RACHEL.  Nor will I heed you now. 
             The picture pleases me.  Just see how fine! 
             I’ll hang it in my room, close by my bed. 
             At morn and eventide I’ll gaze at it,
             And think such thoughts as one may think when one
             Has shaken off the burden of one’s clothes
             And feels quite free from every onerous weight. 
             But lest they think that I have stolen it—­
             I who am rich—­what need have I to steal?—­
             My portrait which you wear about your neck
             We’ll hang up where the other used to be. 
             Thus he may look at mine, as I at his,
             And think of me, if he perchance forgot. 
             The footstool bring me hither; I am Queen,
             And I shall fasten to the chair this King. 
             They say that witches who compel to love
             Stick needles, thus, in images of wax,
             And every prick goes to a human heart
             To hinder or to quicken life that’s real.

[She fastens the picture by the four corners to the back of the chair.]

Oh, would that blood could flow with every prick,
That I could drink it with my thirsty lips,
And take my pleasure in the ill I’d done! 
It hangs there, no less beautiful than dumb. 
But I will speak to it as were I Queen,
With crown and mantle which become me well.

[She has seated herself on the footstool before the picture.]

Oh, hypocrite, pretending piety,
Full well I know your each and every wile! 
The Jewess struck your fancy—­don’t deny! 
And, by my mighty word, she’s beautiful,
And only with myself to be compared.

[The KING, followed by GARCERAN and ISAAC, has entered and placed himself behind the chair, and leans upon the back of the chair, watching her.]

(RACHEL, continues)

But I, your Queen, I will not suffer it,
For know that I am jealous as a cat. 
Your silence only makes your guilt seem more. 
Confess!  You liked her?  Answer, Yes!

KING.  Well, Yes!

[RACHEL, starts, looks at the picture, then up, recognizes the KING,_ and remains transfixed on the footstool._]

KING (stepping forward).

Art frightened?  Thou hast willed it, and I say ’t. 
Compose thyself, thou art in friendly hands!

[He stretches his hand toward her, she leaps from the stool and flees to the door at the right where she stands panting and with bowed head.]

KING.  Is she so shy?

ESTHER.  Not always, gracious Sire! 
             Not shy, but timid.

KING.  Do I seem so grim?