The chamber1 in the Vatican was so dimly, richly lit with jewelled and deep-coloured lamps that at first Theirry thought himself alone.
He looked round and saw silver walls hung with tapestries2 of violet and gold; pillars with columns of sea-green marble and capitals of shining mosaic3 supported a roof encrusted with jasper and jade4; the floor, of Numidian marble, was spread with Indian silk carpets; here and there stood crystal bowls of roses, white and crimson5, fainting in the close, sweet air.
At the far end of the room was a dais hung with brocade in which flowers and animals shone in gold and silver on a purple ground; gilt6 steps, carved and painted, led up to a throne on the dais, and Theirry, as his eyes became used to the wine-coloured gloom, saw that some one sat there; some one so splendidly robed and so still that it seemed more like one of the images Theirry had seen worshipped in Constantinople than a human being.
He shivered.
Presently he could discern intense eyes looking at him out of a dazzle of dark gold and shimmering7 shadowed colours.
Michael II moved in his seat.
“Again do you not know me?” he asked in a low tone.
“You sent for me,” said Theirry; to himself his voice sounded hoarse8 and unnatural9. “At last —”
“At last?”
“I have been waiting — you have been Pope thirty days, and never have you given me a sign.” “Is thirty days so long?”
Theirry came nearer the enthroned being.
“You have done nothing for me — you spoke10 of favours.”
Silver, gold and purple shook together as Michael II turned in his gorgeous chair.
“Favours!” he echoed. “You are the only man in Christendom who would stand in my presence; the Emperor kneels to kiss my foot.”
“The Emperor does not know,” shuddered11 Theirry; “but I do — and knowing, I cannot kneel to you...Ah, God! — how can you dare it?”
The Pope’s soft voice came from the shadows. “Your moods change — first this, then that; what humour are you in now, Theirry of Dendermonde; would you still be Emperor?”
Theirry put his hand to his brow.
“Yea, you know it — why do you torture me with suspense12, with waiting? If Evil is to be my master, let me serve him...and be rewarded.”
Michael II answered swiftly.
“I was not the one to be faithless to our friendship, nor shall I now shrink from serving you, at any cost — be you but true.”
“In what way can I be false?” asked Theirry bitterly. “I, a thing at your mercy?”
The Pope held back the blossom-strewn brocade so that he could see the other’s face. “I ask of you to let Jacobea of Martzburg be.”
Theirry flushed.
“How ye have always hated her!...since I came to Rome I have seen her the once.”
The Pope’s smooth pale face showed a stain of red from the dim beams of one of the splendid lamps; Theirry observed it as he leant forward.
“She did not marry her steward,” he said.
The Pope’s eyes narrowed.
“Ye have been at the pains to discover that?”
Theirry laughed mournfully.
“You have won! you, sitting where you sit now, can afford to mock at me; at my love, at my hope — both of which I placed once at stake on — her — and lost!...and lost! Ten years ago — but having again seen her, sometimes I must think of her, and that she was not vile13 after all, but only trapped by you, as I have been...Sebastian went to Palestine, and she has gone unwed.”
The Pope gave a quick sigh and bit his lip.
“I will make you Emperor,” he said. “But that woman shall not be your Empress.” Again Theirry laughed.
“Did I love her even, which I do not — I would put her gladly aside to sit on the Imperial throne! — Come, I have dallied14 long enough on the brink15 of devilry — let me sin grandly now, and be grandly paid!”
Michael II gave so quick a breath the jewels on his breast scattered16 coloured light.
“Come nearer to me,” he commanded, “and take my hand — as you used to, in Frankfort...I am always Dirk to you — you who never cared for me, hated me, I think — oh, the traitors17 our hearts are, neither God nor devil is so fierce to fight!”
Theirry approached the gold steps; the Pope leant down and gave him his cool white hand, heavy with gemmed18 rings, and looked intently into his eyes.
“When they announced your election — how the storm smote19 the city,” whispered Theirry fearfully; “were you not daunted20?”
The Pope withdrew his hand.
“I was not in the Conclave,” he said in a strange tone. “I lay sick in my villa21 — as for the storm —”
“It has not lifted since,” breathed Theirry; “day and night have the clouds hung over Rome — is not there, after all, a God?”
“Silence!” cried the Pope in a troubled voice.
“You would be Emperor of the West, would you not? — let us speak of that.”
