine. Aha ! What else ? Perdix. Your majesty, he said, CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 95 Had flung her to his arms. Constantine. And she ? Perdix. She screamed. Popa, what think you ? The lady did not seem So willing as he looked for ? Pantolabus. No, indeed ! Perdix. Here be the witness ; my popa here, — and him. [Pointing to a rustic] Constantine. What did ye hear ? Rustic. More'n I've chewed the cud of. Uncommon fine he was in making love. Constantine. [To officer, pointing to Crispus~\ Arrest this man. Crispus turns and faces him. Thou, Cassar ? Crispus. Yes, my father. This is the Empress. Pray you, call her ladies : She is in a swoon. Constantine. [To officer] Let her be borne without. She is carried out ; Constantine follows her to the door. As he returns Bombo pulls his cloak. Bombo. May Bombo speak ? Constantine. What is it, fellow ? Bombo. Ha, ha ! Fausta, thou pearl of wives, thy lord's preserver ! The she-fox with the golden brush went prowling : " Caw ! " cried the corbies, " she will come to harm." Yet was she keenest hunter of the tribe ; And once she caught an old wolf by the throat, Once let a wolf-cub sniff" her brush, — then, snap ! 96 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT The cub was last of all the pack ; and now The great fox lords it, and the wood is his. Strange ! She ne'er bites but she must weep or faint. Constantine. [Turning furiously to Crispus"] Well, Sir, what now ? Crispus. This asks your trust, my father. Constantine. Treason and incest ! Christ ! He plays it coolly. Crispus. Blame, Sir, these rascal priests. Chance brought us here. They scented assignations, — locked the door, ; We, unawares, unwilling, were entrapped. I pray you, Sir, doubt not her innocence. Constantine. Trapped, — yes, in truth ! Crispus. They locked the door without. Call them : they will bear witness. Perdix. [To Crispus~\ Sir, that's right : I did it as you bid. Crispus. " I bid ? " Thou liar ! I never bade thee. Here's a plot, Augustus. They have some cause to compass my destruction. Let this be tried. Constantine. O impotent excuse ! Litter of blackest crimes snatched from Time's womb Dead, dead, still-born, yet vile : aye, smother them Leagues thick in lies you shall not hide their vileness. Crispus. No, father, I have nought to hide, nor blush for. That we encountered calls for no defence. I join my force with yours ; the Empress meets us CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 97 Constantine. Your meeting was forbidden. Crispus. It was unsought. I swear upon the cross that when I entered Half an hour since, I knew not she was here. We first met yesterday : — by chance it was- Constantine. By chance ! By chance ! So to this den of Isis, This stew-house of lascivious crimes and orgies, By chance she is lured, he cuts his way by chance Into her presence ; and by chance accosts her ; The doors are locked by chance ; by chance he is heard To stir old ranklings of her father's death Crispus. [Passionately] Oh, this is false ! Constantine. \Furiouslf\ Silence, thou traitor ! By chance, I say, he names his mother's death, As bond of vengeance ; yet not so prevailing Crispus. This is all false ! Constantine. Deny it, — your words are rain Poured to extinguish hell, — deny, then say How rustics know things that the court knows not, — That you and I know only ? Crispus. O my God ! Constantine. Still not, I say, prevailing, he by chance Threatens, makes brag of power ; by chance she swoons, — So violent by chance he grows, — brags that forsooth He hath a puissance more than ours : he'll try it ! We are for the wrestle. Guards, away with him ! 