ACT I

_Enter stealthily_ KARSHOOK, RAGHIB, AYOOB, _and other initiated_ Druses, _each as he enters casting off a robe that conceals his distinctive black vest and white turban; then, as giving a loose to exultation,--_

_Karshook._ The moon is carried off in purple fire: Day breaks at last! Break glory, with the day, On Djabal's dread incarnate mystery Now ready to resume its pristine shape Of Hakeem, as the Khalif vanished erst In what seemed death to uninstructed eyes, On red Mokattam's verge--our Founder's flesh, As he resumes our Founder's function!

_Raghib._ --Death Sweep to the Christian Prefect that enslaved So long us sad Druse exiles o'er the sea!

_Ayoob._--Most joy be thine, O Mother-mount! Thy brood Returns to thee, no outcasts as we left, But thus--but thus! Behind, our Prefect's corse; Before, a presence like the morning--thine, Absolute Djabal late,--God Hakeem now That day breaks!

_Kar._ Off then, with disguise at last! As from our forms this hateful garb we strip, Lose every tongue its glozing accent too, Discard each limb the ignoble gesture! Cry, 'Tis the Druse Nation, warders on our Mount Of the world's secret, since the birth of time, --No kindred slips, no offsets from thy stock, No spawn of Christians are we, Prefect, we Who rise ...

_Ay._ Who shout ...

_Ragh._ Who seize, a first-fruits, ha-- Spoil of the spoiler! Brave!

[_They begin to tear down, and to dispute for, the decorations of the hall._

_Kar._ Hold!

_Ay._ --Mine, I say; And mine shall it continue!

_Kar._ Just this fringe! Take anything beside! Lo, spire on spire, Curl serpentwise wreathed columns to the top O' the roof, and hide themselves mysteriously Among the twinkling lights and darks that haunt Yon cornice! Where the huge veil, they suspend Before the Prefect's chamber of delight, Floats wide, then falls again as if its slave, The scented air, took heart now, and anon Lost heart to buoy its breadths of gorgeousness Above the gloom they droop in--all the porch Is jewelled o'er with frostwork charactery; And, see, yon eight-point cross of white flame, winking Hoar-silvery like some fresh-broke marble stone: Raze out the Rhodian cross there, so thou leav'st me This single fringe!

_Ay._ Ha, wouldst thou, dog-fox? Help! --Three hand-breadths of gold fringe, my son was set To twist, the night he died!

_Kar._ Nay, hear the knave! And I could witness my one daughter borne, A week since, to the Prefect's couch, yet fold These arms, be mute, lest word of mine should mar Our Master's work, delay the Prefect here A day, prevent his sailing hence for Rhodes-- How know I else?--Hear me denied my right By such a knave!

_Ragh._ [_Interposing._] Each ravage for himself! Booty enough! On, Druses! Be there found Blood and a heap behind us; with us, Djabal Turned Hakeem; and before us, Lebanon! Yields the porch? Spare not! There his minions dragged Thy daughter, Karshook, to the Prefect's couch! Ayoob! Thy son, to soothe the Prefect's pride, Bent o'er that task, the death-sweat on his brow, Carving the spice-tree's heart in scroll-work there! Onward in Djabal's name!

(_As the tumult is at height, enter_ KHALIL. _A pause and silence._)

_Khalil._ Was it for this, Djabal hath summoned you? Deserve you thus A portion in to-day's event? What, here-- When most behoves your feet fall soft, your eyes Sink low, your tongues lie still,--at Djabal's side, Close in his very hearing, who, perchance, Assumes e'en now God Hakeem's dreaded shape,-- Dispute you for these gauds?

_Ay._ How say'st thou, Khalil? Doubtless our Master prompts thee! Take the fringe, Old Karshook! I supposed it was a day ...

_Kha._ For pillage?

_Kar._ Hearken, Khalil! Never spoke A boy so like a song-bird; we avouch thee Prettiest of all our Master's instruments Except thy bright twin-sister; thou and Anael Challenge his prime regard: but we may crave (Such nothings as we be) a portion too Of Djabal's favor; in him we believed, His bound ourselves, him moon by moon obeyed, Kept silence till this daybreak--so, may claim Reward: who grudges me my claim?

_Ay._ To-day Is not as yesterday!

_Ragh._ Stand off!

_Kha._ Rebel you? Must I, the delegate of Djabal, draw His wrath on you, the day of our Return?

_Other Druses._ Wrench from their grasp the fringe! Hounds! must the earth Vomit her plagues on us through thee?--and thee? Plague me not, Khalil, for their fault!

