University of Virginia Library

Scene II

Constantinople.
The Court of the Soldan. White and red alternate arches make a semicircle in the midst of which a dim carpet, beyond price, is suspended behind the throne of the Soldan: a similar carpet is stretched at the foot. Between every arch a black eunuch stands like a bronze grotesque.
The Soldan Mohammed iv. is crowned and robed in state. On one side of him stands the Mufti Vanni, on the other the Grand Vizir, Ahmed Coprili. Nehemiah Cohen kneels before him dressed as a Turk in green robe and white turban.
The Soldan.
You are seeking vengeance ...

Nehemiah.
Even as the lord Mahommed
Would ever with the sword,
Ever with vengeance, smite God's enemies.

The Soldan.
You are seeking vengeance: and our throne is safe.
Eh, Mufti Vanni?

Nehemiah.
While a Jew receives
The tribute of all lands—Egypt, Morocco,
Italy, Holland, Austria ...?

The Soldan
(nudging the Mufti Vanni).
And by night
Dreams thievishly of putting on my crown
To the flourish of his trumpets and his shawms.
We will receive him
With honour as a mystic traveller,
Suppled with divinations to attract
And hurry our desires to our feet.

Nehemiah
(rising).
He is an arch-corrupter: Moslem drink
Forbidden wine, Jews eat forbidden flesh,
And sacred fasts are loosened from their dearth.
Grand seignior, ever clement to our race,
Though I have bitter wrongs, I am not pleading
Their vengeance—I reveal a secret plot,
Remote, widespread, yet beating at your doors,
To dispossess your sacred Majesty.

The Soldan.
A charmer—
A little ill-famed Jew of such account!
Is the man mad? Is he beloved as madmen
Who free their passion to a million hearts
That whirl the frantic dance in unison?
If so ... Ahmed Coprilli, tell me
Do you find the city moved?

Coprili.
My lord, O Soldan,
The city is in motion: love so surges
At this expected advent of a prophet
Called by the Jews Messiah.

The Soldan.
Troublesome
Are chatterers with titles!

Nehemiah.
Ho, but this man is silent
In such a way that all pronounce his name
And his seditious honours on the breath
Of his stupendous silentness.

The Soldan.
Still waters,
They say, run deep. Do you find the crowd's commotion
Profound or shallow, Ahmed?

Coprili.
It is inward,
At crisis: for the people
Are moved by wonder and belief in wonder,
So that a storm is simply held in leash
By admiration.

The Soldan.
If we torture him,
Preluding death ...

Coprili,
My lord, O Soldan, death
Would loose the currents of disturbance, resting
At poise on wonder—death
Is peril to your throne. Delay his death.

Nehemiah.
Kill him, O Soldan. Allah bless the deed,
And Allah's prophet! In the solitude
Of walls and distance from your feverish streets,
Whip him with flaming scourges,
Impale him mid-most of mid-palace courts,
Let him die gagged, and howling through his mind
His body's anguish.

The Mufti Vanni.
Son of wisdom, listen
In no wise to this Jewish convertite,
Whose tooth for Allah's enemies is ranker
Than mine, even mine.
Before the penalty
Of execution on a criminal,
Let us, if so we may,
Convert this mad, seditious person. Urge him
With reasons, bribe him.... You are paymaster
Worth a knave's tale: or threaten him—you strike
Far deeper with a menace than with sentence.
Smile on the culprit, beat him with the frown
That opens pinion on your brow at whiles;
Point to the executioners, demand
The Adan. Kill this mad, seditious person,
His teaching and his followers will remain.
If we can bring him into Islam, then
He is discredited from alien homage,
Mohammed is enlarged and Allah praised.

[While the Mufti Vanni has been speaking the Chief of the Eunuchs has ushered in musicians who stand in a half-circle on each side of the Soldan's throne, tuning their instruments. A Eunuch sweeps aside the curtain.
The Soldan.
Our visitor is in the doorway. Allah!
This little, black-garbed creature is God's prophet!
... Handsome.... The eyes attempt our sympathy
With the first glance.
Sabbataï enters
Lay cushions for our guest.

