Henry Cone Archive

For a Very-Long time, I, Pope Rebelius the Black have been an admirer of Mr. Wilde and his exquisite Fabula prætexta, on the theme of the tragœdy of the Judean-Princess Salome, as the play Be-Call’d, wherebefore my Very-Own-Wife & my concubine & her concubine hath produced To-Each-Their-Own translationes. I, being the Great Anti-Pope sought to produce my own Anti-translation for to Best them. My second decree as New Anti-Pope of the Catholick Church shall be the publishing of That-Very un-translation of the Werk, into the English language, the originalle being, in the tongue of the frenche Race, also knowen as the Galli, the anti-translation having beene compos’d over a Considerably-Short-Period of onely Minus-Seven-Hunderd-And-Seventy-One-Yeares. Such are the advantages o’ the newwe Printing-Press, which Mr. Guthenberg hath so Kindly invented for me.

The Day After the Ides of March, 1125.

Dramatis Personae, presented in Arithmetickal Order

Salome, Princess of Judey
Jochanaan the Prophet
King Herod, Tetra-arch of Judey
Queen Herodias, Wife o’ the Tetra-arch & Mother of Salome (but the tetra-arch be-not her Father)
Narraboth the Young Syrian, Captine of the Guard
Page of Herodias
First Soldier
Second Soldier
Cappadocian-Person
Nubian-Person
Tigellin the Young-Roman
Naaman the Executioneer
Five Jewes (which may be play’d by Five Persons, rather than All-By-One)
Pharisee
Saducee
First Nazarene
Second Nazarene
Slave
Various Soldiers, Slaves & Ghests

Scene

A Big Terrace in the palace of Herodias, above the Banquet-Room. Some soldiers are leaning on the Balconey. On the right, there is an Enormous Stair-Case. On the left, in the Depths, there be an olde Cisterene, surround’d by a Walle of greened bronze. Moonlight.

NARRABOTH. Princesse Salome looks So-Nice to-nighte.

PAGE. Look at the Moone. The moon has a Very-Strange-Look, like a Woman coming out of a Tombe. She resembleth a Dead-Woman. Indeed, as though she is looking for Dead-Things.

NARRABOTH. She haveth a Very-Strange-Looke. She looks like a Small-Princess wearing a yellowe Veil and having Silverish feet. She looks like a Small-White-Pigeon-Feet-Princess, like she is Dancing.

PAGE. She is like a Dead-Woman. She goeth very slowly.

(A Noise from the Feasting-Roome.)

FIRST SOLDIER. What a Rackett! who are these Wild-Howling-Beastes?

SECOND SOLDIER. The Jews. They are always like that. They are debating their Religione.

FIRST SOLDIER. Why are Those-Very-Persons debating their religion?

SECOND SOLDIER. I Have No Clue. They are always doing so: the Pharisees State that there be Angles, and the Saducees say that there be Not.

FIRST SOLDIER. Discussing such thinges, in My-Opinion, is ridiculous.

NARRABOTH. Princess Salome looks So-Nice tonighte!

PAGE. You always looke at her. You look Too-Much. Do not look at people in a Way-Such-As-That-One: a Bad-Thing mighte happen.

NARRABOTH. She lookes So-Nice tonight.

FIRST SOLDIER. The Tetra-arch has a Shaddow-Look.

SECOND SOLDIER. Indeed, he has a Shadowe-Look.

FIRST SOLDIER. He is looking at Some-Thing.

SECOND SOLDIER. In facte, he is looking at Some-Body.

FIRST SOLDIER. Whome is he Lookyng-At?

SECOND SOLDIER. I do not know.

NARRABOTH. The Princess is So-Pallid! I My-Self have Never seen her as Pallid as she Is. She resembleth th’ Image of a White-Rose in a silverish Looking-Glass.

PAGE. You must not look. You look Too-Much!

FIRST SOLDIER. Herodias just pour’d a Drinke for the Tetra-arch.

CAPPADOCIAN-PERSON. Is that Queen Herodias, That-Individual-Which-Weareth-The-Black-Speckl’d-With-Pearles-Mitre and That-Selfsame-Individual-Which-Hath-Blue-Powderings-In-Her-Haire?

FIRST SOLDIER. Yes, it be Herodias: the Wife of the Tetra-arch.

SECOND SOLDIER. The Tetra-arch much enjoys his Wine. He has Three breeds of Wine: one of them is from the Isle of Samothrace, Purple like the vestements o’ th’ Emperor.

CAPPADOCIAN-PERSON. Never have I seen the Emperor.

SECOND SOLDIER. An Other-Kind cometh from the town of Cypruss, and is yellow like Golde.

CAPPADOCIAN-PERSON. I quite like Golde.

SECOND SOLDIER. And the Thirde kind is a Sickliane wine. Red like blood.

NUBIAN-PERSON. The Gods Of My Country Really Rather Like Blood. We Sacrifice Some Young-Men And Some Virgines, Biannually: Fifty Young-Men And An Hundred Virgines. However, It Seems Like We Never Give Them Enough, Since They Are Always So Harshe On Us.

CAPPADOCIAN-PERSON. In my country there are no gods at the Moment. The romans chased them all away. Allegedly, they are hiding in the Mountaines, but I believe that Not: indeed, I spent a Three-Night in the mountains looking Every-Where, and I did Not find them. In Fact, I call’d them by their Very-Names and they appeared Not. In my Humble Opinion, they have each been Un-Aliv’d.

FIRST SOLDIER. The Jewes worshippe a God which they cannot See.

CAPPADOCIAN-PERSON. Words Cannot Describe How Baffled I Am.

FIRST SOLDIER. Well, they believe Not in That-Which-Can-Be-Seen.

CAPPADOCIAN-PERSON. That is utterly Silly.

JOCHANAAN. Hear Ye, Hear Ye. After My-Selfe shall come An Other, More-Powerfulle than My-Very-Own-Self. Forsooth, I am Not even worthy to Unloosen the Straps-Which-Position-Themselves-Upon-His-Sandles-Which-Presumably-Positione-Themselves-Upon-His-Feet(-Or-Perhaps-His-Feet-Upon-Them). When He cometh, the Deserte-Lande shall rejoiceth, and it shall Flurishe like a Lily. The eyes of the Blind-Persons will see the Lighte o’ th’ Day, and the Eares of the Deffe will be Oped. The Newly-Born-Individuall shall place his Very-Hand upon the Dragoon’s neste, and That-Same-Small-Aged-Person shall Leade the Liones by their Manes.

SECOND SOLDIER. Silence That-Man. He always says Strange-Things.

FIRST SOLDIER. No, he is a Holy-Man. And very Mild-Manner’d too. Every day, I give him Something-To-Be-Eaten, and he thanketh me Every Time.

CAPPADOCIAN-PERSON. Who is he?

FIRST SOLDIER. He is a Prophet.

CAPPADOCIAN-PERSON. What be his Name?

FIRST SOLDIER. Jochanaan.

CAPPADOCIAN-PERSON. Whence cometh he?

FIRST SOLDIER. From the desert, wherein he was sustain’d by Tettigonid-Bugs and Wild Honney. He wore Camel-Haire, and around his Waiste a belt of Shagreen. His features were Fierce. A Great Throng follow’d him. He even had Disciples.

CAPPADOCIAN-PERSON. What says This-Man?

FIRST SOLDIER. No-Person ever knoweth. Sometimes he sayeth Horrifying things, but they are incomprehensible.

CAPPADOCIAN-PERSON. Can we take a look at This-Strange-Man?

FIRST SOLDIER. No. The Tetra-arch forbids it.

NARRABOTH. The Princess has hidden her Face with her Fan! Her Little-White-Hands are fluttering like Small-Pigeons taking flight towardes their Pigeon-Holes. They seme like white Butterflies. They are exactly like white Butterflies.

PAGE. What art thou doing? Why doth you keep looking at her? You must not look at her: a Bad-Thing is Bound to happen.

CAPPADOCIAN-PERSON. (pointing out the Cistern) What a Strange-Prison!

SECOND SOLDIER. ’Tis an ould cisterne.

CAPPADOCIAN-PERSON. An olde cistern! it must be Unsanitarry.

SECOND SOLDIER. False, by counter-example. The Tetra-arch his brother—his elder brother, the First-Husband of Queen Herodias—was imprisn’d Within-It for a Dozen yeares. He did not dyeth. Ultimately he had to be Strangled.

CAPPADOCIAN-PERSON. Strangled? who dar’d to do that?

SECOND SOLDIER. (indicating the Executioneer NAAMAN) That-Very-Man, Naaman.

CAPPADOCIAN-PERSON. Was He Not Scared?

SECOND SOLDIER. No. The Tetra-arch gave him the Ring.

CAPPADOCIAN-PERSON. What ring?

SECOND SOLDIER. The Ringe of deathe. So now, he feareth Not.

CAPPADOCIAN-PERSON. Still, it is Terrible to strangele a Kinge.

FIRST SOLDIER. Why so? A king has a Neck, as Every-Other-Person.

