 | Queen Mariamne |  |
Scene III
A tent in the gardens of Jericho; in the midst an embroidery frameAlexandra enters, leaving the tent door open at the back
Alexandra
(perceiving Mardian and another eunuch at the tent door).
Mardian, and you, his fellow, do you whisper?
I have green purses in my robe. What news?
Your Mistress Egypt couches with our crown?
Alas, madam, she wonders if Cæsar's
love were not a midnight dream; if young
Pompey were not a vision of the sleep before
waking; and if my lord Antony be not the
delusion of noon—so uneffecting is her desire
in Judæa. I think, madam, she means no
good to Lord Herod, for she lies with her
face between rolls, the matter whereof is
pharmacy. . . . I hear her jewels as she moves
her head. Sometimes she makes sounds
such as we hear under the reeds in a full
water. . . . I know their omen.
Alexandra.
Ha—sounds!
Mardian.
But yet to-day the Lord Herod has
given it out he hunts wild asses with her. . . .
Gifts are come to her. We know not if the
stony places may not persuade him—the
stony places and the chase.
Alexandra.
Your queen?
Mardian.
She is tiering and re-tiering her
head: she who put on but one headdress
for Cydnus must try twenty for a hunt of
wild asses. She flings them to the wall and
screams; her woman Charmian is pale as if
fury.
Alexandra.
A purse for you—and you. Suck up your news;
See me again to-night after the chase.
[They move apart, whispering.
Judith!
[Mariamne's waiting-woman brings in silks and begins to thread them on the broidery-frame.
(In her ear.)
Your! task?
Judith.
Madam, it is impossible I should do
your bidding, and observe the ways of the
Lady Cypros and the Lady Salome. My
mistress guards me by her, and she loves that
I should play the harp.
Alexandra.
A fool!
[Mariamne approaches the tent.
Judith, retire . . . and Mardian with you.
[Mariamne bows low to Alexandra, and then embraces her. The servants leave the tent.
Mariamne.
Mother—
O mother, at your politics! Sweet mother,
To be a comfort to you; let me comfort;
Let me be to you as a child in age.
Alexandra
(pushing back Mariamne's arms).
Child, Cleopatra puts you in the shade:
Better to see you in a sepulchre.
Mariamne
(caressingly).
Herod comes to me in my tent each evening.
Mother, I have no fear of Cleopatra. . . .
Alexandra.
You have no fear! Child, child, then you are fatal;
O child, then you are dead: you ruin others,
And you are ruined! Fear is as the homage
To Life. All mothers, from the wild fox-bitch
And nesting partridge even to her who bore you,
Worship their joys with fear. When deadly rumour
Of coming and death-belted thunder roves
The air, there is a trembling of all trees,
All creatures; and a man who conquers, conquers
His enemy behind the guard of fear.
Fate whispers to the stars that fan our hearts;
And if we know not fear our star is sunken.
Have fear! or cease to rule, or cease to hope,
Or cease to live; . . . you are become as death,
You are become the death of all you love.
This Cleopatra that you will not fear
Is pitied by your husband, and, relenting,
He hunts with her to-day.
O Mariamne,
Take power! If I could see you
Like Esther on her throne, as excellent,
As savoursome, as subtle in conception
Of ways to spread her glory through the land,
It would avenge my wrongs!
Mariamne.
Your son, your priest . . .
Alexandra.
My priest before Jehovah, my fair priest!—
[Holding Mariamne's face in her hands.
What would you be, what would you do, what is it
That haunts you in the night-time? What delight
Would you make solid for me in the earth?
Your pleasure, mother;
Save that I will not plot against my lord,
Save that I cannot fear Queen Cleopatra.
Alexandra.
Words fall from off your polished head and slip
From off your polished gaze and leave you changeless.
If Egypt rule your husband we are lost:
If you would rise and rule—
Mariamne.
Mother, I rule him.
I have no fear.
[She sits down to her frame.
Alexandra.
Fool! I could rend your robe—
Nay, rend my own as at a funeral.
Oh, the stiff wing you raise against me, proud!
A man's affections are not the whole man:
He loved your brother—
[Cypros and Salome are seen approaching the tent.
Loves these alien women:
He is a son to one, to one a brother,
[Cypros and Salome enter with effrontery.
Have you no greeting, madam, for the queen?
Cypros.
It is rather she who should bow down
before me. Mariamne . . .
(taking up a
corner of the embroidery)
Mariamne, my
daughter-in-law . . . This is a fine stitch,
Salome; this is a new stitch . . . Mariamne,
and the woman my son has made queen!
Pretty stitches. And look! our proud lady
is broidering a crown with her silks.
Alexandra.
Woman, what is your business
with the queen?
Mariamne.
Mother, her business is with the
stitchery. It is the only business on which
we can confer with her. Lady Cypros, do
not snatch the pattern. You may take the
thing and copy it.
Cypros.
But Salome does not need to copy it.
She has an eye . . .
Mariamne.
Salome was ever a sempstress.
Salome.
Ever a sempstress! . . . Mariamne,
husband.
Mariamne.
I am no politician.
(To Cypros,
who is snuffing a vase of perfume.)
Yes, that
vase of rich unguents is a present from the
Queen of Egypt.
Cypros.
How she honours you! And she, who
is a real queen.
(To Salome.)
Our perfumes
have not this itch of the slime; our perfumes
of Arabia are light and dry as the dust of
the desert. This is wet; it lurks like the oil
some animal secretes in the hidden caves of
its body.
