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SCENE IV
Inside the pavilion.
Shaikh Ibrahim, verily thou art drunk.
Alas, alas, my dear son, my own young friend! I am damned, verily, verily, I am damned. Ah, my sweet lovely young father! Ah, my pious learned white-bearded mother! That they could see their son now, their pretty little son! But they are in their graves; they are in their cold, cold graves.
Oh, thou art most pathetically drunk. Sing, Anice.
Fish! fish! sweet fried fish!
Fish! Shaikh Ibrahim, Shaikh Ibrahim! hearest thou? We have a craving for fish.
Tis Satan in thy little stomach who calleth hungrily for sweet fish. Silence, thou preposterous devil!
Fie, Shaikh, is my stomach outside me, under the window ? Call him in.
Ho! ho! come in, Satan! come in, thou brimstone fisherman. Let us see thy long tail. Enter Haroun. Page – 694
What fish have you, good fisherman ?
I have very honest good fish, my sweet lady, and I have fried them for you with my own hand. These fish, — why, all I can say of them is, they are fish. But they are well fried.
Set them on a plate. What wilt thou have for them ?
Why, for such faces as you have, I will honestly ask nothing.
Then wilt thou dishonestly ask for a trifle more than they are worth ? Swallow me these denars.
Now Allah give thee a beard! for thou art a generous youth.
Fie, fisherman, what a losing blessing is this, to kill the thing for
which thou blessest him! If Allah give him a beard, he will be no
Art thou as witty as beautiful ?
By Allah, that am I. I tell thee very modestly that there is not my equal from China to Frangistan.
Thou sayest no more than truth.
What is your name, fisherman ? Page – 695 HAROUN AL RASHEED I call myself Kareem, and in all honesty when I fish, 'tis for the Caliph.
Who talks of the Caliph? Dost thou speak of the Caliph Haroun or the Caliph Ibrahim?
I speak of the Caliph, Haroun the Just, the great and only Caliph.
Oh, Haroun ? He is fit only to be a gardener, a poor witless fellow without brains to dress himself with, yet Allah hath made him Caliph. While there are others — but 'tis no use talking. A very profligate tyrant, this Haroun! He has debauched half the women in Bagdad and will debauch the other half, if they let him live. Besides, he cuts off a man's head when the nose on it does not please him. A very pestilence of a tyrant!
Now Allah save him!
Nay, let Allah save his soul if He will and if 'tis worth saving, but I fear me 'twill be a tough job for Allah. If it were not for my constant rebukes and admonitions and predications and pestrigiddi — prestigidgide — what the plague! prestidigitations, and some slaps and cuffs of which I pray you speak very low, he would be worse even than he is. Well, well, even Allah blunders; verily, verily!
Wilt thou be Caliph, Shaikh Ibrahim?
Yes, my jewel, and thou shalt be my Zobeidah. And we will Page – 696 tipple, beauty, we will tipple.
And Haroun?
I will be generous and make him my under-kitchen-gardener's second vice-sub-under-assistant. I would gladly give him a higher post, but, verily, he is not fit.
What an old treasonous rogue art thou, Shaikh Ibrahim!
What? who? Thou art not Satan, but Kareem the fisherman? Didst thou say I was drunk, thou supplier of naughty houses ? Verily, I will tug thee by the beard, for thou liest. Verily, verily!
Shaikh Ibrahim! Shaikh Ibrahim!
Nay, if thou art the angel Gabriel and forbiddest me, let be, but I hate lying and liars.
Fisherman, is thy need here over?
I pray you, let me hear this young lady sing; for indeed 'twas the sweet voice of her made me fry fish for you.
Oblige the good fellow, Anice; he has a royal face for his fishing.
Sing! 'tis I will sing: there is no voice like mine in Bagdad. Page – 697 (sings) When I was a young man, I'd a very good plan; Every maid that I met, In my lap I would set, What mattered her age or her colour ? But now I am old And the girls they grow cold And my heartstrings, they ache At the faces they make, And my dancing is turned into dolour.
A very sweet song! a very sad song! Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. Tis just, 'tis just. Ah me! well-a-day! Verily, verily!
I pray you. Shaikh Ibrahim, be quiet. I would sing.
Sing, my jewel, sing, my gazelle, sing, my lady of kisses. Verily, I would rise up and buss thee, could I but find my legs. I know not why they have taken them from me.
Song Thou must learn to wait and weep. Wherefore wouldst thou go on beating When I bade thee hush and sleep ?
