University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—A Room in Joseph's House at Prague.
Enter Joseph and Ahab.
Ahab.
More gold!

Jos.
Yes, Ahab, more! The dross is mine,
Thou only hast the custody, and yet
Thou yield'st it me, as it were drops of blood
From thine own heart! I say I want more gold,
And more to follow, yet, if that suffice not;
And failing gold, I'll coin my parchments, plate,
Jewels, and furniture—my very roof—
But I shall find supplies!

Ahab.
And for a Christian?

Jos.
Thou art my brother-Jew. What couldst thou more
Than risk thy life for mine?

Ahab.
I do not know
What greater venture man can risk for man,
Than his own life.

Jos.
Wouldst thou risk thine for me?
Thou art honest, Ahab, though thou lov'st thyself
Better than any living thing beside.
Thou pausest to consider! Do not pause,
'Tis waste of time, which I will save thee. Ahab,
Thou wouldst not risk thy life for me. Now mark,—
When I suffer'd persecution, Ahab,
Ten years ago, in Spain,—where Christian men
In their Master's name, did that which never yet
Their Master's precepts warranted—I say it,
For it is written, Ahab, written plain,
That he who runs may read—when Christian men
Gave human, living flesh to roast, because
We held the old faith and eschew'd the new,—
The Christian father of this Christian child
Then saved my life at peril of his own!—
Get the gold, Ahab! He did that for me,
That was not of his creed, thou wouldst not do,
Who holdest it! Ahab, I, then, believed
The Master taught them right! He is my neighbour
That does a neighbour's office unto me!
The gold, and plenty on't—a hundred ducats!

Ahab.
A hundred ducats?

Jos.
'Tis the twentieth part
Of what remains! A portion of his life
He did not risk, but all. Resolve at once
To do my bidding, else my mind may change,
And I may bid thee fetch the whole,—the whole!
A prompt compliance, in a strait, is best.
Where others have the power to make conditions!
Resistance tires forbearance! Fetch the gold,
For the sake of him who saved the hands that made it
From the fire.—Look here! they are not cinders, Ahab,
But flesh; and thank a Christian. Fetch the gold!
[Ahab goes out.
Poor girl! how she has wasted since she first
Came here: yet how her spirit lasts, beyond
Her body: there she suffers no impairment!
My Rachel had been like her, had she lived,—
The face reminds me of her, as it shines
From the thick bower of her raven hair,
When, now and then, by chance, I see it down!
Enter Meeta.
What news, my girl?

Meeta.
None!—I have sped to-day
As yesterday! The names of “father,”—“child,”
Seem here to carry, to men's hearts, no import
Past that of lightest words. They hardly win
An audience for me! When they do, the eye
Of the listener, every other moment caught
By passing trivial'st things, admonishes
My tongue it only wastes an earnest suit
Upon a heedless ear. Once, as I thought,
My auditor was moved,—almost he seem'd
To give me hope,—I felt as if about
To cross the threshold of the prison, and
Blessings and thanks rose in my throat so thick,
That utterance quite fail'd me, and, except
For tears, that sudden came to my relief,
I had fallen at his feet,—yet at that very moment
Some antic, feat I saw not, but a wretch
Practised within his view, convulsed him straight
With laughter, 'mid the peals of which he left me,
As I had ne'er been standing there! A clap
Of thunder had not stunn'd me half so much.

Jos.
Was't a new warden?

Meeta.
Yes.

Jos.
Corrupt his heart,
With pity at the door to thrust it back,
And let the mood, it shrinks from, enter in!

Meeta.
They are all alike! See.

[Showing an empty purse.
Jos.
Thou hast emptied it?
Well, I can fill it again!

Meeta.
All gone, and naught
To show for it: a heart-full, too, of prayers!

Jos.
I fear there is no hope!

Meeta.
Don't say it! Though
For so far we have found men's hearts but stones,
Still will we turn them up. It cannot be
But we shall light on one that's flesh and blood.
I won't believe it! Yea, though from my hand
The hundred thousandth one dropp'd dead as flint,
I'd go to the next as though the human touch
Might meet me there! No! while my father lives,
I'll ne'er give up the hope to save his life!

Jos.
A girl—and proof against despondence thus!

Meeta.
I often fear you deem me hard of heart.
Perhaps you think I do not weep enough?
It is not that I could not weep—it is
That I won't weep—that I won't give way—that I'll keep
My spirit up—my thoughts about me—waste
Naught that my father wants! I can't afford
To be a child and melt. No! I must be
A deliverer, and, to dissolvement, proof
As a rock. I have not shed a single tear
But as a prayer—except to-day, when I gasp'd,
And must have wept or dropp'd, and even then
It came of itself! Thou saidst just now thou fear'dst
There was no hope? But there is! I came resolved
To keep it from thee, promise had so oft
Enticed belief to balk it. I have a chance
To see the daughter of the Governor.

