5. The Merchants of Ìwo
Genre: Comedy/Problem Play (inspired by The Merchant of Venice and Ifá concepts of contracts and Ori).
Central Theme: The nature of justice versus mercy, and the importance of adhering to one's destiny (Ori) and avoiding impossible promises.
Ifá Focus: The Odu Ìrosùn Ofun, which warns against making promises one cannot keep and emphasizes that one's Ori (personal destiny/head) is their strongest support.
Synopsis: Adékúnlé, a respected merchant of Ìwo, is in love with the witty and wise Àdùkẹ́, the daughter of a wealthy trader. He seeks a loan to prove his worth. He approaches the unforgiving moneylender, Alábá, a rival merchant known for his cunning and strict adherence to contracts. Adékúnlé, guided by a rash desire, and against the subtle warnings of Ifá, agrees to a bond pledging a weight of his own flesh if the debt is not repaid on time. When Adékúnlé's fortunes turn and he cannot pay, Alábá demands his due in a trial before the King. Àdùkẹ́, disguised as a knowledgeable Babaláwo, cleverly interprets the terms of the bond based on Ifá principles to save Adékúnlé.
ACT I
SCENE I. The market of Ìwo. Bustle and commerce.
Enter ADÉKÚNLÉ, a young but promising merchant, and his friends GBÉMÍ and KÚNBÍ.
ADÉKÚNLÉ:
Good friends, my spirits are as light as air!
The morning sun smiles brighter on the town.
For I have seen the lady, Àdùkẹ́.
GBÉMÍ:
Again? Does your heart flutter for this maiden?
Her father, Chief Ògúnmọ́lá, is wealthy,
And his demands are mighty as his purse.
You seek to court a star, my friend.
ADÉKÚNLÉ:
Her father's wealth is but a simple gleam
Reflecting her own inner, brighter light.
Her wit is sharper than a trader's tongue,
Her heart as generous as the fertile earth.
I'd risk my fortune and my very soul
To win a glance from her most clever eye!
KÚNBÍ:
A generous soul indeed! For rumour says
She is to choose a husband by a contest,
A test of wisdom, not of riches mere.
ADÉKÚNLÉ:
A contest? That is news! I did not know!
This gives me hope! For wealth I have but little,
My ventures all are bound on distant shores.
But wit and courage, those I have in plenty.
GBÉMÍ:
And little else, my friend! You have been over-generous.
Your coffers groan with empty space, not coin.
You need some funds to prove your worldly worth,
For even wise men judge by outward show.
ADÉKÚNLÉ:
Aye, that is true. A loan, and with some haste.
My goods are due, my ships are on the sea.
But who will lend me such a heavy sum?
KÚNBÍ:
There is but one. The moneylender, Alábá.
A man whose contracts are as strict as law,
Whose tongue is sharp and holds a bitter grudge
Against the generous and the free of spirit.
ADÉKÚNLÉ:
Alábá? The man whose soul is bound by gold?
I do not like the thought. He is a serpent.
GBÉMÍ:
A serpent, yes, but one that holds a purse.
Your Ori, your destiny, will guide your hand,
But gold and silver make the journey swift.
Go speak with him, and make your case with tact.
Your honor's worth is greater than his terms.
ADÉKÚNLÉ:
You speak with cunning, Gbémí. Very well.
For Àdùkẹ́, I'll deal with even fiends.
I go to find this human ledger-book.
(Exeunt ADÉKÚNLÉ, GBÉMÍ, and KÚNBÍ.)
(Curtain falls.)
ACT I (Continued)
SCENE II. Alábá’s office. A sparse room with ledgers and a strongbox.
Enter ALÁBÁ, the moneylender, counting coins. Enter ADÉKÚNLÉ.
ALÁBÁ:
Adékúnlé? The prodigal himself!
What brings the generous merchant here?
Have all ships returned with heavy gold,
That you now grace this counting-house?
ADÉKÚNLÉ:
Good Alábá, your words mock my state.
My ships are at sea, their wealth expected.
I come to seek a timely loan,
Three thousand ducats, for three months.
ALÁBÁ:
Three thousand ducats! For three months! A sum!
Your reputation is one of risk.