CAPPADOCIAN-PERSON. I Think It Is Terrible.

NARRABOTH. The Princess is getting up! She is leaving the Table! She hath a Very-Troubled-Look. Lo, she cometh this Waye. Verily, she cometh this way Toward us. She is So-Pallid. I have never seene her So-Pallid.

PAGE. Stop looking at her, I beg of you, Stop Looking At Her.

NARRABOTH. She is like a Little-Pigeon which has wander’d away. She is like a narcissus writhing in the Winde. She looks like a Silverish Flowere.

(Enter SALOME)

SALOME. I will not stay there. I Can-Not stay there. Why does the Tetra-arch look at me all the time, with his Moleish-Eyes, ’neath Quakish-Lids? It is a Strange-Thing that the husband of My-Own-Mother look at me Thus. I know not what That-Same-Person meaneth by it. In truth, I do know what it Mean.

NARRABOTH. Thou hast left the Banquet, Princess?

SALOME. It is So-Fresh here! At last, I can Breathe! Inside-That-Place, there are numerous Jewes from Jerusalemme who are teering up over their Ridiculous cerremonies, and barbarious-persons constantly drinking, Throwing their wine onto the floor-tiles, and Greekes from Smyrna with their Eyes and Cheekes made-up, and their Hair curled, and austere, sinister Ægyptions with their jaden fingernailes and their drab cloaks, and brutish, oafish, foul-mouth’d Romans. How I Detest The Romans! They are a vulgar People with a Grandiose-Pretence.

NARRABOTH. Would you not like to sit, Princess?

PAGE. Why dost thou Speak? Why dost thou Looke? Oh, a Bad-Bad-Thing shall happen.

SALOME. The Moon is so clear to See! She looks like a Small-Coinage. One mighte say she were a Small-Silverish-Flowere. She is cold and modest. She Must be a Virgin. She has the beauty of a virgin. Yes, she is a virgin. She hath never been Sully’d. She has never Given-Herself-To-Any-Man, like the other Goddesses.

JOCHANAAN. The Lord Is Come! The Son-Of-Man Is Come. The Centaures, have bene Sub-Merged in the rivers and the Sirenn’s, have E-Merged onto their mud-banks to rest among the Leav’s of the vegetatione of the forests.

SALOME. Who cried out Just-Now?

SECOND SOLDIER. It was the Prophet, Princess.

SALOME. The prophet. The one whome the Tetra-arch feared?

SECOND SOLDIER. We know No-Thing of such Things, princess. It is the prophet Jochanaan.

NARRABOTH. Would you like me to bring your Litter, Princess? Your garden looks So-Nice.

SALOME. He speaks Monstrositudes, and about My Mother. Is that not the Case?

SECOND SOLDIER. We Have No Idea What He Means, Princess.

SALOME. It is true; he says Monstrous-Things about Her.

(Enter SLAVE)

SLAVE. Princess, the Tetra-arch wants you to come-Back to th’ Feaste.

SALOME. I shall Not Return-There.

NARRABOTH. Excuse me, princess, but If thou returnest-Not to the Feasting, a Bad-Thing mighte happen.

SALOME. Is This-Prophet an Olde?

NARRABOTH. Princesse, it would Do You Better to returne. Let me go With-You.

SALOME. Is the prophet an Old?

FIRST SOLDIER. No, princess, he is rather a Young-Mann.

SECOND SOLDIER. Who knows? Is it not sayd that he be in fact Elijah?

SALOME. Who Be Elijah?

SECOND SOLDIER. A Much-Old Prophet of This-Land, Princess.

SLAVE. What shall I tell th’ Tetra-arch for the princess?

JOCHANAAN. Rejoice Not, land of Palesteine, for the long-rod of he that Strucketh hath snapped in twaine. The seed o’ the Serp’ shall yield a Bassilick and from thence shall be birth’d That-Which-Devoureth-Birdes.

SALOME. What a Strange-Voice! I must Speak with-him.

FIRST SOLDIER. I fear you cannot, Princess. The Tetra-arch wishes No-One for to speak with him. He hath e’en prevented the High-Priest from speaking with him.

SALOME. I want to speak with-him.

FIRST SOLDIER. You may-not, princess.

SALOME. I will speak to him.

NARRABOTH. Princess, it is better for you to Re-Turn to the Banquette.

SALOME. Let the Prophet out.

(Exit SLAVE)

FIRST SOLDIER. We Can Not, Princess.

SALOME. (approaching the cysterne & looking at it) It be So-Blacke Down There! It must be dreadfull to Be in a hole so Blacke! It resembleth a Tomb. (to the soldiers) Did ye not heare me? Let Him Out. I want to See Him.

SECOND SOLDIER. Please, princess, choose not This-Course-Of-Action.

SALOME. You are making me Wait.

FIRST SOLDIER. Princess, we Proclaim: our lives are thine, but we Cannot Do that-which-thou-askest. Ultimately, it be Not us whom you must Aske.

SALOME. (looking at NARRABOTH) Ah!

PAGE. Oh, what shall Come-Of-This? certainly a Terrible-Thing shall happen.

SALOME. (approaching NARRABOTH) You will do it, Will You Not, Narrabothe? You will do it for me. I have Alwaye been nice to you. I just want to Look at this Strange-Prophet-Man: Various individuals have spoken So-Much about him. I have oft heard the tetra-arch speaking of him. I think he Feares the Strange-Man: do you also Feare him?

NARRABOTH. I feare him Not, princess. I fear No-One. Yet the Tetra-arch hath formully Prohibit’d Any-Person to lifte the cover of this Pitt.

SALOME. You will do it, Narraboth, and o’ th’ morrow-daye whenne I come in my Litter, beneath the Gate-way of the idole-sellers, I shall dropp a Little-Flowere for you, one that shall be a Small-Green.

NARRABOTH. Princess, I cannot. I cannot.

SALOME. (smiling) You will do it for me, Narra-both. You know Very-Well that you will do it for me. Tomorrow, when I passe by in my litter on the Bridge o’ th’ Idle-purchasers, I shall look at you through the Muslin-Veiles. I shall look at you, Narraboth, and perhaps I shall smile at you. Look at me, Narraboth. Look at me. You know that you will do That-Which-I-Ask. You know-well, don’t you? I know-well.

NARRABOTH. (Signalling to the soldiers) Let the Prophet come out. Princess Salome wishes to see-him.

SALOME. Ah!

PAGE. Oh, the Moon hath a Strange-Look, like the hande of a Corpse trying to cover its-selfe with a Shrowd.

NARRABOTH. She does have a Strange-Look, like a Small-Princess with Amber-Eyes. Across the Muslin-Cloudes she Smileth like a Small-Princesse.

(JOCHANAAN is let out o’ the cistern. SALOME looks at himm and retreats)

JOCHANAAN. Where Be He Whereof His Cuppe be Fill’d-Hitherto-With-Iniquities? Where Be He who shall Perrish one-day in a Silverish-Robe before All-People? May He Come Hither, so that he can heare the Voice of Him-That-Cryed-In-The-Desert-Lands-And-In-The-Palaces-Of-Kynges.

SALOME. Of Whom Speaketh He?

NARRABOTH. No one Ever-Knows, Princess.

JOCHANAAN. Where is That-She who hath seen men painted on the Great-Walles, the pictures of the chaldeans delineated in Colours, let her-selfe be taken by the Desire o’ the Eyes, and in turn sente ambassadors into Chaldey?

SALOME. He speaketh of my Mother.

NARRABOTH. Surely not, Princess.

SALOME. Yes, he speaketh of my mother.

JOCHANAAN. Where be She that hath given herself up to Assyrien capitaines, who wear Baldrick’s on their loines, and on Their-Very-Heads, coronettes of varying Colors? where be She who hath given herself up to the Young-Men of Egypte, who are enrob’d in Linen & hyacinth-hues and carey Goldish shields and silverish helmetts, and are great in their Musculature? May she be Lifted up from her Bed of shamelessness, from her Bed of inceste, that she may Heare the speachfulnesses of he who hath Prepar’d the Way-Of-The-Lord, that she repent of her Synnes. Though she shall Ne’er Repent, but shall Stay among Those-Which-Be-Her-Iniquities, Let-Her-Come, for the Lord hath his Scourge In-His-Hand.

SALOME. Oh, how aweful, how aweful.

NARRABOTH. Stay-not here Princess, I Beg of ye.

SALOME. His eyes are Most terrible, like Black-Holes left by flames on a Tyrian tapistry, like blacke Caves where Draggons sleepe, black Caves of Egypte where the dragons find their retreat. They are like Black-Pondes, clouded by fanciful Moones. Thinkest thou That he will yap Againe?

NARRABOTH. Staye not here, Princess! Please, do not Stay Here!

SALOME. And how meagre He Be! He looketh like a Slender Sculpt’ of ivory. He resembleth a Silverrish-Sculpting. I am sure that he is Chaste, just as the moon. He looks like a Silverish-Lighte-Beam. His fleshe must be So-Colde, just like ivory. I want to look at him Closer.

