Grants us from Candia escort home at price
Of our relinquished isle, Rhodes counts her own —
Venice, whose promised argosies should stand
Toward harbor: is it now that you, and you,
And you, selected from the rest to bear
The burthen of the Khalif s secret, further
To-day’s event, entitled by your wrongs,
And witness in the Prefect’s hall his fate —
That you dare clutch these gauds? Ay, drop them!
KARSHOOK.
True,
Most true, all this; and yet, may one dare hint,
Thou art the youngest of us? — though employed
Abundantly as Djabal’s confidant,
Transmitter of his mandates, even now.
Much less, whene’er beside him Anael graces
The cedar throne, his queen-bride, art thou like
To occupy its lowest step that day!
Now, Khalil, wert thou checked as thou aspirest,
Forbidden such or such an honor, — say,
Would silence serve so amply?
KHALIL.
Karshook thinks
I covet honors? Well, nor idly thinks.
Honors? I have demanded of them all
The greatest.
KARSHOOK.
I supposed so,
KHALIL.
Judge, yourselves!
Turn, thus: ‘tis in the alcove at the back
Of yonder columned porch, whose entrance now
The veil hides, that our Prefect holds his state,
Receives the Nuncio, when the one, from Rhodes,
The other lands from Syria; there they meet.
Now, I have sued with earnest prayers . . .
KARSHOOK.
For what
Shall the Bride’s brother vainly sue?
KHALIL.
That mine —
Avenging in one blow a myriad wrongs
— Might be the hand to slay the Prefect there!
Djabal reserves that office for himself. [A silence.
Thus far, as youngest of you all, I speak
— Scarce more enlightened than yourselves; since, near
As I approach him, nearer as I trust
Soon to approach our Master, he reveals
Only the God’s power, not the glory yet.
Therefore I reasoned with you: now, as servant
To Djabal, bearing his authority,
Hear me appoint your several posts! Till noon
None see him save myself and Anael: once
The deed achieved, our Khalif, casting off
The embodied Awe’s tremendous mystery,
The weakness of the flesh disguise, resumes
His proper glory, ne’er to fade again.
Enter a DRUSE.
THE DRUSE.
Our Prefect lands from Rhodes! — without a sign
That he suspects aught since he left our Isle;
Nor in his train a single guard beyond
The few he sailed with hence: so have we learned
From Loys.
KARSHOOK.
Loys? Is not Loys gone
Forever?
AYOOB.
Loys, the Frank Knight, returned?
THE DRUSE.
Loys, the boy, stood on the leading prow
Conspicuous in his gay attire, and leapt
Into the surf the foremost. Since day-dawn
I kept watch to the Northward; take but note
Of my poor vigilance to Djabal!
KHALIL.
Peace!
Thou, Karshook, with thy company, receive
The Prefect as appointed: see, all keep
The wonted show of servitude: announce
His entry here by the accustomed peal
Of trumpets, then await the further pleasure
Of Djabal! (Loys back, whom Djabal sent
To Rhodes that we might spare the single Knight
Worth sparing!)
Enter a second DRUSE.
THE DRUSE.
I espied it first! Say, I
First spied the Nuncio’s galley from the South!
Said’st thou a Crossed-keys’ flag would flap the mast?
It nears apace! One galley and no more.
If Djabal chance to ask who spied the flag,
Forget not, I it was!
KHALIL.
Thou, Ayoob, bring
The Nuncio and his followers hither! Break
One rule prescribed, ye wither in your blood,
Die at your fault!
Enter a third DRUSE.
THE DRUSE.
I shall see home, see home!
— Shall banquet in the sombre groves again!
Hail to thee, Khalil! Venice looms afar;
The argosies of Venice, like a cloud,
Bear up from Candia in the distance!
KHALIL.
Joy!
Summon our people, Raghib! Bid all forth!
Tell them the long-kept secret, old and young!
Set free the captive, let the trampled raise
Their faces from the dust, because at length
The cycle is complete, God Hakeem’s reign
Begins anew! Say, Venice for our guard,
Ere night we steer for Syria! Hear you, Druses?
Hear you this crowning witness to the claims
Of Djabal? Oh, I spoke of hope and fear,
Reward and punishment, because he bade
Who has the right; for me, what should I say
But, mar not those imperial lineaments,
No majesty of all that rapt regard
Vex by the least omission! Let him rise
Without a check from you!
DRUSES.
Let Djabal rise!
Enter LOYS. — The Druses are silent.
LOYS.
Who speaks of Djabal? — for I seek him, friends!
[Aside.] Tu Dieu! ‘Tis as our Isle broke out in song
For joy, its Prefect-incubus drops off
To-day, and I succeed him in his rule!
But no — they cannot dream of their good fortune!
[Aloud.] Peace to you, Druses! I have tidings for you
But first for Djabal: where’s your tall bewitcher,
With that small Arab thin-lipped silver-mouth?