9 8 CONST ANTINE THE GREAT Double his guard ; keep watch ; let none have access. Crispus. Father ! But hear me ! Constantine. Away ! I have heard enough ! Crispus is withdrawn. Constantine. [To officer] We rode too fast ; yet not too fast ; for God, Who guards us ever with His holy cross, Meant we should take this felon by surprise. What is his force ? Officer. Six legions, at the least. Constantine. With us not two ; the rest three days behind. If he strike now then are his chances good. On this he counted, — laid his trap, but tripped Reaching to snare the Empress and seduce Her interest. Now he is caught in his own toils. Go watch his force ; at the least stir, the arm Of justice must drop swiftly. Conspiracies Die downward from the head. We will rejoin you. Meanwhile, to allay suspicion, go recall him. Exit officer. Enter Crispus guarded. Constantine. Cassar, these semblances are dark ; they need The light of justice. Inquest shall be held. Meanwhile, your sword. Crispus. [Delivering it up] You gave it me, my father. It is yours. Constantine. Also we hear of heresies. The empire must be one in crown and creed. CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 99 To the heart you strike me. No more now. Fare- well. Crispus. O father, had I done the thing you dream, Nay, dipped one fragment of my soul in treason, I'd have you pluck this heart out from my breast. Yes, for there's somewhat lies upon it here Which had I died in battle you had read : Then had you known your boy, — would that I had ! But now my tongue is tied. I can but plead Innocence. Will you trust me for her sake ? Constantine. Her sake ? Crispus. Whose memory is our bond, my father ; Whose name you said should never more be spoken But we should stand white-robed before her spirit As to the gods who shine above us changeless. Constantine. You dare to name her, — you ? Look you to your robes ! Crispus. No stain is there ; I, unto you and yours, Am leal ; yet since I cannot speak, nor blow This poisonous cloud away, — since you must doubt, Doubting forgive ! Detain me, if you will, Captive, dispurpled : time at least will show Nought was to pardon but a thought too fine Of loyal pity, and that memory, And vows that lay a silence on my lips. Constantine. Sir, as I hope, your trial shall be just. We live for justice. Knots there are, swift tangles, Cut by the sword alone : who takes the sword Must perish by the sword, — that too is justice. ioo CONST ANTINE THE GREAT Farewell ! You are held prisoner in this place. Exeunt Constantine and officer. Crispus. Farewell, my father. \Alone~\ Is it farewell hope ? My God ! Their lies bite home ! No middle course : To rebut I must accuse, and The door from the adytum is flung open. Enter Theona. She ignores him and runs across to the outer door, evidently seeking escape. What ! The Empress ? . . . That door is locked ! . . . Theona, — thou ? Theona gives a cry of surprise. Theona. My friend ! Crispus. Give me your face, your voice, your eyes ; Let me see through them to your soul, and know This time I am not cheated in the dark. Theona. \Puts both her hands in his and looks up in his face~\ There, — do you doubt ? Crispus. Right ! Right ! I have you now. How did you enter ? From the ground ? The sky ? I came for you, the gold star of my dreams ; I thought I had you ; it was a marish flame ! Fate has the laugh of me. Too late, too late She drops you like a great flower to my arms. Theona. Say a poor leaf that runs before the gale. Crispus. And still the light glows upon Diana's wood, Still the bowl clinks the marble, still the wine Reddens the fountain ! Theona. Sure, but men forget ? CONST ANTINE THE GREAT 101 Crispus. Not the one star they sail by : Hercle, then They would port helm, and reck not, and be lost ! Theona. O, but you mock me ! You are. strong and free ; I cannot be a star to such as you. Crispus. [Bitterly] Free? I'm a captive, girl ; kennelled like a dog. And yesterday I roamed the smoking wave, The wave that cuffs the quaking shore, and points Wild fingers at the gloomy skies, — safe there Though darts flew round me, — ships aflame, spars cracking, — No odds too many ! Now we find our odds, — A juggler's trick ; our wave, — a flush of pity ; Our flame, — that altar ! Laugh, Theona, laugh ! Theona. But, Sir, your dress ; you cannot be — a captive ? Crispus. They'll strip it off, they'll cry me traitor ! Girl, Like you we took the sky for men to gape at, Then come down flat ! A conqueror yesterday, Our fame's a faggot blackened on that fire. Theona. What does it mean ? I do not understand. Crispus. Theona, there was one who loved me, knit By strange threads to the fabric of my life ; Her father founder of our race's fortunes, Her kin and mine by the same hand destroyed, She once a solace in my deepest trial : If it be fated she or I must suffer, Then which ? Theona. [Coldly] O, if you love her, — you. Crispus. I do not ; 102 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT I pity ; she is wronged. Shall then my tongue Spit shame upon her, shame to my father too, — Drive her to shameful death for loving me ? Theona. Are men so fond ? This is a woman's folly. Crispus. It is a folly that outshines all reason. Theona. Yes, O to die, it is not very hard, — Here at your feet. I could not live their slave. For me my freedom, — you your sacrifice. Crispus. [Fiercely] Christ ! But I cannot ! . . . Ha ! Give back that writing. [Rakes the embers savagely"] Ha, flames, you burnt a brand too willing ! Now, The sap flows in the flame ; I'll live my life out ! [Discovers Fausta's letter] God ! What is this ? Not burnt ? Here's my reprieve ! Let perish honour : you I'll save, not her ! Theona. I beg you, Sir, think of your own plight only. Crispus. [Flinging it back on the altar] Back to the ashes then ! I have vowed, twice vowed, — Unto the dead strong woman for her strength, In pity for her weakness to the living. Aye, we will keep our faith ; fair wind or foul That tackle holds. Theona. Nay, — for I love you, friend, — Though life were sweet, I would not have you break it. Crispus. Calmly you speak, yet shatter all my calm. There is a passion in your eyes ; it calls me ; Lifts me to heaven and thrusts me to the grave : CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 103 It is a glory and an agony. Shall God then beckon to this bridal hour To wrench us both asunder ? Theona. That He shall not. I that have called you from the ends of earth Go whither you go ; even unto death : For death were life, life death for me without you. Crisfus. And death, my girl, to me a thousand deaths To hear you say it. Love ? Oh, it empties earth Into itself, and still so great its draught It cries unto eternity to be filled. This was the deep that in your eyes, Theona, Called to my deepest ; and we meet, — we meet : It is too late. Theona. Stay ! Let me think ! . . . Through there One can escape : that floor is false. . . . But no ; The way is barred. . . . Look, friend ! The priests pursue me. They would remove me hence ; they know perhaps You come ; but I escaped them by a rope ; I dropped down from my bower there in the cliff. Is the rope fallen ? Go look ! They must not see me : They may be watching. Exit Crisfus through the door into the adytum. She watches him out, then furtively takes the letter, flicks from it the ashes, and reads : io4 CONST ANTINE THE GREAT " Dear Goddess, — I love the Caesar Crispus. Give me one hour with him alone and I will worship thee for ever. — Fausta Augusta." Fausta Augusta ! The Empress of the world ! And this the Cassar : he that crushed my foe, Licinius the tyrant ! Crispus ! O brave ! I have his secret ! I have power to save him. Crispus. [Re-entering] The rope is down. There was no man in sight. Theona. Oh, thanks, my lord. I. . . . Pardon ! you are pale. Crispus. Strange ! And the doors are locked. Theona. Yes, — why ? Crispus. No matter. You have seen nothing ? Theona. No, indeed, my lord. Crispus. Girl, to my arms ! Nought, Hercle, like a woman To make a man a man. Theona. What have you seen ? Crispus. Oh, nothing, nothing ! Theona. May not Theona know ? Crispus. Their dish of lies has soured upon my brain ; . Set me a-nodding to a midday dream, Conjuring spectres. Theona. In truth you are very pale. Crispus. I saw — no matter what ! Fatigue breeds fancies. I have fought much and little slept of late. Theona. Beseech you, rest. This trouble will go past you. CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 105 Crispus. It may, — it may not. There's a ship at sea Runs without wind or sound of plashing oars ; Hercle, no steering in the wake of that ! Theona. My lord, you are superstitious ; all is well. There is no sight nor sound but happy sunlight, And the birds singing in the cypress. Crispus. Right ! A fig for superstition ! We will forget. Theona. Why look you to the door ? Crispus. Let us forget, I say. Love passes soon ; we will be mad with love. Heart o' my heart, we'll cover us with roses, — Never a thorn this one day that is ours. Theona. Not one, my lord, but many. Pray you, Sir, Make me your squire, to follow you