University of Virginia Library

2. PART THE SECOND.

Melpomene.

PROLOGUE.

Melpomene
(speaks).
Thalia, bright one of the rosy cheeks,
Thy lily-wan and tragic sister thou
Hast bidden to this play. Accept my thanks
For mirth that hath brought sunshine to my soul.
Wilt thou pursue thy task, and to the close
Spin out the threads, have been but loosely laid
In these fantastic gambols? Sister, this
Thou hast not power to do, without my aid!
For never man did all his life long tread
On roses; no, not even the happiest;
Nor ever yet did any child of earth
Over his playthings trip into the grave.
Two swarthy shadows shall in season due
Upon the far horizon rear their heads,
And cloud thy glad creation with their gloom.
Then thou, defenceless shepherdess, shalt need
My vengeful sword, and Atropos the old
Must join her aid to ours, and with her shears
Cut through the ravelled skein of destiny,
That she, who rules the warp and woof of time,
May this her motley broidery complete.
Agreed! Then hand in hand we travel on.
Thou to a joyful issue, I foresee,
Wilt bring thy hero's fate, through brief eclipse
Of night, that morning with a rosier bloom
May break, new risen, through the parting clouds.
I see that thou wilt strew thy quips, as thick
As stars along the dusky firmament;
And that thy love, more brightly than the moon,
Shall shine around him, wheresoe'er he goes,
And be a lamp and glory to his feet.
Still shall this struggle, this stern conflict, pass
In tragic action: blood, not roses, dye
The track of his perplexed and perilous steps.
Therefore most meet it is, Melpomene
Should high on spear the ample shield upraise,
Which she thy hero means to guard withal;
Her sacred name aflame on its black field,
As blazon of the trophy to ensue.

ACT FIRST.

The Great Hall in Aladdin's Palace.
Day. A number of the Sultan's workmen at work, completing a window.
Architect.
Was ever man in such a strait?
I sink beneath the heavy weight.
A month has slipped away, and still
I'm at the bottom of the hill.
We never, never shall achieve
This plaguey window, I believe.
Confound it! Here the Sultan and
His son-in-law are close at hand,
Back from the war, where they have crushed
The foe. In gory silence hushed,
The rebels thickly strew the plain,
And all is peace and joy again!
Aladdin with his good sword came,
And carved a way to deathless fame.
He has, I'd swear, however screened,
Some private dealings with the fiend,
Else how should he, a tailor's brat,
Display such fortitude as that,
Or such a wondrous structure rear
As this colossal palace here?
With windows in it, too, like these,
That leave me not one moment's ease,
And all my skill at mockery set?
Green serpentine how shall I get?

Master Mason.
It is a scarce and precious stone,
And hard to come by, even when known.
I sent to seek it all around,
But it was nowhere to be found.
Nothing we want is to be had;
'Tis quite enough to drive one mad.
What could we do for granite, say,
When we had nothing else but clay?
One plan alone I could suggest,
And hope you'll think I've done my best.
As smooth as stone I've made the wall,
Of stucco pounded fine and small;
This has the painter oiled, and bright
The green and brown, you see, unite.
'Twill pass for marble; though I fear,
That people must not look too near.
Still, if you do not like it, we
Can pull it down quite easily.
For this one great advantage is
Chalk has o'er stone, that walls like this
Are easier to run up, and they
Still easier are to take away.

Architect.
I must be patient, friend, and where
No marble is, with plaster bear.
But out of stucco, say, will you
Make gems and such like matters too?

First Lord of the Treasury
(enters).
Look at these precious stones! How fine!
Ne'er issued choicer from the mine!
They'll decorate this window, now,
Most admirably, for I vow,
Aladdin has no finer, none;
See how they sparkle in the sun!
Of every sheen, of every shape,
Apple and berry, plum and grape!

Architect.
I know them well. They are the same,
Which from the Prince Aladdin came;
Those by his slaves, the eighty, sent,
And like all his, most excellent.
But they are not enough, by much,
And where shall we find others such?

Court Jew
(enters).
Here be some gems of every hue!
They are a trifle small, 'tis true;
But see, their fire, how delicate!
I sold them at a costly rate.
The Sultan paid me for them well,
And so 'tis right to make them tell.
They're not so large as these; but lies
All beauty, then, alone in size?
And if they're not so brilliant, why,
They're in much better taste, say I.

Architect.
Go to! You gabble like a goose.
How can I turn such pips to use?
They can avail as little here
As paste or tinsel, that is clear.

Jew.
Oh sir, the stones are really fine,
I would that they again were mine!

Architect.
And what would you do with them then?

Jew.
Do? Sell them when I could again.

Architect.
Use them I must, poor though they be.
Where shall I find gold presently?

Second Lord of the Treasury.
For that your labours shall not slack.
Brimful of gold is yonder sack.
The Sultan sealed with his own hand,
And sent a mandate through the land,
That all his subjects, east and west,
Who were of golden store possessed,
Should hither bring their yellow ore.
This wounded many to the core,
And thence the great rebellion rose,
Of which we just have seen the close.
For though men love their king, they will
Be fonder of their money still.
But here it is, no matter how,
And ready at your service now.

Architect.
You've drained the nation, great and small,
Yet this won't finish half the wall.
The Sultan can't complain, if this
Attempt of ours turn out amiss.
Where nought is, fools even understand,
The Sultan forfeits his command.
But statues we must have, a pair,
To set within the niches there,
Carved curiously, like those that grace
The other windows of the place.

A Labourer.
Here comes the sculptor, hot and steaming;
The moisture from his forehead streaming!
Two figures on a truck he brings,
No doubt, they're quite surpassing things.
All swathed in linen they repose,
Like babies in their swaddling clothes.

Sculptor.
I've laboured like a packman's ass!
Zounds, things are at a pretty pass,
When I, a man of such fine power,
Must carve and chisel, hour on hour!
I've hewn and chipped till I'm half dead.
What will a man not do for bread?
But I've so thriven in my attempt,
I vow, my mother never dreamt,
She would the happy author be
Of such a gifted soul as me.
What a strange thing is genius, now!
It comes—'tis here! We know not how;
As into view a comet strays,
And sets the welkin in a blaze.

Architect.
Enough! What is it you have brought?

Sculptor.
A master-piece of skill and thought:
Two copies, fine beyond compare,
Of the most exquisite Gulnare.

Architect.
Two copies? Two? Good sir, and why?

Sculptor.
For reasons good, you may rely.
How easily past all belief
A sculptor's works may come to grief?
So 'gainst the risk of such a fate,
'Tis well to have a duplicate.
Grant me this much,—of course you will;—
Yet there's another reason still.
I had too little time! The two
In one night I was forced to hew,
And so I had to carve them both
Upon the self-same lines, in troth.
Had longer space been given, I should
Have carved Aladdin too in wood.

Architect.
Your tongue's expert; and now to see,
If as expert your fingers be!
(Uncovers the statues.)
What have we here? Ye heavenly hosts!
Gulnares indeed! A pair of ghosts!
No trace of her is here, I'm sure.

Sculptor.
Here all, sir, is in miniature;
So must her charms diminished be,
That all may tone in harmony.

Architect.
Tone! Harmony! You're crazed downright!
Your beauty is a perfect fright.
All goes from bad to worse. Ah, me!
What I'm to do, I cannot see.
The window is a botch, a vast
Bungle and daub from first to last!
(Trumpets.)
Hark! The sound fills my soul with awe.

All the Workmen.
The Sultan, with his son-in-law!

Aladdin's Palace.
The Great Hall. The window is finished. Soliman and Aladdin, with their Suite, equipped for the chase. Gulnare and her Nurse.
Soliman.
I never hoped for such a blithe old age,
Although with joy familiar all my days,
A prince by blood, and destined for the throne.
What shall I most admire in thee, my son?
Wealth hast thou, wisdom, love, a lion heart,
And such a power as ne'er before was man's.
Where shall we find a house, like this of thine?
'Twas well, that window was left incomplete,
That I might learn to prize the glorious work,
By proving my own incapacity.
Thou in a night didst the whole fabric rear,
Yet in a month my best artificers
Could not so much as finish this one window.
A word from thee, and there it stands complete.
Thy sword has scattered my rebellious subjecct,
And taught them due submission; yet hast thou
Given back two-fold to every man of them
The gold I levied, in the idle hope
To execute the promise I had made
About this single window.—And my daughter,
How tenderly thou lovest her! To me
Thou art the best of sons! Gulnare is right,
In calling thee a cherub; to my realm
Thou art like him, whose falchion guarded Eden.
Let us away, my son! The hunting horn
With cheery summons calls us to the glade.
I have appointed there some childish sport;
For he, that quells a rebel horde so soon,
Must deem it baby's play to hunt the tiger.—
Gulnare, my darling, for brief space farewell!

Gulnare.
Beloved father! Oh, my darling lord,
Leave the fell tiger free to range the forest,
And do not rashly give him cause to rend
The best of hearts in his infuriate rage.

Aladdin.
How womanly and tender are thy fears!
But what becomes thee as a woman, we
Must poise with what becometh us as men;
And that is, to be flattered by thy fears,
But not to share them. Sweet, farewell!

Gulnare.
And when wilt thou return?

Aladdin.
In two days, love!
Supposing the fell tiger rends me not.

Gulnare.
Thou triflest with my fears?

Aladdin.
I joy in them,
And know, thou lovest the fearlessness in me.
(Kisses her.)
Farewell, my bride! We soon shall meet again.

[Exeunt Aladdin, Soliman, and Suite.
The Nurse.
That's pretty tenderness! To go and leave
His youthful wife so calmly!

Gulnare.
Silence, nurse.
Think'st thou I'd love a puling shepherd boy?
Man's greatest charm is courage, pride, adventure,
For these are but the consciousness of power.
I do not love your silken smooth gallants.

Nurse.
It never yet vexed a brave woman's heart,
If in the play of lips a sturdy beard
Brushed her cheek somewhat roughly. Thou art right.
A weakling ne'er made a good lover yet,
And beard on chin is ever sure to win.
Time was, I've pined for such a beard myself.

[Exeunt.
Street.
Noureddin.
Yes, yes! 'Tis to the lamp he owes it all!
The palace is its work, and its alone.
And it lies yonder; 'tis not at the chase
With its possessor; 'tis in the great hall,
Thrust heedlessly behind a marble pillar.
This much I have deciphered by my art.
Success, I hope, will crown the plan I've framed;
Fails it, I'll straight essay some new device.
Here dwells a coppersmith—I need his aid.

(Knocks.)
Coppersmith
(enters from the house).
A stranger! Ho! Good day! Your servant, sir.
Pray, is your visit kindly meant for me?

Noureddin.
Master, it is.

Coppersmith.
Well, that is truly kind.
Will you allow me just one question? Are you
Come to the friend, or to the coppersmith?

Noureddin.
The coppersmith.

Coppersmith.
Oh excellent! In sooth,
That is more pleasant far to me, than if
You'd said the friend. Your calls of courtesy,
Too well I know them. They imply a breakfast,
Coffee, tobacco, loss of time and temper.
No, sir, he is the man for me, who wants
The coppersmith; he forages for me,
Not I for him. Now, dear, good, worthy sir,
Don't be alarmed, I will not run you hard!
But who,—forgive my asking,—could have told you,
The harumscarum smith lived in this street?
I've not yet hung my sign above my door;
The new, I mean, for there the old one hangs,
As it has hung these dozen years and more;
But shower and shine have licked his face as clean,
As my cat licks the platter. (Laughs.)
Ha, ha, ha!
You see, sir, I have fancies; I'm a poet,
And can make similes with cat and platter.
Ha, ha, ha, ha! But make your mind quite easy,
I've higher genius still for smithy work.
Who was it, now, directed you to me?

Noureddin.
No one! The people in this street of yours
Can't hear one speak, and so they answer not.
From one end of the street unto the other,
There's not the drum of even one ear unbroke,
You've taken care of that, my worthy friend!
But as I come from the barbarian waste,
Where only panthers, tigers, lions roar,
And have not altogether lost my hearing,
I could detect your presence six streets off.
I only had to follow up the din.

Coppersmith
(aside).
A cunning dog! (Aloud.)
My very worthy sir,
It is not I,—I am as mum's a mouse,—
But the infernal copper's always shrieking,
As though it felt a clasp-knife at its throat.
And I may thump at it from dawn till dark,
Yet never can I make it hold its peace.

Noureddin.
You really should try, by reason's force,
To bring it into ways more orderly,
And let it go unthumped.

Coppersmith.
Such treatment, sir,
We Asiatics do not understand!
I'll wager now, were I to take your counsel,
It would bewray itself with verdant gall,
And, ten to one, go fair to poison folks,
Who chanced to finger it. No, my dear sir,
Copper and woman-kind must both have blows,
As polish'd boots must daily be well black'd!
If you'd have leather pliant, curry it well.
But now to business! Wherein can I serve you?
You'd marry, and are furnishing a house?
Only step in, sir! You'll find coffee-pots,
Tea-urns, and kettles, admirably tinned.
A soldier, eh! Helmets I forge, and greaves,
As well as pots and kettles, worthy sir!
Who makes the one, can make the other too.

Noureddin.
I wish to have a dozen copper lamps.

Coppersmith.
St! St! Speak low, sir, an' you love me, pray!
My neighbour is a tallow-chandler, sir,
And hates a lamp worse than the pestilence.
But if 'tis lamps you want, step in with me,
And I will shew you lamps, give better light,
Ay, than the planets and the stars in heaven.

Noureddin.
Is this the way?

Coppersmith.
All right! Straight forward, sir!
But mind the step there—so! And do not soil
Your kaftan with the wall. Smithies will smoke.
Now, this way! Mind you do not bump your head
Against the beam. And now, sir, straight along.

[Exeunt.
Gulnare's Chamber.
Evening, towards sunset. Gulnare, seated at the open window, with a lute, singing.

Enter Gulnare's Nurse, laughing.
Nurse.
Ha! ha! ha! ha! Well, I am past my prime,
And many things I've seen. Ha! ha!

Gulnare.
Is that
A thing to laugh at?

Nurse.
No, to weep for, child.
But this is not the reason why I laugh;
No, no, 'tis something so ridiculous,
I never laughed in all my life before
With better cause.

Gulnare.
What is it?

Nurse.
It is a thing
To make folks in their senses weep. Lord, Lord,
The miserable devil! 'Tis really hard,
To lose one's wits so utterly as this!

Gulnare.
A sorry case, indeed. So, prithee, take
Good care to keep your own. What is the matter?

Nurse.
There's a man down there in the market-place,
Carries a basket full of fine new lamps;
The prettiest copper lamps were ever seen;
Ha, ha! and he is selling them; ha, ha!

Gulnare.
Well, I see nothing mad in that as yet.

Nurse.
Patience, my child! To sell, I grant you, is
Not madness; nay, 'tis excellent good sense,
When one can turn a profit by one's wares.
But what now would you fancy, the old ass
Is asking for a new lamp in exchange?

Gulnare.
I cannot say.

Nurse.
An old, a rusty one!

Gulnare.
How, want to get an old lamp for a new?

Nurse.
Now, isn't it a thing to make one split?

Gulnare.
Nonsense, you have misunderstood the man.

Nurse.
Not understood him? Wait! See, here he comes!
He's right beneath the window. Listen! Hark!
Judge for yourself, if you mistrust my ears.
(Noureddin is heard calling in the street—“New lamps for old ones! Who'll buy?”)
Now then, what say you? He, 'tis very plain,
In old lamps only traffics, not in new!
As I'm a sinner, 'tis the craziest wretch
That walks the earth! With what a haughty air
He looks about; what cunning in his eye,
As though he thought his lure was sure to take.
Dear, dear! Heaven pity the unhappy wretch!
Do you observe, how he keeps ogling us,
As though he meant to say,—Now, won't you buy?
My daughter, I've a notion in my head;
Two days ago I spied, in the great hall,
A battered, old, black, rusty copper lamp,
Lying behind a pillar, out of sight.
Some slave most probably had left it there.
What say you? Shall I send a servant straight,
Into the street to sell it to this fool.
I'm dying to make sure if he's in earnest,
Or only playing off some paltry hoax.
You've no objection, have you, ladybird?

Gulnare
(looking out).
'Tis very odd! There, sure enough, he stands,
And freely gives new lamps away for old.
He sees us now,—holds up his lamps to us,
Making them gleam and glitter in the sun.
They're really pretty things, these copper lamps:
I have a great mind to have one of them.

Nurse.
Do, darling, do; it would be glorious.
They are so neat, and quite as bright as gold.
A lamp like that is most convenient;
A lamp like that—

Gulnare.
Away, and get one of them!
[Exit Nurse.
There's something in the features of the man,
That I should know. He has a gloomy look.
Poor soul! How could he well look otherwise?
His brain is crazed, that's easy to be seen.
And yet—ah, I'm a child, a very child!

Nurse
(returns).
I have dispatch'd a slave into the street
With the old rusty lamp.

Gulnare.
Oh tell me, nurse,
Does it not strike you, that this crazy wretch
Resembles very strongly some one else,
Whose features are familiar to you?

Nurse.
No.
You know I live a very private life,
And to the madhouse I have never been;
There, doubtless, there be many quite as bad.

Gulnare.
Do you remember, nurse, the pretty tale
Aladdin told us once about the boy,
Whom the magician wickedly contrived
To shut within the cave, when he refused
To give him up the treasure he had found there?

Nurse.
I only heard the first part of the tale.
The fact is, that when any one begins
A doleful story, I go fast asleep,
Else weep I must. I have a tender heart,
And cannot bear to have my feelings racked.
But what should bring this tale into your head?

Gulnare.
You know, that even from childhood every tale
I heard became as real to my mind,
As it had passed before my eyes. The people
Appeared like the acquaintances of years;
The place, a spot I had myself explored.
Thus in that boy I evermore have seen
No other than Aladdin. The magician
I've pictured to myself; and is't not strange?
The image, which my fancy fashioned, bears
A marvellous resemblance to this man.

Nurse.
Accident, pure accident, my precious pet,
A simple trick of fancy, take my word.
But hush, the slave approaches with the lamp.
Ha, now the comedy begins indeed.
See, what delight is sparkling in his eyes,
The stupid dolt! We cannot be too grateful,
That all our faculties are spared to us.
Just look; he lets the slave choose which he will.
Oh, if he'd only take that little one!
He takes the biggest! Abou, oh you dunce,
Why didn't you pick out the smallest? Fool!
Well, well, it doesn't signify; the big one
Is very pretty. And a well-sized lamp
Burns better than a small one all the night.
Look there! The bargain's struck. And the poor fool
Turns up the street among the little boys.
He looks nor left nor right, but holds straight on,
For all the world as if he'd found a prize.
He turns the corner.—Now he's out of sight.
(Looks at the Princess.)
Good gracious me, my child, what ever ails you?
You tremble and look pale.