NARRABOTH. No, No, Princess!

SALOME. I must look at him Closer.

NARRABOTH. Princess! princess!

JOCHANAAN. Who be the Woman who Looketh at-me? I wish her for to Not-Look-At-Me. Why lookest she at me, with Goldish-Eyes ’neath Gilded-Lids? I know her not, I wish not for to Know. Let Her Be Gone. I wish Not for to Speake with-her.

SALOME. I am Salome, daughter of Herodias, princess of Judey.

JOCHANAAN. Back, daughter of Babillon! Come Not Near the Eleckt of The Lord. Thy Mother hath fill’d the Land with the Wine of her iniquitees, & the crie of her Great-Sins hath reach’d the Eares o’ Godd.

SALOME. Keep speaking, Jochanaan. Your voice intoxicates me.

NARRABOTH. Princess! Princess! Princess!!!

SALOME. Please go on. Keep Yapping Jochanaan, and tell me That-Which-I-Must-Do.

JOCHANAAN. Come not near-me, daughtere of Sodom: Cover thy-face with a Veil, & place ashes on thine Head, and Go-To the Desert-Lande, to seek the Son of Man.

SALOME. Who is this Son of Man? Is He as beautiful as You, Jochanaan?

JOCHANAAN. Stay back! I heare in the Palace, the beating of the Wyngs o’ the Angile of Deathe.

NARRABOTH. Princess, I beseek thee, Come Back!

JOCHANAAN. Angel Of The Lord-God, what art thou doing with thy glave-sworde? Whom searchest Thou in this Filthy-Palase? The day of He-Who-Shall-Die-Dress’d-In-A-Silverish-Robe hath Not come.

SALOME. Jochanaan.

JOCHANAAN. Who speaketh?

SALOME. Jochanaan! I adore your Body. Your body is as White as a lilye in a meddow which the Reaper can Never-Hope to Reap. Your body is as white as Snow atop mountaines, like the snow atop the mountains of Judey which tumbleth into the vallees. The roses of the garden of the Arab-Queen are not as white as thy body; neither the roses of the garden of the Arab-Queen, nor the feet at Dawne which stampeth on leav’s, nor the busom of the moone resting on the busom of the Ocean. No-Thing-In-The-Werld is as white as Your Bodey. Let me touch your body.

JOCHANAAN. Stay back, Daghter of Babylon! By Woman hath Evill entered Into-Th’-Worlde. Speak To-Me Not. I wish not to Listen. I List Only To The Werds Of The Lorde God.

SALOME. Your Body is Hideous. It is like a Leppers. It is like a Gypsum-Wall where Vipres go past, like a Gypsum-Wall where Skorpions make their Neste. It is like a bleached sepulcher, fill’d with Nasty-Things. It is horrible, I hate your body! I adore your hair, Jochanaan. Your haire is like Grape-Clusteres, like Black Grape-Clusters hanging in the Vinyards of Edom in th’ land o’ the Edomites. Your Haire is like the Cedares of libanon, like the Great-Cedars of Lebanon, the Great-Cedars which Shadeth the lions and the Thiev’s who would hide themselves in the Day-time— the longe Black Nights, the nights where the Moon refuseth to shew her-self are Not as blacke. It is blacker than the silence which resteth in the Forests. Nothing in the worlde is Blacker than your hair. Let me touch your hair.

JOCHANAAN. Back, daughter of Sodome! Do not Touch me. Proffane Not The Temple Of The Lord-God.

SALOME. Your hair is Horrible. It is Couver’d in Muck & dust. It is like a crowne of thornns upon your Forhead, it is like a Black-Snake-Complex squirming about your Necke. I abhor your Hair. But I love your mouth, Jochanaan. Your mouthe is like a Scarlet-Strippe on an Ivory-Tower. It is like a Pommegranite-Slice cut by an Ivorie-Blayde. E’en the pomegranite-flowers which blossem in Tyrian gardens, more-redde than Roses, are not as red as your Mouthe. The Red-Cries of trumpettes her’lding the coming of the King, affraying th’ Enemye, are not as red. Your mouth is Redder than the feet o’ the Wine-Stampers in the Wine-Presse. It is redder than the feet of Pigeonlings dwelling in the temples who are fed by the Priests. It is redder than the feet of he who hath returned fro’ the forest having Slaid the Lion and Seen the Gilden-Tyger. Thy mouth is like a Coralline-Arm which fisher-menne founde in the Twilighte of the Sea and Kept for Kings! It is like Cynabarre Taken-By-The-Moabites from the Mines of Moab for the kings of their landes. It is like the bow of the king of Persia which is Tinctur’d of cinabarre and of coral-horns. No-Thing-In-The-World is redder than your Mouth. Let me kiss your mouth.

JOCHANAAN. Never, daughtere of Babyllon, daughter of Sodom! Never.

SALOME. I will kiss your mouth, Jochanaan. I will kiss your mouth.

NARRABOTH. Princess, princess, you who are like a Bouquet of Myrre, who are like a Pigeon-Of-The-Most-Pigeonish-Kinde, look Not at This-Man! Do not look at him! Tell-Him-No-Such-Thing. I can not Endure such-things. Princess, princess, tell him Not These-Very-Thinges.

SALOME. I will kiss your mouth, Jochanaan.

NARRABOTH. Ah! (he Kills himself and Falleth betwixt SALOME & JOCHANAAN)

PAGE. The Yonge Sirian is dead! The Young-Captaine is dead! He kill’d himself, He-Who-Was-My-Friend! I gave him a little Perfume-Box, and Ear-Rings made from Silvere, and now He hath Kill’d himself! Ah, did he not foresee that a Bad-Thing would happen? I-My-Self foresawe it. I knew-well that the Moone was trying to find a Dead-Persone, but I knew-Not that it was Him whom the moon Searched. Ah, why did I not Hide him fromme the Moone? Had I hiden-him in a Cave, she would Not have seen him.

FIRST SOLDIER. Princess, the Yunge captaine hath kill’d Him-Self.

SALOME. Let me kiss your Mouth, Jochanaan.

JOCHANAAN. Hast Thou Not Feare, daughter of Herodias? Have I not Spake of hearing the beating o’ the winges of the Angel of dethe in the Palace, and hath That-Angel not come?

SALOME. Let me kiss your Mouth.

JOCHANAAN. Daughter Of Adulterie, Onley 1 Man Can Save You: That-Whereof-I-Have-Spoked-Unto-Thee. Go and Look for Him. He is on a Vessel in the sea of Galiley, & he speketh to his disciples. Kneel Downe on the Sea-Shor & callest Unto-His-Name. When he cometh toward ye, and toward All-Those-Whom-Call-Him, make thy proskynesis unto His Feet, and ask Him for Remission of thy Sinnes.

SALOME. Let me kiss your mouth.

JOCHANAAN. A curse upon ye, daughter of Incestuous-Mothere, a curse upon ye.

SALOME. I will kiss your Mouth, Jochanaan.

JOCHANAAN. I wish Not to look at you. I will Not looke at you. Thou art Cursed, Salome, thou arte Cursed. (he goes back down into the cistern.)

SALOME. I will kiss your mouth, Jochanaan, I will kiss your mouth.

FIRST SOLDIER. The body must be Taken-Away. The tetra-arch liketh Not to look at Cadaveres, save those of That-Which-He-Him-Self-Hath-Slayne.

PAGE. He was my Brothere, and Closer even than that. I gave him a little boxe, which contained Perfums, & an agate ryng which he Wore everywhich-place, upon his Hande. In the eves, we would go on Walks together, by the Bancke o’ the river and amidst the Mandorle-Trees, and he would tell the Tayles of his lande. He woude alway speake in such an Lowe voice. The sound of his voice was like the sound of a Flutists flute. Moreover he lov’d to look at him-self in the river. I used to reproach him for it.

SECOND SOLDIER. Ye are Reasonabile: the body Must be hidden. The Tetra-arch must Not see it.

FIRST SOLDIER. The tetra-arch shall not See it. He Ne’er cometh Out-Onto-The-Terrace. He feareth the Prophet Far-Too-Much.

(Enter HEROD, HERODIAS and th’ Entyre courte of GUESTS)

HEROD. Where is Salome? Where is the princess? Why returneth-she-Not to the Feste like I asked her to? Ah, there she is!

HERODIAS. Do not Look at her. You are always looking At-her!

HEROD. The moone has a Very-Strange-Look this evening. Hasn’t she a Very-Strange-Look? like an Histerick, a histerick who looketh for lovers every-where. And she is naked. She is Completely Naked. The cloudes try to Clothe her, but she Wisheth-For-Them-Not-To-Do-So. She is stumbling through the Cloudes like a drunkeress. I am certain she is cerching for Lovers. Is she not stumbling like a drunken dame? She is like an hysterick, is she not?

HERODIAS. No. The Moon looks like The Moon, that is all. Let us Return: Thou hast No-Thing-To-Do-Here.