in battle. Then, if death come, it would be very sweet To die, just so, together. Crispus. Ha ! that door ! Theona. It is the wind. He rises and goes to the adytum door. She follows. Crispus. \Wildly\ Mother ! O let me be ! He staggers. Theona supports him. Theona. My lord, you are ill ! Crispus. Taut as a Tyrian galley ! We'll take old Acheron like the Hellespont. Theona. Lean so ! There ! I shall fan your temples. Crispus. Girl, Don't treat me like a child. If it's to bear I'll bear it. She kisses his brow. 106 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Theona. What, my lord ? Crispus. She would not come If there were passage from this devil's trap ! Theona. Who come ? Crispus. My mother. Did you not see her ? Theona. No ! Crispus. Tall ; straight, — just as in life. Theona. This is a fever. Crispus. Fever or no, she stood there, — saw us both. A light dawned in her eyes, as though she read A destiny in our meeting. Then she turned, Silently beckoning, — so ! That was just now. The first time she was stooping ; then she rose, — Held out a blossom ; it was white. . . . Ah ! there ! He points to a flower fallen on the doorstep. Theona. Jasmine ; from the wall. It is a strange delirium. Right will be done you ; that is sure. Be calm. Lie so, dear lord, and I shall sing to you. Sings : Sailor, sailor, whither away ? Beach thy boat in the shining bay. The curlew cries across the sea : It is my soul that cries to thee. The shepherd gales on Ida's rocks Pipe to the clouds ; they go in flocks ; Slowly along the crags they creep, Wandering like great herds of sheep. CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 107 Sailor, sailor, whither away ? Follow me up the hills, I pray. Where the clouds have torn their fleeces Singing water never ceases ; Never the golden sunlight fails, Till to the call of nightingales A star drops into the night and shines, A glow-worm through the dusky pines. Waving corn and honey dews, — Whether, O sailor, wilt thou choose, — Crocus lawns and clinging lips, Or travail of thy toiling ships ? Sailor, sailor, whither away ? Beach thy boat in the shining bay. The curlew cries across the sea : It is my soul that cries to thee. Crispus. Whither, my girl, O whither ? But your voice Goes with me, and your eyes. With God the cause : Let us be true and live from hour to hour. Yet by all gods I will not see you harmed ! Loud clamour without. Ominously and suddenly it hushes, and a key grates in the door-lock. He takes her face between his hands and kisses her. The door is pulled from without. Theona leafs up, crying loudly : 108 CONST ANTINE THE GREAT Theona. Open ! Open ! Soldiers, come, save your Caesar ! Enter Bombo, at the head of a body of soldiers ; behind him, Athanasius, followed by a rabble of Christians. The Rabble. The goddess! The false goddess! The harlot ! The scarlet woman ! Stab ! Strangle ! Stone her ! Theona. [Confronting the crowd fearlessly, and speaking in a high, ringing voice] Hear me in the name of Christ, then do your will. The rabble recoils slightly from curiosity, or amaze- ment at her courage. The Cassar is innocent, the Empress guilty ! Bombo. He must not be ; the Empress must be innocent. Theona. ^Triumphantly] I have the proof. Bombo. You must not have the proof. The Rabble. The false goddess ! The harlot ! Cut her down ! Crispus. [Forcing them back] Ruffians ! Away ! Away ! Lalage [Running between Athanasius and Bombo] Pappa ! Pappa ! It is my fairy ! Save her ! The Rabble. Let her die ! Let her die ! Bombo signs to the soldiers. Theona and Lalage are thrust through the adytum door, Theona crying continually : He is innocent ! Crispus is surrounded and removed through the other door. Bombo and Athanasius remain. Bombo bolts the door on Theona and Lalage. Athanasius. You saw ? CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 109 Bombo. The dress ? Athanasius. At first I thought it Fausta. Bombo. I also. Athanasius. Came then the Cassar after her, Not after Fausta ? Bombo. Bishop, but I think it. Athanasius. Did Fausta then decoy him with a dress ? Bombo. Bishop, it may be. Athanasius. Then is Fausta guilty ? Bombo. Bishop, I never doubted. Athanasius. Why then, fellow, Save ye the Empress ? Bombo. Why then, holy bishop, Slay ye