The Blood of Rachel, a Dramatization of Esther, and Other Poems. Cotton Noe

the king's jester, and Ahafid, poet and minstrel to the king, from opposite sides of the hall. Ahafid is already an old man, with long grey beard and a little stooped with age. He carries a golden Persian harp on which he plays and accompanies his own song.]

      Ahafid

      [Sings.]

      Now War has doffed his mailed coat

       And Peace forgot her art;

       The lute but not the bugle's note

       Can stir the kingly heart;

       Nights of revel and carp,

       And days of sensuous rust,

       How can a poet's harp

       Intone a song of lust?

       The king is mad. His flight from Salamis

       Was bad enough. But that could be excused.

       For six months now what has he done but drink,

       Carouse and wallow in lascivious ease,

       While subjects driven to despair with tax

       Have fallen on the poisoned sword and cursed

       In death the son of their once goodly king?

      Smerdis

      Ahafid, you do seem to think the first

       Great business of a king is war. Now pray

       You, why should Xerxes waste the lusty days

       Of youth in bloody strife? To furnish themes,

       No doubt, for dullard bards and minstrelsy.

       Ahasuerus is the wisest king

       That ever sat upon a Persian throne.

       You graybeard fool, stupid as poets are.

       Can you not see the wisdom of our king

       In substitution of the flight for death,

       Of feast for fight, of wine for blood? Think you

       'Tis wise to wear the plaited mail of Mars

       When Venus bids you to the festival

       Of love?

      Ahafid

      You call me then a graybeard fool!

       Though I have dropped the purple bloom of spring

       The autumn's silvery down may indicate

       The ripened fruit of wisdom which your youth

       Has never tasted. Smerdis, you are blind!

       My beard is white, but vision clear. The king

       Does daily waste the substance of his realm,

       And nightly dissipates his energies

       In vices of the blood. Vashti, the queen,

       The idol of her people, is in grief.

      Smerdis

      In grief for what? Does she too wish the king

       To take the field? I know our queen is fair

       Of face and most voluptuous of form.

       Perhaps her grief is due to jealousy.

       Would she monopolize his love, because

       Her beauty is surpassing?

      Ahafid

      Vashti does

       Not know that she is beautiful. She loves

       Her country and is brave as well as good.

       I dread the issue of this night. The king

       Has ordered that the queen be brought before

       The court, a target for licentious eyes.

       She will refuse to go because her heart

       Is pure. Ahasuerus, flushed with wine,

       Will brook no opposition to his will.

       A tragedy that never Persia knew

       Will see the rising of to-morrow's sun.

      Smerdis

      A tragedy no country ever knew—

       A woman who is beautiful, but doesn't know it's true.

      Ahafid

      [Sings.]

      Oh, for a song to cleanse the heart

       Or touch the sceptred power;

       Oh, might the gods a strength impart

       To meet this tragic hour.

      [Exeunt Ahafid and Smerdis.]

      [Enter Vashti and Zethar.]

      Vashti

      Oh, Zethar, do you think this night will end

       The revels that dishonor Persia's king?

       To-day unknown I strolled through squalid parts

       Of this old city and observed the poor.

       My lord, unmindful of their misery,

       Has laid a heavy tax for his insane

       Extravagance upon the helpless child

       That begs in Shushan's streets. Not here alone,

       This suffering; but Persia's peasantry,

       The glory of the old empire, the heart

       That once defied the world, is broken on

       The wheel of tax. And all for what?

      Zethar

      O queen,

       Always the world has had its poverty.

       You shall forget the poor. One stoop of wine

       Will bring you happiness. Vashti, drink.

      Vashti

      Forgive me, Zethar, but no wine to-night.

      [Enter Meheuman, Biztha and Abagtha.]

      Meheuman

      [Loftily.]

      Our most imperial queen, the king has laid

       A banquet in the palace garden court,

       The crowning act of that munificence

       Toward prince and people great and small alike,

       Ahasuerus now for many months

       Has shown the loyal subjects of his realm.

       The adornment of the court displays a rich

       Magnificence of taste; the couches are

       Of fretted gold and silver set upon

       A pavement of mosaic inlaid stone.

       The drinking is according to the law—

       None can compel, each vessel is diverse,

       But all of gold. Th' abundance of the wine

       Shows the unstinted bounty of the king.

       Our monarch's heart is merry in the cup,

       And boasts that Vashti's beauty does excel

       In magic power the fabled Helen's charms,

       And bids us bring immediately before

       The court great Persia's matchless queen!

      Vashti

      Meheuman, tell Ahasuerus I

       Must thank his majesty since he can still

       Remember Vashti's beauty, though his grace

       Has lost all sense of modesty and shame.

       You say his heart is merry now in wine

       And that he glories with exceeding pride