HENRY IV. _is about_ 50 _and very pale. The hair on the back of his head is already grey; over the temples and forehead it appears blond, owing to its having been tinted in an evident and puerile fashion. On his cheek bones he has two small, doll-like dabs of colour, that stand out prominently against the rest of his tragic pallor. He is wearing a penitent's sack over his regal habit, as at Canossa. His eyes have a fixed look which is dreadful to see, and this expression is in strained contrast with the sackcloth. Ordulph carries the Imperial crown; Harold, the sceptre with the eagle, and the globe with the cross_). HENRY IV. (_bowing first to Donna Matilda and afterwards to the doctor_). My lady ... Monsignor.... (_Then he looks at Belcredi and seems about to greet him too; when, suddenly, he turns to Landolph, who has approached him, and asks him sotto voce and with diffidence_): Is that Peter Damiani? LANDOLPH. No, Sire. He is a monk from Cluny who is accompanying the Abbot. HENRY IV. (_looks again at Belcredi with increasing mistrust, and then noticing that he appears embarrassed and keeps glancing at Donna Matilda and the doctor, stands upright and cries out_). No, it's Peter Damiani! It's no use, father, your looking at the Duchess. (_Then turning quickly to Donna Matilda and the doctor as though to ward off a danger_): I swear it! I swear that my heart is changed towards your daughter. I confess that if he (_indicates Belcredi_) hadn't come to forbid it in the name of Pope Alexander, I'd have repudiated her. Yes, yes, there were people ready to favour the repudiation: the Bishop of Mayence would have done it for a matter of one hundred and twenty farms. (_Looks at Landolph a little perplexed and adds_): But I mustn't speak ill of the bishops at this moment! (_More humbly to Belcredi_): I am grateful to you, believe me, I am grateful to you for the hindrance you put in my way!--God knows, my life's been all made of humiliations: my mother, Adalbert, Tribur, Goslar! And now this sackcloth you see me wearing! (_Changes tone suddenly and speaks like one who goes over his part in a parenthesis of astuteness_). It doesn't matter: clarity of ideas, perspicacity, firmness and patience under adversity that's the thing. (_Then turning to all and speaking solemnly_). I know how to make amend for the mistakes I have made; and I can humiliate myself even before you, Peter Damiani. (_Bows profoundly to him and remains curved. Then a suspicion is born in him which he is obliged to utter in menacing tones, almost against his will_). Was it not perhaps you who started that obscene rumour that my holy mother had illicit relations with the Bishop of Augusta?