by Unknown
MOTHER. He cannot know.
SAMUEL. Yet will he give it to me if he is the one.
MOTHER (impressed). I know you not. What does this presage?
SAMUEL. Woman, would you have your son great and terrible?
MOTHER. There is no danger to him?
SAMUEL. Mother of David, there is much danger.
MOTHER. Of all my sons, he is the one that most needs help.
SAMUEL. No longer perhaps from thee. If he is the one he will be great and terrible, but you will have lost him. In all his mighty history you will have no share. No record will remain; even of the name of the mother of David.
(She shivers, DAVID comes back with his cup of milk. The mother looks after him as he passes. She speaks firmly and thrillingly in answer to a look from SAMUEL.)
MOTHER. I would have him great and terrible.
(SAMUEL bows and points to the door. She goes off without any faltering and shuts the door behind her.
DAVID holds up the cup victoriously. About to drink, he offers it politely to SAMUEL.)
SAMUEL. Nay, it is all yours.
DAVID (finely). It is yours and mine.
(SAMUEL, pleased with him, just touches it with his lips and hands it back with a bow. DAVID bows in acknowledgment of this generosity, and then has a joyous drink that is destitute of manners.)
SAMUEL. It is good?
DAVID (with long-drawn-out ecstasy and his eyes peeping up over the cup). Oo-o!
SAMUEL. And now tell me how came it to you that you were able to kill a lion and a bear? (He is seated and he pulls DAVID nearer to him.)
DAVID (pondering, but chiefly occupied with his milk). I think it was my lamb. I was in my cave trying to take a thorn from her foot. Then I heard — a roar! (The memory of it is so vivid that he seems to hear it again, and he quakes.) May I hold your hand? (He does so.)
SAMUEL (encouragingly). You put your head out of the cave?
DAVID (surprised). Did I? (Cautiously) No, I pulled it in. It was my lamb that put out her head. She did go out of the cave to see who was making that noise. She did not know about lions. Perhaps she thought it was something to play with. Thus are lambs. (With increasing drama) Then I peeped out and I saw my lamb in the mouth of the lion. At that — at that —
(SAMUEL indicates to him to drink for strength to go on, and DAVID does so.)
SAMUEL (very eager and also excited). Now is the moment.
DAVID. Something did come over me.
SAMUEL (triumphant). You were exalted!
DAVID. Was I? (Proud of himself, yet fearful) I leapt from the cave like a stone from the sling — thus I (He demonstrates.) I did give one roar like unto the lion’s roar. (He makes the sound of the roar, but all is terribly serious.) I seized him by his beard and delivered the lamb out of his mouth j and when he turned against me I did twist the head of him — this way — and that way — hold my cup and I will show you.
(SAMUEL does so DAVID shows, with eyes bulging from his head.)
Thus — till he fell dead with a look of wonder on his face. (He takes back the cup and finishes the drink, and then speaks with more calmness, as of a smaller thing.) So likewise did I do to the bear.
SAMUEL (in a tremor). You were exalted! (He raises his hands to heaven and addresses his God for but a moment and in words we do not hear.)
DAVID. What is exalted? To what one were you speaking?
(Putting down his cup.)
SAMUEL. To Him who killed the lion and the bear for thee.
DAVID (indignant). No, He did not. I did it myself. There was no one there.
SAMUEL. To you the glory.
DAVID. Who is He? (Stamping his foot.)
SAMUEL. He is my Master. I am nothing.
DAVID. Where is He?
SAMUEL. He is here DAVID. Here? Up there?
SAMUEL. He is everywhere — in the seas — on the mountains. He is in that pelt.
(DAVID is afriid of the pelt.)
DAVID. I cannot see Him. I cannot hear Him.
SAMUEL. It may not be, with the eyes nor with the ears.
DAVID. How then? (He has an idea.) Now shall I see and hear Him? (He covers his ears with his hands and shuts his eyes tight.) No!
SAMUEL. It will be revealed. You are a simple boy; but you will become the subtlest of the sons of man.
DAVID. What is subtle? Is it better than simple?
SAMUEL (sadly). Perhaps some day you will be able to tell me.
DAVID. Then shall we be called the eight sons of Jesse?
SAMUEL (as one reading it in a vision). The other seven sons will bow the knee before you.
DAVID (enraptured). They will? (Incredulous) No? But if I am one of them, then will my cup be full.
SAMUEL. It will be such a cup as no other man has drained.
DAVID. How now? (Eager) Shall I — see Saul?
SAMUEL (grimly). You shall see Saul. (The vision very clear to him.) Lo, he will search for you in all the caverns and recesses of Judah.
DAVID (pleased). Will he find me?
SAMUEL (putting the vision from him). I trust not! Soon, David, shall your sheep and you be parted, and the well of Bethlehem will know you no more.
DAVID. Never shall I leave my sheep. I do love the fold.
(Wondering a little at himself) Sometimes when I am sitting with my harp in the fields and the sheep bells are pleasant — then do I make thoughts.
SAMUEL (who is seated). Stand there, David, and tell me one of the thoughts you have made while you kept the sheep.
