(They embrace, one arm being thrown round the shoulder, the other round the side, placing the chin first upon the left then upon the right collar bone and repeating this several times. As they embrace the crowd gradually disperses, leaving the street comparatively empty. But there is always a sense of life in the suk, and the hum of the bazaar is heard dimly throughout the scene.)
Zayd. Welcome and well come and good cheer to my friend, the dearly-beloved. So thou art home from Egypt? (He motions him over to his shop.)
Amru. Yesternight in the first watch I caused my camels to kneel at my door.
Zayd. By Allah and his Apostle, it swells my heart to hear thy voice once more! Thou hast tarried many moons. Has thy business prospered?
(The little apprentice has spread out cushions: they both sit.)
Amru. Fortune hath blessed me indeed. And thou? How is’t with thee?
Zayd. Alas! Traffic has grown dull with the new Caliph.
Amru. So soon? He hath been in power but seven days they tell me.
Zayd. He is very young—scarce sixteen,—and so devout! He was schooled in a monastery in the mountains. ’Tis said his harim is empty. Not a woman,—not as much as a wife.
Amru. Not so much as—and seven days! By the glories of Paradise to come! An I were Caliph for seven days!
Zayd. An I were Caliph for seven hours! But they say that he is waiting to find the woman of his dream, a maid of beauty all in all. Be she of noblest blood or poorest of the poor, he hath taken oath, until Allah reveal the chosen one, he will live alone,—unwed,—unwived.
(Kettledrums are heard in the distance to the left.)
(Amru returns to his shop at the right.)
(The crowd hurries in from all sides. Men and women all kneel, bending low. As the Caliph enters they touch their foreheads to the ground.)
(Through the centre arch comes the Caliph’s procession, turning down and disappearing through the arch right. First come Six Archers of the Guard with lances. Next follow Four Men with Kettledrums (like tom-toms) and a pair of Trumpeters: then Six Archers with scymitars drawn, walking two and two. After that, Dignitaries of the royal household. Some singly, others in twos. These are: the Caliph’s slipper-bearer; his cloak-bearer; his cup-bearer; his ewer and basin-bearer; his bow-bearer; and his carpet-spreader. Next the two head Eunuchs of his harim, both tall blackamoors clothed in yellow.)
(After this, at an interval of five paces, on a white mule, the Caliph himself, robed in the black of the Abbaside dynasty. His face is very youthful, full of spiritual beauty and weary pride. On his left cheek he has a mole. By his left side walks Abu Bakr, an old, white-bearded man, clothed in green and white, with a very large turband, holding his master’s left stirrup.)
(As the Caliph reaches the centre of the street, an old woman, Kabirah, throws herself at his feet; the procession halts.)
Kabirah. O King of the age—justice! Justice to an ancient widow and a sore oppressed! (She holds out a petition.)
Caliph. (Waving to Abu Bakr who takes the petition.) Come thou to my Diwan this mid-afternoon. None shall suffer wrong under this my sovereignty. The Judge of Judges be my witness. The Peace!
(Kabirah withdraws muttering “Heaven increase thee ever, O King.”)
(The procession moves on; the people in the street remaining crouched and motionless as the Caliph passes them.)
(A Court Dignitary follows, scattering coin.)
(Six Archers, with scymitars drawn, conclude the procession.)
(Directly the Caliph’s guard is out of sight there is a wild scramble for the royal largesse. The rabble then follows the procession.)
Zayd. (To Amru, shouting across to his shop.) Didst note the mole on his cheek? Is he not beautiful?
Amru. Allah bless him! And the old man?
Zayd. Abu Bakr, his tutor—a far famed grammarian. He entered the city with countless camel-loads of dictionaries. ’Tis he who ruleth the ruler.
Amru. Where’s Mansur—the old Caliph’s favourite? He was wont to ride by his master’s side. Hath he fallen from power?