Theirry leant against the arm of the throne and stared with an awful fascination22 into the other’s face.
“Ay, let us speak of that,” he answered wildly; “can all your devilries accomplish it? It is common talk in Rome that you secured your election by Frankish influence because you vowed23 to league with Balthasar — they say you are his ally —”
The dark intense eyes of Michael II glittered and glowed.
“Nevertheless I will cast him down and set you in his place — he comes today to ask my aid against Lombardy and Bohemia; and therefore have I sent for you that you may overhear this audience, and see how I mate and checkmate an Emperor for your sake.”
As he spoke, he pointed24 to the other end of the room where hung a sombre and rich curtain. “Conceal yourself — behind that tapestry25 — and listen carefully to what I say, and you will understand how I may humble26 Balthasar and shake him from his throne.”
Theirry, not joyous27 nor triumphant28, but agitated29 and trembling with a horrible excitement, crept across the room and passed silently behind the arras.
As the long folds shook into place again the Pope touched a bell.
Paolo Orsini entered.
“Admit the Emperor.”
The secretary withdrew; there was a soft sound in the ante-chamber, the voices of priests.
Michael II put his hand to his heart and fetched two or three quick panting breaths; his full lips curved to a strange smile, and a stranger thought was behind it; a thought that, if expressed, would not have been understood even by Theirry of Dendermonde, who of all men knew most of his Holiness.
This it was —
“Did ever lady meet her lord like this before, or like this use him to advance her love!”
A heavy tread sounded without, and the Emperor advanced into the splendid glooms of the audience-chamber.
He was bare-headed, and at sight of the awe-inspiring figure, went on his knees at the foot of the dais.
Michael II looked at him in silence; the silver door was closed, and they were alone, save for the unseen listener behind the arras.
At last the Pope said slowly —
“Arise, my son.”
The Emperor stood erect30, showing his magnificent height and bearing; he wore bronze-hued armour31, scaled like a dragon’s breast, the high gold Imperial buskins, and an immense scarlet32 mantle33 that flowed behind him; his thick yellow hair hung in heavy curls on to his shoulders, and his enormous sword made a clatter34 against his armour as he moved.
Theirry, cautiously drawing aside the curtain to observe, dug his nails into his palms with bitter envy.
Behold35 the man who had once been his companion — little more than his equal, and now — an Emperor!
“You desired an audience of us,” said the Pope. “And some tedium36 may be spared, for we can well guess what you have to say.”
A look of relief came into Balthasar’s great blue eyes; he was no politician; the Empress, whose wits alone had kept him ten years on a throne, had trembled for this audience.
“Your Holiness knows that it is my humble desire to form a firm alliance between Rome and Germany. I have ruled both long enough to prove myself neither weak nor false, I have ever been a faithful servant of Holy Church —”
The Pope interrupted.
“And now you would ask her help against your rebellious37 subjects?”
“Yea, your Holiness.”
Michael II smiled.
“On what right does your Grace presume when you ask us to aid you in steadying a trembling throne?”
Balthasar flushed, and came clumsily to the point.
“I was assured, Holy Father, of your friendliness38 before the election — the Empress —” Again the Pope cut him short.
“Cardinal Caprarola was not the Vicegerent of Christ, the High Priest of Christendom, as we are now — and those whom Louis of Dendermonde knew, become as nothing before the Pope of Rome, in whose estimate all men are the same.”
Balthasar’s spirit rose at this haughty39 speech; his face turned crimson, and he savagely40 caught at one of his yellow curls.
“Your Holiness can have no object in refusing my alliance,” he answered. “Sylvester crowned me with his own hands, and I always lived in friendship with him — he aided me with troops when the Lombards rebelled against their suzerain, and Suabia he placed under an interdict41 —”
“We are not Sylvester,” said the Pope haughtily42 ——“nor accountable for his doings; as you may show yourself the obedient son of the Church so may we support you — otherwise! — we can denounce as we can uphold, pull down as we can raise up, and it wants but little, Balthasar of Courtrai, to shake your throne from under you.”
The Emperor bit his lip, and the scales of his mail gleamed as they rose with his heavy breathing; he knew that if the power of the Vatican was placed on the side of his enemies he was ruined.
“In what way have I offended your Holiness?” he asked, with what humility43 he could.
