University of Virginia Library

ACT FIRST.

ISPAHAN.
A small meanly-furnished Room. Mustapha, seated upon a table, sewing. Morgiana spinning cotton.
Mustapha.
Ho! Morgiana!—fast asleep again?

Morgiana.
No, Mustapha; you're wrong,—indeed you are;
I was but thinking of my evening prayers,
And dropp'd my eyelids, not to be disturb'd
In my devotions. It is growing late. (yawns)


Mustapha.
Late! quotha, late! A pretty way to talk!
I call it early. Who, I'd like to know,
Is master in the house, wife? You or I?
You are a sloth—a drone! Is this a time
Or place for poor folks, such as we, to talk
About devotions—pish!—or evening prayers?

Morgiana.
Where is the use, then, of our fearing God?

Mustapha.
No use at all; that's just the misery;
For whilst you are at prayers you cannot spin.
And who e'er dined on prayers? Will they make loaves,
Or from the butcher buy us e'er a joint?
I am a frail old man; my strength is spent;
I cannot stitch as once I used to do.
You are my better half; and you should take
Upon your back the fair half of my trials.

Morgiana
(weeps).
I do my best to help—I'm sure I do.

Mustapha.
Well, dry your tears; and I'll not vex you more.
You're a good creature—'faith, you might be worse.
In days gone by, when I was better off,
You would have work'd too hard, but I forbade you;
Ah! wife, I used to beg you then, you know,
To spare your fair white hands and comely face;
But now—so run the changes in the world!
All your fine gilding has been rubb'd away,
And my last piece of gold has long been spent.
Now you must card and spin, if we're to live:
And, what is worse, we must find provender
For that long lounging good-for-nothing lout,
That wastes his days in idleness.

Morgiana.
Poor boy,
You should not deal so hardly with him, husband.
He is so very young! With his warm blood
You can't expect he'd be content to sit
Cross-legg'd upon the shop-board all day long.

Mustapha.
To polish, though, the pavement all day long,
With arms across, and lazy pace,—his blood
Is cool enough for that. Now, hark ye, wife—

Morgiana.
Well, keep your temper! Hush! here comes the boy!

Aladdin
(entering).
God greet you, my dear parents!

Mustapha.
Wait a bit,
I'll greet you, you young vagabond, I will!
Where, sir, have you been frittering your time?
With other idle rascals like yourself?

Aladdin.
Frittering? I frittering my time,—not I!
Say, rather, turning it to good account.
There is the price of the rich merchant's dress!
There, father! He was not at home himself;
But, as I'm but a boyish stripling still,
They let me have free access to his house;
And once they catch me there, the women folks
Won't suffer me to go. Oh, holy Prophet!
What darling creatures are those girls of his!
They chatted with me—ask'd me, the dear rogues,
If I was thorough master of my trade?
Oh, that I were indeed a real tailor!
If they would only give me leave, said I,
I'd take their measures on the spot, I would.
“Agreed, agreed!” they cried; then off they ran,
And fetched me paper and a pair of shears.
You should have seen what measuring ensued,—
Round arm, round swelling bosom, slender waist.
Lord, Lord! a rare thing is the tailor's craft!

Mustapha.
You good-for-nothing scamp, I'll tailor you!
Fine tailoring, indeed!
(As he leaps down from the table, he slips, and is on the point of falling.)
Oh, holy Prophet!
Help, help! I fall! Help, or I'll break my neck!

Aladdin
(helps him).
This comes of being over-hasty now.

Mustapha
(restraining his anger).
Fetch me my ell-wand, that's a darling boy!

[Aladdin fetches the ell-wand; Mustapha makes a blow at him with it, but Aladdin springs back; his father strikes Morgiana's spindle, and knocks it over upon the lamp. Aladdin runs off.
Morgiana
(who has dropped asleep again, starts up, and seeing her spindle on fire, exclaims)
Ha! Fire! Fire! Ispahan—pa—Ispahan!
Help, murder! Persia's mighty capital
Is in a blaze!

