University of Virginia Library

Scene III

A hall in the royal house of the Asmoneans at Alexandrium
Salome is seated, weaving a scarlet girdle. Herod enters. Taking Salome's hand, he sweeps her along with him as he crosses the apartment.
Herod.
There is a pearl, as somewhere in the sea
There is a pearl the diver does not find,
Strains for in blindness, gropes for in the dark!
The diver rises bleeding for the air . . .
Sweet, will you aid me? Sweet, there is no treasure
I lacked in boyhood that your love attained not.
Win me her love,
This Mariamne, till she love as thou,
Down where there is no speech. She is withholden.
Salome, I beseech her at your hands!
[Pushing her away.
Salome, I so fear to look on her . . .
(After a pause.)
Oh, it would kill her
To spread before her vision, even in cleft,
The wealth she owns—for gold we toss about
As merchandise, for gold we twist in chains
What is it to the lumps of heavy gold
Stored hidden under river-beds, beneath
Fountains, the roots of crags?
Nor could she know
I shut her in my fort, no element
Around but the Dead Sea, that she might gather
My vision on its glass, and dream my dream—
A nest of phœnix not less full of life,
Of comforting, of cheer
Or perfume than to die with him she loves.
Salome, can she learn
That she must die with me, beside my death,
That I must feel her drawing close to me,
To the same quiet, side by side? Salome,
I have such fear she of herself would rather,
I being dead, 'mid changes, far apart,
Spend all my wealth on some Mark Antony,
Some sharp-set prodigal of Rome . . .
[Joseph opens the curtain and Mariamne enters, dressed in mourning.
But this . . .
Joseph, you lead our queen
Forth in this sombre, grave attire?

Joseph
(with deep obeisance).
Her pleasure;
For when we told her of your sovereignty,
Swift as a heron she would speed to you.

[Herod dismisses Salome and Joseph with a wave of his hand; he looks long at Mariamne for recognition; she gives none.
Herod.
So swift to draw to me, my bird . . . Mariamne,
And you have journeyed day and night?
So far—
We come from very far . . . it startles us.
And you were so in haste you would not stay
To robe you for your crown? Queen Mariamne,
The kingdom of the Jews is thine—King David
Wore of God's oil, thy fathers of their sword.
I have won it for you: it is all my bliss,
I am a king to you. No salutation?
But will you make me an idolater,
Thus kneeling to an image? Mariamne,
So to repulse! . . . Nor speech that is my bread,
Nor any looks that feast me, nor those motions
Conscious with knowledge of my watching eyes,
Nor any preparation of your beauty,
No forethought, nor misgiving. I forget—
You are born royal, and these added titles
Tease you contemptuous . . .
Lo, what is this?
You are weeping!

[He springs to her and kisses her repeatedly.
Mariamne.
Stay!

Herod.
Mariamne,
Think not to stay my kisses. By thy life . . .

Mariamne.
My life! If you had not been here—

Herod.
Thou mad one,
What hadst thou done?
Wouldst thou have loosed a blade and smitten thee,
Should I have found thee earth-long in thy blood?

Mariamne.
No.

Herod.
Thy wild words—
What were they?

Mariamne.
You commanded I should fall
As a brute victim at the sacrifice;
Or, chained about your tomb, I had been treated
As your camel or your horse, if you had died
While journeying from home.

Herod.
Eyes of the topazes!
What dream is this, what dream? Is it because
I shut thee in Masada? I had fears,
My dove, I had such fears for thee, I shut thee
Away as thou hadst not been living. Scarcely
I thought, save of the peril. At Masada
By the Dead Sea, and girt by sterile land,
I knew none could attain to ravish thee.
It was the haste—
It was the care—
You suffered?
Sick fancies haunted you? O sweet, but queens
In jeopardy are often thus shut up—
Or underground, in towers, or over sea.
But you are fallen very white in hue.
Your health . . .

Mariamne.
I have full health. I would not die,
I would not be cut off, and all my race
Cut off in me. It is not just my thread
Of life—there are so many! While I live
They live a little with me: they are warmed
A little of my blood: I comfort them.
You gave command to Joseph—

Herod.
Ha!

Mariamne.
He told me
You gave him that commandment, and he swore—

[He turns violently from her, drawing his hands back.
Herod.
Could he have said it of himself alone?
Could he have dared so break his oath? My silence—
Was it unsealed by him? He broke the seal,
He thawed the rigour, and, in little words
Of love and of caress, that have no meaning,
As in a fairy-tale he told my grief
Of how I loved so jealous? . . . and his oath
Floating before him as a wisp of straw
One laughs to follow as it floats along!
. . . He told her, and her lids dropt very deep,
And there were signs, and the deep flush, my sign,
The quiet, growing rose as at the dusk . . .
[Turning again and facing Mariamne.
Mariamne, so you pleaded for your life,
And you prevailed. Will you not plead with me?
Will you not recollect and feign again
To me, your husband, with the words you feigned,
The love you feigned to love . . . or was the man
Beloved, who was your lover?
[Mariamne stands quite still.
Is this pride?
You are a Maccabee, an Israelite,
King Alexander's daughter—I of Edom,
Descended from a slave of Ascalon,
Not to be answered by your royal lips.

[Mariamne sighs a little: then, raising her eyes, speaks quietly.
Mariamne.
How was it drawn from him?
As the night comes up into the evening-tide.
I was sad, and he was sorrowful to death
That he had sworn a cruelty and wrong
So unavailing to repent, if done.
Spare him, lord, in belief of my clear words.

[Herod gazes at her with awe, then muffles his face in his robe, and speaks slowly.
Herod.
Were you so sad at dying, when to die
Was but to rise up at my bidding, Come!
Was but to quicken to my cry, Receive me
Back in your arms? Oh, you are slow of heart!
When I was dying of the pest in Rome,
And knew not I should look upon you more,
Death was not cold, death glowed with Mariamne.
I had prepared her welcome on that shore!

[She flashes one rapid glance at him.
Mariamne.
I will wait you on that shore, my lord the king.

Herod
(dropping the folds of his mantle).
O my gazelle, my noble distance-keeper,
Wilt thou indeed await me?
Then why tarry?

[He strains her to his heart.
Mariamne.
But do not cast between us any more
One that is dead. Spare Joseph, merciful!

Herod.
The dead between us, Mariamne? Doe
Of the high places . . . How?

Mariamne.
My grandfather . . .
[He grips her wrist.
(In a whisper.)
My brother . . .

Herod.
Peace! Were you drowning in my arms,
Your voice would sink before me so, your thoughts
Would drop bewildered so . . .

Mariamne
(drawing back from him at arm's length).
My grandfather—
My brother!
[He watches her as if she were working a spell.
. . . I am ready for my death.
I have often dreamed it—death or sleep, one pillow.
Why should I speak of the great ancestors?
You did not breathe their life. Why should I speak,
Lord Herod, of my state
And purpose as your wife?
(Hanging on his hand.)
Spare Joseph—merciful!

Herod
(still speaking gently, as he draws her closer).
Mariamne, I would reason with you. Speak!
I would question the great blood in you: a servant
False to his oath, a soldier in accord
With foes, a sentinel
Who to the nearing spy betrays the path—
Can such men live? Are they for kings to use?
[He has loosed her and she moves away, looking out over the tombs of her ancestors. He follows.
Flesh of their dust, pronounce: can such men live?