You lend your purse to any sailor,
And swear you trust in Ifá more than bonds.
But here, we deal in sureties, coin for coin.
ADÉKÚNLÉ:
My name is good, my word my bond.
My assets are worth thrice the sum.
My ships, when they arrive...
ALÁBÁ:
(Interrupting with a sour face)
Your ships may sink, the sea may swallow them,
The winds may tear the canvas!
You speak of risks! I speak of certainty!
How can I trust a man who mocks my trade?
You curse my interest rates, you shame my life,
You say a moneylender has no soul.
ADÉKÚNLÉ:
I do not come to argue philosophy,
But seek help to win my lady’s hand.
I need the means to show I am no beggar.
ALÁBÁ:
To win a hand? A lover’s desperate plea!
This makes the risk yet greater.
But for love, my heart
Can soften a little. I will lend
The sum, without interest.
ADÉKÚNLÉ:
(Surprised and relieved)
Without interest? You are more generous
Than thought, good Alábá!
ALÁBÁ:
(A cold smile on his lips)
Upon one bond. For security,
If you fail to pay on the day,
In any court of law,
The bond shall yield a pound of your flesh,
To be cut from your body,
Where I so please. This is my bond.
ADÉKÚNLÉ:
A pound of flesh? A jest!
ALÁBÁ:
A merry bond, I say again!
If you fail, then I collect.
My mind is set, Adékúnlé. Take it or leave it.
The Odu Ìrosùn Ofun warns against
Promises not kept. Heed the Odu.
If your ships land,
Then this bond means nothing but a word.
ADÉKÚNLÉ:
(His pride stung, his mind set on Àdùkẹ́)
I sign the bond! My ships are safe!
The risk is none, and I will have gold!
(ADÉKÚNLÉ signs a scroll ALÁBÁ offers. ALÁBÁ counts out the coins.)
ALÁBÁ:
The gold is yours. The bond is mine. Three months.
Remember Ori, and fortune’s wheel.
(Exit ALÁBÁ, smiling malevolently. ADÉKÚNLÉ counts his coin, a shadow of doubt crossing his face.)
ADÉKÚNLÉ:
A pound of flesh! The old man has a sense
Of humour after all! My ships are safe.
Now, to my love, and to the contest swift!
(Exit ADÉKÚNLÉ, joyful but perhaps naive.)
SCENE III. A hall in Chief Ògúnmọ́lá’s house.
Enter ÀDÙKẸ́ and her attendant YẸMÍ.
SCENE III. A hall in Chief Ògúnmọ́lá’s house.
Enter ÀDÙKẸ́ and her attendant YẸMÍ.
YẸMÍ:
Your father’s will is strange, my lady. Three chests:
One gold, one silver, and one wood.
The man who chooses right will win your hand.
A game of chance, not fair.
ÀDÙKẸ́:
It is a test of wisdom, Yẹmí, not of chance.
My father trusts in Ifá and the spirits.
The words upon the chests are clear,
For he who seeks true worth will find the prize,
He who seeks gold or silver finds doom.
I pray Adékúnlé comes to try his luck.
He has a gentle heart and clever mind.
(Enter CHIEF ÒGÚNMỌ́LÁ and ADÉKÚNLÉ.)
ÒGÚNMỌ́LÁ:
Welcome, young man! You come to the test?
ADÉKÚNLÉ:
I do, my Chief. My heart is yours to claim.
ÒGÚNMỌ́LÁ:
Behold the chests! Read the inscriptions.
(He points to the chests: Gold, Silver, and Wood.)
The gold chest says: “Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.”
The silver chest: “Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.”
The wooden chest: “Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.”
ADÉKÚNLÉ:
(Studying the chests, Àdùkẹ́ watching)
The gold, for all men desire, is but a fleeting fancy.
The silver, what I deserve, is prideful.
The wood, that which I hazard all I have? A test of devotion.
(He looks at Àdùkẹ́, who nods slightly)
I choose the simple wood, a humble choice.
(He opens the wooden chest. Inside is Àdùkẹ́'s portrait and a scroll.)
ÒGÚNMỌ́LÁ:
He has chosen well! The test is passed!
ÀDÙKẸ́:
My love, you have my hand, my heart, my soul!