_Kha._ Oh, shame! Thus breaks to-day on you, the mystic tribe Who, flying the approach of Osman, bore Our faith, a merest spark, from Syria's ridge, Its birthplace, hither! "Let the sea divide These hunters from their prey," you said; "and safe In this dim islet's virgin solitude Tend we our faith, the spark, till happier time Fan it to fire; till Hakeem rise again, According to his word that, in the flesh Which faded on Mokattam ages since, He, at our extreme need, would interpose, And, reinstating all in power and bliss, Lead us himself to Lebanon once more." Was't not thus you departed years ago, Ere I was born?

_Druses._ 'T was even thus, years ago.

_Kha._ And did you call--(according to old laws Which bid us, lest the sacred grow profane, Assimilate ourselves in outward rites With strangers fortune makes our lords, and live As Christian with the Christian, Jew with Jew Druse only with the Druses)--did you call Or no, to stand 'twixt you and Osman's rage, (Mad to pursue e'en hither through the sea The remnant of our tribe,) a race self vowed To endless warfare with his hordes and him, The White-cross Knights of the adjacent Isle?

_Kar._ And why else rend we down, wrench up, rase out? These Knights of Rhodes we thus solicited For help, bestowed on us a fiercer pest Than aught we fled--their Prefect; who began His promised mere paternal governance, By a prompt massacre of all our Sheikhs Able to thwart the Order in its scheme Of crushing, with our nation's memory, Each chance of our return, and taming us Bondslaves to Rhodes forever--all, he thinks To end by this day's treason.

_Kha._ Say I not? You, fitted to the Order's purposes, Your Sheikhs cut off, your rights, your garb proscribed, Must yet receive one degradation more; The Knights at last throw off the mask--transfer, As tributary now and appanage, This islet they are but protectors of, To their own ever-craving liege, the Church, Who licenses all crimes that pay her thus. You, from their Prefect, were to be consigned (Pursuant of I know not what vile pact) To the Knights' Patriarch, ardent to outvie His predecessor in all wickedness. When suddenly rose Djabal in the midst, Djabal, the man in semblance, but our God Confessed by signs and portents. Ye saw fire Bicker round Djabal, heard strange music flit Bird-like about his brow?

_Druses._ We saw--we heard! Djabal is Hakeem, the incarnate Dread, The phantasm Khalif, King of Prodigies!

_Kha._ And as he said has not our Khalif done, And so disposed events (from land to land Passing invisibly) that when, this morn, The pact of villany complete, there comes This Patriarch's Nuncio with this Master's Prefect Their treason to consummate,--each will face For a crouching handful, an uplifted nation; For simulated Christians, confessed Druses; And, for slaves past hope of the Mother-mount, Freedmen returning there 'neath Venice' flag; That Venice which, the Hospitallers' foe, 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 burden 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!

_Kar._ 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?

_Kha._ Karshook thinks I covet honors? Well, nor idly thinks! Honors? I have demanded of them all The greatest!

_Kar._ I supposed so.

_Kha._ 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 ...

_Kar._ For what Shall the Bride's brother vainly sue?

_Kha._ 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.

_Kar._ Loys? Is not Loys gone Forever?

_Ay._ 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!

_Kha._ 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!

_Kha._ 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!

_Kha._ 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!_ 'T is 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?

_Kha._ [_Aside to_ KAR.] Loys, in truth! Yet Djabal cannot err!

_Kar._ [_To_ KHA.] 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--

_Kar._ [_Aside._] Better One lured him, ere he can suspect, inside The corridor; 't were easy to dispatch A youngster. [_To_ LOYS.] Djabal passed some minutes since Through yonder porch, and ...

_Kha._ [_Aside._] Hold! What, him dispatch? 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?

_Kha._ [_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 ...

_Kha._ 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!

_Kha._ 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.

_Kha._ 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 black white-crossed gown, And fight to death against the Infidel --Not, therefore, against you, you Christians with Such partial difference only as befits The peacefullest of tribes. But Khalil, prithee, Is not the Isle brighter than wont to-day?

_Kha._ Ah, the new sword!

_Loys._ See now! You handle sword As 't were a camel-staff! Pull! That's my motto, Annealed "_Pro fide_," on the blade in blue.

_Kha._ No curve in it? Surely a blade should curve.

_Loys._ Straight from the wrist! Loose--it should poise itself!

_Kha._ [_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!

_Kha._ At noon seek Djabal in the Prefect's Chamber, And find ... [_Aside._] Nay, 't is 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, though 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!