WILDE-Salome-1893

Oscar WILDE: Salome, a Tragedy (1894) — page 1 Salome : A Tragedy in One Act by Oscar Wilde translated from the French [by Lord Alfred Doublas] ; pictured by Aubrey Beardsley. as published byElkin Mathews & John Lane, 1894 [Dedication.] TO MY FRIEND LORD ALFRED BRUCE DOUGLAS THE TRANSLATOR OF MY PLAY THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY. HEROD ANTIPAS, TETRARCH OF JUDÆ:A IOKANAAN, THE PROPHET THE YOUNG SYRIAN, CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD TIGELLINUS, A YOUNG ROMAN A CAPPODOCIAN A NUBIAN FIRST SOLDIER SECOND SOLDIER THE PAGE OF HERODIAS JEWS, NAZARENES, ETC. A SLAVE NAMAAN, THE EXECUTIONER HERODIAS, WIFE OF THE TETRARCH SALOME, DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS THE SLAVES OF SALOME SALOME. [SCENE—A great terrace in the Palace of Herod, set above the banqueting-hall. Some soldiers are leaning over the balcony. To the right there is a gigantic staircase, to the left, at the back, an old cistern surrounded by a wall of green bronze. The moon is shining very brightly. ] THE YOUNG SYRIAN: How beautiful is the Princess Salome to-night! THE PAGE OF HERODIAS: Look at the moon. How strange the moon seems! She is like a woman rising from a tomb. She is like a dead woman. One might fancy she was looking for dead things. THE YOUNG SYRIAN: She has a strange look. She is like a little princess who wears a yellow veil, and whose feet are of silver. She is like a princess who has little white doves for feet. One might fancy she was dancing. THE PAGE OF HERODIAS: She is like a woman who is dead. She moves very slowly. [Noise in the banqueting-hall.] FIRST SOLDIER: What an uproar! Who are those wild beasts howling? SECOND SOLDIER: The Jews. They are always like that. They are disputing about their religion. FIRST SOLDIER: Why do they dispute about their religion? SECOND SOLDIER: I cannot tell. They are always doing it. The Pharisees, for instance, say that there are angels, and the Sadducees declare that angels do not exist. FIRST SOLDIER: I think it is ridiculous to dispute about such things. THE YOUNG SYRIAN: How beautiful is the Princess Salome to-night! THE PAGE OF HERODIAS: You are always looking at her. You look at her too much. It is dangerous to look at people in such fashion. Something terrible may happen. THE YOUNG SYRIAN: She is very beautiful to-night. FIRST SOLDIER: The Tetrarch has a sombre aspect. SECOND SOLDIER: Yes; he has a sombre aspect. FIRST SOLDIER: He is looking at something. SECOND SOLDIER: He is looking at some one. FIRST SOLDIER: At whom is he looking? SECOND SOLDIER: I cannot tell. THE YOUNG SYRIAN: How pale the Princess is! Never have I seen her so pale. She is like the shadow of a white rose in a mirror of silver. THE PAGE OF HERODIAS: You must not look at her. You look too much at her. FIRST SOLDIER: Herodias has filled the cup of the Tetrarch. THE CAPPADOCIAN: Is that the Queen Herodias, she who wears a black mitre sewed with pearls, and whose hair is powdered with blue dust? FIRST SOLDIER: Yes; that is Herodias, the Tetrarch’s wife. SECOND SOLDIER: The Tetrarch is very fond of wine. He has wine of three sorts. One which is brought from the Island of Samothrace, and is purple like the cloak of Cæsar. THE CAPPADOCIAN: I have never seen Cæsar. SECOND SOLDIER: Another that comes from a town called Cyprus, and is as yellow as gold. THE CAPPADOCIAN: I love gold. SECOND SOLDIER: And the third is a wine of Sicily. That wine is as red as blood. THE NUBIAN: The gods of my country are very fond of blood. Twice in the year we sacrifice to them young men and maidens: fifty young men and a hundred maidens. But I am afraid that we never give them quite enough, for they are very harsh to us. THE CAPPADOCIAN: In my country there are no gods left. The Romans have driven them out. There are some who say that they have hidden themselves in the mountains, but I do not believe it. Three nights I have been