'Hassan' by James Elroy Flecker is a curious piece, born out of Elroy Flecker's interest in the Turkish language. While studying in the Middle East for his Consular examination, he came across a farce about a credulous buffoon called Hassan. His translation from the Turkish became the basis for his play which he completed just before his death from consumption in 1915. It was eventually premiered by Basil Dean at the Haymarket Theatre in 1923 and was a considerable success, featuring incidental music by Delius which was also much admired, although even then critics remarked that the general effect was rather archaic.
It would be impossible to imagine 'Hassan' being performed in its original form today. It is artistically uneven, and the language, 'of the period', is frequently racist. This is in some ways a pity, as the verse sections of the play are often beautiful and Hassan, the rotund unwashed, lovesick confectioner with a poet's soul is a sympathetic, (and pathetic) figure who could be a fine vehicle for James Corden. Perhaps an adaptation along the lines of 'One Man, Two Guvnors' might be contrived?
Hassan, through a series of accidents saves the Caliph of Bagdad and his followers from death, and is rewarded with a prominent position at the Caliph's court. But soon he has a fall from grace. Pervaneh the beautiful maiden and Rafi the warrior, both captives of the Caliph, chose death together rather than separation and Hassan, for denouncing this infamous judgement, is stripped of his fortune and compelled to witness the horrible execution of the sentence. Revolted by these infamies Hassan and his friend Ishak the poet determine to leave Baghdad and its decadence and to find peace by making the pilgrimage of 'The Golden Road to Samarkand.'
Although the title character, Hassan cannot be seen as a protagonist, as he is essentially passive, the victim of events. Barnaby Ralph puts this well in his essay on 'Hassan':
Although he does engage, Hassan himself is more of a character that things happen to than an instigator of events. Hapless and largely impotent, he is not a hero in any sense and neither can be said to be a true protagonist, for all that the plot revolves around the situations in which he finds himself.
In a way, perhaps, he could be considered a member of the audience who stands amazed at the spectacle which unfolds before him. If there is a hero in the Romantic sense in this play, however, it is in the person of the poet Ishak.
He, unlike Hassan, understands his inner world and follows intuition, turning away from riches and security to possible poverty, uncertainty and, ultimately, self-validation. The audience laughs at Hassan but connects with Ishak.
Reading 'Hassan' in its original form is still worthwhile although the reader is unlikely to be much impressed with prose passages such as this:
Listen, Selim, and I will tell you my affair. Three days ago a woman came here to buy loukoum of me, dressed as a widow, and bade me follow her to her door with a parcel. Alas, Selim! I could see her eyes beneath her veil, and they were like the twin fountains in the Caliph's garden; and her lips beneath her veil were like roses hidden in moss, and her waist was flexible as a palm-tree swaying in the wind, and her hips were large and heavy and round, like water melons in the season of water melons. I glanced at her but she would not smile, and I sighed but she would not glance, and the door of her house shut fast against me, like the gate of paradise against an infidel. Eywallah!
or even this, one of the most effective prose sections:
HASSAN Then consider this rose. This rose is more bitter than colocynth. For, look you, friend, had she not flung this rose, I would have said she hated me and loved another; it is well. She had the right to hate and love. She could hate and she could love. But now, ah, tell me, you who seem to be my friend, are all you poets liars?
ISHAK Ya, Hassan, but we tell excellent lies.
HASSAN Why do you say that beauty has a meaning? Why do you not say that beauty is hollow as a drum? Why do you not say that it is sold?
ISHAK All this disillusionment because a fair lady flung you a rose!
HASSAN Last night I baked sugar and she flung me water: this morning I bake gold and she flings me a rose. Empty, empty, I tell you, friend, all the blue sky.
ISHAK Come, forget her and come away. I will instruct you in the pleasures of the court.
HASSAN Forget, forget? O rose of morning and O rose of evening, vainly for me shall you fade on domes of ebony or azure. This rose has faded, and this rose is bitter, and this rose is nothing but the world.
But I suggest the following might well charm:
Thy dawn O Master of the world, thy dawn;
The hour the lilies open on the lawn,
The hour the grey wings pass beyond the mountains,
The hour of silence, when we hear the fountains,
The hour that dreams are brighter and winds colder,
The hour that young love wakes on a white shoulder,
O Master of the world, the Persian Dawn.
That hour, O Master, shall be bright for thee:
Thy merchants chase the morning down the sea,
The braves who fight thy war unsheathe the sabre,
The slaves who work thy mines are lashed to labour,
For thee the waggons of the world are drawn -
The ebony of night, the red of dawn!
And, of course, the play's conclusion and climax still has the power to move and to excite as the Pilgrims set out to seek a sublime, intangible destiny:
MASTER OF THE CARAVAN But who are ye in rags and rotten shoes,
You dirty-bearded, blocking up the way?
ISHAK We are the Pilgrims, master; we shall go
Always a little further; it may be
Beyond that last blue mountain barred with snow
Across that angry or that glimmering sea,
White on a throne or guarded in a cave
There lies a prophet who can understand
Why men were born: but surely we are brave,
Who take the Golden Road to Samarkand.
THE CHIEF MERCHANTS We gnaw the nail of hurry. Master, away!
ONE OF THE WOMEN O turn your eyes to where your children stand.
Is not Bagdad the beautiful? O, stay!
MERCHANTS (In chorus) We take the Golden Road to Samarkand.
AN OLD MAN Have you not girls and garlands in your homes?
Eunuchs and Syrian boys at your command?
Seek not excess: God hateth him who roams!
MERCHANTS (In chorus) We take the Golden Road to Samarkand.
HASSAN Sweet to ride forth at evening from the wells
When shadows pass gigantic on the sand,
And softly through the silence beat the bells
Along the Golden Road to Samarkand.
ISHAK We travel not for trafficking alone;
By hotter winds our fiery hearts are fanned:
For lust of knowing what should not be known,
We take the Golden Road to Samarkand.
MASTER OF THE CARAVAN Open the gate, O watchman of the night!
THE WATCHMAN Ho, travellers, I open.
For what land Leave you the dim-moon city of delight?
MERCHANTS (With a shout) We take the Golden Road to Samarkand! (The CARAVAN passes through the gate.)
WATCHMAN (Consoling the women) What would ye, ladies? It was ever thus.
Men are unwise and curiously planned.
A WOMAN They have their dreams, and do not think of us. (The WATCHMAN closes the gate.)
VOICES OF THE CARAVAN (In the distance singing) We take the Golden Road to Samarkand.
Delius' music matches this climactic moment:
and is never less than attractive. Often, as in the famous 'Serenade' it is far more than that:
These examples are taken from a new recording by the Britten Sinfonia of the complete Incidental Music on Chandos, conducted by Jamie Phillips. This is a very worthwhile enterprise and performances are buoyant and sensitive. Forces are relatively small and the young, fresh voices of the Britten Sinfonia Voices add distinction. The problem here is the narration, written by BS administrator Meurig Bowen and voiced by Zeb Soanes. Bowen makes an admirable attempt to include as much of the original as he can but his own writing is pedestrian and Soanes narration, while mellifluous, lacks distinction. There is much to enjoy here but some listeners might prefer to stick with Beecham's classic, though far less comprehensive, version. There is also a Vernon Handley conducted alternative that I have not yet been able to track down.
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