 | Ras Byzance |  |
135
ACT I.
Addis Ababa: Noon over sweeps of turf-land; on the horizon the mound of the King's House. In front, to the right, the wood-hut, withed and straw-roofed, of Ras Byzance; further back, to the left, the smaller hut of the women, surrounded by a gallery, that is reached by an outside stair-case of wood. A few warriors in white lie asleep where there is shade.From the women's hut a sound like that of an impeded stream is heard once or twice; then a muffled cry, as of the hyæna at night: after profound silence, Ras Byzance comes out on to the gallery and descends, his sword unsheathed, his face in sculpture under its auriole of lion's mane. He is dressed in white, with black silk cloak, a cross with a blue cord round his throat. From his right ear hangs a diamond that testifies he has killed elephants.
RAS BYZANCE.
Done! It is done!
. . . And we had eaten of God's sacrament;
The High Priest heard and through his ear God heard
Our vows each to the other. She is there,
And she is dead. . . . Thank God, who heard our vows!
[He still holds his sword and bends his head; raising it after a while.]
So purged the air is when a dust-storm strikes,
And, having struck, departs: so came, so goes
This punishment, fallen by the power of God.
The sun unveiled!
My thoughts firm . . .
Why then, with my thoughts thus firm,
Should I be trembling and my brow so damp,
Damp as my sword?
[He unbinds the white scarf tied round his head beneath the lion-auriole and wipes his forehead.]
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[He wipes it on the white scarf.]
Slip back
To thy red scabbard, my clean weapon; rest!
Thou hast done righteousness. Take now thy rest.
[He wipes his forehead again.]
Ha! . . . But her blood! I had forgotten it . . .
Away—her blood, her false, polluted blood
To touch my forehead with its heinous mark!
Away!
[He flings his scarf behind his hut, and wipes his forehead with his black cloak.]
Now, by the death of Menelik,
I swear I will not enter by one thought
That dwelling-place of Judgment, where is laid
The quarry of to-day.
Is it not easy
To breathe the air and wander in the mind
These rolling uplands, free
To flocks of thoughts?
I never saw so clearly
The King's house, nor so clear
The little, ancient church of my espousals
Before me at Entotto, . . . nor the roofs
Of all the countryside . . .
Ras Michael's roofs—
The high one, and the lower one, where dwells
Weletemaskel, his much-honoured wife
And her hand-maidens . . .
No, no! I am free
To wander in my thoughts over the grass,
Over the grassland to the Herrer Mountains,
Where I once killed a lion and won his mane
As auriole . . . on to Mount Manigashi,
Where I first killed an elephant and won
The diamond trophy for my ear . . . or further
To where due south the monastery lies,
Beside a lake, where I was taught my prayers,
Under Zukala's clambering heights. . . .
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Thy palace!—
O Lion of Judah, sprung from Soloman,
Sprung from the Queen of Sheba, Menelik,
The King of Kings . . .and all these clustered roofs,
Where dwell my fifteen thousand braves, the men
I draw by rule and influence to aid him
In his vast hope and vast enlightenment! . . .
Is not this full enough of life to hinder
All thinking back on what has been of woe?
Ah, thou wilt comprehend; thou hast thy wife,
Our honoured Queen, the honoured Taïtu,
O King! . . . The stillness of my huts!
As tiny craft upon a broken sea . . .
And my own hut . . . and hers!
Now the dogs bark,
And guests are coming hither.
[A few of the warriors roll over and look up.]
Sleep your sleep!
Friends!—His dear Highness
Ras Walda Giorgis . . . with her brother? Ah! . . .
The Ras Tasanna . . . And he laughs, laughs loud.
[Enter Ras Walda Giorgis and Ras Tasanna. They all touch hands.]
Be welcome!
RAS WALDA GIORGIS.
From the King of Kings, we come.
He prays of you to guard the foreigner
Bridging the gorge of Hawash.
Stay, dear Highness,
Has ill befallen you? Or the crazy Demon
Boöda entered you? Does not his Highness
Look strange?
RAS TASANNA.
Why are you here alone, if ill?
Or has the mood grown up too suddenly
For any aid? These fiendish visitations
Come pell-mell on the brain.
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Why should you thus
Consign me to the fiend?
RAS WALDA GIORGIS.
But you look strange,
Beloved—
RAS BYZANCE.
Noon, noon!—
Speak to me plainer of the requisition
The King of Kings has made on me. You said—
To guard the French adviser of the King
From here to Hawash Gorge?
Yes, I have round me
My complement of troops, and will give order
To my Gerazmach for the escort. Enter!
RAS TASANNA.
No, brother, no!
You and his Highness Walda Giorgis hold
Discourse of the last scandal of our Court,
Or vaunt your praises of the foreigner,
Or speak of wires that bear the voice of men
Further than any winds the lion's roar,
The bellow of the elephant . . . these marvels,
This telephone and these unhallowed engines
Of magic that the Son of Judah dares
To take to his command. Boast as you will
Of your new ways; while from the gallery
I wake my sister, chide her indolence.