Zayd. Nay, he’s still Chief of the Guards of the City and Wazir of the Police. But at the Palace they begin to whisper—(Seeing Mansur; in a low voice.) The Peace!—Mansur!
(Mansur appears, a tall, slim, sinister figure of about eight and twenty. His face shows traces of beauty ruined by debauchery; his manner is that of an expert in the sensualism of cruelty; his robes are of deep blue and steel. He is evidently nursing his rage, and strides along ominously. Behind him comes Kafur, his sworder, a snake-like Ethiopian, by whose side hobbles a small hunchback scribe, Afife, who looks more like a pelican than a man.)
(As Mansur enters, a Blind Man crosses his path.)
The Blind Man. Blind! Blind! Buy a blessing from the blind!
(Mansur annoyed at the Blind Man’s fumbling, strikes him down and passes on. The Blind Man gets up again, helped by two of the courtesans. Zayd gives him a coin or two, and he goes on his way.)
Zayd. (To Amru.) Didst mark his rage? He, the favourite of yesterday, to-day must walk second to the grammarian. The splitter of lives bow to the splitter of syllables. Ha! Ha!
(Hajj appears in the centre archway. He is still in rags. He comes down to Zayd.)
Zayd. (Putting him off as he would a beggar.) Heaven will provide, O brother.
(Hajj crosses to Amru.)
Amru. (In the same tone as Zayd.) Allah will provide.
Hajj. Nay, I am no beggar.
Zayd and Amru. What art thou then?
Hajj. I am a religious mendicant. My vow of poverty has been accomplished in the hour. I am on my way to the hammam to re-enter daily life.
Zayd. O father of rags, thou art strangely like to a beggar before the Carpenter’s Mosque.
Hajj. So I have been told. The sooner therefore I strip me of his likeness, the better for both of us. What hast thou in the manner of cloaks and shirts and turband-cloths? (He clinks the purse ominously.)
(Zayd and Amru hurry forward, each bringing a cushion for Hajj to sit on. They spread a big square of stuff before him on which they display their goods.)
(Hajj sits down with great satisfaction.)
Zayd. All colours, O my master.
Amru. All kinds, O my master.
Hajj. (With a delighted smile, pleased at the epithet.) Master! (He chinks his purse.)
Zayd. Why dost thou smile?
Hajj. ’Tis nought! A memory! Show me thy wares.
Amru. Thou’lt see mine too, O my lord?
Hajj. (Turning to Amru, as above.) Lord!—Thine too,—O my—my tailor. (Pointing to some veils in Amru’s hands.) What’s this?
Zayd. (Spreading out a cloak eagerly.) Thy cloak, O my master.
Hajj. (To Zayd, putting him off.) A moment. (To Amru.) Face veils?
Amru. (Spreading out a veil.) After the fashion of Egypt. Woven air!
Hajj. (Taking up the veil.) A veil! Hast thou anklets?
Amru. Here are jewels none hath set eyes on in Baghdad. (He opens a little casket.)
Zayd. (Jealously, calling across.) O my lord,—thy cloak.
Amru. (To Zayd, annoyed.) Trouble not my master.
Hajj. (Taking up the anklets and veil.) How much?
Amru. Seven dinars.
Hajj. Thou art mad! (He turns to Zayd.) Thy cloak!
Amru. (Eagerly.) How much wilt thou offer?
Hajj. (Ignoring Amru.) Allah, this is workmanship!
Amru. (As above.) Six dinars and a half.
Hajj. (To Zayd.) Who’s the designer of this?
Zayd. ’Tis I.
Amru. (Quickly to Hajj, waving the scarf and anklets.) Six.
Hajj. (Turning to Amru.) Three! And ’tis more than paid.
Amru. The anklets alone cost me four.
Zayd. (To Hajj.) Thou’lt have the cloak?
Hajj. How much?
Zayd. Twenty-five dinars.
Hajj. Twenty-five! (He turns abruptly to Amru.) Three dinars.
Zayd. Twenty-four and a half!
