Thou art secure and mayst depart: so, come!
LOYS.
Thy side? I take protection at thy hand?
Enter other Guards.
GUARDS.
Fly with him! Fly, Sir Loys! ‘T is too true:
And only by his side thou mayst escape.
The whole tribe is in full revolt: they flock
About the palace — will be here — on thee —
And there are twenty of us, we the Guards
O’ the Nuncio, to withstand them! Even we
Had stayed to meet our death in ignorance,
But that one Druse, a single faithful Druse,
Made known the horror to the Nuncio. Fly!
The Nuncio stands aghast. At least let us
Escape thy wrath, O Hakeem! We are naught
In thy tribe’s persecution! [To LOYS.] Keep by him!
They hail him Hakeem, their dead Prince returned:
He is their God, they shout, and at his beck
Are life and death!
LOYS [springing at the kbandjar DJABAL had thrown down, seizes him by the throat].
Thus by his side am I!
Thus I resume my knighthood and its warfare,
Thus end thee, miscreant, in thy pride of place!
Thus art thou caught. Without, thy dupes may cluster:
Friends aid thee, foes avoid thee, — thou art Hakeem,
How say they? — God art thou! but also here
Is the least, youngest, meanest the Church calls
Her servant, and his single arm avails
To aid her as she lists. I rise, and thou
Art crushed. Hordes of thy Druses flock without:
Here thou hast me, who represent the Cross,
Honor and Faith, ‘gainst Hell, Mahound and thee.
Die! [DJABAL remains calm] Implore my mercy, Hakeem, that my scorn
May help me! Nay, I cannot ply thy trade;
I am no Druse, no stabber: and thine eye,
Thy form, are too much as they were — my friend
Had such. Speak! Beg for mercy at my foot!
[DJABAL still silent.
Heaven could not ask so much of me — not, sure,
So much. I cannot kill him so.
[After a pause.] Thou art
Strong in thy cause, then — dost outbrave us, then.
Heardst thou that one of thine accomplices,
Thy very people, has accused thee? Meet
His charge! Thou hast not even slain the Prefect
As thy own vile creed warrants. Meet that Druse!
Come with me and disprove him — be thou tried
By him, nor seek appeal! Promise me this,
Or I will do God’s office. What, shalt thou
Boast of assassins at thy beck, yet truth
Want even an executioner? Consent,
Or I will strike — look in my face — I will!
DJABAL.
Give me again my khandjar, if thou darest!
[LOYS gives it.
Let but one Druse accuse me, and I plunge
This home. A Druse betray me? Let us go!
[Aside.] Who has betrayed me?
[Shouts without.
Hearest thou? I hear
No plainer than long years ago I heard
That shout — but in no dream now. They return!
Wilt thou be leader with me, Loys? Well.
Act V
The Uninitiated Druses, filing the ball tumultuously, and speaking together.
Here flock we, obeying the summons. Lo, Hakeem hath appeared, and the Prefect is dead, and we return to Lebanon! My manufacture of goats’ fleece must, I doubt, soon fall away there. Come, old Nasif — link thine arm in mine — we fight, if needs be. Come, what is a great fight-word? — ”Lebanon”? (My daughter — my daughter!) — But is Khalil to have the office of Hamza? — Nay, rather, if he be wise, the monopoly of henna and cloves. Where is Hakeem? — The only prophet I ever saw, prophesied at Cairo once, in my youth: a little black Copht, dressed all in black too, with a great stripe of yellow cloth flapping down behind him like the back-fin of a water-serpent. Is this he? Biamrallah! Biamreh! HAKEEM!
Enter the NUNCIO, with Guards.
NUNCIO [to his Attendants].
Hold both, the sorcerer and this accomplice
Ye talk of, that accuseth him! And tell
Sir Loys he is mine, the Church’s hope:
Bid him approve himself our Knight indeed!
Lo, this black disemboguing of the Isle!
[To the Druses.] Ah children, what a sight for these old eyes
That kept themselves alive this voyage through
To smile their very last on you! I came
To gather one and all you wandering sheep
Into my fold, as though a father came . . .
As though, in coming, a father should . . .
[To his Guards.] (Ten, twelve
— Twelve guards of you, and not an outlet? None?
The wizards stop each avenue? Keep close!)
[To the Druses.] As if one came to a son’s house, I say,
So did I come — no guard with me — to find . . .
Alas — alas!
A DRUSE.
Who is the old man?
ANOTHER.
Oh, ye are to shout!
Children, he styles you.
DRUSES.
Ay, the Prefect’s slain!
Glory to the Khalif, our Father!
NUNCIO.
Even so
I find, (ye prompt aright) your father slain.
While most he plotted for your good, that father
(Alas, how kind, ye never knew) — lies slain.
[Aside.] (And hell’s worm gnaw the glozing knave — with me,
For being duped by his cajoleries!
Are these the Christians? These the docile crew
My bezants went to make me Bishop o’er?)
[To his Attendants, who whisper.]
What say ye does this wizard style himself?
Hakeem? Biamrallah? The third Fatemite?