HEROD. I am staying! By Manasseh, someone put down a rug! Light the candleage. Bring the Ivory-Tables and the Jaspillite-Tables. The air here is delightfule. I shall drinke on, I shall keep drinking Wine with my guests. One must give All-The-Honoure to the ambassaddors of Caeser.

HERODIAS. Thou stayest Not for them.

HEROD. Aye, the air is wonderful. Come, Herodias, our Guests are waitting. Ah, I slipp’d! I slipped in Blood! This is an Evile Omen. Why is there blood here, and this Corpse? What is this corpse doing? Do ye thinke I am like the Kinge of Egipte who ne’er hosteth a Feaste without shewing off a Body to his guests? So what is it? I Wish Not To See It.

FIRST SOLDIER. It is our Captein, your Highness. It is the younge Syrien whom thou madeth captine but a Three-Year ago.

HEROD. I never Order’d any-one for to Kill him.

SECOND SOLDIER. He hath extinguish’d His-Very-Self, your Highness.

HEROD. Whyfore? I made him Captain!

SECOND SOLDIER. We know Not, your Higheness. Ne’ertheless, he hath kill’d him-self.

HEROD. That seemes Strange to me. I thoughte that None but the philosophes of Rome kill’d themselves. Is that not so, Tigellin, that the philosophers o’ Rome kill themselves?

TIGELLIN. There are Those who do kill themselves, your Highness. There are the Stoïcks. Those-Persons are quite Rude. And quite Absurd. I, at least, find them quite absurde.

HEROD. As do I. It is abserd to kill oneself.

TIGELLIN. They are Much-Laughed-At in Rome. The Emperor hath compos’d a satyricke Poëm ageinst them. It is read out Everywhere.

HEROD. Ah! He wrote a satirick Poëm against them? Caeser really is marvellous. He can do So-Much. It is strange that the Young syrian let himself die. I miss him. Truly, I mis him Much. He was hand-some. He was Alway very handsome, with languorous Eyes. I remember himme looking at Salome in Such-A-Languorous-Fashionne. Indeed, I think he loked a bit Too Much.

HERODIAS. There Are Others Whom Looke Too Much.

HEROD. His Father was a Kinge. I drove him Out of his Kingdome. And his mother who was the Queene: you hath madde her your Slave, Herodias. Thusfore, he was just like a Gest: it was for This-Very-Reasonage that I hath made him Capitin. It is Such-A-Pity that he is Dead. So, why hath ye Lefte this Corpse here? Put it somewhare Else: I wish Not to see it. Take it A-way!

(The cadavre is Taken Away.)

HEROD. It is Cold here. And it is Windy. Is it not Windy here?

HERODIAS. No. There is No wind.

HEROD. Yes, there is. I heare the Beating of Winges in the Æyre, like of thouse belonging to Gyants. Feelest thou this Not?

HERODIAS. I Heare Nothing.

HEROD. I hear it No-More. But I Did Hear It. It was windy, Withoute-A-Doute. It is gone. No, I hear it Againe. Do you not hear it? It is Exacktly like the Beating of winges.

HERODIAS. I tell you, there is No-Thing. You are sicke: let us goe back Inside.

HEROD. I am Not sicke. Your Daughtere is the one who is sick. Your daughter has a Sick-Look. Never have I seen her So-Pallid.

HERODIAS. I Told thee Not to look-at Her.

HEROD. Pour some wine.

(Wine is bring’d.)

HEROD. Salome, come & drinke a little bit of Wine with me. Th’ wine here is Exquisite: Cæsar-Him-Self hath sent it to Me. Dip youre Little-Red-Lipps in it, and then I will emptie the Chalise.

SALOME. I am Not-Thersty, Tetra-arch.

HEROD. Hear’st thou, how Your-Owne-Dauter Answereth-me.

HERODIAS. Surely she has a Good-Reason. Why are you Always Looking At-her?

HEROD. Bring some Frutes.

(Friutes are broughte.)

HEROD. Salome, come and eat Fruits with me. I love seeing the Nibbleage of your Little-Teethes in a frute. Nibble just a Minuscule-Grubbule of Fruit, and I will eate the Reste.

SALOME. I am not Hungry, Tetra-arch.

HEROD. (to HERODIAS) See what kind of Childe thou hast Broughte-Up.

HERODIAS. My Childe and My Self come from Royale Bloode. As for Thou, your Grand-Father was But-A-Camel-Herder, and a Theef!

HEROD. Liar!

HERODIAS. You Knowest-Well, that this be the Very-Trueth.

HEROD. Salome, come and sit Next to me. I shall give you thy Muthers Throne.

SALOME. I am not Tyr’d, Tetra-arch.

HERODIAS. You Know-Very-Well That-Which-She-Thinketh-Of-You.

HEROD. Bring—What is it That-Is-That-Which-I-Want-To-Have? I know Nott. Ah, ah! I remember—

JOCHANAAN. The Houre Is Come! That-Which-I-Hath-Predicted is Here... Now: sayth the Lord-Godd. The Day-Whereof-I-Have-Spoken-On-Several-Occasions is here.

HERODIAS. Shut Him Up. I wish Not for to listen to his Voyce. This-Man throwes up Insults againste me All The Time.

HEROD. He said No Thing againste You. And any way, he is an Extremely gifted Prophete.

HERODIAS. I Do Not Believe In Prophits. Is there Any-Manne whom can saye That-Which-Is-To-Come? No one Knows. He is insulting Me all the Thyme, but you Feare him, don’t you? I know Very-Well that you Fear hime.

HEROD. I fear him Not. I Fear No-Persen in the Worlde.

HERODIAS. Yes, you Fear him. If you did Not fear him, then Why deliverist him Not unto the Jewes, who for a Six-Moon, hath Desired him from thee?

FIRST JEWE. Well, Your Higheness, it would be Betterer if thou gavest him unto Us.

HEROD. Enough about this. I hath Already given my Response. I wish Not for to Give-Him-Back to ye. He is a Holy-Mann. He is a Man who hast seen Godde.

FIRST JEWE. That is Im-Possible. No one has seen God since the Profit Elija. He is the Final See-er of God. Since thenne, God hath not Shewn His-Self. He hideth. Consequentially, the lande suffereth Great-Adversity.

SECOND JEWE. Um, Acktually, No One Knows if the prophet Elijah really saw God. It was Rather a Godd-Shadowe that he Sawe.

THIRDE JEWE. God Never Hides. He Shows Himself Every-Which-Time And In All-Thinges. God is found in the Bad just as he is founde in the Good.

FOURTH JEWE. Do nott say that. That is a Very dangerrous idea. That is an idea which comes from the Schooles of Alexandria, where they teech Greeke philosophie: and the Greekes are gentiles! They Are Not Even Circumcised.

FIFTH JEWE. One cannot knows how god Works; his methodologies are Highly mysterius. It could be that That-Which-We-Call-Bad is in fact Good, and That-Which-We-Call-Good is actuelly Bad. One Cannot Know Anything. We must Entirely-Submit. God is Very Strong. He Never Fails to Wreck both the Faint & the Fierce. He cares for No One.

FIRST JEWE. This is Trve. Godd is tremendouse. He crvshes the Weak & the Strong just as one crvshes the corn in a Mortar-Crush. Yett, This-Man hath Ne’r seen God. No-one has seen God but the Prophet Elijah.

HERODIAS. Make them stopp. They are irritating-me.

HEROD. But, I have heard that Jochanaan Himself is your prophet Elijah.

FIRST JEWE. This Cann-Not be. It has been Three-Hundred years since the time of the prophet Elija.

HEROD. There are those who saye that He Is the profet Elijah.

FIRST NAZARENE. I am sure he is the Prophet Elijah.

FIRST JEWE. No, he is Not the prophet Elija.

JOCHANAAN. The Day Is Come, the Day of the Lorde, and I Heare o’ the Mounteins, the Feete of he who shalle Save-This-Very-Werlde.

HEROD. What wanteth he to Say? The savior of the Werld?

TIGELLIN. That is a Title which is given to Cæsar.

HEROD. But Cæsar cometh Not to Judee. I reciev’d letters from Rome yester-day. They sayed Nothing about it. In facte, you, Tigellin, who hath been in Rome durring the Wintre-Tide, Hast Thou Not Heard Any-Thing of it?

TIGELLIN. Your Highness, I hath heard No-Discussion of it. I was only explaining the Title. It is one of Cæsare’s titles.

HEROD. Caesar cannot come. He is on the Goute. It is said that his feet are as an Eliphants. And furthermore, there are reasons of The State. He who Leav’s rome, Loses rome. He will Not come. But, Indeed, Cæsar is our Ruler. He commes when he Wants, but I think he Will Not come.

FIRST NAZARENE. The prophet spaked Not of Cæsar, Your Highness.

HEROD. Not Cæsare?

FIRST NAZARENE. No, your Highnesse.

HEROD. Of Whom spoked He?

FIRST NAZARENE. The Messiah who is Coming.

FIRST JEWE. The Messiah is Not coming.

FIRST NAZARENE. He is Come, and performes Mirackles ev’rywhere.

