Thy bargain is made

thy throne offered the Turk Meets thee here. I know I have heard all, I say! MICHAEL. Damnation !

CONSTANTINE.

Let it be I'm abused that a horror I dream;

That a madness beset me; that truth is with thee;
That when such a compact of shame thou didst make,
Thy aim was deceiving the traitress, whose kiss

Thou hadst wiped from thy lips, rushing forth into night.
I divine it - thy traitorous part is a ruse !

"T is alone for thy country, the war for the Cross,
That the mask of disloyalty shadows thy face.
To fire with thine own hand yon signal thou 'rt here.
Othorgul in an ambush shall fall and be crushed;
On the Balkans, the girdle of fire our defence -
Shall flare from Iskren to remote Kilander —
Ah, I wake! I cast from me this nightmare of shame.
Take the torch, light the pyre— let it burst to its blaze!
MICHAEL. So suspected I stand? So my son is a spy ?
A new order, sooth! What, the heir of my name
Dares to ask to my face if a treason I work!

Since when did a father endure to be told

That his son sets his ears to the cracks of the door?
Say, when did I ask thy opinions? Since when

Does the chief take his orderly's counsels in war?

I deign no reply to thy insolent charge.

Thou hast not now to learn that my frown means "Obey."
Hearken then: 't is my wish to abide here alone

This night at the post. To the fortress at once!

Choose the path the most short! Get thee hence, boy, I say.
The signal I light when shall seem to me good.

In the weal of our land I am not to be taught.

I have spoken. Return to thy post, sir. Obey!

CONSTANTINE. It is true, then! No hideous dream of disgrace! The villainy ripe to its finish! I stay.

MICHAEL. Thou darest?

CONSTANTINE. Ay, father, thy wrath I can brook.

It is love, yes, the last throbs of love for thyself

That have drawn me to seek thee alone on these heights,

To stand between thee and that hideous crime.

Filial duty? Obedience unto my chief?

To the winds with them both! In my heart rules one thought

I would save thee to God must I render account

I must rescue my country, must pluck thee from shame.
Give place there, I say! Stand aside from that torch!

Let the mountain heights glow with their fires!

MICHAEL. No, by God!

CONSTANTINE. O father, bethink thee! O father, beware!
From above God looks down, and the eyes of the stars.
Of myself I have asked, when thy treason I knew,
What by honor was set?—where lay duty from me?
Alas, it was clear! To denounce to the world

Thy plot and thyself and that woman most vile;
To unmask too thy spy. But for thee this means death!
(Death held in reserve through the torture's dread scenes).
It means in an instant thy glory effaced.

I have pictured thy end at the gibbet, through me.
I could not denounce thee! I held back in dread
From the part of a son who to death yields a sire.
I could not endure that thy name so renowned
Should be scorned

that thy glory should take such dark flight. But at present I act as I must. Time is swift.

I shall kindle yon signal, I say. Give me place!

Calm the woes of thy country!-appease Heaven's wrath!
Think, think, that my silence has turned from thyself

A death on a scaffold, and tortures before.

Think, think that my silence had meant for thee chains,
And the doomsman's dread hand laying clutch upon thee.

O father, thou wilt not that I should regret!

MICHAEL. Too late. Regret now to have saved thus my life.

O son too devoted, best gained were thy wish

Hadst thou told all hadst seen me a Judas, disgraced,

Cut down by my soldiers before thine own eyes.

The worse now for thee! Thy heart questions, disputes;
That thing whereon mine is resolved, that I do.

Who has nothing foreseen, he can nothing prevent:

I permit that no hand yonder beacon shall fire.

CONSTANTINE. Thou wouldst yield, then, defenceless, our ancient frontier?

Thou wilt suffer the Turk to make Europe his prey,

To all Christendom's ruin

MICHAEL. 'Tis ingrate to me.

CONSTANTINE. And thy Christ, and thy God?

MICHAEL. Has God made of me king?

Spite of God, king I would be, will be !

CONSTANTINE. Say-perhaps.

Oft a crown is too large for a traitorous head.

It can suddenly prove a garrote - for the stake.

MICHAEL. Thou insultest! The folly is passing all bounds!

CONSTANTINE [in sudden emotion]. Ah yes, I am wrong! O my father, forgive!

What I utter I know not; for aid I must call!

To my help, then, O memories great of days sped,
Ye evenings of rapture that followed fights won.
Come, turmoils of booty, flags snatched as in sheaves,
Shouts of joy and of pride when from fray I returned
And felt on my forehead, blood-scarred, his hot kiss! -
O ye visions like these, of past glory, crowd thick!
The valor of old years, of old time the deeds,
Quick, rank yourselves here, face this wretchedest man,
Bring a blush to his face at his treason so vile!
Speak, speak to him! Say that at morn, in the town,
The standards that hang at the gates of his halls
Will stoop, as he passes, to smite at his face.
Say, oh say, to this hero become renegade,

That the soldiers long dead on his battle-fields past

In this hour know the crime unexampled he plots,

That they whisper in dread, 'twixt themselves, 'neath the earth,
And if passes some wanderer to-night by their graves,
Indignant the murmur is breathed through the grass.
No, no! to such falsity thou wilt not go;

Even now you repent all unwilling to leave
A name to be cursed in the memories of all !
Seest thou not, O my father, thy victories come
Like suppliants imploring, to close round your knees?
Will you hold them in hate, will you drive them away?
The triumphs that all this West-world has acclaimed,
Will you treat them as prostitutes, bowed, to be scorned?
No, this crime so debased you will dare not commit!
It cannot be, father-it never must be!