on the mountains seeking them everywhere. I did not find them, and at last I called them by their names, and they did not come. I think they are dead. FIRST SOLDIER: The Jews worship a God that one cannot see. THE CAPPADOCIAN: I cannot understand that. FIRST SOLDIER: In fact, they only believe in things that one cannot see. THE CAPPADOCIAN: That seems to me altogether ridiculous. THE VOICE OF IOKANAAN: After me shall come another mightier than I. I am not worthy so much as to unloose the latchet of his shoes. When he cometh the solitary places shall be glad. They shall blossom like the rose. The eyes of the blind shall see the day, and the ears of the deaf shall be opened. The sucking child shall put his hand upon the dragon’s lair, he shall lead the lions by their manes. SECOND SOLDIER: Make him be silent. He is always saying ridiculous things. FIRST SOLDIER: No, no. He is a holy man. He is very gentle, too. Every day when I give him to eat he thanks me. THE CAPPADOCIAN: Who is he? FIRST SOLDIER: A prophet. THE CAPPADOCIAN: What is his name? FIRST SOLDIER: Iokanaan. THE CAPPADOCIAN: Whence comes he? FIRST SOLDIER: From the desert, where he fed on locusts and wild honey. He was clothed in camel’s hair, and round his loins he had a leathern belt. He was very terrible to look upon. A great multitude used to follow him. He even had disciples. THE CAPPADOCIAN: What is he talking of? FIRST SOLDIER: We can never tell. Sometimes he says things that affright one, but it is impossible to understand what he says. THE CAPPADOCIAN: May one see him? FIRST SOLDIER: No. The Tetrarch has forbidden it. THE YOUNG SYRIAN: The Princess has hidden her face behind her fan! Her little white hands are fluttering like doves that fly to their dove-cots. They are like white butterflies. They are just like white butterflies. THE PAGE OF HERODIAS: What is that to you? Why do you look at her? You must not look at her.... Something terrible may happen. THE CAPPADOCIAN [Pointing to the cistern.] : What a strange prison! SECOND SOLDIER: It is an old cistern. THE CAPPADOCIAN: An old cistern! That must be a poisonous place in which to dwell! SECOND SOLDIER: Oh no! For instance, the Tetrarch’s brother, his elder brother, the first husband of Herodias the Queen, was imprisoned there for twelve years. It did not kill him. At the end of the twelve years he had to be strangled. THE CAPPADOCIAN: Strangled? Who dared to do that? SECOND SOLDIER [Pointing to the Executioner, a huge negro.] : That man yonder, Naaman. THE CAPPADOCIAN: He was not afraid? SECOND SOLDIER: Oh no! The Tetrarch sent him the ring. THE CAPPADOCIAN: What ring? SECOND SOLDIER: The death ring. So he was not afraid. THE CAPPADOCIAN: Yet it is a terrible thing to strangle a king. FIRST SOLDIER: Why? Kings have but one neck, like other folk. THE CAPPADOCIAN: I think it terrible. THE YOUNG SYRIAN: The Princess is getting up! She is leaving the table! She looks very troubled. Ah, she is coming this way. Yes, she is coming towards us. How pale she is! Never have I seen her so pale. THE PAGE OF HERODIAS: Do not look at her. I pray you not to look at her. THE YOUNG SYRIAN: She is like a dove that has strayed.... She is like a narcissus trembling in the wind.... She is like a silver flower. [Enter Salome.] SALOME: I will not stay. I cannot stay. Why does the Tetrarch look at me all the while with his mole’s eyes under his shaking eyelids? It is strange that the husband of my mother looks at me like that. I know not what it means. Of a truth I know it too well. THE YOUNG SYRIAN: You have left the feast, Princess? SALOME: How sweet is the air here! I can breathe here! Within there are Jews from Jerusalem who are tearing each other in pieces over their foolish ceremonies, and barbarians who drink and drink and spill their wine on the pavement, and Greeks from Smyrna with painted eyes and painted cheeks, and frizzed hair curled in columns, and Egyptians silent and