. . . You have been easy to Abenetah—
Nothing to do but broider—or to bar
Her locks with Indian oils through plaits of marvel;
She rubs her skin with rose, or cinnamon,
Or nutmeg . . . Then how slow
She fills the foreign glass upon her table
With marigolds above the coffee-draught;
Or lies asleep, a chetah, in the noon.
You have been easy, Byzance, to your bride.
I shall call Fie! and wake her.
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Fie, Fie, Fie!
Fie, fie, Abenetah! Wake up, come forth!
[Ras Byzance drops his hand on his sword.]
RAS WALDA GIORGIS.
Dear, you will join me early when we ride
Out to Entotto for St. Ragual's Feast?
We must ride earlier than the King of Kings
To meet him, for you know he rides betimes,
Is ever earlier than the hour of Time;
For he is greater than its lapse, and solid
To lead it forward to his will or motion.
Do not be late!
RAS BYZANCE.
But how he has wide sight,
Our Lord of Victory! O friend,
How the white alien trembles at his name
And the dire name Adowa, name of greatness,
That cleansed in blood our country from a foreign,
Contaminating stain!
RAS WALDA GIORGIS.
How vehement, dear Highness, vehement!
But all we warriors, from our feet to throat,
Would dance and shout the glory—would we not?—
Of Ethiopia and our Menelik.
RAS TASANNA.
[At the door.]
Fie, fie, wake up, Abenetah, wake up!
Ha, ho! wake up, come forth, Abenetah!
Women, wake up, arouse your mistress, wake!
RAS WALDA GIORGIS.
Are they not precious sleepers, these fine women,
Who have their leisure and desire in all?
Ha, ha!
Oh, what a figure Ras Tasanna makes,
Imploring like a lover—ho!
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She will not come? We shall not see the women
Stand on the stairs, a long line of white lilies
Up a steep cliff—Ho, ho! They will not come.
She will not come.
[Ras Tasanna laughs back.]
RAS BYZANCE.
Demons! How long, how slow!
RAS WALDA GIORGIS.
What are you angry? Let us jest to-day
And laugh!—Your eyes . . . they are not as your eyes
Sharp as in fight.
RAS TASANNA.
Abenetah!
[He looks round the half-opened door impatiently, then mutters, then enters the hut, calling.]
All is not well! Come in! All is not well.
RAS WALDA GIORGIS.
But what has happened? Come!
RAS BYZANCE.
[Holding his friend's cloak.]
Nor you nor I will enter. All is well.
RAS TASANNA.
[In a shriek from within.]
My sister. . . . Oh, she's dead, she's lying murdered. . . .
My sister and her women murdered with her!
My sister, my Abenetah—my sister!
RAS BYZANCE.
[With a smile.]
You are my friend . . . 'tis true!
By right of friendship you should know the first.
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Highness, and all this while. . . . Yesus, this while!
RAS BYZANCE.
Yes, she and her six women in the sun—
There for the light to see, their faces turned
For the full light to reach them, while they lie
Motionless in the scorching gaze of day:
Seven faces in one condemnation bare.
RAS WALDA GIORGIS.
You did this, Highness?
RAS TASANNA.
[Descending from the gallery.]
No-one comes
My sister murdered and no feet run hither;
Her husband stands as I had said a dog
Had died among the mules. . . .
[He totters to Ras Byzance and whispers in his ear.]
Abenetah
Is dead. . . .
[He sinks down, his head on his knees.]
And, Cross of Yesus, no-one speaks.
RAS BYZANCE.
[Above Ras Tasanna's head.]
She is, as is the leafless tree
Of the Salilmah, all her flowers are faded
In all their perfect loveliness at noon:
For she was leafless and at noon is dead.
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My sister . . . no one came, and no one spoke,
And then her husband with aspersing breath
Bows over me!
[Springing up.]
Dead! Dead! But she is murdered!
And he who murdered her, if her own father,
Should prove the cause for which he murdered her.
RAS BYZANCE.
Highness, she played the harlot; she was false . . .
Oh, how she gathered on the day and night
The load of her pollution, till the night,
That but endures, gave up to active day
The task of loosening the vile burthen down!
RAS TASANNA.
My sister vile and an adulteress!
With whom?
RAS BYZANCE.
The Ras Mangasha.
RAS TASANNA.
That youth, her cousin, and my closest friend?
The Ras Mangasha?
RAS BYZANCE.
Yes.
RAS TASANNA.
I will be sworn my friend is innocent.
RAS BYZANCE.
Ay, as the fat, white snakes upon the desert,
That in three minutes kill, but hide from sunrise,
And disappear. . . .
RAS TASANNA.
O fool!
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Ever beside her, ever on her lips,
Ever removing from my huts as soon
As I approached them, ever with my guests
And at my table, ever when I travelled
At home with her . . . and all my joy put out!
