University of Virginia Library

Scene IV

Alexandrium: a room of the royal fortress
Enter to Sohemus, Mariamne
Mariamne.
I would ride forth to-day.
[Perceiving that Sohemus gives no heed.
Prepare me
A cohort of fair camels.

Sohemus
(bowing).
I am your slave.

Mariamne.
Say rather
You are my jailer, for you do not stir.

Sohemus
(bowing again).
I am your slave—do with me what you will.

[He goes on pacing; Mariamne stands by the window and sighs.
Mariamne
(with a gesture of entreaty to Sohemus as he passes).
The air!

Sohemus.
I cannot, queen; my lord's commands!

[He moves past her.
Mariamne.
Leave off your pacing—
Sohemus, let me pace. Cease! I am weary
Of watching you so harsh against the walls;
As I should watch a spider drop his web,
And up again, for ever to and fro.
[Meeting Sohemus's eyes as she rises and prepares to pace.
Why am I here?

Sohemus.
Look in my shield.

[Lifting it.
Mariamne
(closing her eyes).
He never
Can be so hated as I hate him. Sorrow
It is that I have looked upon his face.

Sohemus.
And would you look upon his face no more?

[She hesitates.
Mariamne.
O that his life were in my very hands!

[Sohemus stands before her.
Sohemus.
Madam, there is report your lord is dead.

Mariamne.
Ay—but a vague report spread through the lands,
Carried by pilgrims, wrought into a tale,
To cover up the people in such darkness,
That their great king is dead. You are not weeping?

Sohemus.
It is report, and yet so vehement
His mother at Masada mourns his death;
His sister takes the news; and for the manner,
Report says he was tortured and then killed.

Mariamne.
Has Cæsar dared to kill him, and is Jewry
Treated so abject? Oh, a Maccabee,
And not to take revenge!

Sohemus.
But the sure message
Delays—a mere report, spread from the sea
To murmuring Cæsarea. Were it sure . . .
[He is close on her, face to face.
I have command to kill you . . .
My reward,—
If I shall spare your life?

Enter Queen Alexandra
Alexandra.
Stay, Sohemus!
Sohemus, spare my child! . . .
[She pushes Mariamne at arm's length from Sohemus and stands between them looking back at him.
My Jewish soldier—and the fierce command
Laid on you is a Gentile's!
Sohemus,
I and this slender queen before you are
The last of Judas Maccabeus left,
He that delivered Jewry from the stranger.
I loose you from strange bondage! The Lord God
Looses His servant from abomination
Of oath to Esau's offspring: the Lord God
Blessed Jacob the Beguiler. Spare my child,
My beauty of the Asmoneans—spare her!

Mariamne.
He will not kill us;
Mother, there is no fear; we are as safe
As the nesting cranes.

Sohemus.
But my reward for this?

Alexandra.
Oh, excellent! A prize! You save her life . . .
Behold her beautiful. Oh, is she not
A living tree of flower before our eyes,
A living strength with living ornament
Of lips and cheek and open gaze, and brow
Of a flowered myrtle? Now she is my own;
Now she is mine again I grasp her, almost
To lift her as my son to sovereignty.
See how she pines for freedom—she is snuffing
The air . . . her nostrils! She is born again
To breath, to draw it as a right and feel it
Ungrudged to her young bosom.
(Clasping Mariamne.)
Once again
I give her to the air, my Mariamne.
No more disquiet! Ah, true, loyal soldier,
Though in her eyes there was no fear, there floated
That in their sadness the wild creatures show—
A daydream of their end . . . I have often thought
She would be happier to die—my child,
Who coldly met each day as though her last:
She of the blessing and the birthright, he
Of the surrendered blessing, the lost birthright;
She of great lineage, so slavish his;
So miserable, of his cruelty,
Her race, the kings Antigonus, Hyrcanus,
And the lovely young High Priest, your prince, her brother.
(To Mariamne.)
Do not speak, Mariamne!
Breathe on your gratitude, breathe peacefully.
[Mariamne moves slowly away and looks out over the tombs.
My daughter is no politician. Ever
She loved the dead, and now will love her husband.
Let her consume her comeliness with ashes
While we devise for her a happy kingdom!
Sohemus, hasten! Seize the courts and towers
And gateways of Jerusalem. Make speed!
Sohemus, in your life as in our lives,
The moment of our fate has quickened: Fate
Bears but few living children. Sohemus,
Make speed!

Sohemus.
It is not you that can reward me:
Your daughter . . .
Madam, I must have her oath.

Alexandra.
Her oath—my oath! I swear she shall be yours,
Here in my palace. On King Herod's sword . . .

[Mariamne comes down toward them and speaks as from a dream.
Mariamne.
First tortured, and then killed!

Alexandra.
Ay, child. Receive it!
Tortured in Rome, the city of his triumph,
Tortured among the people of his love,
Tortured at Cæsar's will, whom he has vaunted
Worthy as God of Temple-worship, homage
Of incense.

Mariamne.
But he does not suffer now.
He is at peace.

Alexandra.
In bottomless Gehenna!
(To Sohemus.)
And you are very sure of this report?

Sohemus.
Madam, it is so current in men's ears,
That if my lord return my life is forfeit,
Save for your intervention, or his coming
With a maimed power or sovereignty from Rome.