Amru. Four dinars and I lose. By the life of my father, I swear it.
Hajj. Four an thou wrappest them up in one of thy kerchiefs.
Amru. ’Tis beyond my yielding. (He takes his veils away.)
Hajj. (Turning to Zayd.) Hast thou veils? (Amru eyes Hajj eagerly.)
Zayd. The best in Baghdad. Thou’lt have the cloak?
Hajj. I’ll see others first. Put it there. (He points to the kerchief spread out before him.) Thy veils!
Amru. Hold! Thou shalt have thy veil and kerchief. But I swear——
Hajj. (Turning to Amru.) Swear not! (Counts out the money.) Four! Thou hast begun the day too well. What shirt is this? (He takes it up.) And yon trousers and girdle? (Pointing to some trousers and a girdle Zayd’s apprentice is holding up.)
(The Guide Nasir enters at the back, sees Hajj and watches him unobserved, with cat-like glances, leaning against Zayd’s shop. Zayd hands Hajj the trousers and girdle.)
Amru. (Shouting.) First see this girdle of mine.
Hajj. Now which of ye twain hath a turband-cloth to my heart?
Zayd. (Unrolling one.) O master, ’tis I.
Amru. (Unrolling another.) O master, ’tis me.
Zayd. I!
Amru. Me!
Hajj. The master asked both. (Pointing to Amru’s cloth, squinting at Zayd out of the corner of his eye.) His cloth far excelleth thine.
Zayd. (Furious.) His cloth excel mine? Yon meagre tracery crawling along the edge as a dying dog to a puddle,—that excel my glorious branching and bowing of pomegranates?
Amru. Dying dog, indeed! Dying dog thyself.
Zayd. By Allah, hold thy peace, O brother.
Hajj. (To Zayd inciting him.) How? Let him call thee dog?
Zayd. (Springing up.) Called he me dog? Didst thou call me dog, O dog?
Amru. (Conciliating him, still on his knees.) Enough, O Zayd. Words poison.
Hajj. (To Amru, in a whisper.) What? Kneel to a slave, dost thou?
Amru. Yehh! Thou art right. (Rising and facing Zayd.) Yes, I—I call thee dog.
Zayd. Thou shall eat thy words. (He crosses to Amru.)
Amru. And thou thy pomegranates. (They fall to blows.)
(Hajj quickly gathers the clothes he picked out, wraps the large cloth about them and hurries off by the arch, left. Nasir has watched Hajj and follows him off. The Merchants and Apprentices hurry out of the shops.)
Various Men. Ho, Masters! Ho, masters! Help! They’re fighting! They’ll have their swords out. Ho, Moslems! Ho Captain! Help!
(Several of the shopmen and passers-by crowd round, chattering and screaming, trying to separate the two men. Different ones shout: “O Amru! O Brothers! Where’s the Syndic? O Zayd! For the love of Allah! Are ye not sons of Islam both?” etc.)
(The Captain of the Watch hurries in by the centre arch. The two men are separated by him.)
Captain. O Zayd! O Amru! Shame upon ye! How now? Are ye donkey-boys?
Amru. O Captain! Heaven knoweth we were ever the best of friends.
Zayd. Ever till this hour.
Captain. Who began it?
Zayd. ’Twas my lord here who said—(He points to Hajj’s empty cushion; stops and stares amazed.) Where is my lord? (He looks about bewildered.) Yehh! Gone! Gone and the clothes with him.
Amru. O, the bazaar devil! ’Twas he that set us on.
Zayd. After him. Which way went he?
A Man. This way. (He points to the arch left.)
(The crowd, headed by Zayd, starts to run off to the left.)
Another Man. (Pointing up to the centre arch.) This way!
(The crowd veers and starts off to the back.)
Still Another Man. (Pointing to the right.) This way! (They all swing to the right.)
(Nasir re-enters from the left arch eagerly.)
Nasir. (At the top of his voice.) No, that way. I know the dog well. ’Tis Hajj—the beggar!
