 | The Accuser |  |
ACT III
Scene
A half-dark lower room in the Palace, filled with dim, antique treasure. A door at the back; far down to the right another; and in the wall to the left a narrow door and a high, grated window.Alexander, Aristobulus, Corinthus
Alexander.
But you must examine this treasure.
Corinthus.
I have no mind to examine it. It comes
from the sepulchre of a dead King.
Alexander.
It comes from the sepulchre of David.
My father has visited the sepulchre.
Corinthus.
He has rifled the sepulchre.
[Alexander and Aristobulus walk among the sunken objects, as if they were kicking dead leaves.
Alexander.
Confusion! And what strange images
decay has set upon these heaps . . . this glitter
among the dust and this breaking to pieces at a
touch!
Corinthus.
It is horrible.
Fie, Corinthus, you are old before your
time. It is not horrible to secure these jewels
from the dust.
Corinthus.
Would you be buried with them?
Alexander.
I shall be buried royally. I have no
fear for my funeral. Heigh! But we have here
a magnificent canopy. Come, Corinthus, help us
to set it up. You will not? Aristobulus!
It is royal! Have you not observed my father
has been much more intimate with us of late?
(Patting Aristobulus' head.)
Younger! Twin
monarchs in a little while. And all this golden
furniture our own.
[He opens the lid of a coffer.
Corinthus.
It is very gloomy here and desperate.
Can you not wait till the slaves have received
orders concerning the distribution of the furniture?
Must you come here, like spies, picking
over the jewels? Do not touch them. Come
away.
Alexander.
No, let us pick, pick, and rifle . . .
Kings, you know, rifle the sepulchres of Kings.
It is a royal custom. Belts and jewelled swords!
See, Corinthus, a present after your first campaign.
But this! . . .
(he takes up a crown)
the sockets for
the jewels in this diadem are empty.
Aristobulus.
Yes, they are empty.
Corinthus.
They are staring like empty eyeballs of
the dead.
That is how it looks to you, pale
Corinthus. I am in favour with my father now,
and I shall present him with this unfurnished
coronet for repair. Amethysts . . . and again
emeralds.
[He turns the crown about with his fingers.
Corinthus.
Where is Antipater?
Alexander.
Banish Antipater!
Corinthus.
Antipater does not steal down into these
chambers to handle the gems in the King's
treasuries.
Aristobulus
(lifting an old sceptre).
Do not concern
yourself with Antipater. I no longer concern
myself with him. We have the secret . . .
flattery! We can flatter our father to his bent.
He believes, he actually credits, that we are only
happy in his presence. We repeat that he is our
darling, that we only value existence for his sake.
He credits us.
Alexander
(crossing the room restlessly).
I shall
never flatter my father. It is natural he should
love us. Fathers do set their hearts on their
children.
[Alexander, who has been playing with the crown, sets it on his head.
Corinthus.
The King!
[Enter Herod at the back; he comes along, straining as if with a burthen, though he carries nothing. His head
Herod.
Spectres!
[He passes on, turns back as if to assure himself he had seen true. The sceptre drops from Aristobulus' hand. Herod rushes out. Those who have followed him pass out after him.
Corinthus.
Why did I consent to come to this
place? Should my father find me here he would
rank me impious.
Alexander
(dashing the crown from his head).
Impious, but we are impious. I fear we are
ghostly children to our father. He took us for
spectres.
Aristobulus.
We are doomed.
Alexander.
He is doomed, the King, our father,
Cæsar's friend. His face! And he thought we
were spectres. We are to him as ghostly children.
We have broken from him,; we have fled from him.
(Stopping suddenly in horror.)
We have been to
him, he said, as young roses, as the smell of the
roses of Mariamne's garden. He has said to us
again and again that we were as the balsam of the
balsam-trees, that we wafted spice to him as from
the lost balm-yards of Jericho. He has said we
were to him as Rome, as the days of his lustyhood
with Mark Antony.
But his hatred . . . Alexander, it
struck the sceptre from my hand.