Alexandra.
My child is saved, and if she be a widow
She will herself reward you. Sohemus,
Think! I have lost my son . . .
(To Mariamne.)
No, do not touch me—
A fang is in your touch—you cannot comfort;
A man alone can comfort me, a man
Who will avenge me for my son.
(To Mariamne.)
Be silent!
You have neither mouth nor wisdom.
Sohemus,
If this report be insubstantial, if
He be not dead, why then, he shall be dead:
As the days make themselves, his doom be made.
Meantime there must be great festivity,
Pomps, dazzling courtesies, and Mariamne
Even more desirable than kingdoms.
[Mariamne makes a protesting motion.
Child,
And will you not dissemble, sacrifice
Your virtue?—the one victim we can spare,
Bred to be sacrificed; a prince's virtue,
Therefore to be esteemed.
(With sudden passion.)
Consider, child,
All I have done . . .

[A Gatekeeper rushes in.
Gatekeeper.
The king! . . . The king is at the fortress-doors.

[He rushes out.
Alexandra
(crossing to Sohemus).
Then we are doomed—
The faithful wife will now betray her mother,
Betray you, the preserver of her breath.
[Suddenly returning, she kneels to Mariamne.
But, daughter, you have found it sweet to live;
You have set your life before aught else: have mercy!
Do not destroy your mother. Let me live!

Sohemus
(kissing an end of her robe).
Queen Mariamne,
My life is in your hands, you may take my life.

Mariamne.
Bring in the king straight to me as I am.
Leave me, but take my mother to her women.

[Exit Sohemus with Queen Alexandra.
Enter Herod on the other side, his hair disordered and flying.
Herod.
Mariamne!—But you are well—
[He kneels, holding her hands in his own, sobbing. Then he rises and tries to recollect himself.
You might have aged, you might have lost your beauty—
It harried me—you might have lost your health.
I have thought of all the chances . . . all the fears,
The apprehensions that have startled me,
Lacking you in my sight. My startled sleep
Has been the watching of your ghosts. . . . Not one,
Ghosts in succession, ghosts of Mariamne.
I laugh now . . . laugh with me! Should we not laugh? . . .
The rose upon your cheek, that rose profound
In its abateless damask, not a flush,
Not deepening for me, steady as the stain
Dyed in a mummy's face-cloth . . . is it welcome?
But you are safe, and every idol-god
Shall have reward for this. . . .
Look at me, love; I live,
I am returned to you, I am well with Cæsar.

[She groans.
Mariamne.
What should that be to me?

[She falls to the ground.
Herod.
Surely she would not dare to do this thing!
She is playing with a harsh,
A cruel instrument of war, an engine
That will cut her all to pieces! We must warn her,
We must instruct her.
[He goes to her prostrate on the ground.
Mariamne,
Mariamne, you are ill-prepared!
You do not yet receive me as you must.
. . . Have pity on yourself,
For if you do not plead with me, my Dead . . .
Have pity! . . . Are you grown so ignorant,
And all I am forgot? . . . I am well with Cæsar;
But if you have been gloating on my death,
Let me whisper in your ear—it is a counsel,
A friendly counsel—you must make pretence;
You must get up from off your knees, and grieve
That you are not attired in majesty,
Giving me to excuse the wrong, such richness
And fragrance of you in your lips and eyes,
Such flash of jewels loitering into bloom
As I behold you . . . and the voice
Of the fountain as it leaps in all your speech,
Of the fountain breaking from the rocks . . .
Dissemble! . . .
You have a cause against me, a complaint?
Behold me, I am in the judgment-seat.
I will hear your wrongs.

[He seats himself.
Mariamne.
Not that—it is not that. . . .
I would warn you; there I would not fail in duty:
My mother—
My mother—she would hurt. . . .
She shall not hurt you;
Remove her from me. I would have no harm
To happen to you. She would do you hurt!

[She kneels, and rubs her head against Herod's garments.
Herod.
You love me? Say you love me with that cry.

Mariamne.
Pull down your hair. . . . Fie, it is braided false!
Who taught you this in Rome?
What crinkled hair!

[She rebraids a tress.
Herod.
Cleopatra would have taught me this.

[Mariamne smiles.
Mariamne.
My Arab
Is fairer than her Roman. How the sea
Is in your hair! And you were nearly wrecked?
. . . Remember, I have warned you there are many
Waiting about your throne to do you harm,
My mother chief. . . .
Now speak to me of Rome.

Herod
(taking her on his knee).
But, Mariamne, I have brought you gifts—
A Tyrian robe. . . .
There was a Cosian thing, a robe, a veil
Augustus chose. . . .

[Setting her free again, he goes impetuously to the door and gives a command.
Mariamne
(as he returns).
And did you choose it too,
This Cosian robe?

Herod.
The tissue was by far
The more esteemed—too fine to catch the eye.
I hesitated long, and then . . .
[An ample and heavy stole of Tyrian is brought in.
O Mariamne, will you wear this robe?

Mariamne.
There, let it be! Now tell me of Augustus,
For I would hear of every circumstance
About your life to guard you.

Herod.
Rome!
Is it your fashion to inquire of Rome
While I am feeling for your breath, so close
I listen, and so fine? Enfold me—no,
Leave me! . . . I am ashamed.

[He sits down, buries his face in his hands, and groans; Mariamne walks out, leaving the straight robe before him.