Mustapha.
No, not so bad as that!
Wretch that I am! I am the sport of Fate!
Ha, you young scant-o'-grace! scamp! gallows-bird!
Will you not stop till I chastise you, eh?
Will you deprive me of my livelihood
Amongst my rich, luxurious customers?
Will—Morgiana, have you lost your wits?
There you sit wringing of your hands, and let
The spindle burn! Ho! Water—water here!

Morgiana.
Water, indeed! And where am I to get it?
There's not a drop—not one in all the house;
Nor fireman's pail, nor engine spout have I.
Oh, oh!—my cotton! Oh, my yarn—my yarn!

[In her distraction she snatches up the silk dress on which Mustapha is at work, and flings it upon the flames.
Mustapha.
The kaftan burns! This was the heaviest blow!
I never, never shall survive this day.
Our house is menaced by a ruthless doom:
Its light grows fainter, to be quenched in gloom.

Morgiana.
Oh, if it were, what happiness for me!
But soon in flames our little home will be.

[Mustapha swoons away.
AFRICA.
A large chamber, illuminated by a faintly-burning lamp. Round about, upon the walls, hang all kinds of singular instruments; several book-shelves on one side. In the background sits The Enchanter, Noureddin, in a long black robe, with a scarf, on which numerous mystical characters are blazoned. On the table before him a little chest, filled with white sand. Buried in thought, he traces lines in the sand with an ebony stylus. Suddenly he exclaims—
(Rises slowly, and takes down an old folio, which he opens, and reads.)

ISPAHAN.
A Room. Morgiana and her Female Neighbours round Mustapha's bier.
Morgiana.
Once more I thank you, worthy gossips all,
For your kind help with my poor husband here!
He's dead, alack! Great Prophet! Ah, he sits
No longer stitching on the table there,
And scolding me for dropping off to sleep!
Now he sleeps faster far than e'er did I.
Thanks, thanks, good Mirza! You, Amina, thanks!
If God call either of your husbands hence,
You may rely on Morgiana's help
To wash, and dress, and lay the body out,
And weep and wail, as you have done for mine.
Oh Allah! think,—the robe, in which he lies,
It was the death of him! He fetch'd a blow
To hit Aladdin, and upset my distaff
Into the lamp. I started from my nap
With a great shriek;—how to put out the fire
Was my first thought, but in my parlous fright,
Not knowing which was black and which was white,
I snatch'd the dress up, flung it on the flames,
When down he dropp'd, as pale as any sheet,
And died of downright terror on the spot. (weeps)

Well!—'tis a road we all one day must go;
Yet it is hard! And then in such a way!
Aladdin is a worthless scamp! And now,
Farewell, my good kind friends! See, here they come,
To take him to the grave! This is too much.
[The corpse-bearers enter.
My heart is breaking! Oh, good gentle souls!
When ye take up the bier, grasp not too hard;
'Tis an old man; so lift him tenderly:
He is not fit to bear much buffeting;
And mind you turn his silver-hoary head
Towards Mecca, and his feet to Medina.
One kiss! Ah me!—how tranquilly he lies!
Once he was always fuming;—that is past.
Farewell, my husband! Mustapha, farewell!

[Exeunt bearers with the bier. The women shriek.
A Street.
Aladdin and a troop of ragged Boys; in the background the Magician, Noureddin, who watches their proceedings attentively.
Selim.
There is Aladdin! Now we may begin!
Now we shall have our game!

Aladdin.
Good morrow, friends!

Selim.
And where have you been loitering all this time?

Aladdin.
Look ye! There was an old man's funeral,
Outside the town, near the small village mosque;
And this it was that kept me. 'Tis so nice
To listen to the singing, and to see
The stately way they bear the bier along.

Selim.
Why didn't you, I say, take me with you?
Who was it they were burying?

Aladdin
(yawns).
My father.

Selim.
Who? What? Your father? Gracious! Is he dead?

