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_ ACT V - SCENE I
Towards the sunset of the next day. The CALIPH's garden (ACT III, SCENE I) once more.
(Enter the CALIPH with ATTENDANTS as HASSAN comes from his pavilion.)
CALIPH.
We were coming to your door to seek you, Hassan, but you anticipated
the knock of doubt by the shock of appearance. Why have you left
your house before the nightingale? Will you too sing to the dawning moon?
If so--we have come to hear.
HASSAN.
Oh, Master of the World--the hour of the nightingale has not yet come.
I have sought thee all day, O Master, and could not find thee.
Thou didst hold the Divan--thou wast hunting--thou wast asleep--
thou wast at dinner--and now the hour is near, O Master of the World--
but not yet come.
CALIPH.
What hour?
HASSAN.
The hour of the nightingale: the hour when sun and moon are weighed
in the silver scales of heaven: and thy scale of justice moves downward
with the sun.
CALIPH.
Surely thy head is full of fancies and thy mood perverse.
I cannot grasp the shadow of thy meaning.
HASSAN.
(Throwing himself at the CALIPH's feet)
O Master of the World, have mercy on Pervaneh and Rafi!
CALIPH.
What--those two? Let them have mercy on themselves. They
have chosen death as I am told. The woman has paid me the
compliment of preferring torture with her Rafi to a marriage
with myself. They have had a pleasant day together.
Exquisite food was placed before them and the surveillance
was discreet. They will now pass a less pleasant evening.
HASSAN.
Let not the woman be tortured: have mercy on the woman.
CALIPH.
Rise you fantastic supplicant. Do you dare ask mercy
for these insolent and dangerous folk whose life was
in their own hands--who have themselves pulled down
the cord of the rat-trap of destruction?
HASSAN.
Had you but heard them--had you but watched as I did
while they made that awful choice, you would have
forgotten expediency, justice, revenge, and listened
only to the appeal of the anguish of their souls!
CALIPH.
I doubt it!
HASSAN.
They chose so well! They are so young. So terribly
in love. I have not slept, I have not eaten, Master!
I take no pleasure in my house and garden. I see
blood on my walls, blood on my carpet, blood in the
fountain, blood in the sky!
CALIPH.
Well, well, I will leave you to these agreeable delusions.
Abu Nawas has found me a young Kurdish girl who can dance
with one leg round her neck, and knows by heart the song
of Alexander. I perceive you will be no fit companion
for an evening's sport.
HASSAN.
It is only for the torture I speak: it is only for
the woman I implore. Say but one word: the sun will set so soon.
CALIPH.
(Angrily) If thou and Ishak, and Jafar and the Governors
of all the provinces were prostrate with supplication before me,
I would not spare her one caress of Masrur's black hand.
HASSAN.
(Springing to his feet and making at the CALIPH)
Hideous tyrant, torturer from Hell!
CALIPH.
(Coolly, as GUARDS seize HASSAN)
You surprise me. Since when have confectioners become
so tigerish in their deportment?
HASSAN.
(Terrfied)
What have I said! What have I done!
CALIPH.
There speaks the old confectioner again.
HASSAN.
I am not ashamed to be a confectioner, but I am ashamed to be a coward.
CALIPH.
Do not despair, good Hassan. You would not take my warning:
you have left the Garden of Art for the Palace of Action:
you have troubled your head with the tyranny of princes,
and the wind of complication is blowing through your shirt.
You will forfeit your house and be banished from the Garden,
for you are not fit to be the friend of kings. But for the
rest, since you did me great service the other night, go in
peace, and all the confectionery of the Palace will be
ordered at your shop.
HASSAN.
Master, for this mercy, I thank you humbly.
CALIPH.
For nothing--for nothing. I make allowance for the purple
thread of madness woven in the camel-cloth of your character.
I know your head is affected by a caloric afternoon.
