 | Jesus of Nazareth |  |
Act III.
Mary.Between seven and eight years have elapsed.
Scene I.
Apartment, richly furnished, in Mary Magdalene's house at Jerusalem. A sumptuous supper is spread. Tibullus, Valerius, Licinius, Hortensius, Pompilius, Caius, and other officers, all reclining on couches in the Roman fashion. Mary presiding. Caius reclines on the couch next to Mary.Valerius.
Tibullus is going to sing—a song of his
own composing, I make no doubt.
Hortensius.
And we can all guess the subject
Tibullus is very hard hit.
Licinius.
Yes: when a woman like Mary twangs
the bow-string, love's arrows fly straight to the mark.
Pompilius.
How that old reprobate Caius chatters!
“No fool like an old fool;” I believe he honestly
thinks that Mary is in love with him!
Licinius.
In fact, she does not appear to dislike
his proximity. They have been whispering together
in that way the whole of supper-time.
Pompilius.
Yes: but though her tongue is with
him, her eyes are elsewhere. It is by a woman's eyes
that you must judge; when a woman is in love with
avoids doing so—but she cannot help looking at him.
Her eyes seek him, in spite of herself, and her eyes
are now seeking—
Valerius.
Hush, Pompilius! Tibullus is just going
to begin.
(Tibullus sings).
It blossoms as the rose:
It blooms without a reason,
Without a thought it goes.
It comes through dreamland's portal;
It flashes on our eyes;
It makes some song immortal,
Then in an hour it dies.
Wins worship as of old:
A thousand lovers follow
The form they may not hold.
“The fairest love is fleetest
And soonest lost in gloom;
Love's dawn,” they say, “is sweetest
When sunset brings its doom.”
What eager hearts pursue!
The pain, the cost, who reckons?
Who asks if love be true?
The noontide sun is bright—
Why lift the future's curtain?
Why peer into the night?
(He pauses).
Valerius.
Don't stop, Tibullus. There is more,
surely?
Mary.
Let me hear the rest—there is sweetness
in your song.
Tibullus.
Your wish is a command.
Though not in all men's ears,
A love of nobler fashion
Sings—as to one that hears.
To live,—if life be needed;
To die,—if she may gain;
For this my heart hath pleaded:
Will passion's prayer be vain?
(Officers applaud loudly, with the exception of Hortensius).
Mary.
It is a lovely song. A thousand thanks to
you.
Pompilius
(to those sitting near him).
How strange a
thing it is—you may meet a hundred fair women, yet
only one can wield the sovereign spell which brings
the whole world to her feet. I have seen many
women with marvellous black hair, yet I believe no
woman, living or dead, ever had hair like Mary's
the way it falls over the brow; and, probably, in its
fragrance.
Valerius.
I think her lovelier than ever. Her
beauty has a strange charm: it fascinates the more,
the more it is studied.
Hortensius.
Yes: it is essentially studied beauty,
and that is why I dislike it. Every pose is studied—
I'll wager she studies that graceful swan-like curve
of the neck for an hour every day before the mirror.
Valerius.
You are incorrigible, Hortensius. And
yet at Rome the other day who was it that allured
you?—a beauty with pencilled eyes, and cheeks as
radiant as the seductive rouge could make them!
Hortensius.
One thing I will say—our fair hostess
does not paint.
Tibullus.
Paint! What need has she, with a
complexion which Venus might copy, and which
the rose might envy? I love her beyond expression;
I should like to die for her.
Hortensius.
Never die for a woman. Die for a
friend, die for Rome, but not for a woman. One is
always sorry afterwards.
Tibullus.
I would die for her. I believe her to be
as pure as sunlight. These tales that are told about
her are lies spread abroad by disappointed suitors,
nothing more. Was there ever loveliness like hers
without detractors?
Pompilius.
Does this present scene suggest an
impeccable woman, does it savour of purity?
Mere eccentricity—nothing more. She
trusts herself and she trusts us.
Pompilius
(aside to Hortensius).
If it were known
that this rash fellow had left his post at the guard-house
to-night for the sake of honouring the fair
Mary's banquet with his presence, it might go hard
with him; his courage would then have to be put to
the test!
Hortensius
(to Pompilius).
