ACT III
Scene: A savage mountain-cliff in the wilderness of Engeddi. On either side grey crags rise rugged, sinking away precipitously across the back. Cut into each is a cave. The height is reached by clefts from all sides. Between the crags to the East is the far blue of the Dead Sea; and still beyond, bathed in the waning afternoon, stretch the purple shores of Moab. During the act the scene grows crimson with sunset and a thundercloud arises over the sea. Lying on a pallet of skins near the cliff's verge, David tosses feverishly. Three of his followers and a lad, who serves him, are gathered toward the front, ragged, hungry, and hunted, in altercation over a barley cake.
David. Water! the fever fills me, and I thirst.
Water!
First Fol. Listen.
Second Fol. He calls.
David. Water! I thirst.
The Lad. Yes, yes, my lord. (Takes up a water-skin.) Ah, empty, not a quaff!
They've drunk it all from him! My lord, none's left.
I'll run and in the valley brim it soon.
(He goes. David sinks back.)
Second Fol (to First). You drank it, then.
First Fol. And should I thirst, not he?
Give me the bread.
Second Fol. If it would strangle you.
First Fol. I'll have it.
Second Fol. Or betray him? spitingly?
It is the last. Already you have eat.
And we are here within a wilderness.
First Fol. Be it, but I'll not starve.
Third Fol. He utters right.
Why should we but to follow a mere shepherd
Famish—over a hundred desert hills?
The prophecy portending him the throne—
Folly, not fate! though it is Samuel's.
I'll trust in it no more.
First Fol. Nor I.
Third Fol. And Saul
Has driven us from waste to waste—pressed us
Even unto the Philistines for shelter,
And now unto this crag. And is not David's
Thought but of Michal, not of smiting him
And, with a host, of leaping to the kingdom?
(David stirs to rise.)
First Fol. He moves; peace!
Third Fol. Let him.
Second Fol. Peace.
David (sufferingly). Men—men, we must have news. Perpetual,
Implacable they stare unto each other,
This rock and stony sky.... We must have news.
(Rises and comes down to them. They are silent.)
Longer is death. 'Tis over many days
Of sighing—and remembered verdancy;
Nor any dew comes here or odour up.
Who will go now and bring us word of Saul?
Third Fol. Have not Abishai, Abiathar,
And others gone?
David. Bravely.
Third Fol. And none returned!
David. Not one of all.
Third Fol. Well, then, we are not swine;
And life's but once.... So we will follow you
No longer hungered and rewarded never,
But perilously ever.
David. It is well.
(He looses a bracelet from his arm.)
This was a gift from Saul. In it is ease.
(Gives it to Third Follower, who goes.)
This ring was Jonathan's. The jewel tells
Still of the sunny haven of his heart.
Upon my hand he pressed it—the day we leapt
Deeper than friends into each other's love.
(Gives it to First, who goes.)
Second Fol. I want it not.
David. You have not thought;
'Tis riches—such as Sidon marts and Tyre
Would covet.
Second Fol. I care not.
David. None else is left.
Second Fol. No matter.
David. Then——?
Second Fol. There was of Gibeah
A woman—dear to me. Her face at night ...
Weeping among my dreams....
The prophesy
Is unfulfilled and vain!
David. And you would go?
Second Fol. The suffering—this cliff.
David. I understand.
(Motions.) So, without any blame, go—to content.
(The Second, faltering, goes.)
(Quietly.) A desolation left, of rock and air,
Of barren sea and bitterness as vast.
Thou hast bereft me, Saul!... and Michal, thou!
(He moves up cliff, gazes off, then kneels as to pray.)
My flesh cries for oblivion—to sink
Unwaking away into the night ... where is
No tears, but only tides of sleep....
No, crieth
Not for oblivion and night, but for
Rage and revenge! Saul! Saul!... My spirit, peace.
I must revenge's call within me quell
Though righteously it quivers and aflame.