Aladdin.
Two nights ago.

Selim.
And you,—you never spoke
A word to me about it.

Aladdin.
I forgot.

Selim.
And you're not mourning?

Aladdin.
Where would be the good?

Selim.
Not in your dress, I mean, but in your heart?

Aladdin.
Why, if we mourn'd for all that went amiss,
We should do nought but mourn. He was old and frail.

Sindbad.
Well, come along! The merchant at the corner
Will fling three oranges again to-day
For us to scramble for beneath his window.

Aladdin.
I will be there.

Sindbad.
Of course! No doubt you will!
See, here comes one! Now, youngsters, look alive!

(Aladdin has caught the orange).
Selim.
You're always lucky.

Boys
(call out).
Ho! More oranges!

[Another orange is thrown from the window, and is caught by Aladdin.
Aladdin.
That's number two! They make a pretty pair.

Sindbad.
Aladdin shan't play with us any more.
He mustn't try to catch the third. He's got
Enough already. Comrades, hold him back!

[Some of the boys hold Aladdin. A third orange is thrown out, and falls into his turban.
Aladdin.
That's number three! One I shall eat myself;
And now, here go the other two again!

(throws the two oranges into the air. All the boys run off to catch them).
Noureddin
(advances).
Why should I travel further? This child's play,
As aimless and as trivial as it seems,
Is yet devised by destiny, to show
The tool I am to use. As I surmised,
Sturdy and straight, red-cheek'd, without a care!
They bury this boy's father, and he goes
To gape at this like any other show.
Twice on the child did fortune shower her boons,
Ay, and the third time, though his hands were bound,
He lured her favour down into his turban.
What would I more? The thing I sought is here.
(goes up to Aladdin).
God save you, my young friend! I see that you
Are a smart hand at catching.

Aladdin
(sheepishly).
Rather, sir!

Noureddin.
Forgive me if, a stranger as I am,
I make so bold as tender you my friendship,
For I am drawn to you in many ways;
First, you are much the handsomest of all
Your playfellows;—the tallest, too, to boot.
How old are you?

Aladdin.
Just turned seventeen.

Noureddin.
I should have thought you older by your looks.
You only want a beard, to be a man.
Then, in dexterity you're foremost, too,
And you have luck. A foreign merchant I,
Almost a stranger here in Ispahan,
And so would like to know some pleasant people.

Aladdin.
You show me too much honour, sir, indeed!
Small profit will you get from knowing me.
I'm a poor tailor's 'prentice, sir. My father
Died very strangely just two days ago.
This was the way of it. With his ell-wand
He fetch'd a blow at me, but missed, and knock'd
My mother's distaff over on the lamp.
The yarn caught fire;—and thereupon he died.

Noureddin.
I heard you speaking of his burial,—
And—don't be angry!—the indifference
That marked your words somewhat offended me.

Aladdin.
Why, sir, he was a poor infirm old man,
Almost threescore and ten; and very few
Live past that age in Ispahan!

Noureddin.
But then,
'Twas you, it seems, who caused the old man's death.

Aladdin.
Because I would not quietly submit
To be felled like an ox? Because I leapt
Aside, and showed him a clean pair of heels?
No, gentle sir; think what a life is that,
Which hangs by such a very spider's thread,
It dies of simple fright, because a wisp
Of yarn takes fire!—He rather owes me thanks
For giving him occasion, as I did,
To say good-bye to it for good and all.

Noureddin.
That was not spoken like a son, my friend!

Aladdin.
A son? Mashallah, I am fain to think,
That I count kindred with that sire of mine
Through my good mother's courtesy alone!
For he was old, when he took her to wife,
And she was pretty, as the rumour goes.
Al Sefi, an Emir, oft called on us;
Right fond of me he was, and I was like him;
Many's the gift I had of him, before
He lost his life in fighting with the Turks.

Noureddin.
Your father was so old! What was his name?

Aladdin.
His name, sir? Mustapha!

