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_ ACT III - SCENE I
The Garden of the CALIPH's palace: in front of a pavilion.
The CALIPH: HASSAN in fine raiment, a sword of honour at his side.
CALIPH.
Yes, what the chief Eunuch told you is all true, my Hassan.
Our late host, the King of the Beggars, was captured hiding
in the gutter of his roof. This evening I shall judge him and his crew
in full divan. And in the divan thou shalt appear, O Hassan,
clothed in thy robe of ceremony, and seated on my right hand.
HASSAN.
Alas, O Serene Splendour, thy servant is a man of
humble origin and limited desires.
I am one who would obey the old poet's behest:
Give all thy day to dreaming and all thy night to sleep:
Let not Ambition's Tyger devour Contentment's Sheep!
I am not one to open my mouth at divans, or to strut among courtiers in robes of state. Sir, excuse me from these things. Dispose thy favour like a high golden wall, and protect the life of your servant from the wind of complication. But at evening, when God flings roses through the sky, call me then to some calm pavilion, and let us hear Ishak play and let us hear Ishak sing, till you forget you are Lord of all the World, and I forget I am a base-born tradesman; till we discover the speech of things that have no life, and know what the clods of earth are saying to the roots of the garden trees.
CALIPH.
Have no fear. You shall inhabit the place I shall assign you in untroubled peace, and meditate till your beard grows into the soil and you become wiser than Aflatun. But in this case you are a witness and must be present at my divan, be it but for this once only. And you shall call me Emir of the Faithful, Redresser of Wrong, the Shadow of God on Earth, and Peacock of the World. But in this garden you are Hassan, and I am your friend Haroun, and you must address me as a friend a friend.
HASSAN.
(Kissing the CALIPH's hand)
O master, you speak gently,
but I must fear you all the more.
CALIPH.
But why? I am but a kindly man. I love single-heartedness in men as I love simplicity in my palace. There you have seen floors with but one carpet--but that carpet like a meadow. You have seen walls with but one curtain--but that curtain a sunset on the sea. You have seen white rooms all naked marble: but they await my courtiers, all dressed like flowers. If, therefore, I avoid complexity in the matter of walls and floors, shall I not be simple in the things of heart and soul? Shall I not, Hassan, be just your friend?
HASSAN.
Master, I find thy friendship like thy palace, endowed with all the charm of beauty and the magic of surprise. As thou knowest, I am but a man of the streets of Bagdad, and there men say, "The Caliph's Palace, Mashallah! The walls are stiff with gold and the ceilings plated with silver, and the urinals thereof are lined with turquoise blue." And hearing men say this, many a time hath Hassan the Confectioner stroked the chin of Hassan the Confectioner saying, "O, Hassan, thy back parlour is less ugly than that, with its tub for boiling sugar, and its one good Bokhara carpet hanging on the wall. And twelve months did I work at the tub, boiling sugar to buy that carpet."
CALIPH.
What a man you are for poetry and carpets! When you tread on a carpet, you drop your eyes to earth to catch the pattern and when you hear a poem, you raise your eyes to heaven to hear the tune. Whoever saw a confectioner like this? When did you learn poetry, Hassan of my heart?
HASSAN.
In that great school, the Market of Bagdad. For thee, Master of the World, poetry is a princely diversion, but for us it was a deliverance from Hell. Allah made poetry a cheap thing to buy and a simple thing to understand. He gave men dreams by night that they might learn to dream by day. Men who work hard have special need of these dreams. All the town of Bagdad is passionate for poetry, O Master. Dost thou not know what great crowds gather to hear the epic of Antari sung in the streets at evening? I have seen cobblers weep and butchers bury their great faces in their hands!
CALIPH.
By Eblis and the powers of Hell, should I not know this, and know that therein lies the secret of the strength of Islam? In poems and in tales alone shall live the eternal memory of this city when I am dust and thou art dust, when the Bedouin shall build his hut upon my garden and drive his plough beyond the ruins of my palace, and all Bagdad is broken to the ground. Ah, if there shall ever arise a nation whose people have forgotten poetry or whose poets have forgotten the people, though they send their ships around Taprobane and their armies across the hills of Hindustan, though their city be greater than Babylon of old, though they mine a league into earth or mount to the stars on wings--what of them?
HASSAN.
They will be a dark patch upon the world.
CALIPH.
Well said! By your luck you have saved the life of the Caliph,
O Hassan; but by your conversation you have won the friendship
of Haroun. Indeed--but at what are you gazing as if enchanted?