Gulnare.
Alas, dear nurse,
I feel a sudden sinking at the heart,
A strange misgiving—

Nurse.
Wait, my sweetest, wait!
I'll fetch the camphor mixture instantly.
(Aside, as she goes off.)
The pretty darling! Here be signs indeed!
Well, all is as it should be. They are young:
She is a handsome woman, he a man;
None of your Saladins, to freeze and quake
All night upon the house-top. Ah, young rogue,
Could I have ever dreamt such things of you,
When I have seen you with your toys at play?
Well, 'tis the course of nature; every age
Has its peculiar toys to play withal.

[Exit.
Gulnare
(seats herself at the window, and leaning her head upon her hand, gazes out upon the landscape).
The sun has scarcely set behind the wood,
And see, where shines the moon, a fiery red!
The evening roses 'gin to droop and pale,
And the cold night-wind moans among the trees.
From the horizon clouds are rising fast,
And all the arch of heaven grows sad and drear,—
A funeral vault, where through a broken wall
Of rifted clouds the sickly moonbeams shine;
The beautiful glad lamp of day has sunk,—
Darkness doth shroud the world as with a pall,
And from their lairs do noisome serpents crawl.

(Falls into a reverie.)
The Open Country.
Night. Storm and Rain. Noureddin with the lamp in his hand.
I have it! Joy! I have it! Here it is!
'Tis here, here, in my right hand, fast and sure!
Pale star, I do not fear to show it thee,
Thy seat is far too high, and far too fixed,
For thee to come and rob me of my prize.
Behold, then, star! Look from thy patch of blue,
Thou only orb, in all the vast of heaven,
Here is the lamp! This poor green copper thing,
Which in my hand I clutch with nervous gripe,
Lest I should lose it, like that heedless fool!
'Tis night, midnight, and gloomy as the grave.
Nature herself has aided me, and donn'd
Her blackest mantle, to obscure my course
From every eye. Good! Courage, then, Noureddin!
I quake in very terror of my power!
Should this not be the true lamp after all?
The doubt sends a cold shiver thro' my bones.
(Looks round.)
Am I alone? Alone! As Adam was
In Paradise, when all the world as yet
Was subject to his sway. Now for the proof!

(Rubs the lamp.)
The Spirit
(appears, and says in a loud voice).
Scour not with such force and fury, I am here at thy command;
Swiftly speed I, when thou callest, swiftly as the lightning's brand.
Every Spirit of the Earth, too, eager is, nor I alone;
Thy behests, the lamp's great master, to fulfil as soon as known!

Noureddin
(drops the lamp in affright; the Spirit vanishes; he lifts it again, and says),
Stay, stay! Again I grasp it! Stay!

Spirit
(re-appears).
I stay.

Noureddin.
Art thou the famous slave that serves the ring?

Spirit.
Not famous! No. A mystery.

Noureddin.
Dear Djin,
I'm so confused, I know not what I say.
Canst thou procure me whatsoe'er I wish?

Spirit.
Thou'st heard so.

Noureddin.
Thou speak'st little.

Spirit.
Act the more!

Noureddin.
If, for example, I should be so bold
As order—don't be angry, I but ask,
And asking certainly is not a crime—
If, for example, I should be so bold,
As order you to carry off myself,
Aladdin's palace, bride, and everything,
That is within the palace at this moment,
Into the wilds of Ethiopia?

Spirit.
I'd execute thy wish without a word.

Noureddin.
So easily?

Spirit
(moodily).
As the hyena gulps its prey.

Noureddin.
In the lamp's power, thy duty, then, fulfil.

Spirit.
More swiftly than thy thoughts can fly, I will.

[Vanishes with Noureddin.

ACT SECOND.

The Sultan's Palace.
Morning. The Sultan rises from his couch.
Soliman.
It is a lovely morning! Yes, Aladdin,
I would not take your word, but you were right;
Another day you linger'd for the chase,
But the impending rain-clouds drove me home.
I wonder if my daughter yet is risen?
Dear usage, ever as I quit my couch,
To seek my window, and receive the greeting
Of my dear children from their palace there—
It nerves me for the labours of the day.
(Advances to the window and looks out.)
How? What? Good Heavens! Can I be still asleep?
Still dreaming? Allah, have I lost my sight?
Yet, mighty Mahomet, I see all else
Around me plain enough! There stands my bed;
Here is the window; here the street; and there
The houses—But, in Heaven's name, where's
Aladdin's palace? Where my daughter? Where?
(Calls out. Enter the officer on guard.)
Ha, Casem, answer quickly! Where, my son,
Where stands my bed?

Casem.
Thy bed, most potent king?

Soliman.
I said, my bed! Did you not hear me, sir?

Casem.
'Tis there.

Soliman.
Now, tell me where the window is.

Casem.
There, most sage Sultan!

Soliman.
Now the garden plots.

Casem.
The garden plots?

Soliman.
Yes, yes, the garden plots.

Casem
(aside).
Ah, Persia's Sultan, sure, has lost his wits.
(Aloud.)
There, mighty Sultan!

Soliman.
Excellent! But as you
Know all things, and my questions tickle you,
Pray show me something bigger than all these,—
Where stands Aladdin's palace?

Casem.
(points out of the window, without looking).
There, my lord!

Soliman.
Where?
(Gives him a box on the ear with such vehemence as to cause him to spin round.)
Please to turn your precious head about.

Casem.
There! Ha, most potent—

Soliman.
Where's the palace, eh,
Thou oyster-headed knave?

Casem.
Heaven only knows.
But yesterday 'twas there.

Soliman.
That's not the point;
Go, bid the Vizir come to me at once!

Casem.
He came into the palace even now.
'Tis his accustomed time. See, here he comes!

Enter Vizir. Exit Casem.
Soliman.
Vizir!

Vizir.
Illustrious Sultan, are you ill?
What ails the gracious majesty of Persia?
Your face is flush'd, your eyes are rolling wild.

Soliman.
So then, you too are ignorant what has chanced?
Did you not pass Aladdin's palace, eh?

Vizir.
Yes, mighty Sultan, as I always do,
Whene'er my duty calls me to your throne.

Soliman.
And you saw nothing?

Vizir.
Nothing, good my Lord!

Soliman.
By Mecca and Medina, you are right;
There is not even a fragment to be seen.
Ha—what I meant was,—did you not observe
Some most uncommon change there as you pass'd?

Vizir.
To speak the simple truth, my noble liege,
When I am on my way to the divan,
I have so many matters in my head,
I neither cast my eyes to left nor right;
For fear I should be hindered or distracted.
And, what is more, you know, my gracious Lord—

Soliman.
That in your eyes the palace was a thorn?
Well well, the thorn's extracted now, my friend!
And as a proof—you see much further now,
With your cured optics, than you did before.
You could not see beyond the palace once,
Now you may gaze for miles and miles beyond.

Vizir.
Ha!

Soliman.
Well! Didst ever see so mad a freak?

Vizir.
So mad? Why, yes, my noble liege and Sultan,
Undoubtedly I have, and so have you!

Soliman.
How, I?

Vizir.
When first you saw the palace there,
Was that one jot more comprehensible,
Than its evaporation is to-day?
Now I may speak. I'm not the least surprised.
This turn is of a piece with all the rest.
Aladdin's a magician, that is clear,
A vile magician, sire, who envied me
My great good fortune, so betray'd my son,
Cruelly robb'd him of his wife's affections,
With his enchantments dazzled you, and won
Your daughter. Now his appetite is cloy'd,
And so the magic fabric melts in air.

Soliman.
Oh, Allah, Allah! Oh, my daughter, oh!

Vizir.
A heavy blow, indeed!

Soliman.
My daughter, oh!

Vizir.
Has she, then, vanished too?

Soliman.
All's gone! My daughter,
My darling child Gulnare, my heart's delight!

Vizir.
This is a sight to touch one to the quick!
The mighty majesty of Persia tears
The hair in maddened anguish from his beard,
Weeps tears in torrents like a child, and flings
Himself like any slave upon the ground.
Oh, miscreant, where, where hast thou hid her, where?

Soliman.
Ha, 'twas for this the traitor wished to hunt
Another day? And now he has escaped.

Vizir.
Who knows? We'll leave no single stone unturned.
I will despatch a troop of soldiers straight,
To hunt the forest thickets through and through;
And if they find him, they shall drag the wretch,
Bound hand and foot before your majesty.

Soliman.
If he be found—no—he will not be found;
But if he be, and shall not instantly
Confess where he has hid my daughter, bind
The traitor, and conduct him to the scaffold!
There let his caitiff blood the vengeance cool
That now is burning in my father's breast.

[Exit Vizir hastily.
A Shady Dell in the Forest.
Aladdin discovered asleep on the sward, under a huge tree, near a brook.
Lympha
(a little fairy, clad in azure, comes down the brook, sailing upon a large leaf, with a water-lily in her hand, and sings),

(Strikes the water menacingly with her flower.)
Zephyr
(a little boy, comes riding through the air on a rose-leaf, in a robe of silver-tissue).
Sa, sa, hark away,
By night and by day,
O'er mountain and mead,
My mettlesome steed,
And fill all the air
With an odour most rare!
Down dale and up hill,
Sweep onward at will,
Over mountain and plain!
I give you full rein.
How it bounds, how it springs!
A fico for wings!
It circles and swerves
In eddies and curves;
More fleet and more airy
Than ever was car.
Ha! look at yon fairy!
She's bright as a star!
A shade or so paler,
But sweeter by far.
That beautiful sailor,
Her love, it were bliss!
On, steed, soft and sleek!
From her balm-breathing cheek
Let us rifle a kiss.

(Steals behind Lympha and kisses her.)
Lympha.

(Washes off the kiss with the water of the spring.)
Zephyr.
Why, Lympha, repel me?
Be gracious and gay!
Why seekest thou, tell me,
The water to-day?

Lympha.
Tush, where could I be
Half so blest, foolish boy?
The water to me
Is a cradle and joy.

Zephyr.
Then turn, sweet, to me;
Be kind to my sighing!
(Observes Aladdin, and speaks softly,)
What man can it be,
On the grass there is lying?

Lympha.
The gallantest knight
In peace or in fight.
'Tis for this I am here,—
To whisper the stream,
That it come not too near
To the slumberer's dream;
That it sing a low song,
As it winds by its ledges,
And, sparkling along
Through the rushes and sedges,
Whisper, softly and mild,
A “Slumber, my child!”

Zephyr.
Do, Lympha, do try!
Thou ever art good.
No longer will I
On thy silence intrude.
With a hush even deeper,
So thou but approve,
I'll play round the sleeper,
And warily move.
And freshness and fragrance
Shall fan and caress him,
And with their sweet vagrance
Shall cool and shall bless him.

Rides off and flutters several times over Aladdin; in his eagerness he makes a false movement, comes in contact with the sleeper's nose, and is knocked from his horse. Aladdin moves in his sleep.
Lympha.
All my purpose you mar!
Fine care you have taken?
How awkward you are!
See, Aladdin doth waken!

Zephyr
(piteously).
Ah, Lympha, my queen, would
I never had tried!

Lympha.
Away from the greenwood
Now swiftly I glide.

(Sails away.)
Zephyr
(looking after her with tears in his eyes).
Again am I humbled!
Well, can I complain?
I have tripp'd, and have stumbled,
And blundered again.
What have they not lost me,
These mad pranks of mine?
What tears have they cost me,
What heart-ache and pine?
Intent to assuage her,
I've vow'd to amend,
To be wiser and sager,
And ne'er to offend.
But the vow scarce was taken,
Ere I erred as at first.
(Looks at Aladdin.)
Yes, in sooth he doth waken!
Oh stumble accursed!

(Goes off dejectedly.)
Aladdin
(rises and looks round him).
Oh lovely morning! How the dawning light,
Through the green branches breaking, cheers my soul!
Fatigue has vanish'd with the shades of night,
And with new life the sunshine fills my veins.
How freshly gleams the dew upon the grass!
This little rose-leaf presses on my cheek:
It tickles me, as though it meant to say,
My friend sleeps longer than 'tis meet he should!
Thanks for thy homage, thou sweet silvery brook,
Thy cradle-song has lulled me into sleep.
What beauty meets my gaze, where'er I turn!
Oh, if thou too wert here, my darling bride!
Then were this flowery galaxy complete.
But now 'midst all its wealth I feel a void;
Without thee, everything looks cold and sad,
As looks a coronal without a rose.
(Falls into a reverie.)
How happy am I? This delightful morning,
So bright and tranquil, gently laps my soul
In joyful contemplation of its bliss!
How bounteously has Fate ta'en thought for me!
The husband of the fairest, best of women,
Lord of a wondrous power, which at a word
Fulfils my every wish, without demur.
The Sultan's son-in-law, Sultan to be!
Strong, not uncomely, healthy, sage, and bold:
How in this blessed hour of dawn I feel
All the luxuriance of my youthful life!
'Tis many a day since I have pray'd to God!
Ah, in the whirl of sublunary joys,
The heedless heart is little apt to turn
To the great source of all. Thou noiseless wood,
Ye verdant avenues, ye dark brown trunks,
That are the Almighty's worthiest, noblest shrine!
Here do I kneel! Oh Holy Father, look
Into my heart! I can but weep! Yet thou
Scorn'st not the meanest of thy children's tears.

(Enter the Sultan's guard, who, observing Aladdin, close upon him, and are about to manacle him).
Aladdin
(springs to his feet and draws his sword).
Ha, what is this? Back, robbers, thievish scum!

Guard.
In us behold the Sultan's body-guard.

Aladdin.
What would you?

Guard.
In accordance with his orders
Bear you away in chains; hear and obey!

Aladdin.
Tell me what I have done.

Guard.
That thou shalt hear.

Aladdin.
And where would you convey me?

Guard.
To the scaffold.

(They lead him off.)
Zephyr
(advances in dismay).
Ah, Lympha, Lympha, Lympha!

Lympha
(from the brook).
Zephyr! Zephyr!

Zephyr.
Didst hear this sad catastrophe?

Lympha.
My fast-falling tears canst thou not see?

Zephyr.
Ha, these mortals, what churls they are!
But wait! By Allah's seats of bliss,
They shall pay, and dearly too, for this.
I'll get me homeward, and swiftly afar
O'er wood and o'er turret my course I'll hold,
Till I come to my father, the storm-wind old.
He shall start from his slumber, and, wild with ire,
Shall bind to his chariot his steeds of fire;
With nostrils wide and with streaming mane,
They shall course through the welkin, a wondrous train.
He shall don his storm-cap, and shriek command,
With a club gigantic in either hand;
Thus shall he avenge this ill-starred wight
On the tyrant's realm with a tyrant's might.

Lympha.
Ah, how I tremble! Alas the day!
But wait, vile Sultan, I'll punish thee!
Since thou art so cruel, I'll post away
To my mother, that loves me, the salt salt sea.
She shall dash on the foaming strand,
And spread disaster on every hand.
She shall rage, and your argosies
Shall be rent and shent on the ruthless seas!
The hardiest mariners' hearts shall quail
At the scud and the strain of the seething gale.
She shall scatter the wreck, with a laugh of scorn,
As thy ships by the surges are racked and torn,
Tossing about on the tumbling sea,
To avenge my friend, and to punish thee.

A Dungeon.
Aladdin
(chained, with heavy fetters, to a stone).
Almighty God, is this a dream? A dream!
Yes, yes, it is a dream; I slumber still,
Among the wild flowers, in yon shady wood.
The vision fair of zephyr and the brook
Has shifted to a dismal tragedy.
It is a dream, a phantasm of the clouds,
Where, as some light wind stirs, the shepherdess
Becomes a fiery dragon, belching flame;
The tree a giant, with arm raised to strike.

Deathwatch
(in a crevice of the wall).
Pi, pi, pi,
Ne'er shalt thou go free!

Aladdin.
Who was it spoke? 'Tis the deathwatch. Again?

Deathwatch.
Pi, pi, pi,
Ne'er shalt thou go free!

Aladdin.
Is this the only carol thou hast learned,
Thou hermit small, who in the loneliness
Of crumbling gaps and crazy masonry,
Sing'st but of death, corruption, and decay?

Deathwatch.
Pi, pi, pi,
Ne'er shalt thou go free!

Aladdin.
Too true! Thou speak'st with so assured a voice,
I must believe thy words, do what I may.
Prophet of evil, hour-glass of grim death,
Who, who hath sent thee to my dungeon here,
To torture me with thy funereal song?

Deathwatch.
Pi, pi, pi,
Thou shalt ne'er go free!

Aladdin.
It cannot change its note, though fain it would.
'Tis but a sound, a beating of its mouth,
As they who watch such creatures well have shown.
“Pi, pi!” is all it sings; the “ne'er go free!”
Is but the addition which my fancy makes;
'Tis I that hear these words, it sings them not.

Deathwatch.
Thou shalt ne'er go free!

Aladdin.
Ha, insect, there again? What! dost thou think,
With a mere word, to scatter to the winds
The faith of my assured conviction?

Deathwatch.
Pi!

Aladdin.
Howe'er it be, hope has abandoned me!
This brief reiterated warning song
Has struck all nerve and manhood from my heart,
And filled the void with paralytic fears.
Yes, it is clear; it must, it must be so.
The enchanter now is master of the lamp:
Nought but itself could its own work undo.
Ha, Heedlessness, thou damnèd serpent, who
Drove Adam from his paradise of yore,
Thou art the marrer of all earthly bliss;
Thou art the real fiend, the tempter thou,
Who sow'st the seeds of mischief in good hearts,
And diggest pitfalls, Satan-like, for health,
Virtue, and happiness, that so mankind
Drops unawares into the pit of hell.
There am I now, through thee, through thee alone!—
How darkly do these cramp'd walls close me in!
And hark! the tempest shrieking, as it beats
Against the turret walls! 'Tis midnight now.
Night, night! Oh, God! And I must dread the dawn!—
The glorious dawn, for which all earth doth yearn,
Beneath whose kiss men's eyes, the dreaming flowers,
Ope to be blest, scares me alone! It brings
Life to all other men, but death to me.
(The moon breaks through a cloud and shines into the prison.)
Grows it so bright? Now day begins to break,—
Now comes the headsman! No, it was the moon.
Why comest thou to me, thou smiling ghost?
Is it to tell me, I am not the first,
Upon whose wan and blood-forsaken cheeks
Thou hast looked down, the night before his death,
As he lay gyved upon his couch of stone,
And wished for wings, to bear him far away,
Where hungry axe yearned not for morning's light,
To cleave the head from his poor bleeding trunk?
Is it to tell me, that to-morrow night
Thou wilt salute my head upon the stake?
Thou cruel moon, grim phantom of the night,
How often hast thou bent, with smile divine,
As on the bosom of my bride I lay,
And nightingales, from dusky groves hard by,
Did voice our mute felicity in song!
Then, then I called thee good, and fair, and kind;
And yet thy cold, remorseless cruelty,
Thy silent, savage hate, are measureless.
Thy visage wears the same indifferent smile
For rack and gibbet, as for myrtle groves.
Thy self-same ray, that beamed upon my bliss,
And kissed the couch of innocence and love,
Has smiled on the assassin's gory blade,
And churchyard stones, that not more heavily
Weigh down the lifeless dust, than doth despair
Those that are left to mourn. And comest thou now,
To mock me in the hour of my distress?
Hence, pallid ghoul! Disturb not the repose
Of innocence in the hour when it must die!
(The moon is obscured by clouds.)
By Heaven, she flies! She hides her pallid face
Behind the fleecy silver clouds, in grief,
As doth an innocent girl her blushing cheeks,
When she would smother up, behind her veil,
The tears wrung from her by ungentleness.
Oh, if my hasty words have done thee wrong,
Thou guiltless moon, forgive me—oh, forgive me!
I am so very wretched; what I say
And do, I know not! I am guiltless, too;
Yet must I suffer, guiltless I must die.
But see! what tiny ray breaks brightly in,
Like an ethereal finger, from the cloud,
And points to yon great spider, as he sits,
Right in the centre of his airy web,
In calm content and full serenity.

