 | A Messiah |  |
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ACT III
Scene I
Constantinople. The Harbour.A great half-moon has cut its descending pathway through white fog, on which masts, with furled sails, make, as it were, a bowed forest, leaning one way. To the left is the Custom-house, a low building of unpainted wood, with high palisades going down to the water, and patrolled by officers. To the right a camel kneels to be loaded. Officers and soldiers keep coming to and fro from the Custom-house and the last vessel on the right, which is just come to land.
Officers
(among themselves as they pass).
We must wait the Soldan's orders.
Hosts of people
Press round the barrier.
See, that peaked-up turban!
Even jewels are flung over round our heels.
Mustapha Pasha joined the prison-ship
Just off the Dardanelles.
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Conversing with this traitor.
Listen, listen, listen!
A wail of voices!
Every day, all day
A wail of voices!
Day by day the tempest
Has kept at sea the Infidels' great Prophet.
‘Is he coming, is he coming?’ was our jeer.
The wail of voices—
He is come.
A traitor,
Conspiring for the crown, and yet our Soldan
Would have us treat him with all courtesy.
From the Vessel.
A further guard!
Chief Officer.
Enter! The Captain beckons.
Enter!
[Cries: there is a press of Custom-house officials to the ship. Through them Sabbataï and his jailer Seid come guarded.
Seid.
Sit there.
Sabbataï
(seating himself on an old chest).
I shall be glad to sit. How sick I feel,
Oh, I feel ceremoniously unclean!
It is wrong to feel such nausea at the light.
And so this is Stamboul—the Soldan's city.
It lies a coil of chains about the bays.
[Pointing to a height above the Custom-house.
And what is that?
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Oh, nothing!
A little execution on the hill.
It is the hour.
Sabbataï.
No, not for men to die.
They should die with the light, die at the sunset.
Seid.
Prophet, then you shall change all this,
And men shall die at a more cordial hour.
There must be executions of deserters,
Renegades, unbelievers: I shall watch them
At sunset.... You will make me of your household
When you are Soldan? I believe in you.
Remember—
Sabbataï.
You dear Seid!
[He touches his jailer's arm caressingly.
If I am Soldan ... that must be to-night.
It is impossible—sweet rush of flame!
What is that murmur, Seid?
[Rising with dilated nostrils.
Do I not know it? Is it not the burthen
Of my people?
Seid.
Surely.
[Mustapha Pasha by the vessel signs to Seid: they speak together.
Sabbataï.
How it wanes, it waxes.
Eternal, I am Chosen of the Earth!
I had oblations, sacrifice wherever
I touched the land, a prisoner! My vessel
Was bravely trimmed; I grew to hate the trappings,
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The miracles surrounded me: each day
The prophecies fulfilled themselves like hours.
(A young Turkish officer stands in front of him with unapproving eyes.
Officer.
Art thou Messiah?
Sabbataï.
Verily I am.
[He lifts his face and smiles.
Officer
(instantaneously).
You are, you are ...
[He turns on his heel.
Sabbataï.
O God,
O my Desire, why is it that I worship
Each little impulse in the sand, each striving?
I know the sea
In its foundation. Thou didst hold me clasped,
Ice-clasped beneath its winter; in that world,
Eternal, I was with thee and I rose
Creative from thy hand.
Oh, by thy name stamped on my breath and uttered
Apparent as a writing on the wall—
For my lips moved not and I made no sound,
As the great sea-birds drew themselves together
And rested in high pyramid above—
Do not abandon me, do not desert me!
I cannot draw the people from their faith,
Yet cannot pray.
... How acrid cold it is!
(Faintly to Seid who approaches).
A cup of coffee!
Seid.
In the Custom-house
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[The moon falls into the sea and a long streak of rose steals from the East. Enter Zarah conducted from the ship. As she comes forward the guard retires a short distance.
Sabbataï.
Beloved,
You are the morning, and your brilliancy
Shows me more wan.
You are arrayed a Queen.
Zarah.