DAVID. Behold. (He stands in front of SAMUEL with his hands behind his back, like one saying a lesson, and speaks very simply.) The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters.
(SAMUEL rises and looks away, moved. Then he puts a hand on DAVID’s head.)
SAMUEL (controlling himself and trying to speak lightly). You must finish that thought some day, David.
DAVID (simply). Yes.
(SAMUEL is experiencing the loveliest thrill of a craftsman, the sudden meeting with another in childhood.)
SAMUEL. I welcome you among us, brother. I too am one of those who put things down.
(DAVID does not understand, SAMUEL produces a horn of oil from his wallet.)
DAVID. What are you doing?
SAMUEL. That for which He sent me hither.
DAVID. The Other One? (He closes his eyes and ears again, then opens them, disappointed. He shakes his head.) No!
SAMUEL. Thus I did, once on a time, to another shepherd. Kneel, my son.
DAVID. I am afraid.
SAMUEL. Fear not me. When you rise I shall be your servant.
(The ceremony of anointing DAVID here follows. It is brief, as is also the silent prayer which follows. The only words actually heard are those in which SAMUEL addresses his God. They are ‘I am that I am,’ and he says them several times. When this is over he speaks.)
SAMUEL. Rise, Master.
(DAVID rises, wondering.)
DAVID. Was He here?
SAMUEL. He was here.
(He is looking very gravely at DAVID when the mother opens the door hesitatingly.)
Nay, come, the servant’s part is done.
(She comes forward, agitated and perplexed.)
MOTHER. Will you tell me who you are?
SAMUEL. I am called Samuel.
(She shrinks back.)
Concerning all you may now hear from the son of Jesse, I warn you keep your tongue in check till I come again hither.
MOTHER (with some firmness). What you bid me, that will I do.
DAVID (excitedly). Mother —
MOTHER. IS the boy safe?
SAMUEL. If you be shrewd. If you have a loose tongue there is now not a step between him and me — and death.
(He holds up a hand as blessing her. Then he prostrates himself before the shrinking DAVID and, rising, takes his staff and goes out DAVID and his mother gaze at each other, DAVID is gogg
le-eyed.)
DAVID. Why did he do that?
MOTHER (suspecting much, yet bewildered). What else did he?
DAVID. He wetted my head from his horn.
MOTHER. What said he? Are you to become a holy man?
DAVID (his mind in a whirl). I think I am at the beginning of being holy.
MOTHER. Eat and be strong. (She hastens to the pot. In a new respect for him she dares to bring him meat from his father’s store. There is still no sentimentality about her, but she has awed feelings that he is perhaps to be great.)
DAVID (astounded). My father’s supper! (He eats from his hands, joyfully.) Mother, I think I am to kill more lions.
MOTHER. If it is that you are to be a holy man, you cannot go about killing.
DAVID (who is sitting, eating). Yes, I can. That is what they do.
(She is gazing at him, waiting for developments.)
Mother, I think I killed two lions.
MOTHER. O son, son, you said yourself that one of them was a bear.
DAVID (determinedly). There were two bears. (Regretfully)
Of course He helped me — a little. (Grudgingly) He did hold the bears till I finished with the lions.
MOTHER. He — Samuel? So he was there!
DAVID. Not that one — the Other One. That one is nothing. The Other One — He is the One.
MOTHER (shaking him again). There was no other here.
DAVID. He was here.
MOTHER. I tell you I watched from the manger. No other entered this house.
DAVID. He was also in the manger. He is everywhere.
(Scared) Mother, He was in that pelt.
(She does not know what to make of it. She brings more food.)
Father’s cake of figs!
(DAVID hesitates with a piece of cake on the way to his mouth.)
MOTHER (firmly). Strengthen yourself, my son.
(DAVID does so.)
DAVID. Mother, sometimes I shall be exalted.
MOTHER. What is that?
DAVID. I know not, but when I am exalted, contradict me not, or it will go ill with you, woman.
MOTHER. What manner is this in which to address me?
(Becoming more practical) Poor child, your brothers will soon buffet this vaunting out of you.
DAVID (cheerfully). I shall admonish them, and then they will bow the knee before me.
(She is proud of him again. She brings the dates.)
Father’s dates!
MOTHER. Jesse! I heard him alight from the ass.
(DAVID wipes the remnants from his face. He is apprehensive. She pushes him down.)
Do you remain there, still as salt. He must hear naught save what I see fit to tell him, and that will only be about the lion.
DAVID. Mother, I think I am now to be exalted.
MOTHER (wringing her hands). Not before your father.
(jesse now opens the door, and the ass follows with various loads on it. The door had been left open when the mother came out, and this ass, well knowing its home, goes straight through by itself, jesse shuts the other door and comes in. He is a rough-bearded man of about fifty, of medium height, of the strong, small farmer type, in skins and leggings and a sheep coat. He mutters a ‘Peace to the house ‘ and stretches himself and stamps. He knows DAVID is there by the fire, but DAVID is too insignificant to take special notice of. The MOTHER, a solicitous wife, helps him off with leggings and other things as they talk. His appearance suggests one who loves sheep, eats sheep, and dreams sheep, and could almost speak sheep.)