Sabbataï.
I do not know the reverences due
To the grand seignior. I would keep all forms
To his exalted Majesty.

The Chief Eunuch.
Salaam
Three times.

[Sabbataï does as bidden.
The Soldan.
Be seated, Sabbataï Zevi,
Unless
(With a smile.)
You would approach me to my face,
And lift this symbol from my head. Musicians,
You see, are at your service, if you choose
The air that shall discrown me. There are shawms,
Trumpets wide-mouthed, and harps and psalteries too!
Also I am awaiting you. My circlet
Is very rich—its gems surpass your jewels.
Add them to yours, charming successor! Snatch them!
Hear! All the instruments are tuning. Come,
The tune, your hands about my head!...
... A guest,
His countenance shows us unmannerly
To listen to such tales as folk will spin
At the street corners, at the harbour moorings.
(To the musicians.)
Hush, hush! Your thrills are inconvenient,
Our audience given to Sabbataï Zevi
Will not, it seems, be musical.
[At a waft of his hands the drooping musicians are conducted out.
Sweet doctor
Of strange religion, are you the Messiah
The Jews await? Believe me I would learn.

Sabbataï
(from his cushions).
If there are any oracles within
The human spirit of true voice, I was.

The Soldan.
But now, now in our presence?
[Sabbataï is silent.
You confess
Imposture by your silence.

Sabbataï
(half to himself).
Once a Rabbi
Laughed at the jackals round the holy ruins,
The ruins of Jerusalem: he knew
The desolation must all come to pass
Before the promise.

The Soldan.
Then you are Messiah?

Sabbataï
(sitting forward, with waving hands).
I was called—and I have waited for the sign.
So I was called that marvels have been done
About me—all the countries have been living
Heart against my heart; all the countries—England,
And Germany and Spain—all far away,
Have quivered with my ecstasy. O Soldan,
I was not born to glory, but the coffers
Of merchant cities, outpoured at my feet,
Have made me boundless in magnificence.
A messenger come from Jerusalem,
To bear repentant homage to me, staggered
Beneath the salver of rewarding coins.
In all ways I have lived as you are living,
The graces of command on every moment,
The splendour of an empire on each day.
The sun has looked upon my pageantry;
The moon has whitened palaces
Where I have slept; the stars across the darkness
Have not outnumbered those that worship me.
With chains about my wrists,
I have lured forth of men their eagerness
To give me gifts, to listen to the message
Which is the message I am called of God.
The very sea has crouched as a meek dog
Beneath my prayer. Is it not marvellous?
Tell me, O Soldan! And the prophets come
Within the limit of my hallowed vision—
The antique prophets.
I have beheld Elijah with these eyes,
Antique Elijah risen up:
And men have seen live fire upon my forehead,
They have heard rhythmical upon my voice,
Disturbing awe, the Name no man may utter.
O Soldan, surely I was called of God.

The Soldan.
See, Mufti Vanni, here is radiance—beauty
Become persuasion, beauty
On common lineaments a smile, on these
A light that opens. Sabbataï Zevi,
You have a voice that pleases; I would hear it
When sleeping on my cushions after prayer.
Your hands are exquisite and delicate;
They draw hallucination with their swaying,
Till trust in you is as a mystery.
You are persuaded of yourself and half
Your lustre and attraction win the slackness
Even of my credence ... but I need a sign.
(To the Chief Eunuch.)
Order my archers in....
(To Sabbataï.)
Nay, do not rise,
My guest, my fellow Sultan; at your leisure
Wait the proposal of my thought.
[The archers are ushered in.
Archers, your weapons tense for action!
(To the Chief Eunuch.)
Range them
Half-circled like our Golden Horn without.
[They stand on each side the throne, their bows bent.
Now Sabbataï Zevi, if indeed
You are of God, substantially divine,
Allow my eunuchs freedom
To strip you and my archers to let loose
Their arrows on your body. I demand
A miracle, with flesh and blood for proof.
Then if the level flight of missiles turn
From drinking at their aim, and if you stand
With silver face of light that opens—Soldan
Mohammed is your subject King, and lowly
Takes off his crown in silence to your power;
He owns the Jews' religion and Messiah.
Rise, you have yet your diadem to win.
Rise!
[Sabbataï does as bidden.
Eunuchs strip him!