Alexander.
No, no—he does not hate us. He
turned back with that face, I remember, when we
were children, and our mother dead, we implored
he would send us to Rome. So great a King and
we have dishonoured him.
Corinthus.
If he were reasonable like my father—
Alexander
(staring with contempt at Corinthus).
He gives alms to the world of his unreason.
He is immense, and has the movements of a god.
Cæsar is astonished at him, and trembles at his
tenderness. The whole world is astonished.
Aristobulus.
You speak so? He murdered our
mother.
Alexander.
Peace, peace! He did not murder
her . . . peace, peace!
Corinthus.
Then you judge she deserved her death,
that she did mingle the poison-bowl?
Alexander
(striking Corinthus).
My mother,
Queen Mariamne! But there is not in our blood
anything that could injure him. He overwhelms
us—he is too terrible . . . My mother! Did she
once plead for her life that you should think that
the King murdered her?
O Tero—speak! For I fear my father is gone
mad. I fear we have undone him. He spread on
before his retinue like a wild, limping bird. He
missed him? Is there truth in this apparition?
Tero.
Come away from these accursed things!
I came from a tomb, and I beheld you, young
creatures, as in a tomb. Away with you! Go!
Aristobulus.
We cannot go up to the Palace—the
King clanged the door behind him. We cannot
move. It is forbidden.
Alexander
(going up to Tero).
What has befallen
my father?
Tero.
It is almost forbidden to speak what has
befallen him . . . There was stench from the
tomb and dishonour. I heard groaning, and then
a great whistling noise like a curse. He issued
with a cry of ‘Rebellious children—Absalom,
Adonijah—children that were a-hungered for his
throne, children that would have put him to the
sword.’ . . . And you were here, playing with these
baubles. He passed you in his frenzy—you are lost!
[The door into the treasury is thrown open and filled with the spear-points of soldiers. There are soldiers also at the outer door.
Aristobulus.
I knew we were doomed. We are in
this tomb for ever.
Alexander.
Tero, let me see my father; entreat
him to speak with me. Pass these soldiers.
[Tero advances.
Tero.
Why are you here? Give place! I would
speak with the King.
(advancing).
You shall speak with
the King and of what nearly concerns him.
Follow me . . . Let your son come too!
[He advances toward the little door in the left wall.
Aristobulus.
Do not leave us, Corinthus.
Corinthus.
My father is arrested and my place is at
my father's side. My place is with him.
Tero.
Is the King there? I would speak with
him.
Centurion.
He will question you, Lord Tero. He
is within.
[The little door shuts behind them.
Aristobulus
(creeping up to Alexander).
It is the door
Of the torture-chamber. . . .
Alexander.
Yes.
The other door barred and with Gaulish spears.
(With a low laugh.)
Scylla—Charybdis. . . .
Aristobulus.
We shall hear?
Alexander.
Tero is constant in his faithfulness,
Dear, noble Tero. . . .
Aristobulus.
He will save us. Listen!
A throng of voices . . . I must see!
[He draws a golden stool to the wall and stands on it that he may look through the grating; but the old seat collapses into dust and he falls.
Alexander
(raising him).
No, no! Not spies!
No, it will come to us
Hush! A low rumble like a hornet's nest . . .
I can hear nothing but the anger—nothing! . . .
Tero's reply, lost in his beard!
A Voice
(below the grating.)
My father,
True, they would wear your sceptre and your crown.
Oh, you beheld the truth,
And what you have yourself beheld, uncensured,
I may affirm.
Aristobulus.
Antipater!
Alexander.
The asp!
Antipater
(within).
And I affirm they hate you from the blood
That bred them; of their mother's life they hate you;
And by her death they hate you deadlier still.
Aristobulus
(shuddering).
A groan!
Alexander.
Not Tero . . . Hush!
Antipater
(within).
And I affirm they hate you in the surfeit
And steadiness of youth: to glut elation
Of their cold arrogance, they crave your life,
Your sceptre plundered from their mother's race.
[A deep groan.