Indeed, I sympathise with the interest you have shown as
to the fate of Pervaneh and Rafi, and as a mark of favour
I offer you a place among the spectators of their execution.
HASSAN.
Ah, no, no!--that I could never bear to see!
CALIPH.
Moreover, as a special token of my esteem, I will not send you
to the execution--I will bring the execution here, and have it held
in your honour. You dreamt that your walls were sweating blood.
I will fulfil the prophecy implied and make the dream come true.
HASSAN.
I shall never sleep again!
CALIPH.
(To ATTENDANT)
Take my ring; go to the postern gate, intercept the
procession of Protracted Death, and bid Masrur
bring his prisoners to this pavilion and slay them
on the carpet he shall find within the walls.
HASSAN.
Master! Master! Is it not enough? I must go back to my trade
and the filth of the Bazaar: I must be a poor man again
and the fool of poor men. "Look at Hassan," men will say,
"he has had his day of greatness: look at that greasy person:
he has been clothed in gold: let us therefore go and insult
the man who was once the Caliph's friend: let us draw
moral lessons from him on the mutability of human affairs."
But I, disregarding their jeers and insolent compassion,
wrapping my body in my cloak and my soul in contemplation,
would have remembered my day of pride, this Garden of Great Peace,
this Fountain of Charm, this Pavilion of Beatitude:
I would have recollected that I once had talked with Poets
of the art of poetry, and owned slaves as pretty as their names.
Preserve, preserve for me, O Master of the World, this palmgrove
of memory in the desert of my affliction. Defile not
this happy place with blood. Let not the trees that heard thee
but yesterday call me Friend bow their heads beneath the wind of anguish:
let not the threshold which I have crossed blossom out with blood!
Spare me, spare me from hearing that which will haunt me for ever
and ever--the moan of that white woman!
CALIPH.
(To GUARDS)
Do not release him till the end. See that he keeps his eyes
well opened, and feasts them to the fill.
(Exit CALIPH and train.)
(The song of the MUEZZIN is heard, "La Allah illa Allah," etc.)
HASSAN.
The sun has set. Guards, O Guards!
(No answer)
It is the hour of prayer, do you not pray? I have still a little treasure.
(No answer from the GUARDS)
Are you dumb?
(GUARDS nod)
But why are you not deaf?
(GUARDS point to their tongues)
Ah--your tongues have been torn out!
(GUARD points to window of the pavilion)
What do you point at?... Ah, Yasmin!
YASMIN.
I have seen and heard behind the lattice.
Hassan has fallen from power and favour.
HASSAN.
(Crazily)
Ah, good, very good, surpassing good! You are at the window--
I am in the street. This is a reflection of that. As swans go double
in a river, so do events come drifting down our lives. Again, again!
Bow down thy head, O burning bright! for one night or the other night
Will come the gardener in white, and gathered flowers are dead, Yasmin!
Come now, a sweet lie first, Yasmin: sing a little how you love me.
Show me your beauty limb by limb--then bring, ah, bring your new lover--
mock my moon-touched verses and call me the fool, the old fool,
the weary fool I am.
YASMIN.
I will not yet call Hassan a fool. Hassan has fallen from power,
but he need not fall from riches. The Palace Confectioner Hassan,
may still become the richest merchant in Bagdad.
HASSAN.
Thou harlot, thou harlot, thou harlot!
YASMIN.
Why art thou angry? In what have I insulted thee?
HASSAN.
Oh, if it were thou about to suffer! If it were thou!
YASMIN.
(Staring across the garden and forgetting HASSAN)
At last, at last!--
the Procession of Protracted Death! I shall see it all!
(A deep red afterglow illumines the back of the garden.
Across the garden towards the door of the pavilion moves
in black silhouettes the Procession of Protracted Death,
of which the order is this:)
MASRUR, naked, with his scimitar.
Four assistant torturers in black holding steel implements.
Two men in armour bearing a lighted brazier slung between them on a pole.