MOTHER. Was the road heavy, Jesse? You are late.
JESSE (with the good-nature of one who has had a good day’s business). There is no road for the time being — this most blessed rain — and I was delayed by the haggling in Urusalem — but the pelts bartered well. (He sits.) Give me to drink.
(She ascends ladder to the loft.)
Has anyone sought me?
MOTHER. Only an old man — one of those wanderers in rags.
JESSE (with distaste). Ugh!
MOTHER. But I told him you were in Urusalem, and he soon passed on his way.
JESSE. So is it always in this little place. Nothing ever happens in Bethlehem.
(She has brought down the wine-gourd and he drinks from it with satisfaction, DAVID has been sitting staring, inconspicuous, and she wants to get him out of the way.)
MOTHER. See to the ass, David.
JESSE. He tend the ass! Since when has Jesse returned from a journey and let any but himself do that? Ay, even before I break bread. (Going) But I am as hungered as one lost on Mount Nebo. Do you bring me my supper, and I will eat as I provender the ass.
MOTHER (realising that she can defer no longer — afraid). O Jesse!
JESSE. What now? (He sees something is untoward, and comes back.)
(She shrinks.)
MOTHER. Your supper, Jesse!
JESSE. Is not all as I enjoined?
MOTHER. I prepared it for you. But I thought: Jesse lingers, he is supping at the rest house; and I ate it — see the empty shelf.
JESSE. You ate my supper!
(He advances upon her threateningly. She shrinks. The frenzy of exaltation is now upon DAVID and he rises.)
DAVID. Reprove her not, for I say it was I who did eat thy supper, down to the cake of figs and the dates, and lo, they were good.
JESSE. Is this David? (He takes off his belt, ominously.)
And you encourage him! (He again advances on the mother.)
DAVID (protecting her). Lay not thy hands upon her — I command thee, Jesse son of Obed, put down that belt.
(jesse lowers the belt in bewilderment. The mother is astounded.)
MOTHER. Even Jesse obeys him!
JESSE (furious). I obey him? (He suddenly shrinks back in religious fear.) Is he possessed?
MOTHER. He has killed a lion.
JESSE (shrinking back from him). Possessed! And is it so also with you?
MOTHER (entreating). I will tell you of him. Come.
(JESSE, keeping his distance from DAVID, goes out. The MOTHER is following; she turns back for a moment.
DAVID is quivering from head to foot.)
MOTHER (she would fain help him). Son of Jesse!
DAVID (who is now about the middle of the room, isolated, while she is near the door). I know not who or what I am. Something frightens me.
MOTHER. Samuel — he who was here — he may not have passed beyond the walls. Shall I seek him and bring him back to you?
DAVID. He cannot help me. Not that one.
(In despair she goes off, without closing the door. After a moment’s woe, DAVID looks at the pelt, then upwards as SAMUEL had done. He has inspiration. He closes his eyes and ears, and calls.)
Other One, David is in darkness. Will you not tell me what to do? (Appealing) Other One?
(When he opens his eyes and takes down his hands, a great change has come over him. He is radiant, all excitement has passed from him. He is normal and serene, an ordinary happy boy. Evidently he has got his answer. He produces his sling, which has been round his waist, unobserved so far. It is such a sling as boys of to-day often have — made at home. He sits on the floor, testing the sling and cleaning out his pouch which was, according to the Old Testament, a shepherd’s bag or scrip. The mother looks out at doorway. He hears her. He nods to her three times, meaning that all is lovely. He speaks happily and briskly, but like an ordinary boy making a casual statement.)
DAVID. Mother, I am to go to the camp of Saul to slay another lion. I am to go on my father’s ass. I am to take my sling — (He holds up sling and picks up his harp) — and my harp.
(This little programme is far from relieving her. She is more perplexed than ever. She goes out, closing the door behind her DAVID is alone, boyishly engrossed in his sling.)
ACT II
SCENE I
SAUL AWAITS
IT is an open-air scene, twelve miles distant from Bethlehem, near the camps of Israel and the Philistines. The
se camps, however, are not visible, though their proximity is suggested by occasional martial sounds from a distance, of trumpets, horns, etc. We are supposed to see a height on the edge of a wood, which wood is continued on the back cloth into mountainous country and should be recognisable as characteristic of Palestine in those days. That is, the trees should be in height little more than what we would call bushes. Palms, oleanders, vines, olives, figs, sycamores were the native trees (except at distant Lebanon, famed for its cedars), and an occasional mighty terebinth (or turpentine) tree. The Israelites are supposed to be massed unseen beyond the wood on left and the Philistines on right. (The time is the morning of the following day, early in autumn.) A trodden path in front from left to right, and here a slight clearing of trees. The only ‘practical’ properties are a bundle of little tree trunks and a sloped bank. Against the bundle of trunks is a formidable-looking javelin, belonging to Saul.