Noureddin
(with increasing interest).
A tailor, said you?

Aladdin.
Body and soul a tailor.

Noureddin.
And lived long
In Ispahan?

Aladdin.
Since ever I remember.

Noureddin.
A little peevish—naturally testy?

Aladdin.
You know him?

Noureddin.
Yes,—an industrious old man?

Aladdin.
Amazingly industrious?

Noureddin.
And he wished
That you should be the same, no doubt, and not
Go lounging idly up and down the streets.

Aladdin.
The very man! His picture large as life!

Noureddin
(embraces him).
My brother's son!

Aladdin.
What! You his brother, sir?

Noureddin.
Yes, his own very brother. Mahomet!
I thought he had been dead this many a day.
Never could I have hoped to find his son,
And now I find him in this comely youth!
Embrace me, child! What is your name?

Aladdin.
Aladdin.

Noureddin.
Yes, yes! He wrote me word of that.—But now
Touching that same Emir of whom you spoke—

Aladdin
(looking embarrassed).
Oh, gracious! uncle,—not a word of that!
Suppose it something whispered to the wind.

Noureddin.
Well, come, Aladdin, my dear nephew, come,
And lead me to your aged mother straight.
She's still alive?

Aladdin.
The cottage there is hers.

Noureddin.
Almighty God! how wondrously does fate
Bring things to meet together in this world!

[Exeunt into the cottage.
A Chamber.
Noureddin, Morgiana, and Aladdin seated at supper.
Morgiana.
Most honoured kinsman! Dear good brother! Don't,
Don't take it ill of me to speak so bold—
Dear bless my soul, I'd sooner have believed
The Caucasus had sunk into the earth,—
Yea, the Euphrates run completely dry,
Than that my dear, my faithful Mustapha— (weeps)

Now he is in the blessed Paradise,
Where youthful Houris, prettier far than I,
Caress and dress him day by day, and rub
With flannels soft his poor rheumatic limbs.
Well, let them! I'm not jealous!—No, not I.
But to come back to what I meant to say,—
Ne'er, as I said before, had I believed
That Mustapha, poor, ailing Mustapha,
Was brother of so grand a gentleman.
Besides, I never heard him speak of you,
Yet he was given to gossiping, God knows!
And so at first I thought—(your pardon, sir!)—
That you were but a thief, a vagabond,
Who took this plan to throw us off our guard.
But when, again, I came to think that here
There's nothing any man could steal—no more
Than on the red sands of Sahara's waste;
And when you ordered heaps of viands in,
And sweet sherbet in goblets of great price,
Then, dearest kinsman, my suspicion vanished.
For what, said I, in all the world should make you
So kind to an old woman like myself,
And my poor boy, if not relationship?

Noureddin.
Yes, my dear sister;—all that's in my power
To do for you, or for your darling son,
I'll do like a true kinsman. Why has fate
Concealed your poverty from me so long?
But what is past and gone is past recal;
'Tis merest folly to lament the things,
We have no power to alter. We will deal
With matters as they are. (pours out sherbet)

So, fill, my son,
And pledge me in a cup.

Aladdin.
Uncle, your health! (drinks).


Noureddin.
Now, sister, tell me—and be frank, I beg—
What's your vocation? Whereon do you live?
What does Aladdin do? Is he industrious?
What business does he mean to turn to? What
Is the peculiar bias of his mind?