Two men bearing a monstrous wheel.
Four men carrying the rack.
A man with a hammer and a whip.
PERVANEH and RAFI, half naked, pulling a cart that bears their coffins:
their legs drag great chains.
Behind each of them walks a soldier with uplifted sword.
MASRUR knocks at the door of the Pavilion: the SLAVES open and flee in terror at the sight. The light of the brazier glows through the window. The SOLDIERS who guard PERVANEH and RAFI unhook the chains that chain them to the cart, and placing their hands on the necks of the prisoners push them in. The four SLAVES of the house then appear under the guidance of the man with the whip and lift in the coffins. Lastly, HASSAN is taken by his two GUARDS and forced to enter. The stage grows absolutely dark, save for the shining of the light from the windows. In the silence rises the splashing of the fountain and the whirring and whirling of a wheel. The sounds blend and grow unendurably insistent, and with them music begins to play softly. A cry of pain is half smothered by the violins. At last the silver light of the moon floods the garden.
HASSAN, thrust forth by his GUARDS, appears at the door of the pavilion. His face is white and haggard: he totters a few steps and finally falls in a faint in the shadow of the fountain. The coffins are brought out, nailed down, and placed in a cart.
(The SOLDIERS pull the cart in place of the prisoners, and what remains of the procession departs in reverse order. MASRUR only has lingered by the door. YASMIN is clutching at his arm.)
YASMIN.
Masrur--thou dark Masrur.
MASRUR.
Allah--the woman.
YASMIN.
How you smell of blood.
MASRUR.
And you of roses.
YASMIN.
I laughed to see them writhe--I laughed, I laughed,
as I watched behind the curtain.
Why did you drink his veins?
MASRUR.
A vow.
YASMIN.
Will you not drink mine also?
MASRUR.
Shall I put my arms around you?
YASMIN.
Your arms are walls of black and shining stone.
Your breast is the castle of the night.
MASRUR.
Little white moth, I will crush you to my heart.
YASMIN.
(With a sudden cry of terror,
struggling from his embrace a moment after)
Ah, let me go. Do you hear them?... Do you hear them?...
MASRUR.
What is there to hear but the noises of the night?
YASMIN.
(Springing away)
The flowers are talking...the garden is alive...
(She falls.)
MASRUR.
(Stooping the carry her)
She loves blood and is frightened of the moon.
She is smooth and white, I will take her home.
(Enter ISHAK searching for HASSAN.)
ISHAK.
Hassan--where doth he lie? Hassan, O Hassan.
Thou hast broken that gentle heart, Haroun, and I have broken my lute:
I play no more for thee. Ah, why did they not tell me sooner--
I fear his reason may have fled before I find him:
he may be wandering in the streets to-night like Death,
and tearing at his eyes. Hassan, oh, Hassan!
It is he: he lies just as I first saw him: beneath a fountain,
face toward the moon. His life is rhyming like a song:
it harks back to the old refrain. Is life a mirror wherein
events show double?
HASSAN.
(Half waking from his swoon)
Swans that drift into the mist....
ISHAK.
(Bending over him to raise him)
Friend, I am glad to hear thy voice.
Rise, rise, thou art in a pitiable case.
HASSAN.
(Faintly)
Let me lie....This place is quiet, and the earth smells cool.
May I never rise till they lift me aboard my coffin,
and I'll go a sailing down the river and out to sea.
ISHAK.
You are alive--no one will hurt you: you hold to your reason
and fight despair.
HASSAN.
And in that sea are no red fish....
ISHAK.
Come: rise: be brave: I know you have suffered.
HASSAN.
She was brave. Ah, her hands, her hands!
ISHAK.
Do not tell me that tale.
HASSAN.
You are a poet. They cut off her lover's head
and poured blood upon her eyes!
ISHAK.
Be silent. You are full of devils. I tell you, it is not true.
Stop dreaming: look into my eyes: listen!
(Bells are heard without the garden.)
