 | The Accuser |  |
15
ACT II
SceneA large, pillared hall, toward evening. Enter Herod and Augustus Cæsar through an archway at the far end of the hall. They come forward talking, and stand together in the midst of the hall.
Herod.
Loved of Cæsar!
And this from Cæsar's lips, in Cæsar's action—
Have you not given me gifts,
Trachon, Batania, and Auranitis,
With power upon my kingdom that my choice
Confirm it to what heir I yearn unto?
Cæsar, on my new land,
At Panium, of white stone of Zenodorus,
Above the cavern magically deep,
Prodigiously abrupt, full of still water,
A temple shall be reared, guarding its symbol,
That fulness of still water, and to you
The temple shall be votive. Loved of Cæsar!
Cæsar.
With all the world to choose, his foremost choice!
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But, Cæsar, you
Who are as foster-father to my sons,
Who are to me almost a foster-father,
Enlarge the borders of your love, receive
This stranger son, this likeness of me made
So far away in youth. Admit him, Cæsar,
Among my offspring to an equal place.
Cæsar.
Not with the royal children—no!
Herod.
Augustus, but the progeny is mine,
They are all mine and of the royalty
Conferred of Rome inherit.
Cæsar.
You forget
The Asmonæan blood; the royal gift
To Mariamne's children, you forget.
Herod, if I could soften you! Your heart
Is rebel to her sons.
Herod.
But Alexander
Makes no contention for my love . . .
He and his brother are in league together.
They do not walk away from me—their absence
Is a discovery that tempts pursuit.
Prove me this love of which there is no proof,
Prove me my children's love! That they love you
Leaps to the eye; that they adore their mother:
That they are careful to displeasure me
In every action, that they pass from me
As the stars pass at dawning from the heavens.
Yet am I never left! My first-born son,
Whose mother from his birth was sure and faithful,
Is ever in my presence, at my side.
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[An arrow is shot through one of the left arches, in front of Herod and Cæsar. Antipater runs in, but drops his bow, seeing his father and Cæsar.
Cæsar.
Is the palace
A ruined theatre, or a ruined temple,
This most uncourtly hunter pierces through?
Antipater, King Herod
Desires for you a place among your brothers.
See that the place rank high!
[Antipater prostrates himself. There is silence.
Herod.
Is this the boon, Antipater?
Antipater.
My father,
In these wide halls, and many coming in,
And many going out,
The footsteps but bewilder me. There is
One footprint to my track, and one conception;
I am my father's son; King Herod's son.
Hold, hold me here! How should I profit Cæsar,
How, exile, dwell at Rome who from my desert
Looked upon mortals as a cavalcade
Of perilled merchants? Keep me at your side,
Close as your shade, supreme in confidence,
And with no other hope to my ambition
Than to remain supreme.
Herod
(stooping to kiss Antipater).
He fills the eye.
Look on him, Cæsar, look, how duplicate
I live in him!
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The young man has your voice,
As musk, they say, carried a thousand miles,
Will permeate that thousand miles, betrayed,
As musk, in the rich currents of the sea.
Herod, an irresistible appeal!
(Shrugging his shoulders.)
Let us to Nicholaus to see the scripts.
[Cæsar moves up the hall.
Herod
(lingering behind Cæsar, to Antipater).
Put by the arrows! Are you still a child?
Quiver the arrows! Lay them by!
I cannot hatch you into princeliness,
As ostriches by looking at their eggs.
For shame, Antipater!
(Joining Cæsar.)
The scripts are written
In choicest Greek—all I have done, and all
That I, at price of labour, have erected,
With thoughts that turn towards hope. But you shall read.
[Exeunt.
A hissing shriek breaks from Antipater
Antipater.
He is ashamed . . . Ho, ho, he hates
me! I am dispersed, I am shaken as the dust
from his mantle. He is ashamed of me before
this Cæsar. And the Greek . . . I will creep into
the library. I will steal his manuscripts; I will
pilfer . . . That one he hugged; I will keep the
fragments in my bosom. He is ashamed of me.
[Mechanically he breaks his bow over his
19
Doris.
Do not chide me, do not be angry; I have
waited in the darkness; have waited to spring
on you as a pard. You are mine. Embrace me!
Antipater.
A queen, you can embrace me anywhere
—before Cæsar. You must not creep in,
fugitive.
Doris.
What has befallen you, my son? Your
voice! Has a wolf looked at you and made it
hoarse?
But you shall not speak like that to me, as
though you were not my son. A husband can
say to a woman, ‘You are not my wife,’ he can
deny her; but a son can never say to his mother,
‘You are not my mother.’ Always a man must
cherish his mother. His tent is her tent: till
death they are together.
Antipater.
We are not in the desert now; we are
in the court of a great King.
Doris.
