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. Moonlight.

How beautiful is the Princess Salomé to-night!

Look at the moon! How strange the moon seems! She is like a woman rising from a tomb. She is like a dead woman. You would fancy she was looking for dead things.

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. You would fancy she was dancing.

She is like a woman who is dead. She moves very slowly.

What an uproar! Who are those wild beasts howling?

The Jews. They are always like that. They are disputing about their religion.

Why do they dispute about their religion?

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.

I think it is ridiculous to dispute about such things.

How beautiful is the Princess Salomé to-night!

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.

She is very beautiful to-night.

The Tetrarch has a sombre look.

Yes; he has a sombre look.

He is looking at something.

He is looking at some one.

At whom is he looking?

I cannot tell.

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.

You must not look at her. You look too much at her.

Herodias has filled the cup of the Tetrarch.

Is that the Queen Herodias, she who wears a black mitre sewn with pearls, and whose hair is powdered with blue dust?

Yes; that is Herodias, the Tetrarch's wife.

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.

I have never seen Cæsar.

Another that comes from a town called Cyprus, and is yellow like gold.

I love gold.

And the third is a wine of Sicily. That wine is red like blood.

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 it seems we never give them quite enough, for they are very harsh to us.

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.

The Jews worship a God that you cannot see.

I cannot understand that.

In fact, they only believe in things that you cannot see.

That seems to me altogether ridiculous.

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 lily. The eyes of the blind shall see the day, and the ears of the deaf shall be opened. The new-born child shall put his hand upon the dragon's lair, he shall lead the lions by their manes.

Make him be silent. He is always saying ridiculous things.

No, no. He is a holy man. He is very gentle, too. Every day, when I give him to eat he thanks me.

Who is he?

A prophet.

What is his name?

Jokanaan.

Whence comes he?

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.

What is he talking of?

We can never tell. Sometimes he says terrible things, but it is impossible to understand what he says.

May one see him?

No. The Tetrarch has forbidden it.

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.

What is that to you? Why do you look at her? You must not look at her.... Something terrible may happen.

What a strange prison!

It is an old cistern.

An old cistern! It must be very unhealthy.

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.

Strangled? Who dared to do that?

That man yonder, Naaman.

He was not afraid?

Oh no! The Tetrarch sent him the ring.

What ring?

The death-ring. So he was not afraid.

Yet it is a terrible thing to strangle a king.

Why? Kings have but one neck, like other folk.

I think it terrible.

The Princess rises! 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.

Do not look at her. I pray you not to look at her.

She is like a dove that has strayed.... She is like a narcissus trembling in the wind.... She is like a silver flower.

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. In truth, yes, I know it.

You have just left the feast, Princess?

How sweet the air is 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 twisted coils, and silent, subtle Egyptians, with long nails of jade and russett 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.

Will you be seated, Princess?

Why do you speak to her? Why do you look at her? Oh! something terrible will happen.

How good to see the moon! She is like a little piece of money, you would think she was a little silver flower. The moon is cold and chaste. I am sure she is a virgin, she has a virgin's beauty. Yes, she is a virgin. She has never defiled herself. She has never abandoned herself to men, like the other goddesses.

The Lord hath come. The son of man hath come. The centaurs have hidden themselves in the rivers, and the sirens have left the rivers, and are lying beneath the leaves of the forest.

Who was that who cried out?

The prophet, Princess.

Ah, the prophet! He of whom the Tetrarch is afraid?

We know nothing of that, Princess. It was the prophet Jokanaan who cried out.

Is it your pleasure that I bid them bring your litter, Princess? The night is fair in the garden.

He says terrible things about my mother, does he not?

We never understand what he says, Princess.

Yes; he says terrible things about her.

Princess, the Tetrarch prays you to return to the feast.

I will not go back.

Pardon me, Princess, but if you do not return some misfortune may happen.

Is he an old man, this prophet?

Princess, it were better to return. Suffer me to lead you in.

This prophet ... is he an old man?

No, Princess, he is quite a young man.

You cannot be sure. There are those who say he is Elias.

Who is Elias?

A very ancient prophet of this country, Princess.

What answer may I give the Tetrarch from the Princess?

Rejoice not thou, land of Palestine, because the rod of him who smote thee is broken. For from the seed of the serpent shall come forth a basilisk, and that which is born of it shall devour the birds.

What a strange voice! I would speak with him.

I fear it is impossible, Princess. The Tetrarch does not wish any one to speak with him. He has even forbidden the high priest to speak with him.

I desire to speak with him.

It is impossible, Princess.

I will speak with him.

Would it not be better to return to the banquet?

Bring forth this prophet.

We dare not, Princess.

How black it is, down there! It must be terrible to be in so black a pit! It is like a tomb....[To the soldiers.]Did you not hear me? Bring out the prophet. I wish to see him.

Princess, I beg you do not require this of us.

You keep me waiting!

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.

Ah!

Oh! what is going to happen? I am sure that some misfortune will happen.

You will do this tiling for me, will you not, Narraboth? You will do this thing for me. I have 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?

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.

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.

Princess, I cannot, I cannot.

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.

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

Ah!

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.

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.

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.

Of whom is he speaking?

You can never tell, Princess.

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?

It is of my mother that he speaks.

Oh, no, Princess.

Yes; it is of my mother that he speaks.

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.

But he is terrible, he is terrible!

Do not stay here, Princess, I beseech you.

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?

Do not stay here, Princess. I pray you do not stay here.

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.

No, no, Princess.

I must look at him closer.

Princess! Princess!

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.

I am Salomé, daughter of Herodias, Princess of Judæa.

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 sins hath come up to the ears of God.

Speak again, Jokanaan. Thy voice is wine to me.

Princess! Princess! Princess!