Thou who wert of life so fain,
O voice of angels! Who art thou, young man, And who this sweet-voiced wonder ? Let me hear; Tell me thy story. Page – 698
I am a man chastised
Tell me thy story. Walk apart with me.
Leave us, I pray thee.
I vow I'll help thee.
Art thou the Caliph?
If I were, by chance ?
If thou art as pressing with the fish as me, Exit with Haroun.
Will you not have some of this fish, Shaikh Ibrahim ? 'Tis a sweet fish.
Indeed thou art a sweet fish, but somewhat overdone. Thou hast four lovely eyes and two noses wonderfully fine with just the right little curve at the end; 'tis a hook to hang my heart upon. But, verily there are two of them and I know not what to do with the other. I have only one heart, beauty. O, Allah, Thou hast Page – 699 darkened my brain with wine, and wilt Thou damn me afterwards ?
Nay, if thou wilt misuse my nose for a peg, I have done with thee. Enter Nureddene.
He's writing out a letter.
Surely, my lord,
The old drunkard knew him Enter Haroun.
He is not fit
Nor ever was. 'Tis late.
Givest thou no gift at parting ?
You're a fisher! (opens his purse) Page – 700
Nothing more valuable ?
Wilt take this ring?
No; give me what I ask.
Yes, by the Prophet,
Give me thy slave-girl. {There is a silence.)
Thou hast entrapped me, fisherman.
Is it a jest?
Thou sworest by the Prophet, youth.
Tell me,
She pleases me.
O wretch! Page – 701
Another time
Dost thou give her-to me ?
Take her, if Heaven will let thee. Angel of God, Avenging angel, wert thou lying in wait for me In Bagdad?
Leave me not, O leave me not.
I mean thee well.
Thy doing's damnable. O man, O man, Art thou a devil straight from Hell, or art thou A tool of Almuene's to torture us ? Will you leave me, my lord, and never kiss ?
Thou art his; I cannot touch thee.
Kiss her once.
Tempt me not; if my lips grow near to hers, Page – 702
Where art thou bound ?
To Bassora.
That is, to death?
Even so.
Yet take this letter with thee to the Sultan.
Man, what have I to do with thee or letters ?
Hear me, fair youth. Thy love is sacred to me And will be safe as in her father's house. Take thou this letter. Though I seem a fisherman, I was the Caliph's friend and schoolfellow, His cousin of Bassora's too, and it may help thee.
I know not who thou art, nor if this scrap Of paper has the power thou babblest of, And do not greatly care. Life without her Is not to be thought of. Yet thou giv'st me something I'ld once have dared call hope. She will be safe ?
As my own child, or as the Caliph's.
I'll go play Page – 703 At pitch-and-toss with death in Bassora. Exit.
Kareem, thou evil fisherman, thou unjust seller, thou dishonest dicer, thou beastly womanizer! hast thou given me stinking fish not worth a dirham and thinkest to take away my slave-girl ? Verily, I will tug thy beard for her. He seizes Haroun by the beard.
Out! Hither to me, Vizier Jaafar. (Enter Jaafar). Hast thou my robe? He changes his dress.
How dost thou, Shaikh Ibrahim ? Fie, thou smellest of that evil thing, even the accursed creature, wine.
O Satan, Satan, dost thou come to me in the guise of Jaafar, the Persian, the Shiah, the accursed favourer of Gnosticism and heresies, the evil and bibulous Vizier? Avaunt, and return not save with a less damnable face. O thou inconsiderate fiend!
Damsel, lift up thy head. I am the Caliph.
What does it matter who you are ? My heart, my heart!
Thou art bewildered. Rise! I am the Caliph Page – 704
Fair slave-girls, noble gifts. Possess thy heart
O just and mighty Caliph!
Shaikh Ibrahim.
Verily, I think thou art the Caliph, and verily, I think I am drunk.
Verily, thou hast told the truth, twice, and it is a wonder. But verily, verily, verily, thou shalt be punished. Thou hast been kind to the boy and his sweetheart, therefore I will not take from thee thy life or thy post in the gardens, and I will forgive thee for tugging the beard of the Lord's Anointed. But thy hypocrisies and blasphemies are too rank to be forgiven. Jaafar, have a man with him constantly and wine before his eyes; but if he drink so much as a thimbleful, let it be poured by gallons into his stomach. Have in beautiful women constantly before him and if he once raise his eyes above their anklets, shave him clean and sell him into the most severe and Puritan house in Bagdad. Nay, I will reform thee, old sinner.
Oh, her lips! her sweet lips!
You speak to a drunken man, my lord.
Tomorrow bring him before me when he's sober. Exeunt. Curtain Page – 705 |