[As they advance, Sabbataï covers his face, praying.
Sabbataï.
O my God, my God,
Descend on me invulnerable, show me
Thy Chosen.... Do not leave me here alone.
Do not forsake me!
[He suddenly uncovers his eyes and fixes them wide on the archers. All the Moslems breathe low and bend forward. His lips move and he recoils.
(Under his breath.)
Arrows ... but the points....
And who shall stay them?
[The Eunuchs begin to remove his clothes.
No, no, no!
Do not bare me, God-forsaken ... not that shame!

The Soldan.
Confess, you have blasphemed—or take your choice
To bid my archers—shoot.
[There is profound silence, then a sob is heard.
You have blasphemed.
[With a creak all the arrows are unstrung and the archers begin to laugh as they see the Soldan laugh. At the sound of the jeers Sabbataï presses his breast as if struck, while he weeps with closed eyes.
Our beauty is in cloud!
O man, confess
Allah is great. Where are your wonders now?
The false compulsion of your shining? Dusk
Is on the air we breathe. Allah is great.
A cloud is over us, O man!

Nehemiah.
Where falls
The branch there it shall lie.

The Soldan.
What would you tell us?

Sabbataï.
Let me go forth.... There are many seas around....
To wander in the heat ...

The Soldan.
You are condemned.
You stand here a blasphemer, proved
Deep in imposture. There is punishment
For these offences, and to them is added
Sedition. I condemn you, and exact
Another miracle.

Sabbataï
(lifting his hands).
Drag me no more
Amid the dogs and mire! A miracle!
Have you not laughed that all was as it was.
A miracle!

The Soldan.
One that a man may do.
You must confess Mohammed.

Sabbataï.
I refuse.
If I refuse ...?

The Soldan.
At the Seraglio gate
The stake is planted that shall raise you up
To die, that handsome head left without mercy
To brood upon the agony it tops.
Before extremity of punishment
You will be flogged with torch-twined rods that scorch you,
And sting together, Then you will lament
You kept my archers idle.

Sabbataï.
Renegade!

The Soldan.
Forsaken of your God!...
Your lips are white as the door of the Mosque at Eyoub.

Sabbataï.
The archers....
Their arrows!

[Again the half-circle laughs.
The Soldan.
You are weak to dream of pity.
Neither a sword nor arrows, but the stake,
And fiery rods to goad your nakedness.

Sabbataï.
I am so weary. What do you desire?
That I should change religion for religion,
My race for yours? Is it a Turk you ask
I should become?

The Soldan.
Please God!

Sabbataï.
I am alone
In all the lands, among all peoples....
(Falling on the cushions.)
And even
In death I shall go down in it alone.
Outcast!

The Soldan.
The woman—
Your Queen—will suffer deep in solitude,
When you are raised upon the pike—her death
Strangling, and the way to death a rack.

[Sabbataï springs up with a maddened gesture, and rends the hem of his black robe.
Sabbataï.
My God.... My people!
The dream, the dream!
Savage—this place—this crowd, this foreign country
Where I have no existence ...

The Soldan.
Sabbataï,
We worship the one God; the antique prophets
Are to the Turk as to the Jew.
Rich state has been about you: my rich state
Surrounds my servants and my wealth is theirs
In no unstinted measure. I am held
A generous paymaster. You please me well,
And often through the hours I would encounter
Your gentle and imperious face.

Sabbataï
(glancing sidelong at the Soldan).
I lived
Too softly....
[He laughs.
Foolish dreams!—Will you employ me?...
Hou!

[He groans and begins to shiver.
The Soldan.
Wisdom, Sabbataï,
Controls all discord in the bounds of Fate:
The inevitable should be calm.
[Sabbataï stands irresolute.
(To Mufti Vanni.)
A mystic,
But now an unbeliever, and the mind
Only a sorrowing sport of vacancy!—
Listen!

[From the minarets of the city comes the cry of the Muézzin.
Voices.
God is great: there is no God but God:
Mahommed is God's prophet.

