Salomé: A Tragedy in One Act. Wilde Oscar

always been kind to you. You will do it for me. I would but look at this strange prophet. Men have talked so much of him. Often have I heard the Tetrarch talk of him. I think the Tetrarch is afraid of him. Are you, even you, 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.

      SALOMÉ

      You will 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 you a little flower, a little green flower.

      THE YOUNG SYRIAN

      Princess, I cannot, I cannot.

      SALOMÉ

      [Smiling.]

      You will do this thing for me, Narraboth. You know that you will do this thing for me. And to-morrow when I pass in my litter by the bridge of the idol-buyers, I will look at you through the muslin veils, I will look at you, Narraboth, it may be I will smile at you. Look at me, Narraboth, look at me. Ah! you know that you will do what I ask of you. You know it well… I know that you will do this thing.

      THE YOUNG SYRIAN

      [Signing to the third soldier.]

      Let the prophet come forth… The Princess Salomé desires to see him.

      SALOMÉ

      Ah!

      THE PAGE OF HERODIAS

      Oh! How strange the moon looks. You would think it was the hand of a dead woman who is seeking to cover herself with a shroud.

      THE YOUNG SYRIAN

      She has a strange look! 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. Salomé looks at him and steps slowly back.]

      JOKANAAN

      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.

      SALOMÉ

      Of whom is he speaking?

      THE YOUNG SYRIAN

      You can never tell, Princess.

      JOKANAAN

      Where is she who having seen the images of men painted on the walls, the images of the Chaldeans limned in colours, gave herself up unto the lust of her eyes, and sent ambassadors into Chaldea?

      SALOMÉ

      It is of my mother that he speaks.

      THE YOUNG SYRIAN

      Oh, no, Princess.

      SALOMÉ

      Yes; it is of my mother that he speaks.

      JOKANAAN

      Where is she who gave herself unto the Captains of Assyria, who have baldricks on their loins, and tiaras of divers colours on their heads? Where is she who hath given herself to the young men of Egypt, who are clothed in fine linen and purple, whose shields are of gold, whose helmets are of silver, whose bodies are mighty? 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 never repent, but will stick fast in her abominations; bid her come, for the fan of the Lord is in His hand.

      SALOMÉ

      But he is terrible, he is terrible!

      THE YOUNG SYRIAN

      Do not stay here, Princess, I beseech you.

      SALOMÉ

      It is his eyes above all that are terrible. They are like black holes burned by torches in a Tyrian tapestry. They are like black caverns where dragons dwell. They are like 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.

      SALOMÉ

      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 cool like ivory. I would look closer at him.

      THE YOUNG SYRIAN

      No, no, Princess.

      SALOMÉ

      I must look at him closer.

      THE YOUNG SYRIAN

      Princess! Princess!

      JOKANAAN

      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 wish to know who she is. Bid her begone. It is not to her that I would speak.