Chapter 4

ISHMAEL. _The foregoing._

ISHMAEL (_Enters weeping from the city_).

Oh, my friend! Now he is dead. My Prince is dead! Accursed headsman's axe, Why hast thou severed not this neck of mine?

(_Breaks out into despairing weeping._)

BARAK.

But why didst thou not hinder him in time, My friend?

ISHMAEL.

Dost thou on all my misery Heap reprimands, Hassan! I have done my duty To the uttermost. I might, indeed, have summoned His father hither, if there _had_ been time; But there was _not_.

BARAK.

Be calm, my friend, be calm.

ISHMAEL.

Calm? I be calm? Like arrows stinging sharp The last words that he spoke stick in my breast:

"Weep not," he said, "for I am glad to die, Since I may not possess her. Bear my greeting Unto my father. May he pardon me That when I fared I took no leave of him. Tell him it was for fear lest his denial Should force my disobedience. And show him This picture.

(_Draws a picture from the folds of his robe._)

When he sees such loveliness, He will forgive, and weep my fate with thee." Thus speaking, my dear Prince a hundred times Kissed the accursed picture, and then bowed His neck to the stroke. Blood spurts on high. The trunk Quivers, and falls. High in the headsman's hands The head I love. Blind, dazed with pain I flee....

(_Hurls the picture to the ground and tramples on it._)

Thou devilish, accursed witchery! I tread thee in the dust, thou spawn of Hell! And O that I could trample with these feet The witch herself! Haha! I was to take thee Unto his father, unto Samarkand? I fancy That Samarkand will never see me more.

(_Exit in desperation._)