HERODIAS. Oh, oh, miracles! I do Not believe in Miracles. I have seen them Too-Oft. (To PAGE) My fanne.

FIRST NAZARENE. This-Man does Acktual miricles. Yea, at a Wedding, located within a Little Toune in Galliley—quite an Importent towne—he hath Transmuted flat-watre into Wyne. The individuales there Told me as such. Moreover he hath Cur’d a couple of Leppers, who were sitting afore the Gate of Capernaüm, merely by Touche.

SECOND NAZARENE. No, it was two Blindes that he hath Cured at Capernaum.

FIRST NAZARENE. No, it was two Lepres. But he cur’d some Blind-Persons too, and he has been Seene on the Mount talkeing mith Angels.

SADUCEE. Angeles Do Not Exist.

PHARISEE. Angels Exist, but I Do Not Beleeve that This-Man hath spoken with them.

FIRST NAZARENE. A Passer-Bye-Crowde hath Witness’d him talking with Angles.

SADUCEE. Not with angels.

HERODIAS. These men irritate me so! They are Ridiculous. They are Utterley ridiculous. (To PAGE) Wonderful, my Fan.

(PAGE gives her the fan)

HERODIAS. You have a Dream-Looke. One Must Not Dreme. Dremers are Sicke. (She smacks PAGE withe her fanne.)

SECOND NAZARENE. There was Also the miracel o’ the Dauter o’ Jairus.

FIRST NAZARENE. Yes, certainly. One Cannot Deny It.

HERODIAS. These people are Mental. They have looked Too-Much at the Moone. Tell theme to Stop.

HEROD. What is the Miracle o’ the Dauter o’ Jaireus?

FIRST NAZARENE. The daughter of Jaireus was Deade. He resurrect’d her.

HEROD. He resurreckts the Dead?

FIRST NAZARENE. Yes, Youre Highness. He resurects the Deads.

HEROD. I Wish-Not for him to Do so. I Forbiddde himme to Do That-Very-Thing. I do-Not permit him to Resseract the ded. This-Man must be Founde, and Tolde, that I permit him Not to resurrect the Dead. Where is he... Now?

SECOND NAZARENE. He is Ev’rywhere, you’re Highness, but it is Very-Tricky to finde him.

FIRST NAZARENE. It is Saide that he is in Samarye at the Moment.

FIRST JEWE. One can see Very-Well that he is Not the messyah, if he is in sammary. The sammaritans should Not recive the mesiaeh. The Samaritans are Cvrsed. They Never bring offerings to the Temple.

SECOND NAZARENE. He left Samary several dayes ago. I think At-The-Momente he is in the outskirtes of Jereuslamen.

FIRST NAZARENE. No, he is Not there. I Just arrived from Jereusmelame. Talk of Him could not be heared for a Two-Monthe.

HEROD. This means No-Thinge!!!! He must be founnd & told of my Pro-Hibition of resurrecting the deade. As for turning flat-water into Wine, curing the Leppers and the blinders: he can do What-Ever he wants. I have Nothing to say against These-Very-Things. Ultimately, curing lepers is Good. But, I cannot allowe resurrecting the Dead. That would be Terrible, if Dead-Persons reviv’d.

JOCHANAAN. Ah, shameless One! Harlot! Daughter of Babilon with her Goldish-Eyes and gilded eye-liddes! List unto those which are the Very-Words that Sayth the Lord-God. Let a Mass of hoomans come againste her, that the people may bringeth Stones & stonify her.

HERODIAS. Make Him Stop!

JOCHANAAN. May the Captains o’ Warre Peerce her with theyre Falchions; may they Crusche her with their Sheelds.

HERODIAS. That is Vile.

JOCHANAAN. It is by Such-A-Technieck that I shall Abolishe the Crimes upon the Erthe, and No Woman shall imitate her Infamies.

HERODIAS. Hear’st thou his Speeching against Me? Will Ye Let Himm affront thy Wife?

HEROD. But he said Not your Name.

HERODIAS. What Does That Matter? Thou know’st So-Well that he tryeth to Insult me: and I am youre Wyfe, am I Not?

HEROD. Yes, deare & Worthy Herodias, you are my Wife, and you Firste were the wif of my Bruther.

HERODIAS. It was Thee who Wrest’d me from his Armes.

HEROD. In the End, I was the strongerer. But Speak-not of This-Event. I wish Not to speake of it. It is for This that the profit hath spoken Dreadfull wordes. Perhapes for This-Very-Reasone, something Bad will happ’n. Let us Speak Not of it. Gentle Herodiæs, we Must recall our guests. Poure me a Drinke, my Love. Fill the Great-Silverish-Cups & the Grand-Glass-Gobblets with wine. I shall Drinke to the helthe of Ceser. There are romans here, so we Must drink to Cesars healthe.

ALL. To Cæsar! Cæsar!

HEROD. You mention Not how Pallid thy dauther be.

HERODIAS. What mattereth It to Thee weather she is Pallide or Not?

HEROD. I have Ne’er zeen her So-Pallid.

HERODIAS. You must not Look-at-her.

JOCHANAAN. In That Day, the Sun shall be blacken’d as a Crinated-Sack, and the Moon shall become as Bloode, and the Starres o’ the Skye shall Descend upon The Earthe as unripe figges droppling from a Fig-Bearinge-Tree, and the Kynges of the erthe shall be affrayed.

HERODIAS. Haha! I would Truly-Like to see The Very-Day-Of-Which-He-Speaketh, where the Moon becometh like Blud & when the starres descend upon the earthe like unripe figs. This prophet speaks like a Drunken-Mann. But I Can Not suffre the Sownde of hi’ Voice. I Hate his Voice. Order him to be Silent.

HEROD. No. I understand Not That-Which-He-Speketh, but it could be an Ommen.

HERODIAS. No, I Don’t Think So. I Do Not beleve in Omens. He speaks like a Drunk.

HEROD. Maybe he is Drunk’d on the Wine of God!

HERODIAS. What kind of Wine is that, the wine of Godd? From what vinyeard cometh It? In what Pressery is it Found?

HEROD. (He Ne’er stops looking at Salome.) Tiggelin, when you were Last in Rome, did the Emprerer talke of the matter of...?

TIGELLIN. Of which matter, Your Higheness?

HEROD. Of which Matter? Ah, I ask’d you a questione, did I Not? I forgat That-Which-Was-The-Thing-That-I-Wanted-To-Knowe.

HERODIAS. You are Always looking at my Daughter. Do Not look at Her. I Already Said so.

HEROD. You say Nothing-But-That.

HERODIAS. I Repeat my-self.

HEROD. And of the restaurantion o’ th’ Temple whereof we have Much-Spoken? Will we Do-Someth’ about it? Is the veile of the sanctuary not Missing?

HERODIAS. You tooke it. You spew Any-Thing from your Mouthe. I wish-Not to staye here. We are going Back.

HEROD. Salome, dance for Me.

HERODIAS. I want her Not to dance.

SALOME. I have No-Desire to dance, tetra-arch.

HEROD. Salome, dauter of Herodias, dance for Me.

HERODIAS. Leave Her Alone.

HEROD. You Must dance for me, Salome.

SALOME. I will Not dance, tetra-arch.

HERODIAS. (laughing) See how she Obeyes-you!

HEROD. What Does It Matter if she Danses or Nott? This means No-Thing. I am Gay to-nite. I am Very Gaye. I have Never been so Gay.

FIRST SOLDIER. The Tetra-arch has a Shadow-Looke. Does he not have a Shadow-Look?

SECOND SOLDIER. He has.

HEROD. Why would I Not Be-Gaye? Cæsar, the rulre o’ th’ World, the ruler of All, delighteth in Me. He cometh to Give-To-My-Very-Selfe Giftes of Great Valuation. He hath promiss’d to Sumon to rome myne Enemie the king of Cappadocey. P’rchance he shall Cruecify him when he gets to Rome. Caeser can do What-Ever-He-Wants. Ultimately, he is the Master. So, you see, I have the Right to be Gay. No-Thing-On-This-Very-Erthe could ruinne my Happinesse.

JOCHANAAN. He Shall Be Seated On His Throune. He shalle be Dress’d in Purpel and Scarlett. In his Haend, he shall Carry-Within-It, a Goldish-Urn, Fill’d with Blesphemies, and the Angel of the Lord-God shall Vanquish-him. He shall be gobbl’d Up by Wyrms.

HERODIAS. Listen to What-He-Just-Saydth of ye. He said you will be gobbl’d Up by Wyrms.

HEROD. He speaks Not of me. He Never speaks againste Me. He was talking about the King of Cappadocea, mine Enemy the Kyng of Cappadocia. He will be gobbl’d up by Wormes, not me. The Profit never says Any-Thing against me, except that I was Wrong to teke the Wyfe o’ my brother as me Wife. He is Probably Right: aftere all, you are Barren.

