 | Blue-Beard |  |
SCENE FIRST.
—A Court-yard before Fadlallah's House.Enter Selim, Fadlallah, Fatima and Ayesha, R.
Fadla.
Good neighbour, be quiet! my word is law—
I have said that my daughter shall wed the Bashaw!
Selim.
(L.)
But, neighbour, your promise!
Fadla.
(C.)
My promise! go!
With him must I break it to keep it with you?
Selim.
You promised me first!
Fadla.
But I promised him since!
And what saith the Koran? “Speak truth to thy prince!”
Selim.
You swore by the Prophet!
Fadla.
I tell thee, forbear!
In abundance of words is abundance of care!
And again saith the Koran, in Surah the third,
“Confine not thy neighbour too close to his word!”
Selim.
Would you yield to this monster your Fatima's life?
Why, he eats every night for his supper a wife!
Fadla.
Mere libellous nonsense! I tell thee, Selim,
I know nothing less like a monster than him!
Ayesha.
(R.)
Oh, father! but think on his whiskers of blue!
Fadla.
I tell you, the man is as rich as a Jew!
I wish I could find such a husband for you!
Selim.
Allow me, at least, to take leave of the maid!
4
You may do as you please—I shall not be afraid.
No daughter of mine has a spirit so mean,
To prefer her kab-kabs to a gilt palankeen;
To trudge to the baths with no soul in her train,
And wrapp'd in a shawl from the wind and the rain,
When she might, if she pleased, on an elephant ride,
With trumpets before her and troops by her side,
And sweep through the streets like a lady of honour,
Dwarfs, negroes, and eunuchs attendant upon her,
Selim!—I once loved you. Be but a good boy,
I'll speak to the Bashaw to give you employ.
But my daughter's affianced!
(Exeunt Fadlallah and Ayesha, R.
Selim.
(L.)
Says Fatima so?
Fati.
(R.)
I am but the slave of my father, you know.
I must do as he wills, or with you, my Selim,
A cottage were more than a palace with him!
But, alas, 'tis in vain! and, since love is denied,
I must fold my pale form in the mantle of pride,—
Must loll on my couch with an indolent mien,
Of a heart-chilling harem the heart-broken queen,
And trifle the time while my tyrant reposes,
With diamonds, and arrack, and attar of roses!
Selim.
I cannot endure it! The Bashaw I'll meet,
I'll fling myself down in the dust at his feet.
I'll tell him our story.
Fati.
His heart is of steel!
Selim.
By Allah; my dagger shall force him to feel!
I'll drag from his horse the oppressor, and then—
Fati.
A peasant! and fight with a leader of men!
You can but fall a victim to numbers, and I—!
I never will live to look on, when you die!
Farewell, be resign'd, take this ring for a token;
So long as its stone is unblench'd and unbroken,
You may know that I live—that I'm well—that I bear
In peace and in patience the load of despair.—
But if once its smooth surface begins to decay
And the tint of the ruby to vanish away,
5
Selim.
Yet, yet there is hope! I have told you before,
My mother's an Arab, and born in Mount Hor:
Her kindred disown'd her for wedding a clown;
But my uncle the Shekh, as he pass'd by our town,
Half-famish'd, half-naked, hard press'd by the foe,
Was pleased for a moment his pride to forego,
To be fed, clothed, and shelter'd, as best we were able;
To be warm'd by our hearth, to he hid in our stable;
And to say, on the morrow, as grimly he smiled,
He would “make me a man if I came to the wild!”
In less than three days I can reach his retreat;
I'll tell him my sorrows, fall down at his feet.
He hates Abou Malek!
Fati.
But what can he do,
Our tyrant so mighty, his people so few?
He may rifle a pilgrim, set fire to a village,
Or threaten the Monks of Mount Sinai with pillage:—
But to cope with a Bashaw!
Selim.
No matter, I'll try!
(Martial music at a distance.
Fati.
Good Heaven, they are here! if you value me, fly!
Enter Fadlallah, R.
Fadla.
In, into the house, silly girl! By my beard,
This moment the sound of a trumpet I heard.
Would you stand in the court with no veil on your face,
When his highness, your husband, rides into the place?
In, in—get the clothes on he sent you this morning!
And, neighbour, kind neighbour, I give you fair warning,
If longer in sight of my door I survey you,
I'll speak to my son-in-law's worship to flay you!
(Exeunt Fatima, R. and Selim, L.
Abou Malek.
(speaking without, L. U. E.)
Sound trumpets, a halt! My Albanians my wait,
Drawn up in two lines, from the bridge to the gate!
Let none dare to enter!
(Entering L. U. E.
Well, father-in-law.
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I hope that your highness will pardon the awe— (hesitating.)
Unprepared as I am, unaccustom'd to view
The shadow of one so illustrious as you!
Oh, Lud! I'm afraid of those whiskers of blue! (aside.)
I could speak very well if I once made a start,
But 'tis gone from me clean what I'd gotten by heart.
Where was I? Oh now— (aloud.)
Will your highness be pleased—
Abou.
Slave, infidel, hound; am I thus to be teased
With your bowing and cringing, and kneeling, and talking,
Detaining me here from night until dawning?
Go, call out your daughter, 'tis her that I seek,
But you, if I let you, would chatter this week!
Fadla.
(aside)
His highness is hasty. I dare not complain,
But 'tis hard that my speech should be studied in vain,
Abou.
What have I forgot?—I return to the gate
To give out some orders. Your daughter may wait.
(Exit L. U. E.
Fadla.
He's a Bashaw, indeed! How I envy his state!
How noble his action!—“Your daughter may wait!”
Enter Fatima and Ayesha, R.
Come, Fatima, girl, and give thanks on your knee
For a husband so kind, condescending, and free!
“Good father-in-law,” said his highness to me,
“You speak like an angel, good father-in-law;”
He's the civilest gentleman ever I saw;
And by the same token will make me a Cadi,
So soon as my daughter comes out as his lady!—
What—weeping, you fool? By the Caaba, I'd tear,—
If it were not for rumpling that head-dress,—your hair!
I'd make you come out by the head and the shoulder!
You are only too lucky!
Ayesha.
And that's what I told her!
I'm sure she has plenty to make her content.
Do look at the things which the Bashaw has sent!
7
She looks like a Peri far more than a girl.
And I, her poor bride-maid, by all am confess'd
As sweetly, though not so expensively dress'd.
Come, keep up your spirits! do, Fatima, do!
I don't think his whiskers so frightfully blue!
Re-enter Abou Malek, L. U. E.—all kneel.
All hail Lord of Damascus!
Abou.
Young woman, I come,
According to promise, to carry you home.
Your sister goes with you. Of course you are ready.
Black eunuchs without! form a guard for your lady!—
Come, kiss me! I like you!
Fati.
In mercy forbear!
Despise me, and fix your affections elsewhere!
Fadla.
Perhaps, if your highness my girls would compare,
This other's as handsome.
Abou.
But less to my taste.—
Come, Fatima, rise from the ground—I'm in haste!
The affairs of the East on my leisure attend.—
Fadlallah! farewell! kiss with reverence the end
Of this worshipful finger, which, were the whim in it,
Might beckon your head from your shoulders this minute.
Fati.
O Bashaw! if pity e'er enter'd your breast!
Abou.
You have reason, I trow, to be sadly distress'd!
The spouse of a Bashaw, mere maidenish stuff!
I like you—have bought you—will keep you, enough!
(Exeunt L. U. E., leading Fatima, the others following.
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