He would die if
necessary, never fear; and that, I warrant you,
right willingly. Love is an intoxicatingly sweet
form of madness: it swims rivers, climbs mountains,
and, did the loved one so order, would, I doubt not,
find some way of clambering from star to star and
landing safe and sound upon the moon!
Licinius.
What do you make of her age, Pompilius?
Softly—don't let her hear us.
Pompilius.
Her age? She is a woman, her lips
ring with woman's richest laughter—and yet she has
about her, like some strange magic robe, all the
ineffable glory of maidenhood.
Licinius.
And then that supple figure of hers—
did you ever see such peerless grace of outline?
Tibullus.
Her voice is music. If Helen's voice
in the least degree resembled hers, who can any
longer wonder at the passion of Paris or the flames
of Troy?
Valerius.
Her eyes are the most wonderful thing
of all—have you ever remarked them? Sometimes
they are full of laughter; sometimes they are full of
All lovely moods of woman seem to lighten through
them, and, when I watch them, I understand without
an effort all stormy or starlit passions of history.
Hortensius.
By Venus, for all her “ineffable glory
of maidenhood” she looks as if she could bite poor
old Caius!
Valerius.
He has not pleased her by his conversation.
You can see that.
Licinius.
No: he does not understand women.
He has had the folly to praise another woman before
Mary's face.
Mary.
Gentlemen, gentlemen. A little of your
attention in this direction, if you please. You will
have time enough to discuss your sweethearts, when
you leave me presently.
Tibullus.
We were not discussing sweethearts.
In the presence of the sun, stars wane and pale
into insignificance.
Mary.
And I am the sun! Does it need to study
at Rome to learn to pay so graceful a compliment—
the hot glaring flaring sun indeed! I would rather
be the moon. The sun shines on husbands, but the
moon gives light to lovers.
Valerius.
No: the world basks in the sun's rays,
as we in the rays of your superb beauty.
Mary.
I once loved a man. You may not believe
it, but I did. And he was the only man who never
paid me a compliment. I think that was why I loved
him.
He must have been a heartless villain.
Mary.
On the contrary, he was all heart—somewhat
too much so.—But come, I have a surprise for
you—a new dish and a sweet one—the sweetest in
the world. Observe—my servants are now bringing
it. I know you Romans like novelties.
Now, gentlemen, who shall lift the cover? Which is
the cunningest epicure among you?
Licinius.
Pompilius!
Valerius.
Hortensius!
Hortensius.
Licinius!
Pompilius.
Valerius!
Mary.
You don't seem to agree. Caius, you lift
the cover. You are the oldest, and therefore the
least likely to be greedy.
There, gentlemen! Did I not say that I had a
surprise for you—the sweetest dish in all the world?
Though Rome send warriors—and cooks—East and
West and North and South, they will never bring to
Rome a nobler gift for a royal banquet. This is the
dish to taste whose sweetness conquerors have paused
from conquest, poets from divinest labour,—yea, the
very gods from world-building, Apollo from his
impassioned lyre, and Jove from his surly sessions
own private recipe. It may not in our presence be
tasted, but . . . Caius, have you stared long
enough? Hortensius, look this way. Pompilius, I
am rapidly growing jealous. Valerius, have you
never seen such a thing before? Tibullus, did you
not know that such fruit grew in Jerusalem?
(To the SERVANTS).
Take away the dish—
only the dish—and bring Bashemath her dancing-robes.
(To the Girl).
Step down, Bashemath, you must
be tired of kneeling there. Don't be afraid. These
gentlemen are noble and well bred Romans—they
will not eat you—though Caius looks somewhat that
way inclined!—Now, when you are ready, you shall
dance before my friends—and for nothing. We are
not mercenary; we don't require a John the Baptist's
head for payment!
(The GIRL descends. Exeunt SERVANTS, with the dish and cover. The GIRL dances. Officers converse aside).
Hortensius.
A good joke.
Valerius.
Nay! 'tis going somewhat too far, I think.
Pompilius.
Nonsense. The girl is as proud as Venus
pacing before Jupiter, or flaunting her milk-white
charms before Paris.
Yes: but—in fact—her beauty in this
public place seems sadly wasted.
Pompilius.
Oh—you are never satisfied till beauty's
arms embrace you and beauty's lips close upon your
own!
