The Sick King In Bokhara

HUSSEIN     O most just Vizier, send away     The cloth-merchants, and let them be,     Them and their dues, this day: the King     Is ill at ease, and calls for thee.     THE VIZIER     O merchants, tarry yet a day     Here in Bokhara: but at noon     To-morrow, come, and ye shall pay     Each fortieth web of cloth to me,     As the law is, and go your way.     O Hussein, lead me to the King.     Thou teller of sweet tales, thine own,     Ferdousis, and the others, lead.     How is it with my lord?     HUSSEIN     Alone,     Ever since prayer-time, he doth wait,     O Vizier, without lying down,     In the great window of the gate,     Looking into the Registn;     Where through the sellers booths the slaves     Are this way bringing the dead man.     O Vizier, here is the Kings door.     THE KING     O Vizier, I may bury him?     THE VIZIER     O King, thou knowst, I have been sick     These many days, and heard no thing     (For Allah shut my ears and mind),     Not even what thou dost, O King.     Wherefore, that I may counsel thee,     Let Hussein, if thou wilt, make haste     To speak in order what hath chaned.     THE KING     O Vizier, be it as thou sayst.     HUSSEIN     Three days since, at the time of prayer,     A certain Moollah, with his robe     All rent, and dust upon his hair,     Watchd my lords coming forth, and pushd     The golden mace-bearers aside,     And fell at the Kings feet, and cried;     Justice, O King, and on myself!     On this great sinner, who hath broke     The law, and by the law must die!     Vengeance, O King!     But the King spoke:     What fool is this, that hurts our ears     With folly? or what drunken slave     My guards, what, prick him with your spears!     Prick me the fellow from the path!     As the King said, so was it done,     And to the mosque my lord passd on.     But on the morrow, when the King     Went forth again, the holy book     Carried before him, as is right,     And through the square his path he took;     My man comes running, fleckd with blood     From yesterday, and falling down     Cries out most earnestly; O King,     My lord, O King, do right, I pray!     How canst thou, ere thou hear, discern     It I speak folly? but a king,     Whether a thing be great or small,     Like Allah, hears and judges all.     Wherefore hear thou! Thou knowst, how fierce     In these last days the sun hath burnd:     That the green water in the tanks     Is to a putrid puddle turnd:     And the canal, that from the stream     Of Samarcand is brought this way,     Wastes, and runs thinner every day.     Now I at nightfall had gone forth     Alone, and in a darksome place     Under some mulberry trees I found     A little pool; and in brief space     With all the water that was there     I filld my pitcher, and stole home     Unseen: and having drink to spare,     I hid the can behind the door,     And went up on the roof to sleep.     But in the night, which was with wind     And burning dust, again I creep     Down, having fever, for a drink.     Now meanwhile had my brethren found     The water-pitcher, where it stood     Behind the door upon the ground.     And calld my mother: and they all.     As they were thirsty, and the night     Most sultry, draind the pitcher there;     That they sate with it, in my sight,     Their lips still wet, when I came down.     Now mark! I, being feverd, sick,     (Most unblest also) at that sight     Brake forth, and cursd them, dost thou hear?     One was my motherNow, do right!     But my lord musd a space, and said:     Send him away, Sirs, and make on.     It is some madman, the King said:     As the King said, so was it done.     The morrow at the self-same hour     In the Kings path, behold, the man,     Not kneeling, sternly fixd: he stood     Right opposite, and thus began,     Frowning grim down: Thou wicked King,     Most deaf where thou shouldst most give ear!     What, must I howl in the next world,     Because thou wilt not listen here?     What, wilt thou pray, and get thee grace,     And all grace shall to me be grudgd?     Nay but, I swear, from this thy path     I will not stir till I be judgd.     Then they who stood about the King     Drew close together and conferrd:     Till that the King stood forth and said,     Before the priests thou shalt be heard.     But when the Ulemas were met     And the thing heard, they doubted not;     But sentencd him, as the law is,     To die by stoning on the spot.     Now the King chargd us secretly:     Stond must he be, the law stands so:     Yet, if he seek to fly, give way:     Forbid him not, but let him go.     