Assuredly. And you—how like a King
I have beheld you as the unrolling clouds
Unrolled their vision to you and discovered
The palace-roof that will be yours to-night.
Sabbataï.
There, there!—I left you sleeping,
A little pearl of health upon your cheek,
Health in your dreams ...
[She strokes his forehead.
My hour is come. Sit down,
Sit by me, Zarah—see, there is a chest;
And we are King and Queen. They guard us closely....
Give me your hand. This little fountain-pulse
In the hollow of your hand! You are exalted.
Zarah.
Belovèd, but your hands are ice of ice.
Sabbataï.
They must not quiver when I seize the crown.
(Rising.)
I must prepare,
I must make ready: there is nothing ready,
Nothing prepared.
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(approaching with coffee).
A miracle
Never has prelude.
Sabbataï.
Are you turned Messiah,
And do you know the trick?
(To Zarah.)
Why do you walk in jewels?
Zarah.
Does it displease you?
Ill-humoured, Sabbataï, on your day
Of triumph, my great day?
Sabbataï.
I am very sick.
[Seid urges him to drink coffee.
Seid.
See, how the dawn advances, how the city
Reddens and whitens, and the minarets
Have each the little cloud of their own smoke!
Sabbataï
(setting down the cup).
I am better—more Messiah now. O Seid,
This city is a golden bride before me,
And I am amorous—such strange, fantastic,
Terrible, smothered beauty.
Zarah.
All these turrets
Will crumble as the walls of Jericho
Before the trump of God and his Elect.
Sabbataï.
Break off, break off!
It is not so that it will come to pass.
O beautiful, my city!
Zarah.
Sabbataï,
Your kings ...
[The royal followers of Sabbataï are conducted past him in chains.
Sabbataï.
They pass as phantoms of great kings,
And all their caravan a huge mirage.
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I will not further test your faith, O kings,
I have given you dominion, ye are lords
Of Judah, Persia, Araby, Italia—
You shall all reign on thrones when the Messiah
Walketh among you: that has been my promise.
This day it is fulfilled.
[The kings pass dejected.
Do they believe?
Their faces are all turned away from me,
They cannot tell how it shall come to pass,
For there will be a great astonishment
Before the evening star.
[The mariners pass guarded.
My mariners!
The stubborn happy faces.
My mariners, I shall not cross the sea,
Never again—but you have made the voyage
Once with the golden sails. Were you not happy?
Will there not be a music in your ears,
Ye who make war and carry merchandise;
A sound that ye have won the victory,
And know your treasure lying at the port?
Speak to me!
Mariners.
Heigh, a'heigh!
[They pass.
Sabbataï.
I can do this thing,
I can, I shall. That score of glowing faces!
[Primo and Nathan pass.
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O Master, by the Name!
Nathan.
Malka Kadisha!
Now what should be is come, invincible.
Hosanna!
[They pass out.
Sabbataï.
The musicians?
[Rubio passes.
Zarah.
Rubio!
[He blows on his fingers.
Rubio, he will give us all the world,
As he gave you once a shekel.
[Rubio still blows on his fingers.
Sabbataï.
The musicians?
[Mustapha Pasha strolls forward.
I must have music....
I want it in my limbs. Seid, the musicians!
Mustapha.
Your Queen is sent for from the Seraglio,
and your delicious singing-girls, the Soldan's
women that have been your wives. Bid farewell.
Sabbataï.
Protect her.
Mustapha.
She is under protection of his exalted
Majesty.
Zarah.
I am safe as in God's bosom, Sabbataï.
Awake, beloved, awake!
[She is led out with the other women.
Sabbataï.
I must have music.
The players on the instruments
Have not passed by?
Mustapha.
They are within the vessel,
A band of eunuchs will be sent to fetch them
To the Seraglio.
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I would see the Soldan.
Mustapha.
Patience! We still await the royal guard.
[He goes into the Custom-house.
Sabbataï.
Seid, fetch me biscuits.... I have little power,
If I should famish ... all the fire falls out.
A pound or two ... if they should famish me,
You saw it, I grow sad.
[Seid slips away. Sabbataï gazes dreamily in a tide pool.