You fed them with your heart's
Red blood-drops, with your wounds, as in the desert
The pelican, vulning itself for offspring,
Bleeds in its piety . . . and they!
Should turn the tongue into a cruel stone.
They crave your death and they would murder you.
[A cry.
Alexander.
He must believe it, having seen us.
Aristobulus.
Tero
Will save us—Tero,
You know, will save us—Tero . . .
Why are you silent?
Antipater
(within).
Proof!—
You ask? A picture still before your gaze?
Did you not see the sceptre of King David,
The crown wherewith he crowned King Solomon
Held in possession of their hands? The sceptre
Of David and the crown wherewith he crowned
King Solomon, his son?
Kings of Judæa, virtual as the line
Of Asmonæans, with whose blood your sons,
Being fruit of Mariamne, are composed.
Kings they would be by right and not through Cæsar:
Nor is there accusation of their love
That is not of hot truth. They seek your life
By implications so implacable
They are as murder; and abhor your presence,
That is to me unweariably sweet;
They jest at your great majesty. My father,
For them you need no proof . . . perchance for me,
Unhappy, torn from the wide desert-plains,
You need, alas, a surety . . . who might seem
A serpent to destroy the pelican's
Heart-cherished brood . . . This man,
This Tero, private to your children's hours,
Told me, when in a crevice of the hills . . .
You found us there . . . that with great bitterness
The Princes had besought from his tried bow,
Amid the negligence of hunting-hustle,
An arrow fatal to your life, my lord.
[Turning to Tero.
Is it not true that when we were hunting together,
yesterday at noon, you confessed that the
Prince Alexander had urged you to cast a dart
at his father, as if by chance, to murder him?
Herod's Voice.
O David! Rebellious children, desiring
my blood. Absalom, Adonijah! The
curse from thy tomb . . . O David!
Alexander.
I cannot hear Tero's reply. . . .
Antipater
(within).
You hear he confesses he spoke
with me at noon yesterday; but he says it was
on far other matter—that I should withhold you
from visiting King David's tomb. He makes me
a liar. We will have the truth.
Herod's Voice.
Bind him!
[A pause and scuffle of feet. Alexander hushes Aristobulus.
(A Voice rings out.)
The Princes are innocent.
Antipater
(within).
And now, and now?
Innocent . . . Ye Gods . . . innocent!
Slay not the innocent blood . . .
Aristobulus.
Tero will save us . . . will he not
save us? Why are you silent?
Alexander.
Through this man's courage we are
saved.
A Voice
(in a faint scream).
Innocent!
[There are cries and sobs, then a terrible shriek.
A Voice
(high and wild).
I cannot bear it any longer
. . . I will confess all . . . I have heard the
Princes wish you were dead; for the sake of their
dead mother they have wished it again and again,
hating converse with her murderer and that they
should live with him. . . . Again and again they
have yearned to appease the ghosts of the dead.
Again and again they have coveted your crown;
again and again they have told me your wives
should be shut in tomb-prisons, alive and despoiled
. . . They would bury you as a slave . . .
they deride you as an old man; they laugh
when they have yielded to you in the hunt some
creature they could themselves have killed long
before you perceived it. They laugh at your
Roman fashion of long ago. They reproach your
justice as wild and polluted; they swear they will
accuse you to Cæsar.
Alexander
(to Aristobulus, who falls by his side).
These are moments of our lives . . . these are
words of our lips . . . We must die.
(within).
Unbar the door . . . Give me my liberty.
He enters, his Guard behind
By youth you are condemned, not by old age;
By this Corinthus, by this boy, who could not
Suffer his father's straining cries . . .
(Panting.)
who snapt
The living bond of fellows and the fancies
That bind the young with threads of gossamer.
How should they hold?
[Advancing nearer.
He is traitor to you, children;
He has unpacked your wild, exasperate thoughts,
Your curses, your contractions, all you muttered
Against me as I turned to mount my horse.
I often speculated—now I know—
What of conspiracy behind your teeth
Was hissing at me; for he poured forth all,
As Tero waxed and shrivelled in his pain.