The fair young face of Michael II was flushed and proud in expression; the red curls surrounding the tonsure44 fell across his smooth forehead; his red lips were sternly set and his heavy brows frowned.
“Ye have offended Heaven, for whom we stand,” he answered. “And until by penitence45 ye assoil your soul we must hold you outcast from the mercies of the Church.”
“Tell me my sins,” said Balthasar hoarsely46. “And what I can do to blot47 them out — masses, money, lands —”
The Pope made a scornful movement with his little hand.
“None of these can make your peace with God and us — one thing only can avail there.”
“Tell it me,” cried the Emperor eagerly. “If it be a crusade, surely I will go — after Lombardy is subdued48.”
The Pope flashed a quick glance over him. “We want no knight-errantry in the East; we demand this — that you put away the woman whom you call your wife.”
Balthasar stared with dilating49 eyes.
“Saint Joris guard us!” he muttered; “the woman whom I call my wife!”
“Ysabeau, first wedded50 to the man whom you succeeded.”
Balthasar’s hand made an instinctive51 movement towards his sword.
“I do not understand your Holiness.”
The Pope turned in his chair so that the lamplight made his robe one bright purple sheen. “Come here, my lord.”
The Emperor advanced to the gold steps; a slim fair hand was held out to him, holding, between finger and thumb, a ring set with a deep red stone.
“Do you know this, my lord?” The Pope’s brilliant eyes were fixed52 on him with an intent and terrible expression.
Balthasar of Courtrai looked at the ring; round the bezel two coats of arms were delicately engraved53 in the soft red gold.
“Why,” he said in a troubled way, “I know the ring — yea, it was made many years ago” “And given to a woman.
“Certes — yea —”
“It is a wedding ring.”
Again the Emperor assented54, his blue eyes darkened and questioning.
“The woman to whom in your name it was given still lives.”
“Ursula of Rooselaare!” cried Balthasar.
“Yea, Ursula of Rooselaare, your wife.”
“My first wife who died before I had seen her, Holiness,” stammered55 the Emperor.
The Pope’s strange handsome face was hard and merciless; he held the wedding ring out on his open palm and looked from it to Balthasar.
“She did not die — neither in the convent, as to your shame you know, nor in the house of Master Lukas.”
Balthasar could not speak; he saw that this man knew what he had considered was a close secret of his own heart alone.
“Who told you she was dead?” continued the Pope. “A certain youth, who, for his own ends, I think, lied, a wicked youth he was, and he died in Frankfort for compassing the death of the late Emperor — or escaped that end by firing his house, the tale grows faint with years; ’twas he who told you Ursula of Rooselaare was dead; he even showed you her grave — and you were content to take his word — and she was content to be silent.”
“Oh, Christus!” cried the Emperor. “Oh, Saint Joris! —— but, holy father — this thing is impossible!” He wrung56 his hands together and beat his mailed breast. “From whom had you this tale?”
“From Ursula of Rooselaare.”
“It cannot be...why was she silent all these years? why did she allow me to take Ysabeau to wife?”
A wild expression crossed the Pope’s face; he looked beyond the Emperor with deep soft eyes. “Because she loved another man.”
A pause fell for a second, then Michael II spoke again.
“I think, too, she something hated you who had failed her, and scorned her — there was her father also, who died shamefully57 by Ysabeau’s command; she meant, I take it, to revenge that upon the Empress, and now, perhaps, her chance has come.”
“Where is this woman who has so influenced your Holiness against me? An impostor! do not listen to her!”
“She speaks the truth, as God and devils know!” flashed the Pope. “And we, with all the weight of Holy Church, will support her in the maintenance of her just rights; we also have no love for this Eastern woman who slew59 her lord.”
“Nay, that is false”— Balthasar ground his teeth. “I know some said it of her — but it is a lie.” “This to me!” cried the Pope. “Beware how ye anger God’s Vicegerent.”
The Emperor quivered, and put his hand to his brow.
“I bend my neck for your Holiness to step on — so you do not ask me to listen to evil of the Empress.”
The Pope rose with a gleam of silk and a sparkle of jewels.
“Ysabeau is not Empress, nor your wife; her son is not your heir, and you must presently part with both of them or suffer the extremity60 of our wrath61 — yea, the woman shall ye give into the hands of the executioner to suffer for the death of Melchoir, and the child shall ye turn away from you — and with pains and trouble shall ye search for Ursula of Rooselaare, and finding her, cause her to be acknowledged your wife and Empress of the West. That she lives I know, the rest is for you.”
