SALOMÉ ANTICIPATES DR. STRAUSS
Ah! tu n’as pas voulu me laisser baiser ta bouche, Iokanaan. Eh bien! je la baiserai maintenant. Je la mordrai avec mes dents comme on mord un fruit mûr. Oui, je baiserai ta bouche, Iokanaan. Je te l’ai dit, n’est-ce pas? je te l’ai dit. Eh bien! je la baiserai maintenant . . . Mais pourquoi ne me regardes-tu pas, Iokanaan? Tes yeux qui étaient si terribles, qui étaient si pleins de colère et de mépris, ils sont fermés maintenant. Pourquoi sont-ils fermés? Ouvre tes yeux! Soulève tes paupières, Iokanaan. Pourquoi ne me regardes-tu pas? As-tu peur de moi, Iokanaan, que tu ne veux pas me regarder? . . . Et ta langue qui était comme un serpent rouge dardant des poisons, elle ne remue plus, elle ne dit rien maintenant, Iokanaan, cette vipère rouge qui a vomi son venin sur moi. C’est étrange, n’est-ce pas? Comment se fait-il que la vipère rouge ne remue plus? . . . Tu n’as pas voulu de moi, Iokanaan. Tu m’as rejetée. Tu m’as dit des choses infâmes. Tu m’as traitée comme une courtisane, comme une prostituée, moi, Salomé, fille d’Hérodias, Princesse de Judée! Eh bien, Iokanaan, moi je vis encore, mais toi tu es mort et ta tête m’appartient. Je puis en faire ce que je veux. Je puis la jeter aux chiens et aux oiseaux de l’air. Ce que laisseront les chiens, les oiseaux de l’air le mangeront . . . Ah! Iokanaan, Iokanaan, tu as été le seul homme que j’ai aimé. Tous les autres hommes m’inspirent du dégoût. Mais, toi, tu étais beau. Ton corps était une colonne d’ivoire sur un socle d’argent. C’était un jardin plein de colombes et de lis d’argent. C’était une tour d’argent ornée de boucliers d’ivoire. Il n’y avait rien au monde d’aussi blanc que ton corps. Il n’y avait rien au monde d’aussi noir que tes cheveux. Dans le monde tout entier il n’y avait rien d’aussi rouge que ta bouche. Ta voix était un encensoir qui répandait d’étranges parfums, et quand je te regardais j’entendais une musique étrange! Ah! pourquoi ne m’as-tu pas regardée, Iokanaan? Derrière tes mains et tes blasphèmes tu as caché ton visage. Tu as mis sur tes yeux le bandeau de celui qui veut voir son Dieu. Eh bien, tu l’as vu, ton Dieu, Iokanaan, mais moi, moi . . . tu ne m’as jamais vue. Si tu m’avais vue, tu m’aurais aimée. Moi, je t’ai vu, Iokanaan, et je t’ai aimé. Oh! comme je t’ai aimé. Je t’aime encore, Iokanaan. Je n’aime que toi . . . J’ai soif de ta beauté. J’ai faim de ton corps. Et ni le vin, ni les fruits ne peuvent apaiser mon désir. Que ferai-je, Iokanaan, maintenant? Ni les fleuves ni les grandes eaux, ne pourraient éteindre ma passion. J’étais une Princesse, tu m’as dédaignée. J’étais une vierge, tu m’as déflorée. J’étais chaste, tu as rempli mes veines de feu . . . Ah! Ah! pourquoi ne m’as-tu pas regardée, Iokanaan? Si tu m’avais regardée tu m’aurais aimée. Je sais bien que tu m’aurais aimée, et le mystère de l’amour est plus grand que le mystére de la mort. Il ne faut regarder que l’amour.—Salomé.
THE YOUNG KING
All rare and costly materials had certainly a great fascination for him, and in his eagerness to procure them he had sent away many merchants, some to traffic for amber with the rough fisher-folk of the north seas, some to Egypt to look for that curious green turquoise which is found only in the tombs of kings, and is said to possess magical properties, some to Persia for silken carpets and painted pottery, and others to India to buy gauze and stained ivory, moonstones and bracelets of jade, sandal-wood and blue enamel and shawls of fine wool.
But what had occupied him most was the robe he was to wear at his coronation, the robe of tissued gold, and the ruby-studded crown, and the sceptre with its rows and rings of pearls. Indeed, it was of this that he was thinking to-night, as he lay back on his luxurious couch, watching the great pinewood log that was burning itself out on the open hearth. The designs, which were from the hands of the most famous artists of the time, had been submitted to him many months before, and he had given orders that the artificers were to toil night and day to carry them out, and that the whole world was to be searched for jewels that would be worthy of their work. He saw himself in fancy standing at the high altar of the cathedral in the fair raiment of a King, and a smile played and lingered about his boyish lips, and lit up with a bright lustre his dark woodland eyes.
After some time he rose from his seat, and leaning against the carved penthouse of the chimney, looked round at the dimly-lit room. The walls were hung with rich tapestries representing the Triumph of Beauty. A large press, inlaid with agate and lapis-lazuli, filled one corner, and facing the window stood a curiously wrought cabinet with lacquer panels of powdered and mosaiced gold, on which were placed some delicate goblets of Venetian glass, and a cup of dark-veined onyx. Pale poppies were broidered on the silk coverlet of the bed, as though they had fallen from the tired hands of sleep, and tall reeds of fluted ivory bare up the velvet canopy, from which great tufts of ostrich plumes sprang, like white foam, to the pallid silver of the fretted ceiling. A laughing Narcissus in green bronze held a polished mirror above its head. On the table stood a flat bowl of amethyst.
Outside he could see the huge dome of the cathedral, looming like a bubble over the shadowy houses, and the weary sentinels pacing up and down on the misty terrace by the river. Far away, in an orchard, a nightingale was singing. A faint perfume of jasmine came through the open window. He brushed his brown curls back from his forehead, and taking up a lute, let his fingers stray across the cords. His heavy eyelids drooped, and a strange languor came over him. Never before had he felt so keenly, or with such exquisite joy, the magic and the mystery of beautiful things.
When midnight sounded from the clock-tower he touched a bell, and his pages entered and disrobed him with much ceremony, pouring rose-water over his hands, and strewing flowers on his pillow. A few moments after that they had left the room, he fell asleep.—The Young King.
A CORONATION
And when the Bishop had heard them he knit his brows, and said, ‘My son, I am an old man, and in the winter of my days, and I know that many evil things are done in the wide world. The fierce robbers come down from the mountains, and carry off the little children, and sell them to the Moors. The lions lie in wait for the caravans, and leap upon the camels. The wild boar roots up the corn in the valley, and the foxes gnaw the vines upon the hill. The pirates lay waste the sea-coast and burn the ships of the fishermen, and take their nets from them. In the salt-marshes live the lepers; they have houses of wattled reeds, and none may come nigh them. The beggars wander through the cities, and eat their food with the dogs. Canst thou make these things not to be? Wilt thou take the leper for thy bedfellow, and set the beggar at thy board? Shall the lion do thy bidding, and the wild boar obey thee? Is not He who made misery wiser than thou art? Wherefore I praise thee not for this that thou hast done, but I bid thee ride back to the Palace and make thy face glad, and put on the raiment that beseemeth a king, and with the crown of gold I will crown thee, and the sceptre of pearl will I place in thy hand. And as for thy dreams, think no more of them. The burden of this world is too great for one man to bear, and the world’s sorrow too heavy for one heart to suffer.’