The little emerald minnows....
How beautiful!
[He ceases to watch the pool and is arrested by the barricade. A hand comes holding a piece of coral; then some dates are thrown over with a thud on the ground: later, a costly handkerchief is raised on a stick, but flutters down on the further side.
My people!
[Seid returns.
Seid.
Master! the biscuits—swift!
[Sabbataï stuffs them in his wide Turkish trousers.
Mustapha Pasha!
[Mustapha re-enters.
Mustapha.
Are you disturbed?
[Some one sings in Hebrew from the crowd.
You have made the people happy, you have made
the Soldan unhappy—we must reverse all this.
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Conduct me to the Soldan.
Mustapha.
It is early yet. On rising his exalted
Majesty receives you. Smoke!
Sabbataï.
I will smoke with you.
[Mustapha Pasha seats himself on the other chest. Sabbataï smokes the offered chibouque in silence.
Mustapha.
Doubtless he brews charms. How the
delay is harassing him—how his eyebrows twitch!
(His tongue in his cheek.)
Are you Messiah?
Sabbataï.
O sir, you will comprehend—the people
rate me thus.
Mustapha.
And you have not conspired against the
Soldan? The city is about you as you were lord
of the city, and you have a retinue of kings.
Sabbataï
(laughing softly).
They have not armour
nor bright weapons, nor chains heavy as these
chains. They can inflict no punishment.
Mustapha.
The base knave deserts his followers!
—what are you then, what trade do you follow?
And what meant those fancy ships in the harbour
of Smyrna, with their silken sails? Were they
laden with treasure for the Soldan? Do you
acknowledge him and do you bear him tribute;
do you bear him slaves and singing-girls?
Sabbataï.
I have sailed in the mystic vessel. I was
about to sail. The Cadi of Smyrna has in nothing
thwarted my purpose.
Mustapha
(laughing uncomfortably).
In nothing!
You sailed with your kings, with your delicious
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refuse and scum of the nations you deceived....
[The camel rises that has been loading from the vessel.
We have transported the greater part of your
pageantry. Look, little master, that has all been
accumulated by you for the Soldan. It is tribute,
you will have honoured welcome.
Is he mad? What excites him, what has he seen?
Is it the camel that drops with his golden throne?
The camel drops and the chair is broken. Bah!
and such a trophy!
[He turns to the little crowd gathered about the struggling camel. The slaves are driven up the shore. One of them struck by the whip, stretches her arms toward Sabbataï, who has risen with such violent agitation, he breaks his chains.
Sabbataï
(lifting his freed arms).
If to this band, I am indeed Thy Chosen.
[After a while his hands drop.
They pass.... My chains are broken off. O Seid,
Go after them ...
Seid.
Dear Master,
But this is not the miracle. The slaves
Must pass in fetters. Any slave you choose
To-night is yours; but now—
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Of your own Majesty.
[A captain with a band of Spahis enters through the Custom-house door. Mustapha Pasha turns to receive the soldiers.
I am his jailer:
I have not freed him, and behold him free.
[A stripling is lifted up by the crowd to overlook the court.
Mustapha.
He is a prophet!
The Captain.
And it is the hour ...
[Suddenly the barricade is broken down.
Voices.
He has freed himself!
He is Messiah—we
In his power have broken free!
[The Spahis form against the people, flashing their weapons.
Sabbataï
(looking at the people).
You must not follow me. Go home! Continue
To wait for the Messiah—a long hope,
As hope for the Eternal must be long.
Go home! Wherever
I am, ye are my bread in banishment,
My secret fountain: I am fed of you,
My people—in the desert I am yours.
Go home!
[He watches the mournful crowd passing back through the broken barricade.
Seid
(touching his elbow).
The Soldan—
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Ah, I had forgotten!
The Soldan—he is nothing.... I am nothing.
But I will pray for these; and as Messiah
I will pray for them. I am their Messiah,
And they have broke my chains.
[He watches them still as obediently they disappear: then he turns to the infidels.
My jailer! You,
(To Mustapha.)