The Emperor drew himself up and folded his arms on his breast.
“This is all I have to say,” added the Pope. “And on those terms alone will I secure to you the throne.”
“I have but one answer,” said Balthasar. “And it would be the same did I deliver it in the face of God — that while I live and have breath to speak, I shall proclaim Ysabeau and none other as my wife, and our son as an Empress’s son, and my heir and successor; kingdom and even life may your Holiness despoil62 me of — but neither the armies of the earth nor the angels of heaven shall take from me these two — this my answer to your Holiness.”
The Pope resumed his seat.
“Ye dare to defy me,” he said. “Well — ye are a foolish man to set yourself against Heaven; go back and live in sin and wait the judgment63.”
Balthasar’s flesh crept and quivered, but he held his head high, even though the Pope’s words opened the prospect64 of a sure hell.
“Your Holiness has spoken, so also have I,” he answered. “I take my leave.”
Michael II gazed at him in silence as he bent65 his head and backed towards the silver door.
No other word passed between Pope and Emperor; the gleaming portals opened; the mail of Balthasar’s retinue66 clinked without, and then soft silence fell on the richly lit room as the door was delicately closed.
“Theirry.”
The Pope rose and descended67 from the dais; the dark arras was lifted cautiously, and Theirry crept into the room.
Michael II stood at the foot of the golden steps; despite his magnificent and flowing draperies, he looked very young and slender.
“Well,” he asked, and his eyes were triumphant. “Stand I not in a fair way to cast down the Emperor?”
Theirry moistened his lips.
“Yea — how dared you! — to use the thunderbolts of heaven for such ends!”
The Pope smiled.
“The thunders of heaven may be used to any ends by those who can wield68 them.” “What you said was false?” whispered Theirry, questioning.
The jewelled light flickered69 over the Pope’s face.
“Nay, it was true, Ursula of Rooselaare lives.”
“Ye never told me that — in the old days!”
“Maybe I did not know — she lives, and she is in Rome;” he caught hold of the robe across his breast as he spoke, and both voice and eyes were touched with weariness.
“This is a curious tale,” answered Theirry in a confused manner. “She must be a strange woman.”
“She is a strange woman.”
“I would like to see her — who is it that she loves?”
The Pope showed pale; he moved slowly across the room with his head bent.
“A man for whose sake she puts her very life in jeopardy,” he said in a low passionate70 voice. “A man I think, who is unworthy of her.”
“She is in Rome?” pondered Theirry.
The Pope lifted an arras that concealed71 an inner door.
“The first move is made,” he said. “Farewell now — I will acquaint you of the progress of your fortunes;” he gave a slight, queer smile; “as for Ursula of Rooselaare, ye have seen her —” “Seen her?”
“Yea; she wears the disguise of a masked dancer in orange.”
With that he pointed Theirry to the concealed doorway72, and turning, left him.
收听单词发音 |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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tapestries
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| n.挂毯( tapestry的名词复数 )；绣帷，织锦v.用挂毯（或绣帷）装饰( tapestry的第三人称单数 ) | |
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mosaic
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| n./adj.镶嵌细工的，镶嵌工艺品的，嵌花式的 | |
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jade
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| n.玉石；碧玉；翡翠 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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shimmering
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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dallied
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| v.随随便便地对待( dally的过去式和过去分词 )；不很认真地考虑；浪费时间；调情 | |
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brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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traitors
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| 卖国贼( traitor的名词复数 )； 叛徒； 背叛者； 背信弃义的人 | |
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gemmed
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| 点缀（gem的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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daunted
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| 使（某人）气馁，威吓( daunt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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tedium
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| n.单调；烦闷 | |
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rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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interdict
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| v.限制；禁止；n.正式禁止；禁令 | |
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haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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tonsure
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| n.削发；v.剃 | |
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penitence
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| n.忏悔，赎罪；悔过 | |
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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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dilating
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| v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的现在分词 ) | |
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wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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shamefully
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| 可耻地； 丢脸地； 不体面地； 羞耻地 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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slew
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| v.（使）旋转；n.大量，许多 | |
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extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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despoil
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| v.夺取，抢夺 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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retinue
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| n.侍从；随员 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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wield
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| vt.行使，运用，支配；挥，使用(武器等) | |
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flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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