The Spider.

Aladdin.
Ha, spider, strong in simple piety!
Far better comforter than Dervish thou.
His threads in wisdom out and in He weaves,
Nor even the tiniest unregarded leaves.
Now doth He call me back into His care.
Shall I then curse my fate? Shall I despair?
No! Welcome, Death! Though cold and gaunt thou come,
Thou only lead'st me to my Father's home.
(Throws himself on his knees, and sings, with a loud, joyful voice,)

(Stretches himself calmly upon his pallet, and falls asleep.)
The Place of Execution.
The Sultan, seated, with his Vizirs and Courtiers, upon an elevated platform. A crowd of spectators. The Headsman and his Assistants.
Soliman.
By Heaven, my people, yea, the world knows well
I am no tiger, do not thirst for blood.
But Justice ever will have blood for blood,
And my own blood is nearest to my heart.
Gulnare, my child, sweet lily! who can tell,
To what fell purpose thou hast fallen a prey!
Yes, by Almighty Allah and his prophet,
I am a tiger, when I think of this.
Bring forth the criminal!

Vizir.
See, here he comes!

Enter Aladdin, surrounded by the Guard, his Mother following.
Captain of the Guard
(to Morgiana).
You cannot follow further. Get ye gone!

Morgiana.
Oh God, my son, and must I leave thee now?

Aladdin.
We soon shall meet again.

Morgiana
(bursts into tears and embraces him).
Yes, very soon.
Already, near the mosque, outside the walls,
Where, as a boy, you liked so well to play,
I have bespoke two graves, beside your father's,—
Mine on his right hand, yours upon his left.

Guard.
How! Buried? He? No, bound upon the wheel,
A dainty tidbit for the birds of heaven!

Morgiana.
The birds of heaven? Oh, thou ill-omen'd bird!
Think'st thou, heaven's birds are murderers like you?
No, no, the little kindly, gentle things,
So pure, so full of piety, that they
Are ever soaring up from earth to heaven,
How should they do a hurt to innocence?

Guard.
Hence, woman!

(She swoons and is carried away.)
Aladdin.
My poor old mother, go thy way in peace!
Simple thou wert, but ever good and true,
And ever loved me with a mother's love.
All that thou couldst thou didst for me alway,
And span o' nights that I by day might eat.
Alas, alas! small comfort have I been
To thee, dear mother! Thou didst ever think,
My happiness would come to doleful end;
So hath it proved! Oh, suffering prophetess,
God be thy stay! In heaven we'll meet again!
(Kneels upon the sand.)
I've nothing now to bind me to the world,
Except my love! But thou, oh holy love,
Thou art immortal as the eternal soul!
My loved one, I shall find her yet; but here,
Here I have lost her through my heedlessness,
So let my life-blood flow!
(To the Headsman.)
Come, do thy duty!

Headsman.
First I must bind this kerchief on your eyes.

Aladdin.
No need of that. Free let me have my eyes,
That the immortal soul may freely pass.
I do not fear the light. Quick, do thy duty!

(Tumult; the crowd press in.)
Voices.
Aladdin's innocent, let him go free!

Soliman.
Ha, what is that?

Multitude.
Aladdin's innocent!

(The Headsman swings his sword above his head, and awaits with impatience the signal from the Sultan.)
Multitude.
Aladdin's innocent, let him go free!
He is our friend, and we will rescue him,
Sagest in council, boldest in the field,
The shield and champion of the oppressed,
The comeliest Persian, and the noblest he,
And you would kill him. Down! Down with the guard!
To the rescue!

Soliman.
Oh, inconstant, blinded fools,
Would you, then, save your Sultan's bitterest foe?

Multitude.
No, he is not thy foe! But Nuschirwan,
The Grand Vizir, behead him, an' thou wilt!
He is thy foe, because he is Aladdin's.
Off with his head by all means, as we're here
To see an execution! Not a man
In all the city, but will be delighted!

Soliman
(to the Grand Vizir).
What say they?

Vizir.
Oh, my liege, 'tis merely clamour—
Mere inarticulate, insensate clamour;
Which means but this—Aladdin shall not die.

Multitude.
Ho, set him free! Aladdin shall not die!
To the rescue!

Soliman
(stands up and exclaims),
Pardon!
(To the Headsman.)
Throw away thy sword!
My people has pronounced its judgment here,
And I cannot withstand the general voice.
Aladdin's pardoned!

Multitude.
Mahomet defend
The mighty Soliman! Aladdin's pardoned!

Vizir
(aside to the Sultan).
To prison I will have him straight conveyed,
And there the righteous sentence execute,
Which this blind popular fury here prevents.

Soliman
(incensed).
Peace, slave! Go bring Aladdin to me here.
(Aladdin is brought.)
Not that the people claim it, but because
Thy guilt has not been clearly proved on thee,
I grant thee time to prove thine innocence.
Thy doings always were mysterious:
This may be nothing but some magic sleight,
And thou mayst set the whole to rights again;
Then swear to me, by Allah's sacred name,
That thou, within the space of forty days,
Wilt bring me back my daughter and the palace,
Or, failing this, die by a felon's doom.

Aladdin.
Oh noble Sultan, suffer me to speak!

Soliman.
Peace! Swear, or die this moment! Swear, I say!

Aladdin.
I swear to thee, by Allah's glorious name,
That I to thee the palace and Gulnare
Will in the space of forty days restore,
Or gladly undergo a felon's doom.

Soliman.
Break'st thou this oath, thou'rt evermore accursed.
And that curse bears a heavier doom than death.
Unloose his fetters; he is free to go.

[Exit the Sultan, with his suite. The multitude separate.
The Headsman
(to his Assistants).
A plague upon this tender-heartedness!
'Twas all for nothing that I left my bed,
To whet my broad sword by the early cock?
Confound the knave, I've had my toil for nought!
If I had only got the Grand Vizir,
For lack of better, underneath my blade!
But no, the fellow's slippery as an eel.
Come, bundle up your tools, and start for home.
I must be off! I'll have no peace, until
I've chopp'd the head off of a crowing cock.
I drank this morning tiger's blood, you know;
Blood I must see, else nothing right will go.

[Exit.
Assistant
(takes out his breakfast, sings and eats, while he packs up his implements).

[Exit.
A Street.
Aladdin, in a coarse linen frock, knocks at the door of his Mother's house. A strange man comes out.
Man.
What do you want, friend?

Aladdin.
Will you tell me, pray,
If the old Morgiana be at home?

Man.
Ay, that she is, nor like to leave it soon,
Else I am much out in my reckoning.

Aladdin.
Why?
Ailing, perhaps?

Man.
She ails for nothing, sir.

Aladdin.
I'm very glad of that. I bring her news,
Important news, and must have speech with her.

Man.
I'm grieved to say, then, you have come too late.
She's in no state to talk with any one.

Aladdin.
Is she within there in her little room?

Man.
Her little room? Oh yes, oh yes, she's there;
But not here in the house.

Aladdin.
No? Where else, then?

Man.
Beneath the cypress, in the burial-ground.

Aladdin.
Ah, now I understand you! She is dead.
And you have bought this cottage recently?

Man.
Precisely so.

Aladdin.
Friend, would you be so kind,
As let me for a moment see the room,
She lived and died in?

Man.
Very willingly!
You'll find it just as 'twas a week ago;
All the old furniture, down to her spindle.
I'm at a loss what to do with the things.
The crazy bits of sticks are worthless quite,
And the old lady has no heir; her son
Has forfeited both goods and life.

Aladdin.
Indeed!

Man.
It was a hard case, hers, the good old soul!
She died of downright grief about her son.
The good-for-nothing varlet!

Aladdin.
(Aside.)
Oh most sage!
Thou pipest thy solemn sentences by rote,
In placid ignorance of time and tune.—
(Aloud.)
By your permission, I would go within.

Man.
Oh, certainly; but you'll excuse me, friend,
From waiting on you; I'm pinch'd for time,
And full of business.

Aladdin.
Prithee, then, begone,
And do not waste your time in talking more.

[Exit into the house.
Morgiana's Room.
Aladdin.
Ha! The old spinning-wheel still there! No more
Its busy whirr comes from the corner now.
To such an ancient friend a man grows used,
And feels a strangeness, when its clack is dumb.
There's still a little wool upon the spindle;
I'll do as though my mother's self were here—
I'll set me down and spin, and sing the while.
(Sits down, sings, and bursts into tears.)
No, this will never do! It does not go
In the old wonted cadence, even and calm;
I turn the wheel too wildly, feverishly.
Oh, God, to think, this little slender thread,
'Twas her hand span it! It is sound and whole,
Hangs undisturbed, unhurt, as when she left it;
But she, the Fate that span it, she lies stark,
With stiffen'd fingers, 'neath the cypress-tree.
Ah me! there hangs her old silk mantle still,
Lined with warm flannel! Here her slippers! Now,
Thou freezest, mother, through thine aged limbs!
This house thou never wouldst consent to leave,
Nor ever quit thy former way of life.
I, vain, presumptuous, aspiring fool,
Brought early ruin on thy gentle, fond,
And peaceful nature! Ah, ye strangers, you,
Who shall hereafter occupy this chamber,
When you shall hear a clack and whirr o' nights,
Be not afraid; it is a faithful, kind
House-fairy; let her turn her humming wheel,
'Twill harm you not! She was a woman once,
Who for her son's sake span the very skin
From off her fingers—and for her reward
He slew her. Yes, I slew her—yes, I did!
(Sits down and weeps.)
There stands her water-pitcher still. And see,
A leaf, half withered, sticking to the rim!
That leaf am I; it is a type of me!
(He gazes for a long while with wild looks upon the place where the Wonderful Lamp used to hang; then says, with a wandering air,)
By Heaven, there hangs the lamp still on the nail!
(Springs up and makes a grasp at it.)
How? Fanciest thou I cannot seize thee?
(Takes a chair, stands upon it, and seizes the nail.)
Ha!
I have thee now. Now thou art mine again.
Now will I find Gulnare once more, regain
The palace, all my old magnificence,
When I have visited my mother's grave!

(Comes down from the chair.)
The Owner of the House
(entering).
Well, have you seen, friend, all you wished to see?
She was a kinswoman?

Aladdin.
She was, she was.
I would be going. Will you let me take
This rusty copper lamp away with me?
'Tis scarcely worth a penny.

Owner.
Lamp, my friend?
I see no lamp.

Aladdin.
Open your eyes! Behold!
The lamp is here, here in my right hand. Look!
'Tis, as they say, but rusty trumpery.
Sir, I collect such queer old odds and ends,
And so this lamp, to others valueless,
Has a mere fancy value for myself.

Owner.
Indeed, friend, you have nothing in your hand.

Aladdin
(aside).
The lamp has gained this further property,
That it to strangers is invisible?
Oh rare! It never can be stolen from me.
(Aloud, placing the imaginary lamp in his bosom.)
Since you're so positive, I too believe,
The lamp is some mere phantom of my brain.
Adieu, good sir, and thanks. Pray, let me take
This withered leaf from out her pitcher here?
My turban it shall as a feather deck;
And of her heritage no more seek I.
Farewell!

Owner.
Poor soul, he's manifestly mad.
Pray take the leaf, good man, and go your ways.

Aladdin.
Farewell, kind sir! Have you no greeting, none,
To carry to the aged Morgiana?
I'm going to her grave.

Owner.
My compliments!
(Aside.)
A madman must be spoken madly to!
(Aloud.)
You must make haste, for just about this time
It is her wont to rise up from her grave,
And walk about a little for her health.
'Tis bad to lie so constantly one way;
It cramps the joints.

Aladdin.
Most true and wisely spoken!
Are you a doctor, that you know so much
About dead people's health?

Owner.
Not I, my friend;
I am a currier.

Aladdin.
So, too, is the doctor.
He currieth the hide so fine and soft,
The cobbler worm can riddle it easily.
Farewell, sir doctor!

Owner.
Sir, your most obedient!

Aladdin.
And as you've curried such a host of calves,
I promise you I'll curry you in turn,
Night after night, my friend, when I am dead.

Owner.
Don't give yourself the trouble—don't, I pray.

Aladdin.
No trouble in the world! None, none! Adieu!

[Exit.
Cemetery.
Aladdin
(upon his mother's grave; he moves as though he were rocking a cradle, and sings,)

[Exit.
The Great Square before the Palace.
Aladdin on the spot where his palace had stood, surrounded by the Populace.
Aladdin.
Now you shall see! The hour has struck, and now,
Ye ruthless hearts of stone, ye shall not scoff,
Nor mock at me and jeer me any more,
Nor pelt me any more with stones and mud.
One single little word, but one, and lo!
There stands my palace once again, and I
Fold my beloved in transport to my heart.
(Makes a gesture as if taking something from his breast.)
Look here, sir! See'st thou this old copper lamp?

A Peasant.
Where, beggar prince?

Aladdin.
Look to thy manners, sir,
And call me not a beggar prince, thou churl!
I know thee very well. Was it not thou,
I once encountered in a storm of rain?
Then thou couldst fling thyself upon thy face,
That I might set my feet upon thy back,
And so preserve my slippers from the mud.

Peasant.
But times are changed.

Aladdin.
Now, by the lamp, which here
In my right hand I hold aloft to heaven,
I will chastise thee!

Peasant.
A brave oath!

Aladdin.
Ha, scum,
That which thou see'st not with thy idiot eyes,
Thou'lt not believe. But wait, thou varlet, wait!
(Rubs.)
Seest thou the Spirit, the Spirit of the Lamp?

Peasant.
Of course we do! As stiff as any post,
And carrying the lamp—I mean, the lantern!

Aladdin
(solemnly).
By the lamp's might I do command thee, slave,
To fetch me straight the palace and Gulnare!
Thereafter this most vulgar knave to seize,
And on the lamp-post hang him by the heels.
(To the crowd.)
Take care! The palace like a blast will come.
Out of its way! or it will crush you all!
(Runs to one side; great laughter; Aladdin, after waiting a few seconds, makes a motion as though he were throwing away the lamp.)
Ha, this, then, was a spurious copper lamp!
Treachery, treachery! What slave of ye all
Has basely robbed me of my property?
(They laugh.)
Oh yes, laugh on! Weeping will come betimes.
You fancy vengeance is beyond my power.

(Snatches up a stone from the pavement, and flings it at the mob; some run away, others make a rush at him. Enter an Old Man.)
Old Man.
For shame, for shame! Torment not the poor youth!
Thank God, your reason has been spared to you!
Hence to your home, my friend, and no more words.

Aladdin.
I will go home immediately, kind sir!
But 'tis far off; I am a stranger here.
Last night I slept within the ruined tower,
In the lone forest. Can you help me, friend,
With a small calculation? Tell me, will you,
Of forty days how many will remain,
If nine-and-thirty be already spent?

Old Man.
Why, only one remains, that's very clear.

Aladdin
(dejectedly).
But one, but only one! Oh, count again!
Perhaps you've made some error in your tale.
Are there not three, kind sir? I thought there were.
No? Two, then, surely, at the very least?
I pray you, reckon once again! The toil
Is small—the issue life or death to me.

Old Man.
Just one is left; you cannot make it more.

Aladdin.
Not make it more! Well, well, God's will be done!
I have grown used to suffer and endure.
But one? That is not much. Is it not so?
That's very little, eh?

Old Man.
Go home, my friend!

Aladdin.
If only one be left, I will go home
Betimes to-morrow morning; but, old man,
The way is dark, dark. Have you e'er a lantern,
Which you can lend me? My own lamp's gone out.

Old Man.
Allah will guide you.

Aladdin.
Will he? That is well.
With Him to guide, no man can miss his home.
I thank you for this gracious comfort, sir.
(Kisses his hand.)
Say, have you children?

Old Man.
Yes, a son.

Aladdin.
A son!
Alas! old man, I would it were a daughter!
Sons are a heavy trouble, will not stay
Beside the quiet earth, but will be bent
To plunge unthinkingly in life's wild stream,
Mid brawl and storm; and many are suck'd down.
(Stares into the sky.)
We shan't have moonshine, I suppose, to-night?

Old Man.
Yes, lovely moonshine, sir. The moon is full.

Aladdin
(joyfully).
Ah! it is kind of her, to leave me not
In darkness my last night, as here I sit
Amid the ruins of Persepolis.
It has been a great city.

Old Man.
Very great.

Aladdin.
'Tis now laid low. Ah! everything on earth
Is doom'd to be laid low! It cheers me, though,
When on the ruins plays the wan moon's smile.
God bless you, friend! for now I must away.

[Exit.
Old Man.
There is a goodly fabric overthrown.

