# Miscellaneous Plays/Constantine Paleologus Act 5

ACT V.
SCENE I. An open space near the walls of the city, with half ruin'd houses on each side, and a row of arched pillars thrown across the middle of the stage, as if it were the remains of some ruined public building; thro' which is seen, in the back-ground, a breach in the walls, and the confused fighting of the besieged, envelopped in clouds of smoke and dust. The noise of artillery, the battering of engines, and the cries of the combatants heard as the curtain draws up, and many people discovered on the front of the stage, running about in great hurry and confusion, and some mounted upon the roofs of the houses overlooking the battle.
VOICE (calling from the wall).
They mount like swarming bees, or locusts link'd
In bolt'ring heaps! Pour fire upon their heads!
SECOND VOICE.
THIRD VOICE.
FOURTH VOICE.
Weapons are useless now.
FIRST VOICE.
Climbs on yon living mountain of curv'd backs!
He gains the wall! O hurl him headlong down!
He is hurl'd down! (A great shout from the besieged.)
SECOND VOICE.
They on their diff'rent stations hold it bravely;
This is the weakest point. Ho! send for aid!
(Exeunt several soldiers from the walls as if running for succour. The noise of artillery, &c. is heard as before, and afterwards a loud crash as of some building falling. Enter many people in great terror from the walls , running off by the front of the stage different ways, and enter at the same time, Constantine and some of his friends, who stop them.)
CONSTANTINE.
Let us still stop the breach, or fall like men.
(Enter Justiniani from the walls with a hasty and disordered step, pale and writhing with pain.)
Merciful heav'n! do mine eyes serve me truly?
Justiniani, with pale haggard face,
Retiring from his post!
Where are you going, chief? (Stopping him sternly.)
JUSTINIANI.
Compels me. Midst yon streams of liquid fires,
And hurling ruins and overwhelming mass
Of things unknown, unseen, uncalculable,
All arms and occupation of a soldier
Are lost and turn'd to naught: man's strength is naught:
The fangs of hell are in my new-torn flesh;
I must on for a space and breathe fresh air.
CONSTANTINE.
That stands between our success or our ruin:—
The sight of thy turn'd back from their screw'd pitch
Will turn more hearts than all the pressing foe:
Thou must not go.
JUSTINIANI.
The fangs of fiends are in my new torn flesh:
Nature compels me, and I must have succour.
(Exit hastily, and writhing with pain.)
CONSTANTINE.
Of weakness and of anguish brings to him
A wound that cannot be up-bound. Poor nature!
(Enter many fugitives from the walls.)
Turn, turn, O soldiers! let not this shame be.
(To the fugitives.)
(As he is endeavouring with his friends to rally them and push forward, a terrible shout is heard, and enter a great crowd of fugitives from the walls.)
FUGITIVE.
Like an o'erboiling flood.
CONSTANTINE.
And as an emperor my task is clos'd.
God's will be done!(Throwing away the imperial purple.)
Now is there left for me these sinew'd arms,
And this good sword, the wherewithal to earn
A noble soldier's death.
Come on with me who will, and share the fate
Of a brave comrade.
A FUGITIVE (joined by several others).
Comrade or sov'reign, noble Constantine!
Re-enter Constantine wounded, but still fighting bravely, though oppressed with numbers, and falls down near the front of the stage, the enemy passing on and leaving him.
CONSTANTINE.
Oh, is there ne'er a Christian soldier near me
That will cut off my head? Ho! thou Turk there!
(To a Turk who is going to pass him.)
TURK.
CONSTANTINE.
(Raising himself half up from the ground.)
And still a match for thee.
TURK.
Yet thou'rt a brave man, tho' thou art a Greek,
I would far rather let thee die in peace.
CONSTANTINE.
Thou hast done me good service.
TURK.
A good death to thee! for thou art no Greek.
(Exit.
CONSTANTINE.
Of potent speedy death. My task is closed.
I now put off these weeds of flesh and blood, And, thanks be unto him who cloth'd me in them
Untarnish'd with disgrace. What cometh after
Full surely cometh well. 'Tis a dark pass.——
(Catching at a dropt garment that has been left by some of the fugitives on the ground near him.)
Enter Rodrigo, Othus, and Marthon, with two or three of their followers, fighting bravely with a party of Turks, whom they beat off the stage.
OTHUS.
This is a pause that calls upon the mind:
What shall we do?
RODRIGO.
On the last perch of the swift-sinking wreck?
Do they not bravely give their parting cheer,
And make their last voice loud and boldly sound
Amidst the hollow roarings of the storm?
