Wednesday, March 8, 2023

Don't Mess With Esther

Just in time for both
Purim & International Women's Day
[& Easter 2024]
I was so pleased to come across this poem, because it answers the question that is always on my mind when reading the story of Esther: "What about Vashti?" The poem appears without a title, but the subtitle underneath the Bible Story Book illustration is perfect for the poem as well:

Sisters unite:
the revenge of Vashti and Esther!
When few could distinguish
Mordecai from Haman
(and the two gentlemen, themselves,
were passed out, arm in arm,
under the King’s throne),
Esther tied King Ahashverosh
to the horse’s royal tail
and dragged him through Persian streets
to the graveyard. There she swapped him
for his dead Queen and these two
cantered back to the palace,
where Vashti danced a wild tarantella
and stripped off her funeral shroud.
While the noblemen gaped and gangled
at the reawakened beauty,
Esther raced through the feast,
nailing each tongue to the table,
still flapping.
And she flaunted her Jewishness,
despite her drunken cousin,
and canted bentchlicht
for all the Jewish mothers,
while balancing Haman’s hat
on the King’s gold sceptre.
Then, the two ladies painted
on the soles of their sandals
and hopscotched
‘til they had stamped out
the names of Ahashverosh, and Mordecai,
and all those
who would have women
bury their souls in flesh.


Susan Charles Groth (b 1965)
Here's a more complete version
of the illustration . . .
The inhumane treatment of Vashti (through no fault of Esther's)
is often glossed over when the story is told to children,
as in this drawing from my mother's Bible Story Book:
My grandmother's writing (below).
My mom would have been 5 years old at the time.
My mother's writing
on the next page.

The two queens as depicted by British artist
Edwin Longsden Long (1829 – 1891)

Queen Esther, 1878
Vashti Refuses the King's Summons, 1879
Should you need a refresher course
on Esther's complicated dilemma,
click here for a helpful retelling.

In addition, you may want to memorize this little poem that I learned in Sunday School as a child, and have never been able to forget. You know how it is: put those little rhymes inside a kid's head and they are there to stay forever. Not to mention that Evangelical Protestants love a good revenge story:
"When Haman built a gallows high
For Mordecai's head,
God turned the tables and we find
That Haman hanged, instead."

Esther Denouncing Haman, 1888
by British artist
Ernest Normand (1857–1923)
P.S.
Happy Purim & Hamantaschen Season to my friend Igor!

P.P.S.
See also Ella Wheeler Wilcox,
standing up for Vashti since way back in 1911!
See poem in comments below . . .

4 comments:

  1. And this one by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

    THE REVOLT OF VASHTI
    (FROM THE DRAMA OF MIZPAH)

    Ahasueras

    Is this the way to greet thy loving spouse,
    But now returned from scenes of blood and strife?
    I pray thee raise thy veil and let me gaze
    Upon that beauty which hath greater power
    To conquer me than all the arts of war!

    Vashti

    My beauty! Ay, my beauty! I do hold,
    In thy regard, no more an honoured place
    Than yonder marble pillar, or the gold
    And jeweled wine-cup which thy lips caress.
    Thou wouldst degrade me in the people's sight!

    Ahasueras

    Degrade thee, Vashti? Rather do I seek
    To show my people who are gathered here
    How, as the consort of so fair a queen,
    I feel more pride than as the mighty king:
    For there be many rulers on the earth,
    But only one such queen. Come, raise thy veil!

    Vashti

    Ay! only one such queen! A queen is one
    Who shares her husband's greatness and his throne.
    I am no more than yonder dancing girl
    Who struts and smirks before a royal court!
    But I will loose my veil and loose my tongue!
    Now listen, sire--my master and my king;
    And let thy princes and the court give ear!
    'Tis time all heard how Vashti feels her shame.

    Ahasueras

    Shame is no word to couple with thy name!
    Shame and a spotless woman may not meet,
    Even in a sentence. Choose another word.

    Vashti.

    Ay, shame, my lord--there is no synonym
    That can give voice to my ignoble state.
    To be a thing for eyes to gaze upon,
    Yet held an outcast from thy heart and mind;
    To hear my beauty praised but not my worth;
    To come and go at Pleasure's beck and call,
    While barred from Wisdom's conclaves! Think ye that
    A noble calling for a noble dame?
    Why, any concubine amongst thy train
    Could play my royal part as well as I--
    Were she as fair!

    Ahasueras

    Queen Vashti, art thou mad?
    I would behead another did he dare
    To so besmirch thee with comparison.

    Vashti (to the court)

    Gaze now your fill! Behold Queen Vashti's eyes!
    How large they gleam beneath her inch of brow!
    How like a great white star, her splendid face
    Shines through the midnight forest of her hair!
    And see the crushed pomegranate of her mouth!
    Observe her arms, her throat, her gleaming breasts,
    Whereon the royal jewels rise and fall!--
    And note the crescent curving of her hips,
    And lovely limbs suggested 'neath her robes!
    Gaze, gaze, I say, for these have made her queen!
    She hath no mind, no heart, no dignity,
    Worth royal recognition and regard;
    But her fair body approbation meets
    And whets the sated appetite of kings!
    Now ye have seen what she was bid to show.
    The queen hath played her part and begs to go.