[Exit.
A retired spot outside the city, covered with palm-trees; near them a brook. Night. Bright moonlight.
Aladdin
(enters, wrapt in meditation).
What is an oath? A complicated knot,
Neither by craft nor skill to be unloosed,
Nor cleft asunder by the sharpest sword;
A rope, by which the demon's coal-black claws
Can drag me down into the jaws of hell.
(Seats himself on the stump of a tree.)
By dawn the meagre remnant of my life
Will be run out and spent—that sorry dole,
Which like a beggar I was fain to take,
Which half in anger, half in pity, late
Was proudly flung to me!—Thou pale-faced moon!
That dost divide the hours upon the earth,
Why, why wert thou so niggardly to me,
Thou yellow, livid Harpax? Tell me, why?
Is't that mine ears have lost the power to hear
The nightingales their midnight descant pour?
Or that these eyes of mine are dull, opaque,
As the dim horn that rounds thy thievish lanthorn?
Can I no more distinguish hue from hue?
Is mine arm flaccid, like an o'erworn bow?
The bellows shattered here within my breast,
Worn out and feeble with its endless toil?
(Takes out a dagger.)
Hence, steel! What wouldst thou with the healthy flesh?
Thou shalt not set the precious purple stream
A broach in wasteful current. Many a day,
Ay, many a year, may it flow peacefully.
Thou dark, unyielding mass! Strong ore, that dost
Like an avenger from the mountain come,
Thyself most gross substantial, to chastise
The unsubstantial soul, the ethereal will,
Because 'tis wicked, wicked I am not!
What sin have I committed—what offence?
Takes Nature count of guilt or innocence?
The accursèd Time brings children to the world,
But to devour them with her monstrous maw.
(Goes up to the brook and gazes upon it.)
I've heard it said by one who was a sage,
That water is the void and formless chaos,
From which all form and substance emanate;
The mighty deep but one vast crucible,
Wherein the crude amorphous masses whirl,
Shapeless, yet of all shapes susceptible.
I'm vilely made!—a piece of botcher's work!
A pewterer, too, once told me on a time,
That if a casting at the first essay
Shall prove amiss, into the melting-pot
'Tis flung again, and so is cast anew.
Longheaded and sagacious folks are they,
These pewterers and sages; I'm a fool,
And fools should tread the footsteps of the wise.

(Is about to throw himself into the water, when he hears a plaintive voice, singing softly,)

The little golden snake
Doth at the water quake.
She is no water snake!

Aladdin
(amazed).
What do I hear? A voice, and from my ring!
The ring Noureddin gave me at the cave,
And which has pressed my finger until now!
Ah, Heaven, a ray of hope begins to dawn!

(Strikes the ring against a tree.)
The Spirit of the Ring
(appears instantaneously, and exclaims,)
What wouldst thou with me? Say!
Thy will I must obey.
A sovereign's right hast thou;
Thy slave, to thee I bow.
Nor only I must be
Obedient unto thee;
But every slave, where'er
He be, in earth or air,
That serves the ring, at thy
All-potent spell must fly.

Aladdin.
How! Is Aladdin not forsaken still?

Spirit.
Behold me here thy wishes to fulfil!

Aladdin.
Back, then, my bride; back, back, my palace bring!

Spirit.
Too much! Such power abides not in the ring.
In knowledge and in motion I am strong,
But not to me doth power to act belong.

Aladdin.
In knowledge and in motion, saidst thou? Ha,
Where is my palace, then?

Spirit.
In Africa.

Aladdin.
In Africa? Now, now the mystery falls!
And where is my beloved?

Spirit.
Within its walls.

Aladdin.
Pining and pale beneath the enchanter's sway?

Spirit.
But true to honour and her lord alway.

Aladdin.
Quick! mighty spirit, bear me to her side!

Spirit.
Swifter than light we through the air shall glide.

[Vanishes with Aladdin.

ACT THIRD.

AFRICA.
Aladdin lying in a large garden asleep under an apple-tree, with the beams of the rising sun shining upon him. A palace in the background. The tree is full of twittering birds. Zephyr and Lympha sporting upon the grass.
Zephyr.
With the richest fragrance of rosy bowers
I have steeped his senses, and soothed his pain.

Lympha.
With the diamond dew of the morning showers
I have cooled the fire in his fevered brain.

Birds.
Blithely and gay, from spray to spray,
We have leapt and have warbled all through the night;
Now his task half done, and the goal half won,
His reason returns, and his soul is bright.
Then, courage, Aladdin! thy bride is found,
Thy soul's desire thou shalt quickly see;
And lightly thy heart in thy breast shall bound,
And thou shalt be happy and blest as we!

Aladdin
(awakes).
How blithe the carol of the gamesome birds,
How sweet the fragrance the young grass exhales!
What do I see? My palace! Heaven and earth!
I am in Africa! 'Tis not a dream!
In yonder arbour sits my love, my wife,
Sad, silent, pale, with tears upon her cheeks!
Good! Yet I'm still in the magician's power.
Let prudence guide thy footsteps, sacred love!
(He wraps himself in his old cloak, conceals his face with his turban, and advances to Gulnare with the tottering steps of an old man.)
Allah protect thee, lady!

Gulnare
(wiping the tears from her eyes).
Thanks, old man!

Aladdin.
You look so very sad, is aught amiss?

Gulnare
(sighing, and half aside).
Oh, all, alas!

Aladdin
(looking carefully round).
Tell me, dear lady, where
Is he that owns this palace? Is he within?

Gulnare.
He is from home, but will return to-morrow.

Aladdin.
Ha, now I see the reason you are sad.

Gulnare.
Not so, old man.

Aladdin.
'Tis well you are alone.
You're of a soft and gentle-hearted race;
Your heart's more prone to pity than a man's.
A poor old pilgrim I; give me an alms,
To help me on my road.

Gulnare.
(Offers him money.)
Take this, my friend.

Aladdin.
No, dearest lady, take your money back.
'Tis past the power of dross to help me now.

Gulnare.
Would you have wherewithal to break your fast?
Go in there to the kitchen, and the cook
Will give you viands to your heart's content.

Aladdin.
I thank thee, lady, no. I am not hungry.

Gulnare.
Art thirsty, then?

Aladdin.
That is more near the mark.

Gulnare.
Go to the cellar, and the cellarer
Will help you freely to the best of wine.
Here I have nothing to assuage your thirst.

Aladdin.
Believe me, lady, that concerns me not.
Nor cook nor cellarer can serve my turn;
You, you yourself must be my caterer,
Else must I pine and sink.

Gulnare.
I? How can I
Be helpful to you?

Aladdin.
With a kiss—a kiss!

Gulnare.
How! Are you mad?

Aladdin.
Nay, prithee, be not wroth.
I never could have fancied, that you were
So true to the magician and so fond.

Gulnare.
Who art thou?

Aladdin.
Now you cannot be untrue
To your Aladdin; he has lost his head.

Gulnare.
Oh Allah! (Is about to faint.)


Aladdin.
But has come by it again;
And, oh my own heart's darling, he is here!

(Throws off his cloak.)
Gulnare
(falls upon his breast).
Oh ye kind heavens! Belovèd of my heart!

Aladdin
(embraces her).
Wilt thou still send me to thy kitchen, eh?

Gulnare.
Aladdin, my soul's joy!

Aladdin.
Then kiss me, love!

Gulnare.
A thousand thousand times.

Aladdin.
My darling bride!

(While they converse, the birds sing.)
Chorus.
By a sudden parting blighted,
On a sudden reunited;
Oh, of all joys 'tis most sweet,
When long-parted lovers meet.

Male Bird.
When last we came here, love,
The tree was forsaken;
Not a sound met the ear, love,
Its hush to awaken.
The North's icy bolt
Sped my pinions, and, panting,
I sought this green holt,
This Eden enchanting.
And thou, as I flew,
Didst meet, and wert by me;
I swept on, nor knew
Such a sweet mate was nigh me.
My heart was so drear!
And, in passionate longing,
My voice rang out clear.
Shepherd maidens came thronging
To hear it; and they,
Unaccustomed to languish,
Never wist that my lay
Was the cry of my anguish.

Female Bird.
Oh, I remember well the time!
'Twas when from north to southern clime
The birds with ringing music passed
Of fife and flute in concourse vast.
There many a race commingling flew—
Teut, Longobard, and Cimbrian too.
Goldwing sought wildly far and nigh,
Because her mate she could not spy;
And as she did not find him there,
She vanished suddenly in air.
She would not pause, she would not rest,
But flew and fluttered east and west,
And thought, He is not in the tree—
Alas! he'll ne'er be found by me!

He.
And then it was I found thee, too!

She.
Oh, then our life, how blithe it flew!

Both.
The leaves of spring-time, greenly spread,
Became our second bridal bed.

Chorus.
By a sudden parting blighted,
On a sudden reunited;
Oh, of all joys 'tis most sweet,
When long-parted lovers meet.

Gulnare.
Ah, my Aladdin! Vain thy hopes, I fear.
The lamp is still in the magician's hands.
He bears it with him, folded on his breast,
And never parts with it. How oft has he
Held it before my eyes in fiendish scorn,
How oft essayed to make me hate thee, sweet!
Whene'er he is at home, it is his wont
To load me with his hateful shows of love,
And try to win an answer to his passion.
Till now my grief and scorn have kept him off;
But oh, how long, my love, will this endure?

Aladdin.
Rest thee at ease! The trustiest of thy maids
Shall by the secret entrance let me out.
The town, thou say'st, is distant scarce a league;
And with a powder I will straight return,
Shall be a swift death-warrant to the wretch.
Go deck thee in thy best, and let him think,
When he returns, thy heart begins to melt,
And that thou fain wouldst fascinate his eyes.
Farewell a little while, my own sweet love!
Chase every fear away, and trust to me!

Gulnare.
To thee restored, I cast all fear aside.

[Exeunt.
Chorus.
By a sudden parting blighted,
On a sudden reunited;
Oh, of all joys 'tis most sweet,
When long-parted lovers meet.

Apothecary's Shop.
Apothecary. Aladdin in his old cloak.
Aladdin
(at the door).
Oh bliss of blisses, to have found my love,
And 'scaped the clutches of impending death!
Yes, I shall hurl her tyrant from his throne.
The clear bright spring-time dances through my blood,
And all my boyhood's gamesomeness comes back.
See yonder silly druggist, how he stands
The picture of an overblown conceit!
Necessity commands me to employ
Fell poison's deadly chalice. Be it so!
But since 'tis stern necessity commands,
Since virtue needs must come to grips with vice,
Banter and whim, as music does in war,
Shall drown the wail and anguish of the fray.
(Enters.)
Good friend, I'd wager me a trifle now,
You are the owner of this shop himself.

Apothecary.
And who may you be, pray, that crow so loud?

Aladdin.
I've just arrived from Alexandria.
I clean the boots, or to be more precise,
The slippers of a great philosopher.

Apothecary.
What want you?

Aladdin.
Friend, canst read?

Apothecary.
Scarce were I else
A pharmacopolist.

Aladdin.
Canst read, I mean,
Words fairly out and out? Apothecaries
Never go farther in the common way,
Than bare first syllables. That more than these
Are never seen upon their boxes, friend,
Has shortened many an honest fellow's days.

Apothecary.
And who are you, that in your rusty cloak
Dare thus insult me with such saucy quips?
In my own shop I'll have fair words, I say.

Aladdin.
Fair words, 'tis my vocation; for my master
Is a grammarian. Don't he teach me, friend,
To trim and give a polish to my speech!
But if you really can read, if all
Your talk be not mere vapouring, and flam,
Give me what's writ on this prescription here.

Apothecary
(looking at the prescription).
What do I see? You want this powder, this?

Aladdin.
And that forthwith! Don't keep me waiting. Come!

Apothecary.
The foul fiend fly away with you, say I.

Aladdin.
The first of hucksters thou, that ever sent
A customer to the devil.

Apothecary.
No huckster I;
And you, you are no customer.

Aladdin.
What, then,
May your vocation be? No huckster, eh?
What are you, then?

Apothecary.
A leech of skill, an artist,
A pharmacopolist, a man of science,
A doctor, a mediciner at least.

Aladdin.
And who am I?

Apothecary.
A miserable knave;
Hast thou the money for such gear to pay?
A drug so rare, and of such potency?
What wouldst thou with it? It is poison. Wouldst thou
Poison thyself?

Aladdin.
Myself? No—other folks.

Apothecary.
How, other folks? Better and better still.
Come with me to the Cadi.

Aladdin.
Hark ye, friend!
I have a word of counsel for your ear.

Apothecary.
Counsel for me?

Aladdin.
Always hear people out,
Before you judge.

Apothecary.
You're bent on poisoning?
Did you not say as much? If 'twere yourself,
It would not matter much. But other folks—
That was the word, and said without a blush!
And pray, sir, who may these same others be?
A pretty scrape you'd land me in! But whom
Would you send post-haste to the realms of shades?
Whom? Answer!

Aladdin.
Flies.

Apothecary.
Flies?

Aladdin.
Wasps.

Apothecary.
Wasps?

Aladdin.
Gadflies! Hm!

Apothecary.
Kill gadflies with a powder of such price?

Aladdin.
Tush, man, I'm better off than you suppose.
It will not put me very much about,
To treat my flies to something savoury.

(Gives him a gold coin.)
Apothecary
(very courteously).
This puts the case in quite another light.
(Aside.)
Outside the man is rather rough, no doubt;
But he's a proper fellow at the core.
(Aloud.)
That's quite another matter. Ah, dear sir,
You're not offended at my hasty words?
One must be circumspect with things like these;
One's bound to have a kind of conscience, eh?

Aladdin.
Spoke like an oracle. But tell me, friend,
Suppose I'd kill a fly now handsomely,
How much of this will do the business?

Apothecary.
That
Stands in a mathematical relation, sir,
If one may say so, to the insect's size.
Suppose it be, say, of the common sort,
In sugared water drop the veriest grain,
And you will slay them by the thousand, as
With ass's jawbone Samson slew his foes.

(Hands him the powder.)
Aladdin
(puts it in his pocket).
But how, pray, if the fly were of your size?

Apothecary.
How? My size? There, you're at your quips again!
You have some mischief in your thoughts, I swear.
As big as me? Almighty Prophet, why,
The biggest horse-fly's not so big as that.

Aladdin.
You have a shrewd wit of your own, 'tis clear.
I do protest, 'tis flies I mean to kill:
But as they're lodged within a mortal's head,
I must convey the powder through his lips.

Apothecary.
Now, by the Prophet's grave, I'll give the alarm!

Aladdin.
Indeed you won't. You've wit enough to see,
How easy 'twere for me to stop your mouth,
Should it grow clamorous, by a knockdown blow,
Or by this powder flirted down your throat.

Apothecary.
A murrain on thee for a murderous knave!
Go! kill whome'er you please, I care not,—go,
Kill flies, wasps, gadflies, gnats, philosophers,
Men and mosquitoes, anything you will,
So you but spare myself, my wife, and Hassan,
My little pet, my bandy-leggèd boy.

Aladdin.
Soh!—Fare ye well. 'Tis but a jest, you know,
A harmless jest,—no more. So be at ease.

[Exit.
Apothecary
(looking after him).
Who knows now what a rogue like this may do?
But he paid handsomely, and promptly too.
One must wink hard, and pocket many a slight,
Who would not lose his customers outright.

Aladdin's Palace.
Gulnare. Her Nurse.
Gulnare.
Have you concealed Aladdin carefully?

Nurse.
Yes, yes! He's yonder in the cabinet,
Which opens right on the great banquet hall.
There he can overhear each word that's said,
And at the proper time disclose himself.

Gulnare.
I scarce can draw my breath for very fear.

Nurse.
You must not take on so. Be merry, child!
What matters it to kill a wretch like this?
Courage, and let me see you pay him off,
The lean and livid scarecrow, for the trick
He played on you, through me, that luckless day.
The table's spread in the great hall; and when
He comes, you must to supper welcome him—
The last, I hope, that he shall ever eat,
So you but manage craftily to drug
The golden goblet whence he quaffs his wine.

Gulnare.
Ah, Hadscha, 'tis a dark and desperate deed.

Nurse.
And what alternative is left thee? None.
Wouldst have him spoil thee of thine honour, say?
Wouldst see Aladdin fall in shameful death,
And let thy poor old father die for grief?

Gulnare.
No, Hadscha, sooner shall the sorcerer die.

Nurse.
And 'tis but right he should. From garden-plots
We root out weeds, wild beasts we hunt and kill;
And why, then, make exception of a man,
Who has a free will and a reasoning soul?
Fear not, and, mark me, do not spare the powder;
In with it all, and shake the goblet well!
For, look ye, child, that he may not observe
The colour of the powder in the wine,
I've set large golden goblets on the table,
And shut the common ones of glass away.
The sorcerer will be all on fire with love,
When he beholds thee in this brave array.
Dear child, of all the women whom my eyes
Have looked on, thou art loveliest by far!
Good lack, my milk has thriven with thee indeed!
How charmingly the satin's glossy white
Clings round thy undulating form! How close
The diamond boddice clips thy slender waist,
Which these twin dainty hills so sweetly crown!
My darling, if you only spice these charms
With just the smallest grain of tenderness,
You will so dazzle the magician's eyes,
He'll rush like any moth into the flame.

[They go in.
Cabinet.
Suits of dresses hung round the walls.
Aladdin.
As lucky chance has led me unawares
To my own wardrobe, I will have my whim;
(rummages among the dresses.)
Here it is, pat—yes, here the very dress,
Noureddin, when he played the uncle, gave me.
I'll put it on. Here is the turban, too.
A wondrous smart and showy piece of goods.
(Puts on the dress.)
I will appear before him in this garb,
When he has drained the goblet drugged with death,
That he thereon may call his sins to mind,
Nor end his life of worthlessness, without
Some stirrings of remorse. Oh mighty Allah!
Shall I succeed? The Moor with far less risk
Destroys the hooded snake, than I this fiend.
No deadlier evil can befal the world,
Than that the lamp should be a miscreant's slave.
(Contemplates his ring.)
Oh ring! Thou art my one sole comfort left.
How could he so forget thee utterly!
'Twas Heaven's own work, that still leaves some escape
For innocence, where wickedness pursues.
Shall I succeed? This doubt the ring shall solve.

(Strikes the ring against the wall.)
The Spirit of the Ring
(appears).
What wants my lord and master?

Aladdin.
Nothing! Hush!
Dear Spirit, nothing do I wish to know.
It was a foolish, inconsiderate fancy,
Which made me wish to ask thee of my fate.
All things are known to thee, and I desired
To know beforehand, how my plan will thrive.
But answer not, dear Spirit!—What is life,
If all be of necessity foredoomed?

Spirit.
That which I know not, will I not disclose.

Aladdin.
Canst thou not, then, discover all events?

Spirit.
The past I can, and those in progress now.

Aladdin.
Thou read'st not, then, the Future's mighty Book?

Spirit.
Yes, for 'tis mirrored in the storied past.
He that knows well the seed, and well the soil,
The harvest's chances well can calculate.

Aladdin.
Then speak! What dost thou prophesy for me?

Spirit.

Great Hall.
Gulnare. Noureddin (at table).
Gulnare.
This dish is better still—taste it, my lord.