Ev'n so will we: we'll bear our manhood up
To the last push.
OTHUS.
What the heart owns: we will do even so.
But Oh that our brave leader now were near us,
Living or dead! Doth no one know his fate?
I thought by him t' have died.
FIRST FOLLOWER.
It wears th'imperial bird in fretted gold.
OTHUS.
With honour: heav'n be praised that thou hast!
Here round thee our last gathering point shall be:
Here will we fight, nor shall thy honour'd body
Suffer, whilst one of us has strength to fight,
The slightest insult.
RODRIGO.
Ere on his gallant corpse there be impress'd
OTHUS.
Mix'd with the din of carnage! Now those cowards,
Who let this brave man sink for lack of aid,
Are suff'ring that which, in his fellest pinch,
The valiant never suffers.
But see, the enemy again returns
With doubled fury!
RODRIGO.
Stands a small walled dome, within whose portal
We for a time may face ten thousand foes:
There will we take our stand, and there will we
Do our last deeds of men. Come on, brave mates!
Take up our honour'd treasure; and, so burden'd, He that doth grapple with us had as lief
Pull from the lion's hug his bosom'd whelp.
(The followers take up the body, and Othus and Rodrigo retire, defending it bravely from a party of Turks, who enter and fall upon them as they are bearing it off.)
SCENE II. An apartment in one of the towers of the palace.
Enter Valeria in great alarm, followed by Lucia and Attendants.
VALERIA.
Of battle swells. Is it not nearer us?
This lofty tower the widest view commands;
And I see nothing. Oh, what see'st thou?
Tell me whate'er it be.
LUCIA (looking out).
A dun and grumly darkness spreads o'er all, From which arise those horrid sounds, but naught
Distinctive of the fight can I discern.
VALERIA (after pacing backward and forward with an unequal, restless, agitated step).
No termination have! Send out, I pray thee,
Another messenger.
LUCIA.
Sent many forth, but none return again.
VALERIA.
Of horrible length! such as rack'd fiends do reckon
Upon their tolling beds of surgy flames,
Told by the lashes of each burning tide
That o'er them breaks.—Hark! the quick step of one
With tidings fraught! Dost thou not hear it?
LUCIA.
I hear it not.
VALERIA.
Ah! hearing, sight, and every sense is now
False and deceitful grown.—I'll sit me down,
And think no more but let the black hour pass
LUCIA (listening).
In haste approaching.
VALERIA (starting up).
What may they be? Quick steps should bring us good.
Enter Messenger.
Say all thou hast to say, and say it quickly.
If it be good hold up thy blessed hand,
And I will bless the token.—No, thou dost not!
'Tis evil then.—How is it with my lord?
What dangers still encompass him?
MESSENGER.
VALERIA.
Is he alive? Have all deserted him?
MESSENGER.
And will not quit him till they be as he is.
(Valeria, uttering a loud shriek, falls back into the arms of her attendants, and is carried off, followed by Lucia and the Messenger.)
SCENE III. A hall in the palace.
Enter a Crowd of frightened Women, and seem hurrying on to some place of greater security.
FIRST WOMAN (stopping).
That is the most retir'd; that last of all
Will tempt their search.
SECOND WOMAN.
Might we not for a while conceal'd remain, Till heav'n shall send us means?
OMNES.
OFFICER.
Think ye the Turks are passing thro' the city,
Like the short visit of a summer's storm,
That you in holes and rocks may safely hide
Until it be o'erblown?
FIRST WOMAN.
Yet for a little while we fain would save us
From fearful things.
OFFICER.
The cruel Turks have stopp'd their bloody work,
And peace again is in our walls.
FIRST WOMAN.
And art thou sure of this? and hast thou seen it?
OFFICER.
Of fierce returning light at the storm's close,
Glancing on horrid sights of waste and sorrow,
Came the swift word of peace, and to the eye
Gave consciousness of that which the wild uproar
And dire confusion of the carnage hid.
FIRST WOMAN.
OFFICER.
In expectation of their horrid fate,
Widows, and childless parents, and 'lorn dames,
Sat by their unwept dead with fixed gaze,
In horrible stillness.
But when the voice of grace was heard aloud,
So strongly stirr'd within their roused souls
The love of life, that, even amidst those horrors
A joy was seen—joy hateful and unlovely.
I saw an aged man rise from an heap
Of grizly dead, whereon, new murder'd, lay
His sons and grandsons, yea, the very babe
Whose cradle he had rock'd with palsied hands,
And shake his grey locks at the sound of life
With animation wild and horrible.