A great King's court, where there are plots.
I have discovered a plot.
Antipater.
Then discover it to my father: you are
his Queen.
Doris.
It is not a plot that concerns the King's life.
Antipater.
Whose life?
Doris.
It is a plot of the Princes Alexander and
Aristobulus. They are most discontented.
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They are naught! Do not vex me
with shadows. They are ghosts, as Queen
Mariamne is a ghost. Doris, my little mother
of the tents, you are a queen; you are wearing
the ornaments of the dead. Of old we talked of
nothing but this King . . . in the long nights,
on the days when the sand did not move. Kiss
me, for your lover is my lover. There is no one
in the world like this King.
Doris.
Yes, indeed, Antipater, except you. You
are more to me than the King. The King does
not love me any more; he hates the movements I
make, he watches my shadow . . . These ornaments
are too heavy for me. I am not a Queen.
But you shall be a King, my Antipater, and your
brethren shall wait on you, as Joseph's brethren
did obeisance to him in a dream.
Antipater.
Ha!
Doris.
I am all ear for you, my Prince, in my
anxiety . . . and the faithful Bathylus. . . .
Antipater.
Well? But I would rather you did
not consort with slaves.
Doris.
It is a letter from Prince Alexander's wife.
Bathylus has picked it up . . . The Princess
Glaphyra wrote it to the King of Cappadocia,
her father. So Bathylus has told me . . .
(Watching Antipater as he reads.)
He says that
the Princes are discontented and are making
complaint.
(Antipater whistles as he puts the
letter in his bosom.)
Antipater, Bathylus says the
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anything of this hate in the letter?
Antipater.
It is a long letter. The Princes are
children.
Doris.
Antipater, you must not despise the Princes.
Herod is fond of them as of young roses; they
are to him as the roses of Mariamne's garden.
Antipater, see! the King is coming back and
Alexander is with him.
(She touches Antipater
on the chest.)
But you have the letter. It shall
be as an arrow. Shoot it!
[She disappears through a near arch.
Herod
(to Alexander).
Then that shall be the order of the feast
To-morrow! Cæsar dull!
We have hunted overmuch and wearied him.
Alexander.
Cæsar is used to the arena, father.
Herod.
My little amphitheatre . . . here and there
Clogged with disuse—furnish it, you know how,
Being half a Roman.
Well, Antipater,
You have wearied Cæsar with wild game—your drove
Round Etham of a hundred ibexes.
He cavils at my hospitality,
That proudly as a mirror held the pleasure
Of Cleopatra mirrored . . . She departed . . .
And shall the mirror now distort the glory
Of Cæsar? Why, Mark Antony returned me
Continual wonder at my entertainment.
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Drawing their luxury to flower; and Greeks,
King Archelaus among them, made me equal
With high Olympians in my pomp of feasts.
[Impatiently stamping before Antipater.
You have abashed me . . . Ignorant, untrained,
You must consult your brother, what he rules
Being as an instant order.
(To Alexander.)
Star of fashion,
If I were perfect in imperial modes,
As when our Cæsar young, and Antony
Held banquets for me, I myself should stablish
The feasts, the entertainments of the hour.
To-day the ritual failed. I am abashed.
Alexander
(to Antipater).
Fillets of boar and sea-fish following—
Rome! what could Cæsar think?
Your oysters should be shipped alive from Pyrrha:
They lay stale on the tongue.
Herod.
Enough!
Be steward and dispenser of my welcome
To Cæsar, my young Roman!
(To Antipater.)
Well?
Antipater.
If the dessert were mean, we were awaiting
From Syria figs and dates from Jericho.
Alexander.
Cæsar will taste no dates from Jericho;
The yards of Egypt fill his chalices.
But, father, in my garden
I have a vine of grapes like those in cluster
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As cassia by the beehives. I will cut them
With my own hands, an offering to Cæsar.
[He runs out.
Herod.
How glorious!
To pleasure me—the speed!
Antipater.
A glorious flight—
A slippery ostrich, truly a swift bird,
And very capable in flight—and all
To pleasure Cæsar.
Herod
(still looking after Alexander).
My young Romans—not
As you, Antipater, malign and wary,
My panther, not as you. They are young Princes
At any court, and where they are is Rome.
I feared they would despise me; I am wrong.
They are a little shy, a little jealous,
A little haughty.
(Putting his finger on Antipater's mouth.)
Soft!
Do not accuse them! . . . They will hint a fear
Cæsar will laugh at certain entertainments
Esteemed a decade back . . . slip in new forms;
And set aside, but not
With jeering comment, what fastidious Time
Has set aside. It is their pride in me.
[Herod turns sharply, disconcerted by Antipater's sudden laughter.
Antipater
(holding out one of his father's long plats).