subtle, with long nails of jade and russet cloaks, and Romans brutal and coarse, with their uncouth jargon. Ah! how I loathe the Romans! They are rough and common, and they give themselves the airs of noble lords. THE YOUNG SYRIAN: Will you be seated, Princess. THE PAGE OF HERODIAS: Why do you speak to her? Oh! something terrible will happen. Why do you look at her? SALOME: How good to see the moon! She is like a little piece of money, a little silver flower. She is cold and chaste. I am sure she is a virgin. She has the beauty of a virgin. Yes, she is a virgin. She has never defiled herself. She has never abandoned herself to men, like the other goddesses. THE VOICE OF IOKANAAN: Behold! the Lord hath come. The Son of Man is at hand. The centaurs have hidden themselves in the rivers, and the nymphs have left the rivers, and are lying beneath the leaves in the forests. SALOME: Who was that who cried out? SECOND SOLDIER: The prophet, Princess. SALOME: Ah, the prophet! He of whom the Tetrarch is afraid? SECOND SOLDIER: We know nothing of that, Princess. It was the prophet Iokanaan who cried out. THE YOUNG SYRIAN: Is it your pleasure that I bid them bring your litter, Princess? The night is fair in the garden. SALOME: He says terrible things about my mother, does he not? SECOND SOLDIER: We never understand what he says, Princess. SALOME: Yes; he says terrible things about her. [Enter a Slave.] THE SLAVE: Princess, the Tetrarch prays you to return to the feast. SALOME: I will not return. THE YOUNG SYRIAN: Pardon me, Princess, but if you return not some misfortune may happen. SALOME: Is he an old man, this prophet? THE YOUNG SYRIAN: Princess, it were better to return. Suffer me to lead you in. SALOME: This prophet ... is he an old man? FIRST SOLDIER: No, Princess, he is quite young. SECOND SOLDIER: One cannot be sure. There are those who say that he is Elias. SALOME: Who is Elias? SECOND SOLDIER: A prophet of this country in bygone days, Princess. THE SLAVE: What answer may I give the Tetrarch from the Princess? THE VOICE OF IOKANAAN: Rejoice not, O land of Palestine, because the rod of him who smote thee is broken. For from the seed of the serpent shall come a basilisk, and that which is born of it shall devour the birds. SALOME: What a strange voice! I would speak with him. FIRST SOLDIER: I fear it may not be, Princess. The Tetrarch does not suffer any one to speak with him. He has even forbidden the high priest to speak with him. SALOME: I desire to speak with him. FIRST SOLDIER: It is impossible, Princess. SALOME: I will speak with him. THE YOUNG SYRIAN: Would it not be better to return to the banquet? SALOME: Bring forth this prophet. [Exit the Slave.] FIRST SOLDIER: We dare not, Princess. SALOME [Approaching the cistern and looking down into it.] How black it is, down there! It must be terrible to be in so black a hole! It is like a tomb.... [To the soldiers.] Did you not hear me? Bring out the prophet. I would look on him. SECOND SOLDIER: Princess, I beg you, do not require this of us. SALOME: You are making me wait upon your pleasure. FIRST SOLDIER: Princess, our lives belong to you, but we cannot do what you have asked of us. And indeed, it is not of us that you should ask this thing. SALOME [Looking at the young Syrian.] Ah! THE PAGE OF HERODIAS: Oh! what is going to happen? I am sure that something terrible will happen. SALOME [Going up to the young Syrian.] Thou wilt do this thing for me, wilt. thou not, Narraboth? Thou wilt do this thing for me. I have ever been kind towards thee. Thou wilt do it for me. I would but look at him, this strange prophet. Men have talked so much of him. Often I have heard the Tetrarch talk of him. I think he is afraid of him, the Tetrarch. Art thou, even thou, also afraid of him, Narraboth? THE YOUNG SYRIAN: I fear him not, Princess; there is no man I fear. But the Tetrarch has formally forbidden that any man should raise the cover of this well. SALOME: Thou wilt do this thing for me, Narraboth, and to-morrow when I pass in my litter beneath the gateway of the idol-sellers I will let fall for thee a little flower, a little green flower. THE YOUNG SYRIAN: Princess, I cannot, I cannot. SALOME [Smiling.] Thou wilt do this thing for me, Narraboth. Thou knowest that thou wilt do this thing for me. And on the morrow when I shall pass in my litter by the bridge of the idol-buyers, I will look at thee through the muslin veils, I will look at thee, Narraboth, it may be I will smile at thee. Look at me, Narraboth, look at me. Ah! thou knowest that thou wilt do what I ask of thee. Thou knowest it.... I know that thou wilt do this thing. THE YOUNG SYRIAN [Signing to the third soldier.] Let the prophet come forth.... The Princess Salome desires to see him. SALOME: Ah! THE PAGE OF HERODIAS: Oh! How strange the moon looks! Like the hand of a dead woman who is seeking to cover herself with a shroud. THE YOUNG SYRIAN: She has a strange aspect! She is like a little princess, whose eyes are eyes of amber. Through the clouds of muslin she is smiling like a little princess. [The prophet comes out of the cistern. Salome looks at him and steps slowly back.] IOKANAAN: Where is he whose cup of abominations is now full? Where is he, who in a robe of silver shall one day die in the face of all the people? Bid him come forth, that he may hear the voice of him who hath cried in the waste places and in the houses of kings. SALOME: Of whom is he speaking? THE YOUNG SYRIAN: No one can tell, Princess. IOKANAAN: Where is she who saw the images of men painted on the walls, even the images of the Chaldæans painted with colours, and gave herself up unto the lust of her eyes, and sent ambassadors into the land of Chaldæa? SALOME: It is of my mother that he is speaking. THE YOUNG SYRIAN: Oh no, Princess. SALOME: Yes: it is of my mother that he is speaking. IOKANAAN: Where is she who gave herself unto the Captains of Assyria, who have baldricks on their loins, and crowns of many colours on their heads? Where is she who hath given herself to the young men of the Egyptians, who are clothed in fine linen and hyacinth, whose shields are of gold, whose helmets are of silver, whose bodies are mighty? Go, bid her rise up from the bed of her abominations, from the bed of her incestuousness, that she may hear the words of him who prepareth the way of the Lord, that she may repent her of her iniquities. Though she will not repent, but will stick fast in her abominations, go bid her come, for the fan of the Lord is in His hand. SALOME: Ah, but he is terrible, he is terrible! THE YOUNG SYRIAN: Do not stay here, Princess, I beseech you. SALOME: It is his eyes above all that are terrible. They are like black holes burned by torches in a tapestry of Tyre. They are like the black caverns where the dragons live, the black caverns of Egypt in which the dragons make their lairs. They are like black lakes troubled by fantastic moons.... Do you think he will speak again? THE YOUNG SYRIAN: Do not stay here, Princess. I pray you do not stay here. SALOME: How wasted he is! He is like a thin ivory statue. He is like an image of silver. I am sure he is chaste, as the moon is. He is like a moonbeam, like a shaft of silver. His flesh must be very cold, cold as ivory.... I would look closer at him. THE YOUNG SYRIAN: No, no, Princess! SALOME: I must look at him closer. THE YOUNG SYRIAN: Princess! Princess! IOKANAAN: Who is this woman who is looking at me? I will not have her look at me. Wherefore doth she look at me, with her golden eyes, under her gilded eyelids? I know not who she is. I do not desire to know who she is. Bid her begone, It is not to her that I would speak. SALOME: I am Salome, daughter of Herodias, Princess of Judæa. IOKANAAN: Back! daughter of Babylon! Come not near the chosen of the Lord. Thy mother hath filled the earth with the wine of her iniquities, and the cry of her sinning