I saw a mother with her murder'd infant
Still in her arms fast lock'd, spring from the ground—
No, no! I saw it not! I saw it not!
It was a hideous fancy of my mind:
I have not seen it.
But I forget my chiefest errand here.
FIRST WOMAN.
OFFICER.
It may, perhaps, somewhat assuage her grief,
That Othus and Rodrigo, with some followers,
The last remains of the imperial band, Fighting, in all the strength of desperation,
Around the body of their fallen chief, Have mov'd to gen'rous thoughts the sultan's breast
Who has their valour honour'd with full leave,
In blessed ground, with military pomp,
Becoming his high state and valiant worth,
To lay his dear remains. This with their lives
On honourable terms he freely grants.
FIRST WOMAN.
OFFICER.
With him he mourns.—Delay no more, I pray:
Inform the empress speedily of this.
FIRST WOMAN.
The phrenzy of her grief repels all comfort.—
But softly!—hush!—methinks I hear her voice.
She's coming hither in the restless wand'rings
Of her untamed mind.—Stand we aside,
And speak not to her yet.
Enter Valeria with her hair dishevelled, and in all the wild disorder of violent sorrow, followed by Ella and Lucia, who seem endeavouring to soothe her.
VALERIA.
I now am free to wander where I list;
To howl i' the desert with the midnight winds,
And fearless be amidst all fearful things.
The storm has been with me, and I am left
Torn and uprooted, and laid in the dust
With those whom after-blasts rend not again.
I am in the dark gulf where no light is.
I am on the deep bed of sunken floods,
Whose swoln and welt'ring billows rise no more
To bear the tossed wreck back to the strand.
LUCIA.
Send consolation to the sharpest woe.
It still in kindness sends to the tried soul
Its keenest suff'rings. So say holy men;
And therein good men trust.
VALERIA.
Sounds like the feeble night-fly's humming noise
To him, who in the warfare of vex'd sleep,
Strives with the phantoms of his inward world.
Yes, there be comfort when the sun is dark,
And time hath run his course, and the still'd sleepers
Lift up their heads at the tremendous crash
Of breaking worlds.—I know all this.—But here,
Upon this living earth, what is there found? It is a place of groans and hopeless woe.
Let me then tear my hair and wring my hands,
And raise my voice of anguish and despair,
This is my portion now, all else is gone.
LUCIA.
Put in high heav'n thy trust, it will sustain thee.
VALERIA.
Fronting its valiant breast to the fierce onset
Of worthless power, that it full surely stood:
That ev'ry spiritual and righteous power
Was on its side: and in this faith, oftimes,
Methought I could into the furnace mouth
Have thrust my hand, and grasp'd the molten flames.
Yet it fell on his head: that noble head,
Upon whose manly gracefulness was fix'd
The gaze of ev'ry eye.
Oh! on his lib'ral front there beam'd a look,
Unto the which all good and gen'rous hearts
Answer return'd.—It was a gentle head,
Bending in pleasant kindliness to all;
So that the timid, who approach'd him trembling,
With cheer'd and vaunting steps retir'd again.
It was a crowned head, yet was it left
Expos'd and fenceless in the hour of danger:
What should have been his safety was his bane.
Away, poor mock'ry of a wretched state!
(Tearing the regal ornaments from her neck, and scattering them about.)
We had been blest; for he as truly loved,
In simplest tenderness, as the poor hind, Who takes his humble house-mate by the hand, And says, "this is my all."—Off, cursed band!
Which round our happiness hath been entwin'd
Like to a strangling cord: upon the earth
LUCIA.
This furious grief will but enhance its pain:
Oh bear yourself as more becomes your state!
VALERIA.
I am a thing of wretchedness and ruin.
That upon which my pride and being grew
Lies in the dust, and be the dust my bed.
(Throwing herself upon the ground, and pushing away Lucia and her other Attendants, who endeavour to raise her up again.)
Spread out my wretched hands. It pleases me
To think that in its breast there is a rest—
Yea, there lie they, unheeded and forgotten,
To whom all tongues give praise, all hearts give blessing.
Oh, ev'ry heart did bless him tho' he fell,
And ne'er a saving hand was found—Oh! oh!
(Bursting into an agony of grief, and laying her head upon the ground, covered with both her hands.)
ELLA (to Lucia and Attendants).
I will not speak, but sit and weep by her;
And she shall feel, ev'n thro' her heavy woe,
That sympathy and kindness are beside her.
VALERIA (raising her head).
ELLA.
VALERIA.