Forgive the action! Alexander thus
Held forth a trapping of his brother's hair,
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Is dyed so sumptuously that it shines
A substance in itself, not variant
As our young hair.’ Is this their pride in you?
Herod.
It is their pride.
They would that I should dye my hair more featly . . .
Doris' white hair disgusts me—leprosy,
White hair—the plague!
Antipater
(laughing again).
And they complain a little they must bend
To walk beside you, so from age you stoop.
Herod.
You may in this take pattern of your brothers.
Antipater.
I was built of you a column, not a reed...
Forgive it, father—thus you fashioned me.
Herod.
Antipater, I fear
I set you up too high in privilege.
Mark this: I have not drawn you from the desert
To be a spy upon our royalties.
I fear I have done ill so to remember
Earlier, before my greatness, in my youth,
I had a son . . .
I drew you from my own obscurity:
It is immense! The years I had condemned,
My years, low-breathing to me with the breath
Of sighing prisoners underneath the ground,
Were yet my years of youth: Doris was there;
And there, strange as the future to me, full
Of promise as the future, was my son.
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Though but a winter-bough beside my throne,
Nor shadow, nor delight, Why are you here,
Save as a well of water from the desert,
That I may drink in secret from its source?
What are you? By your brothers you are nothing.
[Antipater watches his father with twitching eyes; he keeps his mouth covered with his cloak.
Antipater
(in the folds of his cloak).
I will not speak of them . . .
[He moves away; but returns, dropping the cloak from his mouth.
Father, I dare not
Leave you so unprepared, before a purpose
That will defeat you, as your heart laid open
Before an enemy . . . and yet this letter—
A letter from the Princess Glaphyra,
Writ to the king her father, Archelaus,
As any letter full of cries for home,
And messages . . . and one from Alexander . . .
To your fond eyes and from a wife, though aimed
Against your peace, may not disturb your peace.
[Herod would snatch the letter.
Not yet . . . not thus! So unprepared . . .
(Struggling.)
I will not, for I know your love is fixed
On these fair Romans . . . No!
Herod.
What is it they have writ of me? Such things
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And record of the soul! We write such words
Of accusation when we love.
I know
That they would never plot against my life . . .
They would not? . . . Torture!
The torture that will never be suspended,
That has no limit to its term, my torture,
The question as I put it to myself—
Could they so hate me?
Antipater.
No!
It is not that: but as you make demand,
And tax for revenue the secret treasure,
And to its limit-riches, of the realm
Your heart is lord of—in your sight the wrong
Your sons have done is such a wrong to nature,
It is so opposite to all your prayers,
It answers to your fondness as a stone
Thrust in the hungry hand, stretched forth for food . . .
A purpose—oh, but inconceivable!
A purpose in relation to such fondness
As you have lavished on my brothers . . . Father,
You dote on them, you follow as a dog,
Pine in their absence as a dog, make ring
The palace with your cries if at a meal
They fail or from reluctance shun the chase.
You do all this, and . . .
Herod
(turning angrily on him).
Well, Antipater,
What do they do?
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(looking straight up as if in prayer).
They purpose flight to Pontus;
They ask for refuge from you at the court
Of Archelaus . . . Inconceivable! . . .
From you, their father, from the great King Herod,
Loving them in his heart and with his pride.
[Drawing nearer anxiously and laying the letter on Herod's knee.
Father . . . they ask but refuge . . .
They say you have no pity on their youth.
Speak to me, father!
Herod
(standing erect on the steps of his throne).
Bid them all come in!
Cæsar . . . bid Cæsar come! . . .
And Alexander . . . Have you heard my bidding?
Antipater.
Aristobulus?
Herod.
All, by any names . . .
They have no names. Drag me the treason in!
[Exit Antipater.
[Herod descends from the throne and paces to and fro: then pauses in front of it, looking up.
. . . They have fled from me, my throne! You are set up
As a great marble seat among the sands,
Idle and floated over by the dust.
. . . This flight! It is more deadly than rebellion.
Had they caught me in a gin and led me bound
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We should have breathed hot on each other's faces,
We should have injured one another: now
They flee me and they are not injured. God
Is injured in this thing that they would do,
That would efface me. Or I am a father
Bent over them, even as God bent over
His creatures in creation, or I breathe
With no significance, without avail.
[Laughter is heard: Alexander and Aristobulus run in, each carrying a bunch of grapes tied to an olive-branch. They pause as if they encountered their father's mood. He speaks very low.
Not parricide, but more unnatural,
This fleeing from me . . . Honey of the rock
The wild bees know and murmur of, and feed
Deliciously about it: from the substance
That is their life they do not make escape,
Pulled downward to the virtue, nor of instinct
Deny it . . . Blank before your sin,
I see myself a king set up, and then
Of death set down and not a king for ever.