Licinius.
Never.
(The dance ends. Exit DANCER).
Mary.
Now, gentlemen, I hope your hostess
has not misinterpreted your cultivated tastes, nor
altogether displeased you. It grows late: I must
retire and leave you to yourselves for awhile. You
will also, I fear, be deprived of your chief wit and
most brilliant talker, for I see that Caius has slipped
away in pursuit of my dancing-girl.
(She rises and withdraws).
Officers
(in chorus).
Good luck to Caius!
Scene II.
The same night.Street outside Mary's house.
(Enter Tibullus, followed almost immediately by Judas).
Judas.
A word with you. You are of the guests who leave
The house of Mary?
Tibullus.
What is that to you?
Judas.
Of little import—but to you it means
Much, very much. You love her?
Go your way;
Insult her not, insult me not, or else,
Jew though thou art, it may be worse for thee:
Ere this I would have stricken thee from my path,
Were not her nation thine.
Judas.
(drawing Tibullus aside).
Tibullus, listen.
I know thee, and I know thy love for her,
But Mary also I know. A thousand love her:
Romans and Jews alike lay down their arms
And pass beneath the yoke of Mary's beauty.
But of her thousand lovers thou alone
Dost love her purely, therefore love I thee
And now would speak with thee.
Tibullus.
Speak on: but harm not
Her reputation by a half breathed word,
Else surely will I slay thee!
Judas.
Reputation?
Oh, reputation is a doubtful word;
It means so much—so little—reputation!
Why, one man's reputation turns upon
The number of girls he's ruined—fame for him
Speaks from a hundred virgin lips dishonoured.
Again, some women count it sport to find
Unsullied maids for man; their reputation
Turns wholly upon success or non-success
In drawing towards old men's desirous lips
Young girls' lips non-desirous—'prythee which,
Which reputation's Mary's?
Tibullus.
Devil of hell,
Speak out, or else I slay thee!
(bowing obsequiously).
Nay, thy servant
Proceeds thus slowly, is of doubtful speech
And halteth, lest he wound thee. May he speak?
Tibullus.
Speak, and let hell receive thee.
Judas.
Wouldst thou know
The very whole, or wouldst thou know a part,
Part only, of the whole? The whole, they say—
(Tibullus strides forward, and makes as though he would seize Judas).
Nay, touch me not, else wouldst thou never hear
The whole!
Tibullus.
Once more—and 'tis the last time—speak.
Judas.
Remember then, most noble gallant sir,
Thyself didst bid me speak. Touch not thy sword:
Believe me, another needs that princely blade;
Could but that princely keen blade know the whole,
'Twould yearn to drink his heart's blood. But I dally:
Listen—thou trustest Mary—she betrays
Thy trust, is mistress to a hundred men,
Sells for sweet gold (gold is so very sweet!)
The lips thou hardly darest to dream upon;
Aye, even now within the very room
Thou leftest shortly since she, laughing softly,
With amorous kisses prostitutes herself,
Embracing thy sworn friend.
Tibullus.
His name—his name?
This sword shall drink before the morning's light
Its fill of blood: if thou art speaking truth,
Then thine. His name?
Judas.
Valerius.
Tibullus.
Go thy way.
I'll to the house of Mary.
(Exit Tibullus).
Judas
(laughing and looking after him).
Go thy way,
But hasten not so fast, thou valiant Roman!
Nay, spare thy breath—thou art so fleet of foot—
Leave them alone a little; it may be
The first embrace thus early in the night
Is scarce accomplished, and their lips close-joined
Will hardly part to greet you—Tarry therefore,
Unless you wish—as ardent Phinehas
Stabbed woman and man, our ancient record saith—
To stab them in mid-tide of wild enjoyment!
Nay, wait awhile, and when they pause for breath
Start forth, with those great flashing eyes of yours
And that drawn threatening sword—Be interlude
Then to their kisses, they'll be weary then
And glad to greet you; she perhaps (who knows?)
—Women are kind—may keep a place reserved
For you upon the smooth side of her couch
And give you noble opportunity.
—Well, two are thus disposed of. Will these Romans
Alive and valiant see to-morrow's sun?
I trow not. Thus proceeds with steps that leave
Flame in their track my scheme of vengeance.
