I would at least
Disdainfully reject the greeting-cup.
And should she proffer ’stead of spicy wine
E’en innocent water in the crystal bowl,
I’d let that water lie without a touch.
True, that were bare of meaning. No, ’twould be
A natural thing enough; for water is
No more to me what once I felt it was,
Mild element that gives the flowers to drink,
Mother of life to all the world and me.
It thrills with shudders, brims me o’er with horror
Since its jaws oped to gulf my brother down.
Ever I think—“there’s life dwells in the drop,
But in the billow dwells the bitter death!”
To you it must be quite another.
Herod.
Why?
Mar.
Since through a stream you suffer calumny.
Its own, its dastard, its malicious deed
It dares unload on you! But fear it not,
I’ll give’t the lie!
Herod.
In very truth?
Mar.
I can!
To love the sister and the brother murder!
What reason yokes that pair?
Herod.
Yet if, perhaps,
Himself this brother points his thoughts at murder,
And if alone by breasting his advance,
Nay, by outstripping, one could save his skin!
(We speak here of the possible) and further,
If, harmless in himself, he make a weapon
In hands of foeman malleable, a weapon
Whose bite must bring sure death unless its mark
Shatter it well before it can be hurled
(We speak here of the possible), and last
If this same weapon threatened no sole head,
Nay, but a whole Folk’s grand collective head
And one for such a Folk imperative
As is for any other trunk its head
(We speak here of the possible), and yet
In such a chain of chance I think the Sister,
As wife from love she duly owes her husband,
As daughter of her folk from holy bond,
As Queen, from both, would have no choice but say:—
“What happened was the thing I dare not blame.”
[He clasps Mariamne’s hand.
And if a Ruth be slow to catch my drift
(How could she learn it at the gleaning hour?)
The Maccabean daughter understands!
In Jericho you could not give your kisses,
You will be able in Jerusalem!
[He kisses her.
And if perchance the kiss bring after-grudging
Then hear a reconcilement for us twain:—
I took it for a token of farewell
And that farewell may be farewell eternal!
Mar.
Eternal!
Herod.
Yes! Antony’s had me summoned
But still I know not whether I return.
Mar.
You know not?
Herod.
Since I know not how severe
An accusation my—your mother’s lodged.
[Mariamne makes to speak.
That’s naught. I’ll bear it. But one thing alone
I must learn from your lips. I say I must learn—
Whether and how I undertake defence.
Mar.
Whether——
Herod.
O Mariamne, question not!
You know the spell that knits me into you,
You know that every day makes it more potent.
Ah, but your heart must feel I have no strength
To battle my own cause if you refuse
Assurance that your heart-beats twin my own.
Oh tell me, is that heart fiery or cold?
And then I can tell you if Antony
Will call me brother or condemn me straight
To hunger-death in the earth-embowelled dungeon
Whose blackness prisoned up Jugurtha’s death.
You’re dumb? Oh be not dumb! How keen I feel
That such confession scarce beseems a king;
’Tis not his part to yoke his neck beneath
The common lot of man, ’tis not his part
To bind his inmost on another’s life,
He should be knit unto his God alone.
I am not fashioned thus; when you last year
Were sick to death, then I was busy too
About self-slaughter that I might not live
To see your death; and now that you know this
Know yet another thing. If I should chance,
Yes I, to be a-dying, I could do
What you dread at Salome’s hands, I could
A poison mix and give it you in wine,
That even in death I might be sure of you.
Mar.
And were you to do that you would recover!
Herod.
No, no! I would have shared the half with you!
Now speak your heart. Were pardon in your grace
For such o’erbrimming measure of love as this?
Mar.
If after quaffing such a drink I had
Surviving breath to utter one last word,
I’d call a curse on you with that last word.
(Aside.) Yea, all the sooner were it done the surer
That I myself, if death should call you hence,
Could in my pain stretch hands to grasp my dagger.
That deed the heart can do, but suffer never!
Herod.
In yester-evening’s fire there was a woman
Consumed with her dead husband: ’gainst essay
At rescue made she brindled up: this woman
Of course meets your contempt?
Mar.
Who tells you that?
She scorned at least to be an altar victim
And sacrificed herself, a deed that proves
She prized her dead love more than all the world.
Herod.
And you, and I?
Mar.
If you dare tell yourself
You’ve put me in the scales against the world,
What could be left to keep me in the world?
Herod.
The world! The world has many a sovereign still,
And none among them but were fain to share
His throne with you, not one who for your sake
Would not abandon bride and oust his wife
The very morn after his wedding-night.
Mar.
Is Cleopatra dead that you speak thus?
Herod.