He could not see his father at such strife;
And to the torturers, who stayed their hands
To bide his chanting, sung us all your story.
False from the first—false each of you, and then
Confederate in your falsity. Sometimes
Laughing in note of my infirmities,
Sometimes forecasting the felicity,
With smile and golden candour, of my death;
And in my softer moments, when I clung
And fondled on your beauty, sometimes feigning.
She never feigned to love . . . O eloquent!
He could not bide his father's pain! And you—
This my exposure were an entertainment,
And a diversion to you; it were matter
For many foolish jests, save for this power
Within the substance of my flesh to doom.
You tremble . . . it is well . . . for now my trembling
Is not a hollow beating to itself.
Aristobulus, you are pale.
My sons,
You shall be put far from me at Sebaste—
Some day you shall be strangled there: that day
Live you expectant of . . . not of my death,
Your death.
I shall not fix the day of doom.
Agenor has the death-ring safe. And while
You wait in torment and suspense, my torment
Shall ghost beside you.
[Coming still nearer.
Have no fear—your tombs
Shall be most royal; you are sons of Kings.
[Madly he weeps, stretching out his hands toward them.
Alexander.
Hear me!
Herod
(turning his head back and closing his eyes).
I will not break your beauty up
By torture, and I will not hear your cries.
One on each side, at Alexandrium . . .
How often have I seen this in the night!
Be still! It is a vision . . . It prevails.
[He makes a movement of blessing over them, and is drawn back fainting into the Torture-Chamber. The young men for a while remain speechless. Then Aristobulus sobs, while Alexander stands, with his eyes fixed on the closed door.
Aristobulus.
Corinthus!
My age within a day, our follies grown
As on a single stem . . . he took the babble,
The fleeting malice of our tongues to kill us.
O miserable!
Alexander.
We must forgive Corinthus.
Would I could serve my father in his sort!
[The Guard enters by the inner door of the Treasure-Room, led by Antipater. He mutters a few words, among them ‘Sebaste,’ to the Guard, then props himself against the wall, white as a spectre. At the sight of the Guard and its leader both Princes hold themselves indomitably firm; they are bound in silence and are led away, following each other, through the outer door.
Antipater.
I wonder—is his voice still in the vault?
I heard it from behind as a sea's roar
I have not trapped him to the heart—my sentence
‘Go from me, leave me, see them bound.’ My sentence,
My condemnation! And these miscreant children,
Doomed to Sebaste, he was blessing them;
His heavy, heaving breath
Was laden with their names—‘Aristobulus,
. . . Her children . . . Alexander . . . Mariamne.’
While I, who am himself,
And of himself and like himself, a shadow
In the dark water of his very substance,
I am dismissed to bind them for Sebaste.
Shall I escape? No—he shall not escape!
An Arab, he has knit his kingdoms up
Into a kingdom, and I am himself,
And I am famished as he famishes,
Am lonesome of his lonesomeness—my father!...
The hate, the broken blood about my brain!
[The door above is opened; Herod gropes down with a lantern, though the light is still blue daylight in the doorway through which the Princes have passed.
Herod.
Why are you here, Antipater? Where are
your brothers?
Antipater.
You have doomed my brothers to death;
they are passing out by yonder door.
Ay, banished—it was the will of Cæsar.
[He passes his hand over his eyes and laughs with closed mouth. Antipater shudders.
What are you doing here, Antipater?
Antipater
(shrilly).
I am picking up the echoes in
the Hall of Judgment . . . I am ready to follow
my brothers. Father, an outcast!
[Herod looks for a long time at the wide-open door; then he takes up some jewels, running his fingers through them.
Herod.
Do you prize these things?
Antipater.
Not these!
[He raises his eyes and fixes them on his father.
I desire to be with you, to be your only one.
Herod.
You desire my crown . . .
O Antipater!
[He, in his turn, shudders; then climbs heavily, but with speed, up the steps. Antipater rolls on the ground, biting the dust.
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