the Cassar ? Athanasius. I ? For the Church's sake, The Church that is the mother of our souls. Bombo. For the Bird's sake I, thou leathern liturgy : The Empress was a mother to the Bird. Athanasius. To save her we must rid us of the harlot. Bombo. I will not, for the Bird's sake, for she loved her. Athanasius. Remove her to a convent. She can give Earth unto Caesar, death to the Empress Fausta, And to the damned Arius the Church. Bombo. I will remove her ; yet I grieve for Caesar. He goes to the door and is about to turn the key. Athanasius. Rightly he suffers, but for the wrong crime : Stay ! Here's Lactantius, ever bent on mischief. Bombo withdraws the key. Enter Lactantius. Lactantius. Would that I had ten winters off these limbs ! no CONST ANTINE THE GREAT Too late ! he is gone ! Athanasius. The Caesar, — yes, he is gone. Lactantius. God's vengeance light on him who wrung that sentence ! There was a motion in the Caesar's camp, — Great lamentation, for they heard his plight. Some leapt to arms ; which when Augustus knew He took for disaffection, and at once, Prompted by evil counsels, gave the word. [Calling to the guard at the entrance'] Run, soldier, tell them Augustus stays their hand. Athanasius. Hast thou authority ? Lactantius. Soon . . . but ah, too late ! When like a flood truth comes, and memory — My God ! Athanasius. [To the soldier] Do you hear ? You obey him at your peril. The soldier shrugs and remains. Exit Lactan- tius. Tipsy singing without: Yo ! Yo ! H61abol6 ! We'll rip old Nick, and muzzle Beelzebub, And gulp our grub, Get drunk and punk and guzzle ! Tipsy soldiers enter and speak during the song. ist Soldier. Save us, your worship ! We've come to see hell's throat. CONST ANTINE THE GREAT in Bombo. Behold the holy bishop ! Away ! Away ! Here comes his majesty. 2nd Soldier. Be off ! Yo ho ! Exeunt soldiers. Enter Constantine, Lactantius, and others. Constantine. Vex me no more, Lactantius. It is spoken. We have no purpose in this visit here But to resolve these miracles they prate of. [To officer] You say a figure rose up from the ground : What, from these stones ? Officer. Yes, here, my lord. Constantine. Bring water. Lactantius. If I hold silence the stones will cry aloud. I will not, though thou slay me. Take my life. I'll sell it for a single day of his, And die more rich than kings are. Constantine. Not one hour. A moment wrecks an empire. Sir, his crimes Make all chastisement bankrupt. Lactantius. Proved, they might. They are not proved ; thy Justice bit her lips : She sat upon a floor of dark suspicion, Loading her scales with anger and with haste. Not this the Justice thou hast clothed and crowned ; Her court is in the patient soul, her motions Fixed as the heavens are. Be thy proofs so firm ? i ia CONST ANTINE THE GREAT Behold those clouds ! Their flanks are scarped mountains : God sends a breath and blows them into air. Constantine. Blow Etna from his base and budge the Titan ; Thou shalt not move this mountain of his guilt. Enough ! I will not hear thee. Thou art suspect. Let him be watched, my brothers. Dashes water on the floor angrily. Bystanders. There ! A crack ! It runs away. Constantine. Now bring me axes. Stand aside. Lactantius. The stones cry out : thy proofs run off" like water. Constantine. Silence ! His guilt hangs not on their denouncements. Bombo. The grey old man of Gaul, — ha, ha ! — his pate Is riddled through with cracks and cranks and treasons. Try him with water, — ha, ha, ha ! — he'll leak, — Splutter like Neptune. Makes a sly run at Lactantius and flings water on him. Loud laughter. Bombo meanwhile runs to the adytum door in sudden agitation : a cry as of a child in agony is heard. It dies down ; Bombo shows relief, and assumes once more his mocking gesture. The floor has been wrenched away. They all crowd round and look down beneath the trap-door. CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 113 Bystanders. Ropes there ! . . . And pulleys ! . . . And a wheel . . . and a windlass ! Constantine. Fetch me those priests. Officer. My lord, they have departed. Bombo. Sweet to my nostrils the smell of ancient incense. I sniff the eternal gods. Dead, dead as rats ! Thou only livest, Hermes, — thou, O Mammon ! Lifting his hands in