Bagdad.

A room in the Caliph's harem.
Anice-Aljalice with many slave-girls attending on her.

ANICE-ALJALICE

Girls, is he passing ?

A SLAVE-GIRL

He is passing.

ANICE-ALJALICE

Quick, my lute!

Song

The Emperor of Roum is great;

The Caliph has a mighty State;

But One is greater, to Whom all prayers take wing;

And I, a poor and weeping slave,

When the world rises from its grave,

Shall stand up the accuser of my King.

Girls, is he coming up ?

A SLAVE-GIRL

The Caliph enters.

Enter Haroun and Jaafar.

HAROUN AL RASHEED

Thou art the slave-girl, Anice-Aljalice ?
Why chosest thou that song?

ANICE-ALJALICE

Caliph, for thee.

Where is my lord ?  

Page – 721

HAROUN AL RASHEED

A king in Bassora.

ANICE-ALJALICE

Who told thee?

HAROUN AL RASHEED

So it must be.

ANICE-ALJALICE

Is there news ?

HAROUN AL RASHEED

No, strange! Seven days gone by nor yet a letter!

ANICE-ALJALICE

Caliph, high sovereign, Haroun al Rasheed,

Men call thee Just, Great Abbasside! I am

A poor and helpless slave-girl, but my grief

Is greater than a King. Lord, I demand

My soul's dear husband at thy hand, who sent him

Alone, unfollowed, without guard or friend

To a tyrant Sultan and more tyrant Vizier,

His potent enemies. Oh, they have killed him!

Give back my husband to my arms unhurt

Or I will rise upon the judgment day

Against thee. Caliph Haroun al Rasheed,

Demanding him at that eternal throne

Where names are not received, nor earthly pomps

Considered. Then my frail and woman's voice

Shall ring more dreadful in thy mighty hearing

Than doom's own trumpet. Answer my demand.

HAROUN AL RASHEED

Anice, I do believe thy lord is well.

And yet — No, by my great forefathers, no!

My seal and signature were on the script,

Page – 722

And they are mightier than a thousand armies.

If he has disobeyed, for him 'twere better

He were a beggar's unrespected child

Than Haroun's kin; —the Arabian simoom

Shall be less devastating than my wrath.

Out, Jaafar, out to Bassora, behind thee

Sweeping embattled war; nor night nor tempest

Delay thy march. I follow in thy steps.

Take too this damsel and these fifty slave-girls,

With robes and gifts for Bassora's youthful king.

I give thee power o'er Kings and Emperors

To threaten, smite and seize. Go, friend, I follow

As swift as thunder presses on the lightning.

Exit.

JAAFAR (to the slave-girls)

Make ready; for we march within the hour.

Exit.

Page – 723

HOME