Vengeance gives zest to love, and love inflames
Till all the sky burns red.
(Exit Judas).
Scene III.
—Same night. Private apartment in Mary's house. Mary amd Valerius engaged in conversation. Balcony outside, partly hidden by curtains. The window is open, the sky is visible, and the stars are shining.Valerius.
And so he loves you! 'Tis a generous youth:
Why not requite his passion? Cynics say
Women love vice in man, not virtuous deeds—
But is that true?
Mary.
A man of spotless worth
Is oft-times dull to deal with. Women love
True love in man; they love excitement better,
Excitement, movement, change. Moreover, too,
What women crave for—yes, beyond all else—
Is strength; they being the weaker must look up,
Not down—must lean, and not be leaned upon.
Tibullus worships me. I worship—strength.
Valerius.
Strength goes with baseness often.
Mary.
And with virtue
Weakness that ruins all. Your virtuous man
Trembles before a woman, cries “I love you,
But I love virtue better! Passion's fair,
But honour's fairer—we'll not sully honour.
As angels we shall meet.” Valerius,
Do you believe in angels?
Valerius.
I believe?
The dead are dead, I take it. I have seen
Wild battles where the countless slain lay heaped,
Filling the fields with horror. I have watched
Their strange stiff attitudes, their limbs outstretched,
Their faces pale but blood-streaked, and their eyes
Wide open, glaring at the sunlit heavens
Whence never pitying sun-god stooped to save:
And, as I watched, I have thought “Is this the seed
Whence spirits and angels spring? Impossible.”
(Tibullus appears on the balcony, unseen by Mary and Valerius, and watches).
Mary.
I love the sunlight; I love not the dead.
Valerius.
Thou art as very sunlight, what hath death
To do with thee? The gods, creating woman,
Made one thing deathless—beauty such as thine.
Mary.
The worms will banquet on it.
Valerius.
Speak not thus.
Nay, let us speak of love, for love transcends
All mortal limits, and our legends say
That gods for love's sweet sake have stooped to earth,
Forgetful of Olympus. Dost thou love me?
Mary.
Love—what is love? One moment's fierce-drawn breath,
One spasm of joy, the blossom of a flower,
One flash, and then the tomb. Yes, that is love.
Valerius.
Nay, are not earth's sweet brief things sweeter far
In virtue of their briefness? Aye, the gods
May envy man, meseems, for not to Jove
Who through the vistas of eternity
Pursues for ever love's evasive form
Fell ever brief strange rapture such as ours
When all past history's nights of passionate love
In our night mingled, and that night became
To mortal hearts immortal. Dost thou love me?
Mary.
Valerius—if I said, “I love Valerius”—
(Enter Tibullus suddenly, from the balcony).
(to Tibullus).
No, Bashemath's not here.
Tibullus.
Thou sweet-tongued liar,
Thou knowest I seek not Bashemath, but thee,
And thee I find—
Mary.
Discussing various points
Of dainty cookery, with our friend Valerius.
Pray, is there harm in that? The feast to-night
Was in some points amiss; Valerius brings
A hundred delicate choice recipes from Rome,
And he and I discuss them.
Tibullus.
In the night—
Alone—doors fastened—with your couch anigh,
Whereon to spread the banquet? Lie no more;
Though lying brings such radiance to your eyes,
Such colour to your cheeks, that half I say,
Takes on so fair and pure a form in you
That spotless innocence might feel ashamed,
Blush for its lack of grace, and doubt itself,
Beholding sin rewarded by the gods
With more than mortal beauty.
Mary.
Still, Tibullus,
Your periods pause upon the brink of verse.
Why hesitate to take the daring plunge?
You'd make a noble poet!
Tibullus.
Still the same—
Save that the lovely laughter in your eyes
Which I—the gods forgive me—once believed
Meant perfect purity, now means—
Valerius.
Tibullus,
Take friendly counsel, leave us.
Tibullus.
Leave you here!
You call that friendly counsel—devil's counsel.
I once believed in friendship, and in love;
I now believe in hate—and hate shall spur
My willing soul to vengeance. Come with me.
Leave this—your concubine—and come with me.
Valerius.
Take back those words.
Tibullus.
Nay, I add further words.