So saying, the King took a stone,     And cast it softly: but the man,     With a great joy upon his face,     Kneeld down, and cried not, neither ran.     So they, whose lot it was, cast stones;     That they flew thick and bruisd him sore:     But he praisd Allah with loud voice,     And remaind kneeling as before.     My lord had coverd up his face     But when one told him, He is dead,     Turning him quickly to go in,     Bring thou to me his corpse. he said.     And truly, while I speak, O King,     I hear the bearers on the stair.     Wilt thou they straightway bring him in?     Ho! enter ye who tarry there!     THE VIZIER     O King, in this I praise thee not.     Now must I call thy grief not wise.     Is he thy friend, or of thy blood,     To find such favour in thine eyes?     Nay, were he thine own mothers son,     Still, thou art king, and the Law stands.     It were not meet the balance swervd,     The sword were broken in thy hands.     But being nothing, as he is,     Why for no cause make sad thy face?     Lo, I am old: three kings, ere thee,     Have I seen reigning in this place.     But who, through all this length of time,     Could bear the burden of his years,     If he for strangers paind his heart     Not less than those who merit tears?     Fathers we must have, wife and child;     And grievous is the grief for these:     This pain alone, which must be borne,     Makes the head white, and bows the knees.     But other loads than this his own     One man is not well made to bear.     Besides, to each are his own friends,     To mourn with him, and show him care.     Look, this is but one single place,     Though it be great: all the earth round,     If a man bear to have it so,     Things which might vex him shall be found.     Upon the Russian frontier, where     The watchers of two armies stand     Near one another, many a man,     Seeking a prey unto his hand,     Hath snatchd a little fair-haird slave:     They snatch also, towards Merv,     The Shiah dogs, who pasture sheep,     And up from thence to Orgunj.     And these all, labouring for a lord,     Eat not the fruit of their own hands:     Which is the heaviest of all plagues,     To that mans mind, who understands.     The kaffirs also (whom God curse!)     Vex one another, night and day:     There are the lepers, and all sick:     There are the poor, who faint alway.     All these have sorrow, and keep still,     Whilst other men make cheer, and sing.     Wilt thou have pity on all these?     No, nor on this dead dog, O King!     THE KING     O Vizier, thou art old, I young.     Clear in these things I cannot see.     My head is burning; and a heat     Is in my skin which angers me.     But hear ye this, ye sons of men!     They that bear rule, and are obeyd,     Unto a rule more strong than theirs     Are in their turn obedient made.     In vain therefore, with wistful eyes     Gazing up hither, the poor man,     Who loiters by the high-heapd booths,     Below there, in the Registn,     Says, Happy he, who lodges there!     With silken raiment, store of rice,     And for this drought, all kinds of fruits,     Grape syrup, squares of colourd ice,     With cherries servd in drifts of snow.     In vain hath a king power to build     Houses, arcades, enamelld mosques;     And to make orchard closes, filld     With curious fruit trees, bought from far;     With cisterns for the winter rain;     And in the desert, spacious inns     In divers places; if that pain     Is not more lightend, which he feels,     If his will be not satisfied     And that it be not, from all time     The Law is planted, to abide.     Thou wert a sinner, thou poor man!     Thou wert athirst; and didst not see,     That, though we snatch what we desire,     We must not snatch it eagerly.     And I have meat and drink at will,     And rooms of treasures, not a few.     But I am sick, nor heed I these:     And what I would, I cannot do.     Even the great honour which I have,     When I am dead, will soon grow still.     So have I neither joy, nor fame.     But what I can do, that I will.     I have a fretted brick-work tomb     Upon a hill on the right hand,     Hard by a close of apricots,     Upon the road of Samarcand:     Thither, O Vizier, will I bear     This man my pity could not save;     And, plucking up the marble flags,     There lay his body in my grave.     Bring water, nard, and linen rolls.     Wash off all blood, set smooth each limb.     Then say; He was not wholly vile,     Because a king shall bury him.