Morgiana.
The bias of his mind? Alack, alack!
To scour the streets the livelong blessed day;
To tumble in the mire like any pig,
To wear his breeches into holes at knee;
To tear his coat to tatters at the elbows,
To fight, and swear, and scramble up and down,—
That's all his bias. You may well suppose,
The boy has cost me many an aching heart:
It's little else I get from him, God knows!
He is my son, my own true flesh and blood;
A handsome youth, and smart—pure red and white,
And everybody says he's just my image;
But I must tell the truth, come what come may;
He sees me spin and spin from morn till night,
But what is that to him? God save the mark!
He'll not so much as turn his hand, not he,
To comb his hair out. Everything is thrown
On me,—poor me!—of widows most perplexed.
He should have been a tailor, like his father.
That was a tailor for you!—Tailor's work
Don't drop into one's mouth, like roasted doves.
Whilst my poor husband lived, I took his part,
The idle dog—and now Heaven pays me off
For having been a weak good-natured fool. (weeps)


Noureddin.
Well, well, my worthy sister, dry your tears.
As far as I can judge your boy Aladdin,
His character is generous, frank and noble.
Too young to choose a business for himself,
Depressed and hampered by the want of means,
He does not know which way to turn himself.
In this way indolence has rock'd his spirit,
Like any cradled infant, into sleep.
I'd wager, were he put into the way
Of starting in some trade in proper style,—
The master of a handsome shop, we'll say,
Well stock'd with fine and well-selected stuffs
From China, India, and the Levant—
I'd wager, at a venture, two to one,
He'd very soon grow tired of his old life,
And turn to other courses. Eh, my son?

Aladdin.
Good uncle, you exactly read my heart.
I never pass a merchant's shop like that,
Piled to the roof with cloth of gold and silver,
Gauzes and velvets, and rich robes and silks,
But to myself I say,—Oh, if I had
Such a fine shop as that! Then, every day
Would lovely Persian ladies visit me;
And they would fling their long thick veils aside,
In order rightly to inspect the goods;
And whilst their eyes were busy with my stuffs,
Mine should be busy taking stock of them.
Oh, get me such a shop, dear uncle, do,
And here I promise you, by all that's sacred,
To grow methodical, sagacious, grave,—
To comb my hair, and never more to play
With stupid dirty boys about the streets.

Noureddin
(offers him his hand).
Your hand upon it!

Aladdin
(takes it).
And my heart too!

Noureddin.
Good!
A shop I'll get you the day after next.

Morgiana.
Oh, holy Prophet! He a shop! Poor wretch!
How in the world is that to come about?

Noureddin.
I'll buy a shop, and set him up in it.

Aladdin
(falls on Noureddin's neck).
That's what I call an uncle! Blood with him
Is thicker far than water! But, dear uncle,
'Tis a long time till the day after next;
Were it not better instantly, by dawn
To-morrow—'tis too late, alas! to-night—
To buy the shop for me? What's done is done;
And, to confess the truth, I can't abide
To be kept waiting long.

Morgiana.
Thou saucy knave!
Thou mooncalf! Good-for-nothing! Hast thou ne'er
One grain of sense in all thy stupid skull?
Is this thy gratitude? Art thou not struck
All of a heap with Providence's mercies?
I cannot choose but weep. Oh best of brothers,
You are an angel, sent from paradise
To save this wretched orphan from perdition;
The poor dear child! Get up, you rascal! There,
Go kiss your uncle's hand! Where be your manners?
Have you no thanks? Ha, is it not a dream?
I am so used to misery and grief,
This sudden turn of fortune quite confounds me.

Noureddin.
Calm thee, good lady.—Friend Aladdin, no;
To-morrow's Friday, and a holiday,
And we can do no business. Shops are shut;
The time is given to exercise devout,
And quiet recreation. Yet will I
Procure you a fresh suit without delay,
One that is fitted for your new estate;
And, by your mother's leave, we shall go forth
Into the suburbs, for a quiet stroll
Among the cool shades of those lovely gardens
Outside the gates. Have you a mind for this?

Aladdin.
Yes, that I have.

Noureddin.
Then for to-day we part;
For it is late, and I am much fatigued.
Betimes I shall be with you in the morning;
And now, good night!

Aladdin and Morgiana.
Kinsman, good night!—good night!

