# The Wife of Potiphar: With The Other Poems (Harvey Maitland Watts)

THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR
A play written by Harvey Maitland Watts
[The Wife of Potiphar has been set to music by Carl Linn Seiler, a member of the University of Pennsylvania.]
DRAMATIC EPISODE—IN ONE SCENE
CHARACTERS INVOLVED:
POTIPHAR; an middle-aged royal Egyptian official of high rank. (Out of action.) THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR; A very beautiful younger-looking Egyptian noblewoman in the full bloom of her youthful wifehood. SARDIS; an Assyrian, lover to the wife of Potiphar. JOSEPH; the chief of the household of POTIPHAR, a handsome young and muscular Hebrew boy. NEFERT; the chief tiring-woman to the wife of POTIPHAR, and a loyal confidante. In scene.—Eunuchs; Tiring-women; Slaves; Snake-charmers; Dancing girls; etc. Out of scene.—Priests and populace in procession, music, etc.
THE SETTING:
(The apartment of the wife of Potiphar in the compound of the palace, being located on the main corridor and facing on the large court. Mats, divans and low seats are being placed in the ancient Egyptian style. At the rise of the curtain, the two eunuchs guard either side of the door, while the two tiring-women assisted by the meaner slaves busy themselves preparing the room for the arrival of their mistress from the great ceremonial at the Court of the Pharaoh. The snake-charmers ply their trade, and the jugglers and traveling dancers divert the servants, and as the women rearrange the clothes-presses, jewel-caskets, chests for the garments of state, they indulge freely in idle gossip about their mistress, who is returning prematurely from the court, having feigned an illness. There is a soft light from latticed windows through which are heard the sounds of the outer world, while at the sound of the trumpets announcing the approach of the wife of Potiphar, the players and dancers retire hurriedly, being ordered out of the room by a servant.)
THE SCENE:
A SERVANT.—Out with ye, baggage, out, begone! Out, out! We have our tasks. Out, out, ye baggage, out! (To maids:) About your work, ye wenches! (Then to the retreating players:) Out, begone!
(As the players retire, and the servants resume their work, two maids of the wife of Potiphar enter breathlessly and greet their fellow-servants and start to gossip in a lively, bustling manner.)
FIRST WOMAN.—We left our lady dallying at the gate.
SECOND WOMAN.—"Pis well we fared ahead; our lady might
A SERVANT (interrupting).—We hear strange rumors.
SECOND WOMAN.—Yea, that the Pharaoh's glance Consumed her quite was seen of all. The bearer of the wine cups tells the tale.
FIRST WOMAN.—I had it from the harpist at the door. None met the royal gaze so fearlessly And none was there so fair to look upon. And yet, the gossip runs, with all her gems In hair, on neck, with girdle thickly sown, Though all the lords of On wait her caprice, The wife of Potiphar had other thoughts That set soft yearning in her liquid eyes And made her seem a-faint.
SECOND WOMAN.—But who, in sooth, Could hold my lady's favor 'gainst my lord's?
FIRST WOMAN.—None know, and Khemat says
SECOND WOMAN.—Ah, yes, that fool! What courtyard clatter sold he thee to-day? The very stones and halls do tell him things To startle camel-boys fresh from the wilds.
FIRST WOMAN.—Out, out upon your shrewish tongue!
SECOND WOMAN.—Well, now!
FIRST WOMAN.—Time was you hung on Khemat's every word.
SECOND WOMAN.—Well, fare ye on. I'll listen with all ears.
FIRST WOMAN.—So—Khemat says that things were all askew, That while the ceremonies moved in state My lady sought escape. Lord Sardis watched—
SECOND WOMAN.—Lord Sardis! Pah! I spit when he goes by. There's evil in his look. The gods my judge! His eyes are red within from hidden fire, They glow as blood-stones from his own far East. Old Mafra says—who once saw Babylon, As a messenger from the Pharaoh to the King— That monstrous deeds are common there, that men By wizard arts lose shape and human form, Whilst fearsome animals become as human-kind.
FIRST WOMAN.—Old Mafra prattles like a rattling gourd. If Sardis glared 'tis not so passing strange My lady took it ill.