You hear? The camels are being driven to the Gate of the Moon.
At midnight starts the great summer caravan for the cities
of the Far North East, divine Bokhara and happy Samarkand.
It is a desert path as yellow as the bright sea-shore:
therefore the Pilgrims call it The Golden Journey.
HASSAN.
And what of that to you or me, your Golden Journey to Samarkand?
ISHAK.
I am leaving this city of slaves, this Bagdad of fornication.
I have broken my lute and will write no more qasidahs in praise of
the generosity of kings. I will try the barren road, and listen
for the voice of the emptiness of earth. And you shall walk beside me.
HASSAN.
I?
ISHAK.
Rise, and confide to me once more the direction of your way.
HASSAN.
(Rising with ISHAK's aid)
Why save me from a death desired? What am I to you
or to any man living? Why would you force me
like a fate to live?
ISHAK.
Because I am your friend, and need you.
HASSAN.
Oh, Ishak, singer of songs!
ISHAK.
Prepare for travel.
HASSAN.
I have no possessions.
ISHAK.
O pilgrim! O true pilgrim! I have dinars of gold:
we will furnish ourselves at the gate, and change
these silks of indolence for the camel-hair of toil.
But have you not one thing in your house to take--
no one single thing?
HASSAN.
(With a great shudder) Within that door--nothing.
But I have one old carpet that still lies in my shop.
Its gentle flowers the negro has not defiled.
And yet I dare not seek it.
ISHAK.
I will bring it you. You shall stretch it out upon the desert
when you say your evening prayer, and it will be a little meadow
in the waste of sand.
HASSAN.
(Seizing ISHAK on a sudden panic)
Keep close to me: do not leave me!
The night is growing wild!
ISHAK.
Hold to your reason!
It is all stars and moon and crystal peace.
HASSAN.
The trees are moving without a wind...the flowers are talking...
the stars are growing bigger....
ISHAK.
Be calm, there is nothing.
(The fountain runs red.)
HASSAN.
The fountain--the fountain!
ISHAK.
Oh! alas! it is pouring blood! Come away.
HASSAN.
The Garden is alive!
ISHAK.
Come away: it is haunted!
Come away: come away! Follow the bells!
(Exeunt in terror.)
(The GHOST of the Artist of the
Fountain rises from the fountain itself
in pale Byzantine robes.)
FOUNTAIN GHOST.
The garden to the ghosts. Come forth, new brother and new sister.
Come forth while enough of earth's heavy influence remains upon you--
to speak and to be seen. Come forth, and those who are past
shall dance with those who are to come.
GHOST OF RAFI.
(With the voice of RAFI, the clothes of RAFI,
the broken fetters of RAFI, but pale...as death)
We are here, O Shadow of the Fountain.
FOUNTAIN GHOST.
Welcome, thou and thy white lady to these...haunts.
Wander at will. I have scared away the sons of flesh.
GHOST OF RAFI.
How were they scared, those two?
FOUNTAIN GHOST.
When the water turned from white to red their
faces turned from red to white. They ran!
GHOST HIDDEN IN THE TREES
Ha! ha!
GHOST OF PERVANEH.
Tell us, O Man of the Fountain, what shall we do?
FOUNTAIN GHOST.
Nothing: you are dead.
GHOST OF PERVANEH.
Shall we stay in this garden and be lovers still,
and fly in the air and flit among the leaves?
FOUNTAIN GHOST.
As long as you remember what you suffered,
you will stay near the house where your blood was shed.
GHOST OF PERVANEH.
We will remember that ten thousand years.
FOUNTAIN GHOST.
You have forgotten that you are a Spirit.
The memories of the dead are thinner than their dreams.
GHOST OF PERVANEH.
But you stay here, by the fountain.
FOUNTAIN GHOST.
I created the fountain: what have you created in the world?
GHOST OF PERVANEH.
Nothing but the story of our lives.