[Exit Noureddin.
A Wild Mountainous Region.
A narrow valley, covered with grass and flowers, shut in between two precipitous rocks, studded with trees. A stream dashes from one of the rocks.
Noureddin and Aladdin enter, in close conversation.
Aladdin.
Good uncle, you do tell the prettiest stories
That ever I have heard in all my life:
I never should grow tired of listening.
I fancy I am wiser, by a deal,
Than when we started on our walk but now.
To every quarter of the world you've led me.
It may be very true, all that you say
Of trade and merchandise; but I confess,
What you have told me of these powers occult
Of nature, and of marvels manifold,
Of men, who in a moment oft attain,
By merest chance, what others waste their lives
In vain and ceaseless efforts to achieve,
Of the invisible and central force,
And other such mysterious agencies,
These were the things that gave me most delight!

Noureddin.
These are the noblest themes—the most sublime
That can employ the mind of mortal man!

Aladdin
(looks round him, amazed).
But where, in all the world, is this we are?
You charmed me so with your delightful talk,
I took no notice how we came along.
Far have we wandered from the gardens,—far,
Through brake and greenwood, over hill and dale.
We're right among the mountains! Surely we
Have come a frightful distance! Now, I think
It struck me once, that I was growing tired;
But straightway I forgot it. Tell me, uncle,
Have you been as oblivious as myself?

Noureddin.
No, my dear son! I led thee by design,
Far from the city's stupefying din,
To nature's calm, majestic solitudes.
I mark'd thy young heart beat with childish joy,
Through the fair gardens as we came along,
Which, like a chaplet, breathe their fragrance cool
Round that huge pile of gross and sculptured stone.
Yet, though I do not scruple to confess
That these green thickets, musical with brooks,
And clustering rich with fruits of choicest hues,
Were fair, most fair and pleasant to the eye,
Yet nature, fashioned in such puny moulds,
Bound down and fetter'd by convention's rules,
Grown up within possession's close confine,
And under the possessor's lordly eye,
Is poor, most poor, beside these glorious hills,
Which tower gigantic, like the kings of earth.
Though my words seemed to drop at unawares,
Yet were they pondered carefully to lead
Thy bright and subtle spirit, step by step,
Up from the trivial to the sublime.
In what I told thee, 'twas my aim to make thee
Familiar with the marvellous; that so
Thou mayst not, like a fiery-mettled colt,
Foaled in the desert, with his wit to learn,
Rear up in terror at the sudden peal.
This therefore have I done; and now, methinks,
I may disclose my purpose to thee safely.

Aladdin.
Speak on, sir; I am not at all afraid.

Noureddin.
Then know, my son, that I for years on years
Have pored o'er nature's book of mysteries,
And there unravell'd marvels too occult
For the dull glance of common eyes to pierce.
Thus, amongst other matters, I have found,
That here, where now we stand, beneath our feet
A cavern lies, deep vaulted in the rock,
Where all, that in the mountain's bosom rests,
A deeper bloom and richer lustre wears,
Bright with the hues of an eternal spring,
Than the pale growths of this our upper earth,
Where the flower dies as swiftly as it blows,
Leaving its wan sere leaves alone behind.
If, then, thou hast the courage to descend
Into this cave of marvel and of beauty—
For thy sake, mark me, I came here, my son,
For I have scann'd its glories many a time—
Then will I by a spell of mystic power,
First kindling some dry twigs, disclose to thee
The hidden entrance to the vault at once.

Aladdin.
Oh! is there, then, a real cavern here?
Right underneath our feet? Here, where we stand?

Noureddin.
A grotto, studded with the choicest gems,
Infinite nature's magazine of art!

Aladdin.
And you can find its entrance, by a fire
Of twigs, and muttering some mystic words?

Noureddin.
That power has Allah's grace on me bestowed.

Aladdin.
Dear, dear! I never heard the like before!

Noureddin.
Art thou so soon afraid?

Aladdin.
Afraid? Not I.
And yet it is too wonderful by half!

Noureddin.
You see yon withered branches, how they droop,
Scorch'd into tinder on the sun-burnt rocks,—
Away, my son, and fetch them for our fire!
But be alert, for it grows late and dusk.