See me cast at your feet, in last hope, in last prayer;
I shall find the lost hero the father I've lost!

You will catch up the torch, you will fire yon dry pile:
With an effort supreme from your heart you will tear
This project unspeakable, - promise debased;
You will cast them away to the pyre's fiercest glow

As one burns into naught some foul herb, root and fruit:
You will stand purified as by fire, and the wind

Of the night will bear off on its wings this dark dream

In a whirlwind uproaring of sparks and of flame.

MICHAEL. "T is enough, I say! Up! By all devils in hell,

Of the hills and the plains of this land I'll be king!

Ay, and crown my fair queen-be revenged on the priest.
As that sky is unstained, so shall all this be done.

Thy heroics thou wastest-thy insolence too.
Go, dispute with the lion the quarry he holds

When thou seest him tear with his talons the prey.
Of no use all thy menaces

vain sobs, vain prayers:

Be sure once for all that thy childishness fails.

While I live, no man kindles this signal to-night!

CONSTANTINE. While thou livest! What word do I catch from thy mouth?

While thou livest? O blocdy and terrible thought!

In my brain is set loose worse than horror, than death!

MICHAEL. I guess not thy meaning. Wouldst see me a corpse? CONSTANTINE. I dream in this moment that one thou-shouldst be

By a doom full of shame, by the traitor's own fate!
MICHAEL. What dost mean?

CONSTANTINE. Ah, I think, while we parley so long,
Othorgul and his Turks in the valleys approach -

Each instant that's spent makes accomplice of-me!

I think of the duty that I must fulfil.

MICHAEL. What "duty"?

CONSTANTINE [with desperate resolution]. I say to myself that, unjust,

I have wished from the chastisement-death-thee to save.
Lo, thy life is a menace, escaping the axe,

A menace to all. And I have here my sword!

MICHAEL [in horror]. Thou! Thy sword!

CONSTANTINE. Yes, of old, without blemish, my blade Has known well how to stand between death and thy brow; Still witness to that is the wound that I bear

But since such keen envy, such ignoble love,

Have made of my hero a creature so base;

Since to scorn of all men, toward the Turk thou dost turn,
To beg at his hands for the crown thou usurp'st
See, my sword, in its honor, leaps out from its sheath
And commands me thy judge and thy doomsman to be.

MICHAEL [drawing his sword in turn.]
It is fearless of thine!

[He draws his sword.] My sword then behold!

Christian Europe I keep,

CONSTANTINE. 'Tis my land I defend
And my duty as soldier, the truth of my line;
But

you, 't is for treason alone that you draw.
God beholds us. He watches the lists. Let him judge!
Traitor, die!

in quick combat.

[Constantine leaps at his father. The swords cross for a moment Then Michael receives a stroke full in the

breast and expires.]

MICHAEL. Ah!

CONSTANTINE. My God! What a deed!
MICHAEL [on the ground expiring].

Parricide!

[He dies.

Be cursed! CONSTANTINE.

First the signal! The fire to the pile!

[He takes the torch and sets the signal blaze burning, which soon mounts high. Then gradually one sees far along the mountainchain the other signals flashing out, and alarm-guns begin to be heard below.]

CONSTANTINE. O ye stars, eyes of God! Be the witnesses, ye! But before yonder corpse in the face of that flame,

I dare to look up and to show you my soul.

My father his country, his faith would betray.

I have killed him, O stars! Have I sinned? Ye shall say!

THE REPAYMENT.

"I ADORE my son. He reminds me of my poor Julia and of my happy time. He is eight years of age and I take great care of him. I took him to this party and he helped, with the other boys, to strip the fir-tree loaded with sweets and toys. I looked on, sipping my tea, feeling happy in his mirth. Although I am without religion, I could not help reflecting on the delights of Christian society, procured by this feast-this children's feast in which the happiness of the young seemed to communicate innocence to the men of ripe age, or to old men who have more or less lost it. For the first time after many years since I began my feverish existence of a gambler and a rake, or my new life of very hard work - I felt something sweet and yet bitter softening my heart.

"At this moment my boy, my little Toto, tired of playing and laughing, came and sat on my knee and settled himself to sleep. I had prepared a fine surprise for him for the next morning. I said: Dear boy, don't forget, before going to bed, to put your shoes in the chimney.' He opened his eyes languidly, saying, 'Oh, no fear! Do you know, papa, what I should like little Christmas to bring me? Well, a box of leaden soldiers: you know, soldiers in red trousers, as I used to see them alive in the garden, where my nurse used to take me