I am yours!
(They embrace as the curtain falls on a scene of joy and future promise, with the shadow of the bond in the background.)
ACT II
SCENE I. The market in Ìwo. Several months later.
Enter ALÁBÁ, looking grim, and KÚNBÍ, a friend of Adékúnlé.
ALÁBÁ:
My mind is on the sea, and ships, and ruin!
News has reached the town: great storms have raged,
And merchants whisper that Adékúnlé’s fleet,
His richest venture, all are lost at sea!
His time is near; the bond is almost due.
KÚNBÍ:
Lost? All lost? Say it is not so!
The man is good, his heart is pure. Be merciful!
Take twice the sum, but spare the bond’s grim clause.
ALÁBÁ:
(Grinning with malice)
He called me dog! He spat upon my trade!
He mocked my ways before the common folk!
Now, I will have my bond! He trusted fate.
The Odu Ìrosùn Ofun was clear: keep your promises.
His promise now is flesh, not coin. I will have justice!
KÚNBÍ:
This is not justice, it is vengeance, pure and simple!
ALÁBÁ:
Vengeance? I call it law. An oath is sworn!
The King himself must honour a signed bond.
Let the young fool learn that words have weight!
The time is nigh! I must prepare my claim!
(Exit ALÁBÁ, laughing. KÚNBÍ watches him go with horror.)
KÚNBÍ:
The gods protect Adékúnlé! This man
Hath malice in his soul.
(Exit KÚNBÍ.)
SCENE II. Chief Ògúnmọ́lá’s hall.
Enter ADÉKÚNLÉ, desperate, and ÀDÙKẸ́.
ADÉKÚNLÉ:
My love, all is undone! The ships are sunk!
My fortune lost, the bond now falls due,
And Alábá demands his pound of flesh!
I am a dead man, ere I am your husband.
ÀDÙKẸ́:
(Calm, though distressed)
Do not despair, my husband soon-to-be.
We have gold, my father has great wealth.
We will pay the man ten times the sum.
The law cannot allow such savagery!
ADÉKÚNLÉ:
He will not take the gold. He wants my life.
The bond is clear, the words are etched in law.
He seeks revenge for all my former scorn.
(Enter GBÉMÍ, out of breath.)
GBÉMÍ:
The King has been inform’d! The trial is set!
Alábá is a man possessed by hate.
You must prepare to plead your case with speed!
ÀDÙKẸ́:
I must depart to learn the law’s true word.
I have a kinsman, wise in the ways of Ifá and all legal codes.
I will consult him, and find a solution.
(To Adékúnlé)
Be strong, my love. Your Ori is pure. Your destiny is strong.
Justice and mercy often wear two faces,
But truth will find the light.
(Exit ÀDÙKẸ́ and YẸMÍ quickly. ADÉKÚNLÉ and GBÉMÍ look at each other with fear and fading hope.)
ACT III
SCENE I. The Courtroom. The KING sits enthroned. LORDS and CITIZENS watch.
Enter ALÁBÁ, ADÉKÚNLÉ, GBÉMÍ, and KÚNBÍ. The court is tense.
KING:
Alábá, you come before the crown with a grim suit.
This man, Adékúnlé, doth owe you coin,
But you demand a pound of human flesh.
The city cries for mercy. Take the gold!
We offer twice the sum to spare his life!
ALÁBÁ:
My King, the law is written, signed, and sealed!
I ask for justice, as the law provides.
If you deny me this, then all the laws
Of Ìwo lose their weight and meaning here!
Every contract, every oath, is worth naught!
I demand the penalty!
KING:
This is a cruel heart that you possess.
Is there no mercy in your stubborn soul?
ALÁBÁ:
I have an oath in heaven. Can I break that?
Give me my pound of flesh, and let the law stand firm!
(Enter ÀDÙKẸ́, disguised as a wise, young Babaláwo, followed by Yẹmí, disguised as her clerk.)
KING:
Who is this youth who interrupts the court?
ÀDÙKẸ́:
A humble servant of the law and Ifá wisdom, here to aid.
My kinsman, the renowned legal scholar, is ill,
And sends me in his stead. My name is Ifá-Sage.