Aladdin.
Trust me for that! I do so long to see
This lovely cave! I'll fetch the wood at once!

[Exit.
Noureddin.
So, then, the moment is at hand, that gives
The earth and all its glories to my grasp!
This is the spot has been my life's one dream;
The spot I've come so many leagues to reach.
Here comes my instrument already back,
Laden with sticks, and merry as a bird.
Poor fool! so eager to embrace his doom,
He stumbles as he runs;—a dismal fall
Awaits him. Ah! look round thee, giddy boy!
For the last time make glad thy wretched eyes
With the fresh brightness of these flowery slopes,
And warm thy wretched body with the sun!
Soon, soon shalt thou, cut off from sun and flowers,
Shut in the dark, and rack'd by hunger-pangs,
Shriek through the echoing gloom in vain for death.
There be weak fools would call this cruelty;
But it is wisdom, unalloy'd by passion.
What's doom'd is doom'd, and cannot choose but be.
Psha! Does the sage, who into nature pries,
Shrink to impale the insect on his pin?

Aladdin
(returns with a bundle of faggots on his back).
Here's wood enough to roast an elephant.
But, uncle, on my way, and whilst I broke
The branches off, and laid them on my back,
There came into my mind the old, old tale
Of Abraham, and the sacrifice of Isaac,
And how the unhappy lad himself was made
To bear the wood for his own funeral pile.
(Suddenly he swings round on one leg, and waves his hand triumphantly.)
But Allah sent an angel to his help,
Direct from heaven! Yes, Allah always helps,
Just when our need is sorest! don't he, sir?

Noureddin
(confused).
Inexplicable Fate o'erruleth all.

Aladdin.
Yet the good Isaac was a dunce, methinks,
Not to see through his father's artifice!
Just catch me being such a precious fool!
But after all, perhaps, 'tis all a lie.

Noureddin.
Most likely. Lay the faggots here. And now
Help me to kindle them. But stay—one word!
From the first moment that I saw thee catch
The oranges in thy turban yesterday,
I set thee down to be a youth of spirit,
That manfully despises woman's fears,
And hails adventure like a trumpet-call.

Aladdin.
If such the notion that you took of me,
I fancy, sir, you were not much deceived.

Noureddin.
Good! Then prepare to look upon a sight,
Will make your very heart leap up with joy.
When I have set the wood on fire, and strewn
Some incense on it, and pronounced the word,
The earth will heave and tremble, and anon
From out its breast will rise a marble stone,
Square, with a ring of iron in its centre;
This thou shalt raise, the slightest pull will do,
So thou but mutter to thyself the while
Thy father and grandfather's honoured names.
The stone once raised, thou wilt behold a stair.
Descend that stair. 'Tis dark, but do not fear.
Around thee soon the cavern's fruits will spread
A radiance brighter and more beautiful
Than yonder sallow, sultry, sulphurous sun's.
Three lofty grottoes first receive thy steps,
Ablaze with veins of gold and silver ore,
Which from the rugged walls of rock protrude.
Pass onward, and touch nothing that you see;
'Tis all too firmly fixed; 'twere labour lost.
Crossing these chambers, thou wilt find thyself
Within a garden. Paradise itself
Was not so fair. 'Tis Paradise, perhaps,
Here from man's view concealed since his first fall.
The finest, and most gorgeous fruits are there,
Of every different colour; crimson, blue,
White, yellow, violet, and emerald green,—
Like jewels hung in a Sultana's ear,—
Flame on the boughs, and give the eye delight.
How gladly would I go with you! But one
Alone may taste this rapture on one day.
My own delight I sacrifice to thine!
And all I ask thee for myself is this,
That thou wilt cross the garden, tarrying not,
Till, at the end, thou comest to a wall,
Where, set within a smoky niche, thou'lt find
An ancient copper lamp. This fetch to me.
I told you I was fond of old knick-knacks;
That I collect these curious odds and ends;
And so this lamp, to others valueless,
Has a mere fancy-value for myself.
As thou returnest, thou may'st pluck the fruit,
And bring with thee as much as thou canst carry.
Only be quick, my son, and fetch the lamp!