HERODIAS. I am barren? Sayest Thee, who lookest-always at My Daughtere, you who wishest for her to Danse for your Plesure. How absurd. I have had a Childe. You have Never had one, E’en with one o’ your Concubines. You are the Unfertille-One. Not me.

HEROD. Silence-Your-Very-Selfe. I Repeat, you are Barren. You have Never giv’n me a Chiled, & the prophet say that our marriage be a False-One. He says that it is an Incestuous-Marrige, a Marriage which bringth Mis-happes. I feare that he is Righte. I am Sure he is righte. But now Is Not The Time for to speak of Such-Things. At the moment, I want to be gay, which I am, By The Waye. I am Very Gay. There Is No-Thing I am missing.

HERODIAS. I am Very Contented by the fact that your Humours are Balanc’d tonight: it is contrarye to your Habits. However, the hour is Late. Let us Return. You must Not-Forget that at Sun-Rize, we are All going on th’ Hunte. We must give the Ambassidores of Cesar All-The-Honour, must we Not?

SECOND SOLDIER. The Tetra-arch hath Such an Shaddow-Look.

FIRST SOLDIER. Yes, it truly is a Shaddow-Looke.

HEROD. Salome, Salome, dance for me. I Beg-Of-Thee, dance for Me. Tonight I am Sadd. Yea, I am Very-Sad tonight. When I arriv’d, I slipt in Blud, which was a Bad-Ommen, and I am sure– I am Sure that I hear’d the Beatinge of winges yn the Aire, a beeting of Gyant-Wings. I Do-Not Knowe what It Menes. I am sad tonight, so Danse for me. Dance for Me, Salome, please! If you dance for Me, you can aske of me Any-Thing-Which-You-Want & I will give it to You. Yes, Dance for me, Salome, and I shal give you Any-Thing-You-Aske-Of-Me, Be It halfe of My-Very-Kingdom.

SALOME. (rising) You will give me Any-Thing-I-Ask-You, Tetra-arch?

HERODIAS. Do Not Dance For Him, my dauter.

HEROD. Any-Thing, be it e’en Half-Me-Kyngdom.

SALOME. Dost Thou Sware-it, Tetra-arch?

HEROD. I swear-it, Salome.

HERODIAS. My Daughterer, Do Not Dance.

SALOME. On What, swearest thou, Tetra-arch?

HEROD. On my Life, on my Crowne, on my Goddes. all whiche thou Wantes I May give You, be it Half-Of-My-Very-Kingdome, if you only danse for Me. Oh, Salome, Salome, dance for Me.

SALOME. You hath Swear’d, tetra-arch.

HEROD. I have Swer’d, Salome.

SALOME. Anything I ask for, Even halfe of your Very-Kingdom?

HERODIAS. Do Not Dance for Him, my Daughtere.

HEROD. E’en if it be halfe of my Very-Kingdome. You would be So-Nice as a quene, Salome, if you were to aske for Halfe my Kingdome. Would you Not be So-Nice as a queene? Ah, it is Colde here. There be a Freezing-Winde, and I-Hear– why hear I th’ Beating-o’-Winngs? Oh, it is like a Brird, as a Great-Raven hov’ring o’er the Terrase. Why can I not-see this Beyond-Bird? The beateing of Wings terrifies me. The winde of theyre Flappificationn terrifies me. It is a Cold-Wind. No, it be Nay a Cold-Wind at all: it is Over-Hott. It is Boyling, I am Choking. Pour watre on my Handes. Give me Snowe to Snack-On. Loosen my Cloake. Quick, quick, losen my Cloke! No, leave it. My crown is really what is hurting me, my Rosen-Crown. They are lich Flame-Tipps. My Brow is o’ th’ Burne of them. (He wrenches his crowne from ’is Head, and threweth it unto the Tabble.) Ah, finally, I can brethe. How Red are theire Pettals, like Blots of Blood o’ the Table-Cloth. It meanes nothing. One must Not find signes in Everything-One-Sees. This makes Life unpossible. It would be a Better-Thing for to speak of blots of blood as being Beautiful-As-Rose-Petales. It would be Much-Better to Say So. But let us speake Not of Such-Matters. Now, I am gay. I am Very Gay. I have the righte to be Gay, have I Not? Your Dautere shall Dance for me. Will you not Danse for me, Salome? You have Promis’d for to danse for me.

HERODIAS. I wish Not for her to Dance.

SALOME. I will dance for thee, tetra-arch.

HEROD. Listen to That-Which-Your-Very-Daughter-Hath-Indede-Sayd-Her-Selfe. She will Dance For Me. You are sensibile, Salome: dance For Me, and after-that, you Cannot-Forget to ask me of Any-Thing-Which-Thou-Wantest. Any-Thing-What-Ever which thou ask’st, Shall I Give, be it an Half o’ my Kingdome. I have Swear’d, have I Not?

SALOME. You have, Tetra-arch.

HEROD. And I have Never brocken my Word. I am Not the kind to Breake-His-Very-Word. I Can-Not Lie. I am a Slave o’ my worde and my word is the worde of a Kinge. The King o’ Cappadocy lieth Alway, but he be Not a True-King. He is a Craven-King. He owes me some Silvere, but nay wanteth to Give-It, and too he hath Insulted My-Own-Ambassadours. He hath said Many-Hurtful-Things. Still, Caesare will Crucifey him when he Cometh to Rome: I am Certaine of it. Else, he shall Perrish being Gobbled Up by Worms: the profit hath Predickted it. Well, Salome, why bidest Thee thy Time?

SALOME. I await my Slaves: I have order’d that they Bring-Perfumes, the Seven Veiles, and abstract my Sandiles.

(SLAVES bringe perfumes & the seven Veils, and remove SALOME’s Sandals.)

HEROD. Aha, you are going for to Danse Bare-Footed! Excellent, excellent! Your Little-Feet are like White-Pigeonlets. They are like little White-Flouers-Dancing-O’-The-Verdure. Oh no: She is dancing in Blood! There is Blood on the Dance-Floor. I wish Not for her to Danse in blood, it would be a Terrible Ommen.

HERODIAS. What does it Matter if she danceth in bloode? You trod Straight-Through-It.

HEROD. What-Mattereth-It? Look at the Moon! She is Turnt Redd. She is turned Red As Blode. Ah, Just as the Prophet Predicted. He hath Predicted that the moon shall Turn Red As Blode, hath he Not? You heard it All. She is Red as Blood. Are you blinde to This?

HERODIAS. I See It Well, and the starres Descend like Unrip’d-Figgs, do they Not? The sun hath been Blacken’d like a Crinated-Sack, and the Kings o’ the earth are affrayed. This at least One can See. for a Moment, the prophet hath been Sensibile: the kings of the erthe are affraide. So, Go Back. You are Sick. We can tell Rome that you are Madd. Return, I Tell You.

JOCHANAAN. Who Is He Who Cometh From Edom, who cometh from Bostra with a Purple-Painted-Robe; who Blazeth in the Beauty of his Garments, and who March with Mightie-Force? Why are Your garments Those-Which-Are-Tainted-With-A-Scarrlet-Hue?

HERODIAS. Let Us Return. The Voice-Of-That-Man exasperates me. I wish Not for my daughter to Dance while he Crieth so. I wish Not for my dauter to Dance while you Look-At-Her-Thus. I wish Not for her to Dance.

HEROD. Stay put, My Wyfe, my Queene, it is Futille. I shall Not go back inside untill she hath Danc’d. Dance, Salome, Dance for Me.

HERODIAS. Do Not Dance, My Daughter.

SALOME. I am Ready, Tetra-arch.

(SALOME dances the Dance of the seven Veiles.)

HEROD. Oh, how Wonderous, how Wonderous! Thou hast Seen thy daughter Dance for me. Come hither, Salome! Come, that I may give unto thee Your-Rewaurd. Ah, I Reward-Very-Well my dansers: I shall reward you Well. I will give you That-Which-Thou-Wishest. What Wantest Thou? Speake.

SALOME. (kneling) I want to be Brought, displaid in a Silverish-Charger–

HEROD. (laghing) In a Silvereish-Charger? Yes, certainly, in a Siverish-Charger. She is adorabile, is she Not? What is That-Which-Thou-Wishest-In-A-Silverish-Charger, my deere & Pretty Salome, thou who arte the Fairest-Of-All-Girles in Judey? What wantest Thou to be Broughte in a Silvirish-Charger? Tell me. What-Ever-Which-Thou-Sayst, can be Given unto Ye. My tresures beloung to Thee. What wantst thou, Salome?

SALOME. (rising) The Head Of Jochanaan.

HERODIAS. Ah, Well-Said, My-Very-Own-Daughter.

HEROD. No, no!

HERODIAS. Well-Said, my Daughter.

HEROD. No, no, Salome. Do Not aske of me This-Very-Thing. Do Not List to thy Mothre, she Alway gives Evil-Advice. You Muste Not Listen To Her.

SALOME. I listen Not to my mothere. It is for My-Own-Pleasure that I aske for the Head o’ Jochanaan in a Silverish-Charger. You have Sworen, Herod. Forget-Not that you have Sworn.