As pants the hart for the water-brook, so I!
(He bows his head.... Michal enters in rags with the lad. She sees David rise and wander into cave, right.)
Michal. This is the place, then, this?
Lad. Yes, princess.
Michal. Here
So long in want and sickness he hath hid?
Under the livid day and lonelier night?
Lad. I brought him water, often.
Michal. Little lad!
But he has heard no word from me?—not how
My father, Saul, frantic of my repentance,
Had unto Phalti, a new lord, betrothed me?
How then I fled to win unto these wilds?
Lad. He heard not anything—only the tales
I told of Moab, my own land.... But, oh!
(David plays within.)
It is his harp.
Michal. And strains that weep o'er me!...
I'll speak to him ... and yet must be unknown!
A leper? as a leper could I...?
Lad. Why
Must he not know you?
Michal. Ask me not, lad, now;
But go a little.
Lad. Yes.
(He sets down the water-skin and goes.)
Michal (delaying, then in a loud voice). Unclean! Unclean!
(Conceals her face in her hair.)
David. Who crieth here?
Michal. Unclean!
David (appearing). Who cries unclean?
Poor leper in these wilds, who art thou?
Michal. One
Outcast and faint, forlorn!
David. Then you have come
To one more bitter outcast than yourself—
One who has less than this lone void to give,
This sterile solitude and sun, this scene
Of leaden desolation that makes mad;
Who has no ease but cave or shading rock,
Or the still moon, or stars that glide the night.
One over whom——
Michal. Yet, pity!
David. The pale hours
Flow dead into eternity.
Michal. Ah, yet...!
David. My cloak, then, for thy tattered limbs. Or, no—
This chain of Ophir for thy every need.
Once it was dear, but should be so no more.
(Flinging it to her). Have it, and with it vanish memory
Out of my breast——
Michal. No, no.
David. And from me fall
Link upon link her loveliness that bound.
David. Woman...?
Michal. Nothing. A chain like this
I once beheld wind undulantly bright
O'er Michal the king's daughter.
David. Woman, the king's?
Michal. Pity!
David. Who are you?
Michal. Stay! Unclean!
David. A spy?
A spy of Saul and hypocrite have crept
Hither to learn...?
Michal. Have heed—unclean!
David. How, then
Wandering came you here?
Michal. Unclean! Unclean!
David. My brain is overfull of fever, mad.
Almost and I had touched thy peril, held
Thy hideous contagion.
Michal. Wrong!
David. Then who
Art thou to know and speak of her, of Michal?
Michal. One who has served the king.
David. And you have seen
Michal, you have beheld her?
Michal. Once, when she
In face was fairer and in heart than now
They say she is.
David. And heard her speak?
Michal. A night
Under the leaves of Gibeah—when she
Sang with another—David.
David. Say no more.
Michal. And from afar, under the moon, blew faint
The treading of the wine-presses with song.
David she loved, but anger-torn betrayed,
Unworthy of him.
David. Speak of her no more,
Nor of her cruelty, unless to pray
He she has ruined may forget her.
Michal. Yet
If deep she should repent?—if deep she should?
(A cry interrupts. They start.)
David. A jackal? (Listens.) No, the signal! Word at last!
(To Michal). He who is near may prove to thee less kind.
(She goes. He leaps up the cliff.)
Abishai? Abiathar?... It is!
But staggering and wounded? breathless? torn?
The priest with bloody ephod, too, and wild?
(Watching, then springing to meet them as they reel in.)
Abishai, what is it that you bring?
Abiathar, up! answer!
Abiathar. Water!
David. Up!
(He brings the water-skin. They drain it fiercely.)
What is it now so fevered from you stares,
And breathing, too, abhorrence? Gasp it out.
Abiathar. I stifle—in a universe—he still—
Has breath in.
David. Saul?
Abiathar. Ill scathe him! Scorpions
Of terror and remorse sting in his soul!
