Page 11 - Omar!

“Sufis?” exclaimed the director. “What’s their complaint? They
appropriated Omar’s work as soon as he died, added a few quatrains
of their own, and reinterpreted the whole thing in their favor. Why,
I’ve heard that many Iranians today believe that Omar Khayyam was
a Sufi poet; that the wine is not literal wine, but some devotional
ecstasy; that the rejection of salvation is really a coded message
meaning its opposite!”
Robert Baron shook his head. “According to them, you have
included a verse from an unauthorized version which indicts the Sufis
by name, lumps them into the category of foolish prophets whose
arguments are lost in the wind that blows everything and everybody
out of existence.”
Barnaby Fey pursed his lips, casting into his memory. “Yes, I guess
they’re right. That quatrain was incorporated into the aria by
Musselman; I suppose he had his reasons. It is not always easy to
determine which of the Rubaiyat are authentic. It’s not like
Ecclesiastes, where you can just snip off the pious ending the rabbis
tacked on to a piece of oriental fatalism. Anyway, the Sufis aren’t
prone to violence, are they?”
Baron considered. “By themselves, perhaps not. But if they
confront the other religious protestors, who knows what will happen?
But they aren’t the last of the objectors. Let me get through the rest
of this. After taking a few swigs of wine from a street vendor, Omar
escorts the girl off-stage, and the scene ends.”
Fey interrupted: “Yes, it ends, but with another great setting into
music of a quatrain summing up what has happened and giving a hint
about what is to come:

Oh, come with old Khayyam, and leave the Wise
To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies;
One thing is certain, and the Rest is lies;
The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.

Sorry. I’m particularly fond of the unity of that piece.”
The other man glared at the director, uncertain of the latter’s
attitude. “Scene Two,” Baron uttered forcefully, “takes place in
Omar’s bedroom; he and the Vine-daughter enter right; they have
some wine, and he sings “In some corner of the Hubbub coucht”.
The Bird of Time is in a cage, responding periodically to the action.
And then—”
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