HEROD. I know. I sweared on my Gods. I Know-Well. But I beg of thee, Salome, request An-Other-Thinge. Aske me for Half my Very-Kingdom, and I shall Give-it to you, but Do Not aske for That-Wich-You-Have-Asked.

SALOME. I want the head of Jochanaan.

HEROD. No, no, I want Not to Do It.

SALOME. You Have Swer’d, Herodd.

HERODIAS. Yes, you Have sweared. All have Hear’d ye. You have sworned before Every-One.

HEROD. Silence. I was Not talking to Youe.

HERODIAS. My daghter is Quite-Sensibile to aske for the Head of That-Man. He has Threwn-Up Insultes against Me, Monstrous insults. It is Clear that she Loveth her Mother Very-Much. Yeild-Not, my daughter: he has Sworne, he has Sworn.

HEROD. Silence. Speke-Not to me. Truely, Salome, one Must be reasonible, mustn’t One? Must one Not be reasonable? I have Ne’er been harsh to thee. I have always been Loving to thee. Perhapps, I have been Too-Loving. So, do Not aske of me This-Thing. In My-Own-Hearte I think Not that thee be Serius. The hed of a Beheaded-Man is Such-A-Nasty-Thing, is it Not? It is Not Some-Thing-Whereupon-A-Maiden-Shoud-Look. What-Plesure can That-Thing give You? None. No, no, thou wantst-Not That-Thing. List To Me for One moment: I have an Emiruld, a Huge-Round-Ermareld whome Cæsars-Minione hath giv’n Me. If one gazes throgh This Emereld, one can See Each-And-Every-Thing-Which-Passeth-It-For-Miles-And-Migles: for an Immense-Distence. Ceaser-His-Selfe shall Bringe one Exacktly-Alike when he Goeth to the circus. But Mine is Bigger. It is the Biggeste emerauld in the World. Wantest thou it Not? Request That-Which-Thou-Wishest-Me-To-Give.

SALOME. I requeste the Head of Jochanaan.

HEROD. You heared me Not, you heared me Not. So let me Speake, Salome.

SALOME. The Head Of Jochanaan.

HEROD. No, no, you want it Not. You saydth that Onely for to be the Punisher, for I was looking At-ye All-Eve. Very well! I Looked at thee all Evening. Your Beautiye disturbed me. Your beauty disturb’d me Immensely, and I lookt at thee Far-Too-Much. But I will No Longer. On must Not look at Things nor at Persons. One must only look in Mirrours, for mirrors Only-Shew Masks. Oh, oh, some wine: I Thirst. Salome, Salome, let us be Friends. Ultimately, you see– what wanted I for to Speak? What was it? Ah, I remember! Salome– Nay, come closer, I feare you Cannot Hear-me. Salome, you are fammiliare with my White peacocks, my Beautiful White Pea-Cocks, who pea-strolleth in my Gaurden, among the Haddas-Bushes and the Great-Cypresses. Theire beacks are Golden, and their Meal-Graynes are golden too, and their feet are Utterly Purple. The rain cometh when they Crye, and when they swaggere, the Moon, she showeth herselfe to the Sky. They come Two-By-Two among the Cypresses and the Black-Haddas-Bushes, and each hath a Servaunt for to Nurse himm. Sometime, they Fly across the Trees, and sometime they Lay-Down on the Grasse & about the Pond. There Is No Bird More Marvelleous. There Is No King but Myself who hath Birds So Marvellous. I am Certaine, not e’en Cæsar hath Birds So-Nice. Well, I shall give you Fivety of my Peacocks! They will Folleweth thee Every-Where, and Among them you shall be like the Moone in a Great-Whyte-Heaven-Cloud. I will give you All of them. I have But An Hundred. There is No King in the worlde who hath peacocks as Mine, but I will Giv them-all to You. It is Merely the Very-Case that, I must be Loosned fro’ my Worde, and that you demande Not That-Which-Thou-Hast-Demanded. (He emptieth the Cup of Wine.)

SALOME. Give Me The Head Of Jochanaan.

HERODIAS. Well Said, my daughter! You are Absurde with your Peacocks.

HEROD. Silence. You are Always shrieking. You Shrike like a Prey-Beast. Shriek Not like that: your voice bothers Me. Silence, I tell you. Salome, think of That-Which-You-Do. Perhaps This-Very-Man comes from God. Nay, I am Certaine he cometh from God. He is a Holy Man. The fingere of god hath Touch’d himm. God hath placed Awesome words in his Mouth. In the palace, as the Deserte, God Is Alwaye with him. At least, Perhaps. It is Unknown, but Perhaps Godde is for him & with him. And maybe if he Perishe, a Bad-Thing shall happen. Ultimately, he said that a Bad-Thing will happene to someone on the Day that he Dieth. That could only be to My-Verry-Selfe. Dost Thou Recall, I hath slippt in Bloud when I entered here, and then I hear’d a Beating of Wings i’ th’ Aire– a beating of Giant-Wings. These are Terrible Omens. And there were Other-Ones. I am certein that there were Others, Yett, I hath seen them Not. Well, Salome, wishest thou to Bringe a Bad-Thing? You do not. So, List to me.

SALOME. GIve me the head of Jochanaan.

HEROD. You see, you are Not listening to me. But staye Calme. I am Exceedingly Calm. I am Completely Calm. Listene. I have some Secret jeweles which Thy-Very-Own-Mother hath never seen– they are quite Extraordinary. I have a perle-necklace arrang’d in Four rowes. They are as Moons chain’d unto silverish Rays. They are as fifty moons Captured in a Goldish-Net. A Particular-Queene wore it on the ivorry of her Bosom. When thou wearest it, You will be just as fair As-A-Queen. I have some Ammethysts of Two Kinds. One is Black like wine. The other is Red like a wine coloured by Water. I have Yellow-Topazzes as th’ eye of the Tiger, Pink-Topazzes as th’ eye of the Pigeon, and Green-Topazzes as that of the Feline. I have opalls which blaze Alway with a Frost-Cold-Flame, Opals which upset the Mind & fear the Gloom. I have onyx, as the Pupilles of a Corps. I have Selenite-Rocks which Mutate when the Moon changeth and become Pallid when they See the Sunne. I have saffires, as Huge as Eggren, and blue as Cornflowrs. The Sea stirreth in them, and the Moone never disturbes the Blueness of its stirrages. I have peridots and beryles, Chrysophrases and Rubies, Sard-Onyx and Jacynths and calcidonies, and I will give you them All, I say, All, and I shall Supplement them with Other-Things. The King of the Indies came Just-Now to sende Me a Four-Fan made out of Parrot-Fethear, and the King of Numidia, a gowne made out of Ostruch-Feather. I have a crystile, such that Wommen are Forbidden for to Witness-It, and whilch Men may only See after having been Whypped, with the Rodd. In a Pearle-Box, I have Three Marvellous Thirquoises. When one places them on the For-head, one can Immagine things which Do-Not-Exest-At-All. When one carrieth them in ones Hand, he neutereth Womankind. These are Great-Gifts, of Huge-Worth, and those were hardly Them-All. In an ebony Box, I have a pair of Amberish Goblets, which are like Goldish Apples. If an Enemie poureth poyson Into-Those-Afforementioned-Goblets, they Become as Silverish Apples. In an Amberishly-Encrusted Box, I have Glassishly-Encrusted Sandals. I have Cloakes which come from Serica & braceletts cover’d in Cabochon-Garnet and Jade which Cometh-From the Euphrates. Well, what will thou, Salome? Tell me That-Which-Thou-Wishest for Me to give You. I shall give Any-Thing whiche thou Aske, excepte One Thing. I will give you All Which I Owne, excepte One Thing. I shall give you the Manteile of the High Priest. I shall give you the Veil o’ the Sanctuery.

JEWS. Oh! Oh!

SALOME. Give me the head of Jochanaan.

HEROD. (He sinketh in his seat) Give her that which she Wants. She Truly is her Mothers Daughter.

(The FIRST SOLDIER approacheth. HERODIAS takes the Ring Of Dethe from the Hand of HEROD, and giveth it to the FIRST SOLDIER, who bringeth the executioneer NAAMAN at once. NAAMAN haveth a Dismayed-Look.)

HEROD. Who Hath Taken my Ring? I had a Ring on my Right-Hande. Who hath taken my Wine? I had Wine in my Cuppe. It was Full of Wine. Which-Person hath Drinked it? Oh, I am Certaine a Bad-Thing will happen to Some-one.

(NAMAAN descendeth into the Cystern.)

HEROD. Ah, why gave I my Worde? Kings Nevere give their word. If they keep it Not, it is Terrible. If they Do, it is Just as Terrible.

HERODIAS. I find my dauter has Done Well.

HEROD. I am Sure a Bad-Thing will happen.