(General hubbub as All run off to the left, shouting and gesticulating.)
The Sweetmeat-seller. (Rising and putting his tray of sweets on his head goes slowly down the street, shouting.) Ho! Ho! Swee—ts!
[Curtain]
Scene III. The Courtyard of a poor House.
In the right wall a large double door leads out to the street. An arch, which supports the upper part of the house, runs parallel to the wall at the right, thus screening the court from the street. At the back, a door leads into the inner house. Two cages with a bird in each, are hanging on the wall right. The left side of the court is taken up by a wall about seven feet high, a niche in its centre containing a well with ropes, buckets and a large jar or two. Over the wall can be seen some cypresses of a garden. In the shadow of this wall, a rose tree grows in a rim of masonry. An awning is stretched across the Court. A tom-tom stands in one corner.
The full morning sun over everything.
Marsinah, a beautiful girl of fourteen summers (which would correspond to a girl of eighteen in the west) is seated on some rough matting, in the centre of the court. She is clad in the simplest fashion, like the poorest Arabian women. She is busy with some needlework on a large embroidery frame, which rests on four legs like a low table.
Near her, idly fanning away the flies, sits Narjis, a stout, old Duenna, with a full-blown face. About them on the matting lie strands of different coloured wools.
Marsinah. (Looking up to the garden wall.) The sun grows hot.
Narjis. How’s thy border? Will it be done by noon-prayer? I promised it the merchant.
Marsinah. (Impatiently sighing.) I hear, O Narjis, I hear. Hast thou any yellow wool?
Narjis. (Turns away from Marsinah to look for it.) Yellow? Yellow? Did I not give it thee erstwhile?
Marsinah. (Quickly takes the yellow wool and hides it under the folds of her dress.) ’Twas red thou gavest me.
Narjis. By the life of thy youth, O Marsinah, ’twas yellow. (She rises and searches.)
Marsinah. Look thyself. Thou seest I lack it to finish the pattern.
Narjis. Alas! (Sighs.) What’s to be done? What’s to be done?
(She sits despondently on the rim of the well.)
Marsinah. Run to the wool market, O good Narjis.
Narjis. All the way to the wool market?
Marsinah. ’Tis none so far for one so sprightly as thou, O sweet Narjis. Thou didst promise it the merchant—remember!
Narjis. I could have laid an oath with the All-seeing there was yet another strand of yellow.
Marsinah. (Tucking away a tell-tale thread.) Couldst thou in sooth?
Narjis. Well-a-day! There’s nought for me but to go. We must finish the work or the money’s lost.
(She crosses to the large double door and takes down a huge iron door key, which hangs on the wall beside the door.)
And O Marsinah! No looking out of windows or peeping over walls.
Marsinah. By Lady Fatimah’s life of light! What dost thou suppose?
Narjis. Think of thy father. Thou knowest how he fears for thy safety. Was not his first wife stolen? His son slaughtered? Art thou not the last of his race? Is not thine own mother in the tomb of eternity? I tell thee, should one folly on thy part reach thy father’s ears, ’twere the undoing of us both.
Marsinah. Fear nought, O dear Narjis.
(Narjis has let herself out and locked the door outside.)
(Marsinah rises, and listens at the door. Then she hurries to the rim of the masonry by the well, gets up on it and peers over the wall. With a little cry of delight she exclaims “Waiting! Waiting!” Then claps her left palm with her right hand twice. She listens,—then claps again. Some one answers the signal in the same manner. She draws her veil across her face instinctively and stands expectant.)
(A youth appears over the masonry. In a moment he is down and in her arms. By his mole he is seen to be the young Caliph Abdallah,—but he is now dressed in the simple clothes of an artisan.)
Caliph. O my beloved! At last!
Marsinah. Dost thou still love me, O my master.
Caliph. Still?
(He draws away her veil and kisses her between the eyes.)
All my soul lieth between thine eyes! All my longing on thine untouched lips. Still love thee?