KING:
You are young, but the need is great. Proceed.
ÀDÙKẸ́:
(Bowing to the King, then facing Alábá)
Is this the bond?
ALÁBÁ:
It is, most wise young judge.
ÀDÙKẸ́:
Alábá, a pound of flesh is yours. The court awards it.
The law allows it, and the court awards it.
ALÁBÁ:
(Gleeful)
O noble judge! O excellent young man!
ÀDÙKẸ́:
But mark me well, this bond doth give you leave
To have exactly a pound of flesh.
The words are clear, they speak of flesh alone.
They do not speak of blood.
When you do cut the pound of flesh, you shall shed
No drop of Christian blood, nor cut more, nor less,
Than just a pound.
If you shed blood, or cut a fraction wrong,
The laws of Ìwo seize all your goods,
And your life is forfeit to the state.
The Odu Ìrosùn Ofun demands integrity in promises.
You ask for law, so you shall have strict law.
ALÁBÁ:
(Stunned, his face draining of colour)
O upright judge! Mark how I am caught!
ADÉKÚNLÉ:
(To Alábá)
Take the gold now, villain, and be gone!
ÀDÙKẸ́:
Nay, the man refused it in the open court!
He sought the law, and the law has judged his suit.
He must cut the flesh, without the blood, or forfeit all.
There is no middle path.
ALÁBÁ:
(Defeated and trembling)
Give me my principal, and let me go.
ÀDÙKẸ́:
He has refused it in the court. Now, he must face
The strict demands of his own wicked bond.
Prepare to cut the flesh, good Alábá.
KING:
The sentence stands. The young sage speaks true law.
ALÁBÁ:
I am undone! I take my leave in shame!
A curse upon your laws and ancient tales!
(ALÁBÁ rushes from the court, defeated. The crowd cheers.)
ADÉKÚNLÉ:
My life is saved! My love, my noble friend!
How can I thank you?
ÀDÙKẸ́:
(Smiling coyly, dropping her disguise slightly)
By keeping your promises more wisely next time,
And loving me forever. We must celebrate this glorious end!
(The KING, LORDS, ADÉKÚNLÉ, and others exit in joy and celebration. Curtain falls.)
KÚNBÍ:
You seem distracted, Alábá. What news?
continue
Here is the conclusion of The Merchants of Ìwo (Act IV and V) and the beginning of the next play, The Life and Death of Prince Òyèkú (Act I, Scene I).
The Merchants of Ìwo
ACT IV
SCENE I. A room in Ògúnmọ́lá’s house.
Enter ÀDÙKẸ́ and YẸMÍ, back in their own clothes, joyful.
ÀDÙKẸ́:
The villain is defeated by his own strict words!
The law, when used with wisdom's eye, can turn
A serpent’s poison to a simple cure.
YẸMÍ:
You were magnificent! Your words like light
Did pierce the darkness of his greedy soul.
And now you have your merchant, safe and sound.
(Enter ADÉKÚNLÉ, GBÉMÍ, and KÚNBÍ.)
ADÉKÚNLÉ:
My saviour, my wise judge, my lady love!
How can I ever repay this debt of life?
It was you, in clever disguise, who saved me!
ÀDÙKẸ́:
The debt is paid in love and honest faith.
Remember this, my husband: that mercy
Is mightier than the sternest law of men.
And never make a promise that demands
The very essence of your human worth.
Your Ori is pure, keep it so forever.
ADÉKÚNLÉ:
I have learned my lesson well. My life is yours,
To be lived with wisdom and with care.
GBÉMÍ:
And good news comes on the heels of better!
A messenger just rode into the town:
Three of your ships, thought lost, have made safe port!
Their cargo’s worth is double what was owed!
Your fortune is restored, and greatly more!
ADÉKÚNLÉ:
(Aghast with joy)
The gods are good! My fortune is restored!
The Odu Ìrosùn Ofun speaks of balance.
When pride led to folly, mercy saved me.
Now fortune smiles again.
ÒGÚNMỌ́LÁ:
(Entering, smiling)
A wedding feast at once! The town shall sing!
My daughter, you have proven wise and just.
(All exit in celebration as the curtain falls on a glorious, comedic ending.)
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