Noureddin
(graciously after his fashion).
No epicure am I, divine Gulnare.
Of all tidbits there's one, and only one,
I've ever coveted,—thee, thee, my sweet!
I am a sage, deep skilled in life and lore;
All nature's book I've studied leaf by leaf:
Mine is a spirit subtle, brisk, and fine,
That spreads, like dew, o'er every blossoming flower.
Love, only love, I ne'er have known till now.
Feel how my heart beats; new and strange delight!
How could you be unkind to me so long?

Gulnare.
You know, 'tis no light thing to conquer grief,
And take a new affection to the heart.

Noureddin.
I know, I know, my queen, I know it well;
I know whatever mortal man can know.
By Nature I was framed for mighty ends;
Gifts has she lent me, various and bright,
That are for wisdom most essential.
Thus, as a child, my memory was great,
And so it was that I was plagued with worms;
I could not therefore play with other children—
Was peevish, sickly, sat apart, and learned
To run up calculations on my slate,
While other boys were scampering up and down,
Fighting, and gazing at the moon and flowers.
Well, when I grew up into years—that is,
Had fairly worn my childish buskins out;
(For, in the common way of speaking, I
Did not shoot up remarkably in height;)
You understand me?

Gulnare.
Quite! In body you
Are rather small and lanky.

Noureddin.
To proceed!
As years went on, they fain had tempted me,
To go a-cruising after wives and maids;
But I was much too well-behaved for that:
Besides, I had no liking for such freaks.
Then, for carousing with your madcap youths,
That, too, I fancied not; for, firstly, I
Had a poor stomach, and wine heats the blood;
Praised be the Prophet, who forbids it quite.
But still my wisdom ripened hour by hour,
Through many a wakeful night, to such a pass,
That I discovered there was in the world
A lamp, which with its rays doth vivify
All objects that within its radiance come,
And, wanting which, all else is valueless.
For this I struggled through unresting years,
And at the last I gained it, as thou know'st.

Gulnare.
Indeed I do.

Noureddin.
Therefore, my love, will I
From this hour forth enjoy my life at ease.
Till now I've dealt but little with the sex,
For objects of an import greater far
Enthralled and fill'd my spirit with content.
In deep investigations all engrossed,
I have not learned the chamberer's dainty arts.
My tongue's unused to amorous discourse;
And the long wakeful nights of many years
Have bleached away the roses from my cheeks.
Yet weak I am not. Of an evening, now,
I can enjoy a supper, such as this,
That's easy of digestion; for, as I said,
My stomach's not the strongest. Men, like me
Who do not move about much, must observe
Discretion and restraint in all they do.

Gulnare.
Oh paragon of wisdom!

Noureddin.
My dear child,
Wisdom directs and seasons all my speech;
And this is what you've not been used to—eh?—
With yonder dull-brained, gormandizing knave.

Gulnare.
But to be merry now and then is well.

Noureddin.
Oh yes! In moderate doses—most minute.
I hate all mirth, as I do spice, for that
Inflames the blood, destroys digestion;
But if your mirth be of the stinging sort—
A poisoned bolus, delicately dressed,
For some conceited, tiresome fool to gulp,—.
I don't object to it; but mere wanton mirth,
I loathe it, as a full-grown man does pap.

Gulnare.
You like your jesting serious. I'm a woman,
In matters of the kitchen only skilled;
But even in the kitchen, now and then,
The pot boils over, when the fire's too fierce.
The same, perhaps, may chance with wit at times.

Noureddin.
Wit's wit, and not a pot; your pot's absurd:
Your boiling over will not do!

Gulnare.
I know,
'Tis always bad; yet will the dish be spoiled,
Unless that point be very closely touched.

Noureddin.
My child, the world is not a kitchen, nor
The soul a dish: the simile don't fit,—
It has no philosophic pertinence;
And, measured by the true poetic scale,
'Tis in vile taste, ignoble; I can see,
'Tis altogether in the Arabian style.
Art thou a Persian, and canst condescend
To taint thy lips with such low metaphors?

Gulnare.
The metaphor, methinks, is striking.

Noureddin.
If
A rascal lays a cudgel on my shoulders,
He's striking, too. An image should be noble.
And, by the way, I do remember me,
To have read in some Arabian, how a king's—
Yea, a king's ghost, did thus address his son:
“Were I to tell thee all, oh, it would make
The hair upon thy head to stand on end,
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine!”
Could not the knave have said, a lion's mane?
Or even a hyena's? or a serpent's crest?
I see, thou lack'st some training at my hand.

Gulnare.
Most willingly will I be trained by thee.
This tiny morsel more?

Noureddin.
My angel, no!
If I eat more, I shall not sleep; and all
My life I've set great store on good night's rest.

Gulnare.
Ah, it grows late! How dark the sky is!—look!
And oh, so full of stars!

Noureddin.
By night alone
Do these stars shine; but thou, my child, hast two,
Which sweetly shine on me both day and night.

Gulnare.
You flatter me.

Noureddin.
There is a time for all things,
Says Solomon. I am a suitor now;
But once I am thy husband, I will cease
To deal in such-like tropes and similes,
Which are but idle folly after all.
I only speak so now, that thou may'st know,
I am as capable, as other men,
Of saying pretty nothings, if I please.

Gulnare.
Know'st thou the name of yonder fiery star?

Noureddin.
Ah, now-a-days I cannot see so well.
Study has made sad havoc with my sight.
But patience! I will fortify my eye.
Where was it? Tell me. Which star do you mean?

Gulnare.
The red one there, right o'er the apple-tree.
[While Noureddin looks at the star through his telescope, Gulnare drops the poisonous powder into her goblet.
(Aside.)
Necessity, be thou my plea with Heaven!

Noureddin.
Dost thou not know the dog-star, child? Art thou
Entirely ignorant about the stars?

Gulnare.
It gladdens me to see them twinkling so,
Like choicest flowers in some rare garden-plot:
Their piercing looks deter man's soul from crime,
To which the murky night would urge him on,
And threaten him, if he sins, with eyes of flame.

Noureddin.
Mere superstition! What I meant was this:
Doth it not fill thee with delight, to know
The name of every star, and to foretel
Where in the sky, when night comes, it will shine?

Gulnare.
No, such a notion never crossed my brain.
And is it true, then, all these stars have names?

Noureddin.
Most part of them, my child, most part of them.
The Milky Way, though, that's unnamed; but there
Allah has made sad muddled work of it.
But time mends all, and we improve apace.

Gulnare.
And so the star up yonder is the dog-star?

Noureddin.
Yes, and that is my star; beneath that star
Was I brought forth.

Gulnare.
You do not say so? Strange!
I've heard it said, the stars have influence
Upon the lives of mortals. Is that true?

Noureddin.
Hum! One can't altogether say 'tis not.

Gulnare.
Most wonderful! But what am I about,
Here, like a fool, concerning me with things,
I do not comprehend the very least?

Noureddin.
Speak always, child, as sensibly, 'twill make thee
A great deal more attractive in my eyes,
Than hitherto thou hast been.

Gulnare.
Oh, my lord,
Since matters have advanced so far between us,
I will no longer coyly hesitate,
After our Persian fashion, to exchange
The spousal cup with thee. But, gracious Heaven,
I am no widow, no; my husband lives,
And how, how can I break my troth to him?

Noureddin.
To ease these qualms of conscience, I will straight
Command the Spirit of the Lamp to cut
Aladdin's head off, and to bring it here
Upon a silver salver presently.

Gulnare.
For Heaven's sake, no! Do that, and here I vow,
Down at thy feet to fall, a lifeless corpse.

Noureddin.
Thou lovest him still?

Gulnare.
Ah no, I don't indeed.

Noureddin.
Thou lovest him still? Ha, traitress, 'tis right well,
Thou hast recalled the caitiff to my mind!
Yes, he shall die at once; for, while he lives,
Thy thoughts are full of treachery to me.

Gulnare
(snatching up a knife from the table).
By Heaven, I plunge this knife into my breast,
The moment that your finger grasps the lamp!

Noureddin.
(Aside.)
She loves him; he shall die this very night.
But she shall live; I will possess her; thus
Upon that churl shall I be oft avenged.
(Aloud.)
Thou lovest me, then?

Gulnare.
So fondly, I exchange
This cup with thee in token of my love.

Noureddin.
That's spoken as it should be, sweet Gulnare!
This loving goblet drained, then thou art mine;
I shall possess thee wholly, and to-night.

Gulnare.
This night shalt thou beside thy bride be laid,
So thou shalt quaff this cup.

Noureddin.
I quaff it now;
The last drop in its rim shall seal the bond.
(Empties the goblet, while Gulnare, clasping her hands, looks up to heaven.
Why dost thou stare so strangely at the sky?

Gulnare.
The red dog-star has lost his sanguine hue,
Shines silvery pale, and dies away in mist.

Noureddin.
Gulnare, I'm ill—I feel a sudden spasm.

Gulnare.
The pale-faced bride doth clasp thee to her breast.

Noureddin.
I've lost the power of motion; all grows dark
Around me, and a fierce consuming fire
Burns in my vitals!
(The door opens gently; Aladdin enters, goes up to him, and gazes on him in silence.)
Death and hell! Thou here!
Aladdin? (tries to take the lamp from his bosom, but his hand drops powerless.)

Devil! thou hast poisoned me!

Aladdin
(with emotion, yet calmly).
What else was left for me to do? Oh, pray
To God—ay, with your latest breath—to grant
Forgiveness for your sins. You wronged me deeply.
What was I but a poor defenceless boy,
Nought but my young fresh life to call mine own
In all this mighty world? And this wouldst thou
Have blasted for thy vile ambition's sake.
But Fate had better things in store for me;
The mischief thou didst plot against me, lo,
Has turned to my advantage. Yet again
To crush my life thou craftily didst come.
My mother's dead of grief, and thou the cause—
And now thou'dst blur my innocent bride with shame.
'Tis everlasting Justice, and not I,
That smites thee. Pray! Die penitent, at least!

Noureddin.
Curses on thee, thy God, and all the world!

(Dies.)
Gulnare.
Great Heaven, he's dead!

Aladdin
(takes the lamp from his breast, and flings a black cloth over him).
And vanished out of sight.
My noble wife, away now to thy chamber,
And thank God for the mercies of His grace!
Soon shalt thou see thy father's face again.
But get thee first to bed, and sleep in peace.

Gulnare.
Sleep now? Sleep, oh my soul's belovèd! No!
Yet gladly will I pray all through the night,
Till the bright dawn shall smile on us once more.

[Exit.
(Aladdin rubs the lamp.)
The Spirit
(appearing).
What asks my lord and master?

Aladdin.
Giant, strong and proud,
Within the womb of earth this ghastly carcase shroud;
Next, approve thyself both dexterous and bold,
And place this palace where it wont to stand of old.

Spirit.
As swiftly shall I compass all that thou dost name,
As shoots across the night a meteor's sudden flame.

Aladdin.
Thou didst not think, good Spirit, so soon to see the hour,
Which was to set thee free from yonder caitiff's power?

Spirit.
I seldom think. By Might Eternal I was wrought,
In silence to fulfil my lord and master's thought.

[Vanishes.

ACT FOURTH.

The Sultan's Bedchamber.
Soliman asleep under a canopy. Enter the Court Fool, with a plaster on his forehead. He goes up to the bed and shakes the Sultan.
Fool.
Ho, Sultan, Sultan! king of kings! What, ho!
Hast thou not taken upon thyself the task,
The giant's task, of watching for the realm?
Is it lawful, then, thus to go dozing on
Until high noon? For shame, your Highness, shame!

Soliman
(waking).
What would the fool?

Fool.
Would? Wake the wise man. There!

Soliman.
Is it so late?

Fool.
So late, it soon will be
Too early. There is comfort to your hand.

Soliman.
How came you by that plaster on your head?

Fool.
My liege, I come for justice.

Soliman.
What has happened?

Fool.
Oh mighty monarch, thou, whose crest doth tower
O'er Caucasus—yea, even o'er Ararat,
Which, some geographers protest, is higher,
Because 'twas there that Noah's ark stuck fast;
Thou, that dost stretch thy right hand to the Ganges,
And to the Black Sea puttest forth thy left;
Oh thou, whose foot, so nobly broad and firm,
Toucheth the hidden treasures of the earth;
Thou, whose eye lives on most familiar terms
With stars and planets,—hear thy servant's cry,
And grant him justice!

Soliman.
Who has done thee wrong?

Fool.
Cursed be all piles of such capricious moods,
Which at their pleasure come and disappear.
Are we to change the notions that, till now,
We've entertained of houses, palaces?
Are they immoveable property no longer,
But changed to simple moveables? The deuce!
This is directly contrary to law.

Soliman.
Speak plainly.

Fool.
I am a poor fool, my liege,
But not the wisest man in all the land—
No, not thyself in thy most royal person,
Could ward off such catastrophe as this.

Soliman.
Speak, or beware my wrath!

Fool.
Well, speak I do.
I am a bird, thou art an elephant;
A poor sheep I, and thou a lordly stag!
So push thy royal nightcap off thine ears,
And summon all thy powers of comprehension!
This morning forth I started for a walk,
To exercise my limbs, and glad my soul
With looking at the sunrise;—the red streaks
Across the saffron hemisphere of sky
Resembled most uncommonly the blood,
Which, for your royal health, was yesterday
Breathed from your Highness' arm.

Soliman.
Good God in heaven!
What strange comparisons the fellow makes!

Fool.
This is the very quintessence of flattery!
Another man would, in some bungling way,
Thy blood have likened to the glorious sun;
But I can see no aptitude in that,
And therefore to thy blood compare the sun.

Soliman.
Say on, or I'll compare it with thine own.

Fool.
From natural historians thou hast learned,
That eyes grow blind with gazing at the sun:
Well, then, as I, delighted with the blaze
Of his fair glittering ball, began to muse,
How all things hang together in the world,
I started off full swing, quite pleased to think
The universe had let itself be caulked
So thoroughly, without remonstrance. Well!
On I went running, sire, in full career;
And in the Grand Square there was nought, I knew—
At least I thought so—to impede my course!
But, as it proved, this notion cost me dear,
For, lo! before I could collect my wits,
Bump something came, my liege, with such a bang
Against my pate, that, were a Greek to see me,
He would suppose me Jupiter himself,
With Pallas ready from my brain to start.

Soliman.
What was it you had run against?

Fool.
There, now,
What should it be, but that same madcap palace,
Which comes and goes without a “By your leave,”
Upon the spur of its capricious whims?

Soliman.
Aladdin's Palace? Oh, great Heaven! My daughter!
Is she there, too?

Fool.
That's what I cannot say;
For it was not on her, alas! I bump'd.
But here's a roll of parchment, good my liege,
The porter gave me for your royal hands.

Soliman.
Read, read, good fool, aloud, and spare your jests.

Fool
(reads).

“Praise be to God alone! The land of the King of Kings, the
Imperial Sovereignty, and the Realm, as it is exalted above all
others in excellence, so may God cause it to flourish for ever!”

I do protest, this is no jest of mine;
'Tis here, in black and white, upon the scroll.

Soliman.
Go to! 'Tis sensibly and soundly put;
'Tis thus all letters sent to me begin.
Proceed, proceed! This is preamble merely!

Fool
(reads).

“The meanest of your subjects, who is even as a great gnat
fluttering in the air, Aladdin, Mustapha's son, announces to his
most high and mighty Master, great as Solomon, the Shadow of
the Almighty, the Ruler of the Merciful, the Dispenser of Persia's
Benefits, the Lord of the Earth, Soliman, Sultan!”

(Wipes the sweat from his forehead.)
Why, now a murrain on this chancery style!
The man's all plain enough, as he goes on.

Soliman.
This must be so; my dignity requires it.
It is not every man dare prate to me
In such a free and easy style as thou.
But on, knave, on; all this is still preamble.

Fool
(reads).

“As the favour of the Eternal God came to your faithful servant,
and left him alike incomprehensibly, so has it been shown to him
once more. The palace before your eyes upon the old spot may
serve as a sufficient evidence of this. So soon as thy slave, to whom
thy grace and goodness vouchsafed thine own daughter to wife, hath
returned with her from a pilgrimage to Mecca, and they have
shaken from their souls the dust caught up upon the journey of
life, he will cast himself at thy feet with a lightened heart, and
restore the daughter to her father's arms.

“The Star of Dominion and Majesty illumine thee evermore
with its lustre and resplendence!”

Soliman.
How! Is it true? Is all this in the letter?

Fool.
Now, could I match this high poetic style?

Soliman.
Oh, help me, then, this instant out of bed,
And let me see and judge with my own eyes.

Fool.
Surely thou see'st this plaster on my pate!

Soliman.
Delay another second, and thou diest!

Fool.
And if I don't delay, my foolish life
Is equally at stake. What would my liege?

Soliman.
Help me this instant to get out of bed.

Fool.
Come, then, old gentleman, accept my help.
Thou waxest frail apace. Here is thy robe!
Wilt doff thy nightcap and put on the crown?
Crowns are in general soft and warmly lined,
And predispose to comfortable sleep.
Thy sceptre, where has it gone wandering?
Fallen down, we shan't say where, beneath the bed,
And drenched, by all that's ammoniacal!
No matter—it is gold, and will not rust.

Soliman.
Oh, gracious heavens! Gulnare! My child, my child!

[Exit, followed by the Fool.
Another Apartment in the Palace.
The Fool, surrounded by retainers of the Court.
First Courtier.
Good gentle fool, and is it really true?
And is the palace actually come back?

Fool.
You see it there!

First Courtier.
Oh yes, no doubt I see it.
But, now-a-days, what man can trust his eyes?

Fool.
Wouldst thou prefer to trust another's, hey?

First Courtier.
Four eyes see more than two.

Fool.
Then hie thee, friend,
And of a spider question; it has eight.

Another Courtier
(running in).
Sir Fool, 'tis something quite miraculous!
All back again? What is a man to think?

Fool.
He is to be well-bred, and hold his peace;
He's not to try to comprehend the things,
Which are not to be comprehended; he
Is not to fill with cries and idle prate
The palace of his Majesty, as though
It were an hospital of aged crones.
He is, though, to betake him to his room,
To be a man, and be of hopeful cheer.

Courtier.
How can one be a man of hopeful cheer?

Fool.
That's for your wisdoms, gentlemen, to solve.

[Exeunt Courtiers.
An old Servant of the Court
(entering).
Friend, hast thou seen it?

Fool.
Ay, and been rejoiced.

Servant.
Aladdin, friend, is fortune's favourite child,
And he deserves to be so. What a world
Of rich warm life is centred in that man!
All a child's grace with manhood's vigour blended,
Gracious and loving as he's proud and brave.