Speak again! Speak again, Jokanaan, and tell me what I must do.

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.

Who is he, the Son of Man? Is he as beautiful as thou art, Jokanaan?

Get thee behind me! I hear in the palace the beating of the wings of the angel of death.

Princess, I beseech thee to go within.

Angel of the Lord God, what dost thou here with thy sword? Whom seekest thou in this foul palace? The day of him who shall die in a robe of silver has not yet come.

Jokanaan!

Who speaketh?

Jokanaan, I am amorous of thy body! 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, 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 in the garden of the Queen of Arabia, the perfumed 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. Let me touch thy body.

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.

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 whitened sepulchre full of loathsome things. It is horrible, thy body is horrible. It is of thy hair that I am enamoured, Jokanaan. 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 themselves by day. The long black nights, when the moon hides her face, when the stars are afraid, are not so black. The silence that dwells in the forest is not so black. There is nothing in the world so black as thy hair.... Let me touch thy hair.

Back, daughter of Sodom! Touch me not. Profane not the temple of the Lord God.

Thy hair is horrible. It is covered with mire and dust. It is like a crown of thorns which they have placed on thy forehead. It is like a knot of black serpents writhing round thy neck. I love not thy hair.... It is thy mouth that I desire, Jokanaan. Thy mouth is like a band of scarlet on a tower of ivory. It is like a pomegranate cut 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. Thy mouth is redder than the feet of the doves who haunt 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 Moabites 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.... Let me kiss thy mouth.

Never! daughter of Babylon! Daughter of Sodom! Never.

I will kiss thy mouth, Jokanaan. I will kiss thy mouth.

Princess, Princess, thou who art like a garden of myrrh, thou who art the dove of all doves, look not at this man, look not at him! Do not speak such words to him. I cannot suffer them.... Princess, Princess, do not speak these things.

I will kiss thy mouth, Jokanaan.

Ah![He kills himself and falls between Salomé and Jokanaan.]

The young Syrian has slain himself! The young captain has slain himself! He has slain himself who was my friend! I gave him a little box of perfumes and ear-rings wrought in silver, and now he has killed himself! Ah, did he not foretell that some misfortune would happen? I, too, foretold it, and it has happened. Well I knew that the moon was seeking a dead thing, but I knew not that it was he whom she sought. Ah! why did I not hide him from the moon? If I had hidden him in a cavern she would not have seen him.

Princess, the young captain has just killed himself.

Let me kiss thy mouth, Jokanaan.

Art thou not afraid, daughter of Herodias? Did I not tell thee that I had heard in the palace the beatings of the wings of the angel of death, and hath he not come, the angel of death?

Let me kiss thy mouth.

Daughter of adultery, there is but one who can save thee, it is He of whom I spake. Go seek Him. He is in a boat on the sea of Galilee, and He talketh with His disciples. Kneel down on the shore of the sea, and call unto Him by His name. When He cometh to thee (and to all who call on Him He cometh), bow thyself at His feet and ask of Him the remission of thy sins.

Let me kiss thy mouth.

Cursed be thou! daughter of an incestuous mother, be thou accursed!

I will kiss thy mouth, Jokanaan.

I do no wish to look at thee. I will not look at thee, thou art accursed, Salomé, thou art accursed.[He goes down into the cistern.]

I will kiss thy mouth, Jokanaan; I will kiss thy mouth.

We must bear away the body to another place. The Tetrarch does not care to see dead bodies, save the bodies of those whom he himself has slain.

He was my brother, and nearer to me than a brother. I gave him a little box full of perfumes, and a ring of agate that he wore always on his hand. In the evening we used to walk by the river, among the almond trees, and he would tell me of the things of his country. He spake ever very low. The sound of his voice was like the sound of the flute, of a flute player. Also he much loved to gaze at himself in the river. I used to reproach him for that.

You are right; we must hide the body. The Tetrarch must not see it.

The Tetrarch will not come to this place. He never comes on the terrace. He is too much afraid of the prophet.

Where is Salomé? Where is the Princess? Why did she not return to the banquet as I commanded her? Ah! there she is!

You must not look at her! You are always looking at her!

The moon has a strange look to-night. Has she not a strange look? She is like a mad woman, a mad woman who is seeking everywhere for lovers. She is naked too. She is quite naked. The clouds are seeking to clothe her nakedness, but she will not let them. She shows herself naked in the sky. She reels through the clouds like a drunken woman.... I am sure she is looking for lovers. Does she not reel like a drunken woman? She is like a mad woman, is she not?

No; the moon is like the moon, that is all. Let us go within.... You have nothing to do here.

I will stay here! Manesseh, lay carpets there. Light torches, bring forth the ivory tables, and the tables of jasper. The air here is delicious. I will drink more wine with my guests. We must show all honours to the ambassadors of Cæsar.

It is not because of them that you remain.

Yes; the air is delicious. Come, Herodias, our guests await us. Ah! I have slipped! I have slipped in blood! It is an ill omen. It is a very evil omen. Wherefore is there blood here?... and this body, what does this body here? Think you I am like the King of Egypt, who gives no feast to his guests but that he shows them a corpse? Whose is it? I will not look on it.

It is our captain, sire. He is the young Syrian whom you made captain only three days ago.

I gave no order that he should be slain.

He killed himself, sire.

For what reason? I had made him captain.

We do not know, sire. But he killed himself.

That seems strange to me. I thought it was only the Roman philosophers who killed themselves. Is it not true, Tigellinus, that the philosophers at Rome kill themselves?

There are some who kill themselves, sire. They are the Stoics. The Stoics are coarse people. They are ridiculous people. I myself regard them as being perfectly ridiculous.

I also. It is ridiculous to kill oneself.

Everybody at Rome laughs at them. The Emperor has written a satire against them. It is recited everywhere.