Jos.
How came this blessed chance?

Meeta.
Ha! blessed, say'st thou?—
Perhaps 'twill prove so!—The poor human heart,
How it doth build, and build on slightest grounds!
Words dropp'd by chance 'twill take for prophecies!
We'll pray it may be bless'd—We, then, may hope for't!
Well, I will tell you.

Jos.
Hope begins to dawn!

Meeta.
Didn't I say there was no fear of hope?
I went, as every day I yet have done,
To the Governor's. The man that oped the gate
Was a new warder. A new face, new hope!
I told my tale; and, when 'twas done, implored him
Prefer my poor petition to his lady,
To grant me briefest audience.

Jos.
To the daughter
Of the Governor?

Meeta.
To her!

Jos.
I see: go on!

Meeta.
Like all the rest, he show'd—not plainly though,
But by a hint—that charities were things
Of cost, and must be bought with more than thanks.
My purse was officeless, my last balk'd suit
Had of its trust absolved it quite—a wretch
Who bragg'd, to win my bribe, a power he had not,
And added savage mockery to the wrong!
I pleaded destitution. “What,” he cried,
“No toy, no trinket, you could turn to coin!”
And rudely snatching from its place my hood,
Which I had just unloosed, for want of air—
“Ha!” he exclaim'd, “what costly treasure's this!”
As, by the action from its band released,
My hair fell all around me!

Jos.
Thereof make they
High traffic. I have known a head of hair,
Of ordinary goodliness, to bring
A common peasant maid a little dower!
There scarce were price a woman might not set
On one so rich as thine.

Meeta.
Indeed! I would
I then had known its value—I had made
A surer bargain.

Jos.
Durst he ask it of thee?
Wretch! He shall never have it! Thou shalt take
A purse of ducats to him.

Meeta.
It is his
Already. With my leave he sever'd it,
As only 'twere the string that held it up,
And, glad, I gave it to him.

Jos.
I, at hand,
To fill thy purse! A quarter of an hour
Had ta'en thee here and back.

Meeta.
And in that time
His mind had changed, or he had been removed,
And in his place another put, and all
Had been to do again, and that, perhaps
With lessen'd chance.—Had he ask'd me for a limb,
He had had it—had it!—not one precious moment
Had I stay'd haggling with him. It had gone
As the hair of my head—ay—as a single hair.
'Tis time I go—

Enter Ahab.
Ahab.
Despatches have arrived.

Meeta.
They bring the order for my father's death.
I see it! Say it. You cannot tell me worse
Than I know.

Ahab.
The news is bad.

Meeta.
I'll not give up
While there is chance the substance of a thread—
A film! Although a thousand emperors
Had sworn to take the life of his grey hairs,
While it is in them, I will try and save it!

Jos.
Thou lookest faint! Some wine will hearten thee.

Meeta.
I'll have no wine but such as I draw hence,
From my heart! There's not such wine in all thy house
To strengthen me! There's plenty, and to spare!
What time is he to die?

Jos.
Tell her. No use
Withhold it from her. Her spirit is the arch
Which gaineth strength by that which burdens it.

Ahab.
He is to die within three days, although
The Governor his case reported so,
It might have gain'd for him a milder doom.

Meeta.
Did he? Did the Governor? Did you say
The Governor his case reported kindly?
The Governor? he?—he that's here?—here now
In Prague?—the very Governor of Prague?

Ahab.
The same; but some severe reverse, 'tis said,
Our arms have met with, so have overcast
The imperial mind, that clemency is quench'd,
And thus thy father's death, alas, decreed!

Meeta.
I would be here, and twenty leagues from this.

Jos.
Why twenty leagues from this?

Meeta.
That distance lives
A friend might give me help.

Jos.
Then suffer me
To be thy second self, and see that friend.

Meeta.
He is an enemy to Prague.

Jos.
And Prague
An enemy to thee—and I'm thy friend!
Trust me, my child.

Meeta.
My father told me this,
O thou good man—Thou Christian!—Pardon me.

Jos.
Pardon thee, child? I thank and honour thee:
Thou canst not praise me more than call me that
Thy heart esteemeth best.

Meeta.
Then come with me,
And I'll instruct thee on the way. 'Tis time
I see the servant of the Governor.
Three days we have from this—That's three whole days—
He dies on Saturday— [Ruminating]
—He shall not die!

[They go out.