Be mute of this; and give me a full guard.
[He listlessly heads the little company of Spahis, followed by the captain, Seid, and Mustapha Pasha.
Scene II
Constantinople.The Court of the Soldan. White and red alternate arches make a semicircle in the midst of which a dim carpet, beyond price, is suspended behind the throne of the Soldan: a similar carpet is stretched at the foot. Between every arch a black eunuch stands like a bronze grotesque.
The Soldan Mohammed iv. is crowned and robed in state. On one side of him stands the Mufti Vanni, on the other the Grand Vizir, Ahmed Coprili. Nehemiah Cohen kneels before him dressed as a Turk in green robe and white turban.
The Soldan.
You are seeking vengeance ...
Nehemiah.
Even as the lord Mahommed
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Ever with vengeance, smite God's enemies.
The Soldan.
You are seeking vengeance: and our throne is safe.
Eh, Mufti Vanni?
Nehemiah.
While a Jew receives
The tribute of all lands—Egypt, Morocco,
Italy, Holland, Austria ...?
The Soldan
(nudging the Mufti Vanni).
And by night
Dreams thievishly of putting on my crown
To the flourish of his trumpets and his shawms.
We will receive him
With honour as a mystic traveller,
Suppled with divinations to attract
And hurry our desires to our feet.
Nehemiah
(rising).
He is an arch-corrupter: Moslem drink
Forbidden wine, Jews eat forbidden flesh,
And sacred fasts are loosened from their dearth.
Grand seignior, ever clement to our race,
Though I have bitter wrongs, I am not pleading
Their vengeance—I reveal a secret plot,
Remote, widespread, yet beating at your doors,
To dispossess your sacred Majesty.
The Soldan.
A charmer—
A little ill-famed Jew of such account!
Is the man mad? Is he beloved as madmen
Who free their passion to a million hearts
That whirl the frantic dance in unison?
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Do you find the city moved?
Coprili.
My lord, O Soldan,
The city is in motion: love so surges
At this expected advent of a prophet
Called by the Jews Messiah.
The Soldan.
Troublesome
Are chatterers with titles!
Nehemiah.
Ho, but this man is silent
In such a way that all pronounce his name
And his seditious honours on the breath
Of his stupendous silentness.
The Soldan.
Still waters,
They say, run deep. Do you find the crowd's commotion
Profound or shallow, Ahmed?
Coprili.
It is inward,
At crisis: for the people
Are moved by wonder and belief in wonder,
So that a storm is simply held in leash
By admiration.
The Soldan.
If we torture him,
Preluding death ...
Coprili,
My lord, O Soldan, death
Would loose the currents of disturbance, resting
At poise on wonder—death
Is peril to your throne. Delay his death.
Nehemiah.
Kill him, O Soldan. Allah bless the deed,
And Allah's prophet! In the solitude
Of walls and distance from your feverish streets,
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Impale him mid-most of mid-palace courts,
Let him die gagged, and howling through his mind
His body's anguish.
The Mufti Vanni.
Son of wisdom, listen
In no wise to this Jewish convertite,
Whose tooth for Allah's enemies is ranker
Than mine, even mine.
Before the penalty
Of execution on a criminal,
Let us, if so we may,
Convert this mad, seditious person. Urge him
With reasons, bribe him.... You are paymaster
Worth a knave's tale: or threaten him—you strike
Far deeper with a menace than with sentence.
Smile on the culprit, beat him with the frown
That opens pinion on your brow at whiles;
Point to the executioners, demand
The Adan. Kill this mad, seditious person,
His teaching and his followers will remain.
If we can bring him into Islam, then
He is discredited from alien homage,
Mohammed is enlarged and Allah praised.
[While the Mufti Vanni has been speaking the Chief of the Eunuchs has ushered in musicians who stand in a half-circle on each side of the Soldan's throne, tuning their instruments. A Eunuch sweeps aside the curtain.
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Our visitor is in the doorway. Allah!
This little, black-garbed creature is God's prophet!
... Handsome.... The eyes attempt our sympathy
With the first glance.