Fool.
I grew so doleful after his mishap.
My part became mere child's play then; for misery,
Storm, and disaster always lead to wit;
Therefore there's none so witty as the devil.
I like to jest from gamesome wantonness;
Yet do I find my task grow burdensome,
When all around are busy, gay and strong.
The Sultan grows too feeble and good-natured.
Were he but splenetic, my quips and gibes
Might do the office of a shield, at least,
Against severity or hasty wrong.
But he is not; and all my pointed saws
Are lost upon him. Once Aladdin comes,
I'll not be such a fool as be his fool.

Servant.
Your task must always grow a bore at last.
One can't be always in the mood for jest,
And irksome is the fool's vocation,—his
Especially, who's not a born buffoon,
And who has pride, as thou hast, and a heart
To nobler issues touched. Genius may stoop
To play the wag and zany for a while;
But soon the eagle finds the moorland dull,
Feels all his pinions' strength, and soars away.

Fool.
A true word hast thou spoken, friend, in that.

[Exeunt.
MECCA.
A great Square; in the background, the Mosque. A vast concourse of Pilgrims, Dervishes, Abdallahs, and Calenders; in the foreground, Aladdin and Gulnare, attired as pilgrims, with staves in their hands.
Gulnare.
What mighty multitudes are gathered here!

Aladdin.
And all, my love, are here to edify
Themselves, and not for gain or selfish ends.
The world's pervading soul, humanity,
Has summoned them. Is't not a blesseèd thing,
Thus with commingling hearts to worship God?

Gulnare.
Oh glorious! The multitude's full voice
Strengthens the heart and spirit; and man feels,
Borne on the swelling cadence of the hymn,
Himself a link in the eternal whole.

Aladdin.
Life needs its days of rest, as well as work.
The man, who squanders all his days on toil,
Is but a clod of dull and soulless clay.

Gulnare.
Oh, look, love, at the young man standing there,
Neither as pilgrim nor as dervish dress'd,
Nor as a Calender nor Abdallah!

Aladdin.
Where, sweetest wife?

Gulnare.
Dost thou not see him, then?
Yonder!—his under garment all of white,
Open at the throat, and with full hanging sleeves;
Whilst his close-fitting gaberdine has none.
A high cap, not a turban, crowns his head.
He wears a pocket fastened at his waist,
And in it paper, inkhorn, and some books;
And a light kerchief, gay with woven flowers,
From his right shoulder droops to his left arm.

Aladdin.
I see him now—'tis an Arabian poet.

Gulnare.
Now he sits down; and see, they fetch a lute.

Aladdin.
Come, love! We, too, shall listen to his lay.
Who does not love the poet's art divine?
The rocks themselves, in echoings low, declare
How sweet to them is song. The rose expands
Her bosom to the bulbul's throbbing note,
The camel foots it lightly through the vale,
Soon as the fluting of the guide begins;
Shall man, then, man, who bears a reasoning soul,
Not find enjoyment in the poet's song?
Then were he harder than the insensate stones.

The Minstrel
(strikes a few chords: the crowd form a wide circle round him. When all is quiet, he sings as follows.)

(He rises and goes into the mosque; the crowd repeat with a loud voice the concluding stanza of his chaunt, and follow him).
Another Place in Mecca.
Hindbad and Fatima, an aged woman in a pilgrim's garb.
Hindbad.
Allah be with thee!

Fatima.
And with thee, good pilgrim!

Hindbad.
Good is a title which I may not claim,
Thou holy woman, in thy company.

Fatima.
Allah is holy, and the prophet holy;
I am a frail and sinful woman, friend.

Hindbad.
I know well what thou art. The fame of saints
Spreads, like the liberal sunshine, wide and far,
And lures the sons of darkness forth to warm
Their blood's thick current in the radiant glow.

Fatima.
Whence comest thou?

Hindbad.
I am from Africa.
Yet though between us lay the streams of Nile,
The Red Sea, and Arabia's desert sands,
The glory of thy name hath reached my ears.

Fatima.
I must attribute this to chance alone.

Hindbad.
Thy home's in Persia, is it not?

Fatima.
It is.
In the great forest, hard by Ispahan,
Where peasants kind have built a hut for me.

Hindbad.
And daily to thy hermitage repair,
To reap instruction, comfort, wisdom, strength,
From thy discourse. I have been told, besides,
The Prophet hath endowed thee with the power
To heal the sick, by merely with thy hand
Touching the head of such as need thy aid.

Fatima.
The powers of nature, friend, are fathomless,—
Still more the goodness of the Eternal Father.
A poor weak woman I; yet I fear God:
To do his pleasure is my life's sole aim.
When man for years has rendered up himself,
To drift where'er his yeasty passions flow,
With him earth's baser things grow paramount;
The head, which should erect itself to heaven,
Drops, weighted down by sin, its craven front.
But if, alarmed by conscience' warning voice,
His heart, repentant, turns to virtue back,
Then, then, indeed, a loving human hand
Can smooth away the wrinkles from his brow,
And by its pressure give his spirit ease.

Hindbad.
Is't true, that Prince Aladdin and his bride
Are 'mongst the pilgrims here in Mecca now?

Fatima.
He and his bride were here but yesterday,
But left this morning with the caravan.

Hindbad
(with visible disquietude).
What! is he gone?

Fatima.
Why should this trouble you?

Hindbad.
I am from Africa, as thou hast heard.
I wished to speak with him—we had, besides,
Much urgent business to transact. I am
A merchant, and he owes me certain monies.
Now he's gone back again, and 'tis, you know,
A weary way from Persia to Mecca.

Fatima.
My friend, thou rather shouldst give Allah thanks,
That things have so fallen out. The Prophet's city
Is destined only as a rendezvous
For pious pilgrims; 'tis no khan, no mart.

Hindbad.
Rebuke well merited; forgive me, pray!
Ay, thus it is, the vanities of the world
Hold us, despite our will, within their thrall.
I thank thee; thou hast made me see my sin.
I will beguile the time with holy thoughts,
And with the earliest caravan depart
For Persia. Perhaps we go together?

Fatima.
No, friend, I go not with the caravan.
I make the journey tardily on foot;
It is a fancy that I have. I've gone
The road repeatedly; it does me good.
Somehow, I feel this journey is my last.
Depart thou with the caravan in peace!
I will set out to-morrow with the dawn.
But if, when thou to Ispahan shalt come,
Thou carest to visit me in my poor cot,
Thou'lt find me there beneath my forest shades,
And of my milk and fruits thou shalt partake.

Hindbad.
I thank thee; may all happiness attend thee!

Fatima.
The pilgrimage to God is always happy.

(They part.)
ARABIAN DESERT.
Night; nothing but sand and sky; the moon in mid heaven.
Caravan
(passes slowly across; singing).
Through the noontide's glare, along the desert sand,
Home we travel cheerly to our fatherland,
Bearing back a treasure priceless—peace of heart—
Peace and hope, that never from our eyes shall part.
Allah, guide thy faithful pilgrims as they go;
Give our camels vigour, crystal fountains show!
Sweetly falls the dew, the sultry day is fled,
Cool is now the ground beneath our camels' tread:
Everywhere is sand and sky. Oh, lovely night!
On us from afar the crescent moon smiles bright.
With what wondrous radiance through the cooling dew
Beams the Prophet's symbol from the welkin blue!
Onward, then, push on, with lusty hearts and gay!
To our home Mohammed's moon shall light our way!

(Passes on.)
A WILD FOREST IN PERSIA.
Night. In the foreground a heap of stones, in the background Fatima's cottage.
Hindbad.
(The moon breaks out, the owls hoot far off in the wood, and he reads)
(Starts back in terror, and stands gazing fixedly at the heap of stones.)
(Looks round, and suddenly descries Fatima's cottage.)

(Is about to enter. Suddenly the figure of a man, ashy pale, in a blood-red dress, appears before the door, and bars his entrance.)
Hindbad.
Ha, who art thou?

Spirit
(with a hollow voice).
Away, away, away!

Hindbad.
Who art thou, darest to bar my passage thus?
Who art thou? Answer me!

Spirit.
Thy brother's spirit.

Hindbad.
Noureddin, thou?

Spirit.
His spirit. My bones lie there.

(Points to the heap of stones.)
Hindbad.
How comest thou in this garb of fiery red?

Spirit
(sighs).
Alas! alas!

Hindbad.
What means that sigh? And why
Shinest thou like lurid flame against the dark?

Spirit.
Oh! oh!

Hindbad.
Answer me!

Spirit.
Oh! oh!

Hindbad.
Answer, I say!

Spirit.
The red—which burneth here—so ghastily!
Is—

Hindbad.
Well, what is it?

Spirit.
Is the fire of hell!

(Vanishes. Hindbad sinks upon the heap of stones in a swoon. When he recovers, he looks round him, and descries an old venerable man by his side, in a black gaberdine, smoking a short tobacco-pipe, which gives out great puffs of smoke.)
Hindbad
(springs up).
Ha, here again? And black as cinders now?
Burnt out already, eh?

The Old Man
(with a soft, gracious voice).
My worthy friend,
What may all this fantastic foolery mean?
I live hard by, and, as I passed along,
I heard you talking to yourself aloud
In a strange fashion: of a lamp you spoke,
That could accomplish wonders, which had been
Stolen from you, and you wanted to regain.
You thought you saw a spirit, and fell down
Upon the heap of stones there in a swoon.
Are you come off a journey?

Hindbad.
Yes, I am.

The Old Man.
It very often happens, at such times,
One's wits get out of order. But take heart!
You don't look weakly—quite the contrary;
This is a passing spasm—no more—and you
Bear an undaunted spirit, I'll be bound.

Hindbad.
There you are right. I very rarely dream,
Am no ways superstitious, see no spirits
At other times. But now! He stood there, there!

The Old Man
(smiling).
'Twas only in your head he stood, good sir!
Had anything been standing there, of course
I must have seen it also, as I passed!

Hindbad.
Then you saw nothing?

The Old Man.
Nothing but yourself,
A wandering pilgrim, talking to the trees.

Hindbad.
By Heaven, I too believe it was a dream.

The Old Man
(uneasily).
You should not swear! Don't name that name to me
I cannot bear it. For the rest, be calm!
That you should wish to have your lamp again,
Appears but fair; 'tis your inheritance.
I've heard all sorts of tales about that lamp,
And how Aladdin oft misuses it.
We suffer from it all, we Persians here;
And I should be quite overjoy'd, could you
But clip that upstart's wings.

Hindbad.
Ay, ay; but how?

The Old Man.
That is the question; for that plan of yours
(I heard you mention it some minutes since)
Will never do. She's a long-headed woman,
And, trust me, would discover at a glance
What you were after, hide it how you might.
No, no, that scheme is much too shallow—much!

Hindbad.
Were you in my place, now, what would you do?

The Old Man.
Brush the old woman fairly from my path—
Be Fatima myself.

Hindbad.
But how?

The Old Man.
I know,
The princess wishes to converse with her;
But she has never seen her; neither have
The people very plainly, for she is
Always enveloped in a close thick veil.
If I were in your place, I'd very soon
Effect an entrance to the palace.

Hindbad.
How?

The Old Man.
Your face and figure, sir, are plastic; you
Can counterfeit most rarely, I am sure.

Hindbad.
And if I can?

The Old Man.
Why, then, good sir, you must
Enact the part of Fatima.

Hindbad.
And she?

The Old Man.
Oh, she is—old—and surfeited with life!
I hope, my excellent friend, tobacco-smoke
Is not unpleasant, very, to you—eh?
I am a sturdy smoker.

Hindbad.
Smoke away!

The Old Man
(smokes vehemently, and puffs fire from the pipe every now and then).
Well, she is old, and looking on for death.
But death comes tardily with aches and pains.
It would be doing her a kindness, quite,
Should you forestall her pains, and gratify
The wish at once which she has cherished long.

Hindbad.
You'd have me murder the old lady, then?

The Old Man.
Who talks of murder? Sir, I am no friend
To strong expressions of that nature. No!
To her long yearning you but put an end,
And that's the whole affair! No more at all!
Go to!—what's to be done, do, and at once!
There the old woman sleeps. Employ your dagger,
Put on her dress, and bury her anon.
Then, when the people come to-morrow morning,
You must preach to them. You are Fatima,
And will, as Fatima, presently be summoned
Before the princess. Then you can regain
The lamp with ease. Farewell. We meet again.

(Retires into the wood.)
Hindbad
(gazes after him for a considerable time, then speaks).
That was the devil himself, or I'm deceived.
(Leans against a tree, and presses his hands upon his head.)
I drank somewhat too freely at the khan,
And therein lies the secret! Devils and ghosts
Are the mere creatures of hot blood and wine;
But all that fell from that old fellow's lips
Are the suggestions of my better brain;
I'll be no mummer, I! Here is the hut!
The crazy door half off its hinges. Hist!
Is she asleep? She sings! I'll pause and hear.


Song (from the cottage).

Hindbad.
She sleeps! 'Tis well. She says herself, good soul,
She will not quail before the blight of death.
She longs for it. Good. She shall have her wish.

(Enters the cottage.)
Interior of the Cottage.
Fatima asleep on the couch. Hindbad enters.
Hindbad.
I'm glad the moonshine lights the hut so well!
There she lies sleeping on her bed of leaves,
Scantily mantled by her old worn cloak,
Her thin white hands clasped close, as though she prayed.
It is unlucky, that her clothes are on;
I must awake her, not to stain her dress
With blood, for I must use it afterwards.
(Presents his dagger to her breast.)
Come, Fatima, awake!

Fatima.
Oh Heaven! Who's there?
Are you a robber? Say, what do you want
In my poor cottage? There is nothing here,
Is worth your taking!—nothing! Oh, have pity,
Upon an aged woman; blow not out
The flame, which soon must of itself expire!

Hindbad.
Rise up!

Fatima.
Oh Allah!—Wherefore do you come,
At dead midnight, with this assassin's knife,
That gleams as wild and wrathful as your eyes?

Hindbad.
Rise up, and do not fear! Rise up, I say!
Take off your dress—be quick—and give it me;
Give me your robe, your veil, and now your crutch!
And there's my cloak instead, which you can keep,
Until I give you back your clothes again.
Only be quick, and do not waste the time
With questions.

Fatima.
Oh, sir, you are surely crazed?
What would you? You are feverish; come, sit down.
Travel has raised a tumult in your blood.
Your speech is wild. I'll tend you, and my care
Shall bring health back to you and calm your brain.
There's bread and fruit in yonder basket. Wait,
And I will fetch you water from the spring.

Hindbad.
I am not weary, neither have I lost
My senses. Quick, obey me instantly!
Off with your clothes! There is my mantle. Quick!
Do what I bid you, or into your heart
I plunge my dagger!

Fatima.
Oh Eternal God!
I fear not death;—but—to be wakened up
From sleep, to be despatched so suddenly—
Have mercy on me!

Hindbad.
Come, your clothes, I say!
By Allah's mercy, by my hopes of grace,
I will not harm you.

Fatima
(gives him her clothes).
Take them, there they are!

Hindbad
(hands her a little box).
Now, lay this colour here upon my face!
'Twill make the skin look brown, and wrinkled, like
Your own.

Fatima.
My hands tremble for fear. There are
Wrinkles enough already on your brow.

Hindbad.
Now, by thy God did I not swear to thee—

Fatima
(dyes his face).
'Tis done.

Hindbad.
You're sure, you've done it thoroughly?

Fatima.
Indeed, indeed I have.

Hindbad.
Say, is it true,
That you have ne'er been with Aladdin's wife,
The princess?

Fatima.
Yes! But she has often wished,
That I should wait upon her, gentle soul!

Hindbad.
I'll pay that visit for you. (Stabs her.)
Get ye hence
Unto your God—you've lived quite long enough!

Fatima.
Even while he lives the godless man is dead;
But he lives after death, who fears his God.

(Dies.)
Hindbad.
Gone with antitheses upon her lips.
Cant to the last! Now must I stow this corpse
Deep in the earth. The morning after next
I'll wait upon the princess, and she shall
Persuade her husband a request to urge,
Shall so incense the Spirit of the Lamp,
That he is like to crush him on the spot.
Your spirits have a weak side of their own,
Like other people; they can show their teeth.
Then I will straight possess me of the lamp.
But I must preach to-morrow,—well bethought!—
To make the people think I'm Fatima.

Moorland.
Night. Moonshine. Two Elves.
First Elf.
Come hither! See what I have found, beneath
The brushwood, near the brook, upon the heath!

Second Elf.
A corpse! Now out on thee, foul-fingered wight!

First.
Dost thou not know it, then? Oh woful sight!

Second.
What do I see? Oh bloody deed of shame!
They've murdered our true friend, the aged dame,
Who dwelt there in the forest, and o'nights
With lute and song regaled us elvish sprites,
When, in the cool and watery moonshine, we
Our roundels danced about the alder tree.

First.
She was so good! through all the country round
She was for worth and gentle heart renown'd.
Though we, poor tiny elves, are held in scorn
By well-nigh all that are of woman born,
She in the ground stuck crosswise sprigs of wood,
With cobwebs twined, and thereon laid us food,
And sat and smiled on us, as we drew nigh,
And sipp'd at ease the dainty furmenty.

Second.
Come, let us call our sisters from the hill!—
None will disturb us, for 'tis midnight still,—
To help us make a grave, both soft and deep,
Where she that loved us well in peace may sleep.

First
(calls).
Come hither, hither, elves!

Second.
As quick as thought,
Behold them!

Elves.
They are here. What's to be wrought?

First.
You see this aged dame?

Elves.
Oh direful pass!
The holy Fatima? Dead? Alas, alas!

First.
Go, make for her a grave by yonder spring,
And thither we the while the corpse shall bring.

Some.
We'll follow.

Others.
We shall go before and sing.

Others.
We at her side shall walk with drooping wing.

Others.
And from the brook the lily we shall bring,
Which upward straight to heaven its head doth fling,
While blossoms manifold its stem doth bear.
These shall be emblems of her silvery hair,
And of her cheeks, with sorrow wan and thin,
And of her soul serene, and pure from sin.

First.
We must go round, we that the bearers are,
Lest the magician's ghost our task should mar;
For he lies yonder, shatter'd flesh and bone,
Among the trees, beneath the pile of stone.

Those who are in the Front.
Now we shall sing. Pace tenderly along.

Nightingale
(in a tree overhead).
Ye elves! may I, too, mingle with your song?

Elves.
Sing on, sweet bird! Thy note is clear as fire.
Chief chorister be thou, and we the choir.

Dirge of the Elves.
(The nightingale's note is heard in the pauses of the song, and the faint tinkle of a bell at a distance.)

ACT FIFTH.