Salome.
Do not breathe it too heavily, Mariamne;
it may be poisoned.
[Mariamne rises and deeply snuffs the vase.
Mariamne.
You are right, Lady Cypros, this
substance is very choice—yet familiar.
Mother, is it not the same I remember when
you returned from Egypt? You brought
home seven vials.
Cypros.
Seven! do you hear, Salome?
[Mariamne smiles.
(to Salome).
You are careful of
my daughter—you have tidings.
Salome.
It is a love-letter, madam, a love-letter—part
of a love-letter! I would acquaint
Mariamne with this parchment. I have
stolen it; for though it is written to Antony,
it is full of the praises of Herod. I may
esteem such praises; but to a wife they may
prove distasteful.
(Reads.)
‘He is as a
leopard, as a unicorn in his wildness; he
pricks me to curiosity and to pursuit as a
wild animal; and he is as remote: one must
surprise him. Antony, will you hunt me
this wild beast, will you draw him into subjection
to my pleasure?’
You are no politician, and this is of no account.
[Alexandra glances at Mariamne, who remains silent. Old Cypros, looking out, sees Herod and Cleopatra pacing together.
They are just of a height.
Alexandra.
Mariamne is taller than Cleopatra.
Cypros.
Mariamne is not taller than my son.
Would you say that? Mariamne stoops forward
when she walks. I have seen her
between Herod and Salome as a gate between
two towers.
[Alexandra motions to Mariamne to get up.
Mariamne
(to Alexandra).
I have looked
down on the jewelled band of Cleopatra's
head, when I was standing behind her. I
have counted the jewels. There cannot be
dispute.
[She resumes her seat.
Cypros.
Can there not, Beauty?
(To Alexandra.)
It was not for her stature my son
chose her; it was for her haughtiness.
Mariamne.
Stand back, stand further off.
You are in my light.
Salome.
You are speaking to my mother.
Alexandra.
She is angered for her mother.
Mariamne
(clutching at her broidery-frame as
You shall be burnt as a witch;
you are an idolater!
[Cypros, with a muttered imprecation, goes out, followed by Salome, who turns at the door.
Salome.
She worships incantations of the air,
And demons as they flash from evil eyes.
She knows there must be many gods—there must;
And but in jealousy you of Judæa
Proclaim there is one God . . . A little nation,
It is a little people has one God! . . .
The wise know well that there are many gods,
Some from the exhalations in the stars,
Some from the chinks and crannies in the flame,
Some from the rocks . . .
[She stops affrighted.
But if you say
She worships images, King Herod worships—
Has he not raised a temple to Apollo,
Of a winged man, with wings on neck and feet?
Has he not raised a temple to the sun?
[She goes out breathless. Alexandra passes her hand across her brow.
Alexandra.
Do you not see? Has nothing changed to you?
Mariamne!
Mariamne.
I dismissed the women, mother.
Leave me in peace!
Alexandra.
They must be all cast out.
Salome
(returning).
Cast out! Burnt as a
witch indeed! But it is the king determines
our lives and our destiny, and the number of
our days must not exceed his own. Ay,
Mariamne? His embrace, or the embrace
of death?
[She goes out.
[Alexandra, after a long silence, moves to the tent door, looks round, and returns to Mariamne.
Alexandra.
They must be all exterminated; vile
As Gentiles in the Temple—the whole race
Must be exterminated from the palace,
Your children in their place, your Alexander,
Aristobulus of the royal names . . .
[Enter Herod. He glances quickly at Alexandra, having caught the name Aristobulus.
My son, a grandam's babble!
Herod
(to Mariamne).
Cleopatra
Is coming to your tent.
Mariamne.
I will not see her.
Herod.
You will not see her? All your will in this.
No further thought of her!
[He turns toward Alexandra, who makes a gesture of despair toward Mariamne, but smiles at Herod, and withdraws.
Beloved, I have a suit to you. My mother
Complains that you dismissed her.
Mariamne.
Yes.
Herod.
Mariamne,
Her heart is fixed on me. In all my fortunes
She has been true.
Mariamne.
Herod, I have a suit—
Banish your mother.
Are these lips the same
That break in flower so freshly from the cheek?
Are these clear eyes
Clear after such offence? Banish my mother . . .
Banish the pyramids!
Mariamne.
If they offended.
My lord is fond
Of clapping into desert fortresses
Those he professes dear. The Lady Cypros
Is irksome to me.
Herod.
Then she uttered truth:
She said you spoke to her with condescension.
Mariamne.
There is Masada—let her harbour there.
Herod.
Masada—are you mad? It were her tomb!
(With a low laugh.)
Besides,
One does not hide one's mother as a jewel
That may be stole away.
You love your mother?
Have you paid Cleopatra all her dues,
My subject-king?
Herod.
I am free of Cleopatra.
Mariamne
(laying her head on his bosom).
If we might be a little to ourselves,
And keep our mothers locked in fortresses,
One north, one south.
Dear, it is irksome to me
To hear your mother loves you; it is irksome
To hear of you at all.
I would be silent
Concerning you at all times, for my mother
Hates you, and falls into vituperation;
I have to close my ears to her: your mother
Loves you with praise so fulsome, that again
I have to close my ears. I love you best.
[She looks up; Herod kisses her. Through the tent door Cleopatra watches like a stone sphinx.
| Queen Mariamne | |