FOUNTAIN GHOST.
That will not save you. You were spiritual even in life.
I see it by the great shadows of your eyes.
But I cared only for the earth. I loved the veins of the leaves,
the shapes of crawling beasts, the puddle in the road,
the feel of wood and stone. I knew the shapes of things so well
that my sculpture was the best in the world. Therefore my spirit
is still heavy with memories of earth and I stay in the world
I love. Do I desire to see the back of the moon?
GHOST OF PERVANEH.
May not we stay also? May I not touch the shadow
of his lips and hear the whisper of his love?
Shall we be driven from here, O Man of the fountain?
FOUNTAIN GHOST.
How do I know? Can I foresee?
GHOST OF PERVANEH.
Thou, too dost not foresee.
But what of Paradise, what of Infinity--
what of the stars, and what of us?
FOUNTAIN GHOST.
I know no more than you.
GHOST OF PERVANEH.
Is the secret secret still,
and this existence darker than the last?
FOUNTAIN GHOST.
Didst thou hope for a revelation?
Why should the dead be wiser than the living?
The dead know only this--that it was better to be alive.
GHOST OF PERVANEH.
But we shall feel no more pain--Oh, no more pain, Rafi!
FOUNTAIN GHOST.
But you will feel so cold.
GHOST OF PERVANEH.
With the fire of love within us?
FOUNTAIN GHOST.
You will forget when the wind blows.
GHOST OF PERVANEH.
Forget! Rafi, Rafi, shall we forget, Rafi?
GHOST OF RAFI.
(In a thin voice like an echo)
Forget...Rafi...
FOUNTAIN GHOST.
You will forget, when the great wind blows you asunder
and you are borne on it with ten million others like drops
on a wave of air.
GHOST OF PERVANEH.
There is a faith in me that tells I shall not
forget my lover though God forget the world.
And where will the wind take us?
FOUNTAIN GHOST.
What do I know, or they? I only know it rushes.
GHOST OF PERVANEH.
How do you know about the wind?
FOUNTAIN GHOST.
Because it blows through the
garden and drives the souls together.
GHOST OF PERVANEH.
What souls?
FOUNTAIN GHOST.
The souls of the unborn children who live in the flowers.
GHOST OF PERVANEH.
And how do you know about the passage of ten million souls?
FOUNTAIN GHOST.
They pass like a comet across the midnight skies.
GHOST OF PERVANEH.
Phantoms shall not make me fear. But what of
Justice and Punishment and Reason and Desire?
What of the Lover in the Garden of Peace?
FOUNTAIN GHOST.
Ask of the wind.
GHOST OF PERVANEH.
I shall be answered: I know that in the end I shall
find the Lover in the Garden of Peace.
VOICE.S
And what of Life?
GHOST OF PERVANEH.
Who asks, What of Life?
FOUNTAIN GHOST.
The spirits of those who will soon be born.
VOICE.S
We have left our flowers.
We know we shall soon be born.
What of Life, O dead?
GHOST OF PERVANEH.
(With a great cry)
Why, Life...is sweet, my children!
(The leaves of the trees begin to rustle.)
FOUNTAIN GHOST.
Listen to the tress.
GHOST OF PERVANEH.
Is it coming?
FOUNTAIN GHOST.
It is the wind. I must go down into the earth.
(The FOUNTAIN GHOST vanishes.)
GHOST OF PERVANEH.
Ah, I am cold--I am cold--beloved!
GHOST OF RAFI.
(Scarce visible and very faint)
Cold...cold.
GHOST OF PERVANEH.
Speak to me, speak to me, Rafi.
GHOST OF RAFI.
Rafi--Rafi--who was Rafi?
GHOST OF PERVANEH.
Speak to thy love--thy love--thy love.
GHOST OF RAFI.
Cold...cold...cold.
(The wind sweeps the GHOSTS out of the garden,
seeming also to ring more wildly the bells of the Caravan.) _
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