Square in front of Aladdin's Palace.
Selim. Sindbad.
Selim.
Give you good-day; for, if I don't mistake,
I see an old friend of my youth in you.

Sindbad.
'Tis very like: in youth one always has
Abundant store of friends! But friendship is
Like wheaten bread, and will be eaten quickly.
It won't keep long; come but one night between,
And it is dry and savourless as chips.

Selim.
You do not set great store by friendship, then?

Sindbad.
Store, quotha, store! There is no storing her,
Although she be a mercenary jade!

Selim.
But youthful friendship, youthful friendship, sir!

Sindbad.
Is a mere youthful sickness, which must be
Gone through, like cowpox or the measles, sir.
And fortunate it is so; few retain
The scars upon their faces afterwards.
No, no, they vanish, as we grow in years.

Selim.
What, Sindbad! Don't you really know me, then?

Sindbad.
If I may draw conclusions from your feet,
You are,—hm—Selim, Abon Hassan's son.
We dwelt in days gone by in yonder street,
And played as boys together many a time.

Selim.
You don't mean that you know me,—now, you don't,—
Because my feet are both a trifle large?

Sindbad.
Not both your feet. The left is all quite right;
'Tis the right only twists a trifle left,
But nothing, sir, to speak of; left and right,
As a great scholar once divulged to me,
Are relative and fluctuating terms,
On which the world will never be at one.
For what in Persia we call right and left,
People in Europe say is left and right.
Look you, so many sides as has the globe,
So many rights and lefts. Now, as the globe
Is wholly round, or oval at the least,
The rights and lefts roll on without a stop,
As long as this mad ball of earth rolls on.
If, then, the one be right, the other left,
You may jog on at ease on both your feet,
And neither left nor right have cause to turn.

Selim.
'Tis but a scurvy trick, to run your jokes
In this way on an old school-comrade, sir.

Sindbad.
I know all people by the foot. It is,
To my mind, the best limb in all the body,
And the most rational: if all our limbs,
Like it, would only hold fast by the ground,
No fear of tumbling ever need perplex us.

Selim.
A man can't walk with all his body, eh?

Sindbad.
And wherefore not, good Selim? If he did,
Then all his body must be shod with soles;
And one might turn an honest penny then.

Selim.
Thy father was a cobbler; and I should,
To hear you talk, almost believe—

Sindbad.
Precisely!
I was conceived and born into the craft.
There's something, friend, in what the scholars say,
That genius comes with us into the world.
Poets are born, not made, the sages tell:
Now, for the life of me, I'd like to know,
If cobblers are not born as well as they?

Selim.
In this way, friend, I take it, you would like,
That men had all a thousand feet apiece?

Sindbad.
Precisely so! The things most people like,
I can't by any means endure, not I.
For instance, now; a cloudless sky, the dawn,
A sunny day, I hate like pestilence.
No! Rain, and mud! There's sense in them, say I;
They play the devil with the boots. Again,
A fellow brags he walks straight on his feet;
That cuts me to the quick; for, oh the time,
The ages, such a varlet's soles will last!
To see a new-laid pavement makes me weep.
A bout of dancing is my chief delight.
And though I much respect your moralists,
It makes me venomous, to hear them warn
Our youth 'gainst lounging up and down the streets;
For of all virtues, friend, the chief is that,
Which tends to wear the pavement into dust.

Selim.
You make a living?

Sindbad.
Yes! oh yes—so, so!
Men can't get on without my handicraft.

Selim.
Well, now, good brother mine, it seems so odd,
Whilst you've been cobbling here upon your stall,
I've wandered, all on foot, the country through,
A pedlar, with my bundle on my back.
In Bagdad I have been, Balsora too,
Cashmir and Samarcand.

Sindbad.
So wags the world!
One man makes shoes, another uses them.—
When last we met, we were mere boys at play;
Now we are useful members of the state.

Selim.
Ah, if you love me, tell me, what's become
Of yonder long-legged, good-for-nothing lad?
What was his name? The poor thick-headed dunce,
Oh lord, what beatings at the school he got,
Because he never would get up his tasks!
And how he used to take his vengeance out,
By drubbing us, who did, all round in turn!

Sindbad.
Whom do you mean in special? There were many,
Who often drubbed me roundly.

Selim.
Him, of course,
Who always was the foremost at a lark—
A great stout fellow—and, in all our games,
He always came off best. Can't you remember?
'Twas he who caught the oranges, that time
The merchant flung them to us from his shop.

Sindbad.
Do you mean Aladdin?

Selim.
That's the very man!
That was the name! How goes the world with him?

Sindbad.
It goes, thank Heaven, as well as it can go,
For he's become a prince! The princess is
His wife; and when the good old Sultan dies,
He will be sultan too. Now, gossip, there
Is tolerable promotion for you, eh?

Selim.
Come, come, you're joking!

Sindbad.
Ask the veriest child,
And he'll confirm my words upon the spot.

Selim.
The deuce! What, he!—the runagate, that was
For ever building castles in the air,
For ever wrapt in some fantastic dream,
And never could learn anything by heart?

Sindbad.
Right; but he must have learned a deal by head.
There's a rare castle in the air he's built!

(Points to the palace.)
Selim.
Good gracious! How has all this come about?

Sindbad.
You want to know, eh? Not a word, I beg—
Don't name the subject. Why, the very thought
Sets all my wits a-spin. Enough, he's prince.

Selim.
I feel as if I'd tumbled from the clouds!
And is the dolt, who went to school with us
In days of yore, become a famous man?

Sindbad.
You may say that! And grown so proud, to boot,
He can't remember me the least—oh no!
Although we two were birched together oft,
In those same days of yore.

Selim.
But who comes here,
With such a princely retinue of slaves?

Sindbad
(with trembling servility).
'Tis he, our gracious prince himself. Quick, quick!
Down in the mud with you!

Selim.
My hose will be
Most miserably dirtied at the knees.

Sindbad.
What matters that? They can be wash'd again.
If you'd enjoy the country's bread, you must
Follow the customs of the country too.

(Aladdin passes with his Suite.)
Sindbad
(on his knees, shouts at the top of his voice)
Heaven rain its blessings on thee, noble prince!

Selim.
It was he, sure enough. But tell me, how
You're able in the self-same breath to wheel
Right round so palpably?

Sindbad.
Tush, hold thy peace!
I have my views upon the palace, sir!
I want the post of Jester at the court.
The present man's forsworn his cap and bells,
And grown a man of sense. Therefore it is,
I make such wonderful essays of wit.
What with my genius, and my patron's aid,
The place, I may say, is as good as mine.
'Tis a vocation quite compatible
With wielding of an awl. We meet in story
With cobblers who have been philosophers,
And poets too; why, then, not fools as well?
Poets and fools, they are so close allied,
It needs a brain well skill'd in splitting hairs
To separate the species. But, come home
With me; and there we'll parley more at large,
For here the windows and the walls have ears.

[Exeunt.
The Great Saloon in Aladdin's Palace.
Gulnare, Hindbad (as Fatima).
Hindbad
(speaking in a subdued and gentle voice).
Most true, my daughter! All that I have seen
Is marvellous, and of such magnificence,
My eyes are well-nigh dazzled by the blaze.
The finest thing of all is this saloon:
The lofty dome, blue as the gracious heavens—
Its golden stars—the garlands, which are wreathed
Along the wall with blooms of thousand dyes—
The noble marble columns—all are proofs,
Not more of wealth than of fine taste and soul.
There is but one thing—pray your highness, pardon
The boldness of the humblest of your slaves!—
But one thing wanting, to make this saloon
The paragon and marvel of the world.

Gulnare.
But one thing? You will pardon my surprise:
Of all who have beheld this hall, not one
Has ventured to suggest, it had a want;
Nay, most have rather been disposed to doubt,
If what they looked upon was not a dream.

Hindbad.
You must not think, dear child, that my old eyes
Are blinded to a marvel such as this,
Which very far outtops the other seven,
Of which the rumour ran of yore in Greece;
But just because all here is so superb,
I cannot brook that anything should lack.
It irks me sore. But take this comfort, child,
That nothing e'er is perfect in this world.

Gulnare.
What is it you conceive is wanting, pray?

Hindbad.
Look up to that great dome! Do you not see
A something wanting there?

Gulnare.
There? No, not I.
There's nothing wanting. I should say, the dome
Is the most perfect thing in all the palace.
All that could beautify's already there;
To add to it, would only be to take
From the fine boldness of the lofty arch.

Hindbad.
My dear good child! I'm old and weak, 'tis true,
And in my little hermitage I lead
A homely life, removed from worldly gauds;
Yet time was, I was young, as you are now;
By earthly beauty I was oft entranced,
And so I am even now, for in it I
Have never owned a merely sensuous charm,
But rather felt the presence, at its core,
Of Deity itself. So 'tis my duty,
At all times to instruct my eye to see
God's pure and perfect loveliness, my soul
To comprehend His wisdom, and my heart
To recognise His fond paternal care.

Gulnare.
Thy words are full of piety and wisdom;
What, then, is wanting here?

Hindbad.
Ah, for the eye,
Which, if it be but tickled, is content,
Nothing, my child, and every haughty soul,
Which puffs itself upon its earthly gifts,
Must marvel at the boldness of the arch.

Gulnare.
Well?

Hindbad.
But, dear child, the eye of piety,
Which seeks God's image in whate'er is fair,
Might wish for something more, that should impress
A more profound significance on all;
Although, belike, a meaner taste should say,
It was not faultless quite in elegance,

Gulnare.
What does the dome want? Tell me.

Hindbad.
A Roc's Egg.

Gulnare.
A Roc's Egg! How? An egg of that huge bird,
Which in its claws can bear an elephant?
Which dives into the deep after the whale,
Even as the sea-mew dives for tiny fish?

Hindbad.
An egg of that same bird.

Gulnare.
Do such exist?
Is't not a mere creation of the fancy?

Hindbad.
Oh, Doubt, thou art a perilous disease.

Gulnare.
You do believe in't, then?

Hindbad.
And wherefore not?
But—we shall let this bird take wing in peace.
To wish for the impossible were folly.

Gulnare.
And why a Roc's Egg, tell me, for the dome?

Hindbad.
Because, my child, when 'tis suspended there,
'Twill be a type of Deity for thee—
Of Allah, of the unknown Power, the world's
Disposer, the great Centre of the globe.

Gulnare.
Oh yes, that would be charming!

Hindbad
(as if about to go).
Come, my child,
To wish for the impossible were folly.

Gulnare.
And dost thou think that he who built this palace
Can not procure a Roc's Egg at his will?

Hindbad.
I doubt, my child,—I doubt exceedingly.

Gulnare.
How little wot'st thou of Aladdin's might!
It shall be there before to-morrow night.

(They pass on.)
Cabinet.
Aladdin, with the lamp in his hand.
The Spirit of the Lamp.
Spirit.
I'm here; what wouldst thou have me do? Say on.

Aladdin.
What thou hast done till now is bravely done.
The palace thou hast built me here is fair,
Of peerless splendour; yet doth man, thou know'st,
Yearn for the better ever from the good.
And truly this desire is commendable.
Who would not reach perfection, if he could?
So does it fare with me. Through Allah's grace,
I am of all that is most rare possessed,
And there is little left me to desire.
It is with me as with the artist now,
Who, when his work is perfected and done,
Surveys it with an eye of calm delight,
That he may give to it the final touch.
How much does even the finest diamond
Gain from the polisher and setter's skill!
So fares it with my magic palace now.
All that is most material is here!
But some slight decoration here and there,
Some trifles, these are all is left to do.

Spirit.
What's wanting.

Aladdin.
Fetch me a Roc's Egg, good slave,
And hang it up for me in yonder dome.
'Twill be to me a type of God, who sits
Throned in the centre of His universe.

Spirit.
Art thou in earnest?

Aladdin.
Yes.

Spirit.
Now I must speak.
(He surveys him for some time with flashing eyes, then exclaims,)
Ha, thus even around a noble soul will sin its coils entwine!
Thus a vile and crafty spirit hath an entrance found to thine!
Thou, who erewhile wert so simple, with a child's heart heavenward bent,
In a cage wouldst hang up Allah, for a toy, an ornament.
Has thy faith, then, left thee? Is it to thy vaunting state undue,
Lowly down to kneel before Him, like all other Moslems true?
In yon tottering dome, oh impious! thou wouldst in a single hour
Seek by cords to hang the Being who the centre is of power!
Thou wouldst have a Roc's Egg, wouldst thou, in thy garish hall to swing?
Madman! know'st thou, what beneath thy roof of latten thou wouldst bring!
Know'st thou what the Roc importeth, which thou fain wouldst prison fast?
'Tis the Earth, the huge, the bounteous, floating in the ether's vast!
Merely earth, that, still unwearied, through the boundless void doth plough.
Roc Bird, is it? On its verdant plumage thou art standing now.
That the bird of chainless wing, the never-weary in his flight,
Who the strength of steel, with ether's speed, doth in itself unite.
He with his broad pinions, bravely oaring, ever onward cleaves,
And the while thyself and Persia in his talons high upheaves.
I—I am of earth a spirit; she my mother is. But now
I must fetch my mother for thee in thy dome to hang her, thou!
From the throne to shame I'd hurl thee swiftly, shameless as thou art!
But I know the guile of Hindbad, know thy light and guileless heart!
Lay aside thy fears, and listen well to what I say to thee:
Eve of yore was by the serpent tempted, so her sons will be.
Craftily Noureddin's brother, mask'd as Fatima, night and day,
Plots to rob thee of thy treasure, and thyself in dust to lay.
Hindbad is his name; his dagger with her saintly blood is red;
'Tis by greed, and not by vengeance, he to seek thy life is led.
Like a prince and monarch bear thee! Call me not to succour thee!
From this strait thyself must help thee; this thy punishment shall be.

[Vanishes.
The Exterior of Fatima's Cottage.
Night. Hindbad, as Fatima. Sindbad.
Sindbad.
Are you the saintly headache-healer, pray?

Hindbad.
I am. Is some one in the village sick,
And wants my help? I'll come to-morrow, friend.
I can no longer run about at night,
As once I did. Old age creeps on me fast.

Sindbad.
What means this prating? Do I look as though
I came, eh, from the village? Follow straight!
You must to Ispahan this very night.
Simple and homely as you find me here,
Yet am I chief shoemaker to the Court;
And for the princess, for Gulnare, I make
The prettiest slippers possible, and boots—
Small only in the feet, for her right foot
Is scarce so big as my left hand;—the leg
Is ample—calves most round and plump withal—
But, mum for that, these be the mysteries
Of my vocation, and they have, besides,
No sort of bearing on our prince's headache.
Look you, our great prince,—now-a-days he's great,
But in his school-days he was small enough—
For, 'twixt ourselves, you're probably aware,
He's but of mean extraction, and owes all
His greatness to his genius,—that's the fact.
He has no ancestors, but it would seem,
He meant to found his family himself.—
To come, then, to the point, this prince has got
An aching head, which fills his bride with aches,
And so she wants your help with all despatch.
The Court has, you must know, its own physician—
His head the princess cares not to consult,
For all she's so concerned about Aladdin's.—
I'm witty, very, aint I?

Hindbad.
Oh, most witty!

Sindbad.
And foolish, too?

Hindbad.
Astonishingly foolish!

Sindbad.
Amusing, eh?

Hindbad.
Well, you are good at least
For killing time.

Sindbad.
Now, that is excellent.
My brain's in labour, look you, with a fool,
And soon I hope to touch that rank myself.
Therefore I bear with everything at Court;
I run on errands, making no complaint,
And to the princess solemnly I vowed,
Living or dead, to bring you back with me,
That you might cure the prince of all his pains.
Oh, these young couples are as full of aches,
As children are when cutting their first teeth.
Ha, ha, that was a happy hit, you'll say?

Hindbad.
'Twas not amiss. Yet 'tis not well you should
Direct attention to your jokes yourself—
They lose nigh half their value by the act.
I will but fetch my Koran and my staff,
And go with you, good man, right willingly.

(Enters the cottage.)
Sindbad
(alone).
Why had I not some learning to my back?
There's such a host of things a Fool should know.
I've heard that there be natural poets,—good,
I'll be a natural fool,—and, by my sooth,
That's not to be despised. We cannot all
Be learned fools; there must be laics, too.
(Sits down.)
Ah, what will man not do for wife and child!
It is not every one would live alone,
Like this old woman, in this tangled wood,
With lions, leopards, serpents all about,
And many other such monstrosities,
That scamper bare-legged over the wide world
Upon all-fours, like honest sheep and cows.
It is not pleasant here, especially
When the full moon shines through the branches so.
To the left a waste of sedges and morass,
To the right a copse, all blossoming with buds,
And the small foot-path to the town between!
The path, methinks, betwixt two grave-mounds lies:
The one is thickly heaped with stones; the other
With lilies and with roses planted o'er.
And how the tallest lily lifts its head,
On its fine stem, like silver, to the moon!
It looks, for all the world, as though the moon
Were whispering some secret in its ear.
Ha, here the old lady comes again at last.
Now, are you ready, dame, to step along?

Hindbad.
I am, my son; let us set out at once!

(Tries to force his way through the thicket to the right, but sticks among the thorns.)
Sindbad.
What are you after there? Where are you going?

Hindbad.
Oh, you are right, my son, the path lies here!
(Goes to the left, and sinks in the morass.)
Oh, help me, help!

Sindbad
(pulls him out).
Old woman, are you mad?
And you would cure, you, other people's heads?
Zounds! wherefore don't you keep the proper road?

Hindbad.
The road? What! there?—betwixt that pair of mounds?

Sindbad.
Of course.

Hindbad.
Why, don't you see the man in black,
Who sits there smoking on the heap of stones?
Smoking at midnight's what I can't endure.

Sindbad.
A man! No! I see nothing but a twig,
That waves and nods in the night-breeze.

Hindbad.
Ay, ay,
He nods, you're right; look how the old man nods!

Sindbad.
Ha, now I see where the shoe pinches you!
You're superstitious, eh?—most women are.
Well, we'll take up the path here to the right,
Up past the lily there.

Hindbad.
It is no lily,
It is a dead old woman in her shroud.
See, she is thin, for 'tis a skeleton,
The pale white sheet enwraps.

Sindbad.
Well, I must say,
You're a nice person to be called a sage!
Go to!—Don't be a fool! Come on, I say.

(Pulls him along.)
Hindbad.
No, no—ah no! I will not stir a foot.

Sindbad
(drags him up to the lily).
Can you not see it is a lily, now,
And no dead woman?

Hindbad.
The white lily smells
Too strong for me; it smells of human blood!

