 | Salome : A Tragedy in One Act |  |
I fear him not, Princess; there is no man I fear. But the Tetrarch has formally forbidden that any man should raise the cover of this well.
SALOME
Thou wilt do this thing for me, Narraboth, and to-morrow when I pass in my litter beneath the gateway of the idol-sellers I will let fall for thee a little flower, a little green flower.
THE YOUNG SYRIAN
Princess, I cannot, I cannot.
SALOME
[Smiling.]
Thou wilt do this thing for me, Narraboth. Thou knowest that thou wilt do this thing for me. And on the morrow when I shall pass in my litter by the bridge of the idol-buyers, I will look at thee through the muslin veils, I will look at thee, Narraboth, it may be I will smile at thee. Look at me, Narraboth, look at me. Ah! thou knowest that thou wilt do what I ask of thee. Thou knowest it . . . . I know that thou wilt do this thing.
THE YOUNG SYRIAN
[Signing to the third soldier.]
Let the prophet
SALOME
Ah!
THE PAGE OF HERODIAS
Oh! How strange the moon looks! Like the hand of a dead woman who is seeking to cover herself with a shroud.
THE YOUNG SYRIAN
She has a strange aspect! She is like a little
princess, whose eyes are eyes of amber. Through
the clouds of muslin she is smiling like a little
princess. [The prophet comes out of the cistern.
Salome looks at him and steps slowly back.]
IOKANAAN
Where is he whose cup of abominations is now full? Where is he, who in a robe of silver shall one day die in the face of all the people? Bid him come forth, that he may hear the voice of him who hath cried in the waste places and in the houses of kings.
SALOME
Of whom is he speaking?
THE YOUNG SYRIAN
No one can tell, Princess.
Where is she who saw the images of men painted on the walls, even the images of the Chaldæans painted with colours, and gave herself up unto the lust of her eyes, and sent ambassadors into the land of Chaldæa?
SALOME
It is of my mother that he is speaking.
THE YOUNG SYRIAN
Oh no, Princess.
SALOME
Yes: it is of my mother that he is speaking.
IOKANAAN
Where is she who gave herself unto the Captains of Assyria, who have baldricks on their loins, and crowns of many colours on their heads? Where is she who hath given herself to the young men of the Egyptians, who are clothed in fine linen and hyacinth, whose shields are of gold, whose helmets are of silver, whose bodies are mighty? Go, bid her rise up from the bed of her abominations, from the bed of her incestuousness, that she may hear the words of him who prepareth the way of the Lord, that she may repent her of her iniquities. Though she will not repent, but will stick fast in her abominations, go bid her come, for the fan of the Lord is in His hand.
Ah, but he is terrible, he is terrible!
THE YOUNG SYRIAN
Do not stay here, Princess, I beseech you.
SALOME
It is his eyes above all that are terrible. They are like black holes burned by torches in a tapestry of Tyre. They are like the black caverns where the dragons live, the black caverns of Egypt in which the dragons make their lairs. They are like black lakes troubled by fantastic moons . . . . Do you think he will speak again?
THE YOUNG SYRIAN
Do not stay here, Princess. I pray you do not stay here.
SALOME
How wasted he is! He is like a thin ivory statue. He is like an image of silver. I am sure he is chaste, as the moon is. He is like a moonbeam, like a shaft of silver. His flesh must be very cold, cold as ivory . . . . I would look closer at him.
THE YOUNG SYRIAN
No, no, Princess!
SALOME
I must look at him closer.
Princess! Princess!
IOKANAAN
Who is this woman who is looking at me? I will not have her look at me. Wherefore doth she look at me, with her golden eyes, under her gilded eyelids? I know not who she is. I do not desire to know who she is. Bid her begone, It is not to her that I would speak.
SALOME
I am Salome, daughter of Herodias, Princess of Judæa.
IOKANAAN
Back! daughter of Babylon! Come not near the chosen of the Lord. Thy mother hath filled the earth with the wine of her iniquities, and the cry of her sinning hath come up even to the ears of God.
SALOME
Speak again, Iokanaan. Thy voice is as music to mine ear.
THE YOUNG SYRIAN
Princess! Princess! Princess!
SALOME
Speak again! Speak again, Iokanaan, and tell me what I must do.
| Salome : A Tragedy in One Act | |