-06_The Viziers of Bassora Act-2 Sc-1.htm

Ibn Sawy’s house. An upper chamber in the women’s apartments.
Doonya, Anice-Aljalice.

DOONYA

You living sweet romance, you come from Persia.
‘Tis there, I think, they fall in love at sight?

ANICE-ALJALICE

But will you help me, Doonya, will you help me?

To him, to him, not to that grizzled King!

I am near Heaven with Hell that’s waiting for me.

DOONYA

I know, I know! you feel as I would, child,

If told that in ten days I had to marry

My cruel boisterous cousin. I will help you.

But strange! to see him merely pass and love him!

Did he look back at you?

ANICE-ALJALICE

While he could see me.

DOONYA

Yes, that was Nureddene.

ANICE-ALJALICE

You’ll help me?

DOONYA

Yes,

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With all my heart and soul and brains and body.
But how? My uncle’s orders are so strict!

ANICE-ALJALICE

And do you always heed your uncle’s orders,
You dutiful niece ?

DOONYA

Rigidly, when they suit me.
It shall be done although my punishment
Were even to wed Fareed. But who can say
When he’ll come home ?

ANICE-ALJALICE

Comes he not daily then ?

DOONYA

When he’s not hawking. Questing, child, for doves,
White doves.

ANICE-ALJALICE

I’ll stop all that when he is mine.

DOONYA

Will you ? and yet I think you will, nor find it
A task at all. You can do it ?

ANICE-ALJALICE

I will.

DOONYA

You have relieved my conscience of a load.
Who blames me ? I do this to reform my cousin,
Gravely, deliberately, with serious thought,
And am quite virtuously disobedient.
I almost feel a long white beard upon my chin,
The thing’s so wise and sober. Gravely, gravely!  

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She marches out, solemnly stroking

an imaginary beard.

ANICE-ALJALICE

My heart beats reassuringly within.

The destined Prince will come and all bad spells

Be broken; then — you angels up in Heaven

Who guard sweet shame and woman’s modesty,

Hide deep your searching eyes with those bright wings.

It is not wantonness, though in a slave

Permitted, spurs me forward. O tonight

Let sleep your pens, in your rebuking volumes

Record not this. I am on such a brink,

A hound of horror baying at my heels,

I cannot pause to think what fire of blushes

I choose to flee through, nor how safe cold eyes

May censure me. I pass though I should burn.

You cannot bid me pick my careful steps!

Oh, no, the danger is too near. I run

By the one road that’s left me, to escape,

To escape, into the very arms I love.

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