David. If you have tidings, not in words so wild.
Abiathar. Then ask, and hate shall calm me.
David. Ask?
Abiathar. On, on!
Seek if he lives!
David. Who?
Abiathar. Seek if prophecy
Founts yet in Judah!
David. Samuel...?
Abiathar. Is dead!
Dead—and of tidings more calamitous.
(A pause.)
David (hoarsely). Tell on. I hear.
Abiathar. Saul gloating to believe
The priests who gathered sacredly at Nob,
Plotted assisting you, hath had them——
David. No...!
Abiathar. Slain at the hands of Doeg—murdered, all!
David. But he—your father?
Abiathar. Was among them; fell.
(He stands motionless.)
David (gently). Abiathar, my friend!... Appeaseless Saul!
Abiathar. Hear all, hear all! Thy father, too, and mother,
Even thy kindred, out of Israel
Are driven into Moab; and this king,
Delirious still for blood as a desert pard,
With Merab, whelp of him, and many armed,
Is near us now—a-quiver at Engeddi
For your destruction:
(David struggles for control.)
And yet you will not strike.
David (low). No, but of Michal, tell me good at once,
Lest unendurable this lot, I may——
Mounting o'er every oath into revenge.
Abiathar. Ha—Michal!
David. She withholds her father's wrath?
Abiathar. She's well.
David. Not if you say no more.
Abiathar. I know
Nothing of her.
David. Your look belies.
Abiathar. Perhaps:
As did her love.
David. That is for me.
Abiathar. Well, what?
A woman who betrays?
David. Speak, not evade;
And judge her when earth has no mystery.
Abiathar. Then from your craving put her—wide; she is
Unworthy any tremor of your veins.
David. Dawn-lilies under dew are then unworthy,
And nesting doves are horrible to heaven.
I will not so believe. Your reason?
Abiathar. Saul
Has given her—and she will wed him, aye—
To Phalti, a new lord.
David. Untrue of her!
Abiathar. Cry. Yet you will believe it.
David. Not until
The parable of verdant spring is hushed
Ever of bloom, to prove it. Never till
Hermon is swung into the sea! until
The last void of the everlasting sky—
(Looking up, falters, breaks off, and is strangely moved.)
Abiathar. Now what alarm?
Abishai. What stare you on?
Abiathar. He's mad?
(Then, suddenly seeing.)
No, no!... an eaglet!...
David. Pierct!
Abishai. Pierct?
David. Falling here ...
And beating against death unbuoyantly.
(The bird drops at their feet.)
A destiny, a fate in this is hidden!
(Bends to it.)
Abiathar. And—why?
David. The arrow!—His! (Starts back.) His and no other's!
Quick, no delay. Efface all trace of us.
(Takes water-skin.)
David. We are discovered—near
On us is death. Open the secret chamber
Within the cave, for from the bow of Saul
Is yonder bleeding—from no other.
Abiathar. Saul's?
But how; was any here?
David. To-day, to-day.
A leper wandering.
Abiathar. We are betrayed.
(Abishai hastes to cave, right, David and Abiathar listen. Noise of approach is heard.)
David. They near.
Abiathar. And many.
David. King of Israel!
Inexorable!
Abiathar. O, rebuke him, do!
David. Almost I am beyond this tolerance.
Abiathar. In truth. Therefore it is you rise and shake
Out of his power the sceptre!
David. Tempt me not!
Mercy and memory almost are dead,
And craving birth in me is fateful ire.
(They follow into the cave: but hardly have done so when, at a shout, pour in Saul and his men, bloodthirstily, from all sides, Doeg and Abner leading.)
Saul. On, to him! search the caves! in, in, and bring
Him to my sword and Michal with him.
(Pacing.)
They
Shall couch upon eternity and dust.
(Weakly.) I am the king and Israel is mine....
I'll sleep upon their grave, I'll sleep upon it,
And hear the worm...!