What is this jargon? He — the insane Khalif,
Dead near three hundred years ago, come back
In flesh and blood again?
DRUSES.
He mutters! Hear ye?
He is blaspheming Hakeem. The old man
Is our dead Prefect’s friend. Tear him!
NUNCIO.
Ye dare not.
I stand here with my five-and-seventy years,
The Patriarch’s power behind me, God’s above.
Those years have witnessed sin enough; ere now
Misguided men arose against their lords,
And found excuse; but ye, to be enslaved
By sorceries, cheats — alas! the same tricks, tried
On my poor children in this nook o’ the earth,
Could triumph, that have been successively
Exploded, laughed to scorn, all nations through:
“Romaioi, Ioudaioite kai proselutoi,
Cretes and Arabians” — you are duped the last.
Said I, refrain from tearing me? I pray ye
Tear me! Shall I return to tell the Patriarch
That so much love was wasted — every gift
Rejected, from his benison I brought,
Down to the galley-full of bezants, sunk
An hour since at the harbor’s mouth, by that . . .
That . . . never will I speak his hated name!
[To his Servants.] What was the name his fellow slip-fetter
Called their arch-wizard by? [They whisper.] Oh, Djabal was ‘t?
DRUSES.
But how a sorcerer? false wherein?
NUNCIO.
(Ay, Djabal!)
How false? Ye know not, Djabal has confessed . . .
Nay, that by tokens found on him we learn . . .
What I sailed hither solely to divulge —
How by his spells the demons were
allured
To seize you: not that these be aught save lies
And mere illusions. Is this clear? I say,
By measures such as these, he would have led you
Into a monstrous ruin: follow ye?
Say, shall ye perish for his sake, my sons?
DRUSES.
Hark ye!
NUNCIO.
— Be of one privilege amerced?
No! Infinite the Patriarch’s mercies are!
No! With the Patriarch’s license, still I bid
Tear him to pieces who misled you! Haste!
DRUSES.
The old man’s beard shakes, and his eyes are white fire! After all, I know nothing of Djabal beyond what Karshook says; he knows but what Khalil says, who knows just what Djabal says himself. Now, the little Copht Prophet, I saw at Cairo in my youth, began by promising each bystander three full measures of wheat . . .
Enter KHALIL and the initiated Druses.
KHALIL.
Venice and her deliverance are at hand:
Their fleet stands through the harbor. Hath he slain
The Prefect yet? Is Djabal’ s change come yet?
NUNCIO [to Attendants].
What’s this of Venice? Who’s this boy?
[Attendants whisper.] One Khalil?
Djabal’s accomplice, Loys called, but now,
The only Druse, save Djabal’s self, to fear?
[To the Druses.] I cannot hear ye with these aged ears:
Is it so? Ye would have my troops assist?
Doth he abet him in his sorceries?
Down with the cheat, guards, as my children bid!
[They spring at KHALIL; as he beats them back,
Stay! No more bloodshed! Spare deluded youth!
Whom seek’st thou? (I will teach him) — whom, my child?
Thou know’st not what these know, what these declare.
I am an old man as thou seest — have done
With life; and what should move me but the truth?
Art thou the only fond one of thy tribe?
‘T is I interpret for thy tribe.
KHALIL.
Oh, this
Is the expected Nuncio! Druses, hear —
Endure ye this? Unworthy to partake
The glory Hakeem gains you! While I speak,
The ships touch land: who makes for Lebanon?
They plant the winged lion in these halls!
NUNCIO [aside].
If it be true! Venice? Oh, never true!
Yet Venice would so gladly thwart our Knights,
So fain get footing here, stand close by Rhodes!
Oh, to be duped this way!
KHALIL.
Ere he appear
And lead you gloriously, repent, I say!
NUNCIO [aside].
Nor any way to stretch the arch-wizard stark
Ere the Venetians come? Cut off the head,
The trunk were easily stilled. [To the Druses.] He? Bring him forth!
Since so you needs will have it, I assent.
You’d judge him, say you, on the spot — confound
The sorcerer in his very circle? Where’s
Oar short black-bearded sallow friend who swore
He’d earn the Patriarch’s guerdon by one stab?
Bring Djabal forth at once!
DRUSES.
Ay, bring him forth!
The Patriarch drives a trade in oil and silk,
And we’re the Patriarch’s children — true men, we!
Where is the glory? Show us all the glory!
KHALIL.
You dare not so insult him! What, not see . . .
(I tell thee, Nuncio, these are uninstructed,
Untrusted: they know nothing of our Khalif!)
— Not see that if he lets a doubt arise
‘T is but to give yourselves the chance of seeming
To have some influence in your own return!
That all may say ye would have trusted him
Without the all-convincing glory — ay,
And did! Embrace the occasion, friends! For, think —
What wonder when his change takes place? But now
For your sakes, he should not reveal himself.
No: could I ask and have, I would not ask
The change yet!
Enter DJABAL and LOYS.
Spite of all, reveal thyself!
I had said, pardon them for me — for Anael —
For our sakes pardon these besotted men
Ay, for thine own — they hurt not thee! Yet now
One thought swells in me and keeps down all else.
