 | Jesus of Nazareth |  |
Scene III.
—Same night. Private apartment in Mary's house. Mary amd Valerius engaged in conversation. Balcony outside, partly hidden by curtains. The window is open, the sky is visible, and the stars are shining.Valerius.
And so he loves you! 'Tis a generous youth:
Why not requite his passion? Cynics say
Women love vice in man, not virtuous deeds—
But is that true?
Mary.
A man of spotless worth
Is oft-times dull to deal with. Women love
True love in man; they love excitement better,
Excitement, movement, change. Moreover, too,
What women crave for—yes, beyond all else—
Is strength; they being the weaker must look up,
Not down—must lean, and not be leaned upon.
Tibullus worships me. I worship—strength.
Valerius.
Strength goes with baseness often.
Mary.
And with virtue
Weakness that ruins all. Your virtuous man
Trembles before a woman, cries “I love you,
But I love virtue better! Passion's fair,
But honour's fairer—we'll not sully honour.
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As angels we shall meet.” Valerius,
Do you believe in angels?
Valerius.
I believe?
The dead are dead, I take it. I have seen
Wild battles where the countless slain lay heaped,
Filling the fields with horror. I have watched
Their strange stiff attitudes, their limbs outstretched,
Their faces pale but blood-streaked, and their eyes
Wide open, glaring at the sunlit heavens
Whence never pitying sun-god stooped to save:
And, as I watched, I have thought “Is this the seed
Whence spirits and angels spring? Impossible.”
(Tibullus appears on the balcony, unseen by Mary and Valerius, and watches).
Mary.
I love the sunlight; I love not the dead.
Valerius.
Thou art as very sunlight, what hath death
To do with thee? The gods, creating woman,
Made one thing deathless—beauty such as thine.
Mary.
The worms will banquet on it.
Valerius.
Speak not thus.
Nay, let us speak of love, for love transcends
All mortal limits, and our legends say
That gods for love's sweet sake have stooped to earth,
Forgetful of Olympus. Dost thou love me?
Mary.
Love—what is love? One moment's fierce-drawn breath,
One spasm of joy, the blossom of a flower,
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One flash, and then the tomb. Yes, that is love.
Valerius.
Nay, are not earth's sweet brief things sweeter far
In virtue of their briefness? Aye, the gods
May envy man, meseems, for not to Jove
Who through the vistas of eternity
Pursues for ever love's evasive form
Fell ever brief strange rapture such as ours
When all past history's nights of passionate love
In our night mingled, and that night became
To mortal hearts immortal. Dost thou love me?
Mary.
Valerius—if I said, “I love Valerius”—
(Enter Tibullus suddenly, from the balcony).
(to Tibullus).
No, Bashemath's not here.
Tibullus.
Thou sweet-tongued liar,
Thou knowest I seek not Bashemath, but thee,
And thee I find—
Mary.
Discussing various points
Of dainty cookery, with our friend Valerius.
Pray, is there harm in that? The feast to-night
Was in some points amiss; Valerius brings
A hundred delicate choice recipes from Rome,
And he and I discuss them.
Tibullus.
In the night—
Alone—doors fastened—with your couch anigh,
Whereon to spread the banquet? Lie no more;
Though lying brings such radiance to your eyes,
Such colour to your cheeks, that half I say,
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Takes on so fair and pure a form in you
That spotless innocence might feel ashamed,
Blush for its lack of grace, and doubt itself,
Beholding sin rewarded by the gods
With more than mortal beauty.
Mary.
Still, Tibullus,
Your periods pause upon the brink of verse.
Why hesitate to take the daring plunge?
You'd make a noble poet!
Tibullus.
Still the same—
Save that the lovely laughter in your eyes
Which I—the gods forgive me—once believed
Meant perfect purity, now means—
Valerius.
Tibullus,
Take friendly counsel, leave us.
Tibullus.
Leave you here!
You call that friendly counsel—devil's counsel.
I once believed in friendship, and in love;
I now believe in hate—and hate shall spur
My willing soul to vengeance. Come with me.
Leave this—your concubine—and come with me.
Valerius.
Take back those words.
Tibullus.
Nay, I add further words.
I say that here you linger like a coward,
That this sweet whore whose honied lips have drugged
To sleep the manhood in you may defend you!
Cower behind her—use her form as shield:
I would not pierce her body with my sword,
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For you, being part of her by this night's deed,
Are separate yet, and as a separate form
Fit target for revenge. Come forth, I say!
Valerius.
Nay, rave not thus; though true it is indeed
Her beauty hath maddened wiser heads than yours.
She is not what you thought her: she is better,
Far better than you thought her, being a woman.
You dowered her with white wings, forgot her lips,
And womanhood resides in woman's lips,
Not in her wings; when man forgets her lips,
Woman forgets to love him. Learn the truth:
The gods make woman, not as poets make,
But as they love to find her.
Tibullus.
Gods of hell,
Not gods of heaven! Nay, must I strike you then?
Strike—before her—that false mouth she has kissed—
(makes as though he would strike Valerius).
Valerius.
Enough.
Mary.
Nay, pause!
Tibullus.
The die is cast. Farewell.
(Exeunt Valerius and Tibullus).
Mary.
Triumph! and yet I tremble; why, I know not.
Two valiant soldiers these; I love them both,
Or rather love not either. Men complain
They understand not woman, know not whom
She loves of all her lovers—yet, in sooth,
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Is high and all the world in passionate light
Basks, woman loves an emperor; but at eve,
When the stars' magic flashes through her eyes
And somewhat in her soul of madness lurks,
She longs, it may be, to abase herself,
And loves that emperor's slave. A woman's heart,
Had all the stars of heaven the eyes of men,
The hearts of men, would, finding room for all,
Crave yet for stars to light new depths of gloom
In that strange heart's abysses.
Yet is there in me somewhat left of pity!
Faith have I none, nor hope; yet men are fair—
Tibullus wears the morning on his brow,
While in the eyes of dark Valerius
Couches revengeful midnight: I will forth
And stay this duel—it is not all unsweet
To woman that brave men should die for woman,
And men have died for me; but these shall not.
I'll forth and find them—swords have hardly crossed
As yet—when judgment on my soul descends,
And when the righteous strong Lord of my race
Says, “Lo! the flames await thee,” I will say,
“Lord, though I sold my beauty—though I squandered
The gifts thou gavest me—I did one deed
Not all unrighteous, for I saved two men
Noble from fate ignoble.
(Exit Mary).
| Jesus of Nazareth | |