KHALIL [aside to KARSHOOK]
Loys, in truth! Yet Djabal cannot err!
KARSHOOK [to KHALIL].
And who takes charge of Loys? That’s forgotten,
Despite thy wariness! Will Loys stand
And see his comrades slaughtered?
LOYS [aside].
How they shrink
And whisper, with those rapid faces! What?
The sight of me in their oppressors’ garb
Strikes terror to the simple tribe? God’s shame
On those that bring our Order ill repute!
But all’s at end now; better days begin
For these mild mountaineers from over-sea:
The timidest shall have in me no Prefect
To cower at thus! [Aloud.] I asked for Djabal —
KARSHOOK [aside].
Better
One lured him, ere he can suspect, inside
The corridor; ‘twere easy to despatch
A youngster. [To LOYS.] Djabal passed some minutes since
Thro’ yonder porch, and . . .
KHALIL [aside].
Hold! What, him despatch?
The only Christian of them all we charge
No tyranny upon? Who, — noblest Knight
Of all that learned from time to time their trade
Of lust and cruelty among us, — heir
To Europe’s pomp, a truest child of pride, —
Yet stood between the Prefect and ourselves
From the beginning? Loys, Djabal makes
Account of, and precisely sent to Rhodes
For safety? I
take charge of him!
[To LOYS.] Sir Loys, —
LOYS.
There, cousins! Does Sir Loys strike you dead?
KHALIL [advancing].
Djabal has intercourse with few or none
Till noontide: but, your pleasure?
LOYS.
“Intercourse
With few or none?” (Ah, Khalil, when you spoke
I saw not your smooth face! All health! and health
To Anael! How fares Anael? ) “Intercourse
With few or none?”; Forget you, I’ve been friendly
With Djabal long ere you or any Druse?
Enough of him at Rennes, I think, beneath
The Duke my father’s roof! He’d tell by the hour,
With fixed white eyes beneath his swarthy brow,
Plausiblest stories . . .
KHALIL.
Stories, say you? — Ah,
The quaint attire!
LOYS.
My dress for the last time!
How sad I cannot make you understand,
This ermine, o’er a shield, betokens me
Of Bretagne, ancientest of provinces
And noblest; and, what’s best and oldest there,
See, Dreux’, our house’s blazon, which the Nuncio
Tacks to an Hospitaller’s vest to-day!
KHALIL.
The Nuncio we await? What brings you back
From Rhodes, Sir Loys?
LOYS.
How you island-tribe
Forget the world’s awake while here you drowse!
What brings me back? What should not bring me, rather!
Our Patriarch’s Nuncio visits you to-day —
Is not my year’s probation out? I come
To take the knightly vows.
KHALIL.
What ‘s that you wear?
LOYS.
This Rhodian cross? The cross your Prefect wore.
You should have seen, as I saw, the full Chapter
Rise, to a man, while they transferred this cross
From that unworthy Prefect’s neck to . . . (fool —
My secret will escape me!) In a word,
My year’s probation passed, a Knight ere eve
Am I; bound, like the rest, to yield my wealth
To the common stock, to live in chastity,
(We Knights espouse alone our Order’s fame)
— Change this gay weed for the back white-crossed gown,
And fight to death against the Infidel
— Not, therefore, against you, you Christians with
Such partial difference only as befits
The peacefulest of tribes. But, Khalil, prithee,
Is not the Isle brighter than wont to-day?
KHALIL.
Ah, the new sword!
LOYS.
See now! You handle sword
As ‘twere a camel-staff. Pull! That’s my motto,
Annealed “Pro fide” on the blade in blue.
KHALIL.
No curve in it? Surely a blade should curve.
LOYS.
Straight from the wrist! Loose — it should poise itself!
KHALIL [waving with irrepressible exultation the sword].
We are a nation, Loys, of old fame
Among the mountains! Rights have we to keep
With the sword too!
[Remembering himself.] But I forget — you bid me
Seek Djabal?
LOYS.
What! A sword’s sight scares you not?
(The People I will make of him and them!
Oh let my Prefect-sway begin at once!)
Bring Djabal — say, indeed, that come he must!
KHALIL.
At noon seek Djabal in the Prefect’s Chamber,
And find . . . [Aside.] Nay, ‘tis thy cursed race’s token,
Frank pride, no special insolence of thine!
[Aloud.] Tarry, and I will do your bidding, Loys!
[To the rest aside.] Now, forth you! I proceed to Djabal straight.
Leave this poor boy, who knows not what he says!
Oh will it not add joy to even thy joy,
Djabal, that I report all friends were true?
[Khalil goes, followed by the Druses.
LOYS.
Tu Dieu! How happy I shall make these Druses!
Was ‘t not surpassingly contrived of me
To get the long list of their wrongs by heart,
Then take the first pretence for stealing off
From these poor islanders, present myself
Sudden at Rhodes before the noble Chapter,
And (as best proof of ardor in its cause
Which ere to-night will have become, too, mine)
Acquaint it with this plague-sore in its body,
This Prefect and his villanous career?