I say that here you linger like a coward,
That this sweet whore whose honied lips have drugged
To sleep the manhood in you may defend you!
Cower behind her—use her form as shield:
I would not pierce her body with my sword,
For you, being part of her by this night's deed,
Are separate yet, and as a separate form
Fit target for revenge. Come forth, I say!
Valerius.
Nay, rave not thus; though true it is indeed
Her beauty hath maddened wiser heads than yours.
She is not what you thought her: she is better,
Far better than you thought her, being a woman.
You dowered her with white wings, forgot her lips,
And womanhood resides in woman's lips,
Not in her wings; when man forgets her lips,
Woman forgets to love him. Learn the truth:
The gods make woman, not as poets make,
But as they love to find her.
Tibullus.
Gods of hell,
Not gods of heaven! Nay, must I strike you then?
Strike—before her—that false mouth she has kissed—
(makes as though he would strike Valerius).
Valerius.
Enough.
Mary.
Nay, pause!
Tibullus.
The die is cast. Farewell.
(Exeunt Valerius and Tibullus).
Mary.
Triumph! and yet I tremble; why, I know not.
Two valiant soldiers these; I love them both,
Or rather love not either. Men complain
They understand not woman, know not whom
She loves of all her lovers—yet, in sooth,
Is high and all the world in passionate light
Basks, woman loves an emperor; but at eve,
When the stars' magic flashes through her eyes
And somewhat in her soul of madness lurks,
She longs, it may be, to abase herself,
And loves that emperor's slave. A woman's heart,
Had all the stars of heaven the eyes of men,
The hearts of men, would, finding room for all,
Crave yet for stars to light new depths of gloom
In that strange heart's abysses.
Yet is there in me somewhat left of pity!
Faith have I none, nor hope; yet men are fair—
Tibullus wears the morning on his brow,
While in the eyes of dark Valerius
Couches revengeful midnight: I will forth
And stay this duel—it is not all unsweet
To woman that brave men should die for woman,
And men have died for me; but these shall not.
I'll forth and find them—swords have hardly crossed
As yet—when judgment on my soul descends,
And when the righteous strong Lord of my race
Says, “Lo! the flames await thee,” I will say,
“Lord, though I sold my beauty—though I squandered
The gifts thou gavest me—I did one deed
Not all unrighteous, for I saved two men
Noble from fate ignoble.
(Exit Mary).
Scene IV.
Same night. Street not far from Mary's house.(Enter Valerius and Tibullus).
Tibullus.
The world grows dark—a poisonous blackness pours
Its murky streams across the shuddering air,
Extinguishing the pale stars one by one
And leaving nought but midnight. Oh, Valerius,
Before I slay thee I would speak with thee,
Resume old days, yea call thee once more friend!
When, shouting barbarous shouts, the Gallic host
Charged in that wild affray and when their leader
Held me dismounted, swordless, at his mercy,
Rememberest thou how that strong sword of thine
Flashed in the air? our glittering foeman fell
Headlong, and all his life-blood stained the corn
Deep-red; but now our swords must cross. Valerius,
My brain is dazed, my thoughts like reinless steeds
Gallop at fiery random where they will,
Tossing their manes and foaming . . . After all
Is love worth friendship? Is it worth our while
To quarrel over such a jade as this?
Women were surely fashioned by the gods
First to fan high the flame of lust in man,
Then with sweet hands to quench it! Even the gods,
That they must take on mortal forms whereby
To accomplish passion: even the king of gods,
Jove, must win Danaë in a shower of gold,
Pursue Europa as a milk-white bull,
Court Leda in a wild swan's graceful form,
And so for ever. Can it matter now?
Can aught of evil wrought beneath the sun
Move me? Aye, even in Hades where the crowds
Of pale and shadowy ghosts flock to and fro
Between me and the phantoms one fair face
Would ever rise, one voice would cry “Valerius!”
(As even just now I heard)—“I love Valerius!”
And all my heart would hunger at the cry,
Hunger and thirst for blood; for nought can save
A soul who having loved is thus betrayed
Save only vengeance, vengeance sweet and full:—
Yea, were the sire of gods, the mighty Jove,
Proud passionate Mary's kingly paramour,
My soul would, seeking, mount up to the stars,
And, having found them sinning, 'mid the stars
My human sword should flash and stain the stars
With God's blood crimson—draw thy sword, Valerius,—
At once . . . quick, draw thy sword.