Marsinah. How can man love maid who unveileth her face as I have to thee?
Caliph. How can man not love?
Marsinah. (Veiling herself again.) I am ashamed at my shamelessness.
Caliph. Sooner be thou ashamed of mine. ’Twas I that climbed the wall, broke in on thee to tear the cloud from the new moon.
(He raises the veil from her face.)
Marsinah. I swear were to-day three days agone, and thou imploring me now, by thine eyes, I’d not betray my secrecy again.
Caliph. What! Is thy love grown faint so soon?
Marsinah. Allah help me, strong so soon. I am become a thousand times more watchful, more jealous of myself, and all because of thee. Alas! How must honour like thine judge of frailty like mine?
Caliph. (Passionately.) Mine honour judges as it judged the first moment of seeing thee: that thou art my love, that I hold thy little hands in mine, and that thou shalt be my wife—none other before thee.
(Drawing her towards him.)
Marsinah. (Sinking at his feet.) O my loved one; this is a dream of thine. Think of thy parents. What will they say? What wilt thou tell them?
Caliph. (He sits by her on the ground.) What? That I looked out from my father’s pavilion one blessed evening and saw thee feeding thy little birds at yon window. That I gazed on thy white wrists long—long. What more need I say. (He is about to kiss her wrists.)
Marsinah. (Withdrawing them playfully.) My wrists! Hath my face no say in thy loving?
Caliph. Thy face! The Forgiver forgive thee. Since I beheld its light, my nights are sleepless; my days burning sands. This stolen moment alone my shade, thy hair my breeze, thy voice my fountain.
Marsinah. (Drawing away.) O my love, leave me; forget me utterly. Thy mother will never choose me thy bride. Is thy father not far, far above my father? Did’st thou not say he was the Caliph’s gardener?
Caliph. Is the Caliph’s gardener such a mighty man?
Marsinah. Narjis says he is.
Caliph. (Secretly annoyed.) Narjis—the old woman?
Marsinah. Yea, and she says more. I asked her in a light way—O very lightly—had she e’er heard spoken of the gardener’s son. And she—the fool—she swears he never had a son; that his only wife is dead these many years; that the garden next door hath been leased by a grammarian, the new Caliph’s tutor; that once even the Caliph himself came to walk there in the cool of the day.
Caliph. (Curtly.) Narjis is an old gossip. She knows not what she chatters.
Marsinah. So I told her. But she said, “On with thy work, O thou daughter of ignorance.” Then I began to laugh, thinking of thee, and flung out a line of a song, till her forehead swelled with rage and she beat me.
Caliph. (Furiously.) She beat thee?
Marsinah. O ’tis naught. She does so often.
Caliph. The sister of Satan!
Marsinah. What would’st thou! She’s not my mother.
Caliph. (Tenderly.) O my Marsinah! Has this been thy life? Is thy mother gone long?
Marsinah. Three years ’tis now since she entered into the mercy of Allah! Alas! Those were different days. What I did for my mother I did in delight. What I learnt from her, I learnt with a dancing heart. All her songs, the plucking of the lute she taught me—as ’twere so much laughter. In her hour, ere my father took her to wife, she had been the slave of a rich merchant. The cunningest teachers in Baghdad had taught her. When the merchant gave her her freedom, she was besought to sing at all the rarest feasts. Then Allah took her voice and evil nights fell upon her. Thus my father found her, outcast and starving. Such was my mother.
(A short silence.)
Caliph. Thou did’st not tell me that thou could’st play, that thou could’st sing! What fresh perfection do I find in thee every moment!
Marsinah. ’Tis all my mother in me.
Caliph. ’Tis all thyself in thee. Blessed be He that fashioned thee in thy splendour of beauty. Thy face is fairer than health; thine eyes are the eyes of a gazelle; thy lips a cluster of coral; like a silver column is thy neck: and thy breasts, pomegranates in their glory. O, my beloved, when will come the hour that I shall hold thee close to my heart, while the night hangeth her silver lamp over our silence.