Had I not slept in peace 'neath her caresses,
As sleeps the bull-rhinoceros, while round him
The cloud, the host of variegated birds
Is at its vigil to awake him, rouse him,
Should peril neighbour them; and I had trusted
Her graces, all her shining ways—a fool!
Silent, she gave no warning, let the trapper
Come on me, shamed me, and delivered me
A prey to Ras Mangasha.
RAS TASANNA.
You shall 'stablish
Before the King of Kings your accusation
Against the Ras Mangasha, and shall answer
For this fell murder to the uttermost.
With me is vengeance for that lovely one,
Laid terrible before me, with closed eyes
And open lips. . . . Unhappy sister, severed
From life in morning flower! If I can stretch you,
Even as she lies, in blood upon the earth,
Our King of Kings will not in vain have ruled,
The laws of Ethiopia be not vain.
I go to pray the King of Kings for judgment.
Go you into your women's house, go in!
You will see judgment with your naked sight—
Let that suffice until my naked sword
Shall make you know my vengeance to the hilt.
[He unsheathes his sword and waves it back toward the women's house. Warriors of Ras Byzance, with swords and rifles, have gathered round threateningly.]
RAS BYZANCE.
Place for his Highness Ras Tasanna—shoot
Who dare or do offence!
[Ras Tasanna goes out.]
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O friend, my dear, but did she truly sin?
You know she sinned, if you have done this deed?
RAS BYZANCE.
Would she not chaunt for me Adôn, Adôn,
Adoshava in pride that I had killed
A lion and wore his glory for my crownet
—The women's song Adôn Adoshava,
Sing day by day Adôn?
Mangasha had but speared a lioness through
Till yesterday, when he brought home from hunting
A feeble, grizzled lion, and in my house
She hummed Adôn, Adôn, Adoshava,
Low and contented as the desert-bee
In honey to the full of appetite—
A Wandatch bee in spring . . .
Each hum made keen my sword-blade to deliver
My ears from that redoubling monotone,
More hideous than the foeman's cannonade
When the invader came to strike our land.
He came in vain . . . and would I bear that sound—
That dispossession of her voice, her lips,
Her secret bosom, nor draw forth the sword,
Nor flash it as a victor? . . .
How she hummed
Adôn, Adôn, Adoshava—as happy
As nurslings that draw milk; so low, so inward
Upon her heart, as fed! Not to the braves,
Not to the guests as when she chaunted me,
And played with flame-eyes round my aureole
To which all eyes were turned as to a fire . . .
Not so . . . . but to herself she sang Adôn
She cannot any more. Is she not dead? . . .
Where is her voice? She will not hear her voice—
Nor I . . .
Upon her wanton breath no mad, droned music,
Nor on her lips, her love, indulging them!
RAS WALDA GIORGIS.
Woe for the day that brought you to this deed!
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No woe, but clear thanksgiving she is dead.
Did we not shout out as the alien yielded
Before us, shout round the great heavens and dance
Across the free grass of our happy country
Clean from our foe, ourselves executors
Of vengeance on the curse fallen in our bounds?
So I rejoice—immeasurably triumph.
RAS WALDA GIORGIS.
Woe on the day!—
RAS BYZANCE.
His eyes, her eyes—the kisses in their eyes!
She had forgotten me,
As I were laid a corpse upon a mat
Along my shallow grave, lost, covered up
By her entangling smiles for him, her riot
Of laughter, and her glances and her gaze;
My resting-place beneath them lost, gone, gone,
That none should know I lived, and once had gathered
All the abundance of her face as mine,
My garden—all her face.
RAS WALDA GIORGIS.
Woe on the day
You married her with God's own sacrament!
RAS BYZANCE.
She darkened heaven and she made the earth
Foul as an empty torrent. Do you think
I did not love her, Walda Giorgis, love her?
Why, she has turned my heart
Into a lonely cistern of the hills,
Where none will ever drink, where the wild foxes
And murderous wild-dogs cluster for their life,
Fighting around the water from the rock,
From the bare rock; and none of human kind
Will pierce the savage guard nor drink the treasure.
'Tis so I loved her . . .
I can see her laid
Within there, as I left her; on her bosom
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And robe such splashes as the red of pods
On sarmon-trees, or coffee in the husk,
Or the red bats and tassels of mimosa
Hanging like ear-rings down, the red in splashes;
And she laid, brown and white, upon her blood,
Laid on it, as an Indian carpet, laid
So deeply still and peaceful on her blood.
Go, Walda Giorgis, to the King of Kings;
Tell him she sinned, tell him I will be judged.
Kiss me, Ras Walda Giorgis, if my friend.
[They embrace.]
Go to the King of Kings! I go within
My women's house . . . I dare. And I will go.
What I shall see is well: what I left there
Was well and I shall recognise my act.
Adieu!—My Cause!
[Ras Walda Giorgis passes the saluting warriors. Ras Byzance shuts behind him the door of the women's house.]
| Ras Byzance | |