 | Ras Byzance |  |
ACT III.
Country outside Addis Ababa, in the dusk before dawn. Two transverse slopes of bold open Down, sprinkled with stones and rocks: where the sweeps of rolling land cross, an aged Coptic Priest is setting up stones in a pile. Now and then he shakes his fly-whisk and leans on his crutch of office. He wears a light, yellow garment, a pointed turban and leather amulets on his arm. When he has piled some of the stones, he laboriously gathers more. By a rock lower down the slope a lad with shaved head, twangs a one-stringed instrument and wails a strange, piping song, as he stands on one leg.JOHANNES.
Oh, oh, lu, lu!
Oh, the Wise Men,
On camels, mules,
Laden with myrrh,
Chetahs and tusks
Of elephants wild,
Journeying on
Where in her hut
Maryam sits,
God on her knee!
Oh, the Wise Men,
Wise as our Queen,
Leaving with gifts
Sheba behind,
Leaving the south
For Soloman!
Oh, oh, lu, lu!
PRIEST.
[Calling down the slope.]
Youngster, come up here!
We sing God manifest by and by. Put down your lyre
and help me. Had God granted me to be young I had been
able to carry bigger stones. . . . Come, your little hands
to the work, and God is briskly served!
Father, I am sleepy, and while I thrum, and sing the
Mages, I am almost asleep, in a morning sleep. To gather
stones, big stones, is to be roused too early.
PRIEST.
Sluggard! Up, up! You rascal, up! Hang your lyre
there, and tug with me at this stone. Ho! It moves, child!
Hold it, in God's name! You are deep-chested and strong
for a lad of your years. If God had granted me to be young
I should have built His altar with none but these large
stones: a handsome altar it had been. Those I built when
I was young, scarcely older than you—could you have seen
them! . . . Beyond the memory of man a Priest has set
an altar here on the Epiphany morning; but no priest
of them all made a finer altar than I, when I was young
. . . true to the circle. . . . And the stones!—Why,
child, I was a giant, I built as the men at Axum, God forgive
them!—as the heathen who could lift huge boulders.
. . . This one we are carrying—child's play, child's play!
But we must not talk, it spends our breath. . . . My
altars when I was a young man—I was proud to plant
Holy Cross in their midst. . . . Well, well! This is my
altar, too; and if the stones are lesser and a little tumbled,
priests and people sing and dance, when the time comes,
as loudly, gaily as ever when I was young. Always those
who can sing and dance!
JOHANNES.
Yoh! Sleepy! . . . Though I slept under the rocks
to help you build the altar before dawn, I slept, indeed I
did, good father!
PRIEST.
I saw you, Johannes; and when I passed you were
asleep. Why, as soon as you waked, did you not come to
me?
JOHANNES.
Yoh!—I saw you, father, but you were busy too soon.
Oh, Johannes, when you have kept the Epiphany for
many years to come, you will know one must be up long
before others, even before the light, if one is old, and has
work to do.
Come, come, we waste our breath. . . . There are
more stones than there used to be, you idle, little loon. . .
Many more stones. How they grow and increase!
JOHANNES.
I wish I could see the stones grow.
PRIEST.
That, child, you will never see. The stones grow when
the nights are very dark.
Come, come, Johannes. . . . I will pile for a time, and
you—look you!—there are seven or more loose stones
down yonder by the stream-course. . . . Run and bring
them as you can.
[The Priest and Boy build and carry in silence.]
JOHANNES.
What are those men on the ridge? Are they travellers?
PRIEST.
Where, boy? No, they are not on the road; they are
turned away from the road to Addis Ababa.
JOHANNES.
Are they coming to your altar?
PRIEST.
No, child—the earliest worshipper will not come before
the light.
JOHANNES.
They have spears. . . .
Johannes, they are not the elephant-hunters. See, they
have rifles. . . . They are the King's Guard. Why, do
they come? I am trembling, Johannes, at the King's Guard.
JOHANNES.
There is a prisoner among them; he has no weapon. . .
he must be a prisoner. They are coming close.
PRIEST.
Yesus! It is the Ras Byzance. They have brought him
here before the dawn of the Feast Day, God forgive them,
that the people might not suspect he should die thus early;
and before the sun is up, and the people gather to the
Feast, he will be dead and beyond rescue. It is the Ras
Byzance brought here to die.
In the name of God!
Johannes, you must go on seeking stones, and I must
build on—or the people will come and find no altar. I
have committed the Ras Byzance to God. We of Ethiopia
are the first among Christians and we must celebrate our
blessing.
THE CAPTAIN OF THE ESCORT.
