SALOMÉ
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.
SALOMÉ
I desire to speak with him.
FIRST SOLDIER
It is impossible, Princess.
SALOMÉ
I will speak with him.
THE YOUNG SYRIAN
Would it not be better to return to the banquet?
SALOMÉ
Bring forth this prophet.
(Exit the Slave.)
FIRST SOLDIER
We dare not, Princess.
SALOMÉ
(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.
SALOMÉ
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.
SALOMÉ
(Looking at the young Syrian.)
Ah!
THE PAGE OF HERODIAS
Oh! what is going to happen? I am sure that something terrible will happen.
SALOMÉ
(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.
SALOMÉ
Thou wilt do this thing for me, Narraboth, and tomorrow 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.
SALOMÉ
(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 Salomé desires to see him.
SALOMÉ
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. Salomé 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.
SALOMÉ
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?
SALOMÉ
It is of my mother that he is speaking.
THE YOUNG SYRIAN
Oh no, Princess.
SALOMÉ
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.
SALOMÉ
Ah, 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 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.
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 very cold, cold as 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!
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