This crown—even Mariamne
Lifted her noble eyes on it! Her children
Flee for adoption to a bastard kingdom,
And would be almsmen to a foreigner.
Aristobulus
(throwing down his grape-hung wand and clinging to Herod).
Father, we love you!
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We fled from your unkindness.
Herod
(to Alexander).
Very haughty
You, with your tribute, and unmoved. For Cæsar
This offering of your first-fruits.
[Alexander is silent.
Stubbornness!
[Alexander purses his lips up to the grape-cluster above his head and bites off a grape.
But thus your mother stood upon her trial,
Her eyes above her judges, and, it seems,
They said, I gave the whisper she must die.
Aristobulus.
No, no, we love you . . . No!
Do not so thwart us from you. It was terror.
Herod
(to Alexander).
And you?
Alexander.
Father, there is a condition to my love:
You are abused to dream I do not love you,
As you were deep abused, doubting my mother.
Herod.
But you have done this thing—you wrote these words.
Alexander.
Where was my place? When you had slain my mother
You slew her place—ah, then you truly slew her—
For you had kept her honoured on her throne
Long as that throne was vacant: in white robes
I saw her, and the movement of her robes.
I cannot see her any more: her absence
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You have the stranger wife, the stranger son. . . .
Herod.
You love me . . . stay!
And Mariamne loved me? But these words
Are as great victories in lands so far
The distance makes a glory in itself.
You never gave me sign
Of any love you bore. If this were truth!
Alexander.
Truth. But there is condition in my love . . .
Banish Antipater, that I may love you,
For I am jealous, father.
Herod
(suddenly folding his right arm round Alexander).
Are you jealous?
Are you indeed come back to me from Rome?
Jealous and angry for me—you, her children?
You are indeed come back to me from Rome!
[He draws them both into his arms.
Conceive! . . . If you should fail
This my infinity of love and shrink
From this confusion of you with my being . . .
[Binding them closer.
For you had fled from me to Archelaus,
You would have kissed the lips of strangers, breathed
Air that I did not breathe . . . Your feet were turned,
Pointed away from me, as feet of corpses . . .
There, do not trouble . . . There, you must not weep!
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[His voice dies away, as he loses his sons from his clasp.
(In a whisper.)
They cannot!
[As Cæsar, with Antipater, enters, Herod moves forward, trailing the Princes along with him in each arm.
I called you, Cæsar,
To be our judge and to decide among us—
And yet I fear you cannot. By a tempest
Being suddenly subdued, the elements
So writhe in me I can but call on you
To listen to the moaning of a wind.
Will you not call this madness?
Cæsar.
The offence?
What have these children done?
Herod.
Nothing—indeed,
A thing too small for punishment; and yet
Revolted soldiers shrinking from their legion
Need not so blench.
Cæsar.
Accuse them—
For either they will clear themselves, or clear
Their bosoms of their guilt.
[The night falls.
Herod.
If I accused them,
How should you take account? You have not brooded
Over a word through solitudes as long
As Time itself. You draw to a tribunal
Defects and flaws so delicate, their nature
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How shall I speak it? I had waked alone
To-morrow, I had sought them as my love
Led me to seek them furtively in sleep,
Or in their morning laughter: and the slaves
Had stretched the carpets to my face and feigned
They knew not of this flight from my unkindness.
My palace had been sorrowful, as if
Death had been planted there, and presently
The happy news had come that they were safe
From me, in refuge from me! They desired
To live with Archelaus.
Cæsar.
Then banish them
A little while to Archelaus' court.
They will repent.
Herod
(covering the Princes with his eyes).
O Cæsar,
One does not banish children. I am old:
I love but roses . . . I am growing old.
Alexander.
Banish Antipater!
Cæsar.
It is well spoken.
Banish him, Herod.
[A cry like a fierce wild animal's is heard.
Herod.
How has he offended?
Where is his lack of love? And his ambition
Is to be ever at my side. So quickly
Can I forget?
Cæsar.
Among our idols, Herod,
One must be master-idol. Break your heart,
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[There is a deep silence. Herod looks round; an obscurity of the suddenly-fallen darkness is on all the faces.
Herod.
Why is this silence? Is it that the night
Is coming on, when all contention yields?
Armies lie down, with hatred in their breasts,
Almost together for the sake of sleep.
So must my sons lie down . . . And for the sake
Of the great power that would renew them kindly,
And all their gifts invigorate.
[Silently the Princes steal away and Antipater crouches on the ground.
This council
Is broken up!
[He waves his hand.
I cannot see their faces . . . It is faded.
I cannot see them . . . and they are not banished.
[He makes a groping movement and is approaching Antipater, when Cæsar arrests him and leads him back down the hall. Their tread is heard, and the sharp breath of Antipater.
| The Accuser | |