SCENE I.--_A room in the Papal Palace at Rome. Enter_ HILDEBRAND _as

Pope _and_ PETER DAMIANI, _a_ fanatic.

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

_Pet._ Now, thou art Hildebrand.

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

_Pet._ There spake Peter, indeed.

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

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

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

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

_Hild._ Yea, Peter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Hild._ Peter!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Hild._ The Papal curse.

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

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

_Enter a_ Page, _who kneels_.

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

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

_Hild._ Ha, Insolent!

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

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

_Pet._ Send him thy curse.

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

_Enter_ Ambassadors.

_Hild._ You come from Normandy.

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

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

_Pet._ Amen.

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

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

_Amb._ We will, Your Holiness.

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

_Exit_ Ambassadors.

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

_Enter_ Page.

_Page._ More ambassadors await without, your Holiness.

_Hild._ From whence?

_Page._ Germany, your Holiness.

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

_Pet._ Now thou growest iron.

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

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

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

Cardinals _file in_. Ambassadors _are brought in_.

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

_Amb._ We do, your Holiness.

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

_Amb._ What be these powers, your Holiness?

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

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

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

_Amb._ The king saith not, my lord.

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

_Amb._ Yea, my Lord.

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

[_Exit_ Ambassadors, Cardinals _and_ PETER.

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

_Hild._ Show her within.

_Enter_ BEATRICE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Hild._ Nay. Make thy speech brief!

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

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

_Monks._ Yea! yea! um! um!

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

_Ab._ Yon, yon--

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

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

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

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

_Monks._ Yea, yea, Most Holy.

_Hild._ He hath then but little to do.

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

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

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

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

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

_Hild._ Who art thou?

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

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

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

_Hild._ Name his offence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Hild._ How old be he?

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

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

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

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

_Hild._ This man be mad.

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

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

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

_Hild._ Dost thou hear me?

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

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

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

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

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

_Hild._ ’Twould suit the monks?

_Wiz._ Yea, but they overfed--

_Hild._ And died?

_Wiz._ Yea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Hild._ Canst thou cure disease?

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

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

_Wiz._ Ha, ha. Wouldst try me?

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

_Wiz._ Yea, ’tis truth. See here.

_Hild._ And it floateth on nothing?

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

_Hild._ Ha.

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

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

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

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

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

_Enter_ PETER.

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

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

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

_Hild._ Catherine!

_Cath._ Hildebrand!

_Hild._ ’Tis thou!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Pet._ Begone Woman. Thou art sacrilegious.

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

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

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

_Hild._ O, God! O, God!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Pet._ Thou speakest to a stone. Go!

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