The Blood of Rachel.

by Cotton Noe.

ACT I

SCENE I

Place--Shushan, the Capital of Persia.

Time--478 B.C.

[_A hall in the palace of the king. Enter Smerdis, the king's jester, and Ahafid, poet and minstrel to the king, from opposite sides of the hall. Ahafid is already an old man, with long grey beard and a little stooped with age.

He carries a golden Persian harp on which he plays and accompanies his own song._]

_Ahafid_

[_Sings._]

Now War has doffed his mailed coat And Peace forgot her art; The lute but not the bugle's note Can stir the kingly heart; Nights of revel and carp, And days of sensuous rust, How can a poet's harp Intone a song of l.u.s.t?

The king is mad. His flight from Salamis Was bad enough. But that could be excused.

For six months now what has he done but drink, Carouse and wallow in lascivious ease, While subjects driven to despair with tax Have fallen on the poisoned sword and cursed In death the son of their once goodly king?

_Smerdis_

Ahafid, you do seem to think the first Great business of a king is war. Now pray You, why should Xerxes waste the l.u.s.ty days Of youth in b.l.o.o.d.y strife? To furnish themes, No doubt, for dullard bards and minstrelsy.

Ahasuerus is the wisest king That ever sat upon a Persian throne.

You graybeard fool, stupid as poets are.

Can you not see the wisdom of our king In subst.i.tution of the flight for death, Of feast for fight, of wine for blood? Think you 'Tis wise to wear the plaited mail of Mars When Venus bids you to the festival Of love?

_Ahafid_

You call me then a graybeard fool!

Though I have dropped the purple bloom of spring The autumn's silvery down may indicate The ripened fruit of wisdom which your youth Has never tasted. Smerdis, you are blind!

My beard is white, but vision clear. The king Does daily waste the substance of his realm, And nightly dissipates his energies In vices of the blood. Vashti, the queen, The idol of her people, is in grief.

_Smerdis_

In grief for what? Does she too wish the king To take the field? I know our queen is fair Of face and most voluptuous of form.

Perhaps her grief is due to jealousy.

Would she monopolize his love, because Her beauty is surpa.s.sing?

_Ahafid_

Vashti does Not know that she is beautiful. She loves Her country and is brave as well as good.

I dread the issue of this night. The king Has ordered that the queen be brought before The court, a target for licentious eyes.

She will refuse to go because her heart Is pure. Ahasuerus, flushed with wine, Will brook no opposition to his will.

A tragedy that never Persia knew Will see the rising of to-morrow's sun.

_Smerdis_

A tragedy no country ever knew-- A woman who is beautiful, but doesn't know it's true.

_Ahafid_

[_Sings._]

Oh, for a song to cleanse the heart Or touch the sceptred power; Oh, might the G.o.ds a strength impart To meet this tragic hour.

[_Exeunt Ahafid and Smerdis._]

[_Enter Vashti and Zethar._]

_Vashti_

Oh, Zethar, do you think this night will end The revels that dishonor Persia's king?

To-day unknown I strolled through squalid parts Of this old city and observed the poor.

My lord, unmindful of their misery, Has laid a heavy tax for his insane Extravagance upon the helpless child That begs in Shushan's streets. Not here alone, This suffering; but Persia's peasantry, The glory of the old empire, the heart That once defied the world, is broken on The wheel of tax. And all for what?

_Zethar_

O queen, Always the world has had its poverty.

You shall forget the poor. One stoop of wine Will bring you happiness. Vashti, drink.

_Vashti_

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

[_Enter Meheuman, Biztha and Abagtha._]

_Meheuman_

[_Loftily._]

Our most imperial queen, the king has laid A banquet in the palace garden court, The crowning act of that munificence Toward prince and people great and small alike, Ahasuerus now for many months Has shown the loyal subjects of his realm.

The adornment of the court displays a rich Magnificence of taste; the couches are Of fretted gold and silver set upon A pavement of mosaic inlaid stone.

The drinking is according to the law-- None can compel, each vessel is diverse, But all of gold. Th' abundance of the wine Shows the unstinted bounty of the king.

Our monarch's heart is merry in the cup, And boasts that Vashti's beauty does excel In magic power the fabled Helen's charms, And bids us bring immediately before The court great Persia's matchless queen!

_Vashti_

Meheuman, tell Ahasuerus I Must thank his majesty since he can still Remember Vashti's beauty, though his grace Has lost all sense of modesty and shame.

You say his heart is merry now in wine And that he glories with exceeding pride Because my face is fair to look upon!

I do not doubt his tongue is eloquent; The fiery phrase is his! Why, often I Have heard him praise his horse in language that Seemed kindled at the altar of the G.o.ds.

It may be that he holds me higher than His hundred concubines.