SECOND WOMAN.—Yah! Sardis! Yah! I know his ways. An asp among the reeds. For mind ye, wench, his favor
FIRST WOMAN (cautiously).—Hush thee, friend! What secret, hidden thing thou wouldst remark Had better go unsaid; for who are we, In service to our lord, idly to talk About our betters?
SECOND WOMAN (sarcastically).—Yah, what airs indeed! Since when has gossip pained thee? (Scurry of feet and bustle outside.)
FIRST MESSENGER.—Prepare! Ye chattering maids, set everything to rights. Our lady's nigh. (Retires.) SECOND MESSENGER.—See to it all is well! The wife of Potiphar is at the gate And all the favored ones of On attend. The crowds acclaim her. Lo! She steps ashore Without her consort. Potiphar delays, By royal call he deals with public needs And holds him counsel in the temple. (Shouts and fanfares in the distance.) (Exit.) FIRST WOMAN.—Ah, Haste thee thyself, we have been long prepared!
SECOND WOMAN.—Prepared indeed! None faithfuller than we!
SECOND MESSENGER (returning).— Curse ye for disputatious jades! But soft, My lady's in the hall. Prepare! Prepare!
(Great bustle and confusion as servants, slaves, precede the wife of Potiphar, who enters, attired magnificently, leaning on the arm of Nefert, her chief tiring-woman. As her maids surround her, she sinks negligently on the divan, listening to their murmured welcome.)
THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR (to the tiring-women): Peace, peace, good folk! And haste ye to your work! (Turning to Nefert.) Nefert, I faint! These garments bind me sore. Remove the jewels! How their weights oppress! This massy circlet cuts my head in twain. I fain would rest me after these fatigues, These irksome ceremonies of the court, Where I must play the puppet part to please, And keep my lord in favor with the King; Nor lose this luxury that is my life.
(Muses, and after a brief interval, to her women.) But go ye now, and make ye holiday. I rest alone. The higher duties call And I release ye from my service. Go!
(Claps her hands and all retire save Nefert, who on a signal from her mistress hastens to her side and awaits her will. With more animation her mistress cries out:)
No prying eyes! My mirror, Nefert, quick!
(Gazes at herself in various poses for some time, whilst Nefert puts away her jewels. Then as if satisfied exclaims:)
Much as of old. Ah no, not on the wane, Not on the wane, but ripe, full ripe (Then quickly, as if putting into execution a fond resolve:) To-day! To-day! I must no longer check desire Nor hold my burning love in self-made bounds. Ho, Nefert! 'tis my urgent will That Joseph—he who came in humble guise, But now, by grace of Potiphar, is free And raised to high estate—await me here. Our household duties need his special care. Then, to the temple, where the people crowd. Haste thee! Away! No, no, forgetful! (Claps her hand and calls to a slave:) Attend me here and find the jasper bowl In which I placed a wreath this early morn And fetch it me. Quick! Quick!
(The slave disappears and quickly returns with a wreath of white water-lilies or lotuses which she hands to her mistress, who in turn hands them over to Nefert.)
Ah, Nefert, haste, Before the goddess place these smiling flowers Enwreathed for Hathor by these hands alone, Though born of Nilish mud, sweet as the breeze, And softly white as wool of Canaan's hills, Or as the ostrich plumes from land of Punt, Hang them upon the altar, there await, And when the auspices are read, return! A coney crossed my path, a bird fell dead, The crescent moon last night sank dipt in blood. Away, and let thy prayers win me peace! I must find favor in her sight to-day.
(Nefert retires quickly. The wife of Potiphar loosens her girdle, falls back gracefully upon the divan and waits the coming of Joseph with a confident air. Brief silence. The house is still, but afar off the occasional chants and shouts resound which die away to a faint murmur as Joseph's footsteps in the corridor are heard and he appears at the threshold. With inquiring courtesy he halts and awaits the word of his mistress, who waves him in with an easy gesture and addresses him in low, liquid tones:)
Thou hearest afar the distant, broken shouts Of those who throng the temple gates of Ptah, That rise and fall as wind among the palms, Or murmur of the Nile when at the full.