You are so fair that all who gaze upon you
Nigh win a faith in immortality,
That unctuous, flattering Pharisaic hope,
Since none can realise your image e’er
Should fade in him; so fair, that it would seem
No wonder to me if with sudden travail
The mountains yielded me some nobler metal
Than gold and silver for your ornamenting,
Some metal long enwombed against your coming;
So fair that—ha! the knowledge that you die
Hard on another’s death, from loving die
That close upon his fore-flight you may hasten
And in a sphere to hold you where one is
And is no more (I picture such a heaven
As latest breath with latest breath immingled),
Ah, that were worth the self-dealt death, ’twould be
Beyond the grave, that home where horror dwells,
To find still one more rapture. Mariamne,
Dare I hope such a thing, or must fear take me
That you would—Antony has asked of you!
Mar.
Men do not issue notes of hand for acts,
Much less for smartings and for sacrifice,
Such as Despair can bring, I feel full well,
Though love can never make demand on them.4
Herod.
Farewell!
Mar.
Farewell! I know you will come back.
Your slayer’s—He alone (pointing to heaven)——
Herod.
So small the fear?
Mar.
So great the confidence!
Herod.
Love is a-tremble,
A-tremble even in a hero’s breast.
Mar.
But my love trembles not!
Herod.
You tremble not?
Mar.
Now I begin. Can you no more trust self
Since you—the brother of me—then woe to me
And woe to you!
Herod.
You hold that word in check,
That simple word, when I had hoped of you
An oath! What base is left whereon to build?
Mar.
And if I gave that oath, what surety yours
I’d keep it? Always I and only I,
My Being as you know it. Thus I think
Since you must end, it seems, with hope and faith
You make beginning where you end—with both!
Go, go! I can no other! Not now, not yet!
[Exit.
Scene 4
Herod alone.
Herod.
Not now! The next day then, the next day’s morrow!
After my death she will be kind to me!
What, speaks a woman thus? I know that oft
When I have called her fair she’s marred her features
With twistings till she was no longer fair.
I know she cannot weep, that her drawn face
Tells what in others finds the vent of tears.
I know that she had quarrelled with her brother
Not long before he found death in his bath,
And then play-acted the disconsolate,
And, to cap that, when he was now a corpse,
Displayed another gift received from him
And bought for her while he went to his bath!
Yet speaks a woman thus in the very moment
When he, the man she loves or at the least
Is bound to love—She turned not round again
As once when I—She left no kerchief back
That she for pretext—No, she can endure it
That I with this impression—Good! So be it!
To Alexandria—the grave—all’s one!
But one thing first! One! Earth and Heaven hear it!
You swore me naught, I’ll swear a thing to you!
I’ll put you under sword! And Antony,
Should he command my fall on your account,
E’en though he wrought it not to save your mother
Shall be my dupe. How doubtful e’er it be
Whether the robe that shrouds me at my death
Follows me to my grave because some thief
Can still purloin it, you shall follow me!
That’s firm and fixed! Should I return no more
You die! A stumpy point that trips the foot!
What gives assurance I shall be obeyed
When I’m no longer dreaded? Ha, I think
There’s one to find who at her frown has cause
For shivering!
Scene 5
Herod. Joseph.
[Enter a Servant.
Servant.
Your kinsman!
Herod.
He is welcome!
There is my man! To him I hand my sword
And goad him through the craven mood so deep
To hardy mettle that he’ll use’t like me.
[Enter Joseph.
Joseph.
I heard immediate start for Alexandria
Is your intent, and wished to bid God-speed.
Herod.
God-speed! A speed, belike, without returning.
Joseph.
Without returning!
Herod.
Ay, ’tis possible.
Joseph.
I never saw you thus till now.
Herod.
Proof certain
I never was in such ill plight till now.
Joseph.
But if you grow heart-faint——
Herod.
I’ll not, I say!
For, come what will, I’ll bear it: yet the hope
That any good can come leaves me in lurch.
Joseph.
That makes me wish to God I had been blind
And ne’er on Alexandra’s hooded doings
Had played the pry.
Herod.
I could believe it of you!
Joseph.
For had I not unearthed the portraiture
Of Aristobulus which in secrecy
For Antony was painted, and had I
Not scented out her courier-despatch
To Cleopatra: more than all, the coffin
That with her son concealed her at the harbour—
Had I not blocked it and prevented flight
That was begun already——
Herod.
Then had she
No thanks to owe you, and with qualmless mind
You’d bear to see her daughter on the throne,
The throne that she, the dauntless Maccabean,
Will surely mount if I return no more,
And none before her edge his way thereto.
Joseph.
I mean it not that way; I mean that much
Had lain in smother.
Herod.
Much! Why, not a doubt
But much that’s awkward had instead occurred.
No matter now. You make your tally full;
But there’s one item you’ve forgot——
Joseph.
And that?