hath come up even to the ears of God. SALOME: Speak again, Iokanaan. Thy voice is as music to mine ear. THE YOUNG SYRIAN: Princess! Princess! Princess! SALOME: Speak again! Speak again, Iokanaan, and tell me what I must do. IOKANAAN: Daughter of Sodom, come not near me! But cover thy face with a veil, and scatter ashes upon thine head, and get thee to the desert, and seek out the Son of Man. SALOME: Who is he, the Son of Man? Is he as beautiful as thou art, Iokanaan? IOKANAAN: Get thee behind me! I hear in the palace the beating of the wings of the angel of death. THE YOUNG SYRIAN: Princess, I beseech thee to go within. IOKANAAN: Angel of the Lord God, what dost thou here with thy sword? Whom seekest thou in this palace? The day of him who shall die in a robe of silver has not yet come. SALOME: Iokanaan! IOKANAAN: Who speaketh? SALOME: I am amorous of thy body, Iokanaan! Thy body is white, like the lilies of a field that the mower hath never mowed. Thy body is white like the snows that lie on the mountains of Judæa, and come down into the valleys. The roses in the garden of the Queen of Arabia are not so white as thy body. Neither the roses of the garden of the Queen of Arabia, the garden of spices of the Queen of Arabia, nor the feet of the dawn when they light on the leaves, nor the breast of the moon when she lies on the breast of the sea.... There is nothing in the world so white as thy body. Suffer me to touch thy body. IOKANAAN: Back! daughter of Babylon! By woman came evil into the world. Speak not to me. I will not listen to thee. I listen but to the voice of the Lord God. SALOME: Thy body is hideous. It is like the body of a leper. It is like a plastered wall, where vipers have crawled; like a plastered wall where the scorpions have made their nest. It is like a whited sepulchre, full of loathsome things. It is horrible, thy body is horrible. It is of thy hair that I am enamoured, Iokanaan. Thy hair is like clusters of grapes, like the clusters of black grapes that hang from the vine-trees of Edom in the land of the Edomites. Thy hair is like the cedars of Lebanon, like the great cedars of Lebanon that give their shade to the lions and to the robbers who would hide them by day. The long black nights, when the moon hides her face, when the stars are afraid, are not so black as thy hair. The silence that dwells in the forest is not so black. There is nothing in the world that is so black as thy hair.... Suffer me to touch thy hair. IOKANAAN: Back, daughter of Sodom! Touch me not. Profane not the temple of the Lord God. SALOME: Thy hair is horrible. It is covered with mire and dust. It is like a crown of thorns placed on thy head. It is like a knot of serpents coiled round thy neck. I love not thy hair.... It is thy mouth that I desire, Iokanaan. Thy mouth is like a band of scarlet on a tower of ivory. It is like a pomegranate cut in twain with a knife of ivory. The pomegranate flowers that blossom in the gardens of Tyre, and are redder than roses, are not so red. The red blasts of trumpets that herald the approach of kings, and make afraid the enemy, are not so red. Thy mouth is redder than the feet of those who tread the wine in the wine-press. It is redder than the feet of the doves who inhabit the temples and are fed by the priests. It is redder than the feet of him who cometh from a forest where he hath slain a lion, and seen gilded tigers. Thy mouth is like a branch of coral that fishers have found in the twilight of the sea, the coral that they keep for the kings! ... It is like the vermilion that the Moahites find in the mines of Moab, the vermilion that the kings take from them. It is like the bow of the King of the Persians, that is painted with vermilion, and is tipped with coral. There is nothing in the world so red as thy mouth.... Suffer me to kiss thy mouth. IOKANAAN: Never! daughter of Babylon! Daughter of Sodom! never! SALOME: I will kiss thy mouth, Iokanaan.