Aladdin.
All right, dear uncle, I am quite prepared.

Noureddin
(takes out a box of incense and flings some upon the flames. Immediately a peal of distant thunder is heard, and a flash of lightning strikes the fire. The earth trembles; a large square stone rises horizontally with the surface of the ground, in the centre of which is seen a large iron ring).
Now, quick, Aladdin! Pull away! Make haste!

Aladdin.
Oh, no, dear uncle! Dearest uncle, spare me!
I tremble so! I can't, indeed I can't.

Noureddin
(strikes him to the ground).
Wilt thou provoke me, craven-hearted boy?
How! Have I undertaken for thy good
A task so hard and perilous, that thou
Shouldst, like a lap-dog over-nursed and cloy'd,
Tremble with mere distrust when I but stroke thee?
Quick! Seize the ring! Do it, or by the Prophet,
And by the mighty Solomon, I'll chain thee
Down to the stone, and leave thee here behind,
Prey for the eagles and the mountain wolves!

Aladdin.
Ah, dearest uncle, do not be so cross;
I'll do your bidding willingly, I will.

Noureddin.
Do so, and I will make it worth your while;
Tush, silly boy! What! tears still in your eyes?
For shame, Aladdin! Show yourself a man,
And a kind kinsman you shall find in me.
In sooth, I stand you in a father's stead,
And therefore 'tis my duty to chastise you,
When you deserve it. Trust me, it is all
For your advantage. Come, then, come and show
How brave you can be—grasp the ring, and whisper
Your father's and his father's name.

Aladdin
(resolutely).
I will!

(He mutters to himself, grasps the ring and pulls, but is unable to lift the stone).
Noureddin
(aside, and starting back affrighted).
Almighty Prophet! What is this I see?
Does the spell fail me? Have I been deceived?

Aladdin.
I thought 'twas not the thing!

Noureddin.
What didst thou think?
Didst thou not name thy father's name, thou wretch?

Aladdin.
Out of respect for you, my honoured kinsman,
I whispered Mustapha and Casem's names,
And so the stone lies rooted to the rock.
But by your leave—I mean, sir, no offence,
None in the world!—but if you'll let me name
The Emir whom you wot of, and his father,
Then you shall see!

Noureddin.
Ah! name them,—name them, boy!

Aladdin
(again grasping the stone).
Al Mamon and Al Safi.—Here it comes!

Noureddin.
Soh! You were right!

Aladdin.
A rare disclosure this!
If one may judge by what we just have seen,
We ne'er were kinsmen.

Noureddin.
Well then, we are friends.
But now away at once, and fetch the lamp!

Aladdin.
The stairs are marble! beautiful and broad!
It don't look dangerous at all; and there
I spy the light already! Yet 'tis strange.
Now I am in the hole, I have no fear;
A little nervous, I must own, or so,—
But, come what may, here goes!

Noureddin.
That's bravely said.
Mind, don't forget the lamp.

Aladdin.
Oh, never fear!

(is about to descend.)
Noureddin.
One word! Upon thy finger place this ring.
Whatever my befal, 'twill keep thee safe.

(Takes a ring from his finger and places it on Aladdin's.)
Aladdin.
Uncle, all right! I'm eager to be gone!

(disappears.)
Noureddin.
Oh Mahomet, be gracious to thy servant!
I struck Aladdin, to accustom him
To be obedient. For spontaneously,
And not from fear or menace, must he fetch me
The lamp from this same murky cave below.
But if with it he reascends to earth,
The lamp belongs to him! Fate wills it so.
And once closed in, the mountain opes no more.
Strange chance! Well, well—here will I wait my doom.
Within the shrouded urn the lots repose.
Ah! can the ministers of darkness say,
If chance or industry shall gain the day?