Herod.
You were presumably attending him
The time he went a-bathing when——
Joseph.
I was.
Herod.
Presumably you wrestled him?
Joseph.
At first, yes.
Herod.
H’m, queerish! Well?
Joseph.
No dizziness attacked him
When he was in my arms, and had it happened
Either I would have rescued him or he
Had dragged me under with him to the bottom.
Herod.
No doubt. But as you cannot help but know,
All who were there make just your protestation,
And since a perverse chance will have it so,
That you not only bore him company
But wrestled him——
Joseph.
What means that check of word?
Herod.
My Joseph, you and I, we make a couple
That stands stern charge.
Joseph.
I too?
Herod.
I dare assert
I have both kin and trusty friend in you?
Joseph.
’Tis so I flatter me.
Herod.
’Twere better not so.
Had I like Saul cast the dart after you
And could you prove it through your deathly wound
For you ’twere better: no back-biter’s word
Had risen to find the credulous ear: and you,
For a blood-deed of which your hands were guiltless,
Would never lose your head.
Joseph.
I? lose my head?
Herod.
That is your fate if I do not return,
And Mariamne——
Joseph.
But my hands are guiltless:
Herod.
What helps you there? the ugly look’s against you.
And then again, suppose you were believed,
Are not the many, many services
You’ve rendered me, in Alexandra’s eyes
As many crimes against herself? Will she
Not have these thoughts—“Had he o’erwinked my flight
There’d be one living who now lies i’ the grave?”
Joseph.
True, true!
Herod.
And can she not then with some show
Of right demand your life to pay another’s
That she imagines lost through fault of yours?
Will she not set her daughter on to do it?
Joseph.
Salome! Ah, that comes of visiting
The painter. Year on year fresh portraits of me
She still demands.
Herod.
I know she loves you dear.
Joseph.
The less her love, the better were my case.
Had I the portrait of Aristobulus
Detected when I—good then. She can soon
Possess my latest, less a head.
Herod.
My Joseph,
A man protects his head.
Joseph.
When you have given
Your own for lost?
Herod.
That’s only half the trick.
I’ll try to save it through the stratagem,
That of myself free-willed I thrust that head
Into the lion’s gullet.
Joseph.
Once luck helped you
When the Pharisees——
Herod.
This is a sorrier case.
But hap what haps to me it is my will
To lay your destiny in your own hands.
You always were a man, be now a king.
I hang the purple mantle round your neck
And proffer you the sceptre and the sword.
Hold fast. To me alone you give it back!
Joseph.
What, do I understand you?
Herod.
And confirm
Your throne and life with it in certain tenure
By killing Mariamne if your hear
That I return not hither.
Joseph.
Mariamne?
Herod.
She is the last bond whereby Alexandra
Is knit unto the folk now that the flood
Has choked her son; she is the gay-hued plume
Rebellion’s helm will flaunt, the day whereon
It heads against you.
Joseph.
Ah, but Mariamne!
Herod.
Amazed that I——? I’ll make no false front, Joseph!
My counsel’s good, is good for you; what need
Of further words? yet, to be frank, I give it
Not for your sake alone—Here’s the bluff truth!
That she should with some other—I can’t bear it—
That would be bitterer than—I grant she’s proud—
But after death—and then, Antony—
And first and worst of all that mother of hers
Who’ll harry on the dead against the dead—
You catch my drift, you must.
Joseph.
But——
Herod.
Hear me out!
She led me on to hope that she herself
Would deal her death if I——Tell me, can debts
Be summoned in by proxy? ’Tis allowed
Even by force—what think you?
Joseph.
’Tis allowed.
Herod.
Promise me then that you will take her life
If she take not her own. Be not too hasty
And not too tardy either. Go to her
Soon as my messenger, for I shall send one,
Reports of me “it’s over!” tell it her
And mark then if she reaches hand for dirk
Or makes to do aught else. You promise?
Joseph.
Yes.
Herod.
I will not have you swear, for no man yet
Forced any one to swear he’d use his foot
To crush a snake that threatened him with death.
He does it of himself if he be sane;
For he could sooner practise abstinence
Of meat and drink without a scathe, than this.
[Joseph makes a gesture.
I know you throughly and I will commend you
To Antony as one in all this crew
That he dare trust in. You will prove him that
By showing that a woman of your blood
Is not too sacred to become your victim
When smothering of rebellion is the stake,
For that’s the point of view will gloze the deed,
That side you serve up for his eyes. ’Tis followed
By a street hubbub: your despatch to him
Is that an outbreak was your deed’s precursor
And only by its instrument was quelled.
As for the folk, ’twill have a shuddering-fit
When it beholds your bloody sword, and many
Will say:—“It seems I knew but half this man!”
And now——
Joseph.