Marsinah. (In a whisper.) When Allah willeth—and Allah will it soon.
(Their lips meet in a kiss.)
Caliph. (Rises to his knees with sudden passion.) It shall be this night.
Marsinah. O, sweet my lord, I have told thee before, it cannot be. Not at night. Narjis is ever here, and ofttimes my father. My only freedom is a morn like to-day’s.
Caliph. (Drawing close to her.) Thou shalt have other freedom undreamt of by thee.
Marsinah. What wilt thou do?
Caliph. Can’st thou trust me?
Marsinah. With all my soul, an thou put not thy life in danger.
Caliph. Dost thou love me so?
Marsinah. (Hanging her head.) Sooner would I lose thee for ever.
Caliph. (After a pause, with a smile she does not observe.) Fear naught.
Marsinah. What is’t? Nothing to harm thee?
Caliph. (Cheek to cheek.) Thou’lt see! When the evening prayer hath locked the door of the day, then will I come to open the eyes of thy heart.
Marsinah. (Improvising.)
Caliph. (Turning surprised—joyously.) Yehh! Can’st cap verses too? By Allah! What is this Wonder of wonders, that the Giver of all things good——
Marsinah. (Rises, interrupting him.) Awah!
Caliph. Nothing.
Marsinah. It is. Fly, O my beloved.
Caliph. (Rises.) How can I leave my soul behind and not die? (He goes up to the rim of the well.)
Marsinah. Go, I implore thee! By all that’s holy! Here! (She plucks a rose from the bush, kisses it, and hands it to him.) Go!
(The Caliph presses the rose to his lips, then slips it into his breast and climbs over the wall.)
Caliph. (From the top of the wall.) After set of sun! (He disappears over the wall.)
Narjis. (Outside.) Marsinah! Marsinah!
(Marsinah hurries to her work, sits and stitches furiously.)
Narjis. (Entering the courtyard.) A gift of good news, O my roe. Thy father is coming.
Marsinah. My father? Never yet came he home during the day.
Narjis. Never yet. But to-day he cometh. I saw him leaving the hammam-bath, unlike himself—in robes of splendour, his locks combed, his beard trimmed, and (imitating him) striding along as proud and calm as a camel! I hasted ahead through the alleys. Had he found thee alone—— (There is a knock on the door.) By the Prophet! None too soon. (Calling out.) I come! I come! (Goes to the door and calls through it.) Who art thou? What seekest thou? (She winks at Marsinah and feigns surprise.) Allah! ’tis my master. O Marsinah! Thy father, as I am awake! (She unlocks the door.)
(Marsinah has risen; drawing her veil about the back of her head.)
(Hajj enters as described, wearing all his stolen robes, his beard neatly trimmed, his whole being refreshed by the bath. His manner is far more self-assured. He carries his little bundle of presents for his daughter, which he flings to the ground.)
Marsinah. Salam, O my father.
Narjis. Salam, O my master.
Hajj. Salam.
(All sit, Hajj between the two women.)
Marsinah. Thou smellest so sweet; is it musk?
Hajj. I have lain in the hammam all morning.
Marsinah. May thy bath profit thee, O my father. What blessed coming is thine?
Hajj. Thou mayst indeed call it blessed. For verily the Dispeller of woe hath turned the murk of my night into a day of light and delight. What say ye to this. (He takes out his purse.) Gold! Gold! Gold! What a sound it is! It chinks straight into the blood and sets the heart a-beating, so the temples throb and reason flies from the head. Dost thou mark it, O Marsinah. O Narjis, dost thou?
Marsinah. (Clapping her hands.) Yehh!
Narjis. (Suspicious.) Whence hadst thou this?