(Brief silence while the wife of Potiphar negligently rearranges her robe, all the while looking significantly at Joseph, who is frankly puzzled.)
The fete holds Potiphar, whose duties press And keep him captive till the set of sun; Whilst I, a-faint, the privilege of my sex, Await thee here, knowing thy daily round Had naught to stay it in the priestly show. For what, to thee, the mummified Gods of On? Art thou not servant to a mightier lord? Nor thyself art seen, nor offerings from thee grace The inner shrines. Thou laborest here instead, Indifferent to the lofty ones they praise. And yet, methinks, thy spirit at its wont Is not austere; thy modesty but mask That hides the passion of a soul unstirred; Thy comeliness.
(Joseph, whose embarrassment has been increasing, starts, and despite the effort of his mistress to continue, cries out as follows:)
Thou hearest afar the distant, broken shouts Of those who throng the temple gates of Ptah, That rise and fall as wind among the palms, Or murmur of the Nile when at the full.
(Brief silence while the wife of Potiphar negligently rearranges her robe, all the while looking significantly at Joseph, who is frankly puzzled.)
The fete holds Potiphar, whose duties press And keep him captive till the set of sun; Whilst I, a-faint, the privilege of my sex, Await thee here, knowing thy daily round Had naught to stay it in the priestly show. For what, to thee, the mummified Gods of On? Art thou not a servant to a mightier lord? Nor thyself art seen, nor offerings from thee grace The inner shrines. Thou laborest here instead, Indifferent to the lofty ones they praise. And yet, methinks, thy spirit at its wont Is not austere; thy modesty but mask That hides the passion of a soul unstirred; Thy comeliness
(Joseph, whose embarrassment has been increasing, starts, and despite the effort of his mistress to continue, cries out as follows:)
JOSEPH.—O mistress, what am I! Oh, what am I to hear these words? For I know, Humble in myself, in a household life a slave, From a shepherd stock, familiar to the fields, No graces mark me. Let me to my work. I know not the palace ways, and, out of place, As all the man within me cries beware, I ask, I beg that I may go in peace To duties waiting.
THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR.—Ah, sweet slave, my love, List thou to my refrain and hear me out, Nor lose thy interest through this halting tongue. For I, whilst nature sulks at noontide heats, Impatient lie, intent to know thy heart; To know thee not as a slave, but a equal mate, Companion of these all-enticing arms; The sharer of my too unsated love. Lo! I, voluptuous by sweet Hathor's grace, Neglected by an aged and foolish lord, Long, long, have loved thee, sinned in eyes and soul When thou wert near; yea, watched, unknown to thee, Thy every move, thy working hours, thy rests, The lift of shoulders in the furrowed field, The sinuous gleam at play in a courtyard pool.
(Joseph starts again, more and more perturbed, and takes a step toward the wife of Potiphar as if to remonstrate; but her resistless flow of words is not stopped, but gains in passionate intensity as he interrupts her.)
JOSEPH (interrupting).—O mistress, let me serve unseen, unknown, Unknown, unseen, or I must flee this house!
THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR (continuing).—No, no, my love. Perchance my words seem wild. But let them be as music to thy soul, Inviting slumber on my heaving breast. Oh, let them be thy law, a newer code, So potent that thy flesh will cry "I yield" Ere yet thy lips have framed the words "full won." Be not abashed. Come, tell me of thy god, That hidden one whose worship fires thine eyes And puts a song upon thy willing lips. Thy tasks, thy plans, thy hopes I fain would know, The sweet desires of springtide in thy blood; For youth doth diadem thy shapely head, And bursts in beauty on thy darkened cheeks. Thy chin, decision; e'en thy stature tells Thy office, and, if countenance belie, The elder's place, what boots it sith it speaks Of pulsing health, of vigor—Ah, of love!