This Nuncio couples shame with thee, has called
Imposture thy whole course, all bitter things
Has said: he is but an old fretful man!
Hakeem — nay, I must call thee Hakeem now —
Reveal thyself! See! Where is Anael? See!
LOYS [to DJABAL].
Here are thy people. Keep thy word to me!
DJABAL.
Who of my people hath accused me?
NUNCIO.
So!
So this is Djabal, Hakeem, and what not?
A fit deed, Loys, for thy first Knight’s day!
May it be augury of thy after-life!
Ever prove truncheon of the Church as now
That, Nuncio of the Patriarch, having charge
Of the Isle here, I claim thee [turning to DJABAL] as these bid me,
Forfeit for murder done thy lawful prince,
Thou conjurer that peep’st and mutterest!
Why should I hold thee from their hands? (Spells, children?
But hear how I dispose cf all his spells!)
Thou art a prophet? — wouldst entice thy tribe
From me? — thou workest miracles? (Attend!
Let him but move me with his spells!) I, Nuncio . . .
DJABAL.
. . . Which how thou earnest to be, I say not now,
Though I have also been at Stamboul, Luke!
Ply thee with spells, forsooth! What need of spells?
If Venice, in her Admiral’s person, stoop
To ratify thy compact with her foe,
The Hospitallers, for this Isle — withdraw
Her warrant of the deed which reinstates
My people in their freedom, tricked away
By him I slew, — refuse to convoy us
To Lebanon and keep the Isle we leave —
Then will be time to try what spells can do!
Dost thou dispute the Republic’s power?
NUNCIO.
Lo ye!
He tempts me too, the wily exorcist!
No! The renowned Republic was and is
The Patriarch’s friend: ‘t is not for courting Venice
That I — that these implore thy blood of me.
Lo ye, the subtle miscreant! Ha, so subtle?
Ye, Druses, hear him. Will ye be deceived?
How he evades me! Where’s the miracle
He works? I bid him to the proof — fish up
Your galley-full of bezants that he sank!
That were a miracle! One miracle!
Enough of trifling, for it chafes my years.
I am the Nuncio, Druses! I stand forth
To save you from the good Republic’s rage
When she shall find her fleet was summoned here
To aid the mummeries of a knave like this.
[As the Druses hesitate, his Attendants whisper.
Ah, well suggested! Why, we hold the while
One who, his close confederate till now,
Confesses Djabal at the last a cheat,
And every miracle a cheat. Who throws me
His head? I make three offers, once I offer, —
And twice . . .
DJABAL.
Let who moves perish at my foot!
KHALIL.
Thanks, Hakeem, thanks! Oh, Anael, Maani,
Why tarry t
hey?
DRUSES [to each other].
He can! He can! Live fire —
[To the NUNCIO.] I say he can, old man! Thou know’st him not.
Live fire like that thou seest now in his eyes,
Plays fawning round him. See! The change begins.
All the brow lightens as he lifts his arm.
Look not at me! It was not I!
DJABAL.
What Druse
Accused me, as he saith? I bid each bone
Crumble within that Druse! None, Loys, none
Of my own people, as thou said’st, have raised
A voice against me.
NUNCIO [aside].
Venice to come! Death!
DJABAL [continuing].
Confess and go unscathed, however false!
Seest thou my Druses, Luke? I would submit
To thy pure malice did one Druse confess!
How said I, Loys?
NUNCIO [to his Attendants who whisper].
Ah, ye counsel so?
[Aloud.] Bring in the witness, then, who, first of all,
Disclosed the treason! Now I have thee, wizard!
Ye hear that? If one speaks, he bids you tear him
Joint after joint: well then, one does speak! One,
Befooled by Djabal, even as yourselves,
But who hath voluntarily proposed
To expiate, by confessing thus, the fault
Of having trusted him. [They bring in a veiled Druse.
LOYS.
Now, Djabal, now!
NUNCIO.
Friend, Djabal fronts thee! Make a ring, sons. Speak!
Expose this Djabal — what he was, and how:
The wiles he used, the aims he cherished: all,
Explicitly as late ‘t was spoken to these
My servants: I absolve and pardon thee.
LOYS.
Thou hast the dagger ready, Djabal?
DJABAL.
Speak,
Recreant!
DRUSES.
Stand back, fool! farther! Suddenly
You shall see some huge serpent glide from under
The empty vest, or down will thunder crash!
Back, Khalil!
KHALIL.
I go back? Thus go I back!
[To ANAEL.] Unveil! Nay, thou shalt face the Khalif! Thus!
[He tears away ANAEL’S veil; DJABAL folds his arms and bows bis bead; the Druses fall back , LOYS springs from the side of DJABAL and the NUNCIO.
LOYS.
Then she was true — she only of them all!
True to her eyes — may keep those glorious eyes,
And now be mine, once again mine! Oh, Anael!
Dared I think thee a partner in his crime —
That blood could soil that hand? nay, ‘t is mine Anael,
— Not mine? — who offer thee before all these
My heart, my sword, my name — so thou wilt say
That Djabal, who affirms thou art his bride,
Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series Page 274