Lay thy soft hand on mine,—Yes, it feels kindly.
Had he, thy valiant love, been near his lord—
Ay, they did love each other with that love
Which brave men know—Oh, ev'ry noble stranger,
In admiration of his noble worth,
Did call him lord; whilst they, his native subjects,
They who had seen him grow within their walls,—
Alas! where lightly tripp'd his infant steps;
Where in gay sports his stripling's strength was tried;
Where tower'd in graceful pride his manly bloom;
Even there a lifeless, ghastly form he lies.
Enter another Domestic Officer, and seeing Valeria on the ground steps back.
LUCIA (to the Officer).
OFFICER.
The sultan is already in the palace,
And follows hard my steps with a fix'd purpose
To see the empress.
VALERIA (raising herself half from the ground).
Comes this so quickly on me? Be it so!
I cleave to th' earth! what have I now to do?
I am a stilled thing, abas'd and crush'd;
What boots it now who gazes on my woe?
Enter Mahomet with Osmir and his Train.
MAHOMET (to Osmir, after looking at Valeria steadfastly).
She sits upon the ground, unmov'd and still.
Thou sorrow-clouded beauty, not less lovely
(Going up to her.)
For this thy mournful state!—She heeds me not.
Empress and sov'reign dame, unto those titles
Which thou shalt ever wear, vouchsafe regard.
Still she regards me not. (To Osmir.)
Widow of Constantine;(After a pause.)
VALERIA (rousing herself quickly).
Which I do hear. There is strength in the sound
That honour'd title?
MAHOMET.
In the stern spirit of a conqu'ror.
The slaughter of your people, by my order,
Is stopp'd; and to your bravely fallen lord
I have decreed such fun'ral obsequies
As suits a valiant warrior and a king.
Othus, and brave Rodrigo, and those men
Who to the last their master's corpse defended,
I have with honour grac'd.—Lacks there aught still
That, from the dark cloud which so deeply shades
That awful beauty, one approving ray
Might softly draw? Speak, and it shall be done.
VALERIA.
MAHOMET.
For now too well I feel I have no power
That can oppose thy will.
VALERIA.
MAHOMET.
VALERIA.
Therein to rest my head. This is my boon.
MAHOMET.
When that fair form is fitted for such rest.
VALERIA (putting him at a distance haughtily).
Yet that it he a sealed deed between us,
Permit me here to put into your hands
A mark'd memorial. Some few paces off
It is deposited; I will return
MAHOMET (to Osmir, looking after her as she goes out).
Did all our bower'd prisons e'r contain
Aught like to that?
OSMIR.
Of woman's loveliness with manly state;
And yet, methinks, I feel as tho' it were
Strange, and perplexing, and unsuitable.
'Tis not in nature.
MAHOMET.
Thou'rt right, belike, but it is wond'rous graceful.
(A loud shriek of women heard without.)
VALERIA (speaking as she enters).
Conduct me to the sultan: I have still
Strength to fulfil my task.
MAHOMET.
(To Valeria.)
VALERIA.
(Shewing a dagger.)
And that I now am fitted for that rest,
The honour'd rest which you have granted me,
Being the fix'd condition of your promise,
MAHOMET.
Oh live, thou wond'rous creature, and be aught
Thy soul desires to be!
VALERIA (after sinking back into a seat, supported by her Attendants).
And what one happy moment of wound strength
Beyond the pitch of shrinking nature makes me;
Widow of Constantine, without reproach,
And worthy to partake the honour'd rest
Of the brave lord whose living love I shar'd, As shares the noble wife a brave man's love.
MAHOMET.
Enter Rodrigo, and Othus wounded and supporting himself feebly upon his sheathed sword.
VALERIA.
I shall once more those gen'rous men behold,
The sad remains of those who lov'd their lord.
(Holding out a hand to each of them.)
You know, brave brothers, how it is with me;
For such you were to him, and such to me
My heart now truly owns you.
OTHUS.
Most noble woman, worthy of thy lord!
(Endeavouring feebly to kneel and kiss her hand, whilst Rodrigo does so on the other side of her.)
VALERIA.
And thou still liv'st to strive in other storms:
Heaven's high blessing and my dying thanks
Rest on thy gen'rous worth!—I would say more,
But now I feel I may not.
Where art thou, Ella?(Putting Ella's hand in his.)
Here do I return
The trust thou gavest me; and if the sultan
Will yet to me one last request vouchsafe,
He will confirm this gift.
MAHOMET.
VALERIA.
(To Othus, looking fixedly at him.)