(To a soldier re-entering from one cave.)
Where is he? Bring him.
Soldier. O king—
Saul. You've slain him and you tremble! Say it.
Soldier. No.
Saul. Then hither with him; hither!
Soldier. He's not here.
Saul. A treachery! You cunningly contrive
To aid him, so....
(To a soldier from the other cave.)
Bring me his head.
Soldier (fearfully). My lord,
He is not there....
Saul. I tell you it is lies—
Because you deem that he shall be the king,
And treasure up reward and amnesty.
(Rushes wildly to caves in turn, then out among them.)
From me ill-fruited ineffectual herd!
Away from me, he's fled and none of you
Is servant and will find and for me seize him!
From me—I'll sleep—I'll rest—and then—
(As they cringe, going.)
I'll sleep.
(Abner and Doeg remain. Saul enters cave, left.)
Abner (to Doeg, significantly). The Evil Spirit.
Doeg. Yes; upon him swift
It came as never before—as drunkenness.
Abner. Then—safe to leave him?
Doeg. Will he brook denial?
Abner. And Merab, too, will soon be here.
Doeg. Well, come.
Abner. I'll go and look upon him.
(Goes.)
(Returning.) Already he sleeps.
So we may seek us water; (then suddenly) no, abide!
(Is held by Michal entering.)
Woman, who are you, who?
Michal (quaking). Unclean! away!
Doeg. Unclean? a leper? in this place? Are there
No stones to stone you? Hence! And had I not
A brother such as thou——
Michal. Pity! Unclean!
(She quickly goes, then they. A space; then she returns, trembling and fearful.)
I'll call him! I will save him! David! David!—
I his discomfiture and ruin!—David!
(Searches.)
Hear, David! hear me! David!
(Sees Saul.)
The king! My father!
I cannot—am not—whither shall I, whither...?
(Flees, as a scuffling is heard and David's voice.)
David. Loose me, I say. 'Twas Michal, and she called!
(Appears, withheld by Abiathar.)
(Breaking free.) I say that it was she!
Abiathar. Foolhardy, no
Return into the cave, and ere too late!
(Merab, veiled, enters behind them.)
David. 'Twas Michal and no other.
Abiathar. You are duped.
David (searching). The breathing of archangels could not so
Have swung the burden from me as her ... Ha!
(Sees Merab; slowly recoils.)
Merab. It is not Michal.
David. No—it is not Michal.
(Motions the priest aside.)
Merab. Yet it is one who——
David. Need not lift her veil,
Or longer stay. The path she came is open.
Merab. I'm here—and here will speak! I've hither stolen,
Yearning—I say it—yearning—and I will.
David. These words I do not know.
Merab. Because you will not.
More all-devouring than a Moloch is
This love within me——
David. Love and you are twain,
As sun and Sheol.
Merab. False. I am become
For want of you as famine-wind, a wave
In the mid-tempest, with no rest, no shore.
David. I do not hear the unashamed words
Of one who has but recently another,
Adriel, wedded.
Merab. You refuse me, then?
David. I beg you but to cease.
Merab. Goaded, chagrined?
No, but this will I do. The Philistines,
For long at rioting within their walls,
Gather again and break toward Gilboa....
David. Merab of Saul!
Merab. To-morrow must my father
Return from hunting you and arm for battle.
But—many would that you were king.
David. Were...?
Merab. King!
David. I do not understand your eyes.
Merab. I will
For love of you arouse rebellion up,
Murmur about the host your heaven-call,
And lift you to the kingdom.
David. To the —— Stay!
Your words again.
Merab. The kingdom.
David. Awful God!
Merab. What is your mien? you will not?
David. Twice the words—
Full from her lips—and to betray her father.
(Abiathar discovers Saul.)
Merab. You will not? answer!
David. Odious utterly!
As yonder sea of death and bitter salt!