Hajj. Whence? (His brow clouds.) Whence? From a fool in his folly! An accursed for whom it shall weave the rope round his neck. But that’s for later. (Chinking the purse.) This for now. (He slips the purse in his breast.) Ha! Ha! Ha! O eyes of me! Ye should have beheld them in the hammam—the bath-keeper and his slaveboys. How they bowed before me—one and all. “O my master” here, and “O my lord” there. And such rinsings, and rubbings, and clappings, till my limbs rang aloud with smoothness! Then they laid me adown on silken sheets, the while censers fumed me sweetly from head to heel. And the bath-keeper knelt at my feet, and sung to the tom-tom a song. (He sings, imitating the playing of a tom-tom with his hands.)
(He draws out the purse and flings it in the air with a shout, catching it again.)
Marsinah. (Clapping her hands gleefully and rising to her knees.) O my father! Thou art magnificent!
Hajj. (Delighted.) Magnificent—am I?
Marsinah. Yea! Even as a prince in one of the tales thou tellest.
Hajj. A Prince! (He strokes his moustachios.) A King?
Marsinah. A King, in truth, a King! Is he not, O Narjis?
Narjis. (Ironically.) A King, in very sooth.
Marsinah. Never beheld I thee thus. Never till this hour. White as milk is this day of mine.
Hajj. It shall be whiter still, O my dainty. Give me the bundle, O Narjis. Thou shalt bless the day indeed, O my rose. (Opening the bundle.) Ah! Now thine eyes glisten. Now!
Marsinah. Thou didst remember me?
Hajj. Remember thee? What doth thy soul most desire in this world? Speak.
Marsinah. Most? (She glances unconsciously up over the garden wall, but looks down again quickly.)
Hajj. Ah, now thou blushest. What is it?
Marsinah. (Confused.) I—know—not.
Hajj. (Imitating.) “I know not.” O Narjis, was ever maid such maid. She knows not. By Allah, thou hast guarded her well. She is as simple as the hour she was born. “I know not.” (He fondles Marsinah’s cheek.)
Marsinah. (Hanging her head.) What should I know?
(Hajj and Narjis look at each other smiling knowingly.)
Hajj. Thou shouldest know that thy father loves thee! (He kisses her on both eyes.) And that he has brought thee these. (He produces the anklets from the bundle.)
Marsinah. Anklets! (She flings off her slippers laughing gleefully and puts on the anklets.) O Narjis! O Narjis! At last! Now! What girl in our street can laugh at me now? (Rises and circles about the two.) Look, O Narjis, look! Jamilah, or Mubarakah, or any of them. O my master, I kiss thy feet. (She kneels before Hajj and bows down.)
Hajj. (Laying his hand on her head.) Thou art content?
Marsinah. (Blissfully.) Content? Content?
Hajj. Then what sayst thou to a veil? (He unfolds the veil.)
Marsinah. (Springs up, then bashfully—overcome.) For me—too? (Hajj hands it to her smilingly.) (In rapture, holding it up; unconsciously looking up to the garden wall.) Oh! would I had had it this morn!
Hajj. This morn! What dost thou mean?
Marsinah. (Realising her self-betrayal.) I mean—I know not. My heart is so happy. La Yayhá! Do I fill thine eyes, O my father? (She drapes the veil about her.)
Hajj. (Smiling proudly.) Fill mine eyes! Go! Fetch thy lute! We will have music. This day shall be a day of rejoicing.
Marsinah. (Going.) I hear and I obey. (She hurries off across the courtyard into the house.)
Hajj. (Looking after her.) By Allah! How she glides swimmingly as she were a lily floating down the Tigris. Blessed indeed is he that taketh her to wife.
Narjis. Aye, and she’s ripe to wed, too.
Hajj. Fourteen! The pick of years! I must seek her a husband.
Narjis. (Huddles up to him.) What sayst thou to the basket-weaver’s son at the corner?
Hajj. The basket-weaver’s son? O thou hag! (Slaps her cheek with the back of his hand.) Why not a bean-seller? (Slap.) Or a camel-boy? (Slap.) Yea, or best and rarest, some blear-eyed mangy beggar? (Slap.)