No-one upon the verge! We hoped to find the Ras
Tasanna waiting.
Highnesses,
Be seated!
[He withdraws to a little distance and sits on a rock; his men lounge about and squat among the rocks, like great white birds in their shammas, their rifles over their knees, their spears bristling. From among them Barrambarras Maru, the King's dwarf, comes out. One of the soldiers, who is standing, hinders him, but he runs between the man's legs and topples him over, only to be caught up by another and held head downwards while he cries and screams till he is loosed. The Escort laugh uncontrollably.]
[Leaning against a rock to Ras Walda Giorgis, seated on a lower rock.]
Oh, a good laugh to hear! It rings of life.
[He laughs, too.]
The Midget! As a naughty, little child
He promises he will be good. Poor Midget,
Poor Barrambarras Maru, but he threw
One man head over heels, though he is frightened
At elephants and runs away. Poor Midget,
Now caught heels over head . . . ha, ha!—and crying
He will be good, if he may touch the earth,
And feel his little feet flat under him . . .
Why is he here?
RAS WALDA GIORGIS.
To Menelik at night.
At night—ah, yes!
Could I believe what he will tell at night!
To die. . . . To feel so small a thing—
As in a storm of thunder when the storm
Is flash and crash at one. . . . A brave, a ruler,
A young man, and of no account! Confusion
And smothering discord round me—I so small,
A dwarf may well be witness of my end!
RAS BYZANCE.
This purple flower, now shut, opening at daylight
Will close and will be withered when they dance
This afternoon about that altar pile;
And on the blossom-shaft
Another flower to-morrow, at daylight,
Will open for that morning. . . . Why, the name
Addis Ababa—“The New Flower!” . . . The King's
New Flower! . . . It is one record.
Menelik
And Walda Giorgis never will forget.
RAS BYZANCE.
Oh, but life is so rampant, and so fresh,
The new things are so fresh and brim it up
With food that quivers! . . .
I can never die
As I am now, sound in my body's health,
A new day in me and a stretching force
Alert, couched as a hunter, in my blood.
Oh, can I die? . . . Even Menelik himself
Would not be crowned at Axum, being afraid
Of the old prophecy he would be killed
At Axum of the Sacred Grove, if ever
He went within its precincts: Menelik
Refused the crown where he must pay by death.
Would I were there within the Sacred Grove,
The Sanctuary Grove, where no King's Laws
Can touch the fugitive for any deed!
And mine!—What is my crime for which I die?
One held as guiltless in our country; one
That is accorded praise in other men;
I killed my wedded wife, false to my love,
False every hour in senses and in heart . . .
Yet I am here, driven to extremity
For lack of proof, when all was evidence.
Once, Walda Giorgis,—once
We saw an antelope chased to a chasm,
Its fore-feet and its hind-feet on one slab
Touching each other, all its feet. . . . We laughed.
I am that antelope. . . .
Why does he stay,
This Ras Tasanna? Why is he so long?
RAS WALDA GIORGIS.
Driven to the verge of earth, that antelope—
Do you remember, Byzance?—it had sky,
Blue sky alone behind it?
I am nothing:
But our great King has spoken and I speak
What he would have me speak. He bade me say
For Soloman, blessed God that He delighted
To set the King over His chosen people
Of Israel to 'stablish them for ever,
And therefore made him King that he might do
Judgment and justice: then she gave him gold,
And spices, and a spice than which no other
Was like to that she gave to Soloman.
Byzance, he told me you could give that spice—
It were your sacrifice, your willing death
That he should rule, his justice unimpugned:
And giving that, you would not die so hard.
RAS BYZANCE.
He pleaded for me, he was merciful.
[Ras Byzance crosses over to where the Dwarf watches him from behind a rock.]
Say, Barrambarras Maru, say to-night
At dawn Ras Byzance died and blessed the King;
For happy are his men, happy his servants
Who stand before him, happy at his side.
[The Dwarf nods. Ras Byzance returns and sits cross-legged on the ground by Ras Walda Giorgis.]
I have given myself to death. . . . Do you remember
Before Adowa, in the early morning,
We said good-bye; we gave ourselves to death?—
And would have so surrendered us with joy
For any cause our King's command made ours.
We said good-bye, we gave ourselves to death,
And parted for the battle. . . . In our tent
That morning, covered over by its folds,
Were many spring-flowers, we had spread it over . . .
By the beds, crocuses; and, by the pole,
Bunches of lilies; and the day was such
Our life was perfect pleasure.
Walda Giorgis,
Do you remember when we met at night
Across that big Italian laid along,
Who cried to see his mother, so they said;
And some, he cried for Maryam, God's Mother;
How the man quivered, as I once had seen
Back to his earth, what he was fashioned of?