As foam-girt Joppa of idolatry,
As Memphian fane of all abhorrencies!
(A pause.)
Morning would move with horror of it, noon
A livid sepulchre of shame span o'er,
And night shrink to remember day had been!
Merab. You scorn—you scorn me?
David. Jonathan! your sister!
Merab. Then Saul shall rend you dead. And Jonathan!...
(She laughs shrilly.)
Perchance you had not heard that Jonathan
Knows to the Philistines you fled—and loathes you!
David. I have not heard.
Merab. Nor have not, ah? how Michal
Is given to the embraces of another?
(David shrinks.)
You desperately breathe and pale at last?
(She laughs more bitterly.)
To me for aid, to me you yet shall come.
(She goes. David lifts his hand to his brow in pain. Then Abiathar abruptly descends from Saul's cave to him.)
Abiathar. David——
David. Leave me.
Abiathar. Not till you know—and strike!
David. I tell you, go.
Abiathar. I tell you 'tis the king.
David. Who breaks forbearance—yes.
Abiathar. Who lieth yonder.
And sleeping lieth—for a thrust to end.
David (his sword quickly out—struggling).
Then shall there be an ending—of these wounds
That wring me—of this wail
Under the deeps of me against his wrongs.
Saul, Saul!... Michal!... Oh, never-ceasing ill!
(Flings down the sword in anguish.)
Abiathar. You will not come?
David. The sun is set.
Abiathar. Has Saul
Hunted you to this desert's verge?
David. Enough!
Abiathar. Has he pursued you, all his hate unleashed?
Are Samuel—the priests, not slain? my father?
The kingdom is not in decay, and falls?
You are not prophesy's anointed one?
Seize up the sword and strike—or I myself!
David. Or—you yourself?...
(Puts them aside, takes sword, and goes to Saul's cave.)
Abishai. What will he do?... listen
Michal enters unseen.
Abiathar. If Saul cries out——
Abishai. Be ready.
Michal (to them). What is this?
(David re-enters—haggard and worn—from the cave, a piece of Saul's cloak and the sword still in his hand.... The pause is tense with emotion.)
Michal (at last, with a cry, as David clenches).
Ah, you have slain—have slain him! Wretch! thou wretch!
And sleeping as he was!
David. And it was you...?
(Rage takes him.)
In lying rags?
Michal. Have struck him in his sleep!
And merciless! And now will kill me, too?
David. The leper, you! The faithless leper, you,
(Grows frenzied.)
Who drove me a prey upon this wilderness!
Upon the blot of it and death and sear!
The silence and relentless burning swoon!
You are the leper, who have broken troth
And shut the cry of justice from your breast!
Who've stifled me with desolation's woe,
Who've followed still and still have me betrayed!
Michal. Betrayed? No, loose me!
David. Slain thy father? slain?
(Flinging the piece of Saul's cloak at her feet.)
See how I might—see, see you, yonder he lies,
A king who quits the kingdom, though a cloud
Of Philistines is foaming toward Gilboa;
Jeoparded leaves it, undefended, for
Pursuit of me and pitiless harrying!
A king who murders priests ...
Michal. Priests?
David. Stifles God
With penitence that He has shaped the world!
Have slain? have slain him! I have slain him! Ah!
Ah, that I had thy falseness and could slay him!
Michal. David...!
David. Nevermore near me! never with
That quivering and tenderness of lure.
Those eyes that hold infinity of fate,
That breathing cassia-sweet, but sorcery!
Michal. Oh ...
David. Never thy presence pouring beauty, swift,
And seething in the brain as frantic wine!
I'll be no more enspelled of thee—Never!
I will not hear thee and be wound by words
Into thy wile as wide as Ashtoreth's,
Back into hope, eternity of pain!
(He goes in agony—the priest and Abishai after. Michal stands gazing tearless before her as Saul, awakened, comes slowly from the mouth of the cave down toward her.)