    Ahasueras

    Aye, Vashti, go and never more return!
    Not only hast thou wronged thine own true lord,
    And mocked and shamed me in the people's eyes,
    But thou hast wronged all princes and all men
    By thy pernicious and rebellious ways.
    Queens act and subjects imitate. So let
    Queen Vashti weigh her conduct and her words,
    Or be no more called 'queen!'

    Vashti

    I was a princess ere I was a queen,
    And worthy of a better fate than this!
    There lies the crown that made me queen in name!
    Here stands the woman--wife in name alone!
    Now, no more queen--nor wife--but woman still--
    Ay, and a woman strong enough to be
    Her own avenger.

    Poems of Progress and New Thought Pastels.
    by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
    London: Gay & Hancock, 1911.

    ReplyDelete
  2. THE CHOOSING OF ESTHER
    (FROM THE DRAMA OF MIZPAH)

    Ahasueras

    Tell me thy name!

    Esther

    My name, great sire, is Esther.

    Ahasueras

    So thou art Esther? Esther! ’tis a name
    Breathed into sound as softly as a sigh.
    A woman’s name should melt upon the lips
    Like Love’s first kisses, and thy countenance
    Is fit companion for so sweet a name!

    Esther

    Thou art most kind. I would my name and face
    Were mine own making and not accident.
    Then I might feel elated at thy praise,
    Where now I feel confusion.

    Ahasueras

    Thou hast wit
    As well as beauty, Esther. Both are gems
    That do embellish woman in man’s sight.
    Yet they are gems of second magnitude!
    Dost thou possess the one great perfect gem—
    The matchless jewel of the world called love?

    Esther

    Sire, in the heart of every woman dwells
    That wondrous perfect gem!

    Ahasueras

    Then, Esther, speak!
    And tell me what is love! I fain would know
    Thy definition of that much-mouthed word,
    By woman most employed—least understood.

    Esther

    What can a humble Jewish maiden know
    That would instruct a warrior and a king?
    I have but dreamed of love as maidens will
    While thou hast known its fulness. All the world
    Loves Great Ahasueras!

    Ahasueras

    All the world
    Fears great Ahasueras! Kings, my child,
    Are rarely loved as anything but kings.
    Love, as I see it in the court and camp,
    Means seeking royal favour. I would know
    How love is fashioned in a maiden’s dreams.

    Esther

    Sire, love seeks nothing that kings can bestow.
    Love is the king of all kings here below;
    Love makes the monarch but a bashful boy,
    Love makes the peasant monarch in his joy;
    Love seeks not place, all places are the same,
    When lighted by the radiance of love’s flame.
    Who deems proud love could fawn to power and splendour
    Hath known not love, but some base-born pretender.

    Ahasueras

    If this be love, I would know more of it.
    Speak on, fair Esther! What is love beside?

    Esther

    Love is in all things, all things are in love.
    Love is the earth, the sea, the skies above;
    Love is the bird, the blossom, and the wind;
    Love hath a million eyes, yet love is blind;
    Love is a tempest, awful in its might;
    Love is the silence of a moon-lit night;
    Love is the aim of every human soul;
    And he who hath not loved hath missed life’s goal!

    Ahasueras

    But tell me of thyself, of thine own dreams!
    How wouldst thou love, and how be loved again?

    Esther

    Who most doth love thinks least of love’s return;
    She is content to feel the passion burn
    In her own bosom, and its sacred fire
    Consumes each selfish purpose and desire.
    ’Tis in the giving, love’s best rapture lies,
    Not in the counting of the things it buys.

    Ahasueras

    Yet, is there not vast anguish and despair
    In love that finds no answering word or smile?

    Esther

    So radiant is love, it lends a glow
    To each dark sorrow and to every woe.
    To love completely is to part with pain,
    Nor is there mortal who can love in vain.
    Love is its own reward, it pays full measure,
    And in love’s sharpest grief lies subtlest pleasure.

    Ahasueras

    Methinks, a mighty warrior, lord or king
    Must in thy fancy play the lover’s part;
    None else could wake such reverential thought.

    Esther

    When woman loves one born of lowly state,
    Her thought gives crown and sceptre to her mate;
    Yet be he king, or chief of some great clan,
    She loves him but as woman loves a man.
    Monarch or peasant, ’tis the same, I wis
    When once she gives him love’s surrendering kiss.

    Poems of Progress and New Thought Pastels.
    by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
    London: Gay & Hancock, 1911.

    Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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  3. HONEYMOON SCENE
    (FROM THE DRAMA OF MIZPAH)

    Ahasueras

    What were thy thoughts, sweet Esther? Something passed
    Across thy face, that for a moment veiled
    Thy soul from mine, and left me desolate.
    Thy thoughts were not of me?