HASSAN.
What a beautiful fountain,
with the silver dolphin and the naked boy.
CALIPH.
A Greek of Constantinople made it, who came travelling
hither in the days of my father, the Caliph El Madhi
(may earth be gentle to his body and Paradise
refreshing to his soul!).
He showed this fountain to my father, who was exceptionally pleased,
and asked the Greek if he could make more as fine. "A hundred,"
replied the delighted infidel. Whereupon my father cried,
"Impale the pig." Which having been done, this fountain remains
the loveliest in the world.
HASSAN.
(With anguish)
O Fountain, dost thou never run with blood?
CALIPH.
Why, what is the matter, Hassan?
HASSAN.
You have told a tale of death and tyranny,
O Master of the World.
CALIPH.
(In a sudden and towering rage)
Do you accuse my father of tyranny,
O fellow, for slaying a filthy Christian?
HASSAN.
(Prostrating himself)
I meant no offence. My life is at your feet.
But you bade me talk to you as a friend.
CALIPH.
Not Ishak, not Ishak himself, who has been my friend
for years, would dare address me thus.
(Bursting into laughter)
Rise, Hassan. Thy impudence has a monstrous beauty,
like the hindquarters of an elephant.
HASSAN.
Forgive me, forgive me.
CALIPH.
I forgive you with all my heart, but, I advise you,
speak in conformity with your character and of things you
understand, and never leave the Garden of Art for the Palace
of Action. Trouble not your head with the tyranny of Princes,
or you may catch a cold therein from the Wind of Complication.
Keep to your poetry and carpets, Hassan, and make no reference
to politics, for which even the market of Bagdad is an
insufficient school.
HASSAN.
(Dolefully)
I hear and obey.
CALIPH.
Forget it now; set your mind on pleasant things. Have you noticed
this little pavilion in front of which we have talked so long?
This is your little house, good Hassan, where you shall find
a shelter from the wind you so much dislike and all all other
blasts that harm or chill.
HASSAN.
My little house?
CALIPH.
I chose it for you, knowing your disposition. Here in this
remote corner of the garden you will hear no noise of street
or Palace, but enjoy complete repose.
HASSAN.
(With rapture)
Mine, this little house? Mine, this sweet-scented door!
CALIPH.
Knock on it and see.
(HASSAN knocks. A door opens and ALDER, WILLOW, JUNIPER,
and TAMARISK appear. TAMARISK the youngest, has somewhat
of a mouse's squeak.)
ALDER.
(To CALIPH with prostration)
O, Emir of the Faithful!
WILLOW.
(To CALIPH with prostration)
O, Redresser of Wrong!
JUNIPER.
(To CALIPH with prostration)
O, Shadow of God on earth!
TAMARISK.
(To CALIPH with prostration)
O, Peacock of the World!
ALDER.
(To HASSAN with prostration)
Master!
WILLOW.
(To HASSAN with prostration)
Master!
JUNIPER.
(To HASSAN with prostration)
Master!
TAMARISK.
(To HASSAN with prostration)
Master!
(They stand, their hands in their sleeves, across the doorway.)
HASSAN.
But these are the slaves of the King of the Beggars, who bathed me,
and anointed me, and brought back my soul into my eyes,
whence a woman had all but driven it forever.
CALIPH.
I have rescued them from the ruin of their master's
house as their polite and finished manners deserve,
and I have given them to you since you are likely to
need and appreciate their service.
HASSAN.
And so faces not altogether strange will welcome me to my home.
(Kneels and kisses Caliph's hand.)
CALIPH.
Say not a word. For the pen of happiness hath written
on thy face the ode of gratitude.
(To SLAVES)
Is all ready?
ALDER.
(Pompously)
Ready, O Gardener of the Vale of Islam.
WILLOW.
Prepared, O Lion...
CALIPH.
Enough! Conduct your master into his house, show him
all there is inside, and serve him faithfully.
Enter with them, Hassan; delicious has been our converse, but Jafar,
the Vizier has been awaiting me some two hours.
(As Hassan is about to prostrate himself)
No, it is thus Haroun takes leave of his friends.
(Kisses him on both cheeks. HASSAN watches till he is out
of sight, pensive. Then he goes to the fountain and observes
it a moment. Then advances slowly to the folding door of
the pavilion which ALDER and WILLOW hold open for him.)
ALDER.
Fortunate be thy entry!
WILLOW.
Prosperous thy sojourn!
JUNIPER.
Quiet thy days!
TAMARISK.
And riotous thy nights! _
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