Valerius.
What must be, must.
Have at thee, then! The Fates no man can bribe.
They weave our destinies at varying looms,
But one gift bear they earthward never—pity.
I loved thee—and I love her—hear thou this.
But that I love her so that all the world
Fades from my gaze when she with queenly tread
Passes its vestibules, as Juno might,
Pausing awhile from dalliance with the gods
To yield one kiss to mortals. Mary's lips—
Yes, I have kissed her . . .
Tibullus.
Nay! enough, enough—
Must sudden onslaught slay thee?
Valerius.
Till one falls!
(They fight. Valerius falls).
Tibullus
(stooping over the body).
Dead! dead! and I have slain him. Oh! my friend,
My friend.
My brain grows clearer now. 'Twas clogged with blood.
My sword that pierced to brave Valerius' heart
Has lanced my brain as well, and now the blood
That clogged it leaves it clear. I understand.
The world's a fraud—one ghastly subterfuge
Whereby the gods that rule—misrule—Olympus
Would cheat and cozen mortals. Nought is right,
Save only wrong; friendship's a hollow name
And love is mockery; passion's nought but lust;
The man who worships woman—as I worshipped—
Commits a crime against the most high gods,
In that the contrast of his pure performance
Cries shame upon their deeds,—and so the gods,
Furious, hurl vengeance on him. Ah! the gods
Approve the base, honour the foul seducer:
Oh not to these a woman's love is given!
The lover who would die for her, wins nought,
But he who damns her soul and laughs, wins all.
(Enter Roman Officer, with company of SOLDIERS).
Arrest me: I am ready.
(Pointing to the corpse).
See, there lies
Valerius,—I have slain him.
Officer.
We arrest you.
(Exeunt Officer and SOLDIERS, leading Tibullus under arrest and bearing away gently the body of Valerius).
Scene V.
—Another Street.(Enter Mary in haste and looking around her. A faint light of dawn glimmers in the East).
Mary.
Not here! Then this is not the road they took,
And my good deed falls fruitless. Long ere now
Their swords have clashed. . . but after all, what matters?
The deeds of years not by one single deed
Are cancelled, though that deed stood out superb
And took the world with sunlight—nay, the world
Like colours in a web, and God, no doubt,
Could nowise else design a fitting pattern.
God. . . once I hoped in God—in early days
Dreamed that the blue lake glittered at his touch
And that the light of morning on the hills
Was light that fell from heaven; but now—ah! now
The light of morning is an alien thing,—
The light of lamps in festal chambers stirs
Pulses that throb not at the morning's flame:
Yet, while the gay lamps shine, within my soul
Spreads wide the eternal darkness.
(Enter Jesus, unperceived by Mary).
Once a man
Spake words of hope—sweet words from human lips
Seemed to reveal the God behind the veil,
And all my heart in answer to those words
Sprang heavenward, even as flowers whose petals turn
Wide open towards the sunlight. God seemed near:
The lonely mountains, when those words were spoken,
Gleamed as with angels' wings, and all the earth
Was as God's footstool; now this sinful city
Stands between me and God, and all my deeds
Raise clamorous voices, crying “In such a place
You ruined one—another—here another—
Depart, for hell awaits you.” I had dreamed
I might be loved—but once—with noble love,
Love born of heaven and light: I have been loved,
Not once—a hundred times—yet every time
Have learned to scorn the lover, seeing his love
The East's afire with dawn,—no dawn for me
Upon the earth accursed, accursed in heaven,
Worshipped by man (what is that but a curse?)
Yet ever hearing in my heart the cry
“Thou, worshipped one, art just the lowest of things!
Men kiss thy lips, and then behind thy back
Their wanton foul tongues make a jest of thee:
Thou art the lowest of things—a fallen woman.”
For all else there is hope; for snakes and worms,
For thieves and murderers, for vilest things,
Men who seduce, the base hearts that betray—
Aye, for the lowest of men there still is hope,
But is there hope for woman?
Jesus
(advancing towards Mary).
There is hope.
| Jesus of Nazareth | |