And are no more remember'd: but thy lord—
He whom thou lovedst—he whom all hearts lov'd—
He who so noble and so gentle was—
Well skill'd art thou to paint the deeds of men—
Thou wilt not suffer him to be forgotten?
What means that woeful motion of thy head?
Mine eyes wax dim, or do I truly see thee?
Thy visage has a strange and ghastly look:
How is it with thee?
OTHUS.
Thro' which his earlier friends have past, and waits
Impatiently, girt in his traveller's robe,
To hear the welcome creaking of its bars.
VALERIA.
Art thou too of our company? sad trav'llers
Unto a world unknown.
OTHUS.
The foster'd nursling, at th' appointed season,
Who leaves his narrow crib and cottage-home
For the fair mansion of his lordly sire,
Goes to a world unknown.
VALERIA.
There reigns above who casts his dark shade o'er us,
Mantling us on our way to glorious light.
I have offended, and I should be fearful,
But there is sent in mercy to my heart, For which I humbly give——O no, I may not!
Death is upon me now.——Ella and Lucia:
Stand closer to me: let me firmly grasp
Farewel unto ye all! (Dies.)
(A solemn pause, all standing round and gazing upon the body.)
OTHUS.
Unto the sad and solemn gaze of those
Who have beheld us in our days of joy.
Honour and deepest rev'rence be to thee,
Thou honour'd dead!(Bowing respectfully to the body.)
MAHOMET.
That took its flight?
RODRIGO.
For she is number'd with the gallant dead.
Not in the trophied field, nor sculptur'd dome;
No, nor beneath the dark and billowy deep
Is there one laid, o'er whom the valiant living
With truer zeal would their high banners wave,
Or bid the deep-mouth'd cannon nobly tell
How brave men mourn the brave.
How is it, Othus? something in thine eye
Of joyous sadness looks upon me wistfully.
(To Othus, who takes him tenderly by the hand.)
OTHUS.
Of a brave soldier, who, in one short moment
Of nature's weakness, has a wound receiv'd
That will unto his life as fatal prove
As fellest foeman's thrust: who in his rest
Will not be mourn'd as brave men mourn the brave.
Justiniani in his cave of shame——
RODRIGO.
He hath disgrac'd a soldier's honest fame:
He hath disgrac'd the country of his birth:
He hath——It makes me stamp upon the ground
To think that one, who grasp'd with brother's hand
The noble Constantine, should basely turn.
Name not his cursed name!
OTHUS.
On the damp earth, in deepest agony
Of the soul's shrewdest sufferings. I have
By an old soldier been advis'd of this,
And I would go to him, but that I feel
I needs must go where a more powerful call
Doth summon me.
RODRIGO (softened).
Must thou so soon? Well, ask whatever thou wilt:
I give my chafed passion to the winds.
Ah! goest thou? Do I the last remain
Of those who lov'd the noble Constantine?
The last of a brave band? Alas! alas!
(Embracing Othus tenderly.)
OSMIR (to Mahomet, who strides up and down in gloomy agitation).
May not your slave in humble zeal be told?
MAHOMET.
Yea, and, the humble zeal of such as thou art.
The willing service of a brave man's heart,
That precious pearl, upon the earth exists,
But I have found it not.
(Turning to Othus and Rodrigo.)
Ye valiant men who have so serv'd your prince,
There still is in the world a mighty monarch,
Who, if he might retain you near his throne,
Shall he say near his heart, in such dear zeal?
Would think his greatness honour'd.
OTHUS.
As power has given to thee, th' imperial city
Of royal Constantine; but other arms,
That might the friends of Constantine subdue,
Heav'n has denied thee.
RODRIGO.
Cannot like flying pennants be transferr'd
From bark to bark.
MAHOMET (impatiently).
Mine arms, such as they are, of heav'n are bless'd,
That is enough.
OTHUS.
Success bestows where blessing is denied.
A secret spirit whispers to my heart,
That in these walls your weaken'd wretched race,
Slaves of their slaves, in gloomy prison'd pomp
Shall shed each others blood, and make these towers
A place of groans and anguish, not of bliss.
And think not when the good and valiant perish
By worldly power o'erwhelm'd, that heaven's high favour
Shines not on them.—Oh, no! then shines it most.
For then in them it shews th' approving world
The worth of its best work.
And from their fate a glorious lesson springs;
A lesson of such high ennobling power;
Connecting us with such exalted things
As all do feel, but none with such true force,
Such joy, such triumph, as a dying man.
(Falling back into the arms of Rodrigo.)
FINIS.