Sabbataï enters
Lay cushions for our guest.
Sabbataï.
I do not know the reverences due
To the grand seignior. I would keep all forms
To his exalted Majesty.
The Chief Eunuch.
Salaam
Three times.
[Sabbataï does as bidden.
The Soldan.
Be seated, Sabbataï Zevi,
Unless
(With a smile.)
You would approach me to my face,
And lift this symbol from my head. Musicians,
You see, are at your service, if you choose
The air that shall discrown me. There are shawms,
Trumpets wide-mouthed, and harps and psalteries too!
Also I am awaiting you. My circlet
Is very rich—its gems surpass your jewels.
Add them to yours, charming successor! Snatch them!
Hear! All the instruments are tuning. Come,
The tune, your hands about my head!...
... A guest,
His countenance shows us unmannerly
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At the street corners, at the harbour moorings.
(To the musicians.)
Hush, hush! Your thrills are inconvenient,
Our audience given to Sabbataï Zevi
Will not, it seems, be musical.
[At a waft of his hands the drooping musicians are conducted out.
Sweet doctor
Of strange religion, are you the Messiah
The Jews await? Believe me I would learn.
Sabbataï
(from his cushions).
If there are any oracles within
The human spirit of true voice, I was.
The Soldan.
But now, now in our presence?
[Sabbataï is silent.
You confess
Imposture by your silence.
Sabbataï
(half to himself).
Once a Rabbi
Laughed at the jackals round the holy ruins,
The ruins of Jerusalem: he knew
The desolation must all come to pass
Before the promise.
The Soldan.
Then you are Messiah?
Sabbataï
(sitting forward, with waving hands).
I was called—and I have waited for the sign.
So I was called that marvels have been done
About me—all the countries have been living
Heart against my heart; all the countries—England,
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Have quivered with my ecstasy. O Soldan,
I was not born to glory, but the coffers
Of merchant cities, outpoured at my feet,
Have made me boundless in magnificence.
A messenger come from Jerusalem,
To bear repentant homage to me, staggered
Beneath the salver of rewarding coins.
In all ways I have lived as you are living,
The graces of command on every moment,
The splendour of an empire on each day.
The sun has looked upon my pageantry;
The moon has whitened palaces
Where I have slept; the stars across the darkness
Have not outnumbered those that worship me.
With chains about my wrists,
I have lured forth of men their eagerness
To give me gifts, to listen to the message
Which is the message I am called of God.
The very sea has crouched as a meek dog
Beneath my prayer. Is it not marvellous?
Tell me, O Soldan! And the prophets come
Within the limit of my hallowed vision—
The antique prophets.
I have beheld Elijah with these eyes,
Antique Elijah risen up:
And men have seen live fire upon my forehead,
They have heard rhythmical upon my voice,
Disturbing awe, the Name no man may utter.
O Soldan, surely I was called of God.
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See, Mufti Vanni, here is radiance—beauty
Become persuasion, beauty
On common lineaments a smile, on these
A light that opens. Sabbataï Zevi,
You have a voice that pleases; I would hear it
When sleeping on my cushions after prayer.
Your hands are exquisite and delicate;
They draw hallucination with their swaying,
Till trust in you is as a mystery.
You are persuaded of yourself and half
Your lustre and attraction win the slackness
Even of my credence ... but I need a sign.
(To the Chief Eunuch.)
Order my archers in....
(To Sabbataï.)
Nay, do not rise,
My guest, my fellow Sultan; at your leisure
Wait the proposal of my thought.
[The archers are ushered in.
Archers, your weapons tense for action!
(To the Chief Eunuch.)
Range them
Half-circled like our Golden Horn without.
[They stand on each side the throne, their bows bent.
Now Sabbataï Zevi, if indeed
You are of God, substantially divine,
Allow my eunuchs freedom
To strip you and my archers to let loose
Their arrows on your body. I demand
A miracle, with flesh and blood for proof.
Then if the level flight of missiles turn
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With silver face of light that opens—Soldan
Mohammed is your subject King, and lowly
Takes off his crown in silence to your power;
He owns the Jews' religion and Messiah.