(Swoons.)
Sindbad.
Why, what the plague is this? You don't like smoke?
You don't like lilies? What smell do you like?
By Heaven, this is a pattern wise woman!
A very sage! She can't abide tobacco—
Well, let that pass; no doubt, some women can't—
But lilies, lilies! Well, well, after all,
They have a pungent smell, and a wise woman
Has delicate nerves, I fancy; mine are steeled.
I am a man, a shoemaker to boot;
And furthermore, a Fool in embryo.
'Tis a Fool's part to bear all sorts of things.
Confound that branch! there it goes bobbing still!
It's all your doing I am kept so late,
And you shall pay for it!
(Is about to break off the branch.)
Ha, the devil, ha!
My hand's all over in one blister, ha!
That plaguy branch is bristling with sharp thorns.
But what am I to do, now, with this dame?
Comes she not to the Court, the prince will keep
His headache, and I shall not be his Fool.
In short, I shall be utterly undone.
What's to be done? To take her on my back
To Ispahan, I have not strength for that.
I have no gossips either, as at home,
To lend a helping hand.—What's to be done?
I'll let her lie a little—that's the way—
And at my meerschaum take a whiff the while.
Perhaps the real smell will bring her back
To life again.
(Sits down on Fatima's grave, with his back towards the grave of the Magician; strikes a light, and begins to smoke.)
'Tis really terrible,
The wild vagaries fancy sometimes plays
In people's heads. When will they gather sense?
(The black man upon the Magician's grave has smoked out his pipe, and taps with it thrice upon the grave-stone, shaking out the ashes. The stones rattle; Noureddin's ghost, in red, rises,

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282

walks thrice round the grave, and stands still before the black phenomenon, who points to Hindbad as he lies on the ground, gives Noureddin's ghost a secret order, and vanishes. The latter approaches Hindbad, gazes at him, sighs, and strikes his hands together above his head. At this moment Sindbad turns round and becomes aware of its presence.
What do I see? What strange fish have we here,
Handsomely deck'd out in a scarlet dress?
He seems to pity the old woman's state;
'Tis possible he may help me if I ask him.
Now for a greeting. Gracious sir, good-day!
(Aside.)
To speak correctly I should say, Good-night!
Only it does sound too absurd, to wish
A man good-night, the moment that one sees him.

Ghost.
Help me to put the old woman on my back,
And I will bear her to the palace straight.
But when she wakes again, you must not tell,
Who helped you thither with the sleeping freight.

Sindbad.
I know you not; how then, pray, should I tell?

Ghost.
Say, thou thyself didst bear her to the gate.

Sindbad.
Good.—You but carry her. Leave me alone,
To take the credit of your work myself.

(The Ghost takes Hindbad on his back, and goes on.)
Sindbad
(follows).
You came just in the nick. This woman is
To cure the prince Aladdin's aching head.
She grew unwell just here, the poor old soul,
With the strong odour of this lily-bed.
Had you not chanced to pass along this way,
It's more than likely, she would ne'er have stirred
From where she fell! What would have happen'd then?

Ghost.
Soon, very soon, she'll be herself again.

Sindbad.
And do a deal of service in the world.

Ghost.
After death, when life's brief race is run,
Comes the guerdon for each action done.
Speed we on. Her goal is nearly won.

Sindbad.
Your pace is rather brisk, I must confess.

Ghost.
To keep thee company, I'll make it less.

Sindbad.
That gaberdine of yours is handsome, very.
Where do they make this glorious scarlet, pray?

Ghost.
On the loom, whereof the yarn is fire,
And the weft is pitch.—It sweats the buyer.

Sindbad.
A storm is breaking on the forest, hark!
You speak exceeding low—weak lungs, perhaps?

Ghost.
This bellows long has ceased to inhale the air.

Sindbad.
Who are you, sir?

Ghost.
A charcoal-burner, friend.

Sindbad.
Oh yes, of course! In such a handsome dress?

Ghost.
I serve a charcoal-burner, you must know,
The wealthiest far in all the country round.
Trees, that do move themselves, are what he burns;
Arms are their branches call'd, and hair their leaves.

Sindbad.
It blows so, I can't hear a word you say.

Ghost.
Push on! for, ere the rays of morning break,
Back to the earth I must myself betake.
(Advances, singing as he goes.)

Sindbad.
Fie, my good man! What filthy songs are these?

Ghost.
They're soldiers' songs, the madness of wild youth!
The load I bear grows lighter, if I sing.

Sindbad
(aside).
I don't feel comfortable; I almost fear
This fellow is no better than he should be.

(Stands still.)
Ghost.
Push on, push on, else this good worthy soul,
I tug along, will hardly reach the goal.
(Angrily.)
Push on, or I will wring your neck about.

Sindbad
(aside).
Allah preserve me, 'tis a ghost, I doubt!
(Aloud.)
I'm coming, Master Charcoal-burner! See!
You have no need to twist my neck; I'll go,
Without that trouble, cheerfully. Oh, oh!

[Exeunt.
Ante-chamber in Aladdin's Palace.
Sindbad, Hindbad,
(the latter lying on the ground still in a swoon.)
The chamber is full of niches and marble statues; a large black owl sits in the background upon the statue of Justice, and keeps its eyes fixed throughout the scene upon Hindbad.
Sindbad.
Not even yet come to herself! Ha, ha!
I can't help laughing heartily, to think,
How sorely I was frightened in the wood.
The worthy man who helped to bear her here,
I' faith, at last, I thought he was a ghost.
Well, Superstition is a dreadful thing;
One cannot somehow wholly root it out.
Here, in the city, now, at broad noonday,
When the thronged streets are full of passers-by,
All things run smooth, and I am bold as brass;
So that it positively needs an effort,
Not to forget there is a God at times.
But of a night, in yon grim pitchy wood,
When winds are howling, and the screech-owls cry,
And oaks of centuries shake their gloomy heads,
And their locks stream upon the gale, I'd fain
Believe in God and in the devil too,
And every other thing that man could wish.
She stirs! That's well. She's coming round at last.

Hindbad
(opens her eyes).
Where am I? Tell me, quick, how came I here?

Sindbad.
Upon these shoulders.

Hindbad
(rises).
How? You carried me?

Sindbad.
I carried you? I rather think I did!

Hindbad.
I fell down in a swoon.

Sindbad.
That's noways strange.
Frail vessels are we all, we sons of clay.
You can't endure the smell of lilies.—Well!
I can, but cats are things I can't abide.
Thus we have all our foibles, as you see.

Hindbad.
That filthy lily! Tell me frankly, friend,
Have I been talking nonsense by the way—
Wild feverish fancies?

Sindbad.
If on all occasions
Your tongue is equally discreet as then,
I'll answer for it, never senseless word
Will dare to find a passage to your lips.

Hindbad.
Was I quite silent, then?

Sindbad.
Mum as a mouse.

Hindbad.
You must be tired, good man?

Sindbad.
Oh, not the least!
Why, I could carry you that self-same way
As far again, and never tire, I could.
Now go! A messenger has just been here.—
But you had need of some repose, I said,
After your walk.

Hindbad.
Judiciously observed.
(Looks at his arm.)
How hard you must have grasped me! Look! my arm
Is livid with your finger-marks.

Sindbad.
When you
Get home again, with brandy wash the place,
And they will vanish. Take it not amiss;
'Tis hard at times to regulate one's strength.

Hindbad.
I will go in; and, for your timely aid,
I will include you in my daily prayers.

Sindbad.
Precisely what I wish! But prayers to whom?

Hindbad.
Whom were they better offered to than God?

Sindbad.
Of course, of course, that's very well, so far.
But, look you now, when you have cured our prince,
He's sure to grow so very fond of you,
He won't deny you anything you ask.
Then, pray, remember me! I ask no more,
To pay me for my long and weary walk.

Hindbad.
I will.

Sindbad.
I'm tired of shoemaking, you see;
Of all professions 'tis the vilest, quite:
A stocking-weaver's ranks above it miles,
A tailor's also,—not to name the barber's,
Who lives in close relations with the head.
Forget me not, when fortune smiles on you!

Hindbad.
Be sure, I'll not forget thee.

Sindbad.
Say, a place
Where there is little to do and much to get:
To cut the matter short, a place at Court,—
The Royal Bed Preparer, for example,
Who leaves the servitors to make the beds,
While he sleeps soundly.

Hindbad.
Of the Fool you spoke?

Sindbad.
Yes, something of the sort. Once placed at Court,
The Fool betimes will follow of itself.

Hindbad.
Farewell! I'll not forget you, rest assured!

Sindbad.
I wish you health, and happiness, and blessing,
And the fulfilment of your every wish.

[Exit.
Hindbad
(alone).
Health? Good! And happiness? And good success?
I thank thee.—I am tired and sick at heart.
This swoon! 'Tis strange. The phantom, too! Was it
A spirit-warning? Does Noureddin burn?
Is there another life, then, after death?
Is there a heaven? a hell?
(Observes the owl.)
What have we here?
An owl, as black as any coal, perched high
On yonder statue, glaring down on me
With eyes of fire! Owls are not wont to brook
The brightness of the day and sunshine thus.
How has the creature got into the house?
The windows are all closed, methinks. Ha, ha!
There is a pane out! Excellent! This speaks
Of the old levity, and want of thought.
He is the same gay madcap as of yore.
Now for another murder! Murder!
(Sits down.)
Hindbad,
This comes now of a saintly life. As Fatima,
One must eat only bread and roots, and drink
Water for wine, which muddles all the brain,
And stuffs it full of vapours. Let me, then,
To work at once, and change this style of life.
Conscience is merely weakness,—all fears are.
Justice? If I mistake not, there she stands,
A marble image, and the black owl sits
Upon her single scale;—yet, hard and fast
The balance stands. An image most exact
Of that grave personage whom men call Justice!
Quail now, upon the threshold of success?
That were to wear a villain heart indeed!
No, Hindbad! (Feels in his breast.)
My good dagger, art thou there?
'Tis well. Now, courage! And thou canst not fail!

(Goes in. The owl flies off through the broken window-pane, and is lost in the distance.
The Great Hall.
Aladdin lying upon a sofa. Gulnare enters with Hindbad as Fatima.
Aladdin
(eyes him closely).
Art thou the wily dame who is so skilled
In healing aches of body, and of soul?

Hindbad.
So simple piety believes, great prince!
I am not holy; Mahomet is holy;
I am a woman, frail and full of sin.

Aladdin.
Art thou not able, then, to assuage my pain?

Hindbad.
The princess says, that thou hast faith in me!
Come! lay thine aching head upon my breast,
And let me stroke it with my aged hands.
But, if my skill is to avail thee aught,
Thy chiefest treasure must be close at hand.
Most marvellous it seems, but so it is,
That all my art consists in sympathy;
Mysterious are Nature's powers divine.

Aladdin.
It joys me much to hear thy sage discourse.
Proceed! My chiefest treasure is at hand.
Gulnare, my love, come hither to my couch.

Hindbad.
Oh prince, thou hast a noble, loyal heart!
A wife, in sooth, the dearest treasure is,
Which the pure soul could for itself select;
But here 'tis only the mere body's case;
Therefore, your treasure must mere body be.
By holy inspiration well I know,
Thy chiefest treasure is a copper lamp.

Aladdin.
Good! Then thou also knowest, that I bear
This lamp within my bosom.

Hindbad.
Ay, indeed.
But it is needful, to effect your cure,
That you should lay your bosom bare to me;
I must touch now the lamp, and now your head,
And the magnetic forces of the metal,
Thus interblended through my finger-points,
Will soon dispel the vapours from your brain.
(Draws his dagger.)
Be not alarmed, I pray, my noble liege!
The bare steel also must be called in aid,
Else shall we not effect a perfect cure.
I with my dagger, sire, must touch the lamp;
For 'tis by bringing ores of different kinds
In contact, with a fluid interposed,
That you alone can be restored to health.

(Is about to place the dagger on his breast.)
Aladdin
(springs up, seizes him, and dashes him to the ground).
Ha, murderer! Thou think'st to take my life?

Gulnare.
Oh heavens! What deed is this? The holy woman—

Aladdin.
Is the most worthless miscreant on earth.
(Seizes the dagger, and holds it at Hindbad's throat.)
Die, traitor, die!

Hindbad
(on his knees).
Oh, spare my life, my liege!

Aladdin.
Die!

Hindbad.
Let me live, I pray thee! I will be
A loyal servant; as a father, I
Will honour thee, if, as a father, thou
Endowest me with life.

Aladdin.
Mute be the tongue,
Which speaks but to blaspheme all holy things!

Hindbad
(seizing him by the arm).
What have I done to thee?

Aladdin.
Thou adder vile!
Wouldst not have murdered me at unawares?

Hindbad.
And if I would, hast thou not slain my brother?
Calls not his blood for vengeance from the ground?

Aladdin.
His blood? The assassin!

Hindbad.
My brother was a man.
The treasure, he had panted for through life,
Thou didst despoil him of. What wonder, then,
If he detested thee?

Aladdin.
Thou 'scapest me not.
(Claps his hands; a Slave enters.)
Quick, fetch me hither two Damascus swords!
(The Slave fulfils the order, and retires.)
Look, Hindbad! My career until this hour
Has still been upright, honourable, frank.
Thou art a caitiff vile, and die thou shalt,
Yet will I leave thee not the power to say,
That force and murderous violence struck thee down.
In my right arm, and righteous cause, I trust.
Take this good sword. Ha! dost thou tremble, slave?
Can conscious innocence grow pale and tremble?
Quick, take this sword. By Heaven! thy shameless brow
Shall mock the heavens no longer,—not an hour.
Soon shalt thou kiss the dust with gory lips.

Hindbad.
And should I kill thee, what shall be my fate?

Aladdin
(takes the lamp from his bosom and places it upon the ground).
See here. I place the lamp between us. He
Who conquers can possess him of it straight,
And then no power on earth can do him hurt.

Gulnare.
Aladdin! Oh, great heaven, what dost thou risk!

Aladdin.
Courage 'gainst cowardice, strength against deceit!
Defend thyself!—or, by the eternal God,
I'll cleave that flattened skull of thine in twain.

(Hindbad takes the sword.)
Invisible Chorus of Wicked Spirits.
Woe! his course of
Life is closing;
Of our friend we
Are despoilèd!
And no succour
In the conflict
Can we lend him,
No assistance;
For in combat,
Breast to bosom,
We are cravens,
We avail not.
How to wield the
Sword we know not;
With the dagger
Only we can
Murder in the
Silent dark.
See! behold our tribulation!
Canst thou not, Hindbad, recoil, and plunge,
With sudden spring, thy dagger in his back?
Hug him to thy bosom like a friend, and strangle him.
Then shall the praise of thy valour be rung.
Slip, like an eel, out of his hands! Quick, quick!
Where, Hindbad, is thy cunning now, thy skill, thy craft?
Like a pitiful coward thou dost succumb!

Chorus of Good Spirits.
See, even now the caitiff cowers!
Soon now all will be fulfillèd.
Succour none our friend requireth,
No kind words to fire his heart;
Proud he stands in youthful vigour,
While his strong hand grasps his sword;
And with wary eye he wieldeth,
Like a toy, its ponderous blade.
But a deadly terror standeth
In great drops on Hindbad's brow.
See! he totters, drops his sword-point,
But Aladdin spares his life.

Hindbad.
I charge you, on your valour, let me draw
My breath in peace a moment!

Aladdin.
Take thy wish!

Hindbad
(sits down and draws a deep breath).
At length I see full clearly, that mere craft
Must vail its pride to valour. So my hand,
My own hand, shall despatch me to the devil.

(Stabs himself with his dagger.)
Aladdin.
This hast thou with all wickedness in common;
For all its power, a juggle at the best,
In its own misty light is quenched and lost.

(Aladdin and Gulnare stand for some moments wrapped in thought, and contemplate the body of Hindbad. Suddenly it is borne away by invisible hands. A beautiful low strain of music resounds from the dome of the hall, and gradually effaces every unpleasing impression

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296

left by what has just occurred. The sweet caressing cadences sink into their souls. They embrace in a transport of joy, and are lost in a blissful feeling of wonder; suddenly an invisible chorus is heard.)

Sevenfold joy and health attend thee, noblest of the sons of men!
Trouble's louring clouds have vanished; flowers and sunshine smile again.
Thou hast proved thyself a hero; danger, trial, now are o'er.
Henceforth Ring and Lamp shall serve thee, and forsake thee nevermore.

Spirits of the Ring.
We around thy steps shall hover, wheresoe'er thy fortunes lead,
Viewless, but unsleeping, ever ready to attend thy need.

Spirits of the Lamp.
And the oil of life profusely in thy lamp of life we'll pour;
So its flame shall burn serenely, brightly, too, for evermore.

All the Spirits.
Sevenfold health and joy attend thee, noblest of the sons of men!
Thou hast fought and thou hast conquered; flowers and sunshine smile again!

Gulnare.
Oh heavenly tones! what raptures ye awake!

Aladdin.
Our soul's best thanks, ye viewless liegemen, take

The Vizir
(enters with his suite; advances to Aladdin, bearing the diadem upon a cushion of red velvet).
Tidings we bring of joy and grief, my liege!
The good old Sultan lives on earth no more;
To nature's law he has succumbed, and home
Is gone, to where his fathers dwell in bliss.
We, the true servants of a much-loved lord,
Find yet a comfort in this woful hour,
When we recal, what hope has promised long,
From worth and magnanimity like thine.
Thus, while this stroke of death will change our lord,
It will not change our loyalty and love.
And may we hope, thou'lt not dismiss thy slaves,
Who through long years have proved their service true.
This crown, accept it from thy servant's hand,
But place it on thy kingly brows thyself.
(Aladdin receives the crown. The People are heard shouting in front of the palace.)
May Allah's blessing rest on Persia's Sultan!
That, like the sun, he may with joy and strength
The land illumine! Bless his beauteous bride!
Long live Gulnare! Long live Aladdin, ho!

Aladdin
(advances to the window, and after contemplating the crowd for some time in silence, he says),
There in the square, a boy, I loved to stand,
On holidays, when rambling through the streets,
And on the ancient palace gazed with awe,
Lost in astonishment to think that man
Could build a palace so supremely fair.
There in the square, in my mad rage I flung
Stones at the crowd, which scoffed and jeered at me!
In that same square they hail me Sultan now,
And as their monarch greet me with acclaim.
How strange a problem is the life of man!
How wondrously its threads are twined and woven
Upon the loom by the Eternal's hand!
A nod, and straightway we resolve to dust.
What, then, is human greatness? Come, my love,
Let us together to thy father's bier,
And in his gentle visage, now so pale,
Seek consolation, whilst the giddy crowd
With feast prepares to usher in my reign.
Thereafter to the cemetery we,
Where, 'neath the fragrant alder, hand in hand,
We'll sit and muse on Morgiana's grave.