(At this moment Joseph's embarrassment is most obvious. In quick succession, emotional storms, a stern resolve, pity, disdain, endurance and determination to hold himself in check sweep over him, and he again advances toward the wife of Potiphar as if to check her; but he fails to stop her bold address as in a greater excitement she continues:)
Deny me not! No longer I command As the mistress of this lordly house, these lands, But, clad as a dancing girl who plies her trade, I yield myself ecstatic at thy feet. Mine equal, more than equal; I, the slave, Beseech thee. Give me joy, a free return, A quick response to this my sacrifice. Entice me with thy lips, thy firstling beard, For lo! I burn, my love—shame to the winds— And plead for close embrace of sinewed arms, Arms dark with sun, strong with the season's toil, And tell thee, what thou garnerest here is prize Above all prizes, gift of Maut indeed! I would be thine, reveal my very self, Would risk mine all, to lift thee, captive, up To newer honors, yea, to great delights Thou hast not dreamed, ineffable. For race is naught, and rank falls with the belt; Encouched, thou rulest as the King.
(Joseph outraged in feeling throws up both hands as if in tragic command, and he was looking straight at his mistress, who for the moment recoils on the divan, but as if for a spring, says:)
JOSEPH.—Halt thee, woman; stay thy maddened words! O wife of Potiphar, what thoughts are thine! What boldness stirs thy mind! Thou art distraught. The banquet wine was served o'er-long, o'er-strong. Calm thee. Forget not who thou wert and art— The daughter of a royal line, the spouse Of him who rules a hundred willing slaves. And I, forget me; let me be as naught, As one thou wot'st not of, save as thy house Reflects through duty done his every care. Have I e'er failed in service unto thee? Or, niggard, grudging as my office grew, As step by step, I touched the topmost tread, O'erlooked the wife in favor of the lord? Why should I sin against thy caste, Against this sheltering home and Potiphar, Against my God, myself and thee? Oh, check this madness, lest upon its train Crowds ruin for this house and all within. I must away about my lord's commands.
THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR.—Ah, not aloof, my love, if but desire Would fruit, my yield with thee an hundredfold! Do I not tempt thee?
(Joseph, though realizing his danger, has regained his composure and again advances as if he was going to reason with the wife of Potiphar, and in answer to her question cries as if in a religious exaltation:)
JOSEPH (as if in prayer).—Tempt me? Hear my vow, Jehovah, Jireh, God of Abram, hear! Yea, hear me for my vows still unreleased, God of the silent reaches, God of light, Of a long-brooding people, duty bound The tense devotion of a youth's first oath, Hold, hold me to it, dull the senses, Shut out the world as if but seeming (To the wife of Potiphar:) Check! Oh, check this madness, Wife of Potiphar! Forfend against thyself! Mine eyes are closed, My ears now full estopped, blind, blind and deaf. Jehovah, Jireh! He indeed will hear, Will hearken to my voice—
THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR.—Art thou granite then, A being limned upon the templed walls; Some graven image, squat of trunk, in wood? No, no, my love, entice! Am I not fair? No sleek attendant with her gauzy robe Can e'en compare with these revealed charms. Many the years ere yet my beauty fades, And dried as Ramses in the tombs, men pass Nor turn to see the parchment of these breasts, The stiffened limbs, the glassy stare of eyes. To-day is certainty, aught else is doubt. To-day's for love and life; to-morrow, pah! The body rules to-day, so yield thee, love, Nor fear, thy path but leads
(Joseph's composure gives way as he sees the insatiate passion of the wife of Potiphar, and with a look of horror on his face he turns as if to flee, but he does not; instead he throws his cloak over his head in a gesture of despair at his inability to bring his mistress to her senses, crying:)
JOSEPH.—But leads, but leads To the swift hell of temple votaries Ishtar and Hathor and the wiles that kill; Then sated, beastlike to the carrion heaps Forget when use is o'er!
THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR (in rage).—Great Set his face! What, slave, thou spurn'st me then, thou wouldst away? And this to me, to me, the wife of Potiphar, Consort and mistress of thy august lord? Have I been wanton, jested with a fool, Laid open my beauty to the thieving air, Unsealed my charms to dull, unseeing eyes, Unloosed my girdle that a slave might jeer? Ah gods, Osiris, judge me in my rage! Thou shalt not, Jew! Thou shalt not thus escape! Woman and weak, and stricken to the heart, I'll test thy idle sinew, hold thee fast Despite thy chaste and miscreated fear, I'll touch thee limb to limb, and know thy flesh, Despite thy god will try thy very reins, And prove his deep protection is a snare. Closely I'll cling, unrobed, and hair un-loosed, And dare thee to contend!