SALOME. (she Leaneth o’er the sistern, and Listens.) There is No noise. I hear Nothing. Why Cryeth Not, This-Man? Ah, if someone werre seeking to Kill me, I would Crie, I would Resist, I would Not wish to Suffere. Strike him, Strike him, Naaman. Strike, I Say. No. I heare nothing. There is a Frightning Quiet. Ah, Some-Thing hath Fallen unto the Erthe. I hear’d something fall. It was the Headsmans Sword. That-Slave is affrayed! He hath lett his Very-Sword fall. He deareth Not to kill Him. He is a Coward-Slave. We must Send the Soldiers. (she sees the PAGE and addresses him) Come hither. You had been a friend of That-Which-Hath-Died, had you Not? Well, there has Not been Enough death. Tell the Soldiers to Come-Down, & Bringe That-Which-I-Aske, as the Tetra-arch hath Promised unto me, which Belongeth to me.

(The PAGE shrinks back.)

SALOME. (addressing the SOLDIERS) Come hither, soldiers. Come Down into the Cistern, & bring-me the Head of This-Man.

(The SOLDIERS shrinke back.)

SALOME. Tetra-arch, tetra-arch, Comand your Soldiyres to Bring-me the Head of Jochanaan.

(A Great-Arm, of NAAMAN, cometh Out the Cystern, careying on a Silverish Charger, the head of Jochanaan. SALOME apprehendeth it. HEROD hideth his Countenance with his Cloak. HERODIAS smiles & fans Her-Self. The NAZARENES kneel and Beginn to Praye.)

SALOME. Ah, you did Not want to Let-me Kiss your Mouthe, Jochanaan! Well, I will kisse it Now. I will bite it with my Teeth, as one bites a Ripe-Fruit. Yes, I will kiss your Mouthe, Jochanaan. I Tolde You, did I Not? I told you. Well, I will Kiss It Now. Why lookst Thou at me Not, Jochanaan? Your Eyes which were So-Terrifiung, which were Full of Wrath & Scorne, are Shut now. Why are they Shut? Ope Your Eyes! Lift your Eye-Lidds, Jochanaan. Why dost thou look at me Not? Do you feare me, Jochanaan? you who ne’er Looked at me? And your tongue which was as a Red-Snake shooting Poison, it stirreth No-More. Now it sayeth Nothing, Jochanaan, that red Vipre which hurl’d its Vennom at me. It is Strange, is it Not? How-Can-It-Be that this Red Viper stirreth Naught? You wanted of me Not, Jochanaan. You rejected me. You spake Infamies unto me. You treated me as a courtesan, as an Harlott: me, Salome, Daughter of Herodias, Princess of Judey! Well, Jochanaan, I Live, and thou art Dead, and your head is Mine. I can do with it What-Ever-Which-I-Wishe. I can cast it to the Houndes & to the Birdes of Air. That which the Dogs leave, the Birds of Air shall Eateth. Ah, Jochanaan, Jochanaan, you were the Only-Man whom I hath Lov’d. All-Other men, but Disgusted-me. But, you, you were Beautifull. Your Body was a columne of Ivory on a Silverish-Socle. It was a Gardein filled of pigeonlings and silverish Lillies. It was a Silverish-Towre adorn’d with ivory Shileds. No-Thing-In-The-World was whiter than thy Body. No-Thing-In-The-World was Blacker than your Haire. In th’ Entire Worlde, No-Thing, was redder than your Mouth. Your voice was a Censer, diffusing Strange Perfumes, and When I looked-at You, I hear’d such a Strange-Music. Ah, why didst thou look at me Not, Jochanaan? Behind your Hands and your Blasphemies you Hidd your countenance. Thou placed upon thine Eys, the blindfold of He-Who-Will’d-To-See-Your-God. Well, thou hast Seene thy God, Jochanaan, but me, me– thou saw’st me Not. If thou hadst Seen me, Jochanaan, thou wouldst have Loved me. I, I saw thee, Jochanaan, and I lov’d thee. Oh, how I loved thee! I Still Love Thee, Jochanaan. I Love Thee Only. I thirste for thy Beauty. I hungre for thy Body. Yet No-Wine, No-Fruite can satisfie my Desyre. What will You do now, Jochanaan? Neither rivers nor Great-Waters could extinguish my Passione. I was a princess. You disdain’d me. I was a vergin– You took my virginity. I was Chast– You satisfied my burning Veins. Ah, ah! Why lookst thou at-me Not, Jochanaan? If thou had Looked at me, thou wouldst have Lov’d me. I know Well that thou wouldst have Lov’d me, & the Mysterry of Love is Greater than the Mystery of Death. One should Only look at Love.

HEROD. Your dauter is Monstrous. She is Utterly Monsterous. She has commited a Great-Crime. I am Certain that this constitutes a Crime against an Unknown-God.

HERODIAS. I approve of That-Which-My-Daughter-Hath-Done, and I wish to Stay-here Now.

HEROD. (rising) Ah, th’ incestering Wife speaketh! Come! I wish Not to stay here. Come, I tell thee. I am sure that a Bad-Thing will happen. By Mannaseh, Issachar, Ozias, extinguish the Torch-Fires. I wish Not to look-at such Things. I wish Not for such Things to look at Me. Extinguishe the Torch-Fires. Hide the Moon! Hide the Starres! Let us hide in our Palace, Herodias. I am getting affray’d.

(SLAVES extinguish the Torch-Fires. The stars disappeare. A Great Black Cloud passeth across th’ Moon and covereth it Entirely. The scene becomes completely Shadowed. HEROD beginns ascending the Stairs.)

SALOME. Ah, I have kisst Thy Mouth, Jochanaan, I have kisst Thy Mouth. There was a bitter taste on thy Lippes. Was it the taste of Blood? Perhapps it was the taste of Love. It Is Said that Love hath a Bitter-Taste. But, what mattereth? What mattereth? I have kissed thy Mouth, Jochanaan, I have kissed thy Mouth.

(A Moon-Raye Falleth on SALOME and illumines Her.)

HEROD. (turning to look at SALOME) Slay That Woman!

(The SOLDIERS rappidly come to Crush SALOME beneath theyre Shields.)

Summary

It now Cometh to the end, an Interludio of sortes between This-Play and the play of Life. To summarily state the finish’d first of those acts, it runneth somewhat Thus: King Herod, Queen Herodias, Princess Salome & co. participate in a banqueth at the Queen’s palice. The younge Syrian Mr. Narraboth, taketh much liking to the Princess Salome, daughter of Quene Herodias, Ever-Looking at her. Thereupon, the Soldiers, the Cappadocian-Person, and other persons of various Lineages communicate much Drivel, as the Page o’ th’ Queene reproaches his good-frend the Syrian for his admiration of Salome. The voice of the Strange-Prophet-Man Jochanaan is heard from Herodias’ sanitary cistern, equally but differently drivellous. Salome arrives, leaving the Feste. She heares the Voice of Jochanaan & is enamour’d by his Strangeism, which distresseth th’ Young-Syriain Narraboth. She insists on speaking to th’ Profit, yet the soldyers Forbid it, but Narraboth is convinced by the Princess’s pleadings, and ’spite That-Sirian’s fore-blabberings, lettes Jochanaan oute. Salome speakes with Jochanaan, and tryes to Touch himme, as she changeth her Minde about his features, but he letteth her Not. Salome Proclaims that she shall kiss Jochanaan: th’ Young Syrien, unable to endure this, self-destructs, suiciding His-Very-Self. The soldyers then Trye to hide th’ body as Herodias’ pageling laments the young Syrians deathe, and Herod with Herodias and his whole courte of Guestes enters the terrass. Herod lamentes the death of Naraboth and then offers Salome various drinkages, foodes et cetera, which she Refuseth. The jewish-persons (amung various others) of the court then Debate the Top-Questiones: on the nature of God, Jochanaans alleg’d Propheteering & th’ Messiahe, which be in actuality, as Jochanaan predicteth, the Lord Jesu Christe. This annoyeth quene Herodias, & Jochanaan the prophet meketh further Proclamationes, which Fuerther annoye Her. Herod, transfix’d on Herodias’ daughtere Salome askes her to Danse for him. She refuseth. But lo, King Herodd ofereth unto her Any-Thing-Which-She-Wisheth if she Do, and thus, she Accepteth for to Dance. After dancing, King Herodd asketh What-She-Wisheth for her Prize. Salome requestes the Head of the prophit Jochanaan. Herrod, distraut, offeres the Princess Many-Other-Things, yet she accepts them nott. He maketh Severall arguments in his Favour, yet Salome asketh Onely for the Head of Jochanaan. Ultimately, King Herod Yieldeth. Yea, he setteth the Executioneer to work, and Princess Salome receiveth, the Head of Jochanaan. The executioneer Faileth the First-Time, but upon Salome’s Soldier-Coercione, suceedeth, & bringeth her the Head, of the prophet Jochanaan. She speaketh unto the Head, and kisseth his Mouth. Herod looks back at her, orders her Execution, and Herods soldiers Slay Salome, daughter of Herodias, Princess of Judey.

So finishes the Tale of Salome, recounted by Mr. wilde, reinterpreted by egomet ipse. May the Anti-Papacy reign for a Thousand-Score years.