Rise, you have yet your diadem to win.
Rise!
[Sabbataï does as bidden.
Eunuchs strip him!
[As they advance, Sabbataï covers his face, praying.
Sabbataï.
O my God, my God,
Descend on me invulnerable, show me
Thy Chosen.... Do not leave me here alone.
Do not forsake me!
[He suddenly uncovers his eyes and fixes them wide on the archers. All the Moslems breathe low and bend forward. His lips move and he recoils.
(Under his breath.)
Arrows ... but the points....
And who shall stay them?
[The Eunuchs begin to remove his clothes.
No, no, no!
Do not bare me, God-forsaken ... not that shame!
The Soldan.
Confess, you have blasphemed—or take your choice
To bid my archers—shoot.
[There is profound silence, then a sob is heard.
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[With a creak all the arrows are unstrung and the archers begin to laugh as they see the Soldan laugh. At the sound of the jeers Sabbataï presses his breast as if struck, while he weeps with closed eyes.
Our beauty is in cloud!
O man, confess
Allah is great. Where are your wonders now?
The false compulsion of your shining? Dusk
Is on the air we breathe. Allah is great.
A cloud is over us, O man!
Nehemiah.
Where falls
The branch there it shall lie.
The Soldan.
What would you tell us?
Sabbataï.
Let me go forth.... There are many seas around....
To wander in the heat ...
The Soldan.
You are condemned.
You stand here a blasphemer, proved
Deep in imposture. There is punishment
For these offences, and to them is added
Sedition. I condemn you, and exact
Another miracle.
Sabbataï
(lifting his hands).
Drag me no more
Amid the dogs and mire! A miracle!
Have you not laughed that all was as it was.
A miracle!
The Soldan.
One that a man may do.
You must confess Mohammed.
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I refuse.
If I refuse ...?
The Soldan.
At the Seraglio gate
The stake is planted that shall raise you up
To die, that handsome head left without mercy
To brood upon the agony it tops.
Before extremity of punishment
You will be flogged with torch-twined rods that scorch you,
And sting together, Then you will lament
You kept my archers idle.
Sabbataï.
Renegade!
The Soldan.
Forsaken of your God!...
Your lips are white as the door of the Mosque at Eyoub.
Sabbataï.
The archers....
Their arrows!
[Again the half-circle laughs.
The Soldan.
You are weak to dream of pity.
Neither a sword nor arrows, but the stake,
And fiery rods to goad your nakedness.
Sabbataï.
I am so weary. What do you desire?
That I should change religion for religion,
My race for yours? Is it a Turk you ask
I should become?
The Soldan.
Please God!
Sabbataï.
I am alone
In all the lands, among all peoples....
(Falling on the cushions.)
And even
In death I shall go down in it alone.
Outcast!
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The woman—
Your Queen—will suffer deep in solitude,
When you are raised upon the pike—her death
Strangling, and the way to death a rack.
[Sabbataï springs up with a maddened gesture, and rends the hem of his black robe.
Sabbataï.
My God.... My people!
The dream, the dream!
Savage—this place—this crowd, this foreign country
Where I have no existence ...
The Soldan.
Sabbataï,
We worship the one God; the antique prophets
Are to the Turk as to the Jew.
Rich state has been about you: my rich state
Surrounds my servants and my wealth is theirs
In no unstinted measure. I am held
A generous paymaster. You please me well,
And often through the hours I would encounter
Your gentle and imperious face.
Sabbataï
(glancing sidelong at the Soldan).
I lived
Too softly....
[He laughs.
Foolish dreams!—Will you employ me?...
Hou!
[He groans and begins to shiver.
The Soldan.
Wisdom, Sabbataï,
Controls all discord in the bounds of Fate:
The inevitable should be calm.
[Sabbataï stands irresolute.
(To Mufti Vanni.)
A mystic,
But now an unbeliever, and the mind
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Listen!
[From the minarets of the city comes the cry of the Muézzin.
Voices.
God is great: there is no God but God:
Mahommed is God's prophet.