(She throws herself on Joseph, tearing off her robe and seizing him about the waist. Joseph wrenches himself free, but she holds him loosely by the girdle.)
JOSEPH.—Woman, away! Though thou indeed art the mistress of all here, And I thy slave, no coward blood is mine, Nor otherwise unknown the call of flesh. I strive with sin, not thee; thee would I help To exorcise this fury that impels And drives thee to the betrayal of thy sex, That flaunts itself upon thy crimsoned face And in the wanton carriage tells thy shame Before thy gods and mine!
THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR.—Thou pratest thus? Still adamant and chill as sunless shrines Thou wouldst away in unconcealed disdain? (Savagely).—So be it then, but know thou still art mine, I'll have thy badge of office, strip thee clean, Expose thy villainy to all the house And hold thy life at my accusing word. (Tenderly and distractedly).—Ah no, what say I? Stay! Still naught but scorn? Then, wretch, away, lest anger strike thee dead! What say I? Ptah! I faint with growing rage!
(Joseph tears himself away free, leaving his girdle in her hand, and he flees rapidly down the corridor. For a moment of speechless rage the wife of Potiphar is silent, then she bursts forth:)
Speech chokes! Alone! Alone! Scorned by a slave! Revenge! Alone! Forsworn! Osiris, help! Scorned by a stripling, scorned and left afire, My passion at its flood-tide, flouted, scorned! Scorned by a slave without a slave's fierce lusts, Scorned by a slave who knew not servile use! And I, the helpmate of a gibbering dolt Who dangles at the temple making vows, Whilst I in very heyday of my bloom Meet insult where I fain would quench desire.
(She falls weeping in a hysteric rage upon the couch. Then there was silence. Then she resumes:) Unhappy me, unhappy in my quest! Shall I live loveless, though the many haunt My steps and oft in bold presumption force Attention for the favor of an hour, And find myself bereft, forsaken of all, Except my pampered oldlings, Sardis, Mnft? But, oh, ye gods! Their barbered beauty palls, Perfumed, familiar to the finger tips.
(The fierce desire returns. She rises up, crouching upon the mats and clutches the girdle fondly.)
I'd play the tigress, seek a ruthless mate; Be desert lioness in blaze of sun!
(She muses; then she breaks out:)
His badge of office! Is there rest in rage! Shall I wreak vengeance on the helpless cloth, Who cannot hold the master in this leash? No! No! Ah, goddess, Hathor, be not deaf; Nor blind to what thy altars bear from me! Give me the Jew. Youth fresh of heart and limb! In vain! In vain! Naught but the telltale scarf!
(Again she sinks despairingly, but as the footsteps are heard in the corridor, believing it to be Potiphar, she quickly rearranges her disordered robe in part, keeps the scarf in her hand and cries out for revenge, expecting to be overheard:)
Ye faithful, loved and looser deities, Be with me and avenge me for this wrong, Dark desecration of the hearth and home The sanctuary of Lord Potiphar! Shall I the wife bear insult from a slave, That dareth, as vermin, when the sun is gone, To scurry forth and lift a loathsome head, To equal those the gods have set on high, To bandy words and seek with coarse! (Sardis suddenly enters and the wife of Potiphar, terrified, hides the scarf and cries out:) Ah, gods!
SARDIS (savagely and implacable).—Thou well mayest cry! Thou thought'st me far away, Fled'st me at the court and fail'd'st me— Woman, speak! Thou wert not at the temple. Speak, I say! Thou wert not at the temple. Speak!
THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR. — (Still not in the full control of her senses, but she was desperately endeavoring to gain time and recover her wits:) What, thou? Not Potiphar? But thou? I rave, I dream. I failed thee at the temple? True, my love, Thy sudden entry agitates my soul. But hear me: Lo! an illness overcame, And here at rest I waited thy return, Knowing full well by that rich love that's thine Thou wouldst not tarry, but to my relief. Heardest thou my ravings? Ah, believe them not; I slept and woke in terror of a dream. A midday madness held me, and I raved With all my wits in a sudden, hideous rout. What said I, love? Come, lie in my soft embrace. Thou heardest me then? I seem to thee distraught? 'Tis true; but, worn of soul awaiting thee, Delay did prey upon my troubled mind, And sharp desire of thee did in my sleep So fitful take a strange and vagrant form. No, no, my love! I burned alone for thee.