[Ras Byzance springs to his feet.]
Oh, I can never die!
The dawn is coming out, forth to its life:
It will have morning and the noon while young;
And then fade, but according to its hours.
And I—
Oh, I am shown, brought out from my dark prison,
Cast forth, as downpour of the rains will wash
A gold coin from the soil, for Ras Tasanna
To snatch and hide again in earth . . .
Ha, Captain,
I saw your sign . . .
Sentinel-goats give the white herds such warning
If a lion look down from the ridge's top . . .
Oh! I have seen.
[The Soldiers are drawn up in line, their rifles shouldered, their spears erect. Ras Byzance quickly kisses Ras Walda Giorgis, and stands grasping the cross at his throat, his left hand in his friend's.]
RAS WALDA GIORGIS.
[Whispers.]
Your death must be as hers . . . her eyes were shut.
Close yours at last of all.
RAS BYZANCE.
No, with wide sight.
[Enter Ras Tasanna and a few followers.]
RAS TASANNA.
[To Ras Walda Giorgis.]
Highness, we missed the ground, until we rose
The spur of hill out yonder. Give me pardon.
[Ras Byzance, throwing his black cloak from his shoulder, advances to Ras Tasanna, who at the same moment draws his sword. They look straight in each other's faces.]
I bless the King—and I appeal to God.
Kill me!
[Ras Tasanna delivers one stroke. Ras Byzance leaps forward, then falls back.]
Oh! Oh! [He dies.]
[Ras Walda Giorgis kneels by him. Ras Tasanna, the cross-hilt Dervish sword still in his hand, bows over him.]
RAS TASANNA.
But is he surely dead?
[He takes from Ras Byzance's head the lion auriole and holds the edge of hair to his lips.]
Abenetah,
Dead, as that morning you lay dead—
And in his blood as you, Abenetah!
[He rises, inclines slightly towards Ras Walda Giorgis, and goes out, the sword still in his hand.]
[Ras Walda Giorgis falls weeping over the body. The Priest, who stretched out his hand as the blow fell, now continues to build his altar. Two Soldiers bring a mat on which to lay the body. There is an approaching sound of drums tapped and the stems of gevara blown as trumpets. The first worshippers arrive, while the old Priest hurriedly sets up a Silver Greek Cross in the centre of his altar.]
THE CAPTAIN OF THE ESCORT.
[To Ras Walda Giorgis.]
Highness, the people come. We must depart.
RAS WALDA GIORGIS.
[Without lifting his head.]
I weep the King's grief. . . . Let his people's grief
Mingle with mine.
CAPTAIN.
Highness, the King's command.
[The people press forward.]
What is it?
. . . Who has fallen?
. . . We have been cheated—see!
. . . Our Lord Ras Byzance!
Unjustly killed! Oh, see!
. . . The victim of a wanton—
. . . Of revenge!
. . . Of Cruelty! We will revenge him!
. . . Tear
His body from these executioners . . .
Who weeps him?
. . . Rifles, men!
We have our rifles . . .
. . . That is Walda Giorgis,
The Ras our King loves best.
Listen! He speaks.
RAS WALDA GIORGIS.
[Rising and intervening between the Escort and the crowd.]
King Menelik did justice on my friend,
On his beloved—the justice of your laws
Of Ethiopia. We all . . . the dead,
And I—yea, and the King of Kings appeal
To God . . . O people, hence and keep His Feast;
And peaceably. It is the King's command.
Let there be peace!
The dead removes to judgment
Where deeds are clear in their own evidence,
As stars by shining faultless from themselves.
Our justice is but blind and dark, at best,
Beneath a firmament of heavy cloud,
Where what seems may not be, what is lies covered,
And nothing is as wisdom gives it forth.
Captain, take up the body, let us bear it
Back over the great Downs. No more must sorrow
Dim this great Feast of the Epiphany.
Sing round your altar. In the name of God!
[The body of Ras Byzance, covered by his black cloak, is borne out. The people, gathering round the altar, wail their hymn, to drums and gevara-pipes and one-stringed lyres.]
Christ is beheld,
Light of the East,
Shown to the South;
Brought by the Wise
Down the old road
Where—on God's Ark
Came from God's Hill,
Came in the days
Of Menelik, son
Of Nikaula Wise!—
Down the old road
From Sheba made,
On which the Queen
Went forth with gifts,
With spice and gold,
With questions hard—
Down the old road
Our Queen trod back
With all she asked
From Soloman.
| Ras Byzance | |