    Esther

    Ay, all of thee!
    I wondered, if in truth, thou wert content
    With me—thy choice. Was there no other one
    Of all who passed before thee at thy court
    Whose memory pursues thee with regret?

    Ahasueras

    I do confess I much regret that day
    And wish I could relive it.

    Esther

    Oh! My lord!

    Ahasueras

    Yea! I regret those hours I wasted on
    The poor procession that preceded thee.
    Hadst thou come first, then all the added wealth

    Of one long day of loving thee were mine—
    A boundless fortune squandered. Though I live
    To three score years and ten, as I do hope,
    In wedded love beside thee, that one day
    Was filched from me and cannot be restored.

    Esther

    And then to think how frightened and abashed
    I hung outside thy gates from early morn,
    Not daring to go in and meet thine eyes,
    Till pitying twilight clothed me in her veil,
    And evening walked beside me to thy door.

    Ahasueras

    So it was thou, fair thief, who stole that day,
    And made me poorer, by—how many hours?

    Esther

    Full eight, I think. They seemed a hundred then,
    And now time flies a hundred times too fast.

    Ahasueras

    Then eight more kisses do I claim from thee,
    This very hour—first tithes of many due.
    I shall exact these payments as I will,
    And if they be not ready on demand,
    I’ll lock thee in the prison of my arms,
    Like this—and take them so—and so—and so!

    continued in next comment . . .

    ReplyDelete
  4. continued from previous comment . . .

    Esther

    But kings must think of other things than love
    And live for other aims than happiness.
    I would not drag thee from thy altitude
    Of mighty ruler and great conqueror
    To chain thee by my side.

    Ahasueras

    Such slavery
    Would please me better than to conquer earth
    Without thee, Esther. I have stood on heights
    And heard the cheers of multitudes below;
    Have known the loneliness of being great.
    Now, let me live and love thee, like a man,
    Forgetting I am king—
    I am content.

    Esther

    Content is not the pathway to great deeds.
    As man, I hold thee higher than all kings;
    As king, thou must stand higher than all men
    In other eyes. Let no one say of me:
    ‘She spoiled his greatness by her littleness;
    She made a languorous lover of a king,
    And silenced war-cries on commanding lips—
    With honeyed kisses; made her woman’s arms
    Preferred to armour, and her couch to tents,
    Until the kingdom, with no guiding hand,
    Plunged down to ruin.’

    Ahasueras

    Thou wouldst have me go—
    So soon thy heart hath wearied?

    Esther

    My heart is bursting with its love for thee!
    Canst thou not feel its fervour? But great men
    Need wiser guidance than a woman’s heart.
    My pride in thee is equal to my love,
    And I would have thee greater than thou art—
    Ay, greater than all other men on earth—
    Though forced long years to feed my hungry heart
    On food of memories and wine of tears,
    Wert thou but winning glory and renown.

    Ahasueras

    Thou art most noble, Esther; thou art fit
    To be the consort of a king of kings.
    But I have chewed upon ambition’s husks
    And starved for love through all my manhood’s years;
    And now the mighty gods have seen it fit
    To spread love’s banquet and to name thee host,
    May I not feast my fill? O Esther, take
    The tempting nectar of those lips away
    And give me wine to rouse the brute in me,
    To make me thirst for blood instead of love!
    Wine! Wine! I say!

    Esther

    Ahasueras, wait!
    Methinks good music is wine turned to sound.
    Here comes thy minstrel with an offering
    Pressed from the ripened fruit of my fond heart.
    Mine own the words and mine the melody
    And may it linger longer in thine ear
    Than on thy lip would stay the taste of wine.
    Sing on!

    Minstrel

    When from the field returning,
    Love is a warrior’s yearning,
    Love in his heart is burning,
    Love is his dream.
    Talk not to him of glory,
    Speak not of faces gory,
    Sing of love’s tender story,
    Make it thy theme.
    Sing of his lady’s tresses,
    Sing of the smile that blesses,
    Sing of the sweet caresses,
    And yet again
    Sing of fair children’s faces,
    Sing of the dear home graces,
    Sing till the vacant places,
    Ring with thy strain.
    Yet as the days go speeding,
    Shall he arise unheeding
    Love songs or words of pleading,
    Strong in his might!
    Helmet and armour wearing,
    Hies he to deeds of daring,
    Forth to the battle faring,
    Back to the fight.
    Sing now of ranks contending,
    Sing of loud voices blending,
    Sing of great warriors sending
    Death to their foes!
    Sing of war missiles humming,
    Strike into martial drumming,
    Sing of great victory coming,
    As forth he goes.
    Back to the battle faring,
    Back into deeds of daring,
    Back to the fight.

    Ahasueras

    No less a lover but a greater man,
    A better warrior and a nobler king,
    I will be from this hour for thy dear sake.

    Poems of Progress and New Thought Pastels.
    by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
    London: Gay & Hancock, 1911.

    ReplyDelete