mock prayer, Sly god of winks and shuffles, prosper trade ; Cause that corruption flourish, rascals thrive ; Grant, for thou canst, to felons great estates, Rank unto hucksters, squalor unto toil ; Let wag the oily tongue and lick up honours ; And may salvation be great merchandise, And priestcraft profit. Now unto thee, O Mammon, Might, majesty, dominion henceforth, now And for evermore, world without end. Amen. Constantine. No place for mumming ! Bombo. Save thee, lord ! I pray For the good estate of Ha ! my bird, my bird! Lalage is heard shrieking as if in extreme agony. He struggles with the bolt. Lalage ! I come ! . . . That beast is killing her ! Draws the bolt, and the door is instantly thrust open. Enter Lalage in triumph with Theona, whose skirts she holds. Lalage. Pappa ! You silly ! Locking up my fairy ! 9 H4 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Now you are nicely caught. I was not hurt. Seeing the Emperor she shrinks back ashamed. Bombo throws up his arms as in despair. Constantine meanwhile has been gazing down through the trap-door. Constantine. [Looking up~\ Empress, you are here ! You can throw light on this. Theona. I can my lord. Holding out the letter. Constantine. Quick there ! I see a glimmer. Haste ! Run ! Delay the sentence ! Exit officer. [He turns to Theona.~\ What is this ? Theona. I found it in the ashes. Laying it back. Take it out. It is a little letter, O my lord, But a great heart that would burn it ; and, my lord, He loved her not ; 'twas you, my lord, he loved. Constantine. [Reads'] O rank ! Where is the Empress ? [To other officers'] Send again, — This ring in case of question. Let the Caesar Return with you reprieved. Haste for your lives. Officer. But if Constantine. If me no ifs ; bring him, I say. Exeunt officers. [To Theona] Say, child, how comes it that you wear that dress ? Theona. Ask of the priests. Alas ! I am their slave. My father was the victim of Licinius. CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 115 Constantine. You say, " He loved her not." How know you that ? Theona. He told me. Constantine. You, child, — to you, he told it ? Theona. Yes. Long since we met ; he found me here again ; But first in darkness took her shape for mine. Constantine. Ah ! Theona. Then I came, escaping from the priests. He was imprisoned. Oh, not willingly I tell what he would hide. Constantine. For my sake, child ? Better the truth ! Theona. And, O my lord, for hers ; He pitied her. He would not shame a woman. Some bond there was between them. They were both Bereaved of kinsfolk, — both by the same hand. Constantine. [Sternly] Whose hand ? Theona. He did not say. Constantine. [To officer] Here, take this woman. Put her to the torture. She is his accomplice. Theona. Yes, O my lord, if he must perish, I too — I too would perish with him, for he loves me. Constantine. [Changing his tone] Enough ! She speaks the truth. [With sudden passion] " By the same hand," — This hand, this murderous hand, this hand that brags Of justice Theona. Do it now, my lord. n6 CONST ANTINE THE GREAT Constantine. [With momentary exaltation] I will ! There is yet time. It shall be so. For God Bends all things to our purpose. This befell That we might know our instruments, what staff To lean upon, what stubble fling away. Invincible, incorruptible, our soul, Our dynasty shall reach out through the years, Lay hold on Time through this our well-tried offspring, — Yea, as the Father Almighty tried His Son, Revealed and reconciled Himself to man, So art thou tried and taken to my bosom, Thou piece of pure fidelity Sensation : all eyes are turned to the door. Enter Fausta, pale and dishevelled. Fausta. [Wildly] Where is he ? The Ca?sar ? They say he has confessed. Oh, falsely ! He did no wrong. Do what you will to me. It was- Constantine. Madam, we know the truth. Fausta. [Kneeling] Forgive ! A groan of horror. Enter soldiers bearing the dead body of Crispus on a litter. Fausta recoils and remains weeping in the rear. Theona flings herself on her knees beside the dead body. Constantine. [With agony] My son ! CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 117 Lactantius. Stabbed to the heart ! O cruel ! Constantine. \Waving Theona aside] Go, child ! Theona. \Wildly~\ Yes, for I yet may find him. Stabs herself. Lactantius. God ! So swift ? Constantine. The sun-bird hath his mate. Now rope thy words Into a scourge of thorns ! My soul is naked : Here's license for the lash ; lay on ! lay on ! Lactantius. Nay, I have done ; words choke me ; now remains No speech save this, — to utter all my soul In death's interrogation ; for I loved him. Constantine. O dragon envy ! Blurred and crooked mirror ! How didst thou twist fair features into foul ! Death breaks the glass. I see him face to face, This man I made, this child I danced and dandled. \Wildly\ O little laugher, wilt not laugh again ? Rise boy, and curse me ! There's no hand but thine Can quench these fires, pluck hell from out my bosom ! Athanasius. This can the Church do only. Be thou baptized ; Confess, and be absolved. Constantine. Thou liest, priest : No water shall baptize me from his blood. Lactantius, there's a ringing in my ears : A word he spake : I thrust it from my soul : n8 CONST ANTINE THE GREAT Now it comes back to stay until I die. [To officer] Say, did he leave no message, no bequest ? Officer. This lay upon his heart. [Handing Constantine a golden fibula containing a scroll which Constantine reads'] : It turned the blade. He took it off and said, " The gold remembered ; So shall my father ; give it back to him." Constantine. [Holding it up] This gift I gave his mother ; plighted faith, — Broke it for a rag of purple ! So comes home My perfidy the root of all these thorns ; One pierced her heart, one his, — O mine a thousand ! Read ! [Handing the scroll to Lactantius] Lactantius. There's a mist about my eyes. I cannot. Constantine. [Handing it to his Secretary] Read thou, and raise the banner of the Christ : By this he conquers, and I fail, — I fail ! The Labarum is elevated over the body of Crispus. Secretary. [Reads] " My mother's gift. Grant, gods, I keep the vow Made in her hour of death to seal with mine Fidelity unto Constantine my father. ' Son, keep your faiths. God sends them,' — so she spake, — ' We'll go out steadfast, dreaming as we came : ' Her last words." CONSTANTINE THE GREAT 119 Constantine. Now hear mine. The Constantine Who conquered earth is dead : here lies his heart. [Pointing to the body of Crispus] Avid of toil, of duty sedulous, The rafters of old Rome he clamped and grappled, Lent ground and governance to the Vine of Christ, And gave its branches to the spacious air ; Virtue he loved and justice fortified, Lacked not a soul to hear the Eternal Voices ; Yet, gluttonous for power, abandoned faith, Thrust from his heart the noblest thing he knew, Perjured, betrayed, and built his pride and shifts Like rotten timbers in all towers he reared. And now he hears a cracking in the walls, A great cold flood comes dabbling at his feet. — There was a chamber sacred and a child : Too busy with his damned majesty, Him he forgot ; grew envious ; reared a brood Of black suspicions for his ministers : Now he remembers, now he runs to save him ; Too late ! The walls have fallen ! In his arms He takes his dead. [Throwing himself on his knees and stretching out his arms hopelessly] O son ! My little son ! [Rising with a great despair] Build me a palace at Byzantium, A cenotaph of marble wrought with gold. I will have pomp and purple, crowns and robes, Thrones, chariots, gems to mock my misery. 120 CONSTANTINE THE GREAT Then when I pace the empty corridors Bow ye to earth and hold your breaths with horror ! He is more dread than Death, colder than graves are ; No love hath he, no child, no hope, no haven ; His ruins gaze upon the setting sun, He feeds on ashes from a fire extinct. Notes Page 7, line 8 : " Emancipate the crafts and curials" Under Roman law all craftsmen were as serfs, bound for ever, they and their descen- dants, to toil and marry in the same guild, their property being at the disposal of the State. The curial classes J were, in the fourth century, bankrupt from the buffets of incessant invasion : they fled the cities, hid as menial slaves, were hunted from their hiding, denied the asylum of church and temple, tortured, flogged with loaded whips. And these were the kyrioi, the city lords, whose title had once been thought worthy of Jehovah and Christ ! Below them in