THE SOLDIER. Wretch that I am!
Ah, woe is me to speak thus of God's saint.
[The deep-toned monastery bell rings.]
THE MONK. Come, follow me. Below us in the crypt
The pious brethren this night have set forth
The sacred mystery of Jesus' birth;
Shalt see the very manger where he lay.
Make haste and come.
[The company arise and pass out, all save the Jew. The monk, last, stares at the gaunt figure a moment, opens his lips to speak, then shakes his head and departs.]
SCENE II. [AHASUERUS, alone. He looks around him, as if to see if any remain in the room, then slowly moves toward the fireplace and holds his trembling hands before the fire.]
AHASUERUS. Ah, God of Jacob! Hear the Christians talk.
"Dog Jew!" "Accursed Jew!" I hate you all!
Your Christ sits on his kingly throne this night—
But I am steadfast. How the very wind
Doth buffet me and chill my aged bones!
Ringed all about with enemies, I stand
Unharmed—for by Jehovah's dreadful curse
I live—nor can I die—until He come.
How chill the wind sweeps through my withered frame
While curses and revilings dog my steps—
My weary, ceaseless steps. Ah, God! To die!
Have I not expiated yet my sin?—
To bear life's heavy burden o'er the earth,
To wander from Armenia's distant hills,
Through desert places now, and now through vales
That flow with plenty; now through sordid towns,
Until at last I reach the western seas;
Then, ever homeless, to repeat my steps?
Death were a blessing, yea, a gentle sleep—
To feel delicious numbness seize my limbs,
Mine eyes grow heavy, and the weary flight
Of immemorial time forever stayed
In sleep, in dreamless sleep—would I might die!
I am so weary, weary of it all.
[He sinks down upon a bench, and is silent for a moment, in deep thought; a smile flits over his face, as at a pleasing memory, then the worn, hunted look returns.]
Faint shadows nicker 'round me, and at times
Vague dreams of joy experienced long ago
Beguile me for a moment, then I wake;
Dim musings of that time when, yet a child,
I prattled in the shade of Judah's hills
And trod her leafy valleys aimlessly—
But that was long, long centuries ago.
Sometimes I dream, that when God bade my soul
To leave its blest abode and come to earth
In this vile guise, all-terrified it prayed
This trial and affliction to be spared;
But all in vain.
And now the curse of God
Is on that soul. The darkness hideth not,
Oh, Lord, from thee; night shineth as the day.
What weariness unspeakable is mine!
[He throws himself down on the bench in utter dejection. Suddenly he lifts his head—footsteps approach.]