The princely Synod! All I dared request
Was his dismissal; and they graciously
Consigned his very office to myself —
Myself may cure the Isle diseased!
And well
For them, they did so! Since I never felt
How lone a lot, tho’ brilliant, I embrace.
Till now that, past retrieval, it is mine.
To live thus, and thus die! Yet, as I leapt
On shore, so home a feeling greeted me
That I could half believe in Djabal’s story,
He used to tempt my father with, at Rennes —
And me, too, since the story brought me here —
Of some Count Dreux and ancestor of ours
Who, sick of wandering from Bouillon’s war,
Left his old name in Lebanon.
Long days
At least to spend in the Isle! and, my news known
An hour hence, what if Anael turn on me
The great black eyes I must forget?
Why, fool,
Recall them, then? My business is with Djabal,
Not Anael! Djabal tarries: if I seek him? —
The Isle is brighter than its wont to-day.
Act II
Enter DJABAL.
DJABAL.
That a strong man should think himself a God!
I — Hakeem? To have wandered through the world,
Sown falsehood, and thence reaped now scorn, now faith,
For my one chant with many a change, my tale
Of outrage, and my prayer for vengeance — this
Required, forsooth, no mere man’s faculty,
Naught less than Hakeem’s? The persuading Loys
To pass probation here; the getting access
By Loys to the Prefect; worst of all,
The gaining my tribe’s confidence by fraud
That would disgrace the very Frank, — a few
Of Europe’s secrets which subdue the flame,
The wave, — to ply a simple tribe with these,
Took Hakeem?
And I feel this first to-day!
Does the day break, is the hour imminent
When one deed, when my whole life’s deed, my deed
Must be accomplished? Hakeem? Why the God?
Shout, rather, “Djabal, Youssof’s child, thought slain
With his whole race, the Druses’ Sheikhs, this Prefect
Endeavored to extirpate — saved, a child,
Returns from traversing the world, a man,
Able to take revenge, lead back the march
To Lebanon” — so shout, and who gainsays?
But now, because delusion mixed itself
Insensibly with this career, all ‘s changed!
Have I brought Venice to afford us convoy?
“True — but my jugglings wrought that!” Put I heart
Into our people where no heart lurked? — ”Ah,
What cannot an impostor do!”
Not this!
Not do this which I do! Not bid avaunt
Falsehood! Thou shalt not keep thy hold on me!
This day — hour — minute — ’t is as here I stand
On the accursed threshold of the Prefect,
That I am found deceiving and deceived!
And now what do I? — hasten to the few
Deceived, ere they deceive the many — shout,
“As I professed, I did believe myself!
Say, Druses, had you seen a butchery —
If Ayoob, Karshook saw — Maani there
Must tell you how I saw my father sink;
My mother’s arms twine still about my neck;
I hear my brother shriek, here ‘s yet the scar
Of what was meant for my own death-blow — say,
If you had woke like me, grown year by year
Out of the tumult in a far-off clime,
Would it be wondrous such delusion grew?
I walked the world, asked help at every hand;
Came help or no? Not this and this I Which helps
When I returned with, found the Prefect here,
The Druses here, all here but Hakeem’s self,
The Khalif of the thousand prophecies,
Reserved for such a juncture, — could I call
My mission aught but Hakeem’s? Promised Hakeem
More than performs the Djabal — you absolve?
— Me, you will never shame before the crowd
Yet happily ignorant? — Me, both throngs surround,
The few deceived, the many un abused,
— Who, thus surrounded, slay for you and them
The Prefect, lead to Lebanon? No Khalif,
But Sheikh once more! Mere Djabal — not” . . .
Enter KHALIL hastily.
KHALIL.
— God Hakeem!
‘T is told! The whole Druse nation knows thee, Hakeem,
As we! and mothers lift on high their babes
Who seem aware, so glisten their great eyes,
Thou hast not failed us; ancient brows are proud;
Our elders could not earlier die, it seems,
Than at thy coming! The Druse heart is thine!
Take it! my lord and theirs, be thou adored!
DJABAL [aside].
Adored! — but I renounce it utterly!
KHALIL.
Already are they instituting choirs
And dances to the Khalif, as of old
‘Tis chronicled thou bad’st them.
DJABAL [aside].
I abjure it!
‘T is not mine — not for me!
KHALIL.
Why pour they wine
Flavored like honey and bruised mountain-herbs,
Or wear those strings of sun-dried cedar-fruit?
Oh, let me tell thee — Esaad, we supposed
Doting, is carried forth, eager to see
The last sun rise on the Isle: he can see now!
The shamed Druse women never wept before:
They can look up when we reach home, they say.
Smell! — sweet cane, saved in Lilith’s breast thus long —
Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series Page 270