(Holding out her arms in order to overcome the suspicions of Sardis, the girdle of Joseph is revealed.)
SARDIS (sarcastically repeating her words).— Alone for me! Alone for me! And this?
(Pointing derisively at the scarf, and then sardonically as if in the humor of it all:)
Ha! Ha! I see it all! I see it all! Thou wert not at the temple. True. Ah, true! But here thou kept'st the tryst. And this! And this! A tender token of his love, his scarf. Ha! Ha! Alone for me! Alone for me! Thou baggage! This soft snare shall damn thee quite! 'Tis witness of the cattle thou wouldst lift From out the mire to mingle with th' elect? For this thou fail'd'st me. Oh, ye gods of ill! Betrayed, betrayed like Potiphar. His scarf!
THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR. —The scarf! The scarf! Oh, hear me, Sardis! I (Frantically).—The scarf! Yea, yea,—I know,—the scarf—'tis mine! A household weaving. Yea, the truth, the truth. I swear it, Sardis. Harden not thy heart. The truth, by Isis, but the truth! For thee, I waited; thee alone, the house—
(Sardis advances in an black anger as if he was ready to strike her, as his suspicion grows.)
SARDIS.—A murrain on thy lying tongue; a plague Upon thee, dost thou think that I, that By Ptah! Why wait to parley? Why delay? Thy guilt, O froward heart—thy guilt Outflames in face! Am I so humbly born That thou cans't spurn me as a river slave Or a field hand stabling with his master's beasts? Shall Babylon play second at thy gate And take the favors that a menial leaves? By Bel and Marduk! Woman, thou—
THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR.—Ah, gods! I'll tell thee all. Revenge me, love, revenge! The Jew—stole in—the house—was echoless— I here,—alone—awaiting thee—the truth— And I, Osiris judge, was taken—by force, Against my outraged will was forced to hear The craven insults of an unripe mind. Fear gave me strength. The thought of thee made bold. I tore myself from out his impious clasp,—he fled— And fleeing, coward-wise, I seized the scarf As witness of this wrong—to show it thee And let it win redress—a quick revenge Against this upstart, vile, presumptuous Jew. (Sardis listens, unbelievingly.) Thou hearest me not! That look! Ah, be not cruel! My love, my love, entice! All, all for thee!
Not false! Not false! True!
SARDIS (snarling, seizes the scarf).—G'rr! Thou liest! True? Then black is white. Here, wear thy badge fore'er, And let the tomb depict thy history; Case-gilded for the final burial rites. In scarlet let thy wantonness appear! (Savagely).—Thou wert not at the temple. That is truth. Nor e'er shall be. The truth, by Ptah! Betray! Betray me now, thou witch of Memphis!
(Sardis takes the scarf he has seized and quickly throws it round her neck in a loose noose which he surely tightens.)
THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR.—Help! O Sardis, stay thy hand! Ho, Nefert, help! The scarf! It chokes! Ah, Sardis—Hold thy wrath! My love of loves—Have mercy! Oh, I choke— A dream—an evil dream—naught else—the truth. O love—I gasp—Is this—the clasp—of love? Osiris, save me—Oh, I die—of love. Osiris judge!—of love—of
(She falls back almost nearly dead at the feet of Sardis, who spurns the body with his foot and he hastily leaves as the songs of those returning from the temple are heard on the highway. Ominous pause, and then Nefert hurrying in through a private doorway, is seen in terror carrying the wreath, mysteriously brown and sere. With a horror-stricken countenance at the inauspiciousness of the omen, she cries out in fear:)
NEFERT.—O wife of Potiphar, the wreath— (Then discovering the living dead body of her mistress, with a piercing shriek she exclaims:) Fulfilled!
(And drops in a faint beside her undead mistress. The wreath falls on the body of the wife of Potiphar.)
(Quickly the Curtain closes.)
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1939, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 84 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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