University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

The Valley of the Jordan.
Chorus of People.
Behold, he comes!—he whose voice cried
For years within the Wilderness,
Unquelled by hunger, cold, distress!—
Prepare God's way, both straight and wide!
Each valley He shall fill—
Each mount and hill
Shall be brought low;
The crooked shall be straight in growth;
Rough ridge and row
Shall be made smooth;
And all flesh shall salvation see
In God's Paternity.

Enter John.
John.
I do baptize men only for repentance,
Whence comes remission for your previous sins.
O, viperous generation! a Voice hath warn'd you
To flee from wickedness, which dragon-like
Pursues to rend you? Bring forth, therefore, fruits
Worthy of true repentance, nor fall back
On Abraham and the mist-clad patriarch times—
Whose sacred clouds and thunders none may scan—
For God is able of these stones to raise
Fresh children unto Abraham. Now, behold
The axe is laid unto the root; each tree
That bringeth not good fruit shall be cut down
And cast into the fire.

Chorus of People.
What shall we do?

John.
He that two garments hath, let him give one
To those who need: he that hath food, do likewise.

Chorus of Publicans.
We, also, at thy hand
Would be baptized with holy dew,
In this our hopeful land:
Master! what should we do?

John.
Exact no more than justice doth appoint.

Chorus of Soldiers.
Master! what shall we do?

John.
Do violence to no man!—cease your trade
In bloody fields: seek ye the loom or plough:
Be false to none: content ye with your wage.

Full Chorus.
Who art thou?—say!
For we expect thy promised day,
When to all barren fields and sorrowing homes
Messiah comes!
And art thou he?

John.
With water I baptize; a mightier one—
Albeit my brother, younger by six months —
Cometh, the dusty latchet of whose shoes
I am not worthy to unloose; and He,
With fire of life, and with the Holy Ghost,
Shall baptize all who are His chosen grain—
Casting the chaff away, to burn till lost
In ashes and the highway's common dust.

SCENE II.

The River Jordan. A Grove on one side; a Roman Temple on the other.
Enter Herodias from the Temple.
Herodias.
I have besought the Gods of Rome
For aid and vengeance,—and a sign
That every towering Form of stone
Approved of my design.
No smile—and no oracular word—
But from the walls there fell a sword!
The omen was divine.

(Voices from the Grove—Herodias retires within the Temple.)
Enter John from the Grove, followed by his Disciples.
John.
Do honestly; love God, but fear no man.
Herod, with all his guards, is of less weight
Than one true soul. Fear God, but love Him more;
For he whose love is only through his fear,
Owns a low piety, worse than a dog
Who hath no higher knowledge. Come, my brothers!

Enter many People to be Baptized.
(John now steps into the waters. Many come to him, in succession.)
Chorus of Disciples.
Destroying Wrath of ancient days—
The terrible God of Moses—
Is changing to a pitying love,
Surrounded by divine soft rays;
While from dark clouds we now can see,
Descending slow, a sun-lit dove
Whose breast hath tints of roses,
That glance and sparkle tremulously!

John
(baptizing).
Pass on your way, my brothers!—
Fix not your hopes for ever on this world,
But on a higher Kingdom, which is Heaven! —
Go on your way rejoicing in the Lord:—
Who is a pitying Father to us all:—
Do unto others as you would that they
Should do unto you: —in the wilderness
Aid those who are lost, and in a shipwreck those
Who sink where ye can swim;—but who now cometh?
This young man whose divine humility
Maketh my rough knees tremble! “One,” he saith,
“From Nazareth.” I know who he must be,—
Though since our childhood we have never met.
Behold, a white bird softly now descendeth,
And hovereth over him! This—this is he,
My younger brother, grown to man's estate
Since we were parted in our infant years,
Whom I have seen in visions!—this is he
Whose winnowing-fan shall separate the chaff
From the sound corn; shall make the poor rejoice,
The rich ones sorrow; give his pure heart's blood
For sinful men, and teach the trampled people—
Earth's slavish lap-dogs for successive kings—
Herodias appears in the porch of the Temple, and retires.)
The worshippers of gew-gaws in a row—
Of necklaces, crowns, bracelets that excite
Mad follies—seeing not reality—
Of chains and charms, all framed and forged in Hell—
Shall teach, I say unto ye, that the shade
That followeth on one godly ploughman's heel,
Homeward returning from his honest work,
Is nobler than the shining devilishness
Of all the Cæsars and their Tetrarch mimes!

Roman Guards issue from the Temple, and seize John, who is borne away to prison.
Several of his Disciples, striving to rescue John, are slain.

SCENE III.

Bed-chamber of Salome—daughter of Herodias by Philip, Tetrarch of Ituræa, and brother of Herod.
(Herodias caressing Salome.)
Herodias.
Thou hast a Mænad shape, and in the dance
'Twill best be seen.

SALOME.
But not as for the bath!

Herodias.
No; for these garments I will substitute
This rich transparent veil, and wide-mesh'd nets
Enwrought with gold threads and keen-flashing gems.
Come—fold thee—thus—or thus?

Salome.
I fear this dress
Will discompose all modesty.

Herodias.
Think only
Of that wherein thou dost surpass all others.

Salome.
The dance?

Herodias.
Thou hast, besides, a dazzling beauty—
Stinging, withal!

Salome.
I hope thou dost but jest?
I would not sting.

Herodias.
Thou dost not understand.
The music and the lamps will I arrange,
So to diffuse rare fancies through the brain
Where wine and incense, subtilly devised,
Hath bred voluptuous delirium.

Salome.
But nought of this—

Herodias.
How say'st thou?

Salome.
Shall I feel.

Herodias.
The better will thine innocence and art
Make others feel it. Be not led astray
By scruples, thoughts, hopes, fears, or vanities—
Though, for the last, thy secret tinglings
Were not mistimed; but give free scope to grace;
Cast back thy beaming hair—thine arms on high
Wave, and fling back, and bend thy serpent shape
On all sides, thus—t' the music. I shall call thee
“Dipsas!”

Salome.
A burning serpent!—do not so!

Herodias
(laughing).
Or “Seminuda!”—vestal of the Sun!

Salome.
I do not like these names.

Herodias.
Well, 'tis no matter.
Lord Herod's birthday must we celebrate,
As each best can.

Salome.
But, mother, hast thou not
Some further purpose in this dance? Thy face
Is wrought with changeful lines and lights?

Herodias.
I have—
But no design that's clear. 'Twere vain romance,
Save that the hot breath and the whispering
Of a red-crested basilisk charms mine ear
With something that may chance—causing great joy and fear!