(The Soldan's prayer-mat is spread; he and all his Court murmur the midday prayers. Sabbataï is arrested. Then a look, at once frightened and profound, comes into his face: he bows his head and prostrates himself. When the prayers are over Sabbataï still remains prostrate.
The Soldan
(returning to his throne).
The Jew has prayed with us. Rise, Sabbataï.
[Sabbataï does as bidden.
Sabbataï.
God is great: there is no God but God:
Mohammed is his prophet.
[Throwing down his black Jewish turban, he stands as if a burthen had been loosed from him.
The Soldan.
Praise to Allah!
Now let the cloak of green and the white turban
Clothe him entire for our religion, make him
Compatriot and fellow-worshipper.
Ah, you think well. Mohammed is God's prophet,
Attested by the ages, by the wonders
Of death-like trance, by faith that wove God's glory
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Be my doorkeeper.
You shall not lack gold: as you will, your wages
In any kind my treasurer shall pay.
And I shall see you often as I pass.
You will receive the turban, the green mantle—
Will you not?
Sabbataï.
Yes, exalted Majesty.
[They dress him as a Turk.
The Soldan.
Will you receive of me your Turkish name,
My choosing?
Sabbataï.
Yes, exalted Majesty.
The Soldan.
Mehmed Effendi—and a favourite.
The Mufti Vanni.
Mehemed
Effendi, I will teach you in the Mosque
The true religion of God's chosen prophet,
In my Mosque ‘The Splendour.’ Allah's be all praise!
The Soldan.
Your wife shall be restored—Fauma Effendi
Her name: she shall have presents
From the Sultana's hand.
[He rises and moves down the room.
Open the curtain.
Await her.
Sabbataï.
Yes, exalted Majesty.
The Soldan.
Be happy in my service! Half a saint,
May the Great Prophet give you Heaven at last!
233
(his hand on the curtain).
What am I? On the branches of Life's Tree
Are many apples sound and beautiful.
If I am dropped and lie beneath the shadows,
Who glowed once in the sun, still other apples
Burthen the boughs. I should be comforted,
Laid safe within the shadow. God is great,
And glows and ripens on His favourites,
As this Mohammed. I will give God praise.
[White as death, he holds the curtain while the Soldan passes, and taps his cheek, and gives him a nod and smile of approbation. Nehemiah, unseen, stoops, picks up Sabbataï's black turban and hides it under his green cloak. When the Court has passed out, Sabbataï drops the curtain and turns back into the room, facing the Soldan's throne.
Am I not praising God, praising His prophet,
And taking on His partiality?
And yet I could have praised God in a way
More perfect, if my heart were not confused.
I could (widely extending his arms)
have taken the arrows in a sheaf,
And fallen and left the arrows for His choice,
And for His judgment over me—my God!
[He buries his face; then suddenly looks out at the Church of St. Sophia, visible against the sky.
234
God favoured that sad Prophet. Very gladly
I would have died to be accepted so.
How should I die? I had no part in dying,
I was called onward by a crown of sapphires.
To lure my people to their happiness
Was my sole task, sole strain. But God is great,
Mohammed is His prophet. God be praised!
[He sinks down on the cushions, and, closing his eyes, breathes as if asleep. Eunuchs shamble about. After a while a tall, black Eunuch opens the curtain and Zarah enters.
Zarah.
Wake, Sabbataï. We are dreaming. Help me!
Sabbataï
(with closed eyes).
I cannot. God is great. I testify
Mohammed is His prophet.
Zarah.
Sabbataï,
You have betrayed me.
Sabbataï
(opening his eyes).
I am like a woman
Who dreamt she was beloved, and to the core
Of a lover's heart; who made this dream her life,
Breathing it with the secrecy of breathing;
Who found.... But, O belovèd, as that woman
You are not. You are all to me, my chosen!
235
[Zarah lets her long hair fall over his feet as she kisses them. He looks out with wide, dreaming eyes.
If God should cling thus—if this woe should be
The land of Egypt, the Captivity!
| A Messiah | |