(The Soldan's prayer-mat is spread; he and all his Court murmur the midday prayers. Sabbataï is arrested. Then a look, at once frightened and profound, comes into his face: he bows his head and prostrates himself. When the prayers are over Sabbataï still remains prostrate.
The Soldan
(returning to his throne).
The Jew has prayed with us. Rise, Sabbataï.

[Sabbataï does as bidden.
Sabbataï.
God is great: there is no God but God:
Mohammed is his prophet.

[Throwing down his black Jewish turban, he stands as if a burthen had been loosed from him.
The Soldan.
Praise to Allah!
Now let the cloak of green and the white turban
Clothe him entire for our religion, make him
Compatriot and fellow-worshipper.
Ah, you think well. Mohammed is God's prophet,
Attested by the ages, by the wonders
Of death-like trance, by faith that wove God's glory
Through life unbroken.
Be my doorkeeper.
You shall not lack gold: as you will, your wages
In any kind my treasurer shall pay.
And I shall see you often as I pass.
You will receive the turban, the green mantle—
Will you not?

Sabbataï.
Yes, exalted Majesty.

[They dress him as a Turk.
The Soldan.
Will you receive of me your Turkish name,
My choosing?

Sabbataï.
Yes, exalted Majesty.

The Soldan.
Mehmed Effendi—and a favourite.

The Mufti Vanni.
Mehemed
Effendi, I will teach you in the Mosque
The true religion of God's chosen prophet,
In my Mosque ‘The Splendour.’ Allah's be all praise!

The Soldan.
Your wife shall be restored—Fauma Effendi
Her name: she shall have presents
From the Sultana's hand.
[He rises and moves down the room.
Open the curtain.
Await her.

Sabbataï.
Yes, exalted Majesty.

The Soldan.
Be happy in my service! Half a saint,
May the Great Prophet give you Heaven at last!

Sabbataï
(his hand on the curtain).
What am I? On the branches of Life's Tree
Are many apples sound and beautiful.
If I am dropped and lie beneath the shadows,
Who glowed once in the sun, still other apples
Burthen the boughs. I should be comforted,
Laid safe within the shadow. God is great,
And glows and ripens on His favourites,
As this Mohammed. I will give God praise.
[White as death, he holds the curtain while the Soldan passes, and taps his cheek, and gives him a nod and smile of approbation. Nehemiah, unseen, stoops, picks up Sabbataï's black turban and hides it under his green cloak. When the Court has passed out, Sabbataï drops the curtain and turns back into the room, facing the Soldan's throne.
Am I not praising God, praising His prophet,
And taking on His partiality?
And yet I could have praised God in a way
More perfect, if my heart were not confused.
I could (widely extending his arms)
have taken the arrows in a sheaf,
And fallen and left the arrows for His choice,
And for His judgment over me—my God!
[He buries his face; then suddenly looks out at the Church of St. Sophia, visible against the sky.
How bright the Cross is burning on yon dome!
God favoured that sad Prophet. Very gladly
I would have died to be accepted so.
How should I die? I had no part in dying,
I was called onward by a crown of sapphires.
To lure my people to their happiness
Was my sole task, sole strain. But God is great,
Mohammed is His prophet. God be praised!

[He sinks down on the cushions, and, closing his eyes, breathes as if asleep. Eunuchs shamble about. After a while a tall, black Eunuch opens the curtain and Zarah enters.
Zarah.
Wake, Sabbataï. We are dreaming. Help me!

Sabbataï
(with closed eyes).
I cannot. God is great. I testify
Mohammed is His prophet.

Zarah.
Sabbataï,
You have betrayed me.

Sabbataï
(opening his eyes).
I am like a woman
Who dreamt she was beloved, and to the core
Of a lover's heart; who made this dream her life,
Breathing it with the secrecy of breathing;
Who found.... But, O belovèd, as that woman
You are not. You are all to me, my chosen!
Will you be even as God, and cast me off?
[Zarah lets her long hair fall over his feet as she kisses them. He looks out with wide, dreaming eyes.
If God should cling thus—if this woe should be
The land of Egypt, the Captivity!