social grade were the despised merchants, and the slaves confessed ; above them the senatorial plutocracy, heirs, I suppose, of those corrupt officials, public informers and imperial panders, who crowd the lurid pages of Tacitus and Juvenal. They owned no duty, offered no military service, corrupted justice, crushed their neighbours, sluggardised in palatial baths, scrawled elegant prose and verse, and yawned with unconcern safe behind their castle walls while the Empire fell to pieces around them. " How fit," said Tiberius several centuries before, — " how fit is this nation to be slaves." And slaves in spirit for the most part they were, stoics and Christians excepted, mutilating their hands to escape the dangers of self-defence, selling wife, parent, and child, for sufferance from an Emperor often no better than chief ruffian of a barbaric and mercenary army. 1 See Dill, " Later Roman Society." 122 NOTES Page 19, line 11 : " A picaninny plucking flowers." A friendly critic resents this as modern slang. I plead Shakespeare, Tempest III., II., 7 1 : " What a pied ninny 's this ? " Pied [motley-dressed] ninny, i.e., child = pica 'niiia. The Spanish enters by Elizabethan as well as South American English. Page 24, line 7 : " Maximian. I cannot read" Gibbon infers that he could not, from Mamertinus, Paneg. Vet. ii. 8. He began as a common soldier, like his fellow-Emperors and contemporaries, Diocletian, Licinius, Galerius, Maximin, and others, before and afterwards, among whom we may recall that earlier Maximin (a.d. 235) who ruled the Western World, Virgil's nation and Cicero's, by virtue of a stature of 8 feet, and a daily appetite of 40 lbs. of beef. Page 31, line 24 : "// wells, it grows, absorbs the old and new" " Every scribe instructed unto the kingdom of heaven is like unto a man that is an householder, which bringeth forth out of his treasure things new and old" (Matt. xiii. 52). Page 37, line I : " When the hoc habet sounds'' The sign by which the audience directed the gladiator to butcher his beaten antagonist. Page 41, line 24 : " . . . And dug my plot like Diodes, who brags oj cabbages, not kingdoms" Maximian had abdicated with his colleagues in the purple, the great Diocletian, originally Diodes. After his retire- ment Diocletian wrote preferring the cabbages he was growing to the kingdoms he once ruled ; but Maximian was less philosophic. Diocle- tian paid dearly for the joy of his cabbages ; for Licinius, whom he had raised to the purple, rewarded him by hunting to death his innocent wife and daughter. Page 63, line 21 : " Constantine rutes alone. The world is Christ's." Crispus gave Europe to Christianity, as Themistocles saved Europe for the Europeans, as Drake and Nelson gave the New Worlds to the English, as Togo saved the East for the Mongolians — sea-victories all. But the battle is less to the admiral than to the morale. A Nelson or NOTES 123 Togo would call in vain for duty and self-abnegation from a race educated on modern immoralism, — that new philosophic vogue which denies all Right and Duty. Act 111., Scene II. Those who are curious as to this scene, may find hints of its probability in Hippolytus, Refut. {circa a.d. 230), and Apuleius, Met. xi., besides, as to details, earlier and more familiar authors. The phenomenon of crystal-gazing I have referred to hypnotism, but Mr. Andrew Lang regards it as possibly distinct. Act IF., Opening scenes. Sociologists will accuse me of anachronism. Straining at evidence of evolution within the historic period, they argue that romantic love is merely a modern by-product of sexuality, undreamt of in classic times. What, then, of a Haemon and Antigone, a Ceyx and Alcyone, a " Te teneam moriens deficiente manu " ? Mrs. F. A. Steel tells me of the extremes of romantic love in India 3,000 years ago. Romance may have been rarer in those times ; it certainly existed. Closing scene. Crispus is, however, supposed to have been executed at Pola in Istria, and some modern historians have cast doubt on his innocence — for what reason I know not. It is well attested by opposed historians of the time. Fausta was, on the discovery of her guilt and his innocence, suffocated in a bath. "Cbe Oresbam pce»0, DNWIK BROTHERS, LIMITED, WOKING AND LONDON.