University of Virginia Library

Scene I

In front of the king's house, Jerusalem. Herod, seated on a rock, overlooks the city and the Holy Mount. Blind Babbas stands beside him, moving his hands in the air.
Babbas.
What do you see?

Herod
(anxiously).
It is not here . . .
My noblest monument.

Babbas.
What do you see,
And what is stretched before your eyes? The Temple? . . .
Look at it, look up to the little House
Of God. . . . That day you stormed Jerusalem
You spared the Temple, much as you spared me,
Blinding my eyes . . . God's House—and I am glad
I cannot see it—so you spared my eyes.
You face our ruined Temple—what beyond?

Herod.
The Amphitheatre. . . . But it is not here—
My greatest work! . . .
Could you but see! It is the distant spikes,
The turrets and the rising fortresses.
It is not here—my noblest work.

Babbas.
Beyond
The Amphitheatre? . . .

Herod.
It is yet to build.
I can see far beyond, and overarching
This petty House of God, as in mirage,
And gleaming in the air, a perfect Temple,
Costly as Solomon's. It glitters on me
With every sunset, white and glittering. . . .
[He weeps.
And yet I may not enter the fair Courts. . . .
A stranger, grape by grape,
I have enriched the golden vine that hangs
Colossal on the porch. . . .
I may not enter the fair Courts. I am
An Edomite, a stranger, and rejected.
If God would love me . . .
If God would set His heart on me! I build
Wherever I am loved a monument:
And I am filled as is the moon at full,
My whole heart in this vision. . . . Everywhere
It is myself, and where it most excels,
And where I have devised the mystery,
I may not look close on my God. Is this
A sorrow to you with your open lids?

Babbas.
I mourn indeed there is no royal priest . . .
Without a blemish . . . beautiful. The Temple
His own to enter, and he has no place!

[Herod stands with fixed eyes.
Herod.
There is no royal priest . . .
And I can never serve as priest. I mourn.

Babbas
(gently).
My son, I see your Temple. It shall rise;
You give me fresher sight.
[He lays his hand over Herod's.
What hurries you?
Your skin grows tense. What is it?

Herod.
Past that rock
A single horseman . . . no, a band of horse . . .
But one in front more urgent at the gate.
They have dismounted.

Babbas.
Leave me then in darkness.
Descend!

Herod
(who has moved forward, turns back to the old man).
We will abide these tidings.
[He seats Babbas on a ledge, then strains downward towards the rocky path of ascent.
Pheroras!
[He embraces his brother, who climbs to him.
Ho, Pheroras, your face. . . .

Babbas
(groping toward Pheroras).
Speak!

Herod
(beating his breast).
Not too sudden.

Babbas.
Speak!

Pheroras.
Antony is dead.

Herod.
Mark Antony! . . .
[He rends his garment.
But I can see him, comfortable, lusty,
And all to-morrow his. But I can hear him,
The hearty, rallying tones . . . Mark Antony! . . .
A voice that had grown soft on woman's love.

Pheroras
(nodding his head).
She died with him.

Herod.
Of herself chose to die?
[Pheroras nods again.
Then Antony
Gave no commands . . . and yet her majesty
She knew was in this action. Antony
And Cleopatra—star on star extinct. . . .
They will be buried as one king for ever;
And Antony's great error proved the truth.
Why are you waiting round? There is no more. [OMITTED]
These Romans, ah! these fellow-kings, these men
Whose breath is on one's cheek, whose eyes are level,
Who are as gods, who do not lift one up. . . .

Pheroras
(shrugging his shoulders).
There is no more? We are as fishes cast
Out of their element on the hot banks,
And like to die . . .
Mark Antony, who crowned you, in the dust,
And Cæsar . . .

Herod.
True!
You speak the truth: I must go straight to Rome,
To Cæsar . . . I will wear my diadem
Till Rhodes; then go bareheaded, but with state,
To Cæsar.
(Suddenly to Pheroras.)
Break the news to Mariamne.
[Exit Pheroras.
(To Sohemus, who, having climbed up, has waited behind Pheroras.)
Sohemus, lead this old man down the rocks.
When he is safe, return.

[Exit Sohemus, guiding Babbas.
Babbas
(as he disappears).
We grope about—
Eyes have we and we see not; all of us
Are groping on the earth!

Herod
(calling).
Return!
And I must give commands . . . for now my death
Is moving on, is moving down to me,
As sure as an approaching caravan.
Cæsar will kill me; it is now my end;
And looking down on Pheroras, I see him
As a black messenger
With tidings of my death to Mariamne,
With tidings of her death, for she must be
Beside me where I am, and ghost to ghost.
The solitude of the new elements
Were base without her. I should have no voice—
All quenched, drowned . . .
(With a sudden cry.)
Mariamne!
O echo, O sure answer back from all
The hills she loves! . . .
How the earth dotes on her! how the sun follows
Her path to dote on her! how her own youth
Desires her! how her blood
Wooes her as for itself! . . .
To check the changes,
Season on season, of my apple flower . . .
To snap the branch! . . .
I'll move from her in secret: I am bearing
Her life away. Should I not move in secret?

[He turns, hearing a sound, to speak with Sohemus, and faces Mariamne and her sons.
Mariamne
(presenting her sons).
These—
For your blessing and farewell.

Herod
(thrusting the children away).
Is it because
You cannot say farewell?
Or is it you are haunted for my face?

Mariamne.
My lord,
You have sent Pheroras with solemn tidings:
He says that you will journey to your death.

Herod.
Mariamne, but your face is grave—a sky
Woven throughout without a seam. What terror
Is in your heart?

Mariamne.
No terror.

Herod.
And if Cæsar
Torment and kill me—ah, indifferent
As a lotus-flower washed by a bloody current,
Indifferent to my death!

Mariamne.
Farewell, my lord;
I did but climb the hill to say farewell,
Putting these first that I might be the last.

[She kisses him.
Herod.
Cold hands, cold cheeks! Have you heard, Mariamne,
How Cleopatra is at last in peace
Entombed with Antony?

Mariamne.
Your sons, my lord—
These little ones . . . Your blessing and farewell.

Herod
(blankly staring at her).
What will you think of, child, when I am gone?
Will you be mourning for me? Will you make
Such twilight as should fall before the night?
Speak but a little. . . .
Shall I go to Rome?
Can we thus sever? Speak!

Mariamne.
But were I Cæsar should I plot your death?—
I could not, Herod. It may be he loves you,
And cannot of a sudden, seeing you
So lusty in your kingship and so full
Of joy in all your days, put you to death.
Cæsar, be pitiful!

Herod.
No, no:
You will have tidings of my death.—Begone!
This is too sharp that you so prize your life,
Your life without my love. Where are you passing?
What is there for you in my absence?—Rancour
And all malignity and sullen pangs. . . .

Mariamne
(as if dazed).
Will you be long away?

Herod.
Would you were dead!
And from your eyes you wish it back. This face
You leave me with to set up at my prow,
This till I die! Farewell!

[He leaps down the rock.
Mariamne.
A murderer!
[Instinctively she turns to her children and covers them with her hands and kisses them.
[To Sohemus, who ascends.)
The king breaks from us suddenly; his children
Be in your charge. There, take them, Sohemus!